The Bridal Candidate 1 (Heart Connections)

by Linda Verji

  "Is that Papi?" Cara asked.

  It was.

  Aiko pulled the car up at the side of the road and exited it. Coming up behind him, she touched his arm slightly. "Daddy."

  A startled Samuel turned to her. Confusion creased his dark face and folded his brow as he stared at her. The expression along with the heavy salt and pepper of his hair aged him beyond his sixty-two years. Suddenly his lined face lit up in a bright smile. "Donna, I was looking for you."

  "I'm here." Aiko felt her heart constrict and tears prick the back of her throat as she led him towards the car. "Come on let's go home."

  Samuel Vaughn was a pale shadow of the man he'd been before Alzheimers had ravaged his mind. Looking at him now, it was hard to imagine this was the same Sammy V who'd plucked at the heartstrings of lovers all around the world with his ballads.

  It was hard to imagine he was the same man whose lap she'd sat on countless times, her ear pressed to his throat and reveling in the vibrations of his voice as he sung to her. It was hard to imagine that this was the same man their mother had called her soul. Donna's death a year ago had sped up his descent into a world where memories were like soap bubbles that burst the moment he tried to grab at them.

  The moment she settled him in the backseat with Seraphina and Michael, Samuel went silent. Through the rearview mirror, Aiko caught him staring dazedly outside the window the whole way home.

  Home was a two-story colonial brownstone set on a quarter acre estate. Aiko still remembered the day they'd moved in here when she was about Seraphina's age. Theirs had been a true rags-to-riches story, and they'd all been so excited racing around the house unbelieving that this was to be their new home.

  The good old days!

  Letting Cara handle the younger children, she guided her father into the house. Will, Samuel's would-be nurse, was sprawled out on the couch; head tilted upwards, mouth open and snoring like nobody's business.

  When Aiko muffed his head, He came awake with a loud snort and a "What? What?"

  "Dad left again," Aiko said.

  "Sorry," the young man apologized as he rubbed his palm over his face.

  "Don't let it happen again," she said even though she wanted to shout at her nephew. It wouldn't have been fair. Between playing football and keeping his grades up so he'd get a college scholarship, the sixteen year-old was constantly tired. "Where's Jayceon?" she asked after his brother.

  "He's in the garage with Mama." Will turned bleary eyes to the large watch on his wrist. "It's Papi's bath-time. I should-"

  "It's okay." Aiko stopped him when he made to stand up. "I'll do it. Take a nap then I'll wake you when I'm done."

  He was knocked out like a light even before she and Samuel were out of the den and was still asleep when they came back. She would've let Will continue sleeping but someone had to watch Samuel and make sure he didn't sleep otherwise their night would be a disaster. She checked on Cara and the kids who were in the kitchen working on dinner, before she headed out to the garage – or at least what used to be the garage. Now it was a bakery.

  Several ovens lined the walls infusing the whole space with the cloying scent of melting chocolate, baking flour, savory nuts and cinnamon. Aiko's senses gloried in the delicious scents and her stomach growled reminding her that she'd skipped lunch today.

  "Thank God you're here." Her sister, Femi, welcomed her with a heavy sigh of relief. She was standing by the long table at the center of the room next to her son. The two were artfully arranging cupcakes in white boxes. "We just got an order from Sweet Nature for a hundred boxes."

  Despite the fact that all she wanted to do was sit down, put her feet up and just breathe, Aiko joined Femi and Jayceon at the table without complaint and with practiced ease. There wasn't time to be tired at the Vaughn home.

  People said that she and Femi looked alike and Aiko had always vehemently refuted it, but after gaining her pregnancy weight she could now see what they saw. Like Aiko, Femi was amply blessed. God had been in a giving mood when he was fashioning the Vaughn women; curves, curves, and more curves to compliment the rich coffee-tones of their skin. But that was where their similarities ended.

