A Million Blessings

by Angela Benson

  Dara didn’t waste any time getting in and out of the public restroom. Thankfully, India had already moved the car from the gas station pump to the first parking space in front of the store. Dara jumped in the passenger seat and immediately reached for her sweater because her cousin consistently blasted two things whenever she drove—the radio and the air conditioning.

  “I’ve two gifts for you,” India said, strapping on her seat belt. “One is that I’m taking the wheel and driving us home from here.”

  “Well it’s about time,” Dara said. “I have been driving the last six hours. Taking the last two or so is the least you can do.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t have such a sassy mouth to somebody who might have made you a millionaire.” She reached into the area of the console where they’d stacked a bunch of CDs and pulled out a lottery ticket, tossing it on Dara’s lap.

  “No, you didn’t,” Dara said. “And on a Sunday.”

  “Yes, I did,” India said, shifting their rented SUV into reverse. “It’s for the big one. The jackpot is sixteen million, so you can thank me by giving me half if you win. And just so you know, five of the numbers I picked had something to do with your life.”

  “What?” Dara said. She turned the ticket over and looked at the row of six numbers.

  “The first two are your birth month and day, the next two come from the chapter and verse of your favorite scripture, and the last one is your age. Oh yeah, and I let the machine randomly pick your power ball number.”

  “You’re one of the most hardheaded people I know,” Dara said. “No wonder Aunt Latrice was always having to hem you up.”

  “My sweet little cuz,” India said. “You can see with your own eyes that the housing market is slow as molasses, even for my clients who are sitting on plenty of bank. I’m just trying to open myself to other possibilities. Besides, you could buy as many Harleys as you want to if we win this money, and then you won’t have to ride around on that pink scooter of yours.”

  “My motorcycle is far from a scooter, I’ll have you know. It’s a machine. You’re just jealous because you don’t have the guts to ride one.”

  “Call me what you want to,” India said. “I just hope after Tuesday you’ll be able to call me rich.”

  Dara stuffed the ticket in the bottom of her jean tote bag and threw it in the backseat along with her laptop bag. Surprisingly, she wasn’t tempted to boot up her laptop. She didn’t consider her vacation to be officially over until she walked inside her home.

  When she first arrived in Destin, Florida, Dara would’ve been content soaking up as much air conditioning as possible and working from the hotel’s balcony, but India wasn’t having it. India had locked Dara’s laptop in the room’s safe and refused to give her the code until it was time for them to retire from the day’s festivities. After their third day on vacation, Dara realized that she didn’t miss having to stay on top of her client’s schedules. But it would be back to business tomorrow.

  “You know our next road trip will have to be to Augusta, right?” India said.

  Dara groaned. “Don’t remind me. I still don’t see why Mama and Daddy act like they can’t take a two-hour ride down the highway and come see me.”

  “You know what your daddy always says.” India laughed. “People don’t take a day off from dying so he can’t take a day off from working.”

  “Believe me. The staff is trained well,” Dara said. “It’s not like his clients can give him any trouble.”

  “Oh. You have such a morbid sense of humor,” India said, using her teeth to rip open her pack of cashews. “You’ve become so desensitized to death.”

  “Not true,” Dara said. “But I know life is too short not to live.”

  “Well spoken from a chick who lives such a boring life. But I think I may have finally broken you out of your shell this week.”

  “My life isn’t boring. I live a fulfilled life, if you ask me.”

  “Considering what it could’ve been,” India said, laughing, “I guess you’re right.”

  Dara agreed. Her predetermined destiny—according to her parents—was still a sore spot between her and them. While she was being groomed to carry on her family’s mortuary business, Dara always had different dreams. She wanted to service the needs of the living and pursued a bachelor’s degree in Restaurant, Hotel and Institution Management.

  Dara’s parents had never been pleased with her decision. “Let her get it out of her system,” her mother, Thelma, had told her father, Hunter.

  But she never did, and never would, get it out of her system. It was in her heart to help others, and to do it by playing by her own rules. When the entrepreneurial bug bit her, she used her training to start a personal concierge business, On Point Concierge. Dara had always earned a respectable living, but once India connected her to some of her wealthy real-estate clients her business catapulted to another level. Dara didn’t want for much of anything, unless she counted a husband to share her life with one of these days.

  That was, if Dara made it back home alive. India was driving as if she had biceps and brawn waiting for her at home. Which she didn’t, either.

  “India, I’d like to stay in the land of the living, if you don’t mind,” Dara said, and watched the odometer drop down five miles per hour.

  India merged into the slower right lane. “Speaking of dead things, did that Bobby guy ever call you back?”

  “Girl, that one date I suffered through was one too many. If you think I’m boring, you don’t know the half of it. I can’t perceive for the life of me why Isaac thought we’d have so much in common.”

  “No, what I can’t believe is that he actually calls himself Brother Bobby. Who walks around saying that? If I hadn’t had heard it with my own ears, Sister Dara, I would’ve thought you were exaggerating.”

  “I wish.” Dara held her hands up as if they were an unbalanced scale. “I mean, if I date a man whose older than me, he tries to be my daddy, and if I go out with someone younger, it’s like I have to be his mama. I don’t have time to try to train a boy to be a man.”

