Comfort of a Man (Arabesque)

by Byrd, Adrianne

  Chapter 11

  Brooklyn struggled to navigate her way through the shock that had entombed her body. This had to be some trick of the mind, some ill-placed fantasy clouding her perception of reality. But as the seconds ticked along, she realized Evan and Macy were still waiting for an answer to their question.

  “Do you two know each other?” Macy asked again.

  Suspicion and anger charged back into Brooklyn’s expression. “What in the hell is going on here?” Her hands balled at her hips as her gaze swung back to Evan.

  “Is this some kind of a joke?”

  Macy jumped in between Evan and Brooklyn, but looked uncomfortable for having made such a bold move. “I think it’s time you left. We’re entertaining a guest.”

  “I can see that.” Brooklyn stepped forward so their faces were inches apart. “Now if you don’t mind, I was talking to my ex-husband.”

  “Ex-husband?” Isaiah said, coming out of his trance.

  Brooklyn’s murderous gaze swiveled in his direction. “Like you didn’t know.”

  He blinked, but confusion continued to cloud his features. “How could I have known?”

  “Would either of you mind telling me how you know each other?” Macy demanded, settling her hands on her hips.

  Isaiah supplied an answer while his eyes settled on Brooklyn. “We’re…friends.”

  Brooklyn’s chin lifted, daring him to say more. As she held his pewter stare, her body awakened with renewed yearning. Afraid her conflicting emotions were exposed, she deserted his gaze.

  Evan pushed Macy out of the way and glared at Brooklyn. “What sort of friends?”

  Brooklyn had trouble maintaining her anger while battling confusion and embarrassment. “How do you know my husband?” she asked Isaiah, ignoring Evan and uncertain she wanted an answer.

  “Ex-husband,” Macy corrected.

  “And my ex-best friend,” Brooklyn added as her gaze sliced toward Macy.

  Isaiah frowned. “I don’t think I understand what’s going on,” he said cautiously.

  “That makes two of us,” Brooklyn answered.

  “Make it three,” Macy chirped.

  “Four,” Evan said, unable to hide his irritation. “I’m still waiting to hear what sort of friend this man is to you.”

  Everyone’s gaze raked him with that ridiculous question until he physically winced. “What? I have the right to know what type of company you keep while my impressionable son is under the same roof.”

  Brooklyn’s temper exploded. “Don’t talk to me about impressions, you two-timing, lying sack of—”

  “Shhh, Brooklyn. I still have a guest,” Macy hissed, trying to regain control over the situation. “Can’t we discuss this at another time?”

  She glanced at Isaiah, her brain unable to absorb the fact he was there—in Evan and Macy’s home. The scene reeked of scandal, but with nothing that made any sense. “Then I guess I’ll just leave you to your company,” she sneered, and then pivoted toward the door.

  “Wait!” Isaiah received shocked glares from his host and hostess.

  Brooklyn, however, snatched the door open and bolted through it as though the devil snapped at her heels. As she raced into the night, a cool breeze kissed and erased the dewy tracks of her tears. The emotional roller coaster had knocked the wind out of her and she needed to go somewhere so she could think.

  Her name floated on the air, but she couldn’t squelch the desire to flee. She jerked open her car door and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  Isaiah reached her and nearly lost his fingers when she slammed the door, and then cranked the engine.

  “Brooklyn, talk to me. This isn’t what you think,” he yelled and tapped on the glass.

  “You have no idea what I think,” she shouted back, and then slammed her foot down on the accelerator.

  He jumped back in time to save his feet, but was left to stand in the darkness dumbstruck.

  He turned his gaze toward the couple standing in the front door’s threshold while they stared back as if he’d suddenly turned into a two-headed alien. It was perhaps the first time he couldn’t rely on his politician’s smile to get him out of a sticky situation.

  Evan’s earlier jovial features were now a stony mask of hatred. He stepped forward, but stopped when Macy’s hand shot out to clutch his arm.

