With a keen eye, Avery waddled into each room, two of which, were on the west side of the home, offering a picturesque view of the sun setting over their own private lake. The three rooms to the right had windows facing Avery’s favorite focal point on the entire acreage of land, the willow grove. Regardless, any room would make a perfect feature if Maxine and Avery could stomach each other’s company long enough to finish the interview. Or maybe Donavan would bring Greg over for the day? She considered that for a moment then felt bad. Donavan’s adoptive father had to be in so much pain. He’d even lost his vision on occasion when he had a bad flare up.
Noticing one of the pillows missing, she muttered to herself knowing exactly where to find it. The two men in her life loved to wake up and have pillow wars. Though she wasn’t sure what the heck had transpired this morning, Avery strained to reach down and pick up the decorative pillow that was on the opposite side of Junior’s bed. She hoped that she’d have more mother-son bonding moments. She’d just placed the ivory and wool pillow onto the full-sized bed when her cell phone buzzed.
Avery bit her lip. She received alerts when the doorbell chimed or when someone entered or exited the home. Instead of Donavan returning, the screen of her iPhone was streaming the arrival of Maxine Winters.
After some huffing and some puffing, Avery made it down to the front door. With a straight spine, Avery gripped both the wrought iron handles, placed a sickly-sweet smile on her face, and opened the doors because the women had been good enough “fake” friends through high school. She’d learned that Maxine even made prom queen after she had left.
Maxine wore a tapered pantsuit that hugged her curves. Her heart-shaped lips pulled into a pleasant smile. “Avery Castle! You are glowing, simply glowing!”
Every word was punctuated, and Avery had to tell herself her nemesis wasn’t mocking her by speaking at the top of her lungs, which she could tell. They hugged, Avery’s belly making the perfect buffer. Sorry, Anya. If this bitch is playing games, I’ll use sage soon as she leaves. That thought brightened Avery’s face a hundred-fold, her smile almost touching her eyes. Sage was something Grandmother Franny had believed in.
“Thank you. You look gorgeous as ever,” Avery said, truthfully.
With a wave of her manicured fingers, Maxine sucked at her teeth. She glanced around. “This . . . this home . . . this mansion feels like a home and—”
“Come in please.”
“Should we start with the tour or chat first, Avery? We have some catching up to do. Where’s Donnie?” Maxine grinned. It took Avery embedding her nails into her palms not to respond to her fiancé’s nickname. She’d given it to him. Nobody aside from family was allowed to use it.
“Um, let’s start with the tour.”
“Oh, well, did he know we were meeting this morning? You’re the more business oriented one, but I assumed . . .”
“Unfortunately, his father is not feeling well. Donavan couldn’t make it.” Avery turned away from her, ending the discussion. They walked through the home, and Maxine stopped to capture photos ever so often, giving Avery a chance to catch up on her oxygen. They ventured into every room that had just met Avery’s standards, up the stairs and down again. Avery swore she heard Maxine gasp on a couple of occasions.
With the sun brightening the sky and not a cloud in sight, they meandered out onto the land. Luckily, Maxine was more interested in photos of the calm, blue day than chatting. Their walk ended half a mile away, where Maxine had insisted on seeing the old slave quarters that Avery and Donavan had yet to consider updating or doing away with. It was the quintessential reason Verdrena rarely visited her grandmother, Franny, when she was alive. The old brick buildings dated back to the mid-1700s, and nobody gave a damn about refurbishing them through the years.
“This tour,” Maxine said, glancing around in awe. “I hope you’re planning on adding it as a feature to Franny’s Bed and Breakfast. I’d love to know the history as to how the home ended up being owned by Francis Downs, a maid, instead of the other Baudelaires. There are still a few of them, aren’t there?”
