Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

She looked over her shoulder.

  “A hostile attitude is unbecoming. I’m not your enemy,” Parke yelled after her.

  She slammed her front door in response, then leaned against it. He was right, Cheney could hear Imani scolding her. Every man wasn’t her adversary. She would apologize next time she saw Parke.

  At noon, Cheney’s doorbell chimed. Her heart played volleyball between anticipation and caution. She did one last inspection. Everything was perfect. She raced to the door as she smoothed her hair back into its ponytail. She sniffed to control happy tears. She didn’t realize how much she ached to see them.

  Opening the door, she came face-to-face with a picture-perfect family. Her mind flashed back to when Larry said they would have a family later. She cursed Larry a hundred times, but she’d have a happy ending. Count on it. I control my destiny.

  Janae Reynolds Allen, Cheney’s older sister was a butterscotch version of her and shorter. Janae cradled her one-year-old son, Alex. Her husband, Bryce, enfolded their three-year-old daughter, Natalie’s small hand. He appeared uncomfortable as he shifted his eyes from his wife to Cheney’s shoes to an antique porch light. But he didn’t meet her eyes. What’s his problem?

  Refocusing, Cheney smiled at her cute little niece and nephew, forcing back anymore flashbacks that would cause her to shut the door and run upstairs sobbing for the child she chose not to have. “Janae, they’re beautiful. Natalie looks just like me, and Alex favors Rainey,” Cheney said, hoping for an olive branch.

  “That’s what I told her. She didn’t even need me,” Bryce joked.

  “ ‘Bout time you came home and saw them. Too bad you refused to be here when they were born. I still don’t understand what your problem was anyway,” Janae snapped in a neutral tone.

  “Not now, Jay,” Bryce admonished his wife.

  She already felt guilty for not choosing to be a mother and guiltier she wasn’t around to witness her sister become one. Saying nothing, Cheney allowed her guests to enter, carrying their wrapped gifts.

  “Your father couldn’t make it. He sends his regards and a very nice gift,” her mother, Gayle Francine Reynolds, stated as if his absence was commonplace.

  Shoulders slumped, Cheney bowed her head to hide her disappointment. How could he not be here? She was daddy’s little girl. At one time she could talk to him about anything. That stopped with Larry. Of all the family members who might have knowledge about her abortion, Dr. Roland Jerome Reynolds was the likely candidate.

  Gayle air-kissed Cheney’s cheeks as she entered the house, leading the small procession. A little physical contact might have healed her weak heart. “Why?”

  “Roland is speaking at a medical conference on hormone replacement therapy.”

  That was unusual since her father usually skipped medical conferences, joking he could achieve boredom from reading the journals, so why listen to the verbiage.

  Rainey, Cheney’s fraternal twin brother hovered over her by four inches. He was strikingly handsome, muscular, and several shades darker than Cheney. His jet-black curly hair and thick mustache gave him a Hispanic look. Rainey brushed a kiss against her cheek as he stepped into the house. “Hey, Twin.”

  A touch. Warmth spread throughout her body. Ahhh, she hadn’t heard that expression in years. “Hey, Twin.” She knew she could count on her brother.

  Without turning around, Cheney could feel everyone’s eyes staring at her back, even little Natalie’s.

  Her brother broke the ice. Everything would be all right now. “Welcome to mi casa. Feel free to look around and make yourselves at home.”

  Rainey rubbed his hands together. “All right, you don’t have to tell me twice. Where’s the food?”

  Janae flopped down on Cheney’s new teal sofa, cuddling and rocking Alex. She fingered the purple, plum, and yellow accent pillows. “Hmm, flashy colors, not earth-tones?” She scanned the rooms, then shrugged. “But nice.”

  Bryce cleared his throat and shook his head, his eyes scolding his wife. That was a clear indication that instructions were given.

  She’d suggested a tour when her doorbell rang. Cheney half-hoped her father had changed his mind. Her heart plummeted as the “ready-made migraine” stood on her porch, not waiting to be invited inside. Dressed presentably, even down to her bone Naturalizer shoes, Mrs. Beacon leaned on her bamboo cane, grinning. Cheney lifted a brow. Her Stacy Adams must be at the repair shop.

  A hair net held Mrs. Beacon’s silver curls in place. Not the dear, old sweet senior citizen act. Cheney had witnessed her move like one of Janet Jackson’s backup dancers.

