She was harder, sadder. Had I done that? God, I hoped not. What else could I have done, considering the situation? I’d written her, finally, when it was clear I could contact her in no other way. I’d told her as much of the truth as I could in the most distorted of ways. Lies. All lies with a grain of truth.
Basically, because of my job I would not be able to see her for an indefinite period of time. I’d asked her to wait for me. She hadn’t responded. Yeah, it was possible that the nonresponse was her answer. But it was also possible that the letter had been lost or intercepted. So I’d sent another and then another. They couldn’t all be lost, couldn’t all be intercepted. She’d obviously read my letters and I had my answer. She didn’t want anything to do with me. She didn’t want to wait.
And who could blame her? She was gorgeous, smart and ambitious. She could have her pick of men, why wait indefinitely for a guy she barely met? I’d probably just imagined the connection anyway. Maybe she was playing me. Women liked no-strings-attached vacation flings just like men.
Not to mention, I probably wasn’t even her type. She was going to cooking school while I…killed for a living. She’d probably wind up with a French chef who owned several Michelin-starred restaurants.
I knew when to fold and I had. But that didn’t mean I would stop thinking about her, dreaming about her, fantasizing about her. And now that I was out of danger, now that she was out of danger, I had to at least see where things stood with her. I couldn’t go to my grave without knowing.
She picked up her glass of water and took a long swallow. She refused to look at me, instead opting to stare past me at the wall. It hurt. Not that she didn’t want to look at me, but how she’d changed. I had the sinking feeling that I’d done this to her. I’d hurt her without even being here. What the hell would I do to her if I were actually in her life?
I almost stood then, pushed my chair back and left without looking back. Not to hurt her, but to make sure I didn’t do more damage.
I bit into my pizza without tasting it. I was an idiot. Why had I come back? The glass was not half full it was empty. The proverbial glass had been broken and trampled upon. There was nothing here to salvage. I’d only made things worse by coming here today.
I set my pizza crust down and thought of what I could say to her. How could I easily apologize for showing up and make it clear that I would again just leave and this time never come back?
“Rain, listen I’m going to—”
I stopped when I saw her hand snake across the table and reach for my own. I offered my hand and stopped breathing.
She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. When they opened, they were shiny with emotion and tears ran unfettered down her cheeks.
“It’s nice to see you,” she said, almost so low that I thought I’d made the words up.
My frozen heart melted. Completely and absolutely liquefied into molten lava, pooling into the pit of my stomach. I curled my fingers around hers.
Finally. The words I’d longed to hear for two years.
“It’s nice to see you too.”
“How are you?” The words fell from my mouth before I could clamp my lips shut. I didn’t want to know how he was. Oh, I did but I didn’t want him to know I cared.
But he was looking so damned…aggrieved, and then his eyes lit up and my heart fluttered.
Kael.
He was here.
He smiled slightly. “Good.” He inclined his head to the side, as if he wanted to say more, but then he just nodded and repeated himself.
I rushed to fill the emptiness between us before he could ask me any questions. I was good now, but I hadn’t been. Not for a very long time. And I didn’t want to talk about it.
“So, where have you been? What exotic countries have you been to, and how many lives have you saved?”
He shot me an odd look, surprise mixed with pain as if a sudden cramp had shot through his gut. He gulped down his glass of water.
“Everywhere. East Africa, the Korean peninsula, South America, Eastern Europe.”
“Wow. You’ve been busy.” I stared at my plate. What had I done since he’d left? Where had I been?
“You okay, Rain?”
I nodded. But no, not really.
“So, not cooking?”
“How did you know that?” I gazed at him, confused. How could he know something so personal about me?
He shrugged. “I checked online. Couldn’t find any business listing for you.” His dark eyebrows dipped down. “Did you go to cooking school?”
A lump formed in my throat and I shook my head.
His eyes lingered on my hand. “Still single?”
I met his gaze. “Yes.”
A tentative smile appeared on his face. “Not even a boyfriend?”
The area over my chest began to ache. “No.”
He sat back in his chair, a look of relief washing over his face. “I’m going to be in town for a while. May I see you again?”
That was the last thing I expected to hear from him. I fully expected him to say that he was on his way to the airport, that he’d see me in another two years. But this? This was unexpected.
“I don’t know. Why are you here, in Raleigh of all places?”
He locked eyes with me. “I’m here for you.”
“For me.” I laughed despite the seriousness of the situation. There was no way. I’d killed anything I’d felt for him, squashed those hopes and dreams. No, I couldn’t. I locked eyes with him.
He was sincere, earnest. And I stopped laughing. “What does that mean?”
“It means I want to try again. Finally. As promised.”
“Better late than never, huh?”
He bowed his head for a moment before looking at me. “Something like that.”
I gazed at him. His blue-gray eyes were a tempest of emotions, none of which I could fathom. I placed a twenty-dollar bill beside my plate and stood, clutching my purse to my side. “If only I could trust what you say.”
He tossed money onto the table and rose. “You can.”
“I can’t.” I turned on my heel. “But it was nice seeing you.”
