Hawk's Promise

by Nola Cross

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded and went out ahead of him.

  He turned back to Jordan. Feeling magnanimous, he tipped his head. “I’m sorry for your loss, Jordan. Dovie was a special lady.” Then he turned and followed Desi down the front steps.

  Chapter 4

  Desi gripped both sides of the lectern and tried to get her eyes to focus on the sea of faces filling the small nave of the Sweet Redemption Baptist Church. Even though it had been a couple of years since she herself had last attended a Sunday service there, she recognized many of the older ladies as dear friends of her grandmother. In the past two days, at least a dozen of them had appeared on her doorstep, arms laden with casseroles and pies and big disposable foil pans of fragrant fried chicken. What a blessing it was not to have to think of preparing meals along with everything else she’d had to take care of.

  An even bigger blessing had been the effect of those visitors on her father. Several of the middle-aged ladies were single and had made an obvious effort with their appearance. For the first time Desi could remember, she saw her dad perk up and take an interest in something besides what was on the TV. He had stopped looking at her with that sad, expectant expression of his, the one that weighed her down like the heavy vest they put across your chest before dental x-rays. Her dad had even showered and taken care to dress in clean clothes.

  Today he sat in the front pew, stiff and awkward in a dark blue suit he had borrowed from a neighbor. That he was sitting back and letting his daughter deliver the eulogy didn’t seem to surprise anyone; the whole congregation knew it had been a mere two years since he’d walked a long and treacherous road back from a crippling addiction.

  A movement in the back of the church caught her eye. Tracy slipped through the door and into the last row of pews, giving her a subtle little wave as she sat down. Desi smiled and nodded. It was a wonderful surprise to see her friend there; she knew Tracy didn’t feel at home in the predominantly black, conservative Baptist church. None of her other acquaintances had come, which didn’t surprise her, but her co-workers at the hospital had sent a beautiful spray of white lilies.

  Keeping her eyes averted from her grandmother’s lifeless body lying in the open casket before her, Desi cleared her throat and looked at the sheet of notes she’d prepared. She had planned to talk about all the good works Dovie had done in her community, all the kindness she had shown her fellow parishioners, her stalwart devotion to raising funds for church-related projects. Her vision glazed over, the words swimming out of focus. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  And then it occurred to her that everyone there already knew those things about Dovie. And so she set aside her notes and instead began to speak of her own childhood and her personal recollections of her beloved grandmother. When the tears spilled down her cheeks, she ignored them and kept talking.

  “I didn’t ever know my own mother. She died in a car crash when I was four months old. Dovie is the only mother I remember having. And she is—was the best.”

  She stopped for a moment to regain her composure.

  “Some of you might not know she was a wizard at the sewing machine. There was never a school year that I didn’t start off with several new outfits in my closet, every one of them made by Dovie. And they were beautiful. All the other kids wanted to know where I got my cool clothes.” She smiled, remembering the pride she had felt on the playground as her friends oohed and ahhed over her new dresses. “She made sure I was all set for school before she ever thought about her own wardrobe.”

  Or her own anything. Dovie had always put Desi’s welfare first.

  “And in the kitchen? Well, you all know that Dovie was famous for her cakes and pies, but she also made sure I learned to cook. I’ll never forget how patient she was when I couldn’t get my pie crust to roll out without tearing. And Dovie was the one who encouraged me to join Girl Scouts in middle school. That was lots of fun. And she made sure I finished high school, even when I fell behind and wanted to quit. My dream of becoming a nurse was her dream for me too.”

  For a moment she was overwhelmed by grief, and the lump in her throat grew too big to talk around. How would she go on without Dovie there to support her? How would she run the house and keep up with her classes and her job at Peace Memorial? And who would take care of her father? Cook for him, wash his clothes? She looked down at her dad, who sat like a child, trusting her. Somehow she would have to phrase this next part without making him feel bad.

