Rogue Affair

by Tamsen Parker

  She let a soft breath. “Yeah, this is okay.” She took in a deep breath and let it out and then was jostled as he jerked for a second.

  “Sorry, that one tickled.”

  “Oh you’re ticklish?”

  “Maybe, but let’s not find out because I don’t want to jar my leg.”

  “Always using that as your excuse. I see you, Jack Murphy.”

  She saw him, and she felt him, and she… No, those were all the verbs she was gonna think about today. Nothing more. Time to turn the conversation innocuous.

  “Okay. Tell me who you’re most looking forward to tackling next year.”

  He was on number 15 of what was apparently a very long list when Rochelle heard the front door open. She pushed her head over the couch to see, but was unprepared for how quickly Jack sat up right and pulled her with him.

  “Well, well, well.” The woman who’d opened the door walked into the living room. “Jack Murphy, is this who I think it is?”

  Ceci—it had to be Ceci—was beautiful. Her hair was freshly twisted, and her tasteful outfit made Rochelle intensely conscious of her scruffy traveling clothes. Her eyes were alight with humor, her mouth was wide and generous, there was a gravitas in her presence that had Rochelle checking her posture and smoothing her hair.

  Rochelle stood up. “If you think I’m Rochelle, then you’re right. And if you think I’m someone else, then Jack’s got some explaining to do.”

  Ceci’s smile was so bright, Rochelle could only blink in its warmth. “Girl, come over here! Me and Cedric have been praying for you, so much. I’m so glad you came.”

  Rochelle was engulfed in a hug and was taken aback. She really expected anybody who loved Jack to think the worst of her. She’d sabotaged his career and attacked him, and potentially made things weird for his teammates, who he needed to trust him. And now she was being welcomed.

  Even worse, Ceci’s eyes were shining with tears when she released her. “We’ve had some losses of our own. We appreciate what you did.”

  All Rochelle could do was shake her head and purse her lips. Dangit, she didn’t want to cry.

  “Oh honey.” Ceci smiled again. “It’s all right.” She raised her voice. “Jack, did you do anything to welcome this girl?”

  He was still on the couch, torso twisted so he could watch them. “Well, I gave her a hug,” he answered. “I couldn’t carry her bags, because I know you put her upstairs, and I couldn’t bring her food.”

  “That’s right, mister. This is a Christian household. Upstairs it is.” But Ceci’s smile was back as she said it. “Rochelle, honey, do you want anything to eat or drink? Did they feed you on your flight?”

  “Food would be good.” Shit, Ceci was like a whirlwind of caring.

  “Great—let’s go into the kitchen. I show you what we have and then I’ll need to run and get the kids.”

  They all went into the kitchen, Jack following more slowly. “Okay—” Ceci gestured widely—“I’ve got cookies and bread in the pantry, sandwich fixings in the fridge, there’s water or juice—the cups are over there. Jack should be able to help you find stuff. Now I have to get those kids—I’ll be back in fifteen.”

  She turned and left.

  Rochelle looked at Jack as they heard the door close. “Wow.” She could feel her eyes widening. “Is she always like that?”

  “Yeah, just an energy blast of love and Jesus. I hadn’t actually really met her before they took me in. It’s been an adjustment. But Cedric just loves her. He actually stands around watching her with pride in his eyes. I mean, she was even the one who suggested them having me.”

  “Well, I’m glad she’s been taking care of you.”

  “You look real glad.”

  “I just need a minute to recover.”

  “Why don’t we make you make a sandwich? You’ll feel better once you get some protein in you.”

  “Protein is the answer to everything to you athlete types, huh?” She opened the refrigerator and was amazed by the variety of sandwich fixings inside. Four types of meat, six types of cheese, those sweet green lettuces that looked straight out of Peter Rabbit, and every condiment imaginable. There were tomatoes in the windowsill. She could get used to this. Jack clumped over behind her and started suggesting his favorites. She turned around and reached up to put her fingers on his mouth. She shivered as she realized—she could get used to that, too, if she was sure she could trust him.