  Unlike Aiko, Femi's face was unmarred by any scars. Where Aiko preferred her hair tamed in weaves, Femi was all about the dreads. Femi preferred to be comfortable having commandeered Aiko's army pants as hers when she wasn't in jeans, while Aiko gravitated towards dresses and more fashionable clothes. It wasn't just their looks and dressing that differed; their personalities were light and day. Where Aiko was easy-going, Femi was a military commander disguised as a stay-at-home mother and baker.

  As they worked, Femi inspected each box Aiko and Jayceon prepared with hawk-eyes making sure that each cake was placed right. Perfection was Femi's middle name and as with everything else, she ran her family like a brigade. Each of her four kids and her husband, Lewis, knew their place and duties in the food-chain. Aiko knew that if she let her, Femi would run roughshod over her and Seraphina. It was why she'd chosen to set up their own home in the space above the garage rather than stay in the main house with everyone else.

  By the time the truck from Sweet Nature left with the delivery, Cara was calling out that dinner was ready. Dinner was the part Aiko loved most about her family. It was always a festive affair with everyone at the table and sharing a meal and their respective days. From the smiling faces, it was obvious that despite all the bad days they'd had, there was still enough love between them to get them over anything else life threw at them.

  After dinner Aiko went upstairs to pick Seraphina from Cara's room so they could go home. But just as she passed the master bedroom, Femi called out, "Aiko, Kalila's on Skype."

  "She is?" Aiko joined Femi on the bed. The moment she saw their middle sister beaming at her through the screen of Femi's laptop, Aiko smiled. "Hey, Kalila."

  "Hey," Kalila returned. "What time is it there?"

  "Nine," Aiko answered. "How are Strive and the kids?"

  Kalila had left the States eight years ago to research her masters' thesis in Nigeria and ended up staying there. She was now married to a Yoruba doctor, Strive, had twin sons and only came to the US once every year.

  Femi let Aiko and Kalila exchange pleasantries for five whole minutes –a record for her – before she interrupted with a sober, "So I called Kalila because we need to talk."

  Aiko muscles immediately tensed as they always did when Femi used that tone.

  "Oh, Lord. Is this because of the garage again?" Kalila rolled her eyes. "We all agreed that if Aiko pays rent, you won't look for a tenan-"

  "It's not about the garage," Femi interrupted then corrected herself. "Actually it's about the garage and more." She paused before she said, "I want us to sell the house…"

  "What?" Aiko's head snapped towards Femi with whiplash speed. "No!"

  "Of course not!" Kalila voiced her agreement.

  "… and to put Dad in a nursing home," Femi finished her statement. That declaration drew shocked silence and disbelieving stares from her sisters. She rushed to explain, "Look, you two don't know what I'm dealing with here. We're paying the mortgage for a six bedroom house. Lewis is running ragged trying to scrounge up security jobs. I'm running ragged trying to run this bakery. And we've got my kids taking care of Dad or bursting their hinds in the bakery when they should be worried about school."

  "But you said you could handle it," Kalila protested.

  "And we agreed, you'd give me six more months to get Heart Connections back in the black," Aiko added, "then I'd start helping you out with the mortgage."

  "I know what I said," Femi snapped. "But it's not working. Something's got to give."

  "That something won't be Dad." Aiko shook her head violently. "Or the house?"

  "What do you want me do? Eh?" Femi scowled at her. "I'm not going to kill my kids to pay the bank."

  "Femi, Mum and Dad worked hard for that place," Kalila's voice was slightly more conciliatory than Aiko's. "And Dad isn't a
t the point where he needs to be put in a facility."

  "How would you know? You're all the way in Calabar. You don't know how it is to have to sleep with one eye open worried that if you don't he'll wander off in the middle of the night and get knocked down by a car. You don't know how it is to wake up in the morning dead on your feet but knowing that the business that feeds your family won't run if you don't get to it," Femi complained bitterly. "I'm not superwoman."

  "But I'm here to help you," Aiko protested.

  "From five p.m.? It's not enough." Femi scoffed. "If we sell the house, we can finish repaying the mortgage, do some serious advertising for Heart Connections to get more clients, then use the rest to set Dad up in a nice facility where he has round-the-clock care from a qualified nurse. Lewis and I can find something smaller that we can handle."