  Mrs. Beacon tapped Cheney on the leg. “I saw the balloons. Step aside, Heney, and let an old woman through. Was I supposed to bring a gift?”

  The headache started as Cheney was about to close the door, but Imani made a production of gliding onto her porch. She relaxed. In tow was another high school friend. The three screamed their greetings, hugging, and grinning. Without a doubt, Imani was responsible for coercing the woman there. She wouldn’t be surprised if Imani paid bribe money. It didn’t matter. Cheney could use a rent-a-friend at the moment. Imani continued to prove her friendship throughout the years.

  “When I saw Deb at the mall, she insisted on coming,” Imani stated.

  Deb nodded, and Imani grinned. Yep, Imani paid her big money.

  “Deb Davidson, I haven’t seen you since—”

  “Graduation,” the threesome said.

  “I’m a Matthews now with two adorable boys,” she corrected Cheney.

  “Well, Mrs. Matthews, you look wonderful with your short self,” Cheney said as Imani gave her hand a quick squeeze.

  The former Debra Davidson was stunning with beautiful brown eyes. She struggled with some type of plant that was wrapped in gold-foil paper.

  Mrs. Beacon tapped her cane. “Heney, you going to let those girls in, or is the party moving outside?”

  “Who’s that?” Imani whispered, lifting a brow.

  “Mrs. Beacon,” Cheney mouthed back.

  Imani snickered. “This oughta be good. This is going to be worth the flight from Australia.”

  “Who’s she?” Deb wanted to know.

  “I’m her neighbor,” Mrs. Beacon answered for herself.

  Cheney rolled her eyes. “C’mon in.”

  “Be nice,” Deb offered.

  “She doesn’t have to. This is her house,” Imani tossed back loud enough for her crazy neighbor to hear. Once inside, Imani’s eyes sparkled as she glanced around. “This is nice. Your flair for decorating is commendable. The hardwood looks wet and the shutters’ stain is a perfect match. Girl, I have to hand it to you, this is your palace.”

  Setting aside their gifts, Deb greeted Cheney’s family, and Imani hugged them. An hour later after touring every room, the gaiety began to dissipate as guests nibbled on sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. Cheney’s friends continued to rave about the renovations while her mother and sister mumbled their contradictions. Her niece, Natalie, didn’t want to leave the little girl’s bedroom upstairs.

  Her mother lifted her chin in a show of superiority as she bit into a mini strawberry cheesecake dessert. “I love the hardwood floors, but the loud colors for the furniture? You’ll grow tired of that teal sofa. A neutral color would’ve been better.”

  Mrs. Beacon, who had been behaving, got everyone’s attention with a booming voice. “Leading decorators suggest using bright colors liberally as accents when remodeling because it symbolizes life and emits cheerful energy.”

  Gayle brushed imaginary dirt from her spotless pants. “Hmm, I see.” She glared at Cheney as if she was the one who made the comment.

  Imani grinned. Cheney was dumbfounded at the woman posing as Mrs. Beacon.

  Natalie clapped her hands as Bryce bounced her on his knee. “Ant Che wooks wike my box of crayos.”

  Everybody chuckled.

  “Mom, I think the colors blend well,” Rainey added with a nonchalant shrug. “Personally, I would’ve bui
lt a house in one of the newer subdivisions in West County rather than repairing a shack way out here in North County.” He crossed his ankle on his knee exposing his wheat nylon socks, which matched his pants.

  What is going on? Rainey once prided himself on taking up for her since he’s the older twin. Maybe he hadn’t mellowed out after her phone call. “I was attracted to Old Ferguson’s mature trees, well-maintained neighborhoods, and established neighbors.” Minus Mrs. Beacon, of course. “Plus, I’m close to work.”

  Janae wrinkled her nose as she lovingly passed her sleeping son to her mother. “The couch is okay. It’s the dust from the wood shutters that would drive my allergies crazy. I would’ve chosen custom-made window treatments.”

  Imani stood from the couch and walked to the windows. She fingered the shutters before peeking outside. “Woo-wee, if this drop-dead gorgeous man is part of the neighborhood, girl, you’ve got a roommate,” Imani purred, twirling around.

  “Huh? I haven’t met one good-looking guy since I moved here.” Cheney gave her friend an odd look as her doorbell sounded.

