“Not Crossroads. You're too much of a celebrity there and no one will even notice me,” he kidded.
“I doubt that.” The words were out before she realized it, and her face became hot.
He smiled. “If that was a compliment, I'll take it. I have an idea. And I'll drive if you don't mind trading down to a Jeep.”
She was acutely aware of his hand, lightly holding her elbow, as he guided her from the office. “Don't mind at all.”
In the elevator, they chatted, and Anya smiled when he said, “My day is looking up.”
“So is mine,” she said, feeling relaxed for the first time that afternoon.
When the Jeep turned into Speedy's, Anya smiled. It had been a year since she'd last been here.
Since the February afternoon was warming, they sat outside. Anya placed her purse atop the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, then scooted her iron chair closer.
Even though the sun was beating down on them, David removed his sunglasses.
“I thought only us natives knew about this place.” Anya smiled.
“I discovered it a few days after I started working for you.”
“This is one of my favorite places, although I haven't been here in a while. It's too casual for Braxton.”
They scanned the menus and gave their hot-dog orders to the waitress.
“I thought I was taking you someplace you'd never been.” David laughed, squinting as the sun beamed into his eyes. “Tell me, if I ever want to surprise you, is there anywhere that you haven't eaten?”
She laughed with him. “I can't think of any.”
“You're a social butterfly, huh?”
“No, I just love to eat.”
He paused, as his eyes moved from her face, roving down as far as he could see. Then he stared straight at her. “The way you look, I would've thought you counted every calorie.”
“You're kind.” She lowered her eyes a bit. “I do try to stay in shape.”
“I can tell.”
She took a sip of water and narrowed her eyes. “I can tell you work out too,” she said, continuing the flirtation.
He leaned toward her, then lifted and flexed his arm, showing his bicep.
Anya laughed.
“I want to make sure you really notice. I put in too many hours not to show off every once in a while.”
“So what do you do when you're not working out?” she asked.
“Work for you.” When she frowned slightly, he said, “And I love every minute of it. It's great being part of a smaller business where I know I'm needed.”
The waitress brought their hot dogs and fries, but before Anya could say anything, David popped a french fry into his mouth. She bowed her head and said a silent grace.
“Sorry.” He raised his voice a bit, over the blaring motor of a passing bus. “I usually do that …but I forget sometimes.”
Anya answered him with a smile.
He shook his head. “It just doesn't fit you.” She raised her eyebrows, and he continued. “You don't look like a God person.”
She snickered. “How does a God person look?”
He dunked a fry into the ketchup he had poured on the side of his plate, chewed for a moment. “Not like you.”
Anya couldn't hold her laugh. “That's because being a Christian is more inside than out.”
“But what I see on the outside doesn't match. You have a successful business, make quite a bit of money, drive an expensive car, live in a nice home, I'm sure. From what I remember, that's not the Christian lifestyle.”
“Christians are supposed to be poor?”
He nodded. “Everyone in the church I went to was poor and happy about it. I thought that was how you served God. I never understood why God wanted it that way, but that's why I never had much to do with church after I left home.”
She wiped her mouth before she said, “You should visit my church so that you can hear the truth. What are you doing next Sunday?”
“You don't waste any time.” He laughed.
“That's because you don't know how much time you have. The truth will change your life in ways you never thought possible.”
His head bobbed as he smiled at her conviction. “Not this Sunday, but one day soon.”
“That's all I can ask. The church you're talking about—was that in New York?”
He nodded but his smile disappeared.
“Which church?”
David waved his hand in the air. “It was in Harlem, but there's a church on every corner there.”
“Did you grow up in Harlem?”
She watched him stiffen and, now, curiosity made her press on.
“I spent some time there …”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Her tone was casual.
“Do you?”
“I have a younger brother, Donovan.”
“Does he live here?”
“In Woodland Hills, so I don't see him much. But we're still very close. Always have been—especially since our parents died. What about you? I asked if you had any brothers and sisters and you turned the question around to me.”
He pushed his plate away, still filled with a few fries and a half-eaten hot dog. “I'm an only child.”
“Why do you do that?”
He looked at her blankly.
Anya said, “Whenever we're talking about you, you change the subject.”
“I didn't realize I did that.” He pushed back his chair slightly and put on his sunglasses.
She leaned forward. “Well, let's see if we can change that. I'll ask you questions and you answer them.”
David picked up his plastic knife and tapped it lightly on the table. Even through the tinted glasses, Anya could see his eyes darting around the restaurant's patio. “I don't like to talk about myself.” He put down the knife, but his eyes still wouldn't meet hers.
She studied him. “Okay, I'll buy that… for now.”
A few moments passed before he smiled. “We're too serious. Let's have some fun.”
Laughter rose from the next table, and Anya glanced at the couple holding hands. She brought her eyes back to David. “I'm having a good time. Aren't you?”
“Are you kidding? I've been dreaming about taking you out.”
She crinkled her eyes and began twisting the ring on her finger.
His eyes dropped to her hand. “When are you getting married?”
“I thought personal questions were off limits.”
