“Alan made certain never to argue with me in front of Adele or our kids.”
Cherie emitted an unladylike snort. “What the hell did you argue about?”
“Things.”
“Things?” Cherie and Kayana said in unison.
Leah blinked slowly. “Yes. It could be what he wanted me to wear to an event, or what I planned to serve his friends and associates for a dinner party.”
“Did you ever have any good times together?” Cherie had asked another question.
Leah smiled. “Yes, but only when it involved our sons.” Resting her head against the back of the love seat, she closed her eyes for several seconds. “I can’t believe I’ve been telling y’all my business when I’ve never even talked to Mama about it.”
Kayana met Leah’s steady stare. “That’s because mothers aren’t known to be objective when it comes to their children.”
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Thank goodness I’m not married,” Cherie drawled.
Leah didn’t appear to be bothered by Cherie’s taunt when she said, “If you were, then you’d realize there are times when you have to make sacrifices to protect your children. I’m certain you’ve had to make sacrifices in your life you hadn’t thought possible. Look at Dana in Kindred, a young black woman in the seventies who endures unspeakable, inhuman torture when she travels back in time to save a small white child’s life at the risk of losing her own freedom.”
“I understand the writer’s motivation—why she had Dana time-travel back to the eighteen hundreds in the pre–Civil War South, but I can’t reconcile a few of the decisions she made,” Cherie stated, as she glared at Leah.
Kayana was still trying to process Leah’s revelation of her marriage to the son of one of Richmond’s prominent families, when she forced herself to focus on the book discussion. “I was frustrated with Dana time-traveling back to the antebellum South whenever Rufus’s life was in jeopardy, and then returning to the twentieth century whenever her life was at risk. But I realize she had to save his life because she was to become a direct descendant of a depraved and evil individual.”
“I know that,” Cherie said, “but what good did her white husband do time-traveling with Dana when he did little to protect her?”
“I have to agree with Cherie,” Kayana said. “Kevin’s assessment of the slaves on the Weylin plantation really bothered me when he told Dana it wasn’t what he would have imagined it would be because there was no overseer, and no more work than the people could manage. What he failed to realize was that these people were slaves with no rights, and they could be beaten or sold away at the whim of their owner. To him, as long as they appeared content in their plight, it really wasn’t that bad, but as a reader, I saw him as being insensitive, especially since he was married to a black woman in America whose ancestors had been enslaved for centuries.”
The discussion continued for the next forty-five minutes as the three women agreed they were hooked from the first sentence and unable to put the book down until they finished it. Kayana thought of it as psychological horror, while Leah regarded it as a commentary on the disturbing and ugly history of slavery in America. However, Cherie was still ambivalent about liking the novel, despite finding it brilliantly written and thought-provoking.
It was after nine o’clock when Kayana led Cherie and Leah to her SUV. The rain had slacked off to a steady drizzle by the time she left Leah at her bungalow and Cherie at the boardinghouse. When she’d suggested a book club, and invited Leah Kent to join her, Kayana hadn’t expected Leah to be that forthcoming about her marriage. Tapping a button and decreasing the speed of the windshield wipers, she maneuvered onto the road leading back to the restaurant.
She’d always thought of herself as a good judge of character, but Leah definitely had her fooled, just like the woman who’d been sleeping with James. Kayana wasn’t certain whether she was losing her edge, or if her focus had switched from attempting to solve other people’s problems to concentrating on herself. She parked under the raised structure next to the restaurant, shut off the engine, and walked to the rear door of the Seaside Café. She unlocked the door, disarmed the alarm, and reset it before taking the staircase to the apartment.
Kayana removed her cellphone from her wristlet, checked it for calls and messages, and then placed it on the bedside table. It wasn’t until after she’d brushed her teeth and changed into a nightgown that she remembered the flyer Graeme had sent her about the movies at the Shelby theater.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered. She would contact him then to let him know which film she wanted to see.
Chapter 8
Graeme saved what he’d typed when the ringtone on his cellphone indicated he had a text message. He smiled when he saw who’d contacted him.
Kayana: I looked over the flyer, and I would like to see The Count of Monte Cristo.
Graeme: I’m glad you selected that one, because now I can compare it to the two TV mini-series with Richard Chamberlain and Gérard Depardieu.
Kayana: I haven’t seen those, but I happen to like Jim Caviezel.
Graeme: Should I assume you’ve watched Person of Interest?
Kayana: You assume right. I rarely watch a program for more than one or two seasons, but I must admit that I did follow this one until its final episode, because it was an intelligent adult drama that never deviated from its original premise.
Graeme smiled, although Kayana couldn’t see him. Her including adult and intelligent in the same sentence told him a lot about the woman who’d captivated him with her natural beauty and sophistication. He had never been one to accurately guess a person’s age, but there was something about Kayana that silently told him she was mature enough not to engage in head games, unlike a few of the women he’d dated since becoming a widower.
Graeme: I’ll pick you up at the Café at 7.
Kayana: I’ll be ready.
