“Was that the first time?”
“No.”
“So, what’s the problem? The next time you talk to her you’ll kiss and make up.”
Deborah tightened her hold on Asa as if he were her lifeline. “Did I make a mistake?” she mumbled against his chest.
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have reopened the bookstore.”
“Why? Where is this coming from?”
“My children need me. Especially my daughter.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for wanting to continue your business,” he said tenderly. “Or is this about Miss Hannah Forsyth?” He led her over to the window, twirling her around as he swayed in time to the music. They glided toward the bed, Asa pulling her down to lie beside him. “Your children are not babies, Deborah. They are young adults, and don’t need you to watch them 24/7. They go to school, have their friends and extracurricular activities. If you were home they would resent you monitoring their every move. The bookstore also provides you with an income so you can take care of them.”
Deborah wanted to tell Asa that she really didn’t need to work to support her children but she didn’t. The monies she’d received from Louis’s insurance policies and the money from the sale of the house in Charleston had given her financial stability. There was no mortgage on the house in the Cove, and she’d repaid the home equity loan she’d taken out to update the property. Even when she and Louis had needed to watch every penny Deborah never accepted money outright from her parents. They’d accepted the down payment as a wedding gift, and whenever her mother or father sent a monetary gift for her birthday or Christmas she would always use the money to pay off the mortgage. They had paid off a thirty-year mortgage in fifteen years. But the real issue now was Hannah’s words, making Deborah second-guess her parenting skills.
“The bookstore keeps me sane,” she admitted.
Placing an arm over her waist, Asa pulled her closer. “What would you do if you didn’t have the store?”
A dreamy expression crossed her face. “I’d probably teach.”
“Did you like teaching?” he asked.
“Yes. Especially on the college level. Nowadays I don’t think I could cut it teaching high school students. There’s too much crap going on with them.”
“Define ‘crap’.”
“Bullying, gangs, drugs, etcetera.”
Asa smiled. “That was going on when I was in high school, and definitely when you were, too. It appears to be more prevalent because we’re living in an electronic age when everything happens in nanoseconds.”
“Were you ever bullied, Asa?”
“No. Only because nobody messed with my brother Jesse. He is four years older than me, and he put the word out that if anyone stepped to me then they had to deal with him.” Asa smiled, remembering. “If you looked at him sideways he’d just walk over and knock the hell outta you. He could pull A’s without opening a textbook. He breezed through college and medical school, graduating at the top of his class.” The smile faded. “Then he met a woman who turned him onto drugs. He started writing prescriptions to support their habit, and when he was afraid of getting caught he started stealing drugs from the hospital. The hospital administration couldn’t prove he was stealing, but they always had someone watching him.
“When crack became popular he was in hog heaven. It was cheap and readily available, so he literally lost his mind. He would disappear for weeks, and when he’d finally surface he looked more dead than alive. Jesse would go cold turkey, clean up for a while, and then when he met another woman he’d relapse. Whenever he was low on money he’d go to the casino to gamble. Even in his drug haze he still had the ability to count cards. He’d win enough money to pick up a prostitute and score his drugs. Then it would start all over again, until he was banned from several casinos.
“He put my mother in an early grave and I saw my father age before my eyes the first time Jesse came home after spending several weeks in a crack house. My mother would wash him as if he were a baby and nurse him back to health, but whenever one of his women came around he would disappear. When Mom died after suffering a massive coronary, we held the body as long as we could while we waited for Jesse to show up. But he didn’t reappear until two days after we’d buried her. When Dad told him what had happened he turned and walked out without saying a word. The last time I saw him he’d come to me asking me for money so he could leave Delaware. I don’t know who or what was after him but I gave him all the cash I had in the house. I didn’t ask who the people were because I didn’t want to know. If it wasn’t drug dealers, then it had to be loan sharks.”
“Do you ever think about him?”
A wry smile parted Asa’s lips. “Yes. I wonder where he is. What he’s been doing and whether he’s clean.”
“I’ll say a prayer for him.”
Tightening his hold on Deborah’s waist, Asa buried his face in her hair. “I’m sure he would appreciate it wherever he is.”
“I’d like to invite you to my home for Sunday dinner.”
She glanced up at him at the same time he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers. “Are you certain you want me to come?”
“Of course. You’ve met Whitney and Crystal, so it’s not as if they don’t know who you are.”
“What time is dinner?”
“We usually sit down to eat around four, but you can get there about three-thirty.”
“Do you want me to bring anything?” he asked.
“Yes. Yourself.”
“Now you know I can’t show up empty-handed.”
Smiling and shaking her head, Deborah said, “Why is it so important to show up with something?”
Asa lifted his shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a black thing.”
“It is a black thing,” she confirmed. “I remember when a woman who my dad had grown up with invited us to Christmas dinner. We arrived empty-handed and even before we darkened the door the word had spread that Herman Williams had forgotten his home-training. He, his highfalutin’ clean skin wife, and child came, ate and drank and left with only a thank you. Two days later she had to eat her words when a twenty-five pound Smithfield ham was delivered to her house with a thank-you note from my mother. It was apparent she had forgotten that highfalutin’ folks don’t tote food because it just might spill and ruin their fancy clothes. Back in the day they had their help bring over the hospitality offering.”
