by Dara Girard
Vance glanced up stunned. Cordell was the last person he expected to see. Part of him was glad to see him. He admired Cordell and didn't want any hard feelings between them. "Nice to see you."
"Business is booming over on my side of town and I thought I'd come over here and see how things are going."
Bad. "Fine." Vance picked up his carving tool.
"Sylvie's seeing an architect. Son of an old friend of mine."
"I'm happy for her," Vance said his mood dimming as he realized why Cordell had come. He'd come to gloat. To say "I told you so". It stung to know that a man he'd admired for so many years, a man he'd seen as a father-figure, took delight in seeing him struggle. It was clear that the respect and admiration had been one-sided.
"I bet you thought stealing some of my men would have helped you," Cordell said with a smirk.
Vance adjusted the clamp holding the back of the table leg and returned to carving. "They came on their own."
"And I bet they're already having regrets."
Vance made a quick movement with the carving tool, missing the wood and slicing through his hand. Bright blood gushed out. He swore and grabbed a rag nearby and wrapped it tightly around his hand.
Cordell came over to him, handing him another rag.
Vance pushed past him. "You won okay? I get the message." He scrambled for his car keys, blood seeping through the rag and staining his shirt.
"At least let me drive you to the hospital."
"No, and I don’t want to see you when I get back." Vance closed up shop and jumped in his car. His hand hurt like hell, but what he hated more was doing something so stupid in front of Cordell. He'd been angry. But more at himself. Cordell had touched on all his fears. That he wasn't good enough or smart enough. Would Greta eventually think so too? He'd hated school and she'd gotten a bunch of degrees. He'd knocked up a girl at sixteen and it had only been luck that he hadn't knocked up others, before he got his act together. Greta had always been responsible. More than once he'd wondered if his feelings for her were stronger than her feelings for him. He wouldn't be surprised.
He pulled over to the side of the road. His vision was getting blurry and he couldn't focus. He couldn't understand why, he didn't think he'd lost that much blood. But he wasn't himself. He picked up his phone and dialed.
"Hello?" a deep voice said.
Vance took a deep breath then said the words he never thought he'd say. "Dad? I need your help."
Chapter Fifteen
Greta got off the plane after a long trip, ready for a hot soak and then a nap. She grabbed her luggage from the airport luggage carousel on the lower level.
"Tera!"
She turned and saw Crystal rushing over to her.
"Sorry I'm late. I looked for the wrong flight and then when I figured out the right one, you'd already come here." Greta was somewhat stunned. She hadn’t expected anyone to come and pick her up. How did Crystal know when she was coming home? Ah, Vance.
"Crystal what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you before you saw Dad. You're going to see him today, right?"
"Actually I was going to go straight home and--"
Crystal continued as if Greta hadn't spoken. "But I thought it would be great if you gave him a surprise."
"A surprise?"
"Yes, I have everything in this bag." She lifted the large shopping bag up. "You'll look great."
Greta frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"A makeover. You know my dad's a good looking guy and he has a certain image to maintain,” Crystal stumbled over her words, as if unsure how to frame them. "He likes his ladies to have a certain image too."
Greta started to grin. "Has he had a lot of ladies?"
"Yes...I mean no...I mean."
Greta's grin widened. "It's okay. It doesn't matter."
"What I'm trying to say it that I'm here to help you."
"Help me?"
"Yes, with a makeover. I don't want to be mean, but your clothes are a little old fashioned and your glasses are way too big for your face.” When Greta didn’t appear offended, Crystal continued. “You know, as a graphic designer, I see everything as a visual display...what I’m trying to say is I bought some items I thought you’d like and makeup and... Hold on." She reached into the bag and pulled out a sequined multi-colored skirt wrapped in tissue paper. "Isn't this gorgeous?"
"How much did you spend?"
"I squeezed some money out of Dad," she said with a proud grin. "And I used some of my own."
Greta looked dismayed. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to."
Greta took the skirt from Crystal, held it up, then refolded it. "This is very kind of you and I know you've put a lot of thought into it but I can't accept it."
Crystal’s face fell. "Why not?"
"It's just not appropriate. I don't feel comfortable with you trying to dress me. But here's what I'll do," she quickly added when Crystal's eyes filled with tears. "Tell me how much everything totaled and I'll pay you back. Okay?"
Crystal sniffed and nodded.
"Perhaps another time we can go shopping together," Greta said, even though she hated shopping.
Crystal flashed a watery smile. "I'd like that."
***
An hour later Greta sat in her grandmother's sitting room, telling her about her meeting with Crystal at the airport. She'd been so steamed by the encounter she hadn't been able to go home. She had to vent to someone she knew would understand. "And then she gave me this," Greta showed her grandmother the skirt. "I felt so embarrassed that she feels she needs to buy me clothes so that I can be good enough, excuse me, have the right ‘image’ for her father."
"Poor thing. Her heart was in the right place."
"I know. I nearly made the poor kid cry, but I don't like feeling like a charity case. I'm donating the clothes. Vance already feels he needs to help and rescue me and now his daughter does too."
"It's what people who care about each other do."