  “Over the years, Dovie welcomed lots of people into our home. People who weren’t related to us by blood.”

  Strangers her dad had brought home. Frowsy, drunk women she met in the bathroom when she got up in the night to pee. Women who were often on their hands and knees at the toilet, vomiting, or half-asleep next to it, propped against the wall.

  Besides Hawk’s mother, there were four of those women who had stayed a while. Two of them had dragged their kids along, and for a time, Desi had had what she called her “sort-of-siblings”. Her grandmother did her best to expand the household resources to include her dad’s latest love interests. No doubt she hoped one of them would decide to stay and resurrect her son’s interest in living. But after a time they’d all moved on. Like Hawk’s mother had.

  Like Hawk had.

  “Dovie took in strays of all kinds. Cats. Kids. Everyone. She loved everyone. Her heart was always open.”

  Except for Dad’s dealers. Dovie had put her foot down there. She made sure that Dad met his coke suppliers off the premises. Period.

  Most of this had gone right over Desi’s head when she was little. She didn’t realize then that not everyone’s dad came home from his job at the shipyard higher than a kite. Effusive and jocular one moment, nasty and foul-tempered the next. Dovie had protected her from much of it. Not until sophomore year of high school—about the time her dad had his heart attack—had she sensed the full scope of his illness.

  “And Dovie was very proud of her home and her family. She was proud of me when I got my associate’s degree last year. And she was especially proud of my dad when he found his way back to us.”

  Many people in the crowd nodded and murmured to themselves. A woman in the back called out, “Praise the Lord.” Her dad smiled and ducked his head.

  Desi pressed on. “After this service, there will be a short, private burial service, just for our family. Then everyone here is invited back to our house to enjoy the wonderful food you all have prepared.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “And now, if anyone else would care to say a word or two about Dovie, I’m sure that would make her very happy.”

  Desi made a point of looking toward her father, but he shifted in his seat and studied his shoes. A ripple of discomfiture went through the congregation as people waited to see if Dovie’s son had anything to say. At last Cora Wilson, her grandmother’s oldest friend, rose from the pew and began making her way down the aisle.

  “Thank you, Cora,” Desi said.

  Desi moved down the steps past Dovie’s casket, still unable to look inside, and took her seat next to her dad in the front row. On the other side of her sat her second cousins, Evran and Perry, and their seventy-year-old mother. Hawk had chosen to sit in the second row, right behind her.

  Now that she was through speaking, Desi’s heart rate began to slow down to normal. She had done it! She’d stood in front of everyone and delivered Dovie’s eulogy without making a fool of herself. Dovie would have been proud.

  A sudden pain seared through her chest, another tight, hot skewer of loss and grief. If she had been alone, she would have broken down and bawled. But here in the church, where people had come to honor Dovie, she could only suck in a deep breath and fold her arms around herself. Somehow, she would get through the rest of this day.

  Cora stopped at the casket and bent down, giving Dovie a lingering kiss on the forehead. Squeezing her eyes closed, Desi did her best to tune out the heart-wrenching tableau. After a moment, she heard Cora’s
quivering voice addressing the crowd. “Dovie Taylor was my best friend for forty-seven years.”

  Just as Desi thought she might not be able to squelch her cries a moment longer, a hand came down on her shoulder. Strong fingers grasped hold and gave a gentle squeeze, lending her the fortitude she desperately needed.

  Daddy!

  But when she lifted her gaze, ready to smile into her father’s face, she found his full attention was on Cora, his hands clasped in his lap. Turning to glance behind her, she was startled to discover Hawk leaning forward, his hand on her shoulder, his eyes soft with compassion. As their gazes collided, she experienced that odd, carnival-ride wooziness again, and she whipped around, afraid he might guess her guilty secret. After a moment, his fingers gave another brief squeeze and then slid away.

  Finally, she could let herself think about it.

