“How dare you speak to me like that,” Adele countered.
“I’m not a little girl, Mother. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m all of twenty-three years old and I’m quite capable of making my own decisions. Either I become involved in planning my wedding or James and I will elope.”
Adele’s eyes widened until they resembled silver dollars. “You can’t.”
“I can and I will.”
“James will never become a party to an elopement.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mother,” Samantha countered angrily. “James was the one who suggested it.”
Falling back against her chair, Adele closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling heavily. It was a full minute before she was back in control. She opened her eyes. “Okay, Ms. Whitfield.” Her voice was pregnant with resignation.
Tessa and Samantha watched as Adele stood up and walked out of the room as Hilda walked in carrying a silver tray with matching pitchers filled with coffee and hot water. They shared a knowing smile as the housekeeper set out delicately painted porcelain cups and matching dessert plates. Within minutes she’d set the coffee table with several varieties of imported tea, butter cookies filled with jam, lemon slices, sugar cubes and chilled heavy cream.
“Would you like coffee or tea, Ms. Whitfield?” Samantha asked when Hilda left the room.
“I’ll take tea with cream. And please call me Tessa.”
Samantha flashed a bright smile. “And when it’s just the two of us you can call me Sammie,” she said like a coconspirator.
Tessa nodded. “Now tell me what you want for your wedding.”
* * *
As Tessa rode the subway to Brooklyn she mentally went over what she’d discussed with Samantha Pendergast. She’d agreed to take her on as a client after Sammie reassured her that her mother would remain in the background until it was time for her to make her appearance as mother of the bride. She’d dealt with her share of Bridezillas, but Adele Pendergast was her first monster-in-law.
A smile softened her mouth as she climbed the subway stairs at her stop, and she was still smiling when she unlocked the door to her home. She kicked off her shoes, hung up her coat and went to check her voice mail. She had three messages, but it was the last one that quickened her pulse.
Depressing a button for speed dial, she listened intently for a break in the connection. The call was answered after the second ring. “Good afternoon. Wildflowers and Other Treasures.”
“Simone, it’s Tessa. What’s up?”
“Are you going to be home tonight?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Tessa heard a tremor in her sister’s voice. “What’s going on, Simone?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
It’d been a while since they’d had a heart-to-heart sister talk. “Do you have anything on your calendar for tomorrow?”
“No, I don’t. Why?”
“Bring clothes so you can stay over.”
There was a pause before Simone’s husky voice came through the earpiece. “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Drive carefully,” Tessa countered, knowing her sister’s penchant for speed.
She hung up, wondering what was so critical that Simone wanted to see her. As much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, she knew it had something to do with Anthony Kendrick.
“Not again,” she whispered to herself. Each time Simone had a crisis or dilemma her ex-husband was always the usual suspect.
Faith was the one who was the brutally honest Whitfield, while Tessa assumed a role as either peacemaker or neutralist. If Simone was coming to bitch and moan about Anthony, then Tessa was prepared to take Faith’s approach and go right for the jugular. Either she would endear herself to her sister or alienate her.
CHAPTER 18
After Judge Andrew Carr heard the second case on the calendar, a tall figure entered the courtroom through the door that led to the hallway and the judges’ chambers. Micah clamped his teeth together when he recognized the probation officer. His appearance did not bode well for a defendant who hadn’t attended any of his treatment sessions or completed his hours of community service. There was no doubt he would violate and be forced to serve out his sentence.
The court clerk called the defendant’s name. The sullen-looking young man stood up and glared at the judge as two court officers took positions behind him, handcuffs ready. Micah had talked to the defendant’s court-appointed lawyer to try and keep the nineteen-year-old out of jail, but she hadn’t fared any better than the D.A.’s office.
It took less than thirty seconds for Judge Carr to render his decision to send the defendant to jail to serve out the rest of his sentence. Then all hell broke loose in the courtroom. The defendant sprang at Micah, landing a punch on his jaw. Reacting quickly, Micah’s right fist came up under the enraged youth’s chin. He fell backward from the force of the blow, two court officers pouncing on him and holding him down while a third cuffed him. A swarm of white shirts crowded into the courtroom, most with hands on their firearms, and they quickly cleared the courtroom. Frothing at the mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head, the trussed-up prisoner was dragged out to a corridor behind the courtroom, into an elevator and downstairs to a holding cell.
A female court officer touched Micah’s arm. “Are you all right?”
He opened and closed his mouth, wincing. “I’ll live.”
“You better put some ice on your jaw before it blows up.”
Judge Carr came down off the bench and approached Micah, his gaze filled with concern. “The idiot didn’t realize you were trying to keep him out of jail.” He peered closer. “You better to see about your jaw. It’s swelling.”
“I’m good, Judge.”
“You’re not good, Sanborn. Now get the hell out of here and get yourself X-rayed. And I don’t want to see you in my courtroom again until you get medical clearance.”
Micah gathered his files and made his way out of the courtroom, stopping short when he saw the small crowd standing in the waiting area, talking quietly amongst themselves. All eyes were on him as he headed for the exit.