“Oh, yes, the owner.” Avery tried not to gulp. In the clause for transferring the deed from Verdrena to herself, her mother had an iron-clad stipulation that it did not need to be divulged that Franny was the great grandchild of Logan Baudelaire, who had passed for a full-blooded white man. Though, technically illegitimate, his last name had been changed, and he had inherited the land when the master’s barren wife could not provide an heir. Instead of further “cleansing” the blood of his descendants, Logan suspiciously never married but lived a happy, comfortable life with Franny’s great grandmother as one of the maids. Franny’s grandmother and mother were also lucky in the genes department—given the state of affairs. But though Franny had been a fairly, light-skinned woman with long hair, she had been born with a nose that told no lies.
When Verdrena made her escape from the estate, she had married for money, prestige, and to let her tell it, love had something to do with it too. Tying the Castle name to the plantation was detestable in the eyes of the ex-hand and foot model and billionaire housewife, Verdrena Castle, so she kept it a secret.
“Mr. Baudelaire . . . was not close to his cousins, and chose Franny, as she grew up in this home,” Avery said, refusing to address her great grandmother as the help because neither she nor the women before her had been. Franny had told her that they had to keep up appearances. “Although the plantation suffered after Franny’s,” Avery turned away, “employer died. None of his cousins were interested in helping run the place.”
Maxine walked over and stood before her. “I would assume it was because the home was willed straight to your great grandmother, right? You know families. When money is involved, move over petty Patty, it’s almost cut throat.”
“Yes.” Avery wanted to tell her more. She wanted to tell her that Franny was “smart as a whistle,” a phrase she’d used on Avery as a child. Francis Downs had learned everything she needed to know from her great grandfather, but the African side of her family refused to work for her. Other people chose not to work for her for reasons that had to do with the times. “Any who, shall we sit in the kitchen and chat?”
“Before we go inside that gorgeous home again, I’m actually loving the tranquil vibes here.” Maxine gestured toward the lake. “Can you tell me about the mystery surrounding Donavan and your disappearances? As I recall, he left first, and a few months later, you were gone as well. We all missed you both at graduation, all the senior activities.”
Lips twitching, Avery was as respectful as possible as she responded. “That has nothing to do with Franny’s B&B.”
“On the contrary, our tight-knit community would love to know more about how the two of you worked together to resurrect such an astounding plantation. Trust me, I plan to mention how you two did the sit-in at the willow tree on Baker Street. People will love the romantic spin that this story will take because, not only does the Baudelaire have history, its two new owners do as well.”
Avery matched Maxine’s smile. “Oh, that was one of my best memories as a child. Donavan and I were always—”
“You were always saving something. Please, just a short statement. You came home throughout the years, and I don’t recall you visiting with your son. Moreover, I don’t recall you and Donnie crossing paths until recently.”
“Maxine—”
“C’mon, you’re living your happily ever after, at least, I would assume this is what the Avery Castle I used to know would have planned for. Surely all your dreams have come true. You had that leather-bound journal—”
“It was an agenda,” Avery gritted, recalling how Maxine stole her agenda for the ASB meeting on one occasion.
“Yes. You were always planning things. I don’t see Donnie as much of the goal-oriented type. But I understand opposites attract. So, just tell me something that will make this fairy tale story something everyone can sink their teeth into, like why you chose the bad boy ov
er someone more accomplished? Oh, like Galvin Hansbury?”
“Here’s a statement for you, Maxine. Donavan and I are in love. We always have been. Galvin—”
“I recall Donnie beating his ass when we were sixteen.” Maxine’s head tilted. “It was your birthday. Gavin made his move. See, with Senator Galvin Hansbury, reverence and capital, the two of you would’ve had the,” she nudged her chin to the crumpled down buildings, “slave quarters in tip-top shape, just like every other area of the home. The place has character, but just a little something would be nice to take it from a ghostly attraction to—”
“Fuck off!” Avery broke. This had nothing to do with Galvin Hansbury, and certainly not his money.
“What?” Maxine’s eyes brightened in mock surprise. “Avery, I thought we were talking about the golden days. Why are you being rude?”