  Over the past three days, as he had driven her to meetings with Pastor Davis and to the funeral home and cemetery, she had come to lean on him. His commitment to supporting her had never once wavered. During their appointment with the funeral director, when she had lost control and been unable to go on, it was Hawk who went over the fine points of Dovie’s letter with the man, ensuring that all her grandmother’s wishes would be carried out. It was Hawk who selected the baskets of yellow gladioli that stood on either side of the altar, and Hawk who helped her decide which pair of dressy shoes Dovie would have wanted to wear.

  In the mornings he arrived at her home just after breakfast, and in the evenings he went back to his hotel, and in between he put himself one hundred percent at her disposal. He was a rock for her. Even her dad had begun to look to Hawk for guidance and strength.

  For the most part, Desi had been numb since Dovie’s death, running on auto-pilot. Her main focus was to make sure the funeral would be just right. But there was also a small part of her that was growing more and more aware of Hawk. Not as a friend or big brother. No. She had been noticing him as a man. A tall, handsome man with big hands, an easy smile, and soft black eyes.

  Cora’s voice faded into the background as Desi let her thoughts touch down for a moment on this stunning revelation. She was crushing big time on Hawk!

  What would it be like for him to touch her, not as a sister, but as a lover?

  Scalding heat rushed through her at the inappropriate idea. How dare she imagine such things, especially at Dovie’s funeral?

  Shame on you, Desiree Vanessa Taylor! She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice on those few occasions when Desi had disappointed her. With a shake of her head she suppressed her wayward thoughts and brought her attention back to what Cora was saying.

  “...sacrificing her own dreams to open her home to her widowed son and infant granddaughter. She loved little Desiree like the baby girl was her own, and the fine person Miss Desi is today is shining proof of Dovie’s goodness and love.”

  Several parishioners murmured ‘amen’, and Desi shifted guiltily on the hard pew, willing herself to put all un-sisterly thoughts of Hawk out of her head.

  * * * *

  An hour later, following the burial, she rode with her father in the limo from the cemetery back to the church.

  “It was a fine service,” he said, giving her a tired smile.

  “Yes,” she murmured. Thank God it was over.

  After a moment he leaned back and closed his eyes, excusing her from further conversation. She let her unfocused gaze rest on the passing scenery, and before she was even aware of it, her mind wandered back into dangerous territory. Suddenly she was thinking about Hawk again, wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

  She grabbed her purse and took out her phone, hoping to distract herself. But it seemed the harder she tried to avoid thinking about him, the more he shouldered his way into her thoughts.

  Inexperienced as she was, she’d seen enough movies and read enough romance novels to understand what happened between men and women. And since the age of ten, when Hawk had left her on the front porch, she’d been saving herself for someone special, just as he’d instructed her. Of course he had no idea that he was the someone special she most often dreamed of.

  What would it feel like if Hawk parted her thighs and entered her? That was the term she remembered from books—the man entered the woman. As if a door opened and he just slipped inside. Was it really like that, so quick and uneventful? Or was it something harsher, more primitive? She longed to know.

  Dovie had avoided talking to her about the mechanics of sex. Tracy, on the other hand, had done it with her ex-boyfriend, and was only too happy to share details. The one time they had snuck some of Tracy’s mom’s wine and spent the evening giggling together about sex, her friend used the word cock. Cock! Just the sound of the word sent a shower of thrills over Desi’s skin. And then Tracy had shown her what to do for a man with her mouth, demonstrating on an orange Popsicle. The two girls had dipped their frozen treats into their glasses of Riesling over and over, licking and sucking and laughing together.

  But sex had to be way more complicated than Popsicles, right?

  Would it hurt the first time? Would she like it? Would Hawk like it if he put his penis—his cock—inside her?

  She sighed as she slipped her phone back into her purse. She was so behind in these matters. At twenty-one there was so much she didn’t know.