“For you, not for me.” His dimple winked at her.
She hesitated for a moment. “In June.”
“That soon?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
“We've been engaged for a while.”
“Oh.” He paused. “If we were engaged, I'd marry you right away.”
Anya crossed her legs, trying to shift from the sun that baked her back. “We've been busy.”
“Too busy to marry the man you love?”
It was her turn to avert her eyes. She glanced at her watch. “I can't believe the time.”
“You know what they say about time flying when you're with the right person.”
She hid her blush by shuffling through her purse. “I've got to go. My cousin has been home alone all day.”
David signaled for the waitress and, when she brought the check, Anya took a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet.
David shook his head as he handed the waitress his credit card. “I don't know what kind of men you're used to dating, but when I take someone out, I pay.”
When I take someone out! She had to set him straight. “Okay, but next time, lunch is on me.”
He smiled his half-smile. “Next time?”
“Of course.” She tried to sound casual. “We're business partners. You're stuck with me.”
He laid his hand on top of hers and smiled. “That's exactly how I want it.”
Chapter 15
Anya picked up her keys, and glanced at Sasha slouched on the couch. She was dressed in a long gra
y sweatsuit skirt with a matching jacket tied around her neck. Her feet, in white platform Keds, moved to a beat that only Sasha could hear through her headphones. At the same time the television blasted, as football players ran over each other on the large screen.
Anya wished she could just stay home, but missing one of Madear's family gatherings was a major offense. “I'm ready,” Anya yelled over the television.
Sasha clicked off the TV. “The Bears are losing big time anyway.” She jumped up and wrapped the earphones around her neck.
As they got into the car, Sasha sighed. “I'm not looking forward to this.”
“It'll be fine. Madear loves you. She just has her ways.”
“And her ways include wishing I wasn't part of her family. Watch the way she treats me. She'll have something to say about my clothes, my hair, anything to bring me down. I know it's hard for you to believe since you're her favorite.” Sasha paused, and held up her hand. “Don't protest, it's true.”
Anya turned onto the street and headed toward Carson. There was no way to change Sasha's mind. In just the few hours that she had spent with her cousin, Anya knew that Sasha had her ways. She punched a CD into the player and the sounds of her church's choir filled the car.
Perpetual Praise and continual prayer
Take the joy of the Lord with you everywhere
Perpetual Prayer and continual praise,
Acknowledge him in all of your ways.
“You axe sprung, aren't you?”
Anya laughed. “God'll do that to you.”
“Umph!”
They rode silently down the 110 Freeway and when Anya exited at Carson Boulevard, in less than three minutes, they parked in front of their grandmother's home.
The Spanish-style house, built in the 1930s, still had all of its original detail. Beige with a red-rust trim, the one-story home was the largest on the block.
As they approached the porch, Anya took Sasha's hand.
“Donovan's already here,” Anya said, lightheartedly.
Pouting like a teenager, Sasha did not respond.
With the same key that she'd had since she'd lived with her grandparents, Anya opened the door. Before they stepped into the enclosed foyer, a voice boomed from the living room.
“Hey, hey, hey! Is that my big sis?” Donovan jumped from the brown leather recliner they'd bought their grandmother last Christmas. He hugged his sister, almost lifting her from the floor. At six-five, with a linebacker frame that was put to good use at UCLA, he enveloped his five-eleven sister.
“Hey, bro,” she said, running her hand over his head. “You got a Kobe Bryant hairdo going here, huh?”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily and, as he often did, he reminded Anya of their father. Donovan had inherited more than just his father's physical characteristics.
“Hey, how do you know Kobe didn't get this from me?” He laughed again as he tapped his hands on his head. A second later, he turned to his cousin. “Come here, girl.” He grabbed Sasha and she disappeared inside his arms. “What's up?”
“Just you.” She grinned, looking her cousin up and down. “You look good.”
Donovan sucked in his stomach and patted his middle. “I've been trying to keep it together. It's not easy as you get older.” His laugh filled the room again. “But, look at you. The way Madear's been talking, I thought you'd walk in here with two heads. But, you lookin’ good, girl!”
Sasha's smile was wide and, for a few seconds, she forgot that she was standing in her grandmother's house, until her eyes flitted around the room. It had been a few years since she'd been here, but she felt as if little time had passed. Even with lamps lit throughout, the room was as dark as she remembered. The living room was somber—from the dark wood furniture, to the gold brocade drapes, trimmed in brown, that hung heavily at the windows. The walls were covered with tall, weighty bookcases that overflowed with old textbooks and past issues of Ebony and Jet magazines. The only brightness was the colorful picture frames that provided a pictorial history of the Mitchell family.
Nothing had changed, and Sasha knew that probably included her grandmother. “Where's Madear?” Her smile disappeared.
“In the kitchen, doing her thing. My stomach has been growling louder than I talk,” Donovan said.
They all laughed.
“Madear said you were bringing someone for us to meet?” Anya settled onto the couch.
“Cecilé couldn't make it. She had an emergency at the hospital.” When Anya's eyes questioned him, he said, “She's a surgeon.”