* * * * *
I’d only been home a few minutes when a deliveryman rang my doorbell. More flowers. I couldn’t help but smile. My second bouquet in twenty-four hours. I bumped the door closed with my backside and opened the card
“Beauty awakens the soul to act. See me tonight? Please. I can explain.”
It was Kael and a line of verse from the Italian poet Dante. Sighing, I placed the vase on my living room cocktail table where Charlotte was sure to see it when she came home from her shift at the hospital. As much as I’d have liked to avoid a confrontation with Charlotte, I couldn’t continue to hide the fact that Kael was back.
Of course, I wanted to see him. I wanted to pretend like the last two years had never happened and start where we left off. But I was so hurt. Angry. Confused.
Where had he been all this time? Why hadn’t he called? Was I crazy for still caring about him?
The alarm on my cell phone chimed and I realized dinner at my parents’ would be starting soon and I was behind schedule. Today had been particularly muggy and I needed to flat iron my hair again before I saw my mother. If I didn’t look presentable, I’d never hear the end of it from her.
I ran up the stairs and then stopped, the words of Kael’s cards reverberating through my mind.
Beauty awakens the soul to act.
I felt inspired. Motivated to be different. To be…myself. The real me. Not the person everybody expected me to be.
I had to admit it, seeing Kael had been wonderful. Being around him made me feel beautiful. As much as I hated to see him, I loved it all the same. When he looked at me, it was like the sun shining down on me and I felt pretty, energized and hopeful for the futu
re.
His appearing out of the blue had to be a sign, didn’t it? Seeing him reminded me of how I used to feel, of what my goals had been when I met him. It was disturbing to realize how far off track I’d gotten.
I was on the fast track to a life I’d never wanted, boring, conservative and predictable. Not one iota of creativity anywhere.
I stared at my feet. I was wearing sensible heels in a drab tone. And then I remembered my younger sister’s stinging words. Maybe it was time I got back on track. Career change, renewed romance. Maybe it was time for an innovation in my attitude and appearance as well. No maybe about it, I had to do something.
My fingers went to my hair as I looked down at my clothes—boring, clothes that expressed nothing but my willingness to be a citizen of the Banana Republic. I teased my hair for a moment and then waited for it to fall back into lanky, flat-ironed obedience and was hit with another inspiration.
Grinning, I continued my ascent.
Chapter Ten
My parents were on the deck when I arrived. I was a little nervous, mostly about my mother’s reaction to my new hairstyle.
My feet hit the steps leading to the deck and my father looked up first.
“Rain, you made it.” He smiled at me and then rubbed his chin in mock confusion. “There’s something different about you, I just can’t put my finger on it.”
My mother turned toward me, almost dropping the crystal pitcher in her hand when she shrieked. “What have you done to your hair?”
I selected the lawn chair closest to my father and sat down. “Mom, Dad.” I made myself comfortable and then addressed my mother. “Is there anything I can help you with? Potato salad done? Cake need icing?”
My mother set the pitcher down with a thump and strode toward me. “Explain to me what you’ve done to your hair.”
“Regina, it’s not that big of a deal.”
She held up her hand and shook her head. “Well, congratulations. You’ve accomplished your task of looking like that rag doll of a pastry chef we saw at lunch the other day.”
“Now, now, Reggie, you know you don’t mean that,” my father interjected with a knowing look. “It’s different but it’s not ugly.” He examined my new hairstyle. “I like it.” He winked at me. “Your grandmother wore her hair like that when she was young.” His expression softened with the memory. “Her hair was so pretty. So is yours, baby.”
I thought of Grandma Raney. Her real name was Lorraine and I had been named for her. I conjured up a hazy image of a tall, pale woman who’d always worn her long thick hair in braids, pinned up and wrapped around her head like a wreath.
But my mother snorted, her face transformed by annoyance. “Well, you certainly don’t look like you have an MBA and a good job.” She peered at my hair, a mass of S-shaped spirals hanging past my shoulders, like it was a science project. “Let me guess, feathers next?”
I thought of the chef I’d seen at lunch. The one who inspired me just by having the courage to be herself and do what made her happy.
I tossed my wild, crazy hair over my shoulders. “Maybe.”
Her eyes focused on my clothes. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Like what?” I said with a laugh as I twirled around.
“Like a gypsy.” She looked at my father. “Tell your daughter she looks like she should be reading palms on a street corner.”
My father looked me over, from my shimmery gold tank, to my gauzy lime-colored, ankle-length skirt and finally at my sandals fashioned out of golden Roman coins. “She looks lovely, dear. What is the problem exactly?”
“She doesn’t look like our Rain,” my mother gritted out. She pointed at my hand. “What is that thing?”
I glanced down at the gold chains decoratively wrapped around my hand. “You mean my slave bracelet?”
My mother looked at my dad. “Are you okay with that? You know the history your people have with slavery.”
He chuckled. “My people?”
She threw her hands up and then glared at me with hard blue eyes, the same ones that made me nervous when I was a young girl. She shook her head slowly. “How do you feel with your hair all over your head, looking like a circus act?”