A court officer slapped him on the back. “Nice right, Sanborn.”
He nodded but kept walking.
“You clocked his ass good,” said the clerk who’d gone outside for a cigarette break.
The news of the courthouse altercation reached Micah’s office before he did. He lingered long enough to put away his files and call his primary physician to let him know he was coming in for an X-ray of the left side of his face.
* * *
Tessa opened the door and went completely still. She was expecting to see Simone, not Micah. She hadn’t realized how fast her heart was beating until she realized her hands were shaking. The left side of Micah’s face was so grotesquely swollen that she marveled that he could see out of his eye.
She caught his arm, pulling him into the foyer. “What happened to you?”
Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Micah leaned heavily on Tessa to support his sagging body. An X-ray technician had taken pictures of his face, and thankfully he hadn’t lost any teeth and no bones were fractured. The doctor gave him a prescription for a painkiller, instructed him stay home until the swelling went down and return for a follow-up visit within a week.
“I got into a little scuffle at the courthouse.”
“Who hit you?”
“A pissed-off defendant who’d violated the terms of his probation.”
“What happened to him?”
“He’s in jail.” His knees buckled again. “Do you mind if I lie down for a while?”
“Don’t faint on me, Micah.”
“I’m not going to faint. I took a painkiller.”
She gave him an incredulous stare. “When did you take it?”
“It’s been about twenty minutes.”
“You drove here under the influence?”
Micah’s unin
jured eye fluttered. “Not now, Tessa.”
Tessa managed to get him up the staircase, undressed and into bed without mishap. He was asleep before she left the bedroom. The doorbell rang again, and this time she was certain it was her sister.
* * *
“Thanks, Tessa, for taking time out for me,” Simone crooned as she stepped into the foyer.
“That’s what sisters are for,” Tessa said as she reached for Simone’s overnight bag.
Slipping out of her coat, Simone stared at the trench coat hanging from the mahogany coat tree. It definitely was too large for Tessa. Her hands halted as she turned and fixed her hazel eyes on her sister. “Do you have company?”
“Yes. Micah’s upstairs sleeping. He took a painkiller, so he came here rather than attempt to drive to Staten Island.”
“Is he okay?”
“He says he is.”
“Look, Tessa, I don’t have to stay over.”
Tessa waved a hand. “Micah being here shouldn’t change anything. Besides, we hadn’t planned to see each other today.” Simone opened her mouth again, but Tessa stopped her. “Please don’t say anything else. Have you had lunch?” Simone shook her head. “If that’s the case, then hang up your coat and put your bag in one of the bedrooms. I’m going to throw something together before we sit down and talk.”
* * *
Three-quarters of an hour later, Tessa sat in the dining area in the kitchen with Simone enjoying skirt-steak BLT with basil mayonnaise on thick slices of toasted French bread, washed down with mugs of warm rose-hip tea. The radio on the countertop provided a soft backdrop to the conversation conducted in hushed tones.
“I’m confused,” Simone admitted.
“What are you confused about?”
“It’s Tony.”
Tessa set down her mug and dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin. “You claim you still have feelings for him and you’ve talked about reconciling, but what’s stopping you now, Simone?”
A fringe of long lashes touched Simone’s honey-gold cheeks when she stared down at the crumbs on her plate. “Tony says he’s changed.”
“Has he?” Tessa asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Simone looked up, seemingly startled by her sister’s query. “No. That would complicate everything.”
Tessa was hard-pressed not to smile. At least Simone knew enough not crawl back into Tony’s bed, although she’d once admitted that he could be very persuasive. “Last week you said you were reconciling. What happened to make you change your mind?”
“He turned down a position with one of the largest auditing firms in the northeast.”
The seconds ticked off as the sisters regarded each other. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Simone,” Tessa said in a quiet voice, “but Anthony Kendrick will never get a job as long as his mother continues to take care of him. Your first clue when you met should’ve been why is a grown-ass man still living with his mother? He has an MBA and is a CPA, so he can’t say he isn’t qualified to hold down a nine-to-five. And all that bull about ‘he’s so fine’ doesn’t pay rent or mortgage or put food on the table. He’s a baby boy, Simone, and he’ll always be a baby boy. Remember why you kicked him out the first time. Please don’t go back to wallow in the same slop you managed to extricate yourself from.
“As human beings we’re not made to be solitary creatures, but sometimes it’s what we have to do in order to take a good look at who we are and where we want to go. I’ve had less relationships than you and Faith combined, yet I don’t mind being alone. In fact, I enjoy my own company. I get up when I want, go wherever I want and I’m not beholden to anyone.”
“Mama always said you were selfish.”
“And you’re generous to a fault, Simone. And where has it gotten you? You’ve put up with a spoiled, lazy good-for-nothing that’s looking for a substitute for his mama. It’s a good thing you didn’t have any children from that bum or you never would’ve gotten rid of him. His excuse would’ve always been the kids. I’m glad that you’re having second thoughts because that means you haven’t completely lost your mind.”
