Chaz stared up at his father. “Do I have to, Dad?”
“No, you don’t,” Quintin answered, deadpan, “that is, if you don’t want to eat.”
Chaz tugged Micah’s hand. “Help me bring in the food.”
Victoria offered her husband a grateful smile. “What’s for breakfast, Lydia?”
Opening the doors to a side-by-side refrigerator/freezer, Lydia peered at the foodstuff crowding the shelves. “It looks as if we can have French toast, eggs Benedict, waffles, pancakes, home fries, ham, bacon, sausage, and eggs cooked to order.”
Making her way to the half bath to wash her hands, Victoria smiled over her shoulder. “That sounds good to me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lydia raised her arm, peered at the watch strapped to her wrist, then closed her eyes. She planned to leave in half an hour.
After she’d heard, “Are you on a diet?” “Are you losing weight?” “Do you plan to audition for America’s Next Top Model? once too often, she’d overindulged.
She and Victoria had assumed the responsibility for preparing breakfast, while the other women took care of the dishes for the afternoon cookout. The male family members were assigned to erect the tent, man the grills, replenish beverages, and the post-celebratory cleanup detail.
Tamara was shocked once she was informed that the family gathering was to celebrate her legally becoming a Lord. Lydia had given her niece one of the handmade quilts she’d purchased at the fair and a check earmarked for clothes for the upcoming school year. She’d purchased three quilts: one for Tamara’s new canopy bed, a sunny yellow and mint-green crib-size quilt for Sharon’s unborn child, and another for herself.
Lydia met with her oldest sister, Andrea, who brought her up-to-date on the plans for Sharon’s surprise baby shower. She had also reconnected with Ethan Bennington, the executive director of the community center who had recruited her as Camp Six Nations’ chef.
Ethan, Quintin’s best friend, had married Victoria’s best friend and business partner, Joanna. Ethan and Joanna also had three children. Ryan, their eldest son, had completed his first year at Morehouse as an economics major, while the histrionics exhibited by their active red-haired six-year-old twin girls foretold a future in the theater.
* * *
“Wake up, Lydia. You have company.”
“Who is it, Glo?” she asked, not opening her eyes.
“Why don’t you open your eyes and find out?” drawled a familiar masculine voice.
Lydia opened her eyes. Justin Banks stood over her, grinning. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the recliner. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was void of emotion.
Justin leaned down, cupped her elbow, pulling her gently to her feet. “I ran into Lucien the other day and he told me you’d be here this weekend.”
The two men leased office space in the same high-rise office building in downtown Baltimore. Until now, never had she wanted to wring her brother’s neck for telling her business. However, she couldn’t blame Lucien, not when she hadn’t told her family that she and Justin were no longer a couple.
“I’m leaving now.”
Justin moved closer. “Please hear me out, Lydia.”
Lydia stared up at the tall, slender man whose cold urbane manner concealed an extraordinary intelligence. Justin and three other computer geeks had changed the face of gaming entertainment, blending music videos with video games. The result was mesmerizing and innovative.
“Wait for me near the garage. I want to tell my parents I’m leaving.”
She found her mother and father relaxing on the porch in matching chaises. She kissed her mother, then her father. “I’ll be back in four weeks.”
* * *
Retracing her steps, Lydia spied Justin leaning against his car’s trunk. Everything about him screamed elegance and sophistication. And in spite of his business success, Justin had not curried favor with his upper-middle-class family after dropping out of medical school during his third year. His fixation with computer games had become an all-consuming passion.
She affected a polite smile that did not reach her eyes. “What do you want to talk about?”
Justin’s expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. Even though Lydia looked the same he knew she was not the same woman with whom he’d fallen in love, seeing a hardness that had not been apparent before their breakup.
“Us.”
Lydia blinked once. “There is no us, Justin.”
“Because that’s the way you wanted it.”
Struggling to contain her temper, she counted slowly to three. “I’m not going to stand here and get into the blame game with you.”
There was something in Lydia’s gaze and tone that told Justin to reconsider his approach with her. She was the only woman with whom he’d been involved that he hadn’t been able to intimidate, and he knew that was the reason why he’d been drawn to her. All of the other women in his past were either subservient or too willing not to do or say anything that would displease him.
He schooled his expression to conceal the rage roiling inside him like slow-moving lava. “I’m sorry, Lydia, but I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Why did you come?” Her voice was layered with neutral tones.
“To apologize, and to tell you that I love you.”
Justin bit down on his lower lip to keep from grinning from ear to ear as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. He knew he’d never mentioned the L word once during their two-year relationship. He did love her, her femininity, beauty, intelligence, and ambition—an all-consuming ambition that surpassed his.
She’d complained about their sexual incompatibility, wanting more when he was unable to offer her more. He knew he was unlike most men in their early thirties because he viewed sexual intercourse as a conduit not for gratification but procreation.
Lydia stared at Justin, tongue-tied. Her gaze moved slowly from his precise close-cropped hair, delicate features in a tanned narrow tawny-brown face, to his favored Ralph Lauren–tailored attire.
