### I hope you enjoyed reading Overcoming. Feel free to email me at [email protected] and share what you think. I'm contemplating more interracial/multiethnic romances for the future and would love to hear from fans of the genre. If you do email me, please check your spam folder
afterwards for my reply. I always make an effort to respond when somebody takes the time to write!
For an epilogue, I’m including an excerpt from the sequel, Tunnel Vision, which is Celeste and Frank’s story, available now as an ebook:
TUNNEL VISION
1 There went the eye-roll again. “Eleven months. Okay? But we’ve talked it over, and thought on it, and slept on it, and all that, and it’s what we want to do. And Katina’s never been more excited.” They had been friends for less than ten years, but were closer than sisters.
Well, Shauna was closer than Celeste’s real sister, anyway. And this was a big change coming for them.
Celeste paused from packing books in a cardboard box and pursed her lips at her best friend.
“What?” Shauna asked, looking up from wrapping porcelain figurines.
“Are you sure this is the right thing, Shauna?”
Shauna sighed heavy, frustrated breath. “I knew it. I knew, sooner or later, you were gonna start this.”
Shauna Gales was a tiny sister—a couple inches even shorter than Celeste—but built like some internet porn junkie’s fantasy date. She’d never be sought after as a fashion model, but she had beauty few people failed to recognize. Celeste would kill to have eyes like hers.
Celeste was lighter-skinned, with a thinner face and much longer hair. Thankfully, she was also tougher and more practical.
“Once you move in with somebody,” Celeste said, “everything changes. You see all the little ugly things you never noticed before. But it’s much harder to break it off.”
Shauna stood, placing one hand on her hip—usually not a good sign.
“Celeste, you used up all your criticism points already, okay? You’ve been dogging Miles since before you even met him.”
“I’m not criticizing him,” Celeste protested, forcing her attention back to packing books. “But you’re acting compulsive. And that worries me.”
“Compulsive?” Now Shauna rolled her eyes—something she had down to an art form. She seemed to have different eye-rolls for every occasion. “Miles and me have been together for a year, now.”
“Not quite a year,” Celeste corrected.
Shauna’s gaze reflexively swung up to the picture her little girl had drawn of herself, Shauna and Miles—a big smiling white blob holding hands with two smiling brown blobs, descending in size.
“Hey, I admit Miles is a good man,” Celeste said. “I haven’t had a problem with him since the beginning. And he loves you. So it’s not about me worrying he’s gonna turn out to be a dog, or anything like that.”
“It’s nice to hear you say that,” Shauna said. She squatted to wrap the last figurine for packing.
“And I’m not saying you two are gonna get beat by the problems of living together. I’m just saying there are gonna be problems.”
“Noted,” Shauna said, making a cutting gesture as if the matter were forever settled.
Celeste wasn’t completely sure Miles was a good man—how could anyone ever be sure? But she had to admit Miles treated her friend right, so far as Celeste could tell. And Shauna was in love, despite her father’s distrust of the white cable guy from the ‘hood.
Celeste sighed.
“What?” Shauna asked, closing the lid on the box full of figurines.
“I didn’t say anything,” Celeste replied, thumbing through one of the romance novels she was supposed to be packing.
Shauna stood and stretched—all five-foot-three of her. “How are your kids this year?”
“I’ve got a good class this time,” Celeste said. “All except Hector.”
Shauna grinned. “Demon child.”
“There’s one every semester,” Celeste said. At least one.
Celeste taught Sixth Grade English in the inner city. School had just started that week. Celeste had really tried to make a difference since she’d been teaching. Her first year, the tough ghetto kids had run roughshod over her but she subsequently learned how to handle them. She enjoyed teaching now, for the most part, and was paid well, as teachers’ salaries went.
“Do you still see Coach at work?”
“Sometimes,” Celeste replied. I try to avoid it as much as possible. “Coach” was Walter Haynes, the boys’ basketball coach. They had dated for a few months and all seemed to be going great, until he announced his engagement to another woman. A pregnant woman.
