After the late lunch, the women staggered onto the front porch for light gossip, the kids pulled out board games, and the men went through the back door to the yard.
“Baby, I need to go to the store for Momma to pick up something for dessert. Would you like to ride with me or hang out here?” Evander asked Betty.
“I don’t know,” Betty said with a shrug of indifference and a smile. “I guess I could stay here and meet everybody.”
“Are you sure?”
Walking toward the bedroom, Mrs. Jones said with a smile in passing, “Boy, you can leave. Won’t nobody eat her!”
As family members went either to the backyard or the front porch, Betty was unsure as to which way she should go until she heard Mrs. Jones call out, “Betty? Come here a second.” Betty walked into the back room toward Mrs. Jones, who sat in the dent of her four-poster double-mattress bed. “Close the door, sugar, and have a seat.” Okay, what’s this all about? Why is she sending him off and calling me back here?
“Betty, I just wanted to say I am so happy you came today.”
“Oh. Well, the pleasure is all mine. I’ve wanted to meet you and the rest of the family for some time now.”
“Good,” she said with a smile. “Evander’s a good boy. You know that? And the reason I called you back here is because I know he’s serious about you. He may not have let you know that yet, and the reason I got rid of him is because he would get upset with me for dipping into his business, but I know he has feelings for you.”
Betty was unsure as to what to say. She wanted to reveal her heart to someone, but now was not the time, nor was this the place.
“If he has called me once in the past week, he has called me ten times to talk about you,” Mrs. Jones continued. “He’s proud of everything you’ve done. Actually, he would call me up every day you worked on that case just to tell me what was happening with it. I know more about Mrs. Lopez than I know about Kato Kaelin.”
With a laugh Betty replied, “Really?”
“Like I said, he’d get upset if he knew I told you this, but he cares for you. He cares for you a lot. Momma can tell.”
Betty smiled but could not come up with a reply.
“I guess the reason I am telling you this is because he was in a bad relationship. A very bad relationship,” Mrs. Jones said, and looked away. “You know about his little boy, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s mentioned him. I spoke to Junior on the phone a couple of times also.”
“He’s a cute kid. Looks just like his daddy. I always knew the boy’s mother wasn’t worth a cold glass of spit, but how do you tell that to someone in love? This heifer used him about ten years ago, and I don’t think he ever recovered.” And then she looked at Betty and said, “Until now. It was the first time I saw him cry as a grown man. I mean,” she continued with her mouth curled and her hand rubbing the sheet of her bed, “break right down and cry in this room. The heifer took all the money out of the savings, took the baby, took everything and left him with nothing. He was in construction at that time. Did drywalling. But he couldn’t work for three weeks. They were engaged and she slept with his neighbor. He respected this old hooker so much he would get mad if I said anything about her. But I knew something was up with her. She could sweet-talk him. She couldn’t sweet-talk Momma,” she added with a tongue cluck. “But you see, I raised a good boy. A decent boy. He walked in on them one Sunday morning with her on her knees and him watching ESPN. I did try to tell him a couple of times she wasn’t any good, but you know how y’all are when you get something stuck in your mind. So I went along with it. But now I wish I had stepped in to do more.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. He’s never really talked about her to me, but I know he misses his son.”
“Yeah, it was rough all the way round,” she said, and looked out the window at the men who played dominoes and laughed out loud in her backyard. “It was rough on both of us. September the eleventh was the day he caught them. I’ll never forget that day because every year on that date he would be messed up something awful. I would either have to drive to Gainesville to be with him or have him drive home for a couple of days.”
And then the air stilled in the room as Mrs. Jones looked into her palms as if she spoke only to them and said, “He once even talked about killing himself. Went through counseling for about a year or so. When I was your age, Betty,” she continued as her voice creaked like an unoiled door “I hurt when I broke up with a guy. But I never imagined men hurt when they had breakups. Not real men like Evander. I just thought they were like ‘Oh well, off to the next one.’ But going through that with him changed me. I could sorta see for the first time why some men treat women like they do. Sometimes they don’t know how to deal with the pain.”
Outside there was laughter as a child’s knock on the door was ignored. “I guess that’s true. I never really thought about it like that,” Betty whispered. “But I must say, Mrs. Jones, Evander has been the best thing that ever happened to me, and I could never imagine hurting him.” As she spoke, Mrs. Jones sat up and gave her her undivided attention. “I mean he’s attentive and thoughtful and has gone out of his way to be supportive.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. That’s what I wanted to know. He’s a good boy deep down inside. He had a couple of other girlfriends since Yolanda, but since he wasn’t over her, they didn’t work out. I could tell he wasn’t letting himself get too wrapped up. But I can also tell he feels different about you. You’re the first woman he’s brought home since Yolanda. Remember when he sent you the flowers at the firm?” she said as her smile returned. “He called me up and told me he was nervous about approaching you. Said he didn’t think you would be interested in a common everyday person like him. But I told him to call you up. To give you a chance. And the night he called you, he phoned me afterwards and told me how relieved he was and how nice you were.”