  6

  “So what is this place?” Rochelle looked around in curious awe. Ceci had dropped them off at an interesting building—well, it was clearly some sort of church—and they’d made it up the steps, through the heavy wooden doors, and into the foyer. Jack had been getting restless in the house, and Ceci had to make groceries.

  “I don’t need Jack slowing me down, so I’m going to take you to one of my favorite places in the city.”

  “This,” Jack intoned like a tour guide, “Is the Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis, the man, not the city. And we’re here because Ceci loves it and thinks we need it.”

  “Jack, you know you can tell that woman no.” Rochelle patted him on the arm, but not too hard because of his crutches.

  “Yeah…” his voice trailed off. “I haven’t really been able to. But it’s always turned out good. Anyway, she knew I grew up Catholic and couldn’t believe I hadn’t been here yet.”

  “Are you still Catholic?”

  “I’m not not Catholic. What about you?”

  “Well, my mom grew up Missionary Baptist, but my dad was AME. The Baptist church was closest growing up, so we went to that one. But lately I’ve been a proud member of Bedside Baptist.”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “Tell Ceci that, please.”

  “Com’n, let’s go further in.” He led her to the doors and then stopped. “I hate this, but will you get the door for me?”

  “Oh, you wish you were the fine southern gentleman?”

  “Yes. That’s how my mama raised me.”

  “And you had a good mama.”

  They walked into the sanctuary and she stopped, stunned. The foyer had given hints of what was to come but this—this was amazing. The entire walls and ceiling of the sanctuary and side chapels were covered in mosaics—bright, golden mosaics.

  “Dammit, she was right.”

  “Yes, but try not curse in church. Go on, wander by yourself—I’ll just slow you down.”

  And so she did.

  This building, man. The mosaics practically glowed as they illustrated the life of Christ and the life of St. Louis, and the folks who’d brought Catholicism to the city of St. Louis. She was going to get a crick in her neck craning her head back to look.

  She wandered out of the sanctuary into a side chapel and found a picture of Mary. She stayed, struck by the expression on her face. The Virgin Mother cradled her son, his body more like an adult than a fat baby, her expression calm but demanding.

  Rochelle finally whispered to her, “Please take care of my cousin. Tell him we miss him every day. I don’t know how you did it. I don’t know how you loved so much in so much uncertainty. I don’t even know if I can. But I think maybe I want to. And please tell Mrs. Dorothy Jack’s trying. Trying so hard.”

  His mom had known. She’d known she was dying and she’d known that Rochelle liked him—and that small towns in Louisiana didn’t really do interracial relationships that much. She’d come down and stood beside Rochelle one football game, and they’d watched him together.

  She’d put her arm around Rochelle as they flinched together during a particularly hard hit. “Y’all worked well together on that project.” She’d said it quietly. “I hope to see you do more good together. One day he’ll see that you are good together. I pray that he realizes everything he’s capable of. And you, God be with you for the work I know you’ll do, Rochelle.” Her hand had tightened on Rochelle’s back, and then she’d walked off and Jack had made a game-clinching tackle-for-loss.

  It had been a little weir
d, and then she’d died that Christmas, and Rochelle had kinda forgotten about it, especially as her and Jack’s lives diverged when she went to an HBCU and he went to a big conference school to play football. Rochelle had figured their lives were going in opposite directions. Of course she still cheered for him, but until her cousin’s death—murder—and its continued effect on her family, she’d assumed he’d always be those that guy over there that she knew once. And then, desperate for some change, for some help from somebody, she’d hopped into his truck.

  And now she was at a beautiful Catholic church, talking to his mama and Mary, with space to remember her cousin. Here there was room for it all. She didn’t expect it or ask for it, but a peace came over her at that moment.

  Rochelle breathed it in, deep as she could, held it, let it out, and breathed in some more. She wasn’t sure what would happen—he was trying, he was reading, and though she wasn’t sure he’d processed it consciously yet, she knew his time at Cedric and Ceci’s had changed him. She was going to take this peace she’d found no matter what.