“You’re being a bitch. First, I remember Galvin saying that you told him I had the hots for him . . . as if I’d actually say hots. You were the reason he had his ass handed to him by Donavan, and I swear before all things Holy, you call Donavan by his nickname again, I’m going to call all the ghostly slaves I know on your ass.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel, this discussion is over.” Maxine held her head high, turned around and stalked toward the estate.
Shoulders slumped, Avery huffed and dragged her hand through her kinky hair. She felt like shit and probably looked it too. She was miserable, and her hormones were comparable to disco lights.
“Grand Mommy, I had to do it,” Avery murmured. As the words passed her lips, Avery felt a sense of happiness overtake her.
Avery looked over the land, her hands on her hips and felt proud. Although, Franny had done everything she could to ensure that the Baudelaire estate was revered, it had been no use. Avery had learned how she had cussed out her own Black cousins for making the decision to struggle rather than seeing the rice fields flourish. Franny’s daughter and then Verdrena had grown up in the Baudelaire home, but both left it as soon as they had the means too. Despite this, Franny had never given up. She had instilled in Avery the same love of the home and the land that she had. As Avery stood there, she knew that her great grand mommy was just happy that she’d seen to having her home put back in perfect order.
Avery ambled toward the main estate where Maxine’s luxury car was zipping out of the driveway. She rolled her eyes at the sight.
In the house, Avery went to the sitting room where her laptop was already open. She rubbed the back of her neck, while glancing at the Gmail screen. The chef she’d vetted for the bed and breakfast had responded to her second round of negotiations.
How could she respond now? Lowballing the chef wouldn’t help, especially since Avery’s plans for more visitors seemed like a long shot. Jesus, please, she mumbled to herself, begging God rather than going to her dad.
Before Avery could get her head in the game and put on a metaphoric power-suit, Facebook messenger popped up. It was Carly.
CARLY: Hey, sorry about stealing my big bro. How did the interview go?
AVERY: Blah.
CARLY: That bad huh? I remember Maxine was the she version of a d-bag. Anyways, I just got to work.
A second later the messenger app pinged as a photo came through, which depicted a box of chocolates on Carly’s desk. Avery knew she and Donavan didn’t have a dollar to spare, but his adoptive sister had been there for them. In these last few months, if Donavan didn’t take Avery for an impromptu doctor’s visit, Carly did. Carly was a superwoman transporting her, and she was a single mother. She also gave them great ideas about their B&B. Moreover, she was there for their dad.
CARLY: I knew I loved you when I landed eyes on you.
AVERY: Um . . . yeah right. You were pregnant and thinking I would push Donnie away from you.
CARLY: Why you bringing up old shit (super LOL emoji)
The truth was Carly and Donavan had been foster-siblings, sharing the same caregivers when they were about three and five. Over the years, Avery saw Donavan text her and obviously understood their relationship the best way she could.
CARLY: JK. But I feel like crap for asking Donnie to come over today of all days.
AVERY: Well . . . I ordered those this morning. Half-off valentine’s gift and you’re STILL awesome.
CARLY: Dangggg! Half off! Even better.
They shared a few more messages before Carly mentioned assisting a dental patient. Avery clicked out of the messenger app and placed the cursor over the email correspondence with the chef. No matter how much fast talking and quick wit she had, there was no way they could afford this chef.
With a wince, she prepared a response that thanked the chef for his time during his last visit and told him that they had to pursue other options. Just as she pressed send, her jean pocket vibrated.
DONAVAN: Maxine isn’t doing the feature??
AVERY: Sorry.
AVERY: How’s your dad?
DONAVAN: He can’t see out of one eye. He’s in pain. He’s cussing enough to make me wanna grab some holy water.
Her eyes widened. Wow, Greg did not cuss.
AVERY: I’ll come over and help.
DONAVAN: I got this. Back to the article . . .
AVERY: I’m about to start cooking your fav. Chat later, love.
She placed her cell phone back in her pocket, hoping that honey fried chicken, black eyed peas—any veggies she could muster since Donavan didn’t have a favorite—and a bubbly personality would work. If not, Avery planned to win her man over the good old-fashioned way, on her knees by catering to him when he got home, taking his shoes off. The works.