  “Let me handle this,” she said, and then rushed onto the porch and down the small set of stairs.

  Isaiah braced himself.

  When Macy stopped in front of him, she had no trouble putting on her best face. “Well,” she said, smiling, “that was rather unexpected.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” he said. His gaze cast over her shoulder and up at Evan. “I think your fiancé wants to kill me.”

  “Now that’s putting it mildly,” she agreed.

  They exchanged polite smiles for the awkward humor.

  “I should go,” Isaiah announced, saving her the trouble of asking him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, still smiling. “But perhaps that would be best.”

  Though he nodded, his head threatened to burst with questions he wanted to ask, but he knew he’d have to go elsewhere for answers. He turned in the direction of his car.

  “I still have your card,” Macy informed him. “Maybe I could give you a call and we can talk?”

  Isaiah faced her again.

  She shrugged. “My company is very interested in Rotech’s vision. And I’d still like to discuss our interest.” She shifted under his stare. “That is if you’re still interested.”

  Isaiah’s politician’s smile rode to the rescue as he nodded. “I think we can handle that. Call me tomorrow. I know just the person you can talk to.” With that he turned and walked over to his car. All the while, Evan’s heavy stare followed him. It wasn’t until Isaiah reached the highway that he began to breathe easier.

  But the questions swirling inside his head wouldn’t go away, and neither would the image of Brooklyn.

  Brooklyn made it home mentally and emotionally exhausted. Parked in her driveway, she stared up at her house. It wasn’t the sprawling mansion Evan lived in, but it was a nice two-story home centered in a nice subdivision that was the embodiment of the American dream. What crap.

  “Come on, girl. Pull yourself together,” she whispered, without conviction or motivation. She leaned back and laid her head against the headrest as she stared at the house.

  The night’s events had her at a loss for words. Nothing made sense these days. Oh, how her world stopped when Isaiah walked into that foyer. Even now, she couldn’t believe it. Was it fate or coincidence that kept tossing this man back into her life? Looking back on the incident, she wasn’t too sure that embarrassment and not anger was the reason she’d hightailed it out of there.

  A light flicked on in Jaleel’s room and she sighed with reservation. He was probably up wondering about her whereabouts. She gathered her things and got out of the car. When she entered the house, she was relieved to see that Jaleel had straightened up—that is until she made it to the kitchen.

  What was it about that boy and dishes? A noise caught her ear and she stopped at the base of the stairs, but the house had gone silent again. Shrugging, she dismissed the sound and continued up the stairs. As she neared Jaleel’s room, she caught shadows of movement from beneath the door seconds before the light clicked off.

  Her hackles rose as curiosity dominated her thoughts. She crept toward his door and leaned in to hear what was happening on the other side.

  A girl’s muffled giggle flared Brooklyn’s outrage and prompted her to burst into the room and flip on the light switch.

  Jaleel sprang out of bed like a calico cat, dragging the top sheets with him to wrap around his naked body. His teenage girlfriend, Theresa, wasn’t as fortunate. She was left trying to hide her nudity with her hands, and then with the limp pillows that were sprawled behind her.

  Brooklyn fought to close her mouth, but instead a stream of profanity
spewed forth.

  Embarrassment and contrition colored the children’s faces, and it wasn’t until Brooklyn barked for them to “put some damn clothes on” that either bothered to dash for their garments.

  Brooklyn stormed back down the stairs, clicking on lights as she went, and all the while grumbling, “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him.” She snatched up the cordless phone and jabbed the number from memory to Theresa’s house and broke the heartbreaking news to the girl’s shocked parents. By the time the two teenagers made it down the stairs and joined her in the living room, Brooklyn’s anger had yet to cool.

  Theresa’s parents arrived in record time and escorted the sobbing teenager home.

  When Brooklyn closed the door behind them and turned to face her son, she was indifferent to his mask of anger.

