Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

  “Did PJ tell you about the Jamieson love story?” Charlotte asked her.

  “Yes, he did. I think it is beautiful for a love to last for so many years when you can’t find commitment past one week today.”

  Parke stretched his arm over the back of her chair. “The Jamiesons pride themselves on fidelity and loving their wives. There are no divorces reported in the direct descendants of Paki because we carefully choose to love our woman for life.”

  Enough about love and happiness. Al Green wasn’t joking when he sang it could make you do right or wrong. Larry had been all wrong. Cheney changed the subject. “So about this game we’re playing…”

  Parke shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s hours of good company and more than two thousand questions about Blacks, spanning four hundred years in America.”

  Throughout the night, the Jamiesons challenged one another, joked, and teased Parke. His father didn’t spare doting on his wife, especially when she answered a question correctly. They snuggled, winked, or kissed each other like they had won points on The Newlywed Game.

  “Cheney, to redeem yourself and bring you and PJ to the next level with the rest of us, name the first Black woman to open a bank,” Hallison read from a game card.

  Biting her bottom lip, Cheney gave Parke a sad, pleading look. “Tell me,” she whispered. “I know you know.”

  “Make me.”

  You’re definitely playing with the wrong woman. Lifting a brow, Cheney lowered her voice to a husky tone. “Come closer.”

  Grinning, Parke cooed, “Yeah, baby.”

  She pinched his cheek so fast he didn’t know what hit him.

  “Ouch!” he yelled, frowning as he rubbed his flesh.

  Laughter erupted as his parents slapped the table and Malcolm clapped.

  Cheney scolded Parke, “We’re on the same team.”

  “All right. You set me up for that one. It’s Maggie Walker,” Parke answered.

  Hallison nodded. “Correct. For two extra bonus points, name the bank and the year it opened.”

  Despite her game face, Cheney winked at Parke who sat sulking. “The St. Luke’s Penny Savings Bank, founded in 1903. Renamed Consolidated Bank and Trust, it’s headquartered in Richmond. I believe it currently operates several branches in Virginia with close to $113 million in assets.” As if they were on the same team, all the women beamed with pride, clapping and giving Cheney high-fives.

  “Girl, we’ve got to hang out,” Hallison insisted.

  “Include me in your girls’ day out,” Charlotte added.

  Cheney thrived in the easy camaraderie. As she moved closer to Parke, he covered his face with quick reflexes. “I’m not going to pinch you again.” She snickered. “Business major, Duke University. I just needed a hint, lover boy.”

  Everyone laughed except Parke who challenged her, “I’ve got your lover boy.”

  ***

  “I thought the night would never end at Cheney’s,” Malcolm said to Hallison as he drove into the hotel parking lot to begin their romantic weekend getaway.

  Valets waited to open their car doors. “Welcome to the Ritz Carlton. Enjoy your stay.”

  Malcolm wrapped his arm around Hallison and smiled. “Thanks. We plan to.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  October, two weeks later

  He was sneaky, underhanded, and heartless. His craftiness underlined his ability to play fairly. Brian had backup. “I refuse to let you back me into the corner.” She concentrated to counter his strategic move. “Okay, I know your mother is the mastermind. Can’t even trust an eight year old.”

  She sipped from an empty glass absentmindedly; forgetting she had drained her Kool-Aid after Brian beat her the first time. “Aha! I see an opening.” She was about to click on the mouse and jump Brian’s black checker when the phone rang, causing her to move the wrong piece. “No! That’s the third straight win.”

  Happy faces popped on the screen, jeering at her. Laughing, she glanced at the caller ID. Picking up the cordless, Cheney whined into the phone. “What Parke?”

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “This is not a nine-hundred, talk-dirty line.” Click. She snickered. The phone rang again while Cheney watched Brian set up a new board game on the screen. She answered, “You’re interrupting a serious game of checkers, Parke.”

  “Brian?”

  “Yep, who else? I think his mother or the computer is helping him to beat me.”