Celeste had awful luck with men, going all the way back to high school. Her big sister, Nikita, was the popular one. Celeste had been stuck in the “kid sister” zone until leaving for college. College was a disaster, too. At least for the first year. Then she met Harlan…
Shauna punched buttons on her cellphone, saying, “We really don’t have that much more to do.”
Celeste, fortunately jarred from that familiar old memory playback, swept her gaze over the stacks of boxes in the apartment. “I’m exhausted just looking at all that’s got to be hauled down those stairs.”
She was going to miss this place. She had never lived here, but it had always been such a home-like sanctuary. An extension of her best friend’s persona, almost. Her and Shauna had bared their souls to each other many a time in this living room, devouring Jolly Ranchers while watching Oprah or Desperate Housewives.
“That’s what men are for,” Shauna said, in an uncharacteristic conspiratorial tone, raising the phone to her ear. She heard something through the receiver, and her countenance instantly transformed. She practically glowed, eyes lighting up with innocent, vulnerable affection. Her voice changed to a sweet, breathy gush. “Hey, lover! How are you? I’m fine. A little tired, but Celeste and I have got most of it packed. Are you? Well, how much more do you have to do there?”
Celeste finished packing the box and grabbed another empty one, listening to her friend. Shauna often sounded like a homesick child when talking to Miles on the phone.
“Okay,” Shauna continued. “We should be done in about an hour. Then we can run by Subway and get us all something to eat.” She giggled. “I thought you’d like that. What would Frank like on his sandwich?” She took a pen off the kitchen counter and scribbled some notes on an envelope. “Okay, honey. I’ll see you then. Love you. Bye-bye.”
Even after putting her phone away, Shauna glowed for a while.
No denying she’s got it bad, Celeste thought. “Who’s Frank?”
As if awoken from a trance, Shauna blinked and waved dismissively, her voice dropping. “Oh, he’s Miles’ friend, helping him with the move.”
Celeste began packing DVDs in the new box. “So what kind of friends does Miles have?” She had never met any of Miles’ friends or family. He was such a loner; Celeste couldn’t help wondering what they might be like.
“Frank’s the one with the music videos,” Shauna said. “I told you about him: makes commercials for Avcom; artistic type; bizarre sense of humor. Miles met him when Frank was shooting a video somewhere and had equipment trouble. Miles fixed it and they’ve been tight ever since.”
“Oh, right,” Celeste said, nodding. “He’s the one with all the movie parties, right?”
“That’s him.” Shauna flexed her back, leaning against a stool at the counter, a shy smile playing over her lips. “You know…”
“What?” Celeste asked, once she realized Shauna was going to leave the sentence unfinished.
“There have been times,” Shauna said, “when I kind of thought maybe I should fix the two of you up.”
“Girlfriend, please.” Celeste shook her head. “I’m telling you, Coach was the last straw for me. Besides, isn’t he white?”
Uh-oh. Shauna rolled her eyes and placed hand on hip. “Yes, Celeste: Frank happens to be white.”
/> Celeste’s memory train chugged back over the years, past Harlan, back to a stupid, silly, embarrassing milestone she’d tried in vain to forget.
“He’s actually very nice,” Shauna said. “In a bad-boy rebel kind of way. And cute. And intelligent. And he likes him some ethnic women.”
Celeste’s eyebrows raised, despite herself. “How do you know that?”
“By the girls he goes with,” Shauna said, a little less enthusiastic about promoting his potential, now.
“And how many girls does he go with?”
Shauna shrugged. “Quite a few, I guess. But he’s not a player—it’s more like serial monogamy that just doesn’t last very long.”
“Great…” Celeste sing-songed.
“Except he’s been kind of on-again, off-again with Violet for a while. Violet’s one of those show-business wannabes with a degree in theater.”
Celeste picked up on a disdainful edge to Shauna’s voice. “You don’t like her?”