Betty softly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying, Mrs. Jones you just don’t know how happy I am to be with Evander. How I am already trying to decide if I should hyphenate my name. How I love this man so much it is scaring me. But this was not the time, nor was it the place.
Six-month-old BreNushia’s mother, Wa’Kanesha, arrived to pick her up while her friend sat outside in his pink and white Cutlass, which sounded like a dance floor on wheels.
“Nesha, I been meaning to ask you sumthin’,” Mrs. Jones said. “Why you name that pretty red baby that crazy-ass name?”
Wa’Kanesha, who had obviously answered the question many times before, said, “Well, I wanted to name her after my best friend Brenda, but there’s a lotta Brendas running around, so I named her BreNushia. I was going to name her BreNeissy, but I know a lotta Neissys too, and besides, I didn’t want Aneissa Clark to think she had anything to do with my baby name. ’Cause she use to go with my baby’s daddy in high school and stuff.”
“Well, you damn sho won’t have that problem with a name like BreNushia,” Mrs. Jones said, and folded her thick arms tightly. “Giving that child a name she won’t even be able to spell before she in high school. I bet you can’t even spell it—can you!”
“Ah, excuse me,” Wa’Kanesha said, and with the baby on her shoulder and her hand on her flexed hip she began, “My baby’s name is spelled B-r-e capital N—”
“Shut up and get out there to that crazy boy making all that noise with that loud music. Make me sick!” Finishing the sentence, Mrs. Jones looked at Betty as her brow unfurled and her smile reappeared.
Betty had walked outside to play with Anna and Jake when Evander drove up, and for a split second she felt like a housewife who awaited her husband’s return. After he hugged the kids again, Evander walked over to Betty and asked if she would like to take a walk to digest the meal. She nodded her head yes and he gave the package from the store to Anna to take inside while Jake tried to wrestle his uncle’s leg.
As Evander and Betty left, they could still hear Bobby Jo’s voice clear ab
ove all the others. “And then he told me dem his sister’s drawers in the backseat! He must think I’m a fool! Cynthia’s ass way bigger than mine!”
Evander walked Betty through his old neighborhood with pride. As they walked, he held her hand and occasionally sang songs he didn’t know the words to and told her jokes he had heard that he felt would top Jacqui’s. When they returned hours later to the Jones house, it seemed everyone had departed except the old men guzzling malt liquor, smoking reefers, and still playing dominoes in the backyard. Inside the house, Mrs. Jones was on the phone talking to a friend and watching Betty and Evander walk up the driveway through the blinds.
Before walking inside, Betty stood in place on the porch and said, “Vander. I just want to say thanks.”
“For what?”
“For so many things. But mostly for getting me away from the office. I can’t tell you how much better I feel not to be working today. It just occurred to me as we were walking that this was the first time I’ve not worked on a Saturday in about three years.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But I really wanted to say thanks because you’ve shared so much of yourself with me today. No other man has ever done this for me, and it means a lot. I know you’re serious.” And then, looking into his eyes, she stepped closer and continued, “And so am I. I just want to say—” And then Betty was ready to finally say the words she felt deep inside when Evander covered her lips with a kiss that was as soft as candlelight.
“I love you too, Beep,” he said with an understanding tone. “I love you too.”
Chapter 11
Monday, two days later
With a nervous tap of his pen on the oak credenza, Drew sat behind his desk, silent, absorbed and alone.
He gazed out the window of the office, which was a vast improvement over the first home of Andrew Patrick Staley and Associates. It was in the Millhopper area of Gainesville, which was the town’s version of Park Avenue. While it was small, the sienna and burgundy office was tastefully decorated with artwork from Senegal, pampered plants, and Steven Scott Young prints. In the closet was a cot that Drew used on occasion when his days extended into nights and then mornings, a fully stocked nonalcoholic bar, and a small stereo that played continuous jazz.
As he watched the cars stop for the red light at the intersection of Thirty-ninth and Forty-third Street, Drew remembered the first time he took in the view. He remembered how he’d felt when the realtor told him the price, but he’d also known the location had an unseen benefit. Not only would it be easy for his potential clients to find him, he would also take pride in being at his desk before dawn and getting comments from other planners that they’d seen him after dusk as they’d taken their families out to dinner. No other African-American financial planner had survived beyond three years in Gainesville. Many thought it was because white prospects weren’t trusting enough to give them large sums of money to invest, and black prospects invested elsewhere. Regardless of that, Drew’s image in the window was a constant reminder to his colleagues that he had in fact survived and prospered.
Felicia had never liked him to go to work so early. Her biggest complaint about him had been the fact that she hated going to sleep alone and waking up by herself. But after several months, she understood that his firm was as much a part of him as she wished to be eventually.
After the initial rough spots of learning what each other liked and did not like, they became more than a couple. They walked and spoke alike, and appeared to be married in many ways. They had a connection that transcended a band of gold, although they both knew a church was in their future. When Drew was in the mood to take the leap, she always found reasons to say let’s wait. When she wanted to say I do, Drew did not feel he was at a point to walk down the aisle. But marriage was never as much an issue with them as it was with their friends, because they knew one day they would be together and so they simply continued to enjoy each other for what it was worth.