  "Don't you think that's drastic?" Kalila asked. "Why don’t we borrow money from Misha and Danny then-"

  "And then what?" Femi interrupted. "We'll still have to pay it back. Furthermore, this isn't a one off expense we're talking about. What about next month? Will we go back to Misha? What about the next?"

  Femi's words effectively nixed the idea of borrowing money from their well-to-do cousin. Obviously she'd been thinking about this issue for a long time and had logical counter-arguments for their protests. But as logical as her arguments were, they were also very callous.

  The one achievement their parents had always been proud of was this house. Despite their own ragged backgrounds, Samuel and Donna had risen enough to give their children the home they'd never had. Donna had always said that she wanted her grandchildren and her grandchildren's children to live in it. Selling it then hustling their father into some nursing home with impersonal strangers taking care of him seemed like spitting in the face of their parents' dream.

  And Aiko couldn't do that.

  Not even if she understood where Femi was coming from.

  Not after everything they'd done for her.

  No, she couldn't do it.

  "What if I help you with the mortgage," she suggested impulsively, "and pay for a live-in nurse?"

  "Where are you going to get the money?" Kalila asked.

  Aiko had no idea. She certainly couldn't get it from Heart Connections - its finances were too precarious. Using the agency as collateral, Donna had borrowed quite a considerable sum of money to cater for their dad's medical costs. Aiko was still paying that loan off, but with her recent marketing revamps the company was earning much more and almost in the black. Nevertheless, it still wasn't in any condition to carry their home's mortgage.

  But still, lack of funds was no excuse. She wasn't going to let her father be carted off to a nursing home or his dream razed to the ground. If she had to sell her kidneys that was what she'd do. She turned to Femi, her voice fevered as she asked, "If I find the money will you stay in the house?"

  Femi's expression was doubtful, but she shrugged. "If you find the money, we'll stay."

  CHAPTER 3

  At seven o'clock the same evening, Damián walked into his house to the sound of bedlam.

  "I'm going. I'm going," a shrill voice screeched from somewhere upstairs. "You can't stop me."

  "Zoe, your father said you're not allowed to leave the house on school nights," returned the older but audibly desperate voice of her nanny, Mrs. Tilford.

  "I don't care," Zoe hollered at the top of her lungs. "Let go of my bag."

  There was a scuffling sound, and the two seemed to be in some sort of struggle. Mrs. Tilford sounded winded as she said, "No, you can't go."

  "Give me my bag," Zoe screamed. "Give me my bag."

  Damián considered going upstairs to break it up. He really did. Then he remembered how much he hated dealing with Zoe when she was in one of her 'moods' and changed his mind. Mrs. Tilford would sort it out or offer her resignation in the morning like the other previous nannies had done. They were at what now? Four? And that was just this month.

  Heaving a tired a sigh, Damián turned on his heels and headed to his study. He wasn't surprised when he found his father and his best friend there. He'd seen their cars as he was parking his.

  "What are the two of you doing in here?"

  "Hiding out from your banshee spawn," Archie Colter said without looking up from the chessboard between he and Josiah Neal.

  "She's in rare form tonight," Josiah added.

  There had never been two more different looking men. Archie was the light to Josiah's dark. Gray eyes, pasty white skin that contrasted starkly with his mane of midnight black hair, and wirily tall; he was the antithesis of Josiah's own brown-eyed, bald-headed, chestnut-toned and heavily muscular looks. But despite their different looks, at heart they were the same man. Identical expressions of concentration played on their faces as they sought to outmaneuver each other.

  "Don't talk about my daughter like that. And I meant what are you doing in my house?" Damián clarified as he walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of bourbon. "Don't the two of you have women to go to?"

  Both Archie and Josiah guffawed in laughter and Damián couldn't help but join in.

  These two were even worse than him when it came to relationships. Archie was currently shacked up with a twenty-two year old playboy 'model' who the media had branded Nurse Nicole. Josiah was noosed up to Mayor Swan's daughter, Caroline, but theirs was a marriage-in-name-only. It wouldn't have surprised Damián in the least to find out that she was under some other man. After all Josiah was always on top of other women.