  “How about replacing your virtual checkers partner with a magical night with a flesh-and-blood, muscular Black man who’ll make stars twinkle above your head, musicians serenade your soul, and charm your troubles away.”

  She half-listened to his rambling before enthusiastically double-jumping Brian’s checkers. “Hmm, so that’s your proposition. Well, I don’t need a man. Thanks.”

  Parke sighed heavily. “Woman, you could be an insecure man’s nightmare.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m living my own.”

  “You don’t have to be. How about going with me to Wabash Park’s last outdoor concert? Malcolm and Hali will be there, and Hali insists I bring you.”

  “Oh no you didn’t, you cheater!”

  “I’ve never cheated on any woman. I also never committed. Those rules don’t seem to apply with you.”

  “Whatever, Parke, I’m talking about Brian.”

  “You had a great time with us a few weeks ago.”

  “You know, I’m working overtime to find something I don’t like about you, but your family is wonderful.”

  His playful tone became serious. “I’m hard to get rid of, especially since I choose to be here for you. I’d love to include you in all our family game nights.”

  Warmed on the inside by his declaration, Cheney recalled the night of uninhibited laughter and pleasure. “And…if I don’t, everyone will follow me home again, right?” Cheney hoped she disguised her desperation with irritation.

  “That was a bold move, but don’t deny you enjoyed it.”

  I enjoyed everything, including you. To admit that would only inflate his ego. Distracted, she realized she had set herself up for Brian to jump three spaces to be crowned king. “I’m losing badly—and to a juvenile. I’ve really got to go.”

  “I refuse to hang up until you say you’ll go.”

  “I can always hang up on you.”

  “True, but I know where you live. I can pound on your door until you say yes.”

  “Or until Grandma BB loads her shotgun. Give her a reason and you’re target practice. Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll go. Your brother and Hallison are great company. Bye.”

  Undeniably, Cheney enjoyed being around Parke. He was knowledgeable, entertaining, and somewhat stuck on himself. She better be careful; he was starting to present a threat to her emotions and being around his brother and his girlfriend made her heart wish for things that were never possible again.

  ***

  As dusk set, Parke led Cheney as they both carried fluffy blankets down Benton Street, heading to Wabash Park. He didn’t have a care in the world. Admiring the night sky littered with stars, he restrained from irritating her. She was pretty, intelligent, and bitter or broken. He couldn’t determine which, but at times he could see her mending from whatever that man had put her through.

  Parke sported a fresh haircut revealing fine waves, and even changed his cologne, aftershave, and deodorant in hopes a night breeze would drive her wild. So far, she seemed oblivious to his changes or was she?

  “I love walking through our neighborhood after dark. It’s so peaceful and beautiful. Houses seem to come alive as indoor lights offer peeks of the families living inside,” Parke sparked a conversation.

  Cheney greeted fellow concertgoers that strolled past them. “Yes, I guess it is. Thanks for inviting me.”

  The park was jammed with lawn chairs and blankets. People were everywhere for the last outdoor event, signaling the start of fall. Strings of clear Christmas lights hung from trees, adding to th
e magic floating in the air.

  It didn’t take long for Parke to spot his brother and Hallison, who were dressed alike in denim shirts and jeans. “It’s amazing how Malcolm and his girlfriend outshine everybody in the crowd. They’re practically glowing.”

  “They really do look good together, as if they’re totally in sync.” Cheney sighed.

  Parke watched as Malcolm incessantly seemed to have a possessive arm, hand, or his eyes on Hallison like she was worth billions and someone might steal her. I could love Cheney. Whoa, could I? She is nothing like what I want, but maybe everything I need.

  “It’s really good to see you again,” Hallison greeted Cheney with a hug.

  “You, too. I only came because Parke told me you were coming.” They chatted amicably until Parke and Malcolm separated them.

  “You’ll love tonight,” Hallison said, snuggling closer to Malcolm. She stared into his eyes, not caring that he and Cheney were watching them. Malcolm inhaled sharply when she stroked his beard.

