by Donna Hill
Zoie grinned. “What did everyone say?”
“We were stunned. Sage said, ‘Did that baby just say why?’ And you looked around at all of us, propped up on your daddy’s lap like the Queen of Sheba, with this big old grin—you only had about six teeth. Your daddy said, ‘What did you say, pumpkin? Say it for Daddy.’ You looked up at him, and plain as you please, you said. ‘Why?’ and flashed that grin. We all burst out laughing and clapping, and you’ve been asking why ever since.”
Rose’s shoulders shook with her laughter, and Zoie realized it was the first time in longer than she could recall that her mother had actually laughed, that she had looked happy and not simply content. But what really gave her pause was that she and her mother were having a real conversation, and not a debate or a volley of barbs.
Rose sobered by degrees, but the gleam didn’t leave her eyes. “I’m so glad that you’re home, Zoie. The circumstances aren’t ideal, but you’re home. That’s what’s important.” She stretched out her hand to her daughter.
Zoie walked over to her mother and took her hand.
“Sit,” her mother said. “Tell me about your life in New York. Seeing anybody?”
Zoie ducked her head. “No. Too busy with work.”
“Hmm. Work can’t keep you warm at night.”
“Mama!”
Rose grinned. “It’s true.” She paused. “What about Jackson?”
Zoie flinched, shook her head. “It’s over. We’ve both moved on.”
“Probably best since you won’t be here long after your sentence is over.”
Zoie rolled her eyes. Too good to be true. “Can I take those inside for you?” she asked in an attempt to ward off any impending verbal sparring.
“No, I can take care of it.”
Zoie started to walk away then stopped. “Mama . . . did Nana have any other children beside you and my aunties?”
“What? No.” She sputtered a laugh. “Why would you ask something like that?”
Zoie shook her head. “Nothing. Silly question.” She opened the screen door and went inside.
CHAPTER 13
Lena picked up her glass of wine. “What did the shop say about your car?”
Jackson turned the steaks on the grill.
“Those smell great. I’m starving.”
“Few more minutes.” He closed the hood of the grill. “Car is totaled.” He wiped his hands on a towel and picked up a beer from the table.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. Shit happens. I can always get another car.”
Lena stretched her bare legs out on the striped lawn chair and crossed her ankles. “So do you want to tell me what happened with you and Zoie?”
He knew the questions would come, but he’d hoped to have a couple of beers and some food in his belly first.
Jackson sat on the side of the opposite lawn chair. He rested his forearms on his thighs and looked directly at her. “Nothing happened. It could have, but it didn’t.”
The muscles in her throat worked for a moment before she spoke. “Why not?”
He heaved a breath. “Because I thought about you—about us.”
Her mink-brown eyes studied his face. “I want to believe you. I . . . do believe you. It’s . . . Zoie.” She said the name as if it explained everything. She reached for her glass. “There’s history between the two of you. More than you and I have had a chance to build.” She sighed and looked upward. “Of all the places that you could have gone, Jackson, you went there, to her.” Her brows drew close, and she turned to look at him. “That bothers me, and if I sound silly or petty or whatever, then so be it. And what am I supposed to think when you tell me something ‘could have happened’?”
He shifted his jaw. “Lousy choice of words.”
“Really?” Her voice rose with incredulity. “A lousy choice of words? You wouldn’t have that to say if there was nothing between you two that ‘could have happened,’ Jackson. Don’t you see that? Because I sure do.”
Jackson lowered his head. This was not going well, and knowing Lena, who knew what went down between him and Zoie, she wouldn’t let him dance around the truth. It was a promise they’d made to each other when they both realized that simple dating and casual sex had turned into something more.
Jackson folded her hands into his and ached at the sadness in her eyes, knowing that he had put it there. “I don’t know what I feel about Zoie.” She flinched. “I thought she would stay in my past. When I saw her again . . . it stirred up feelings, and I don’t know what those feelings are. That’s the truth. Regret, nostalgia . . . But,” he held her hands tighter, “I thought about us—you. And I knew that I didn’t want to hurt you trying to figure it out.”