Anya raised her eyebrows. “How did you finagle your way into a doctor's life?” she teased.
“I'm her lawyer.”
“Maybe you'll have a Cosby thing going.” Sasha playfully poked Donovan, then sat on the couch next to Anya.
As Sasha and Donovan laughed, Anya sat back. Childhood memories were as much a part of the room as the furniture. She remembered the summers they'd spent together. The three of them would play all day, spending most of their time laughing at Donovan's silly jokes.
“His mother was so stupid, she got hit by a parked car.”
Even now, the memories made her smile. As the oldest, she was always put in charge, but often found herself right in the middle of their capers. Her parents would come into the room, admonishing them to keep the noise down. But Madear was always two steps behind, saying that the sound of laughing children was God's blessing.
“Just leave my grandchildren alone,” Madear would always say.
Those were some of the last recollections Anya held of her parents.
“If Jesus called me home now, I would be ready to go! This is what makes an old woman feel wonderful. All of my grands here with me.”
Madear stood with her hands folded, her green eyes sparkling against her pale skin. Petite in every way, Mabel Mitchell was still a beautiful woman. Often said to be a Lena Home look-alike, she could do little to hide her attractiveness.
Today, her shoulder-length, wavy hair (that had long ago turned silver) was pulled into her favorite style, a twisted bun high on her head. Beneath her apron, she still had on the sky-blue knit dress she'd worn to church. Even at seventy-four, her body was toned from her daily six A.M., thirty-minute walks, and occasional yoga sessions at the Los Angeles Senior Citizen Center.
Madear went to Sasha first and hugged her tightly. “How are you doing, baby?” she asked, concern blanketing her face and voice.
“I'm fine, Madear. How are you?”
“Fine, now that I can see for myself that you're in one piece. Chil, what were you doing in Chicago? I told you a long time ago that Gordon was no good. He was much too old and—”
“Madear, what about me? I didn't get my hug today,” Anya said, interrupting the pending rampage.
“Oh, I didn't forget about my baby.” She hugged Anya. “You know how I feel about you.”
From the corner of her eye, Anya saw Sasha's head drop. She leaned away from her grandmother. “Madear, doesn't Sasha look great?”
“Oh, yes.” Madear took Sasha's hand and led her to the brown floral couch. Sasha squirmed against the rough plastic that covered the couch until she found a spot that gave some relief from the hard corners that stuck her legs. “You do look good, Chil’,” Madear said, through squinted eyes. “Except …” She ran her slender manicured hand over Sasha's head. “What did you do to your hair? You look like a boy.”
Sasha twisted her mouth, but before she said anything, Anya intervened. “I was just teasing Donovan about his hair.” Anya forced a chuckle. “Look how long he's let it grow, Madear.”
“Yeah, Madear,” Donovan said, joining his sister's rescue attempt. “My hair is long and Sasha's short. That's the way it is these days.”
“I know that,” Madear snapped in her grandmotherly tone—not angry, just making her point. “But Don still looks the way he's supposed to. You—” She turned Sasha's face from side to side. “This messes up your pretty face.”
“Madear, even my hair is short,” Anya said, a bit too quickly.
“You have curls, it's not nappy like this,” Madear tisked.
Sasha lowered her eyes. “I'm sorry if you don't like it. I can't seem to do anything to please you,” Sasha said softly.
“What are you talking about, Chil’?”
Before Sasha could respond, Donovan coughed. “You know, Madear, it's been weeks since we've had some of your good cooking. Can't I get a sneak peek?” he playfully begged.
Madear's smile was wide. “Absolutely not! And, it's not my fault that it's been a few weeks. I keep telling you to come over any time. I don't see you enough anyway.” She lifted herself from the couch. “Let me check on things.”
“Do you need any help, Madear?” Anya asked, the way she always did, though she already knew her grandmother's answer.
“No, dear.” She patted Anya's hand. “By the way, where is my future grandson?”
At that moment, the doorbell rang and Anya jumped up. “That's probably him now.” When she opened the door, she hugged Braxton tightly, relieved for the refuge he provided.
While Madear worked in the kitchen, her grandchildren remained in the living room watching the thirteen-inch television placed on top of the larger television console that hadn't worked in years. No matter how many times Anya and Donovan offered to buy Madear a new one, she refused, saying that her little TV worked just fine. And when Donovan came by to have the console moved to a junkyard, Madear complained. “This is the perfect television stand,” she stated, as if she had made a major discovery.
“So how was last night?” Sasha asked.
“What happened?” Donovan leaned back in the recliner. It had been his idea to buy the chair for Madear, and Anya often wondered if it had been his way of making sure he had a comfortable place when he came to visit.
Braxton took Anya's hand, but they remained silent.
“They didn't tell me anything,” Sasha said to Donovan, tucking her feet under her. “But when these two left, he was dressed in a tuxedo and she was wearing a dress that stopped traffic.”
“I couldn't have described my lady any better,” Braxton laughed and squeezed Anya's hand.
Joy Page 9