6
Donavan
“Fuck!” Donavan hollered, his arm arching through the air but not letting go of his cell phone.
First thing this morning, he had dreamed of Hunter and the team. Then his dad had a flare. Now, Maxine was calling like she wanted a fucking shoulder to lean on after whatever it was that Avery had done to her. Not the type of man to have prolonged conversations with females that weren’t Avery or family, Donavan had mentioned hormones and hung up.
Donavan sighed in frustration. His arms dropped to his sides. His father came back to the forefront of his thoughts. There was no coming to terms with his father’s illness. He glanced around the home he had grown up in and wondered how Carly did it every day. Hell, how did little Josh do it with just his mom to take care of him and a cranky old man who hated everyone?
Sitting down at the edge of the couch, legs wide, Donavan thought about all the crap on his plate. Shit was packed a mile high!
At home, there was the chef that Avery refused to let go of. They had a week of solid bookings and a few days sprinkled throughout. They had been booked solid for the summer season, but then Alexander had gotten involved. After so much money had been invested in restorations, they had decided it might be best to close during the worst of the hurricane season and only open winter through mid-July. All the changes meant they were opening the inn earlier while closing it earlier. Many guests hadn’t been able to reschedule. The changes in booking meant there was not nearly enough to start paying themselves back for opening a business let alone to pay for a pack of diapers for Anya.
At the sound of crackling and burning, Donavan hopped up and headed toward the kitchen where he had store-bought clam chowder warming on the stove for his dad’s lunch.
He pulled the pot from the stove and turned the burner off. Donavan poured the contents into the bowl, without getting the burnt remnants at the bottom.
Upstairs, Donavan’s pupils tried to adjust as he went into his dad’s bedroom. When he’d attempted to open the wooden blinds earlier, he’d learned firsthand how many cuss words were in his dad’s repertoire.
Greg sat in the center of his bed, staring out before him. His thin lips creased with pain.
“Dad, I made you some lunch.”
With a jerk of his head, Greg glared at him. “Who-who are you!”
Every muscle
in Donavan’s body froze. “I’m your son.” His voice was surprisingly confident, hard.
“Who are you? Why are you in my house? Get outta my house!”
Donavan placed the bowl onto the bedside table and stepped over to the bed. “Dad, please, calm down. It’s me. Donavan Hardy, you—”
“Donnie, oh, you look different, son.” The tension in Greg’s face instantly loosened.
Donavan rubbed a hand along the stubble on his jaw. Still in a state of shock, Donavan placed the tray before his dad, got him squared away with his food, and went out into the hallway. His father was losing his mind.
An intake of oxygen funneled through Donavan’s lungs. He needed to do more for his family.
“A year ago, I could take my lady out to a nice restaurant. Maybe even one of those fuck-off places that her father could,” he told himself, snatching his cell phone from his jean pocket. “I’ll be damned if I can’t prepare for my child’s arrival, and Dad could use a real in-home nurse . . .”
Donavan’s thumb hovered over the contact for his old boss, Palmer.
A quick job was all he needed. Lord only knew what Alexander wanted him to do, and with his luck, it was probably something illegal with the intention of setting him up.
“Stick with what ya know,” he told himself. He made the call.
“Hello?”
“Palmer, we need to chat.”
“Donavan-my-boy-Hardy!” The man’s voice brightened. “Eh, as I recall, I’ve set aside a whole-lotta money for your wedding gift. When are you following through with locking down the girl because I do love me a good wedding—easy bridesmaids, open bar.”
“Business, Palmer, we need to talk business.” There was an extended silence if Palmer’s heavy breathing couldn’t be counted. “C’mon, a busy man like you always needs to give someone the shake down, shot . . . shit, whaddaya need?” Donavan’s hard gaze landed on a large photo of Greg, Agnes, and himself in his Sunday best. He glanced away, waiting for Palmer to grant him an opportunity to make a quick dollar.
Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance Page 5