Lena blinked back tears. “I love you, Jackson.” She swallowed. “And I love you enough to let you go and find your way.”
“Lena—”
“I can’t and I won’t compete with the ghost of your relationship with Zoie Crawford. I deserve better than that.” She eased her hands away. “You need to figure it out on your own.” She leaned close and kissed him, then stood. “Good-bye, Jackson.”
The steaks sizzled and burned.
* * *
“Damn, man, I’m sorry,” Lennox said as they walked into the locker room of the gym. “Lena is a great girl.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said, somberly.
Lennox clapped Jackson on the shoulder. “Now what?”
Jackson scrubbed his damp face with a towel, then tossed it over his shoulder. “There are no guarantees with Z. It was a moment. We haven’t talked about all the crap that went down between us back then.”
“Not talking is what got you into this shit in the first place.”
“Yeah, who you tellin’?” He opened his locker and took out his shower slippers and body wash.
“On you, man. At least whatever you decide to do, you can do it with a clean conscience.”
“I can’t get the look in Lena’s eyes out of my head.” He slammed his locker door shut. He faced his friend.
“Not supposed to, bro. That’s what keeps us human.”
* * *
Zoie sat on the floor of her bedroom with the journals, letters, photos, and articles from the library spread out in front of her. Even though all of the pieces didn’t quite fit, a picture was forming. But until she was certain . . .
She gathered up all the materials, put them in a box she’d taken from the attic, and tucked it on the top shelf of her closet.
Over the past few days, she’d been so immersed in her shaky family tree that she’d neglected to follow up on what she’d been called upon to take care of—her grandmother’s business. The truth was that she had not a clue about how to run a business. Sure, she knew how to plant, knew when fruits and vegetables were ripe, but anything beyond that was up for grabs. What had her grandmother been thinking?
Nana. She was much more complicated than she had let on—the whole thing with the Maitlands, the odd letter about Kimberly, the fact that her family went postal at the mere mention of the Maitland name. And then starting a business and leaving it all to her.
Zoie shook her head in frustration. Her grandmother was a real-life Pandora, and the more that fell out of the box, the more confused Zoie became about the image she had of her grandmother.
In the meantime, she needed to establish a list of priorities. Although she was good at multitasking, that didn’t extend beyond lining up interviews and meeting deadlines, which reminded her that she needed to put in a call to Lou Ellen Maitland and then figure out the next steps for her grandmother’s business.
* * *
Aunt Sage was in the sitting room reading the paper. She glanced at Zoie over the top of her glasses.
“Stash any more ex-boyfriends in my house?”
Zoie fought between laughing and rolling her eyes. She opted for neither and went to sit next to her aunt.
“Auntie, can we please talk, or at least let me talk and just hear me out?”
“Fine. Go
’head.”
“I know this whole thing with Nana’s will is upsetting. It’s not what I expected.” Her aunt huffed but didn’t interrupt. “And I want to be sure that her legacy lives on—for all of us. But I can’t do this by myself, no matter what Nana might have thought. I need your help and Mama’s.”
Sage shifted her shoulders, and Zoie watched her tight demeanor loosen. The need to be needed could melt the hardest of hearts.
“Well,” Sage dragged the word out. “Don’t know how much help I can be. I know the folks she did business with, but that’s about it.”
“That’s definitely a help,” she said to encourage her aunt.
“Mama kept a tight rein on the business. We each had a tiny part to play, but no one person knew everything ’cept Mama.” She lowered her voice and looked around as if someone might be listening. “You’d think Mama was runnin’ some kind of cartel or somethin’.”
Zoie burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. She kept seeing her grandmother as the head of a vegetable business cartel. Sage caught the contagious laughter, and before long they were slapping thighs and leaning on each other as they rocked from side to side.
“Whew!” Sage exclaimed and wiped tears from her eyes.
Zoie hiccupped.