There was a swollen silence before Simone spoke again. “Are you telling me not to go back to Tony?”
Tessa shook her head. “No. You know I’m not one to tell you what and what not to do when it comes to your love life. All I’m saying is that he’s not good for you.”
Reaching across the table, Simone grasped Tessa’s fingers. “I know that, but I had to hear someone else say it.” She released her hand, pushed to her feet and walked over to the kitchen’s wall phone. Removing the receiver from its cradle, she tapped in a number.
Turning her back to her sister, she listened for the break in the connection. She froze when she heard the deep, velvet voice that never failed to send shivers up and down her body. “Tony, this is Simone.”
“Hey, now, baby. What’s up?”
She pulled her shoulders back. “Nothing’s up, Tony. I called to tell you no.” A profound silence ensued.
“What do you mean no?”
“It’s no to us getting back together. Not now and not ever. Goodbye.”
“Don’t hang up, Simone!”
She heard the panic in his voice, but what Anthony Kendrick didn’t realize was that Simone Ina Whitfield wasn’t the same woman she’d been when they first met what now seemed aeons ago.
“What do you want, Tony?”
“Can’t we talk, baby?”
Simone shook her head, curls floating around her face like a reddish cloud. “I’m done talking. Goodbye and good luck with your life.” She hung up, then turned to see her sister giving her a thumbs-up gesture. “Right about now I could use something stronger to drink than tea.”
“What about a wine spritzer?”
Simone’s eyes sparkled like precious stones. “I said a drink, not Kool-Aid, Tessa.”
Tessa stood and headed for the cabinet that doubled as her bar. Simone had surprised her with the request because her older sister usually didn’t drink anything stronger than wine. “I can make you a cosmopolitan, a martini or a margarita.”
“I’ll take a margarita. In fact, make it a double. Don’t look at me like that, Tessa Whitfield. I’m not driving, and as soon as I finish my drink I’m going upstairs to sleep it off.”
Tessa couldn’t help laughing. It appeared as if her residence had become safe haven for the injured and the brokenhearted. First it’d been Micah and now her sister. She took out the ingredients for the margarita, then filled a pitcher with crushed ice from the refrigerator door. Her uncle had taught her to mix drinks, and she’d lost track of the number of times she’d assisted the regular bartenders during the many affairs held at Whitfield Caterers.
It took Simone nearly an hour to finish her drink. Then, as promised, she climbed the staircase to the second-floor bedroom she usually occupied whenever she stayed over in Brooklyn Heights. Her thoughts were too muddled to realize that Micah Sanborn slept in her sister’s bedroom down the hall as she undressed, then slipped under several handmade quilts that had been passed down through several generations of Whitfield women.
* * *
“Where do you think you’re going?” Tessa asked Micah as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Home,” came his hoarse reply.
She pushed off the chair in her sitting room where she’d sat reading for the past hour. Micah had slept through the morning and the entire afternoon. She moved closer, watching as he reached for his shirt.
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to drive?”
“Yes.” Micah swayed before righting himself as Tessa’s hand caught his forearm. “Please don’t touch me.”
Her hand dropped. “What are you trying to prove, Micah Sanborn?”
He ignored her strident tone. “I’m going home.” Instead of driving to Staten Island, he’d stayed in Brooklyn and come to Tessa. He’d come to h
er because he’d needed her. And it was the first time since his mother had walked away from him that he realized he needed a woman. Somehow he’d permitted Tessa to slip under the barrier he’d erected to keep all women at a distance; because what he felt and was beginning to feel for her went beyond friendship with fringe benefits.
Micah sat down on the side of the bed as he pushed his legs into his trousers. He managed to dress himself, albeit very slowly. Turning, he met her confused stare. “I’ll call you when I get home.”
Tessa nodded and managed a small smile. Even with his battered face he still had the power to make her heart beat a little too quickly. “Okay.”
They walked out of the bedroom together and down the staircase, where Micah retrieved his trench coat. He opened and closed the door, leaving her staring at the spot where he’d been.
* * *
Micah pressed a button on one of the remote devices on his car’s visor and the iron gates swung open. He drove through the gates, and they closed automatically when the tires depressed a metal plate. Switching to the high beams, he maneuvered along the road leading to the house where he’d grown up. When he’d told Tessa that he was going home it wasn’t to the studio rental in Staten Island but Franklin Lakes. He found his parents in the kitchen. Edgar stood behind Rosalind, his arms around her waist as she stirred a pot on the cooking island.
Rosalind saw him first. Her face became a ghostly white as a gasp escaped her parted lips. “Micah!” His name came out in a whisper.
Edgar seated Rosalind on a stool and rushed over to his son. “What the hell happened to you?”
Micah gave his father a reassuring grin. “It’s not as bad as it looks. A defendant facing a misdemeanor charge decided to up the ante with felony assault because he’d violated the conditions of his probation.”
“Why you?” Rosalind asked.
“He couldn’t hit his lawyer, so I was the closest target.”
Long Time Coming Page 20
