BETTYE
GRIFFIN
A Love
for All Seasons
For Anecia, whose life is just begining.
May it be a long and happy one.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Coming Next Month
Acknowledgements
Bernard: still crazy after all these years. Even when you bring out homicidal urges in me, I love you madly.
Mom: still kicking at eighty-eight. I want to be just like you if I am fortunate enough to receive the gift of longevity.
Aunt Weenie and Cousin Teddy: still kicking at ninety.
Uncle Chester: still kicking at eighty-five.
Pops and Aunt Micki, because I wish you were still here.
Beverly Griffin Love, Dorothy Clowers Lites, Lillian Morton Walton, sister and cousins.
Kimberly Rowe-Van Allen, you do such a great job pre-editing my books before submission (a service more important now than ever before!). You’ve got a sharper eye than many professionals. I only wish your schedule had permitted you to look at this entire manuscript. (Be sure to put down your editing pen while your read the finished product.)
LaVerne Caples, Velma Jones, Cheryl Warren, Shaemia Newsome and Karine Smith: thanks for reading my books…and for making Illinois a little less chilly.
The unofficial Dyslipidemia Reading Group at Abbott Labs: Marie Wilson, who actually read my book One on One; and Maureen Kelly, Noreen Travers and Dawn Carlson for their good intentions/plans to read it.
The Westchester homegirls: Dorothy Hicks-Terry, Sheila Tyler, Rebecca West Ogiste, Sharon McDaniel Hollis, Beverly Brown, Karleen Burke, Barbara Qualls, Lillian Tyee, Jackie Moore, Carolyn Harmon Crute. Your ongoing support has been overwhelming, and I am truly humbled by it.
Terry Clements: it was fab to see you again. I still can’t believe little Monet is married and Lauren is so grown up! How come we don’t look eighteen years older…or do we?
Jacqueline McGuggins of Waldenbooks in Yonkers, New York: for agreeing to host a signing. I hope we weren’t too raucous.
Glen Hoftetter of the Book Nook in Jacksonville, Florida: for hosting the virtual signings I used to do when I lived there and for being an all-around great guy.
Loyal readers everywhere: I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you all.
Since the heroine of this book is named Alicia, I must mention the Alicias in my life: my niece, Alisha Griffin Baez, and my second-generation cousin, Alicia Morton Coates. I’ve witnessed both of you grow from pigtailed little girls to women with families of your own. I’m very proud of both of you.
Bettye Griffin
Gurnee, Illinois
Winter 2006-2007
Chapter 1
I Just Saw a Face
As he left the restaurant Jack held the door open for a woman who entered. Suddenly, his mouth fell open.
Never before had he seen anyone so lovely.
She smiled in that impersonal way people tend to when they really don’t notice you. “Thank you,” she said in a low-pitched voice he found incredibly sexy. She dashed through the entrance, the memory of her face etched in his mind.
It had been an enjoyable evening, even before he arrived at the restaurant. The warm early June weather made moving about the city a pleasant experience. How kind of his old college roommate, Pete Robinson, and Pete’s wife Rhonda to insist on taking him to dinner after his round of interviews and before his return flight to Birmingham. The human resources department at his prospective employer had kindly honored his request to be put on an evening return flight to Birmingham to give him some time to spend with his friends.
Truth be told, Jack couldn’t really pinpoint his exact location in Manhattan, but the low rise apartment buildings with retailers and restaurants on the ground floors told him he had ventured beyond the tall buildings of the business district, or, as they called it in New York, midtown.
Judging by how well things went this afternoon, he expected to be offered the director position he’d interviewed for after a round of phone interviews plus a series of face-to-face meetings with key personnel. Funny how his sixth sense had never failed him in this regard. He’d always correctly predicted whether a job offer was forthcoming. But he wouldn’t start packing until the offer had been made and he’d accepted.
Jack’s own father had worked in the steel mills of Birmingham, Alabama, for decades. Things had certainly changed in a generation. Jack had changed jobs several times in the nearly fifteen years since college, nor would his contemporaries likely spend their entire careers at the same company until retirement.
If everything worked out, he anticipated easily finding his way around the city before too long once he made the move here. It certainly seemed a lot busier than Birmingham, which, despite several relocations over the years, he still considered home.
“It’s really good to see you two again, guys,” he said to Pete and Rhonda. Then he laughed as he made a sweeping gesture with his right hand. “And it’s nice to meet all of you.” Originally he met Pete at his office in midtown after his interviews, and the two of them took the subway up to a Cuban restaurant, where Rhonda met them. She promptly announced that a friend of hers was coming to join them, but not until after they’d had a chance to have a good talk with just the three of them.
While they ate she explained that she’d mentioned her dinner plans to a few other people, who said they might pop in later. The others who came all ordered food, and it amused Jack that an impromptu meal between three old friends could end up with such a large group sharing a table.