Felicia took on the mantle of Mrs. Staley in many ways to assist Drew. She devoted each afternoon to riding around town with his mother to look for a house. She did the research, took notes, and often even took photos; then on the weekends she and Drew looked at selected homes together. Her search ended when she took him to a house that was painted eggshell white with a patchwork lawn in need of work.
“To be sure, this is not the house you want to look at,” he asked with disbelieving eyes.
“Before we go in, just listen to me. Okay?” she asked. And then she allowed Drew to see the house through her eyes. Felicia proceeded to paint Drew a picture in his mind of a house with a vaulted ceiling and a crystal chandelier. She shared with him a home with Italian stained glass in the front door, hickory floors, and a kitchen with hanging pots over an island. A home that could be practical and beautiful. That could be both informal and elegant.
“Baby,” he said, “I see where it could be improved. I love the subdivision and all, but I’m not really interested in a fixer-upper. I just don’t have the time or patience for it.”
“I understand that. Trust me, I do. But,” she said, and then looked at him, “I’ll do it. I don’t mind. I’m off early every day and I don’t have anything to do on the weekends. I can make this work, Drew.”
Drew looked at the bent mailbox held to its post with a single rusty nail, and the flower bed which was overrun with weeds, as the venerable owner of the property stuck his head out the door. “Why don’t we do this?” he said as the man walked toward their car. “Why don’t you just move in with me? If I get this place, I wouldn’t need all of the room, and besides, I wouldn’t want you to work here helping me with this and not live here.”
Felicia returned his smile, reached down and squeezed his hand, and said, “Let’s go look at the house. Okay?”
It took Drew three months to negotiate the price of the house, and Felicia another two months of working with subcontractors to get it up to move-in condition. But on Christmas eve the movers pulled into the driveway with only Drew’s furniture. Felicia had told him a week earlier that she had decided not to give up her own house.
“Why?”
“Because I want it all,” she’d replied. “I don’t want half now and half later. When we get together, I want it all. Including the name.”
On the night of the move with the clock ticking toward Christmas, Drew sat on an imported rug, exhausted from unpacking. He had just taken his bath, more to relieve his tired and aching muscles than anything else, when Felicia smiled at him from the island in the kitchen where she was chopping vegetables. “You know you’re getting old, don’t you?”
“I’m not getting old,” he said as he looked at “Moneyline” on television. “What’s that smell?”
“It’s a surprise. I wanted the first meal here to be something different. You always say you like trying new dishes, so let’s see how this grabs you.”
Drew took a deep breath and released an old-man grunt as he lifted his achy body from the floor. “Whatever it is, it smells good. Are you broiling steaks?” he asked as he rubbed his football knees and moved toward the kitchen.
“No! Don’t come in here!” she said with a smile and a knife pointed at him.
“I just want to get something to—”
“Shhh,” she said with the knife still aimed in his direction, and blindly reached into the fridge for a can of Coke. “Here you are! Now, go back in the living room where you came from.”
Taking the can with a smile, he said, “You don’t scare me, you know. I can come in there if I want to. I just happen not to want to.”
“Try me,” she said slowly with a scowl on her lips and a twist of the knife in the air. “Just try me, Mister Man.”
For their first dinner Drew and Felicia had roast beef covered with horseradish sauce surrounded by brown rice and English snow peas. The meal was complemented by pear and tarragon soup, and she served a red wine that was given to them as a Christmas gift from Peggy and Walter. For des
sert there was a strawberry soufflé waiting in the oven. As she set his plate in front of him, Drew said, “Now, you know you’re spoiling me with a meal like this. How am I supposed to go back to eating Boston Market after dining on something like this?”
“Be quiet,” she said, barely above a whisper, as she scanned the table to make sure it was perfect. It was candlelit and she had used his special sterling silver and black china as well as the crystal wine glasses. Felicia had also used touches of garnish to make the dish as beautiful as it was appetizing, and in the background from the stereo was “Some Enchanted Evening” to hold the mood. “Just be quiet,” she repeated, looking into his eyes, “and let’s just enjoy the moment.”
Drew reached across the table for her hand, and together they silently blessed the meal. As their eyes opened, they both looked at their hands in the middle of the table. Drew loved how soft her hands were, and as his thumb grazed the outer surface of her palm, he smiled and then looked at her over the blushing flicker of light as if everything else came in a distant second.
“Felicia? I’m not telling you this because of this meal. I’m not even saying it because of all the work you’ve done in this house. Actually, I really don’t have a special reason to say what I am about to say at all.” Then Drew looked into her dark brown eyes as he had never looked into them before and said softly, “I love you. And I just want you to know that.” Then with a glance back at her hand, he repeated, “I love you.”
Felicia stared at their hands as they held them firmly together in a connection that extended beyond the physical. “Drew, I’ve never told you this, and it never occurred to me until I was talking to my sister on the phone today. But you are the first man to send me flowers.”
Until Page 12
