by Pat Simmons
“No need. Evidently, two chicks have been staking out my place.” After what Chess said, he downplayed the woman’s excuse. “The older woman goes by the name of Aunt Tweet. The other was much younger.” He huffed and slid his laptop out of the bag. He had to shake the bad vibes from Tabitha Knicely, so he could review the time sheets before signing off on them. Relax and focus.
“Interesting. A female crime ring.”
Marcus frowned. “I don’t really buy that, but for good measure, I instilled fear in them that they had picked the wrong house for that foolishness. And I issued a threat too.”
“Well, sounds like those two won’t be returning. Hopefully, they got the hint they were messing with a Whittington,” Demetrius said. When Marcus didn’t add any further comment, his brother cleared his throat. “Switching to work, Terrence Scott needs a random drug test. We may have to terminate him.”
Not good. Their company had received awards for their exemplary efforts to give hope to the hopeless in low-income communities and to young men and women who had served time in prison for nonviolent crimes. Marcus labeled their choices as making stupid decisions. Whittington Janitorial Services’ mission statement referenced assisting disenfranchised workers with a way out of poverty. He and Demetrius had both witnessed how a cleaning staff seemed invisible to people with money. It was offensive how they, most of them black, were mistreated, disrespected, and stereotyped.
Although he and Demetrius believed in second chances, after three strikes, his company had no choice but to terminate an employee. Terrence had been the exception to this rule. He was barely twenty-three, his live-in girlfriend was pregnant, and he didn’t have a car. Prison had probably saved the young man’s life or he would have been another statistic of a young black man killed in the streets.
Rubbing the hairs of his goatee, he spun around to admire the framed, floor-to-ceiling corkboard. It boasted success stories of former employees. The brothers had mentored, encouraged, and sometimes gave out of their own pockets to meet basic needs, like food and shelter. Marcus shook his head.
Turning to face his brother, Marcus squeezed his lips in frustration, then said, “My day seems to be going from bad to worse.” When would people learn that responsibility wasn’t optional? First, those women set the stage for his day to go downhill, and second, Terrence seemed to be picking up the torch. “Can you believe she got an attitude after trespassing on my property?” he mumbled, then grunted.
“Back to the lawbreakers, huh?” Demetrius chuckled, evidently straining his hearing, since their shared office space was at least twenty feet long and a short file cabinet served as the dividing line. It was a spacious office that could easily be separated into two, but neither felt the need to have a wall constructed for privacy. They knew each other’s business anyway. “So how did she look again?”
“Like a gorgeous spitfire.” He hadn’t forgotten one detail. “She was a crafty diva with curves from a good workout.”
“I got the gorgeous part.” Demetrius leaned across his desk and smirked across the room. “I was referring to the aunt.”
“Oh.” Marcus shifted in his chair and reached for the chilled bottled water their administrative assistant placed on their desks every morning. To hide his blunder, he unscrewed the cap and gulped down half the bottle as if he were dying of thirst. “Ah.” He smacked his lips. “Say what?”
“I asked you to describe this crafty diva with the great body.” Demetrius snickered until laughter exploded out of his mouth.
Okay, so his big bro had jokes. Marcus played along. “She was a nice-looking lady who seemed completely normal from her spot in the front seat of a car. Her silver-gray hair reminded me of Gran’s.” Maybe the similarity was what had sparked his outrage at Tabitha’s lack of responsibility.
His beloved grandparents, Gran and Pops, were the sweetest people on earth and lived into their eighties. When they became sick, Marcus and Demetrius had waited on them hand and foot. They were his idols, seemingly knowing everything about everything.
He pitied anyone who had to enter a nursing home, where some families abandoned their relatives instead of maintaining ties with visits and calls. He had witnessed firsthand the abuse and neglect when he had to deliver business orders to a few nursing facilities. Those images and odors were seared into his brain.
“But did you have to be so hard on her?” his brother asked.