  “Well, I refuse to give up hope on the perfect man for me,” India said. “I’ll wait for my knight in shining armor until I’m eighty years old if I have to because the word settle isn’t in my vocabulary.”

  “If you’re eighty, I guarantee you you’ll have to settle for some old rusty, nasty armor.” Dara gripped the side of the door as India jammed her foot on the gas pedal so she could pass an eighteen-wheeler. Lord, help me get home. India’s erratic driving was one of the reasons Dara volunteered to drive during most of their road trips. If Dara had it her way, they would’ve flown to Destin, but India hated to fly.

  Dara leaned her head back against the headrest and tried to relax. Maybe their driving time would pass quicker if she tried to catch some sleep.

  She’d had her eyes closed for only for a moment when she felt a jolt to the side of the car. The car swerved to the shoulder of the road and Dara screamed out, “Jesus,” the first word that came to her mind when she pictured the car plunging down the side of the grassy ravine.

  Chapter 2

  The driver of the semi either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he’d forced Dara and India onto the shoulder of the highway.

  “My God,” India screamed, gripping the wheel and easing the SUV to a stop. “Idiot,” she said, resting her forehead on the steering wheel.

  Dara rubbed her back. She could feel a tremor shaking India’s body. “It’s good, Indy. We’re safe,” she said, assuring her cousin. Dara made mental plans to reclaim the driver’s seat. After a scare like that, India would gladly hand over the wheel.

  “I can’t believe that jerk ran us off the road and didn’t even bother to stop,” India stammered. She massaged her temples.

  “Let it go,” Dara said. “God protected us, and that’s all that matters.”

  “What matters would’ve been me getting his tag and a phone number so I can turn his behind i
n.”

  Dara looked through the rear windshield and noticed a Mustang pulling up behind them. A man from the passenger’s side of the sports car came to Dara’s window. Even though it was broad daylight, Dara cautiously let the window down only enough to hear him.

  “I saw that truck run you guys off the road,” he said, poking a piece of paper through the slit Dara had opened. “Here’s the tag number and the phone number that was on the truck. We wrote it down, then turned around at the next exit to make sure you were all right.”

  “See,” Dara said, taking the paper and handing it to India.

  The driver had joined his friend, who looked to be more concerned with scoping out Dara and India’s beauty than ensuring their safety. He peered through Dara’s window.

  “You can roll the window down. We’re here to help you, not hurt you. I’m Zebulon and this is Tyler.”

  “We’re fine,” Dara said, letting the window down an inch more. She kept her finger on the button in case Zebulon was up to some risky business. If he tried to stick his hand inside and pull off anything suspicious, she was prepared to trap his arm and pull him down the highway, all the way to Atlanta if she had to.

  “Do you want to switch places?” Dara asked India. “I know you want me to drive.”

  “Yes,” India said without a second thought about the intent of their highway heroes.

  Zebulon opened Dara’s door while Tyler eagerly jogged over to India’s side. Of course, Tyler didn’t know it, but Dara knew now wasn’t the time to try to spread his charm over her cousin. Dara decided to let the man dig his own hole and try to climb out of it.

  “Is the car okay?” Zebulon asked. He walked to the front of the car and around to the driver’s side to survey for any damage.

  Dara had a chance to get a good look at him, although up close she’d already seen his dimpled chin and the small mole beside his left eye.

  “I didn’t hear any odd noises when we pulled over, so prayerfully all is well,” Dara said. “It’s a rental anyway, so we’re covered if something comes up later.”

  Dara was anxious to get back in the car and get home. She opened the back door to retrieve her shades from her bag.

  “Where are you guys headed?” Zebulon asked.

  “Atlanta.”

  “Us, too,” Zebulon said.

  “You can’t tell me this isn’t fate,” Tyler said to India. He’d turned the brim of his baseball cap to the back, revealing a set of puppy dog eyes. He flashed a smile with a tiny gap between his two front teeth. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Why don’t you go ahead and hit me with those digits?”

  “You saw me almost get killed and you’re trying to get my phone number?” India asked, with both disbelief and wit on her face. She specialized in giving men a hard time.

  “Nothing like the present,” Tyler said, shrugging. “What difference does it make? I just want to call you later and make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. Nothing broken. Everything is in the right place.”

  “I can see that with my own eyes. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

  Dara laughed, and they all couldn’t help but do the same. “You opened the door to that one,” she said to India. “And he walked right in.”

  India crossed her arms and looked at Tyler as if she might be having second thoughts at his advances. “You’re a cutie, but you’re still leaving empty handed. Not to mention, we’re out here in the way of danger.”

  “She’s right about that,” Dara said.

  “Well, what about me?” Zebulon asked. “It would make my day if I had a way to get back in touch with you.”

  Dara reached into the front pocket of her laptop bag and pulled out her business card. “I’m a stickler for environmental issues,” she said. “Don’t let this be a waste of paper.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Zebulon said.

  Zebulon and Tyler waited for India and Dara to get back in their car and merge safely back into the flow of the traffic.