Although she wasn’t superstitious and had never had a clairvoyant before Mariska read her palm, she couldn’t shake the woman’s prediction: I see two men in your life—one who will come to love you very much and one who will pretend to love you.
Which one was Justin? Was he sincere or a fraud?
She blinked once. “Why now?” she asked, recovering her voice. “We dated for more than two years, and now you tell me that you love me.”
“I’ve always loved you, Lydia.”
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes for several seconds. “It’s not going to work, Justin.”
He moved closer and took her hands. “Why? Because you say it won’t?”
Lydia met his direct stare. “I’ve changed.”
“Are you saying you don’t have feelings for me?”
“No, I’m not.”
Tightening his grip on her fingers, he leaned closer and kissed her cheek. He’d negotiated enough deals to know when to retreat. “Let’s talk about this at another time. Better yet, I’ll write you.” He angled his head, smiling. “Campers shouldn’t be the only folks to get mail.”
She nodded. “Okay.” Justin did not want to talk about their relationship and she didn’t either.
Justin brushed his mouth over hers. There was just the slightest pressure before he pulled away. “Be safe, darling.”
A wave of apprehension swept through Lydia, gnawing away at her confidence. Justin had repeated the same words Kennedy had said before she left the camp.
“I have to go.” Pulling her hands from his loose grip, she walked over to her SUV, got in, and drove away without a backward glance.
What had she gotten herself into? A man whom she’d relegated to her past had openly confessed to loving her, while another whom she loved awaited her return.
She wanted to weep, as a fist of fear and disappointment squeezed her heart. If the fortune-teller’s prediction boded the
truth, then was she destined to spend the rest of her life with Justin—a man who failed to ignite the grand passion she’d experienced with Kennedy?
* * *
Lydia left the parking area and walked to her cabin. The smell of burning wood lingered in the air from the Saturday night campfire. A large oil drum was filled with kindling, set afire to the delight of the campers who roasted marshmallows while listening intently to Reverend Alfonso retell Native American folktales passed down through countless generations.
She chanced a glance at Kennedy’s cabin. No light shone from the windows. Either he was at the campfire or he’d gone to bed.
She opened the screen door, and closed it quickly. After the bird had taken up residence in her cabin, she made certain not to leave the door ajar. If the creature had been a raccoon or a bat she would’ve relinquished her private lodgings without a second thought.
* * *
A feeling of weighted fatigue settled over Lydia as she lay on the recliner. She’d showered, brushed her teeth, slipped on a nightgown, but instead of crawling into bed she’d decided to take in the solitude of the warm summer night.
The cooling breeze rustling the trees and wind chime provided the natural accompaniment to the soft strains of a contemporary jazz number coming from the stereo’s speakers. It had been a while since she enjoyed sitting out on her porch. Most nights she’d been too exhausted to do anything more than shower and fall, facedown, into bed. She must have fallen asleep, because the chiming of her cell phone jolted her into wakefulness. Patting the cushion, she located it and flipped the top.
“Hello.”
“Are you back?”
Her pulse quickened. “Yes, Kennedy, I’m back.”
“Good.”
Sitting up, she peered over her shoulder. His cabin was still dark. “Where are you?”
A deep sensual chuckle came through the earpiece. “I’m home.”
“Home, where?”
“Next door.”
A teasing smile softened her mouth. “What are you wearing, handsome?” She’d affected the sultry timbre of a 1-900-4A GOOD-TIME telephone operator.
Kennedy gasped audibly. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, tiger. What’s the matter? No woman has ever asked you that?”
“No!”
“Did I shock you?”
“A little. But I like it.”
Lydia giggled, the sound as soft and tinkling as her wind chime. “Good. That’s what I like—a secure man.”
There came a pointed pause before Kennedy spoke again. “Do you really like me, Lydia?”
It was her turn to pause. “Of course I like you. Why else would I sleep with you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps you were curious?”
A slight frown marred her smooth forehead. She didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. “I’ve never been that curious, Kennedy. Not even the first time.”
“Do you have anything planned for tomorrow night?” Kennedy asked, smoothly changing the topic.
“Why?”
“Because I’d like you to go out with me.”
Lydia heard the change in his voice. It was soft, coaxing. “Where?”
“To a jazz club.”
Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re deserting your country music?”
“Never, darling.” Lydia told him about the radio station she’d listened to during her drive. “You’d better be careful, sugah, or you’re going to become a real country girl.”
“Who’s to say I’m not a country girl now? After all, I did grow up twenty miles outside Baltimore.”
“That’s a suburb, not the country.”
Lydia laughed softly. “This place is in the country.”
“Not,” Kennedy drawled. “It’s more like the wilderness.”
“Is the jazz club in the wilderness?”
“Not quite.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Kennedy chuckled. “Does it have to be a special occasion for you to go out with me?”
“No.”
“Good. Now, to answer your question as to what I’m wearing. Why don’t you come over and find out?”