“Chile, chile, I ain’t laughed that hard since Reverend Earl tripped on his way to the altar and split his breeches. Didn’t have on no drawers!” She slapped her thigh. “Lawd Jesus, forgive me.” She fell into another fit of laughter. “Humph, humph, humph.”
Sage looked at her niece, and Zoie wanted to believe with all her heart that what she saw in her aunt’s eyes was love or, at the very least, acceptance and forgiveness.
Sage patted Zoie’s hand. “Like I said, I don’t know much, but I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Thank you, Auntie. That means a lot to me.”
Sage shooed off the thanks. “Look here, this ain’t none of my business.” Since when? “But what you should do is ask Jackson for some help. He knows a thing or two about running a business.”
Zoie leaned back shaking her head. “I . . . couldn’t, Auntie.”
“Why not. Just cause you two stop sleeping together don’t mean you can’t ask him.” Zoie nearly choked. “Jackson is a good man. Shame things didn’t work out. Always did like him.”
Zoie’s head snapped back in disbelief. She was beginning to think that maybe during the storm—like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz—she’d been tossed into some alternate universe. First her mom and now her aunt.
“Are we talking about the same Jackson that you practically ran out of the house every time he came here? The one you always gave the side-eye to?”
Sage folded her arms beneath her heavy breasts and puckered her lips. “That’s what I was s’pose to do. Look out for you. Keep that boy on his toes.” She looked at Zoie. “Sometimes you ain’t got the sense you were born with.”
Zoie’s throat tightened.
“Every time I seen him, he asked about you. But it ain’t none of my business.”
She blinked back tears.
Sage patted Zoie’s hand. “Go on now. You got work to do.” She picked up her newspaper and resumed reading.
* * *
Zoie was so overcome by the conversation with her aunt Sage that she literally ran right into her aunt Hyacinth, who was ambling down the hallway.
“Oh! Auntie, I’m so sorry.” She gripped her aunt’s slim shoulders to keep her from tumbling backward. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”
Hyacinth looked into Zoie’s eyes, but it was immediately clear to Zoie that Hyacinth was not really seeing her, and Hyacinth confirmed her suspicion with the outlandish thing she said next.
“I’m so sorry about the baby.” Her eyes teared up. She patted Zoie’s hand. “You’ll be fine.”
“Aunt Hy, what baby? It’s me, Auntie. It’s Zoie.”
Hyacinth blinked in slow motion, then a smile of recognition spread across her mouth and lit the dull light in her eyes. She cupped Zoie’s cheek in her palm. “Zoie, chile. Spitting image of your mother. Can you fix me some tea? I’m gonna sit out back.”
“Of course, Auntie. Let me help you.” She put her arm around her aunt’s waist and walked with her to the back of the house.
“Too young for a baby anyhow,” she muttered.
Zoie’s heart thumped. “Who, Auntie? Who’s too young?”
“Would have been nice having a baby in the house.”
Zoie’s pulse raced. She opened the screen door. Her mother napped in the rocker.
Hyacinth inched over to the swing bench, and Zoie helped her to sit. She looked at her sleeping sister. “Gave her everything to make up for it.” She made a sound with her teeth, then looked up at Zoie. “You seen Mama?”
Zoie’s stomach tightened. “No, Auntie, I haven’t,” she said gently. “I’m going to fix your tea. Okay?”
She glanced for a moment at her mother, who stirred but didn’t wake. Dozens of thoughts twisted in her head. She opened the screen door and went inside.
It was clear that Aunt Hyacinth was a bit detached from reality. She shouldn’t take what she babbled to heart. That’s what Zoie kept telling herself while she prepared the tea.
Hyacinth proved Zoie’s conclusions to be accurate. When she returned with the cup of tea, Hyacinth wanted to know why anyone would drink tea in all this heat and proceeded to fuss and complain.
Rose, fully awake, looked at her daughter with sad acceptance in her eyes. “I’ll take care of her,” she mouthed to Zoie and shooed her away.