  Cheney’s eyes almost popped out of her head when she answered the door. Parke Jamieson, the first, second, or third, stood outside. The soft cream colors he wore highlighted his summer tan, showing off his well-maintained body, like she cared.

  Parke’s subtle cologne drifted past Cheney’s nose. She stared at him like she’d never seen him before. Handsome minus the arrogance and he could be charming.

  “If it’s about the comment I made earlier,” she lowered her voice. “You’re right. You aren’t my enemy. I’m sorry.”

  Methodically, he removed his dark shades, grinning like a model on a photo shoot. His teeth were beautiful. Cheney wondered what was up his sleeve.

  “You gonna invite the young man inside to join us, or cool the outside with the door standing open?” Mrs. Beacon shouted, scooting across the floor with her cane on her way to Cheney’s kitchen as if the woman were at home.

  Losing her patience, Cheney groaned as an old movie came to mind. If Danny DeVito could Throw Mama from the Train, surely she could get rid of Mrs. Beacon. She looked back at Parke. “I said I was sorry,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

  “Accepted, may I come in?”

  “Parke, this is not a good time. I’m having a party.” She was getting annoyed. “If you’re coming to crash the party, someone beat you to it. It’s already in progress.”

  Before she could tell him it was a private party, Imani and Deb invited him inside and shut the door. Did Deb forget she was Mrs. Matthews? Cheney rolled her eyes.

  Eyes followed Parke as he looked around, nodding appreciatively at Cheney’s furnishings. “The place looks great.”

  Deb and Imani watched him, smiling ridiculously and flirting outrageously. What would Mr. Matthews say?

  “Everybody, this is Parke. He lives somewhere in the neighborhood. Parke, this is my family. My sister, Janae and her husband, Bryce. These are their children, Alex and Natalie. Finally, this is my mother, Mrs. Reynolds and my twin brother, Rainey.”

  “Twin?” Parke asked.

  “Twin,” Cheney repeated.

  Nodding, Parke smiled. Imani and Deb cleared their throats. What good-looking men like Parke subjected women to wasn’t any of Cheney’s business anymore. “These are my friends, Mrs. Deb Matthews and Imani, and my neighbor Mrs. Beacon.”

  Natalie patted her leg. “Ant Che, can I play with your dollies upstairs?”

  Squatting, Cheney smoothed back Natalie’s thick curly bangs. “No, sweetie. Those aren’t for you.”

  Natalie pouted and was about to throw a tantrum when Janae moved quickly to console her daughter and confront her sister. “Why can’t she play with them? Who are you saving them for? You don’t even have kids.”

  Gayle stood. “Yes, why are those rooms decorated like that?” She folded her arms in a challenge. “Is there anything you want to tell us?”

  Was her mother purposely baiting her? Did she know? Conversations ceased. Why did she feel like battle lines were being drawn? What did her family want from her, a confession? She looked around the room.

  No one else knew about the abortion except Imani. Knowing Imani, she was not only the mistress of sealed lips, but the master of causing major disturbances. Deb, ignorant to the undercurrent, started to fidget, looking ready to bolt at any minute, but only Parke’s presence kept her there.

  Mrs. Beacon’s expression remained unreadable. Cheney could sense her neighbor was cooking up something.

  “Cheney.” Imani took center stage as she crossed her long legs in a slow manner, glancing at Parke. “This is a good time to open your gifts, girlfriend.”

  A diversion, Imani, not flirtation. Couldn’t her girl think of something else besides a man? Cheney guessed not.

  Parke seemed oblivious to the tension. “I’m sure your rooms are displayed like many of ours around here, as if they’re livable for the upcoming block house tour.”

  What house tour? Cheney nodded, and played along as if she knew what the man was talking about. Did Parke just come to her rescue and did his voice drop an octave and sound huskier than normal? Who was flirting with whom?

  “We don’t—” Mrs. Beacon began.

  Parke and Cheney cut her a look.

  She wiggled in her seat. “Well, ain’t nobody comin’ up in my house.”

  Cheney collapsed in a chair at her dining table, hoping for the cease-fire reprieve.

  “Back to the gifts. I hope you like this peace lily. The plant would look nice beside the couch or really thrive in one of your bay windows,” Deb suggested.

  Standing, Cheney hugged her rent-a-friend with all her might. “Thank you, short-stuff. I’ll try and remember to water it.”

  “She’ll kill it,” her mother stated.