  Get a room, Parked wanted to say, but didn’t as he stole a glance at Cheney who wore an unreadable expression, neither longing nor disdain, just a blank look.

  Malcolm bowed his head. “Sorry.”

  “You two don’t need any music,” Parke joked.

  Guiding Cheney toward a free spot, Parke insisted they share a blanket. Although they were sitting next to each other, Cheney ignored Parke as she bobbed her head to Breezin’, the band performing the soundtracks from the summer’s blockbuster movies.

  Using his peripheral vision, Parke beheld everything about Cheney as she leaned back on her hands. Her face was flawless, no moles or blemishes—nothing. He was annoyed that her hair was in that blasted ponytail again.

  The music was non-stop for more than an hour, then one of the musicians tapped the microphone. “Before we close out tonight, I want you to look at the person sitting next to you and see if you’ll find The Look of Love. The band began to play the tune made popular by Isaac Hayes.

  Parke beheld Cheney’s cautious look. She was scared. Winking, she smiled. Why did his eyes search out his brother and girlfriend? They were whispering in each other’s ear and stealing kisses. Lamenting inwardly, he turned back and tapped Cheney. “Malcolm and Hallison not only have the look, they’re also wearing it quite well.”

  Tilting her head to the right, Cheney glanced in their direction. After a few seconds, she moved toward Parke and placed her hand on top of his, in a comforting gesture. “Your day is coming. You’ll find the love you’ve been searching for. I can feel it.” She grinned as she laid a hand over her heart. “I’m sure you’ll charm some unsuspecting sister soon.”

  “You think so?’

  She nodded. “Absolutely.”

  I’m counting on it. He smiled smugly, wiggling his mustache. Whatever ice was around Cheney’s heart, he was determined to chisel it away until she thawed out. He needed a prayer to do it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  November

  St. Louis’s first snowfall of the season was beautiful, soft, and treacherous. Five-inches deep and still falling, it could transform the most blighted neighborhood into a peaceful picturesque wonderland.

  All it took was the threat of an inch to send St. Louisans storming into grocery stores and leave shelves empty enough to starve a mouse. The steady accumulation would also turn Cheney’s Friday evening commute into a nightmare.

  Staring out her office window, Cheney wanted to ignore the paperwork on her desk and go sled riding down Art Hill in Forest Park. She closed her eyes and embraced the snow’s magical effect. Her mind conjured up its own images.

  Cheyenne’s childish giggles echoed throughout the yard as she formed an odd-shaped snowball, ready to aim.

  “Ha, ha. I got you, Mommy. You’re supposed to duck.”

  Cheney chuckled as mother and daughter frolicked in the snow before tumbling down a small hill.

  “Weee, you caught me, Mommy.”

  “Sure did. C’mon, let’s make our snowman.”

  Cheney blinked as a teardrop splashed on the report on her desk. Would she always cry at the memories of what could’ve been? This guilt had to be exorcized. “God, how can I be set free? If You’ve been talking to me, I can’t hear You, please show me a sign like You did Gideon in the Book of Judges. Yeah, I need a sign, Amen.” With nothing more to say, she returned to her duties, nervously shuffling papers. She hoped her fleet of twenty-one company cars wouldn’t collide with other vehicles in this weather.

  Two hours later, Cheney locked her office door. She would be sequestered in her house the entire weekend. The ten-minute drive home turned into a thirty-minute trip despite the snowplows’ paths. Minutes after walking through her front door, her phone rang. “Hello?”

  “It’s about time I got ya. You had me worried.”

  “Oh, Grandma BB, I just got in. I was about to come over and check on you.”

  Mrs. Beacon’s high-pitched laugh pierced her eardrum. “Chile, I’m stuck in Kirkwood.”

  “What are you doing way out there?” The west St. Louis suburb was easily forty-five minutes on the other side of town.

  “My Red Hat Purple Ladies Club scheduled a day of movies, shopping, and the spa without checking the forecast. You’ve got to come to this Westfield Mall. It’s kickin’ as you young people say. Nordstrom’s had a sale where I shopped until I was ready to drop, but you know at my age, it’s easier going down than it is getting back up.”