  Psh! Marriage was such a farce.

  But both of them seemed extremely satisfied with their relationships. Archie had got a PYT (pretty young thing) on his arm and in his bed in exchange for helping Nicole launch her 'modeling career'. Josiah had gotten the political connections he needed to build his business in exchange for helping Caroline piss off her anti-black-anything parents. Win – Win! Their respective relationships had lasted a lot longer than these bullshit love-ships Aiko Vaughn was promoting.

  As if reading Damián's mind, Josiah lifted his gaze from the chess board. "Did she help you out?"

  "Kicked me out of her office." Damián tipped his glass to his lips. The bitter liquid burned its way down his throat as he took a seat opposite the two chess-players.

  Damián had tried love. Twice. Both times it hadn't worked, and he'd ended up the loser. Now all he was looking for was a mutually beneficial relationship. What was so ridiculous or incomprehensible about that? But Aiko had looked at him like he'd demanded a harem before she'd denied him her services and sent him away. Damián, who wasn't used to being denied, was still reeling in anger.

  "I told you it was a waste of time." Josiah, whose sisters attended the same church as Aiko, said, "I hope you didn't tell her that I sent you."

  "Nah! You're good." Damián reassured.

  "You don't need to go to a matchmaking service anyway. You've got me," Archie said as he moved his knight and took down another one of Josiah's pawns. "I was talking to Miller Reston yesterday and his daughter, Shaye, came up."

  Damián's eyebrows arched upwards and his tone was dripping with disbelief when he asked, "She just came up?"

  "Yes." Archie nodded, completely unfazed by his son's skepticism. "She's a good Southern girl who comes from good stock. It doesn't hurt that she's involved with Child Alive among other charities. The voters will love her."

  "Dad, I'm only going to say this once more," Damián said carefully. "I'm not running on the Republican ticket. I'm not running on any ticket. I'm not running. Period."

  "Nonsense." Archie dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Josiah and I were just discussing it before you came and we both think Tony Moron needs to go."

  "Tony Moran," Damián corrected as he threw Josiah a 'what the hell' look. Josiah knew full well that he wasn't interested in his father's political ambitions for him.

  Josiah just shrugged even as Archie continued, "Do you know what Moron did today? Opened a new school! We don't need any more da
rn schools. These kids already know too much anyway. What we need are more jails. Someone needs to corral these hooligans running around…"

  Drink in hand, Damián sat back in his seat and zoned out. Politics didn't interest him. After the president had completed his term and Archie had resigned his position as White House Chief Of Staff, Damián had thought they were done with the politics. Yeah! For about six months. Then Archie had gotten it into his head that he was still young enough to bring another president into the White House.

  And just think – what if that president was his son? He'd be a legend.

  According to Archie, Damián was the perfect candidate. He was the grandson of DeAnn Colter, a leading light in the second Feminist movement, guaranteeing the women's vote. He was the son of Archie Colter, Republican puppet-master extraordinaire to pull in the WASPs, and had a Mexican actress for a mother to pull in the minorities. His background helping the Air Force would appeal to the gun-thirsty crowd, while his good looks would blind the airheads. And he was Josiah Neal's best friend. Everyone knew that Josiah practically ran their little village. Damián's nickname for Josiah's company, Apollo Risk Management, was 'I Know Everyone's Secrets' Incorporated.

  The support would come rolling in.

  Damián was fully aware that he was playing into his father's hands by searching for a wife because that would make him appealing to the family-values lot. But Zoe had him between a rock and a hard place. He made a mental note to add un-Republican looking to his list of wife-qualities. Immediately Aiko Vaughn's face flashed in his thoughts.

  She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, but she was intriguing enough that he whirled her image around in his mind. He could still see the striking smile and the quiet confidence in her gaze as she'd evaluated him. Even her tossing him out on his ass had been so dignified that if he wasn't well-versed in the art of 'get the fuck out' himself, he would've thought it just a polite goodbye. He mentally smiled.