  Jack took a few minutes to soak in the place. His mom would’ve loved it. And also been like “they could’ve used this money to help people” and sniffed, but then she would have been unable to help herself to go around and read every single caption and verse.

  He took a few steps towards the front, but the sound of his crutches broke up the sacred silence. He vowed to come back when he could walk without crutches and explore the whole place, maybe even come to a service here. His mom would be proud of them. He took a seat in the back pew and swiveled his head to look all around. Even from this one spot there was so much to see. The back wall had angels way up high, holding banners. Each one said “blessed are you when…” with different reasons for being blessed. Oh right, it was the beatitudes.

  But his gaze caught on the banner that said, “Blessed are you when you are persecuted for justice’s sake.”

  “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” The words came out quick and quiet as he felt that sentence in his gut. “Okay, mom, you got me.”

  He laughed. Sure, when Rochelle tried to “persecute” him for her cousin’s justice sake—that was a blessing, because he got to know Rochelle again. And not be quite as selfish an asshole as he’d been when she confronted him the first time during the preseason. That first meeting in his truck. Shit. And now, he needed to make a reckoning—with what he felt for her, if he was good enough for her.

  Was there more justice to be sought? Was that enough or did he need more blessing? Did he even have the courage to pursue more justice? He wasn’t dumb. He could see the implications. He couldn’t continue to feel whatever he felt for her, to interact with her, to snuggle on the couch with her, if he wasn’t ready to commit to a different life than he had assumed would be his.

  He looked up to see Rochelle heading towards him, a half smile on her face. The light in her eyes was warm, and her skin glowed among the shine of the mosaic tiles. Something clenched in his chest.

  Oh, he definitely wanted more. More blessings, more justice. I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it work. He smiled at her as she got closer, hope blooming in his heart.

  She came up to him and sat down, squeezing into the small space between his boot and the end of the pew. She jostled his ankle, and he breathed in through his teeth sharply.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry, Jack. Sometimes I feel like all I do is make things worse for you.”

  He smiled at her from down the pew. “No, that’s definitely not true.” He just wasn’t sure how to convince her.

  But before he’d decided, someone came up. “Oh my gosh, are you Jack Murphy? Can I get a picture with you?”

  Was this the worst time to have a fan find him? He smiled for the fan’s selfie anyway, thanked him for the recovery wishes, and then groaned when his own phone chirped in his pocket.

  “Looks like we need to start heading outside,” he told Rochelle. “Ceci is almost here.”

  “This place was amazing, Jack. We should come back later when you can walk.”

  She’d said “we.” He almost missed a step with his crutches.

  When they got to Ceci’s Suburban, there almost wasn’t room for them, it was so packed with groceries. “Ceci, how many people are you planning on feeding? You could start your own produce stand with all this!”

  “Well, we’ve got you and Rochelle, Michael from the team and his family, a couple young guys whose families couldn’t come up, my parents, Cedric’s brother—it’s gonna be a feast, let me tell you.”

  Jack tried to understand wanting to invite all those people to one’s house. Nope. It just didn’t work for him. If he were to be in charge of Thanksgiving at his own house? It would be his dad…and Rochelle, if she’d come. And so yeah, everything would come from Honey Baked Ham and just be heated up in the oven but it would be delicious.

  “You know, Ceci, I really don’t understand y’all. You and Cedric are already hosting me and Rochelle, and you’ve taken care of me for weeks, and you want to have even more people over and cook for them, too?”

  Ceci had come to one of St. Louis’s many stop signs so she shot a look back at him. “I know you may not understand this Jack, and that’s okay, but Cedric and I feel so blessed by the Lord, we just have to spill it over to everyone else we can. I know you think it’s just delicious sandwiches I’ve been feeding you, but really it’s grace and mercy and favor.”

  Jack cocked his head, and caught Rochelle’s attention. He rolled his eyes. “Well, whatever it is, it’s really good, and I appreciate it.” He could see Ceci’s smile from the backseat where he was sitting sideways, his leg propped up.