Zoie wanted to question her aunt, but she knew it would be a waste of time. Hyacinth had already moved on to another corner of her mind.
Zoie went back inside with the intention of going to her room when her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket. She pulled the phone out. Jackson. She debated whether or not to answer but gave into her baser instincts.
“Hey, Jackson.”
“Hi. How are you making out?”
“Busy. Had an enlightening day, to say the least.”
“Oh? Want to talk about it?”
She reached her room, went in, and shut the door behind her. No matter what she might think or feel about Jackson, he was rational and levelheaded. He thought things through, when she was always ready to dive in blind.
“There are a few things I could use an objective opinion on,” she said with slow determination. “Not advice, Jax. Just an opinion.”
Jackson chuckled. “I’ve been duly warned. So . . . you wanna get together for dinner? We could meet up in town.”
“What about your car?”
“Got a rental. Car’s totaled.”
“Ouch. Sorry.”
“Seven? Eight?”
“I have some calls to make before the end of the business day, and then I’d need to get ready. So . . . seven?”
“Cool.”
“I’ll meet you. Pick a spot and let me know. Nothing fancy. I have one decent dress and two pairs of jeans.”
Jackson chuckled. “No worries. I can swing by and pick you up.”
“Um, I like to have my own getaway.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll text you with the spot.”
“K.”
“Later.”
Zoie paused for a moment. Her face cinched in consternation. Was this a date?
CHAPTER 14
The private dining room at the Hilton Hotel was set up for thirty special guests and their plus ones, who had begun to arrive.
Kimberly had attended a number of fund-raisers—as a child with her parents, and various events as part of her job—but this was the first of many for her.
“You look as if you are going in front of a firing squad,” Rowan whispered in her ear. “Relax.”
“I’m trying. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
“It’s natural, babe. But it’s all part of the dog and pony show.” He kissed her cheek. “Just remember that everyone is here for you because they want to be, and the
y want to get to know their candidate. Be your fabulous self.”
Gail approached. “Sorry to interrupt lovebirds, but I have to steal Kim for a few minutes. Some people you need to meet.”
Kimberly squeezed Rowan’s hand and walked off with Gail.
“Mr. and Mrs. Halstead, Kimberly Graham,” Gail said.
Kimberly extended her hand. “Thank you both so much for coming.”
“I’ve followed your legal career. You have an impressive record in and out of the courtroom.”
“Thank you. I’m very committed to my work and my clients.”
“Then why politics?” Mrs. Halstead asked. “It seems that would take you away from the very things that got you to where you are.” Her smile was benevolent, but the hard edge in her green eyes was most telling.
“I know it will be a big transition. However, I believe that as a state senator I can effect change on a much larger scale. As an attorney, I’m relegated to one case, one client at a time.”
“If I have my facts correct, your older brother was making some political inroads before his untimely death,” Mr. Halstead said.
Kimberly tensed. “Yes. You have your facts correct.”
“Following in the family footsteps,” Mrs. Halstead commented.
“You could say that. I believe my brother would have made an outstanding politician, and I promised myself that I would one day fulfill what he began.”
“And with your support we can make that happen,” Gail cut in. “So please enjoy the evening, and if you need anything, please let me know.” She took Kimberly’s arm.
“Thank you again for coming,” Kimberly said before she was skillfully ushered away by Gail.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Gail said under her breath.
“I’d rather stand in front of a courtroom full of jurors and a judge,” she half-joked.
“Well, get used to it. When people are giving you their money, they want to feel connected to the candidate. Political ideology is one thing, but if you can reach them on a personal level, come across as human and accessible, they will stick with you . . . and bring friends,” she added with a laugh. “Come on, let’s make the rounds before dinner.”
Kimberly never thought of herself as a master of small talk, unlike her husband, who could strike up and hold a conversation about a piece of paper and make it seem like the most important topic on the planet. The hour of introductions before dinner was more taxing for her than when she finally addressed the gathering before dessert.