“What the heck is clean skin?”
“It refers to a light complexion. Most folks around here believed my mother was mixed race because she has a short button nose and very curly hair.”
“But, you said she is white.”
“You know skin color means nothing; there are a lot of fair-skinned black folk. Around here people tend to look at the hair, features, and skin undertones. If it’s yellow then you’re suspect. But here on Cavanaugh there has been a lot of race mixing. So because of my mother’s features, everyone assumed one of her parents must have been black.”
“Gullah talk and superstitions. It’s as if the Lowcountry isn’t a part of the United States,” Asa said.
Deborah laughed softly. “There’s a lot of history here most folks don’t know about. Over on Angels Landing there are people who practice putting spells on and off folks. All that talk about working roots and ghosts would scare the bejedus outta me when I was younger.”
“What the heck is bejedus?”
“Jedus is ‘Jesus’ in Gullah talk.”
“Say something else and let me try and translate it.”
Deborah searched her head for something she was certain would stump Asa. “E onrabble e mout.”
Unconsciously his brow furrowed. “I understand mouth. Onrabble sounds like rattling on. You talk too much.”
“Yeah, you’re good. What’s bonkey?” He gave her a blank expression. “That’s behind,” she explained. “We’ll try another easy one: ‘Waffuh do?’ ”
“Close. It’s what to do. If you listen closely you’ll understand most of the words only because they’ve become a part of the black dialect and lexicon. Gullah is a blend of African and European languages. I’m certain you’ve heard people drop the ending to ‘with’ and it becomes wid. ‘Tater’ is potato. Now we even have tater tots. ‘Jook’um’ is to poke or stick. ‘Sat-day’ is Saturday. ‘Ting’ is thing. ‘Nuff’ is enough and the phrase I like is: ‘E yent crack e teet.’ That means he didn’t open his mouth to speak. Some of the words are of African origin, from various tribes in West Africa, and the lilting accent makes it sound Caribbean.”
“The culture sounds intriguing.”
“It is. It’s rich, colorful, and fraught with a lot of superstition.”
Asa reached over and brushed a wayward curl off Deborah’s cheek. “Are you superstitious?”
A mysterious smile softened her mouth. “The only thing I’m going to admit to is that I respect the superstitions, because I’ve seen many of them come to fruition. Are they unexplainable? Yes. But I still respect them.”
“Give me an example.”
“If an older person decides to ‘put de mout on you’ then you’d better watch out, because depending upon who he or she is your life isn’t worth spit.”
Throwing back his head, Asa laughed. “That’s crazy.”
Deborah’s eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “So were the folks who had the mout on them.”
Without warning, he sobered. “Are you telling me they went crazy?”
She nodded. “My grandmother left me her journals and the other night I read how a woman she knew was messing around with another’s husband. The wife dressed her husband, and after he slept with the loose heifer her stomach swole up so big folks thought she was going to have triplets.”
“Was she pregnant?” Asa asked.
Deborah landed a soft punch to his shoulder. “You’re missing the point, Asa. No, she wasn’t pregnant. But you thought she was when you could see things moving around her belly under her clothes. Grandmomma wrote: de doctuh couldn’t do nothin’ to help de po chile. Even though my grandmother was college-educated she would sometimes lapse into speaking and writing Gullah.”
“What happened to the loose heifer?”
“Grandmomma wrote she got skinnier and skinnier while her belly continued to grow. When she finally passed away the doctors opened her up and found a tumor the size of a watermelon, weighing about thirty pounds. Word went around that the growth looked like a hairy baby pig.”
Asa rubbed the back of his neck, clearly agitated. “As a medical student I have witnessed medical procedures where tumors were removed from human bodies that were so hideous that some students bolted from the room or lost the contents of their stomachs. It only took one incident for me to learn not to eat before observing an autopsy or a surgical procedure. This definitely sounds like one of those cases.” Asa shook his head as if trying to clear the images from his mind. “What happened to the cheating husband?”
“Grandmomma said his penis shriveled up like a newborn’s and that put an end to his tomcattin’.”
“Ouch!”
“My grandmother’s journals are fascinating. After I finish reading them I’m going to give them to Whitney to read, because one day he may want to write a book about her.”
“I read his article about the bookstore opening in the Chronicle. It was intelligent and impartial, considering he was writing about his mother.”
“He plans to major in Communications.”
“What college is he going to?”
“Howard has accepted him, and so has Bennett in Columbia. He doesn’t have much more time before he makes his decision.”
“Why is he waffling?”
“He’d decided on Howard before Louis died. Now, he feels as if he has to be close to home.”
“Close to home or close to his Mama?”
“Probably both. I’ve told him that I don’t have a problem with him going to an out-of-state school, but it’s apparent I haven’t been too convincing.”
“Columbia isn’t Charleston,” Asa reminded Deborah.
“I know. But it’s only two hours away by car.”