  * * * *

  Hawk stood back against the wall near the woodstove, arms crossed on his chest, watching as Desi moved through the packed living room. She carried a plate of deviled eggs, all of which vanished as she stopped to greet each guest. The sideboard and dining table were also covered with platters of sandwiches and fried chicken and bowls of baked beans and potato salad, pitchers of tea. “Thank you,” he heard her say again and again, as neighbors and friends murmured their condolences.

  She was tall and slim in her simple black dress with its narrow skirt, the movements of her arms and hands as graceful as a cat’s. A natural lady. He tried his best not to notice how her rounded bottom made the fabric of the dress stretch over her curves, or the way the points of her breasts sometimes brushed against the rim of the plate she carried. For the hundredth time in the past three days, he fought to direct his thoughts into a more brotherly mode. But it was no use.

  “I know I promised to stay until tomorrow,” he’d told her earlier, taking her aside as soon as they got back to the house, “but something’s come up at the shop, and I’ll need to get back there tonight.”

  She had stared into his eyes, her cheeks coloring, her lips parted as if she meant to say something back to him. But in the end she had just nodded and then hurried off to the kitchen.

  And yet, there it was hours later and he found himself still hovering in the living room, watching over her as darkness fell and the room began to empty out. Her friend Tracy had just left. Now only Cora remained, aside from a small group of female admirers who clustered on the couch around a beaming Jordan. Hawk’s concerns about Desi’s father leaning too much on his daughter for support had pretty much evaporated that afternoon. It was clear the man would be distracted for some time to come, and no doubt well taken care of too.

  Cora bustled around the living room, clearing away the used paper plates and plastic forks. Desi had disappeared into the kitchen. Hawk headed that way, going over in his mind what he would say to her.

  We can stay in touch more often now. We have each other’s emails.

  If you need anything, don’t hesitate to text me.

  No need to thank me. What’s a brother for, after all?

  Arm’s length. That was the key. He could be available to lend moral support and practical assistance from a distance if she needed it. As long as he wasn’t in close proximity to her, he should be okay. With time and distance between them, these inappropriate emotions would no doubt fade away. Hell, maybe he’d even give Miguel’s sister a call one of these days soon. Rosa was petite and curvy and very friendly. It could be interesting getting to know her better.

  He p
ushed the swinging door open. Desi stood with her back to him at the sink, up to her elbows in soapy water. A ruffled, yellow apron was tied at her waist, the bright bow framing the heart-shaped swell of her bottom to perfection. He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze.

  Though the guests had used disposable dinnerware, there was still a daunting mound of platters and pots stacked on the tile counter. He felt a thrill of resentment at the remaining female guests who were gathered around Desi’s dad.

  “You shouldn’t have to tackle this mess on your own.”

  She spoke over her shoulder. “It’s okay. I needed a little private time.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I guess I should get going.”

  Now she spun to face him. “I didn’t mean from you.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ve already stayed longer than I meant to. I do need to get home tonight. I should get on the road.”

  “Of course.” Her expression, which had lightened when she first saw him, now returned to strained and sad.

  A sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. No doubt she was dreading being left alone with her grief. And there he was, just like eleven years ago, running out on her again. That was his pattern, wasn’t it? All of a sudden his chest was banded with steel, his throat so full he could barely speak.

  “You know you can call me or email me anytime, right?” he said.

  She nodded.

  “We won’t lose touch again. I promise.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “Thank you, Hawk. For everything.”

  Her courage, her beauty, threatened to overwhelm him. He held out his arms, and she came to him, settling into his embrace as if she belonged there, her fragrant hair teasing his chin. Her body molded to his, soft and vulnerable, as he struggled to keep his touch light on her back.

  Is this how a sister and brother are supposed to hug? His body weighed in on the matter, his cock hardening, and he moved his pelvis away. But he couldn’t seem to make himself break contact with her entirely. Long seconds ticked by as neither of them moved, and Hawk lost himself in her smell and the warm pressure of her breasts against his chest.