by Pat Simmons
She sipped from a cup of freshly squeezed lemonade and enjoyed the flavor as she swallowed. “It all depends on the severity of the illness. That’s where the doctor comes in to manage the patient’s treatment plan. My job is to learn as much as I can about the physiology, anatomy, pharmacology, and scientific research on the drugs and convey that to the doctor. It takes a lot of homework to know how the drugs interact with other meds, because the wrong combination of ingredients can be deadly. That’s why people should never play doctor when it comes to their health.”
“If I were a physician, I would buy anything you sell.” His eyes sparkled.
She blushed from his praise, withholding a childish giggle. Yet Tabitha was only as good as she prepped herself to be, which was what she needed to do now—but she was enjoying the respite his presence was allowing her.
“So, Aunt Tweet,” Marcus said, turning to bring her into the conversation, “besides gracing the world with your beauty, what was your career?”
“I’ll always be an educator…” she began.
Marcus had no idea Aunt Tweet, if given the floor, could talk for hours. Tabitha knew the story of her aunt’s teaching career, then her many years as a stewardess before returning to academia at Drexel University in Philly. While he watched Aunt Tweet, she observed him, then suddenly, he turned and caught her staring. Her heart fluttered when he smiled at her. It was warm, inviting, and hypnotic.
Tilting his head toward her house, he mouthed Go. Taking his cue and nodding her thanks, she excused herself and slipped inside the kitchen. She almost gagged at the lingering burnt odor. How long would it take to dissipate? At least her sisters’ visit was a couple of weeks away, which would give Tabitha time to add deep-cleaning to her to-do list. She sighed.
Upstairs wasn’t as smelly, but she opened the windows anyway. A cool breeze would help before the official summer season arrived in less than a few weeks. She returned to the kitchen, gathered her laptop and materials, and walked outside to the patio. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Marcus, but to a limit. She didn’t have a background report on him for any past criminal misconduct or character references, only his word. At the moment, that had to be good enough.
“You could miss out trusting the wrong man,” Aunt Tweet had drilled into her nieces’ heads when it came to relationships. “Stay away from uncaring men who are full of themselves. I don’t care how good-looking!”
As a result of that advice, all three of the Knicely girls were fiercely independent, polished, and free-spirited. When it came to matters of the heart, none of them had experienced a man inviting them to meet him at the altar.
Aunt Tweet had Marcus captivated with the history of her West Virginia college. While waiting for her laptop to power up, she observed him. His presence commanded attention, yet he patiently listened to her aunt. He was a good guy. She could feel it. What was his story when it came to romantic relationships? Why wasn’t he committed to a special someone? Surely, he had admirers. Did he enjoy the variety so much that he couldn’t choose just one for a happily ever after?
“It’s horrible living in the South,” Aunt Tweet said, breaking into Tabitha’s reverie. “It was downright fearful. Those ugly Jim Crow laws made sure of it. I didn’t see slavery firsthand like Grandma Beulah, but I saw the legacy. Education made us equal and wise like white folks, and they couldn’t stand it. They sabotaged the school in awful ways, like they destroyed the black wealth in the Tulsa massacre in 1921, yet we survived.”
“Tulsa race riots,” he whispered as if to himself. “Is the school still in existence today?” he asked, seeming intrigued.
Focus on your project, Tabitha coaxed herself. Plus, she had heard the stories before and could recite them as if she’d lived in her aunt’s dreadful time period.
Aunt Tweet ignored his question. “Brains were important back then, but a little beauty helped to open doors. My friends convinced me to enter the state beauty pageant: Miss West Virginia.” She giggled. “Imagine a black woman winning in an all-white beauty pageant in the 1950s.” She whooped and slapped her knee, startling Sweet Pepper, who was resting in her lap. “Those white folks had a handbook for that silly pageant. I snuck a peep at it and rule number seven said negroes were ineligible to enter, only the white race, and here I got in and won. Judges couldn’t deny I was the prettiest girl on that stage.” She chuckled again. “Black folks were surprised too. Even my mama told me she only saw colored ladies on stage as part of a music act as slaves. Yep, I beat them out.”