  “Did you have to call her parents?” he asked.

  Brooklyn crossed her arms and squared her shoulders as she glared back. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “I am the parent and I don’t answer to you. As of tonight you have lost my trust,” she snapped.

  “Dad wouldn’t have called her parents,” he challenged.

  “You’re not living with your dad.”

  “I will be in a few days,” he sneered.

  “Maybe I should change that.”

  Jaleel’s smug expression fell. “You wouldn’t.”

  Brooklyn lifted her chin and held her son’s gaze. “I’ve been very tolerant of a lot of crap from you and I’ve had enough. Since you have made it clear that you couldn’t care less about my feelings, maybe it’s time I stop caring so much about yours. Go to your room.”

  She walked past him and headed toward the staircase.

  “I’m not going to be able to stay with Dad this summer?” he asked again as though he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

  Upstairs, she slammed her bedroom door before tears of frustration slid down her face.

  Seconds later, Jaleel’s door slammed, too.

  She hardly remembered undressing or sliding into the torn shirt she’d stolen from Isaiah in New York. For some strange reason, she drew comfort from it—even now. She slid into bed, but as she hugged her pillow tight, she couldn’t help wishing she had someone to share her load. As she closed her eyes, a faded image of Isaiah drifted across her thoughts and a sigh of regret crested her lips.

  Chapter 12

  Brooklyn’s head tossed in abandonment among her soft pillows, mistaking them for soft clouds of ecstasy when the alarm blared. Her hand flailed out and smashed the clock’s off button. The memory of her true location seeped into her consciousness and an ache of disappointment filled her. She’d dreamed of being entangled in Isaiah’s strong embrace again last night.

  Last night, he’d worn a handsome, cream-colored ensemble that reeked of sophistication, class, and style. It had been the second time in a week she’d ran into him and the second time her body had committed mutiny against reason.

  Sighing, she struggled to forget the way his eyes had softened as they focused on her, and how his voice caressed her skin like the smoothest of silks. The man had the strangest effect on her—to the point where she questioned her logic for pushing him away.

  Then she remembered: she couldn’t handle another heartbreak or another life-altering disappointment.

  The phone rang. Groggily, she sat up and answered. “Hello.”

  “What’s this about you not letting my son visit me this summer?” Evan demanded. “Does this have anything to do with that new boyfriend you’ve got stashed over there?”

  Tuesday looked to be an echo of Monday, she thought as she peeled back the covers on her bed. “I see your son called you this morning.”

  “Damn it, Brooke. I’m not going to just sit by and let you ruin this summer for us.”

  “Don’t threaten me. According to you and your team of attorneys you can’t afford to have him with you this summer, or did you forget about your sudden bankruptcy?” At his long punctuated silence that trailed her question, she stood from her bed and shook her head.

  “Evan, I’m not trying to be the enemy. I just want to be able to pay the bills around here. I’m tired of fighting—with you, with Macy, and even with Jaleel.”

  The silence over the phone stretched with unbearable tension before Evan’s exhalation filled the line. “I’ll bring you a check when I pick Jaleel up on Friday,” he said.

  Brooklyn leaned against the frame of the adjoining bathroom as a small level of triumph and relief rushed through her. “Thank you.”

  In the Gwinnett Hospital cafeteria, Yasmine couldn’t stop laughing when Isaiah relayed the details of his business dinner with Macy Patterson and her fiancé. In fact, her hilarious reaction allowed him the ability to find the humor in what had happened—however small.

  “You have to be pulling my leg,” she said, wiping the corners of her eyes. “You must be making this stuff up.”

  “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

  “Apparently.” She chuckled again, yet one glance at his fading smile and she struggled to become serious. “I’m sorry. It isn’t funny.”

  He rolled his eyes and attempted to smile again, but the end result resembled a lopsided grin. “No. It’s funny in a sad sort of way,” he confessed, and then shrugged. “It’s just…”

  She studied him. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”

  He thought about it for a long moment and then hesitated to answer.