That was how it started. Now, nearly an hour after he finished his meal and sat leisurely sipping sangria, no less than seven people sat around a makeshift rectangular table, made up of two tables pushed together.
In the midst of the chatter going on around him, Jack surveyed the restaurant. He supposed that similar scenes took place at restaurants all over Manhattan, as the work crowd left the office and met friends for dinner and drinks.
Fortunately, the restaurant wasn’t overly crowded on this spring evening, so they could literally sit there for hours, the sangria flowing as freely and easily as the conversation.
Rhonda laughed. “If you’re going to be living here, we want you to meet all our friends,” she said. “You won’t be lonely, believe me.”
“Speaking of friends, Rhonda, where’s Alicia?” Pete asked.
“She didn’t answer her cell, so I left her a message. I hope she can make it. She hasn’t called back, so I don’t know.”
“Do you suppose she went up to her mother’s?”
“She didn’t say anything about it. And she wouldn’t go on a Wednesday unless something really
bad happened.” Rhonda twisted her lower lip as she considered this possibility. “I did say we’d only be here until about seven-thirty.”
Jack glanced at his watch. “It’s ten to seven now. I guess I’d better get going.”
“What time is your flight, Jack?” one of Rhonda’s friends asked.
“Eight-thirty. We’re not that far from LaGuardia, are we?”
The airport was perhaps a twenty-minute taxi ride, said someone sitting next to him.
“Ask the hostess to get you a cab,” Pete advised.
Within five minutes the hostess informed Jack that his cab was waiting for him. He rose and said thanks and goodbye to Pete. The two had been best buddies through their college years at Fisk. And although in recent years they barely kept in touch, they’d never completely lost contact.
Since graduation, Jack’s career as a graphic artist had taken him first to Galveston and then to Houston before he decided he wanted to return to Alabama. Pete, on the other hand, had headed straight to New York, armed with a degree in chemistry. He’d met Rhonda there, the two fell in love, and four years ago they married in a destination wedding on St. Croix. They seemed so happy, and Jack couldn’t help feeling a little envious. His friend had a loving wife to go home to after work…he had no one.
He had managed to rack up a series of failed relationships, their endings all rooted in silly stuff that wouldn’t be important enough to do in a relationship of any substance. He’d heard that the older and more set in their ways a person became, the more difficult it was to put someone else first. His mother always reassured him, telling him that when he met Miss Right he would know it. Jack personally didn’t put much faith in that scenario. It took more than merely meeting a woman to know she was the one he’d been waiting for.
After giving Rhonda a farewell kiss on the cheek and waving to the rest of his table-mates, he headed for the door and his fateful encounter. He took one last glance at his surroundings. Nothing about the restaurant’s decor jumped out as being special, but he liked it, with its flavorful cuisine and no-fuss atmosphere. A real neighborhood restaurant, with many of its tables occupied by people of all sorts of ethnic backgrounds, including Afro-Hispanics speaking fluent Spanish. Now, that was a sight you didn’t see much of in Birmingham.
Nor was a woman so exquisitely beautiful as the one who passed him by.
He turned and stared at the woman’s back after she passed through the door. The view from that angle was equally appealing. She wore a tailored cotton shirt with a wool tweed blazer and jeans. A small leather shoulder bag hung at her side. Her hair hung in an asymmetrical side-parted bob that grazed her shoulder on one side and was even with her chin on the other.
He longed for another look at her beautiful face, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, apparently looking for someone, she moved to her right, her head turning from left to right and her hair bouncing as she searched for her dinner partner. Then a honking horn jerked him back to reality and the taxi double parked outside.
Reluctantly, he let the door close and stepped into the street. He crossed the wide sidewalk and got into the back seat of the yellow taxi. “LaGuardia Airport,” he told the driver.
Inside the restaurant, unbeknownst to Jack, the woman, upon spotting a familiar face, rushed up to Rhonda’s table and hugged her warmly. “I’m glad you guys are still here. I ran all the way.”
“We weren’t sure how long we should wait,” Rhonda said. “But now that you’re here, we aren’t going anywhere.” She indicated the empty chair opposite her. “You can sit next to Pete. His friend just left.”
Pete signaled. “Waiter. Another pitcher of sangria.” He turned to the woman. “Will that work for you, Alicia?”
“Sure.”
He grinned at her. “Don’t want to try a Tequila Sunrise tonight, huh?”
She winked; her ability to nurse one glass of wine for hours on end was legendary in their circle. “No, not tonight. Maybe next time.”
Jack settled into his leather Business Class seat. He accepted a complimentary Scotch and soda and reclined. His thoughts went to the woman at the restaurant. He knew it made no sense for him to waste time thinking about someone he’d never see again, and it surprised him that he kept thinking about her. Again he thought of what his mother always said about him being able to recognize the right woman when he met her.