A wave of heat suffused her face in embarrassment. Lydia didn’t know what had elicited her bold behavior. “I hadn’t planned on a sleepover tonight.”
She did not want to sleep with Kennedy, because she needed to be alone to sort out her feelings for him, had to ascertain whether what she felt for him was based on sex, or if it went beyond whatever they shared in bed.
“When do you want to have another sleepover?” Kennedy asked.
Her mouth softened in a smile. “Tomorrow night.”
“Pack light,” he said after a pregnant pause.
She nodded although he couldn’t see her. There was no doubt they would spend Sunday night at his lakeside home. “Good night, Kennedy.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Pressing a button, Lydia ended the call and closed her eyes. Inhaling, she held her breath, then let it out slowly, repeating the action as her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. She lay on the recliner, momentarily lost in her own reveries. She thought about the space she’d hoped to lease in the underground mall, about Justin’s declaration of love, and she mentally relived the passion she’d discovered in Kennedy’s embrace.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kennedy felt the undercurrent of excitement sweeping over Camp Six Nations as staff, campers, and their family members filed into the eight-sided barn.
The campers’ growth and development had exceeded the goals set for each age group. Roger Evans had provided direct oversight for the first session, but Kennedy would closely monitor the next four weeks.
The next four weeks were certain to become the most decisive. He would provide hands-on supervision of the campers and he knew he had to resolve his relationship with Lydia before driving down to Alabama to undergo tests to determine whether he was a compatible match to donate a kidney to Marvin.
Seconds after he’d ended his call to Lydia the night before, his cell phone rang. It had taken Marvin Kennedy three weeks to return his call. He spoke to his biological father as if he were a polite stranger, then told Marvin he would come to Alabama to confer with the older man’s renal specialist about his medical condition.
The call, which hadn’t lasted more than two minutes, left Kennedy restless, experiencing emotions he did not want to acknowledge—pity and compassion for a man so undeserving of the sentiment.
He checked his watch as the last of the counselors escorted their charges into the barn with a thirty-foot vaulted ceiling and capacity for three hundred. Everyone, except the chefs, wore a navy blue T-shirt with Camp Six Nations imprinted in white across the chest. Roger entered the barn, closed the door, sat down on a folding chair, and nodded.
Kennedy’s gaze swept over the assembly as he raised the handheld microphone, then affected the smile that had been captured on countless occasions by sports photographers after a Ravens victory.
“I’m Ken Fletcher, the camp’s sports director.” A smattering of applause from adults followed his introduction. “I’d like to welcome all family members to Camp Six Nations’ first Family Reunion Sunday,” he continued smoothly as if there had been no interruption, his mellifluous voice carrying easily in the enormous space.
“I know many of you are surprised to see the changes in your children in just four short weeks. Some have grown several inches, gained weight, lost weight, and I’m proud to say that every camper has passed the water safety course and is now a certified swimmer.” All of the campers stood up, applauding loudly.
Waiting until everyone quieted and retook their seats, he continued, “The goal of Camp Six Nations is to foster excellence, fairness, cooperation, responsibility, compassion, and citizenship. What good is a strong body without a strong mind? We’ve spent the past four weeks fostering teamwork, and the next four will be competition.
; “Your sons and daughters have learned to respect and support others in their cabin, while relating to them as members of their camp family. Midweek the senior and junior boys will take part in a modified three-night survival training exercise based on the official U.S. Army Survival Manual. The following week it will be the senior and junior girls.
“I’m going to turn the mike over to our direct care staff, who will give you a brief overview of their day-to-day interactions with your children.” His gaze swept over the five people sitting behind him on the stage. “Reverend Alfonso.”
Reverend Al, as the kids called him, took the microphone from Kennedy. The shaman, a tall, spare man in his midfifties, wore his salt-and-pepper hair in a single braid. A necklace made of colorful beads and matching earrings in his pierced lobes enhanced his distinctive Native American features.
“Welcome to Camp Six Nations. I will make this quick, because there is a lot to see and do this afternoon. Our camp is called Six Nations in honor of those who inhabited this land centuries before the Europeans settled here. The name Iroquois, meaning ‘real adders,’ is of Algonquian origin. The Iroquois, who refer to themselves as ‘we who are of the extended lodge,’ are not a tribal group, but an alliance of tribes that dominated the vast area stretching from the Atlantic Coast to Lake Erie, and from Ontario down into North Carolina.
“The original Five Nations Confederacy was made up of the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, and Seneca tribes. In 1715 the Tuscarora joined the league, and from that time, the Iroquois have been known as the Six Nations. Each cabin represents a tribe—male and female, an alliance of children from many tribes who have come together as one. Thus, our motto: One Camp, One Family.
“Before we begin our day, everyone gathers in the chapel for morning meditation, or they use the time to pray in their own way. For those who choose not to pray or reflect, they are exempt.” He smiled and a network of lines fanned out around his dark eyes. “I’m happy to say no one has asked to be excused. I’ll let your children tell you about our Saturday night campfire gatherings. Thank you very much for your attention.”
All My Tomorrows Page 13