  “Come on. You can tell me,” she goaded. She slid her hands across the table and settled them atop his.

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he nodded in reflection. “I’m intrigued with everything about her.”

  A broader smile bloomed across Yasmine’s face.

  Isaiah caught the twinkle in her eyes and groaned. “Don’t give me that look,” he said, easing down in his chair.

  “What look? This is great news. It’s the best news. We have to find this woman and tell her how you feel.”

  He held up a slender finger. “Problem: she’s not interested in me.”

  She coiled back with a frown. “You don’t know that.”

  “Don’t I?” he countered. “Let’s look at the facts. Six months ago, she disappeared without a trace after the most incredible night of my life. Four days ago she rams into my car and then treated me as though I was the last person on earth she wanted to see. Then last night, she damn near ran me over trying to get away. None of these things leads me to believe she’s interested in pursuing a relationship.”

  “Hmmph. Sounds to me like she doesn’t know how to drive.”

  He laughed despite his deepening mood. “I have more important things to worry about than someone who…”

  Yasmine watched him as she waited for him to finish his sentence. When it was apparent that he wouldn’t, she attacked with a different angle of persuasion. “I’ve never known you to give up,” she said in manufactured awe. “Especially when you want something.”

  The blunt challenge struck the bull’s-eye of Isaiah’s pride as his head bobbed in agreement. He wanted Brooklyn Douglas; there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But how he’d go about getting her, he hadn’t a clue. “All right,” he said. His mind scrambled for an idea. “I’m going to go for it.”

  Yasmine patted his hand and gave him a superior nod. “Good boy.”

  Wednesday morning, Brooklyn arrived at Conner’s Realty, shocked to find her desk covered with long-stemmed roses. The other women in the office cast curious glances spiked with friendly jealousy. When she plucked the accompanying card from a plastic stem, it was hard for her to hide her shock.

  —Does the memory of New York keep you up at night?

  —Isaiah

  She reread the card several times and then stared at the large crystal vases monopolizing her desk while a smile crept across her features. “Yes, it does.”

  On Thursday, a golden gift box with an elaborate red velvet bow sat in the middle of her desk. No one in
the office saw who’d delivered it. With great trepidation, she unwrapped the box. She smiled when she withdrew a beautiful snow globe. She shook the small orb and watched the artificial snow swirl around a miniature image of New York. Also inside the box was Isaiah’s business card and on the back was the instruction for her to call his cell phone.

  She was tempted.

  Later that day, Isaiah took his mother home. It was a great relief to see her back where she belonged. And she wasted no time trying to clean, cook, and dig in her garden, but at every turn, Isaiah was there insisting that she rest. So he was left to cook, clean and, heaven help him, dig in the garden.

  Hordes of Georgia’s friends came by to check up on her. A few of them dropped hints for Isaiah to meet either their daughters or granddaughters. He told them all that he wished he had the time. But any mention of him returning to Texas was accompanied by his mother’s frown.

  While running errands, he kept his cell phone nearby. When the last guest finally left, he rested a few minutes from the swirl of activity. “You have a lot of friends.”

  “A person can never have too many,” she said, patting his hand.

  Out of habit, he retrieved his cell phone from his hip and checked for messages.

  “Don’t tell me you’re already eager to go back to work,” she said, watching him.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Believe it or not I haven’t thought about work for a few days.”

  Disbelief covered her face as she waved off his comment. “That’s like saying Dr. King never had a dream.”

  Isaiah laughed and eased closer to her on the sofa. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  Georgia smiled. “You rest now. You’ve been ripping and roaring all day. I’m getting tired just watching you.”

  “Thanks. You’re a good mom.” He eased back into the chair, and then cocked his head onto her shoulder.

  She chuckled and he enjoyed the melodious sound.

  “Did she call today?” she asked.

  His spirits dipped, but his resolve kicked in. “Not yet.”