“I think she’s a gold-digger,” Shauna said. “Or a groupie. She’s so phony, but men don’t see it. She only keeps crawling back to Frank because she thinks he’s going to make it big with these music videos, I bet. Plus, she’s not his type.”
“What type is she?” Celeste wondered, aloud. This was almost as juicy as People Magazine.
“Little skinny Asian chick. Frank usually goes for full-figured women.”
“Full-figured?”
Shauna turned sideways, put both hands on her tiny waist and thrust her ample booty out. “You know: like us.”
They both laughed.
“Well, thanks-but-no-thanks, Shauna,” Celeste said.
Celeste didn’t need bad boys. She didn’t need white boys. In fact, she was increasingly sure she could live just fine without the male of the species altogether.
2
Frank parked the pickup in the driveway and strode to the front door of the single-story house, examining the new green paintjob with fresh eyes. He pushed through the front door and paused long enough in the freshly cleaned living room to drop a receipt and a bag full of nuts and bolts on the coffeetable.
“Yo!” he called. “I got it! I’m gonna grab a beer.”
“Bring me one, too,” Miles’ voice answered from the back of the house. Frank took two beers out of the fridge and navigated the
hallway…strewn with rolls of carpet, stacks of baseboard, and tools…back to the master bedroom suite. Turning into the bathroom, Frank dropped Miles’ truck keys noisily on the top of the toilet tank. “Here’s your keys, Bowser. Don’t forget I put them here.”
Tall, lean Miles Bowser glanced up from the bead of caulk he was squeezing along the edge of the brand new Jacuzzi they had installed earlier. “Oh, that’s brilliant, Frank. If they fall off, you get to fish them out of the toilet bowl.”
“Do you want a beer or not?” Miles stood, stretched and extended his hand. Frank slapped a beer into it.
assuming that every female would eventually be overcome with the compulsion to deprive a man of something he enjoyed.
“Shauna still doesn’t know what’s going on?” Frank asked. Miles twisted off the bottle cap and took a swig, shaking his head. “I haven’t let her back here in a week, man. I can’t believe she’s not suspicious. But we got to finish it today.”
Frank silently took inventory with fresh eyes. Above the Jacuzzi was a cable outlet Miles had run himself, with a television mounted so Shauna could watch her shows while taking bubble baths. The entire master bathroom was painted Shauna’s favorite color. Miles had snuck one of her blouses off to Sherwin Williams to have them match the exact shade of green. As soon as the huge tub was caulked, they were going to finish laying the tile and be done.
“We’ll finish it,” Frank said. “But you know you’re spoiling her, right?”
Miles nodded. “I know.”
“You ain’t supposed to do it like this, man. Make her work for it. At least slip something you want into the bargain.”
Miles shrugged. “I kinda’ have, in a sneaky way. I figure now she’ll feel too guilty to ever try to make me get rid of the bike.”
By all indications, Shauna loved the motorcycle, and had no intention of persuading Miles to sell it. But Miles was paranoid just the same—
“I think the bike is safe, Bowser. But you oughta at least build yourself a home theater.”
Miles chewed his lip for a moment. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that.”
“Come on, you can do the wiring yourself, blindfolded,” Frank reasoned.
“Yeah, but the LCD big-screen and the audio receiver I want…I think I just better hold off for a few years. When we’re done with the house, I want to take the rest of the settlement money and start a nest egg for us.”
Miles had financed these home renovations with an out-of-court payoff related to a dog attack he’d suffered on the job last year.
“You could probably build the equipment yourself, from scratch,” Frank said. Miles was an electrical engineer, and something of a mad scientist-type inventor, despite his present occupation as an attic rat for the cable company.
Miles set his beer down, then stooped to remove his knee pads. “The idea is to save money, Frank.”
Shauna’s dream was to become a nurse. She’d fulfilled most of her general education courses online, but would have to physically attend nursing school to complete her requirements. Miles had asked her to move in with him so they could save up enough for the day she could quit her job in customer service and study full-time.