“The situation forced my hand. When it comes to responsibilities, the Whittingtons take care of our own.” He patted his chest with pride.
“Yeah, but usually, I’m the bad guy.” Demetrius chuckled. “After your stunt today, I’d say you reign, but I understand you had to do what you had to do.”
Although they were extremely close, their personalities were like night and day. Demetrius was the no-nonsense one who had mastered the “do not dare to cross me” facial expression. On rare occasions, his brother could be a pushover. Marcus was laid back and sympathetic.
Physically, there was no mistaking them as brothers.
Marcus preferred a low haircut and trimmed goatee. Outside of work, he was a meticulous dresser and maintained a regular workout routine. Demetrius’s current exercise regimen was, at best, inconsistent—at this point, it amounted to whenever he felt like it.
Demetrius sported his shaved head and set off his look with a diamond stud in one ear. Marcus didn’t like jewelry on a man, not even a watch—that’s what his smartphone was for. He was the shade of black coffee, where Demetrius was a double dip of dark chocolate.
“Great way to start off a relationship,” Demetrius teased. When they were boys, his brother had an annoying habit of baiting him. As a man in his late thirties, he still hadn’t grown out of that trait.
“Relationship? Where in my conversation did you assume that?” Marcus frowned. “I’m not even sure if the chick is really a neighbor.”
His brother twitched his lips. “Umm-hmm. Something tells me this story with your neighbor is just beginning.” He stood and strolled toward their door, chuckling. “Chapter One: Brotha Meets Fine Sistah—I can see the fascination in your eyes. Plus, your protest is overkill.”
Grabbing a piece of paper from a stack, Marcus balled it up and aimed for Demetrius’s head, then fired. Hitting him, Marcus got the last laugh—or so he thought, until he realized it was an invoice he needed to mail to a client. Groaning, he closed his eyes. His day had to get better, right?
Chapter 3
Tabitha considered herself a people person. She had to possess a friendly personality as a pharmaceutical sales rep. By nature, she believed in making friends, not enemies. However, this morning, Marcus had pushed her buttons. She didn’t like him.
How was she to know her aunt had snuck out of the house—more than once—while she was sleeping? This was all new to her.
She was humiliated that he talked down to her as if she were a child and was frustrated that Aunt Tweet had done such a thing. Tabitha renamed him the Jerk. If the man had been an unattractive, out-of-shape slouch, she would have disposed of him with a few choice words—in a civilized manner, of course—but without shame.
No, the homeowner had to be disgustingly fine with a physique that made her notice. She had no choice but to take the whipping for #TeamAuntTweet. “Please, stop waving at the man,” she had pleaded softly as she drove away.
“He waved first, miss,” her aunt replied as if she were talking to a stranger while fumbling with the scarf Tabitha gave back to her. That was the second time Aunt Tweet had forgotten her name. Although memory recognition was symptomatic of dementia, it pricked Tabitha’s heart just the same.
Gripping the steering wheel, she turned to her aunt. “Please don’t leave the house without me again—please.” She wanted to avoid any future run-ins with the Jerk at all costs. “By the way, do you remember how many times you’ve been to that man’s house?”
> “Hmm. Let me see.” Aunt Tweet lowered her brows as if mentally calculating. “I can’t remember. Three, four…a lot of times.”
Tabitha gasped for air as a migraine punched her in the eye, causing her head to throb while Aunt Tweet arranged the scandalous scarf around her neck while looking straight ahead as if nothing had transpired.
Fortunately, her aunt hadn’t overheard the man’s rudeness. She didn’t tolerate impoliteness.
Ten minutes later, they arrived in the semicircular entrance of Bermuda Place. The valet opened the passenger door and greeted Aunt Tweet. That is how a man is supposed to treat a woman, with courtesy and respect, not Marcus’s fire-breathing threats, Tabitha mused.