Wait a minute. Tabitha slowed, looked over her shoulder, and frowned. She had never heard this before and didn’t know if the beauty pageant was fact or fiction. Making up stories could be systematic of dementia symptoms.
“I won singing the national anthem. I brought tears to everyone in the place, even myself. It was scandalous.” Aunt Tweet snickered, then scratched behind Sweet Pepper’s ears. “Scandalous, I tell you, but it changed my life.” She continued to ramble. “I had options, so I left teaching. That year I met Randolph Dittle.”
She sighed. “Handsome, ump, ump, ump. He called me his songbird. I fell in love with him but couldn’t stay in the South, not after that pageant. I wore that Miss Virginia crown for eight whole hours until those committee members overruled their decision and snatched it off my head. That was ugly, downright ugly.” She shrugged. “Didn’t matter though. That win—even short-lived—opened a door of opportunities for me. I got offers to model. Where the South didn’t appreciate my dark skin, in some parts of the Northeast, it didn’t seem to matter so much on any given day, and that’s when my life got better.”
Maybe Aunt Tweet’s story could be true, Tabitha thought, but why hadn’t there been any mention of this milestone in the family? This was huge. Half listening, she turned back to her computer and Googled the history of the pageant. The Miss West Virginia pageants had been held since 1922. Even though there was a list of all the winners, there were no photos. It would take time she didn’t have to pull up each winner’s bio and see if they were black—colored as blacks were called then. She found a Desiree Williams in 2013 and 2014, but no mention of a Priscilla Brownlee in the 1950s. Fiction.
Aunt Tweet’s monologue continued. “For years, Randolph never gave up on me until I married Butch. He was the package deal—looks, money, job—but that man had baggage, which included boxing. I don’t mean in the ring. After one punch, I divorced him.”
Now that was a familiar story; Tabitha and her sisters had heard it throughout the years. Aunt Tweet had given back Butch Freeman’s last name, plus five stitches over one eye when she walked away, childless, with a bruised heart. Butch had underestimated her aunt when he felt he had the right to tame his wife. Aunt Tweet always said marrying that mean man had caused love to pass her by.
“Coming to my senses, I tried to crawl back to Randolph, but it was too late. He fell in love with someone who loved him back.” She exhaled as if she had unloaded a heavy burden, then motioned to stand. Marcus pushed back his seat to assist her. “I’m tired now. I’m going to bed.”
Tabitha swallowed. Her heart ached for her aunt after hearing the last part. That’s what her aunt meant when she said she had lost out on love. Getting to her feet, Tabitha gathered Sweet Pepper and kissed Aunt Tweet’s cheek. “Night. I love you.”
“Night to both my sweeties.”
They watched as she shuffled through the kitchen, then slowly climbed the stairs. Tabitha was trying to process what she had heard. Wait until she shared this tidbit with her sisters.
“You have a fascinating aunt.” Marcus’s deep baritone voice reminded her of his presence, startling her.
Turning to face him, she recovered. “Ah, she is. Thank you for ‘babysitting’”—she made quotation marks with her fingers—“her. Some of the things she said, I never knew.”
“I would like to visit again, bring dinner, maybe a board game—”
Tabitha felt some kind of connection between them that seemed absurd. “Please don’t take this the wrong way—” she started.
“Then please don’t say it the wrong way,” he said in a challenging manner.
Choosing her words carefully, she explained, “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t have time for myself, much less for entertaining guests. I’m sorry.” Tabitha pouted for good measure to soften the blow.
“Who takes care of you, Miss Knicely, while you’re trying to be strong for your aunt? Who has your back?”
It was a good thing Marcus didn’t wait for an answer, because she had none. “Listen, I don’t need you questioning—”
“Let me have your back.” He stepped closer.
“Huh?” She froze and couldn’t move under his alluring stare. “Why?”