"Maybe she has a point. We do make an odd pair. I'm not blind, I know that. Maybe he feels responsible for me for some awful reason. Maybe, he just feels sorry for me."
"Greta, from everything you've told me about him, it’s clear he has feelings for you."
"Part pity, part--"
"You're being unfair. Are you afraid to trust him?"
A little. His daughter's words had wounded her pride. "Maybe we should just be friends. I don't want to have to change to be with him."
"You don't have to change."
"But she wants me to. Maybe I am blind or something. I thought he liked me just the way I am. He’s never mentioned, or even hinted that I should change the way I look. But, maybe he shared his concerns with his daughter. Maybe he’s using his daughter to let me know that he wished--"
"Sister, stop right there. You are just making up stories. Just take what she did for what it is. She wants you to improve what you have. I do too. It’s not the first time we’ve had talks about how you look. You like to stay hidden behind your lab coat, and since you work with those nerdy scientists, you never take the time to work on and enjoy your outer, as well as inner, beauty. I want you to be who you are, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing you clean up a bit."
"This is who I am."
"When was the last time you went to an ophthalmologist or the beauty salon?"
Greta thought about Eric giving her a card for his optician. She groaned. "Even he wanted me to change."
"Who?"
"Never mind. I just haven't had time for those things."
"Well now’s the time. You're venturing into a new life. One without your mother, sister or niece, and you need a new look to go with it. The problem is you're scared."
"I'm not scared. Okay a little scared. What if I get all dressed up and it's still not enough?"
"Don’t worry, it will be."
"You haven't met his daughter."
"No, and I haven't even met h
im yet. Why is that?"
Greta shrugged. "The right moment hasn't come up yet."
"Does he mean a lot to you?"
"Yes."
"Then prove it. It may seem silly, but men are visual creatures. I'm not asking you to change yourself. Spruce up a bit, and stop wasting the good genes I gave you. Remember if you want a good ‘catch’ you have to put out a line."
It sounded so simple, but Greta didn't want to admit to Minnie, that she didn’t know how.
***
Vance left the hospital with stitches, a swollen hand and plenty of pain pills. He wasn't in any pain, but he felt like an idiot. His father had picked him up and his brother and sister-in-law had dropped his car at his place. His father hadn't said much on the trip to the hospital or on the way to his house and he was glad. He didn't want any questions or a conversation that fell into recrimination.
He sat and gazed out the car window then stiffened when he saw the time and date on a bank sign. Greta was arriving back today. He'd wanted to be waiting at her house with flowers but he was too tired to even move. She'd see the changes to her house without him. The day just kept getting worse. He swore.
His father looked at him. "Are you in pain?"
"No, I just...It's nothing."
"You know the first few years of a business can be hard. Some people take off like a rocket, others putter along. The key is to persevere."
"Hmm." Throughout his life his father was always offering him advice he'd chosen to ignore. But this time, he felt like listening. "Why aren't you angry with me?"
"Angry?"
"Yes. I know I disappointed Mom when I left Sylvie and my job and--"
"Your mother wasn't disappointed, she was just scared for you."
Vance couldn't imagine his mother being afraid of anything. She'd always done what she wanted.
Bernice Minton was a proud woman from the south who'd come up north to study to be a nurse. She had met Kwame Lamine at Georgetown University hospital where she was a nurse and he a second year resident. She had fallen for the handsome, soft spoken Ghanaian who spoke of a large family that rivaled hers. She was used to large family gatherings and people being in other people’s business, so marrying someone with a large family didn’t intimidate her. After a year of dating they decided to get married, and he took her home, briefly, to meet his family.
That’s when the trouble began. "I've taken lots of risks in my life, so I understand her fear," he continued. "I took on more than I should have. I had a successful business and thought I could help the world. But before long I began to drown, I found myself trying to support my family in addition to sending money home to take care of my aging mother, father and ten siblings. I was the eldest son, and by tradition, I was responsible for taking care of them."
"But you didn't just take care of your immediate family," Vance said, with remembered bitterness. "You helped others at the expense of us."
"Yes," he admitted with a tired sigh. "I also felt responsible for aunts and uncles and even my cousins. The stories they'd tell me of how bad things were and how blessed we were, I felt it was my duty to help them. But I didn't love you less. I'm sorry if you ever felt that way."
All Vance remembered was how he resented his father's divided loyalties. How his father's generosity had led to him losing the Sports clinic, then finding themselves living off their mother’s paycheck, which at the time could barely pay for their food and bills. He could understand his mother not wanting that kind of life for him.
"I can understand Mom being scared. I'm scared too," Vance admitted ready to hear his father's disapproval.
But it didn't come. Instead his father grinned. "Good. That’ll keep you sharp, but that should never stop you."
He nodded, letting his father's words sink in then returned his gaze to the window surprised that he felt more empowered than before. All the respect he'd wanted from Cordell his father had for him all along. Despite all his mistakes, all his anger, his father's love had never wavered. . He realized that most of his life he'd wanted another father, when he'd had the one he needed all along.