The upscale adult care facility had activities, supervised shopping trips, a hair salon, gourmet meals, and movies throughout the day. There was even a napping room. It was considered the elite of upscale senior living or adult care facilities, which Aunt Tweet had outlined in her living trust.
While in Philly, the sisters had paid a visit to the law firm of Krone, Keller, and Bush. Attorney Leah Krone read the contents of Aunt Tweet’s living trust: “Nine years ago, your aunt updated her will and made you all trustees on her various accounts. Miss Brownlee has savings, investments, real estate, and her 401(k). She allocated a large portion for her upkeep and health care in the event she would require a nursing facility, only after all means have been exhausted for her to live independently.”
“We have decided to share in her care.” Tabitha straightened her shoulders. “She will live with each one of us six months at a time.”
“I see.” Attorney Krone slipped on her glasses. “If that is the case, each sister will receive $5,000 a month stipend while she is in your care.” She chuckled at their stunned expressions. “She insisted on the royalty of senior care.”
In addition to the living trust, Aunt Tweet had named Kym Knicely, as the oldest, the primary agent for her durable power of attorney for health care. Tabitha was named the agent for financial power of attorney, and she had put her aunt’s home in the Rittenhouse area of Philly on the market. It sold for half a million, and the proceeds were deposited into Aunt Tweet’s trust account. Rachel was listed as their backups. All three of them were determined to follow Aunt Tweet’s requests to the letter.
Bermuda Place resembled a residential condominium or apartment complex more than an adult day care that shut down at 6:00 p.m.—no exceptions, as she had been advised more than once when she completed the application.
The hours were 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., so Tabitha didn’t anticipate a problem. She knew there would be occasional evening events and planned to take her aunt with her.
To Tabitha’s relief, Aunt Tweet had complimented the decor and furnishings when they had toured the facility a few weeks earlier, but she still wasn’t sure how her independent aunt would feel about an undercover “babysitter.”
Escorting her inside, Tabitha greeted the staff and made sure her aunt was comfortable, wondering if she would remember the new environment. She didn’t.
Almost immediately, one of the staff members solicited Aunt Tweet’s advice on how to accessorize some outfits—personalized activities were created for each guest based on the applicants’ likes, dislikes, and hobbies to help acclimate them in an unfamiliar setting.
“I have to go to work, Aunt Tweet. I’ll be back—”
The woman, Carole, waved her off. “We’ll be fine.”
Suddenly, Tabitha’s legs wouldn’t move. Now, she was second-guessing her decision to leave her aunt in the care of…strangers. She was having separation anxiety. Moisture blinded her vision as she rubbed her aunt’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. Miss Brownlee and I will be fine.” The woman spoke in a comforting tone.
Taking a deep breath, Tabitha snapped out of it. She mimicked Carole’s nods and gave Aunt Tweet a lingering hug, then brushed a quick kiss on her cheek and hurried out the door.
Once she was in the car, she took a few minutes to breathe, clear her head, and think of something else besides deserting her great-aunt.
Blinking away a few stubborn tears, she dabbed her eyes, then drove off and exited on westbound I-70, which was the route to her new job in St. Charles—the first Missouri capital for five short years in the 1820s. It was one of those tidbits she’d learned in school on a field trip to the existing state capital, Jefferson City.
By the time she arrived at Ceyle-Norman, Tabitha was back on track emotionally, especially after she called Carole at Bermuda Place. Her aunt was adjusting better than Tabitha, so she left her cares at the door, including the fiasco with her neighbor—it was show time. She stepped out of the car and crossed the parking lot to the entrance, checked in with the receptionist, then took a seat.
Minutes later, a woman appeared in the lobby. “Hi, I’m Ava Elise Watkins. I’m the lead sales trainer.” She extended her hand for a shake, wearing a brown, two-piece suit and an engaging smile. Tabitha pegged the woman to be in her forties.
She had never met a black woman who introduced herself with a first and middle name. “Hi, Ava.”