He smiled as he jiggled his keys. “Because I happen to like you, and even though I didn’t miss a word your aunt shared with me, I was aware of you listening and pretending to work.” He paused and looked deep into her eyes. “I’m attracted to you, and not only because you’re pretty—no, you’re beautiful—but there’s something else about you that I want to explore.”
He thinks I’m beautiful? Is this the lingo he uses to get his dates? The compliment made her heart flutter until she came to her senses, then she released a fit of laughter. The annoyed look he gave her made her laugh even more. “And you realized this when? Not long ago you wanted to bite off my head.”
“Blame that on having a bad day, but today, I want to be your hero.” His eyes pleaded with her to believe him. “Sue me.” His lips curved into a lopsided grin, and sure enough, the dimple came into view.
Her heart swayed, but her head ruled. “I’m a caregiver, Marcus. I’m struggling to meet my aunt’s needs. I think you’re cute too and nice sometimes too, but I don’t have time for the distraction of being attracted to any man. In case you haven’t noticed, I can barely get up in the morning without her going missing.” She patted her chest. “I’m being honest.”
“So, you think I’m cute, huh?” He lifted a silky, thick, black brow. He bit his lip and nodded. “Challenge accepted. Good night, Miss Knicely.” This time he laughed as he turned and took long strides to his car.
She went into the house smiling. He had called her pretty.
Chapter 14
The next morning, Marcus strolled across the warehouse floor with extra swagger. The day before had been scary, an eye-opener, endearing, then enchanting. He’d drifted to sleep dreaming of Tabitha—from the sadness to the fire in her eyes, he was hooked.
He was attracted to Tabitha—a little at first when he saw her outside his door and it was purely the outside package his eyes appreciated, but something stirred that was more emotional than physical with each encounter or clash. It clicked as he witnessed Tabitha’s love and respect for her elderly aunt. To be loved by Tabitha Knicely meant to be loved hard and unconditionally, and that was what attracted him to her.
Marcus grunted at her reasoning for not wanting to get involved. A relationship was what a couple invested into it. He didn’t take no for an answer when it came to something he really wanted, whether it was business, a hobby, or, now, one special woman. He had to show her that she could have it all. He was almost at his office when Chess interrupted his musings.
“Morning, Boss. Hate to spoil the good mood that you’re apparently in, judging by that grin cemented to your face, but we have a situation that I wanted to tell you about last evening.”
“Right.” Marcus bobbed his head. “What’s up?” he asked, unlocking his office door, then resting his things on a nearby chair. Folding his arms, he sat on the desk’s edge and stretched out his legs. “I’m listening.”
“Latrice showed up last night wanting her job back. I told her you don’t do rehires.”
His smile dropped at the same time his shoulders slumped. Why wouldn’t Victor and Latrice go away? “I don’t.”
“She left Victor and—”
He perked up and stopped his employee. “Hire her back.”
Chess’s eyes bucked and his jaw dropped. “What? Huh?”
“She was under the influence of her ex. Maybe now, she can do something for herself and her children. I’ll call her.” He paused. “Any other problems?”
“Ah, no,” he answered slowly, dumbfounded, then cleared his voice. “Quality control has no issues.”
“Thanks, and thanks for coming through for me yesterday evening.” Marcus walked behind his desk. As he turned on his computer, his thoughts drifted back to Tabitha. She was too independent for her own good. Latrice, on the other hand, was in the process of declaring her independence. He was rooting for her. Searching through the folders, he opened the document with his employees’ contact numbers and called his former employee.
She answered right away. “Mr. Whittington. I know I don’t deserve my job back—”
“You have it, Latrice, as long as you are committed to stand by your word and not be swayed by Victor.”
“I am. I love Victor or I’d never have had his children, but I have to take care of my boys.”
“Great. Stop by my office before you start your shift to fill out new paperwork,” he told her and disconnected. “The things I do for my employees.”
“Yeah, and Mama would be proud,” Demetrius teased from his spot across the room. Marcus hadn’t heard him enter.