***
Greta stood transfixed in the doorway and stared at the inside of her house in awe. At first she'd approached her house with some trepidation, but then gathered her courage and opened the door. Everything was back in place and no one would be able to tell what had happened. Her grandmother's couch looked perfect.
She called Vance eager to thank him, but both his home and cell phone went to voicemail.
Her doorbell rang.
Greta ran to answer the door expecting to see Vance, but Joan stood there instead.
"Where have you been?" she demanded. "You haven't been to practice for ages and I got worried."
Greta opened the door wider for her to enter. "I know. I had a family emergency."
Joan stepped inside then gasped.
Greta spun around to see what was wrong.
Joan gripped her chest. "Your home is exquisite. From the outside you'd never be able to tell. Oh my goodness. Look at the woodwork. Do you mind if I look around?"
Greta smiled feeling a little stupid. "No," she said. And it was through Joan's eyes and description that she really saw what Vance had done. He had hired a skilled carpenter to replace all of the original wood trim, exactly like it was new. Polished bamboo floor planks gave the entire house a sense of sophistication, and all of the damaged wood paneling had been replaced with mahogany. The doors to her kitchen cabinets had been replaced with a sleek set of white laminate doors with finished antique brass handles.
A lot of attention had been paid to getting the basement back in shape and her favorite place, the back porch. As part of the restoration in the porch, Vance had installed new floor-to-ceiling windows and two skylights. A view of her back garden could be seen from every angle, and the openness of the floor plan allowed the sun to shine through brightly year-round. And as a special treat to her, Vance had taken the time to restore her grandmother’s couch, including the carved wooden claw feet, and the upholstery had also been matched to the original print. He had ordered the fabric from a specialty store in Italy. Greta could hardly believe it was the same house. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
"I'm so jealous," Joan said returning to the living room and taking a seat. "Who did you use?"
"My boyfriend."
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "The contractor? I knew you were more than just friends. I guess it doesn't matter if he isn’t too bright if he can do this."
"He focuses on woodworking and restoration now, and he's very clever."
"I don't care, honey. If he can do this I want his number."
Greta gave Joan Vance's information then the two chatted for a while. Then Greta slowly got a new resolve. Vance had done all this for her and now she wanted to do something for him. "Who does your hair?" she asked Joan. When Joan just stared at her, she hurried to explain. "You always look so finished and--"
Joan clasped her hands together as if she'd just been offered a grand prize. "You want to get your hair done? I know someone you'll love." She then shared horror stories of stylists who cut her hair either too short, or gave the wrong color. "But he is amazing. I'll make an appointment for you."
Greta opened her mouth to protest then stopped, she had to get used to people wanting to help her. "Thank you."
"Not a problem. Now, how do you feel about makeup?" They talked some more and then Joan left. Greta tried Vance's number again. No response. When she tried again the next day she started to get worried. Don't worry about me, she could hear him say, but she couldn't help herself. After work she drove to his place and knocked. It took him a while to answer and when he did he looked awful. His face looked drawn, his eyes were barely opened and his left hand was bandaged.
"Greta," he said bending forward and giving her a clumsy hug. "You're back."
"I've been back for a while," she said stumbling back from the weight of him. "What happened to your hand?"
/> He ambled over to the couch, then collapsed into it as if he had no energy left. "I was stupid. I had an accident at work." He yawned. "And these damn pain pills keep knocking me out. I can hardly keep my eyes open."
"You can get another prescription."
"Hmm." He rested his head back and closed his eyes. Greta assumed he'd fallen asleep until he said, "I'm so glad to see you." His eyes remained closed his breathing was labored as if he was using all his energy just to stay awake.
"Go to sleep."
He looked at her through half closed eyes. "I don't want to."
She smiled, it was a losing battle. "You need to." She kissed him on the cheek. "The house looks wonderful."
"I wish I could have been there."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "Me too."
Chapter Sixteen
After putting Vance to bed and making sure he had all that he needed, Greta returned home and for the next two days watched several makeover shows. She took some notes and also went to her local bookstore and picked up a book on how to change one’s appearance. By the end of the week, she felt a little overwhelmed, but decided to take things one step at a time. After visiting Joan's hairstylist in D.C. where she had a new haircut and color added, she made an appointment with a makeup artist at one of the major upscale department stores.
Once again, she was hesitant, and interviewed several before she selected the person she wanted to work with. And she wasn’t disappointed. Instead of making her up to look like some painted clown, the makeup artist asked her questions about what she did, the colors she liked and what kind of look she wanted to achieve. Greta spent at least two hours getting made over, and purchased close to half a paycheck worth of makeup and perfume. She didn’t mind, she hadn’t done anything like this for herself. She was always busy spending her money and buying for others.
Next Greta made an appointment at a small boutique she had found listed in the yellow pages. It was the perfect place for her. The owner, a former fashion model, spent an entire day with her selecting a number of items and ensembles that fit Greta perfectly. Nothing was ignored. In addition to a couple of fitted blouses, Greta bought several skirts, five designer dresses, seven tailored pants, a couple of casual jeans and one leather and linen jacket. By the time she left, she felt like she was on top of the world.