  “That’s my line,” Mrs. Beacon snarled at Gayle Reynolds.

  Everyone except Cheney gave Mrs. Beacon a puzzled look.

  In typical Imani fashion, she made a big production of standing. Swaying her hips, she walked past Parke to get a large silver wicker basket by the door. With all the confusion, Cheney didn’t recall Imani bringing it.

  “Indulge yourself in calming lavender aromatherapy. It should help relieve everyday stress.” Imani tilted her head toward Cheney’s sister and mother.

  Cheney fingered the many bottles of fragrant bath gels, body oils and sprays. She hadn’t pampered herself in years. “It’s perfect.” Cheney kissed Imani’s cheek.

  Flaunting a smile a little too sexy, Imani waved manicured nails. “Girl, it’s nothing. Just make sure you use every drop of it.” She winked then kept on winking.

  “I will,” Cheney assured her and frowned.

  Reaching for a plum gift-wrapped box, Imani handed it to her. “Open this.”

  Cheney read her mother’s signature on the card, then ripped off the paper. “Wow, a music box that plays lullabies. It’s beautiful. Thank you, Mom.” Cheney masked the shock of the musical selection. Why lullabies and not musicals or soundtracks?

  Gayle smiled. “Roland and I chose it together.”

  Daddy. Cheney swallowed to wash down the hurt from her father’s absence. Imani passed a gift bearing more tape than wrapping paper. She recognized her brother’s handiwork. Cheney carefully unwrapped it.

  “It’s beautiful, Rainey. Thank you.”

  “Yeah, it’s a genuine Lladro. I know you don’t have any kids, but the woman looked so much like you, I had to get it. Maybe one day. “

  The piece was a young mother cradling a baby with a toddler sitting at her feet. First her mother’s gift, now Rainey’s, were they taunting her? Choking back tears, Cheney stood on her toes and embraced her linebacker-sized brother. “Thank you, Twin.”

  “Welcome, Twin.”

  Janae clapped her hands, interrupting the tranquil moment. “Okay, open mine,” she demanded, urging Imani to pass Cheney a long silver box. When Cheney uncovered four bright white monogrammed hand towels, Jane expla
ined, “When, or if you marry, you can add his first name.”

  “Thanks.” Cheney leaned towards her sister for a hug, but Janae folded her arms. The rejection sparked a headache moving like a nonstop locomotive. Cheney had pushed them away, now they were shoving back, big time.

  Parke distracted her when he handed Imani an envelope, and Mrs. Beacon did the same. Cheney hadn’t noticed anything in her uninvited guests’ hands.

  “Here’re two more,” Imani advised, passing them on.

  Cheney slipped the Mahogany card from the envelope. “Welcome to the neighborhood. I hope you find peace of mind and plenty of people who are kind, then it’s a sign that you’re among the best neighbors. Mrs. Beatrice T. Beacon.”

  She eyed her next-door neighbor. How did she know? Cheney hadn’t mentioned anything. Was something going to crawl out of the card and bite her? When a slip of paper fell out, Cheney laughed. Mrs. Beacon always managed to get the upper hand.

  The joke was truly on Cheney as she stared at the paper. Finally she found her voice again, “Thank you for the one-hundred-dollar gift certificate to Friscilla’s Nursery.”

  When she stood to give a hug, Mrs. Beacon held up her cane to ward Cheney off. Everyone laughed, including Cheney.

  “This is from that handsome gentleman in the corner,” Imani advised.

  Cheney squinted at Parke. What could he have gotten her? He also chose a Mahogany card. The African-American woman portrayed on the cover had extremely long lashes like Cheney and wore bright red lipstick. Cheney smiled as she opened the card and read, “You are truly unique, Miss Reynolds. Parke Kokumuo Jamieson VI.”

  Deb chuckled. “What a mouthful.”

  Janae thumped on Rainey’s back as he gagged on his iced tea. “Cu cu moe?”

  The first genuine sounds of laughter filled the house, including Natalie, who mimicked the adults. Even Parke looked amused. “It’s pronounced Ko-ku-mu-o.”

  Imani scooped up the two tickets that fell out. “Ooh, Bubbling Brown Sugar!”

  Janae smacked her lips together. “That show is sold out.”

  Gayle waved her hand. “Bryce has been trying to get tickets for months. If you can’t find anyone to go with you, why not give your tickets to your sister. They’d enjoy an evening without the children.”