He smiled again when she posted a smiley emoji. They seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot when she felt he’d pitied her because she couldn’t have children, but she wasn’t aware that he too hadn’t had kids. Graeme knew he’d turned a corner in his life when he called to apologize to her; that wasn’t something he’d done in the past. He’d been raised spoiled and pampered by his wealthy and extremely intellectual adoptive parents, who had given him a sense of entitlement that had been ingrained in his personality throughout his adulthood.
However, the death of his wife had shattered his confidence and reminded him of his own mortality, causing him to embark on a journey of self-examination. He discovered there were things about himself that he did not like, and after countless hours spent on a therapist’s couch, he sought to change. Graeme liked to think of himself as the new and very improved version of his former self, and at fifty-two, he looked forward to enjoying whatever life offered him.
Setting down the cellphone, he leaned back in his chair and propped his bare feet on the corner of the workstation. Text messaging with Kayana had shattered his concentration, and he knew his writing session was over for a while. Barley ambled out of his bed, stretched and shook himself, and then came over to look up at him.
“Hello, sleepyhead. Are you ready to go out?” Barley barked as if he understood what he’d been asked.
Graeme walked the active little dog twice a day to release some of his energy. When he first brought the puppy home, he’d had to puppy-proof baseboards and furniture legs to keep him from chewing on them. It had become a period of adjustment for the poodle mix when he went from the house in Newburyport to the bungalow on Coates Island. He’d had to be coaxed from the crate to explore his new surroundings, and it was a week before Barley felt comfortable enough to wander in and out of rooms and navigate the stairs to the second story.
Slipping his feet into a pair of sandals, Graeme left the study, Barley following close behind. He took the dog’s leash and harness off the hook in the alcove outside the kitchen. Kayana’s text had come at the right time; he�
��d been writing for more than three hours and needed a break.
The rain had stopped earlier that morning, and the sun had broken through watery clouds to dispel the dampness that appeared to cloak the entire island. The weather had forced Graeme to remain indoors, eat leftovers, and write as if his editor were looking over his shoulder to chart his progress.
The instant Aviva Campbell appeared on the page, he knew he’d made the right decision to include her. Not only was Zack intrigued with her presence, but as the writer, Graeme had portrayed her as a woman of mystery. Aside from the hero, Aviva was the only character he heard speak to him. It was as if he’d become their alter ego, seeing what they saw and feeling what they felt.
Picking up a set of house keys, he slipped them into the pocket of his walking shorts. He was aware that many of the locals did not lock their doors or their cars, but Graeme hadn’t lived on the island long enough to become that trusting. And it wasn’t as if Coates Island was crime-free because deputies from the mainland’s sheriff’s department conducted regular patrols to check on residents and businesses.
“Slow down, boy,” he said to the poodle as he pulled on the leash in an attempt to run. Graeme knew Barley wanted to visit with another dog at the end of the street. Miss Donaldson, the owner of a Jack Russell terrier, had asked if he could bring Barley over for a doggy playdate, but he’d declined the invitation because the poodle had just gotten his shots and was lethargic. The retired schoolteacher appeared insulted and never asked him again, but that didn’t stop Barley from stopping in front of her house and barking for Lulu to come out.
Graeme groaned under his breath when he saw Miss Donaldson walking Lulu. The woman was the first person to welcome him to the island once he took up long-term residence. She’d brought over a houseplant and an assortment of cookies from the local bakery. He’d invited her in, and within an hour she’d revealed not only her life story, but also those of other permanent residents. This was when he’d learned that Kayana had grown up on the island, left to attend college, and after a divorce, returned to work in the family-owned restaurant. Knowing she was single served to buoy his curiosity about the woman who unknowingly had enthralled him.
“Good morning, Miss Donaldson.” The tall, slender, never-married woman’s rosy complexion, bright blue eyes, and silver-blond hair cut into a stylish bob belied her age.
“That it is,” she said, smiling. “After all this rain, it’s good to see the sun.”
Graeme nodded, although he didn’t agree with her. The rain had forced him indoors, where he had been more than productive with his writing project. Now that he was ahead of his self-created schedule for completion, he was looking forward to taking in a movie with Kayana.
“The sun does feel good,” he said truthfully.
“It’s too bad Barley has been neutered; otherwise, I would have asked you if he could mate with my Lulu.”
“Wouldn’t you want to mate her with another Jack Russell?”
“I would if she were purebred.”
Graeme glanced down to find Barley and Lulu smelling and nipping at each other. Not only was the terrier larger and heavier, but she was also more hyper than the four-pound poodle. Barley let out a yelp when Lulu bit his tail, and then he retaliated by biting the terrier’s ear. Tightening his grip on the leash, Graeme leaned down to pick up his dog.
“Playtime is over.”
Miss Donaldson shortened her dog’s leash. “I’ve never known her to be so aggressive.”
He gave the woman a look that said he didn’t believe her and wanted to tell her that Lulu was always aggressive, and it was one of the reasons why he didn’t want his dog to interact with the forceful bitch. Barley exhibited periods when he wanted to play, but most times he preferred lounging in his bed.