“Feel free to call me Ava Elise,” she corrected in a soft tone. “My mother prefers both names, since she couldn’t make up her mind when I was born. Unfortunately, she did the same thing with my older brother.” She laughed, and Tabitha did too as she trailed the trainer down the hall.
The classroom was set up theater style. Six rows of long tables with chairs on only one side could accommodate about forty students. There were only twelve of them in this class.
The first order of business was to view a short video about the business on a sixty-inch flat screen at the front of the room. Since Tabitha had already done research on the company, her mind began to drift about a minute into the vice president’s greeting.
She wondered about Aunt Tweet again, and suddenly the Jerk’s face flashed before her eyes. She hadn’t realized she made a growling noise until a male new hire next to her looked her way. Tabitha cleared her throat, hoping to play it off.
There was plenty of paperwork to complete, including tax forms and confidentiality agreements. By midday, Marcus appeared in her head again. This time, he was smiling at her, and she noticed his eyes danced. She found herself smiling, then his smile turned to fangs as the Jerk resurfaced. She frowned.
Ava Elise must have misread her expression. “I know it’s overwhelming, Tabitha, but you’re a seasoned rep. You’ll just have to familiarize yourself with our procedures and products. We believe you’ll shine here at Ceyle-Norman as you did at Pfizer.”
“Thank you,” Tabitha heard herself say as her mind drifted elsewhere. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on Aunt Tweet, she thought. One more incident, and she was confident that the man would make good on his threat to have her arrested. Tabitha would never, never knowingly put her aunt in harm’s way! Of course, if she was convicted of endangering an elderly relative, she could kiss her career goodbye. She had to be more diligent about her aunt’s whereabouts and keep her away from that man’s property by any means necessary, even if that meant sleeping with one eye open.
That evening, after an eventful day, Tabitha relaxed with Aunt Tweet doing one of her favorite pastimes—gardening. While Tabitha was satisfied planting bulbs and bedding plants once a year, her aunt was known for planting anything and everything when the mood hit her, then admiring the fruits of her green thumb.
Her aunt had helped the Knicely sisters make countless mud pies when they were younger. Tabitha chuckled to herself at the fond memories. She wanted more good memories while Aunt Tweet was still in her right mind.
While outside, Aunt Tweet insisted on wearing the big red hat, so for fun, Tabitha donned one of her summer, floppy straw hats too. They had a couple of hours before sunset to enjoy the warm breeze and tranquil surroundings.
“I think we should plant some collard greens.”
She pulled back the rim of her hat to get a better view of the tall figure blocking the sun. Tabitha scrambled to her feet and wiped the dirt from her hands on her jeans. “Is there a problem?” She squinted, then realized she hadn’t given him her address. “And how did you know where I lived?”
Marcus slipped his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He tilted his head toward Aunt Tweet, who hadn’t given him a peep as she focused on her mound of dirt for the plant. “The hat gave it away.”
Of course. Tabitha nodded. Her aunt had set in motion bad neighbor relations. “Sooo…” She paused so he would give her the reason for his visit.
“Just checking on the welfare of my neighbors. Have a good evening, ladies.” He nodded his goodbye, then strolled back to his vehicle.
Did Marcus expect there to be a problem? Tabitha hoped their spacious neighborhood was big enough for both of them not to run into each other more than once a year. “That was strange,” she mumbled, still not trusting the man.
Aunt Tweet said “Mmm-hmmm” and kept digging.
Chapter 4
The next morning, Tabitha dragged herself out of bed after a restless night. She replayed Aunt Tweet escaping from her house and then Marcus showing up unexpectedly. It was the makings for a never-ending nightmare. To make sure it wasn’t a bad dream, Tabitha stretched, then crossed the hall to look in on Aunt Tweet’s room. Asleep. Good. She relaxed, but her mind was still strategizing options to keep her aunt from sneaking out.
After backtracking to her bedroom, Tabitha washed her face and brushed her teeth. “God, I’m going to need Your help to get through the next six months,” she whispered.