by Dara Girard
“No,” they chorused.
He shrugged.
“Kenneth stays,” Michelle said, ending the argument.
Teresa rushed to the window when she heard a car drive up. “They’re here.”
Michelle paused. “They?”
“Yes, she brought Uncle Harmon...and Cousin Olivia.”
The three sisters groaned their sounds of despair followed by the doorbell.
Chapter 25
“What a surprise!” Teresa said, opening the door. She hugged her relations and welcomed them inside. Aunt Yvette took the main couch. She was a tall, thin woman who had a nose as long as her face. The sisters often wondered if it was solely made for the purpose of being condescending. She had small eyes under thick, heavy eyebrows. She did nothing to counteract this, wearing her gray-black hair in a firm bun behind her head.
Her daughter took another seat. Olivia was a paragon of beauty, grace, and intelligence, the absolute pride of her parents and the entire family on their mother’s side. She was a constant thorn to the Clifton sisters.
Uncle Harmon took a seat next to his wife. He was not a particularly handsome man, but he was successful and rich which made up for his features: a round jaw line and big round eyes like one would see in a stuffed toy. His primary job in life was to nod and agree with whatever his wife said, to which, after over thirty some years, he had become especially adept.
Aunt Yvette stared at Jessie. “Good God! What happened to your hair?”
Jessie raised her hand to her head. “Why? Did it go somewhere?”
“Don’t be cheeky.” She fixed her small eyes on Kenneth. “You must be the intended. I must say that your engagement came as a surprise.”
“It came as a surprise to all of us,” Teresa said.
“I don’t believe I was speaking to you.”
Teresa bit her lip.
“So let me see this ring I’ve heard so much about.”
Jessie held out her hand.
Aunt Yvette straightened, offended. “You can’t very well expect me to walk across the room. Come here. ”
Jessie walked over to her—exaggerating her limp—and held out her hand for inspection.
“Unusual, but exquisite nonetheless. You may sit down.”
Jessie restrained from curtsying.
Aunt Yvette glanced at the tea tray. “Where is the brown sugar? You are always supposed to have a selection of white and brown sugar at hand.”
“It’s right here, Aunty,” Teresa said, moving it from behind the cream.
“Much better. It must always be in view. To the greatest extent you should save your guests the effort of requesting anything.” She took her tea and sipped it.
“How are you keeping?” Teresa asked.
“Very well, thank you.”
Michelle spoke up. “What brings you into town?”
“Olivia is moving here.”
“She is?”
“Permanently?” Jessie asked, failing not to sound disappointed.
“Well, yes for the time being.” Aunt Yvette suddenly smiled. “And now that you are marrying this young man I am sure that you will be able to introduce her to all the right people.”
Kenneth returned her smile. “I’m not sure that I know all the right people.”
Aunt Yvette wagged a finger at him. “Oh, don’t be modest young man. I know all about you. You’re very successful and charitable and a Preston no less.” She turned to her husband. “Isn’t that advantageous, Harmon?”
Uncle Harmon nodded as if on cue. “Yes, dear.”
“How were you two introduced?”
Jessie groaned at her aunt’s short memory. “This is Kenneth Preston, Auntie. Remember? He used to live across the street.”
“Oh, yes that haughty young man you couldn’t stand.” Her eyes widened in recognition. “Well, this is a surprise, but as they say ‘hate is the cousin to love.’ When will the wedding be? I must schedule my time so that I can help you organize it. We must not miss off any important people.”
Jessie sat forward tired of the charade. “We might as well be honest. We—”
“We haven’t worked out the particulars yet,” Kenneth interrupted.
Aunt Yvette frowned. Not enough to cause wrinkles, but enough to look disapproving. “I hope you don’t plan on conducting one of those dreadfully long engagements.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Isn’t it wonderful that Olivia will be around? She’ll make an excellent bridesmaid.”
They all nodded.
“So graceful, so beautiful...The dresses must be maroon or lavender since those are her best colors.” Aunt Yvette stopped and looked at Jessie. “You still have that disgusting habit of biting your nails. With hands as masculine as yours, it does you no service.”
Jessie leaped to her feet. She knew she had to leave before she said something rude. “There’s something in the kitchen that I need to tend to. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Swan, dear, swan!” Aunt Yvette commanded as Jessie made her way to the kitchen. “No need to scurry about like a chicken.”
Jessie took a deep breath and pushed open the kitchen door.
Kenneth followed.
“What are you doing?” he asked as Jessie frantically opened various drawers.
“Looking for a knife to slit my throat.”
He pulled out a butcher knife, grinning. “Will this do?”
“Perfectly. Now all you have to do is—”
He put the knife back and laughed. “Don’t worry. Every family has one.”
Jessie looked at him surprised. “You have an aunt like her?”
Kenneth shook his head. “No. I’m trying to make you feel better.”
She opened a drawer then shoved it closed. “It’s not working.”
“Your cousin’s still the same.”
Jessie affected a high proper tone. “Oh, yes, isn’t she absolutely darling? And wouldn’t she be the loveliest bridesmaid in the entire universe? So lovely that you wouldn’t even need the bride. She could just walk down the aisle by herself—the picture of grace and beauty—and the ceremony would be over.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I am jealous. If she wasn’t as sweet as candy floss, I’d hate her.”