By the long-term decisions Miles was making, he evidently assumed he and Shauna would be together permanently. He was diving in head-first.
“You’re so whupped,” Frank chided, and emptied his own beer bottle.
“Shut up,” Miles said, blushing. “Don’t forget: you’re the one who said she was right for me.”
Frank spread his hands in an innocent gesture. “If memory serves, I never said you had to surrender your manhood and sell out to this whitepicket-fence domestic purgatory.”
The remark caught Miles drinking. His laugh caused beer to shoot up his nose. When he recovered, he said, “Up yours. Let’s get that bed inside.”
They ambled out to Miles’ pickup truck, where the king-size mattress, box spring, frame and headboard filled the cargo hold.
“I’m not even sure this monster will fit in your house,” Frank said. “Maybe through the garage.”
Miles shook his head. “I planned it out. If we take it around back, through the sliding patio doors, it should be smooth sailing.”
Frank followed Miles out to the truck, where they wrestled the huge mattress into a carrying position.
Miles never worked out or exercised beyond what his normal routine made necessary, but it often surprised Frank how strong his wiry friend was. Frank worked out for two hours, four days a week and had become fairly big over the last few years. Sure, he could probably bench more than Miles, but he wasn’t sure he was actually stronger in any practical measurement of strength.
Miles, in front, shuffled backwards, guiding them around to the back of his house. Frank changed holds on the plastic-covered surface of the mattress several times as he brought up the rear.
Miles’ cellphone rang and he stopped in his tracks to whip it out and check the caller I.D. Eyes lighting up at what he saw, he answered. “Hey, sweet thang.”
Frank groaned. Here they would stand with this stupid, huge mattress until Shauna was done reasserting her hypnotic powers over Miles. And that could take a while.
“Frank, what you want from Subway?” Miles called, over his shoulder, briefly shielding the receiver with one hand.
“Italian BMT on Monterrey Cheddar footlong.” At least there was a practical reason for this interruption. He was hungry.
After hanging up, Miles came out of his trance quickly, and they resumed their mission.
“You’re coming to our one year anniversary thing, right?” Miles asked, cr
aning his neck to watch behind him as he shuffled.
“Wouldn’t miss it, man.”
“You gonna bring Violet?”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t thought about that. Might just stag it.”
“You’re still together, right?”
Frank considered that. Were they still together? They’d shared his bed a few weeks ago, and she had not called since. Not for the first time, he’d been wondering if having her for a girlfriend was worth all the drama she brought with her. She obviously thought he was worth his own flavor of drama…most of the time.
“I’m about sixty percent sure we’re not as serious as she once thought,” Frank replied. “And that’s my final answer, Regis.”
They rounded a corner and the towering mattress cast a giant shadow on the green-painted wall. “Trying to keep your player’s license renewed?” Miles asked.
“There is that,” Frank said. “But really, I don’t know how much longer we can stay involved until one of us sneaks a meat cleaver into the bedroom while the other one’s sleeping.”
“Suffocate her with a pillow,” Miles suggested. “It’s less messy and probably quieter.”
“Yeah, but the meat cleaver makes it easier to carve the body up into small, manageable pieces. Easier to conceal and dispose of.”
Miles stopped at the sliding glass door, lowered the edge of the mattress onto the top of one foot, then twisted at the trunk to slide the pane open.
“She does seem to be kind of high-maintenance.” Miles said, hoisting his end back up and shuffling backwards through the doorway.
“Kind of?” Frank echoed, then scoffed. “Dude, she makes Liz Taylor seem like the girl next door.”
Now inside with their load, they paused to shut the door behind them.
“Liz Taylor’s that old actress, right? With about fifty ex-husbands?”
“Yes, Miles,” Frank said, as if addressing a moron.
They hoisted it up again and maneuvered it through the hallway.
“Violet sure is a good-looking girl, though,” Miles said.
“And she’ll be the first to tell you,” Frank added. “But on the other hand, she’s President of the Iddy-Bitty-Tittie-Committee.”
Overcoming Page 23