  “You wait, brother. You’ll see. Grace is gonna get you.”

  “And if it does, you’ll be the first to know. But are you sure this isn’t all too much for you?”

  “I’ve been doing this for years, Jack. Also I’m going to put you and Rochelle to work, too.”

  Rochelle spoke up, “I think it’s only fair to warn you I’m pretty hopeless in the kitchen.”

  “Well, then, since you’re a teacher, you can keep the kids out of the kitchen.”

  “That I can certainly do.”

  Ceci started hammering out her game plan, but Jack got distracted looking at Rochelle. She was in the front seat with the eggs and the bread, so if he leaned back sideways as he was, his head against the window, he could just see the side of her face. She was going back and forth with Ceci, talking about her family’s Thanksgivings.

  Apparently her family also did it big but he could see the tiny hitches and the hard blinks as she spoke. And the curve of her chin, and the shell of her ear, the tiny coils of her hair peeking over it, the muscles moving on her cheek when she smiled, the richness of her skin. He bonked his head against the window of the car.

  He was in so much trouble.

  7

  The Thanksgiving meal was on the table. Cedric had successfully deep fried two turkeys without exploding either one of them. There were pans of dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, butter peas, Jello salads, rolls, cornbread muffins, corn, spaghetti, salad, and fruit salad.

  Jack was suddenly thankful for his broken ankle, since it meant he could eat what he wanted without worrying about a game on Sunday. The Lions were on and the Cowboys were up next, though certain people here had to switch to the college games to check the scores there.

  A piercing whistle cut the air.

  “All right, y’all. Here’s the deal. Everybody but Jack, you get a plate and go around and get what you like. Jack, I’ll make you a plate. Dessert is in the kitchen”—and she looked sternly at her children and also some of the rookies—“you have to eat your meal BEFORE you get dessert. Cedric’s going to say grace, we’re going to go around the room and say what we’re thankful for, and then we’re gonna eat. And if you make a mess, clean it up.”

  Cedric’s prayer was heartfelt and simple. “Father-God, We’re just so thankful to be here, in this house, with these peo
ple today. We thank you for waking us up this morning. We thank you for life, for health, or in Jack’s case, for good medical care, for love, for each other, and most of all, for your Son Jesus, and what he’s done for us. We thank you for all the many hands that prepared this meal, and we ask you Father to bless it to your service in faith, love, and justice. And for everyone who doesn’t have what we have here, Jesus, the food, the family, and friends, we pray you would provide for them today. And now Jesus, those of us who pray, we’ll pray your prayer together.”

  The folks who knew it and wanted to say it, joined in as he led them in the Lord’s Prayer.

  The around-the-table gratefulness ranged from the flippant “this meal I’m going to smash” to the heartfelt, that Benjie’s mom was cancer-free (Jack flinched at that).

  Rochelle pursed her lips for a moment before she answered. “Well, I’m so thankful for Cedric and Ceci. I’m thankful for Jack. I’m thankful for my family back home and that they’re doing better. And I’m thankful that God’s will is for justice.” Her face was calm as she said it, but Jack saw her hands clench.

  “Amen, sister.” Cedric murmured appreciatively. “Jack, you’re up.”

  Jack looked around the room. He’d been planning what he would say—he’d known this was a thing the Gormans did. He was going to be thankful for Rochelle, for Cedric and Ceci, and for everything he learned from all of them. But instead of triumphantly emerging from his mouth, it squirmed and died under the scrutiny of those faces. Rochelle was thankful for justice, which she hadn’t even gotten. He was…thankful for his own work?

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I’m sorry, I gotta go.” He pushed his chair back from the table and had to hop ignominiously to where his crutches had been put out of the way for the meal. He went out the back door, almost fell over going down the steps to get to the lawn, and he collapsed into the Adirondack chair.

  The deal was it was one thing, talking to Rochelle about all this, talking with Cedric, watching his and Ceci’s life. But once those words came out of his mouth, then he admitted he had things all screwed up. In a room full of Black people.