Except he’d only seen her, not actually met her…and the odds were against him ever seeing her again, much less meeting her.
Chapter 2
I Saw Her Standing There
Alicia nearly gasped when she opened the door and saw him. She felt a jolt rush straight through her chest to her back, immediately followed by a sense of exhilaration, like she’d been pushed out of an airplane and was free falling in the few key seconds before inflating a parachute.
Her friend Rhonda Robinson had asked if it would be okay if she brought someone along to the party, her husband Pete’s college roommate who was new in town and didn’t know many people. Alicia had said sure, but for some reason she’d expected some nerdy type with glasses. She hadn’t expected this tall, well-built man whose navy sports coat seemed tailor-made for him, and who appeared to be fresh from the barber’s chair. My, my, my….
The moment she opened the door Jack felt thunder-struck. He could hardly believe it, but it was her, the same woman he’d glimpsed in the restaurant last spring, when he came to NewYork to meet the company brass face-to-face. Four months had passed since then. Spring had long since given way to summer, and now even the last vestige of that season had become a memory to savor until next year, going out with the annual Indian summer of unseasonably warm temperatures in mid-October. The air now held a hint of the cold weather that was to come. Last spring he’d only seen her for a moment, but he’d never forgotten her. He didn’t realize she was a friend of Rhonda’s, never even thought of the possibility. No new arrivals had joined them in the last hour, and while he had a vague memory of Pete and Rhonda discussing the possibility of another friend of theirs joining them, he didn’t think it would happen, not that long after their meal ended.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Rhonda exclaimed. “Alicia Timberlake, Jack Devlin.”
Alicia promptly held out her hand. No one must know the effect he had on her. “Hello, Jack. Welcome.” She kept her expression impassive as he swallowed her hand with his and shook it firmly.
“Thank you, Alicia,” he said. “Glad to be here.”
“Jack’s new in town,” Rhonda explained. “He’s from Birmingham.”
“Really,” Alicia said, falling into step beside him as they moved into the apartment. “What brings you to New York?”
“Work. I just accepted a new position.”
He had a way of looking at her, directly, yet simultaneously roaming over her body, that struck her as almost too sexy to bear. It left her mouth dry, like she had a mouthful of sand. She struggled to keep up her end of the conversation. He’d just stated that he accepted a job here, but she felt it would be too forward to ask what he did. “How do you like it here?” she asked instead.
“I’m still learning my way around,” he admitted. “It’s different from what I’m used to, but I like it. And it’s nice to know at least two people here. Pete and I went to college together. Fisk University.” Jack frowned when someone called out to Alicia and she excused herself with a light touch on his forearm. He wished he could escort her into a corner and have her tell him all about herself.
Instead he went to the buffet, which had been set up on top of an attractive painted Bombay chest near the door, and helped himself to barbecued chicken drumettes, cheese puffs, meatballs and potato salad. He quickly joined Pete in a conversation with another man as they munched, keeping an eye on the whereabouts of Alicia all the while.
She mingled with her guests, looking chic in a long-sleeved off-white cable sweater that covered her hips, wool slacks the same color, and brown suede pumps. She’d brushed her hair back
and applied a leopard print headband. He admired the way she moved easily between pockets of people, always with a cheerful word. He could barely tear his eyes away from her.
Not wanting anyone to notice him staring at her, Jack forced himself to check out her apartment instead. Rhonda described their destination as “a party at a friend’s studio.” He knew one-room apartments existed, but never knew anyone who actually lived in one. He always imagined studios as claustrophobic little rooms with perhaps one window, but this L-shaped apartment seemed plenty large enough for one person to live in, even with fifteen people milling about. The outside wall—the bottom of the L—contained two sets of double windows, one at each end, with a Pullman kitchen neatly tucked into the opposite side. Between the kitchen and the window sat a small oblong cloth-covered table with rounded edges, holding an ice bucket, glasses, cocktail napkins, a large bottle of white Zinfadel, a half-dozen or so seven-ounce bottles of beer, and a tall martini pitcher.
The joint of the L had been set up as a sitting area, with a small sofa, coffee table, and two compact rounded back chairs. The apartment seemed to have everything, despite its small size.
Well, almost everything. Jack’s eyes narrowed in thought as he realized there didn’t appear to be a bed. He decided the sofa must open up.
There might not be a visible bed, but guests had a variety of choices for seating. In addition to the corner sitting area, two matching oval-shaped chairs flanked a small maple wood Parsons table in the corner by the bar. Also, an odd-looking, oversize European-looking couch, reminiscent of the days of King Arthur and Queen Guinivere with its high wooden sides, stood opposite the Bombay chest near the entrance to the apartment.
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