“As much as you hated me?”
Jessie put her hands on her hips. “You two might work well together when we break up. The perfect couple.”
“That’s too narcissistic even for me.” Kenneth touched her cheek, his voice soft. “Besides, I have no desire to break up with you.”
She was too preoccupied with the present situation to give weight to his words. “You may have to when I check myself into an insane asylum.”
“Why?”
She tugged on her ear. “Were you not listening? My cousin Olivia is moving here! Staying. Putting down roots. Don’t you understand the implications? Extra visits from Aunt Yvette, constant comparisons. I’ll have no peace until Aunt Yvette has her precious daughter married off.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of Olivia. I’m used to introducing young women to the “right people.” That way you’ll have done your duty and your aunt will leave you alone.”
“Your optimism is amusing.” She chewed her bottom lip. “But I’ll take you up on your offer anyway.”
Teresa poked her head in. “What are you two doing? We need back up fast.”
Kenneth grabbed Jessie’s hand. “Leave everything to me.” He exited the kitchen and smiled at the guests. “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, returning to his seat. “Jasmine and I were discussing how I could show Olivia around.”
“That would be wonderful,” Aunt Yvette said. “Isn’t that wonderful Harmon?”
He nodded. “Yes, dear.”
“There are a great many restaurants around the bay,” Jessie said.
Olivia wrinkled her pretty nose. “Oh, I don’t really like seafood.”
“Excellent, neither does he. You
two have so much in common. The perfect—” Kenneth nudged her. “situation.”
“Yes, of course.” Aunt Yvette went on to pontificate how perfect the situation was. Everyone pretended to listen.
“Does he know what he’s getting into?” Michelle asked under her breath.
“He’ll find out,” Jessie said.
Aunt Yvette stood. “We must be off. Here’s where you can reach us.” She handed Michelle a card.
They exchanged goodbyes then the threes sisters and Kenneth waved as their guests drove away. Once they were out of view, Michelle and Teresa left, leaving Kenneth and Jessie alone, standing in the doorway. Evening had come upon them, the scent of flowers drifted up the porch steps and into the house. Jessie watched an Irish setter race down the street, chasing nothing but shadows. Kenneth stood quiet. She could read nothing from his face.
“I’m sorry about Eddie,” she said.
He sighed.
“What are you thinking?” She paused. “What are you feeling?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“She can’t go back to him, her home is with you. You must see that.”
He didn’t reply, but she knew he wasn’t shutting her out, wasn’t shutting the world out. He was feeling his pain—he was breathing.
* * *
Rodney threw the bouquet of red roses on the ground and stomped on them. He headed to his car. Brooke couldn’t do this to him. He wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t being fair. First she didn’t show up at the ball and now she wasn’t even home after he’d told her he was coming. He’d done all she’d asked, but she still wanted him to wait a little longer. He could just forget everything, but he still wanted her. And he planned to have her.
He didn’t care when. He wanted her and she knew it. Somehow, any time she passed him in the hallway, she found a way to brush her sweet behind against the bulge in his pants and he was lost. She’d gotten into his blood. He thought about her every day, every night. He dreamed about the moment when he would have her legs wrapped around him. But she kept making him wait, teasing him with promises she never delivered, and pulling him along like a damn dog. She’d forgotten who really held the leash; that he could make her plan work or fail. He would have to remind her.
Rodney got in his car and grabbed his prescription sunglasses. The sleek design always made him feel cool. Brooke was getting nervous, that was the problem. She was worrying herself too much about the upcoming vote. She didn’t think she would be able to bribe the right members to sell. Hell, he didn’t understand why she wanted to. He knew she hated Preston, but Preston was making money—lots of it. For a woman who worshipped cash, he should have been her priest.
He started the ignition and stepped on the accelerator, making the engine roar. Brooke thought that she could use him, push him aside whenever she wanted. He’d show her otherwise. He would demonstrate his power: his power to put the company at the mercy of its creditors and destroy her plan. Maybe then she’d come to her senses and he’d finally get what he wanted.
Rodney adjusted his sunglasses and smiled.
* * *
Night hung like a concave blanket of stars. Kenneth gazed up at the sky, willing his mind to forget his past. He tried to reach for the peace that had eluded him all his life. He loved his cottage, its sense of isolation, but tonight the demons slipped past his shield of iron and chipped away at all he had known. Eddie had succumbed. He’d become...Kenneth clenched his jaw. A small part of him still resisted the knowledge.
He couldn’t let himself believe Syrah had suffered what he had: the violent blows of someone you both loved and despised, feeling that everything about you is wrong, that something bad had to be beaten out of you and—worse yet—that you deserved it. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the times he’d left her after visiting her father—all the times he’d abandoned her. He hadn’t kept her safe. He heard the gentle squeak of the door and opened his eyes.
“I thought you’d be in here,” Jessie said, wrapped in his trench coat. “No, you don’t have to get up.”
Kenneth sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you need something?”