Turning on his heel, Graeme retraced his steps, leaving the woman and her canine staring at his back. It was more than apparent that Lulu needed obedience training. And the last thing he wanted was for Barley to mimic the terrier’s behavior, in which case he wouldn’t have a minute of peace. Miss Donaldson had admitted that Lulu was very needy and she had to give her a lot of attention.
He held the poodle closer to his chest. “I’m sorry, Barley, but you can’t spend time with Lulu. I don’t want you to get into a fight with her and possibly get injured.” Lowering his head, Graeme dropped a kiss on the puppy’s curly head.
He returned to the house and let Barley have the run of the fenced-in backyard. Picking up a tennis ball, Graeme tossed it, watching as the dog took off after it. Fencing in the yard and having it landscaped not only provided him with privacy from his closest neighbors; it was also where he would sit and unwind at the end of the day. After ten minutes of playing catch with the puppy, he coaxed him into the house. Barley retreated to the alcove in the kitchen to find his bowl of water. Making certain the poodle did not need to return outside to relieve himself, Graeme returned to the study to pick up where he’d left off before getting the text from Kayana.
* * *
Kayana was looking forward to a couple of hours away from the Café as she descended the staircase and went out to the parking lot to meet Graeme. Three days of nonstop rain had kept a lot of customers indoors; however, Monday morning they were back for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She’d had to fill in to assist Derrick and the retired short-order cook in the kitchen when they were unable to keep up with the number of orders. Not only were they serving tourists and locals; there was also an influx of customers from the mainland. And it was the first time in a long time that they’d run out of several menu items.
She didn’t think of going to the movies with Graeme as a date, despite taking special care when choosing what to wear; the slim-fitting, polished-cotton, royal blue and white striped dress, ending at her knees, and navy-blue ballet-type flats were a welcome change from her loose-fitting chef pants and tunic, or the shorts and T-shirts she generally wore when her shift ended.
She waved her hand to get Graeme’s attention as he pulled into the parking lot and came to a complete stop. A slow smile parted her lips when he stared at her as if seeing a stranger. It was apparent he hadn’t recognized her. She’d missed seeing him, like so many of the other regulars who hadn’t come into the restaurant during the three-day torrential rainfall. Even Cherie and Leah were among the missing until they showed up for their book club meeting. The rain had stopped completely Monday morning, but he still hadn’t shown up—until now.
* * *
Graeme blinked slowly as if coming out of a trance when he saw Kayana in the dress that hugged every curve of her body and revealed an expanse of smooth skin on her shoulders, arms, and legs. Galvanized into action, he got out and approached her. The subtle scent of her perfume wafted to his nostrils, enveloping him in a spell of longing that reminded him how long it had been since he’d asked a woman out.
It had taken him more than a year to realize Jillian was gone and wasn’t coming back when he’d accepted an invitation from one of his colleagues to stand in as her date at a faculty function after her boyfriend decided to reconcile with his ex-wife. The woman spent the entire time talking about how much she hated the man who’d used her while wooing his ex in order to get back into her life, and Graeme couldn’t wait for the evening to end so he could take her home. She subsequently apologized to him about going on incessantly about another man, but Graeme reassured her he understood and then was forthcoming when he told her he was in mourning and not ready to begin dating again.
That was then, and this was now. He was a fifty-two-year-old former high school math and economics teacher who had become a reclusive, best-selling author; he had buried his wife eight years ago, and for the first time in a very long time, he’d found himself enthralled with a woman who related to him as she did with countless other patrons who dined at her family’s restaurant.
“You look incredible.” Graeme said the first thing that came to mind. However, he hadn’t lied. Her dress, her subtle makeup, and the ma
ss of shiny curls framing her beautiful face made it impossible for him to avert his gaze.
Kayana smiled. “Thank you.”
Cupping her elbow, Graeme led her to the passenger side of the SUV, opened the door, and cradling Kayana’s waist with both hands, lifted her effortlessly until she was seated. He hadn’t missed her gasp of surprise when her feet left the ground. “I doubted you would’ve been able to get up without hiking your dress halfway up your thighs.”
She glanced down at the hem of the dress riding inches above her knees. “You’re right about that. The next time I go out with you, I’ll make certain to wear something less restricting.”
“Will there be a next time, Kayana?”
“Of course. That is, if we’re going to see more than one movie. Better yet, we can take my vehicle, which isn’t as high as yours.”
Graeme closed the door, rounded the SUV, and slipped in behind the wheel. He’d assisted Kayana up because he doubted whether he would’ve been able to remain in control if she displayed too much leg in the revealing dress. As it was, it was all he could do to control an onslaught of normal physical urges whenever they occupied the same space. There were mornings when he woke up with an erection, and those were the times when he’d masturbate to relieve a buildup of sexual frustration. As a middle-aged man, he was fortunate to still be able to achieve and sustain an erection, though he wondered for how much longer.
Alma was right, but there was no way he was going to agree with her when she’d talked about his protagonist jerking off, because he’d made certain readers were left to draw their own conclusions about how Zack dealt with his sexual frustrations. But that was going to change now that Graeme had introduced his hero to Aviva Campbell. He hadn’t planned for his protagonists to sleep together in the current manuscript; his intent was to establish enough sexual tension for readers to demand they have an intimate relationship.
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