  She envied her neighbor’s carefree spirit that made it seem as if she were a teenager locked in a senior citizen’s body.

  “Anyway, about six of us are spending the night at my friend, Gina’s house. We’re going to turn it into a slumber party, order some real scary movies and make bowls of buttery popcorn.”

  “I hope no Chippendales show up,” Cheney joked.

  “Hmm. Now, wouldn’t that be something, but I’m worried about you, Heney. You going to be all right over there all by yourself?”

  “Yeah.” Cheney glanced around her quiet house. “No worries. I’ll build a fire, relax, and watch some movies—nothing scary—or some reruns.”

  “Okay, make sure the fire is out before you go to bed and the doors are locked.”

  “Yes, Fairy Grandmother, good night.” Cheney shook her head.

  Opening her refrigerator, she moaned at the near-empty shelves. Soup would have to do. Walking into her pantry, she sighed. A sparse number of cans were visible, but no soup. Throwing her hands up, she yelled, “Do I live here, or what?”

  Lifting a Ritz crackers carton, the lightness told her it was empty. Smashing the box, she aimed for the trash just as the phone rang. “Hello?”

  “I’m glad you made it home. I thought it was going to be a blizzard out there,” Parke said.

  “I wish I’d braved the streets for the store to fight for the last loaf of bread.”

  “Can I tempt you with homemade chili with my secret ingredients? I’m simmering it now.”

  “I’m not driving in this stuff, maybe tomorrow if the streets are cleared.”

  “I wouldn’t want you driving anyway. I could bring over my big pot of chili, some funny videos, and you can build a fire.”

  Not wanting to get her hopes high, Cheney licked her lips, starving. “I don’t think I’ve got enough logs to hold a fire for more than an hour, but the food sounds good.”

  “Okay, then you supply the bread.”

  “Can’t do that either.” Cheney sighed.

  “Okay, how about some crackers?”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you have over there?” Parke chuckled.

  “Plenty of snow and a can of French loaf dough.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you real soon.”

  “Parke?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  ***

  Parke grabbed bags and an empty crate when his phone halted his movements. “The woman said she was hungry. She better not be calling bac
k to cancel,” he threatened under his breath as he answered it.

  “Hey, Parke.”

  He withheld a groan. He loved his dear friend, but he didn’t have time for her version of a Jesus conversation. “Hey, Annette, how you doing, babe?”

  “I’m fine. I thought I’d call you since we’re both snowed in with nowhere to go.”

  “I do have somewhere to go, and I’m on my way out.”

  “You’re drivin’ in this stuff? Parke, the woman’s bed isn’t worth it.”

  “She’s worth it, but I’m not going for her bed. I’m going for the woman.”

  “Hallelujah,” Annette shouted. “Praise the Lord.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, so you can have church right here on the phone.”

  “Okay, sweetie, but don’t forget what I said before, Jesus is calling you.”

  Parke bent down and manipulated his six-quart pot in the crate. “I’ve already told you, Jesus and me, we’re cool, but if you have to have a certain quota on your prayer list, then you can use my name.”

  Her voice softened, “Okay, make fun if you want, but the Bible says, ‘Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me.’ Jesus is the only answer. Love you.”

  “Hmm. I’m glad you love me, because you could do some damage if you hated me.” He disconnected. Parke put on an extra pair of socks before cramming his feet into snow boots. He also added another sweater before donning his double-lined wool coat. He riffled through boxes in his basement storage room, searching for a metal laundry cart from his college days. Dressed like the abominable snowman, he opened his front door and a gust of strong wind slapped him across his face. “I’ve lost my mind.”

  After three attempts, he made it out his front door, then locked it. Snatching an armful of wood logs off his porch, he haphazardly stacked them on top of the pot. When he jumped into his SUV and turned the ignition, his low fuel light flashed. He’d been so intent on getting home, he’d ignored the vehicle’s warning. Now, he had less than five miles worth of gas. Getting out, he slammed the door. He didn’t want to chance it.