Before I could speak, she jumped in again. “There’s a stereotype that white women can’t fix their bi-racial children’s hair. Do you know what pains I took to make sure your hair always looked nice and neat?” She rolled her eyes, lips pressed into a hard line. “Now look at you.”
“Yes, look at me mother. I look great. And I feel,” I took a deep breath and gazed at the gorgeous blue sky above me, “free.”
Totally ignoring my words, her gaze fell lower. “Where did you find those clothes, Rain?”
“In my closet.” I had fallen into the habit of buying clothes that fit the secret inner me but never wearing them. Ever. Maybe now I’d start.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head as if she were in great pain. “I have no idea why you’d want to hurt me like this.”
I heard a squeal. “Rain! Ohmigod, you look gorgeous.” Haley bounded up the stairs and rushed me for a bear hug. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.” She pulled back from her embrace and began playing with my hair. “I love the new look. It’s so you.” She made a face. “I wish my hair would hold a curl.”
I kissed her on the cheek. “It’s great to see you too. You look gorgeous as usual.”
Giggling, she turned to my parents and greeted them with hugs. The grim look left my mother’s face and my father lifted Haley off her feet with his embrace.
I thought Haley would be jetting off to her next modeling assignment. My sister was
extraordinarily pretty with flawless skin and high cheekbones. While we both shared our father’s golden-beige skin tone and full lips, I had his dark, naturally curly hair and brown eyes; and my sister had mom’s blue eyes and her long, silky-straight blondish-brown hair.
Ever glamorous, she was a bit overdressed for a cookout in a billowy, red silk top that hung precariously off one shoulder, denim mini and vintage wood platform sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and braided down her back; her eyes covered by a pair of sunglasses.
After peeking under the grill lid she turned to my father with a hopeful look on her face. “I have a guest.”
“What?” my mom asked, glancing at her white pullover, denim pedal pushers and sandals. “I’m not ready for company.”
My dad turned from the grill, intimidating even in his goofy Kiss the Chef apron over a white polo and jeans.
He grunted. “Is it a boy?” Haley ducked her head sheepishly and nodded. My dad shook his head. “Well, where’s he at? He needs to stop hiding out like a criminal and come introduce himself like a man.”
“He’s parked out front in his Hummer.” She looked like a kid about to open a lollipop. “Can I get him?”
My parents exchanged glances and nodded. Haley skipped to the front of the house and my mom looked at me. “Did you know about this?”
I held up my hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m an innocent bystander.”
My father gave me a look as he placed several medium-rare steaks on a plate. “Don’t think I forgot about this promotion business, young lady.”
I looked toward the driveway when I heard Haley approaching. She came bouncing around the corner, dragging a solid-looking male with broad shoulders, a thick muscular neck and bright red hair cut close to his scalp. He had a face full of freckles and the look of love in his mossy green eyes. He was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way, and could be the stabilizing force my whirlwind of a sister needed.
He was quiet but nodded to my parents and did a double take when he saw me. “You have a lot of hair,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Everybody, this is Quinn. Quinn, these obviously are my parents and my big sister Rain, mistress o
f beignets.”
I shot her a look. What was that?
He stepped up and firmly shook my father’s outstretched hand. He had a low rumbly voice. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
My mother gave him a cool look. “Quinn.”
My dad snorted grudgingly and then gave him a quick up and down. “You didn’t park your tank on my grass did you?”
“Parked on the street, sir.”
I could tell Quinn was racking up points with all those sirs. My father’s shoulders relaxed a bit, as he threw a few beef kabobs on the grill.
My mother gave Haley’s guest a pointed look. “So tell us about yourself, Quinn. What’s your last name? Where are your people from?”
He cleared his throat. “My full name is Quinn McHugh. I’m from all over. My dad was in the military.”
“Where’d you play college ball?” my father barked.
“NC State. Started every year.”
“The Wolfpack? You a running back?”
“Yes, sir.”
The beginnings of a smile cross my father’s face. “Q McHugh, is that you?”
“Yes, sir. The Falcons drafted me four years ago. I’ve been in Atlanta ever since.”
He nodded approvingly. “My mother squinted at him. “Where do you go to church, young man?”
“Mother!” Haley stood close to him, protectively almost, as if we would scare him off.
“I’m Presbyterian, ma’am.”
“Quinn drove me back from Atlanta, Mother. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
Haley’s last phone call echoed in my brain. The last thing she said to me was that she thought she had fallen in like. I looked at Quinn, who squinted in our bright Carolina sun.
Haley looked at me sweetly. “What did you decide about the job? Are you going to take it?”
In that moment, I seriously considered wringing my sister’s neck. My parents would never initiate a discussion concerning family matters around an outsider. Obviously Haley did not get the memo. But with the issue already on the floor, certainly my father would not ignore the opportunity to put in his two cents. I rolled my eyes, shot daggers at Haley and then faked a smile for our guest’s benefit.
Tell Me No Lies: The Black Orchid, Book 1 Page 8