“Where do you want him to go?”
“I’m leaning toward Howard, because there are more employment opportunities in D.C. Wherever he decides to go, I’ll support him one hundred percent.”
“Where are you going?” Asa asked when she pulled out of his embrace and slipped off the bed.
“I need to clean up the kitchen.” Deborah walked over to the table and picked up the soup bowls, cursing under her breath when a spoon slipped, falling against the sweater before it landed on the floor.
“Yuck! Now I’ll smell like fish.” Luckily the spoon missed her slacks.
Asa walked over and picked up the spoon. “Why don’t you bring a change of clothes with you and leave it here since you’ve been spending so much time in the store? That way you won’t have to go home to shower and change.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said, frowning at the damp spot under her right breast.
“Take it off. I’ll give you a shirt.”
“Let me see the shirt.”
“Don’t worry, Debs; it will come at least to your knees.” Asa walked to the wardrobe. He returned with a laundered long-sleeved shirt on a hanger. “Will this do?”
Smiling, Deborah nodded. “It will.”
Taking the shirt, she went into the bathroom to change; she added a dollop of liquid soap on the spot, rubbed it gently before rinsing it with cold water, then hung the sweater over the shower rod. Slipping out of her pants, she folded them neatly over her arm. Asa was in the kitchen clearing away the remains of their lunch while she hung her blouse and slacks on a hanger and then on a rod in the wardrobe next to rows of slacks, shirts, two suits, and a navy blazer. His outerwear also included a trench coat, barn jacket, and a leather bomber. Shoes, ranging from sandals to two pairs of wingtips, lined a shoe rack. Slipping her feet into her ballet-type flats, she rejoined him in the kitchen.
Asa angled his head and stared at the woman wearing his shirt. Never would he have imagined having her there with him. With her tussled hair she looked as if she’d just been made love to and he instantly hardened at the thought. His gaze traveled downward to her bare legs, realizing it was the first time he’d seen them. They were long and smooth with curvy calves and slender ankles. His mouth watered.
“You look sexy,” he croaked, when really he’d wanted to say how much he needed her in his bed, and not just for a few minutes. He wanted her to spend the night.
Chapter Sixteen
The Parlor was brightly lit. Rows of folding chairs took up more than half the space. The men had come as promised and had moved tables, chairs, and rugs toward the back of the store, leaving space for people to maneuver to the restroom and the rear exit. Deborah’s treasured piano was pushed close to the plate glass window. Despite the inclement weather there was the usual number of attendees.
Mabel walked in with her husband and headed straight for Deborah. “Have you heard?” she whispered softly.
Deborah leaned closer. “Heard what?”
“Some strange dudes with fat pockets were asking around about abandoned properties here on the Cove.”
“I thought I overheard someone mention developers the other day, but I try not to get into the business of my customers because I don’t want them in mine.”
“Well, Debs, I can’t help but hear when they sit in my shop for hours drinking coffee and beatin’ their gums. Even Lester, who hates these meetings, decided to come. He owns some land north of your place that he inherited from his uncle. Someone called him the other day and asked if he was willing to sell it and Lester said ‘hell no’ and hung up before the man could leave his name and number. To say he cussed a blue streak is putting it mildly.”
“I suppose this is going to be a very interesting meeting.”
“Sho ’nuff,” Mabel drawled.
Deborah sat down in the back row while Asa elected to stand, leaning against the door leading to his apartment. Spencer White walked in wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and boots, his expression solemn. The members of the town council were similarly dressed for the rainy weather. Jeff arrived a moment later, removing his cap and taking his seat on the end of the row of seats facing the assembled.
Spencer cleared his voice. “As soon as Eddie arrives we’ll start the meeting.”
The words were barely off his tongue when the newspaper editor walked in, struggling to close the outer door until Jeff got up to assist him. Before it had just been rain; now it was wind and rain. Eddie, sitting in the front row, removed a handheld tape recorder from his jacket pocket and turned it on.
“I’m ready, Mayor White.”
Spencer cleared his voice again. “I’d like to thank everyone for turning out with the weather such as it is. If what I have to tell you wasn’t so important for the Cove’s future I would have canceled tonight’s meeting.”
“Quit jawin’ and spit it out, son. You’re not in the courtroom,” said an elderly woman. “I’m certain these good folks want to get back home jest I like do.”
A rush of color suffused Spencer’s face. “Okay, Grandma,” he said, apologizing to his great-grandmother. “I’ve been approached by several men who represent a developer who want to buy up vacant homes and land to put in a casino, a golf resort with a number of hotels, and a conference center.” There came murmurs and whispers until Spencer raised his hand for silence. “They not only approached me, but also the mayors of Angels Landing and Haven Creek.”
“What did they say?” Lester asked. “Because I hope those bastards didn’t ask you what they asked me.”
“I spoke with Allen over in Haven Creek and they want no part of it. He claims it will inflate property values, forcing his people to move.”
Luvina Jackson raised her hand. “What about the folks in Angels Landing?”
“The mayor said he took a survey and the vote is split fifty-fifty.”
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