  India adjusted the passenger seat as far back as it would go. “I can’t believe you were trying to make a love connection on the side of I-85,” she said, flipping through the stack of their CDs.

  “You should take notes, Ms. I’ma-wait-until-I’m-eighty-years-old. Tyler could’ve been your knight.”

  India scrunched her nose. “Uh, the breath on that brother melted any armor that he had.”

  Dara shook her head. She wasn’t going to get India started on her list of must-haves. Tolerable breath was understandable. But some of the things India insisted on, like a hairless chest and a second toe that was shorter than the big toe, were negotiable in Dara’s book.

  Too bad if India decided to miss out. Zebulon’s breath was fine, and so was he. Dara hoped he took the time to call.

  Chapter 3

  It was back to business as usual on Monday morning. In hindsight, it would’ve been wise for Dara to tell her clients that she wouldn’t be returning until midweek, giving her two extra days to get her bearings and click back into work mode.

  India was right. She’d broken Dara out of her shell over the retreat week in Destin. It had been a welcome change to move spontaneously through the day instead of having her schedule, and everybody else’s, dictating her moves when the tasks and reminders popped up in her BlackBerry messages like clockwork.

  And like clockwork, Cassius Freeborn called her that morning at ten o’clock sharp. He acted as if he couldn’t run his life effectively without Dara’s help, but for some reason Cassius never forgot to call her for his weekly updates. Her duties for him doubled whenever it was football season, and despite his numerous pleas, she refused to come on as his full-time assistant.

  What Cassius really needed was a stay-at-home wife. Right now, he was trying to pay Dara to be his spouse, minus the special marital benefits.

  “Hello, Cassius,” Dara said, using the speaker feature on her phone.

  “I’m not feeling you taking these vacations, Dara, just so you know,” he said, without even welcoming her back from her trip. “How am I supposed to function?”

  “I already told you, I’m trying to get you married off so I can pick up some new clients. You take up way too much of my time.”

  “Shoot. Why do I need a wife if I have you? A wife is just another person to be pulling at my pockets. I’ve got enough jokers trying to do that already.”

  “When are you going to find a new excuse?” Dara asked, tapping the space bar on her laptop to awaken it from the sleep mode. She opened her online calendar program and scrolled through Cassius’s schedule—including his appearances, charity work, and business-related appointments. Everything was already set to send him updates and e-mails directly to his phone. He lived, ate, and drank football. The rest was up to Dara.

  Dara tolerated Cassius’s extra cravings for attention because she knew he needed her to be more than his taskmaster. He always asked Dara to pray for him. He talked a lot about God giving him the wisdom to make tough decisions. And although Cassius externally joked in a lighthearted way about people asking him for money, he carried a heavy burden of being the financial provider for the majority of his family. For his mother, Cassius did it with a grateful heart. However, his siblings and the other family members who were along for the ride, had come to rely on his checks instead of them seeking employment to support themselves. After a season of repeated injuries two years prior, Cassius began to question not only his future football career but also his faith.

  More money, more problems. Dara witnessed the old saying in the life of others, and unfortunately it was true.

  “You’ve got an appearance at a youth football camp in South Carolina on Thursday afternoon and a fashion show benefit on Friday night. Other than that, you’re clear,” Dara said. “Oh, but you need to start thinking about your mama’s birthday present.”

  “Mama can have anything she wants,” Cassius said. “I’ll call and ask her.”
/>   “Have you ever thought about being creative or watching her when you’re together so you can see what she needs?”

  “You’ve seen her house and her bank account. Ella Freeborn doesn’t need anything,” Cassius said. “I take that back. The only thing she needs is for her loud grandkids to get out of that house and stop bunking up in there like it’s an extended stay motel. What my Mama needs is some peace and quiet.”

  Having just returned from a week full of it, Dara offered her suggestion. “Why don’t you send her away on a trip? Or a cruise? Now, that would be nice.”

  “Perfect. I’ll send her someplace tropical and let her take one of her friends. She’ll love to brag about that.”

  Dara knew what was coming next. Thankfully, this was a task she could complete in one quick phone call. She already had connections with a preferred travel agent.

  “You gonna handle that for me?” Cassius asked.

  “I’ll let you know where she’s going and get the itinerary to you by the end of the week,” Dara said.

  “And you said I need a wife? Holla at me later this week,” Cassius said, then hung up the phone.

  Dara hated when he did that, but it wasn’t up to her to change him. Like most men, she thought they had a few rough edges that only the grace and patience of a wife could smooth out. “Lord, bless her soul, whoever it’ll be,” she said, jotting down the travel agent’s name on her task list.

  Dara would call after her morning devotion and dream session, as she liked to call it. It wasn’t like her to sleep past eight thirty or so in the morning, but her body was still on vacation. By the time she’d showered and slipped on a relaxing pair of wide leg linen pants and a vintage-looking spaghetti-strap top, Cassius had called.

  Dara preferred that God be the first person she talked to in the morning. She found that when she did, the rest of the day was a lot less stressful. She walked out onto the balcony of her third-floor condo. The iron bistro patio set and potted plant enveloped most of the space, yet it was the perfect size for Dara to escape with her journal and her dreams.