Marcus hadn’t even noticed his brother, preoccupied with thoughts of Tabitha, then focused on the task of speaking with Latrice. “We’re all about helping our workers, especially our single mothers. I take pity on Latrice for getting tangled up with that loser. Anyway, I have a late lunch at the country club with Thomas Dell. He’s a referral, and I hope to wow him with why our company philosophy is different.”
“You coming back?” Demetrius asked.
“Nope. Anything else I need done, I can do from home.”
For the rest of the morning, Marcus stayed focused on work-related tasks, gently pushing thoughts of Tabitha aside. She and Aunt Tweet were taken care of during the day. It was at night he had to watch out for her. He was reviewing company expenses when his phone reminded him it was time to go.
Marcus turned into the Fairway Grille & Lounge’s parking lot off the main lobby of the country club at the same time as his prospective client. After parking, Marcus stepped out of his car and greeted the man with a handshake. Thomas Dell was a stout man with thinning hair. What strands remained were more gray hair than brown. His facial wrinkles were as deep as his tanned skin.
The good news for Marcus and his brother was Mr. Dell was sold on Whittington Janitorial Services without hearing a pitch. Word of mouth had recently landed his company new contracts. His business could double by this time next year, which meant he could hire more workers.
While they lunched, their conversation was as relaxed as the atmosphere.
“Marc,” the man said, shortening his name without permission, “Randall Camp couldn’t say enough great things about your company and employees. Randall is convinced your work ethic is unmatched, and that’s what I’m looking for, someone to take pride in their work, whether it is sweeping the floor, proofreading a business proposal, or assembling a motor at a car plant.”
Marcus accepted the compliment with a grin. Randall Camp’s company was a major client. His word carried weight among other businessmen.
But the accolades weren’t enough, because Mr. Dell hinted at a one-year commitment. Even though Marcus preferred two- or three-year agreements, he wasn’t going to make demands. WJS had to prove their worth to Thomas Dell, and that was no problem. The mindset was based, in part, on Missouri’s nickname: the Show-Me State. Residents challenged one another to show that their word was good.
“Our hard workers are the face of WJS. Some of them needed a second chance to prove their worth. My brother and I
are hoping clients like you would consider them for employment if any entry-level positions become available.” It was more than a spiel to win new business; for the Whittington brothers, it was a mission statement.
Mr. Dell bobbed his head. “I’ll take that under consideration on a case-by-case basis.”
“Fair enough.” They enjoyed the rest of their lunch, chatting about sports. Before leaving, Marcus had a signed contract and a check in hand. “Yes!” he shouted in the confines of his car as he drove away. It was another open door for opportunities.
The breeze, sunshine, and blooming flowers made it easy for him not to return to work, especially when he was only ten minutes from home.
With business finished, thoughts of Tabitha drifted back to the forefront of his mind. How was her day going? What was Aunt Tweet up to? He wanted to do something to lighten her burden. Dinner—not light refreshments or something ready-made from the store, but fresh—might be a good gesture. He would stop at the grocery store for some ingredients, calling his mother for guidance on the way.
“So you’re cooking for someone special again? Hmm. It’s been a while,” she teased. “What’s her name this time?”
“Actually, it’s my two neighbors.” She was quiet, and he wondered if they had lost a connection. “Mom, are you still there?”
“I am, Son, but that doesn’t sound very romantic.” She sighed, clearly disappointed.
“You know I’ve always been about building friendships first.”
“Yes, but that’s your mantra when it comes to your business. When it comes to personal relationships, you should follow your heart. So what’s on the menu?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Of course!” she said excitedly. “Chicken parmesan would be perfect with asparagus…”
Marcus parked in the market’s lot, put his mother on speaker, and entered the info in his phone. In the store, he picked up every item on his list. He was at the register when a floral display got his attention. He added two bouquets to his purchase. His mother was right—it wasn’t romantic with Aunt Tweet around, but without the aunt, he and Tabitha might not have met. Back in his car, Marcus detoured to her house. He left a note and the flowers on her porch where she could see them.