“No, I have a gift for you.”
“What?”
She dropped the coat. “A little distraction.”
His eyes clung to the black lace teddy.
She stood in front of him. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
He didn’t move.
“The material is soft.” She took his hand and placed it on her waist. “See?”
His fingers shifted, but he still said nothing.
She gently pushed him back. “That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” She leaned towards him, her breast pressed against his chest.
“I have to tell you what happened the night of your prom,” he said suddenly.
She halted, shocked. “What! Now?”
“Yes.”
“Kenneth, that’s the past. You can tell me later.”
“No, I have to tell you now.” He stilled the hand unbuttoning his shirt. “You need to know the man you’re sleeping with.”
“I do know him.”
“No you don’t.” His eyes melted into hers. “Nobody does. I want you to know. I need you to.”
She flopped onto her back and rested an arm over her eyes. “My seduction scene gone to waste.”
“I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
Always ready to do the right thing. Damn. “All right. I’m listening.” When he didn’t speak, she looked at him. “I’m waiting.”
He cleared his throat. “Could you put your coat on first?”
For a minute he was afraid she would ignore him, but she eventually grabbed the coat and lay on the bed. “Okay.”
He rested against the headboard. “Um…” He looked at her helpless. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“How about the night you didn’t show up?”
“Right.” He folded his arms then briefly shut his eyes. She watched him saddened that the memory of that night caused him such pain. He opened his eyes then said, “You don’t know shame until you look into the eyes of the man you might become.” He paused. “The night of the prom, I saw myself in my father’s eyes.”
She chilled thinking of the distinguished Charles Preston, thinking of all the lies his house must hold.
“You’ve never seen my father,” Kenneth continued.
“Mr. Preston isn’t your father?”
“No. His name was Sir. Monsieur.”
“Monsieur?”
He nodded. “Sometimes his full name was Ouimonsieur or Nonmonsieur. When he was in a good mood we called him Pierre. For nine years I never knew what his face looked like, I just knew his hands: massive, strong hands with knuckles the size of quarters. My body filled with terror whenever they held a wine glass, curled into a fist or wrapped around a beer can. He didn’t drink beer often. His poison of choice was champagne, which conveniently fooled Mom into thinking he didn’t have a problem. Drunks drank heavy liquor, not fine wine, and he drank down the best.
“He had a debonair air with a face so deceptive he could put you at ease even as he crushed your throat. Sure he hit us, but Mom left him because of the women. He never tried to be discreet. We would sometimes find his women passed out in our bed or find crotchless panties between the couch cushions. I don’t know what made Mom leave him, but she eventually took Eddie and me to her mother’s house.” He sighed deeply.
“She hated us on sight. She couldn’t stand the fact that we were from him—the man who had ruined her daughter’s life. I can’t say I helped the situation. I was an angry kid and got into a lot of fights at school. Once, when she had to take me home early from school, my mother told me—” He paused then started again. “My mother told me that she couldn’t stand the sight of me because I had his anger. I was like him. She said that she was ashamed to be my mother.”
“That’s terrible.”
He shrugged. “She was upset and grand
ma had poisoned her against me by then. It didn’t come as a surprise. Eddie had always been her favorite. The one she showered with hugs and extra treats. I didn’t mind, he was the “good one.” But those words changed my life. One day, locked in my room with her words echoing in my mind, I decided then what I had to do. Because she didn’t want me, and my dad had never wanted me, I would become the perfect son. The son that all mothers craved; the son that all fathers would be proud of.
“The teachers at school were shocked at the transformation and in two weeks I went from being the most feared kid in school to the most liked. I was just getting used to my new status when Mr. Preston came into our lives. He and his young daughter. Mother told us never to talk about Monsieur. She told Mr. Preston she was a widow. She had never married Sir so there was nothing to stop them from getting married. Mr. Preston adopted us and I buried little Kenny X and became Kenneth Preston. After a month, we moved here as a new family, complete with a fabricated background.” He cupped her chin. “Then I met you, and you ruined everything.”
“Why?” she asked quietly.
He let his hand fall. “Because you knew I was a fraud. Sometimes I felt that you somehow knew I would come home from school and beat my pillow until my knuckles swelled because I was sick of being good, sick of being nice, sick of being perfect. I thought for certain you would tell someone, expose me. I offered to tutor you, just to show you how harmless I was. As I came to know you, I envied your freedom of emotion—from anger to joy to concern. I just wanted to be close to that kind of courage.
“You were the closest thing I had to a friend. You listened to me, made me laugh, which is not as easy as you think. I asked you to the prom because I wanted to. There was no other reason than that. Then one day Pierre showed up on my doorstep.” He laughed without humor. “And he looked just like me. From the shape of his face to the shape of his hands.” Kenneth stared down at his own hands in memory.
Jessie grasped one and held it. “It’s not the same.”
He didn’t hear her. “As a child I had seen a monster, but standing before me was a tall, handsome, brown- skinned man, dressed in expensive clothes. He didn’t look like an alcoholic; he didn’t sway like a drunk. That’s when I knew that he could be me, that we were both wearing masks and that I still could end up like him.”
