Maxwell’s opened for business mid-July. The event was announced in the local newspapers, and Asheville’s mayor and several high-ranking members of his inner circle attended the celebration along with the ubiquitous reporters and photographers. Deborah had managed to get several photographs and a brief article about Maxwell’s unique decorating style featured in the latest issue of Country Inns.
A restaurant critic had declared the food, service and ambience exquisite, recommending dining at Maxwell’s B and B as an experience “not to be missed during one’s lifetime.”
During the day Kumi smiled when he didn’t want to because Veronica, pleading a headache, had stayed home. At first he believed her, but as the night wore on, a nagging voice in the back of his head whispered that she’d elected to stay away because the event had become a family affair. Lawrence and Jeanette Walker, their sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren had all turned out to support and celebrate Orrin and Deborah Maxwell’s new business venture.
Kumi was reunited with two nieces and three nephews who had been toddlers and preschoolers when he’d entered the marines. His youngest nephew, a handsome thirteen-year-old, hadn’t been born at the time.
He gave them a tour of the kitchen, making certain they stayed out of the way of the chefs, who were chopping, sautéeing, stirring and expertly preparing dishes that were not only pleasing to the palate but also to the eye.
Marvin Walker’s sixteen-year-old daughter, transfixed by the activity in the large kitchen, caught the sleeve of Kumi’s tunic. “Uncle Kumi,” she said tentatively, “can you teach me to cook like they do?”
Curving an arm around her shoulders, he smiled down at the expectant expression on her youthful face. She was a very attractive young woman who had inherited her mother’s delicate beauty.
“You’re going to have to ask your parents if they’ll let you come visit me in Paris.”
Biting down on her lower lip, she shook her head. “They won’t let me drive to the mall by myself, so I know going abroad is out.”
“Maybe in two years when you’ve graduated high school, you can come visit me for the summer before you go to college.”
“Really?”
He nodded, smiling broadly. “Really.”
She hugged him, surprising Kumi with her impulsiveness. Marlena hadn’t celebrated her second birthday the last time he saw her, but she had always been special to him. It was with her birth that he’d become an uncle for the first time.
Turning on his heel, he made his way to a room off the kitchen the staff used as their dressing room. He changed out of the white tunic and checkered pants and into a black silk V-neck pullover and a pair of black slacks. The color emphasized the slimness of his waist and hips, but could not disguise the depth of his solid chest or broad shoulders. At thirty-two he was physically in the best shape he’d ever been in his life. He was stronger and more mentally balanced than he’d been even after he’d completed the Marine Corps’ rigorous basic training at Parris Island, South Carolina.
He walked through the spacious lobby of the bed-and-breakfast, coming face-to-face with his father. When he attempted to step around the tall man with slightly stooping shoulders, he felt his egress thwarted.
“Excuse me, please.” He was surprised that his voice was so calm when all he wanted to do was brush past the older man as if he were a stranger.
Lawrence Walker placed a heavily veined hand on his son’s arm. “I’d like a word with you, Jerome.”
Kumi froze, staring at the hand resting on his arm—a hand that had comforted sick patients for forty years until Lawrence’s retirement earlier that year, a hand that had caressed his forehead whenever he was sick and a hand that had patted his head in approval whenever he brought home an exam with a perfect score.
“You want to talk now?” A frown creased his high, smooth forehead at the same time he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m on my way out.”
Lawrence’s grip tightened. “Please, Jerome, hear me out.”
There was a pleading in his father’s voice Kumi had never heard before. Proud, arrogant Dr. Lawrence Walker asking permission to be heard was something he never thought he would witness in his lifetime.
Giving his father a long, penetrating stare, he motioned with his head. “We can sit over there.”
Lawrence dropped his hand and walked slowly over to a pair of facing club chairs covered in a soft beige watered silk fabric, Kumi following. He sat down, his shoulders appearing more stooped than usual.
Kumi sat, staring intently at his father, and for the first time in fourteen years he realized that the man before him wasn’t aging well. An even six feet in height, his taupe-colored skin was dotted with age spots that resembled flecks of dark brown paint. His once-coarse dark hair was now sparse, completely white, and his green-gray eyes were no longer bright and penetrating. Lawrence was only sixty-nine, the same age as his wife, but looked years older.
Crossing one leg over the other knee, Kumi folded his arms over his chest, waiting for his father to speak. Tense seconds turned into a full minute. “What do you want to talk about?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Closing his eyes, Lawrence pressed his head to the chair’s back. “I want to thank you for helping Deborah.”
“I don’t need you to thank me. Debbie did that already.”
Lawrence opened his eyes, fire gleaming from their depths. “Dammit, Jerome, don’t make this harder for me than it needs to be.”
Dropping his arms, Kumi splayed long fingers over the chair’s armrests. “You? Why is it always about you, Dad?”
“It’s not about me—not this time.” Lawrence flashed a tired smile. “It’s about you, son. You and me.”
A muscle twitched in Kumi’s jaw. “What about us?”
He wasn’t going to make it easy for his father because it had never been easy for him. The alienation had nearly destroyed him—an alienation that had spread to his older brothers who had always sought their father’s approval. Only his mother and sister challenged Lawrence Walker, and had successfully escaped his wrath.
“I can’t turn back the clock,” Lawrence began slowly, “but I’m willing to begin anew—tonight.” He extended his right hand. “I’m sorry.”
Kumi stared at the hand as if it were a venomous reptile. He stared at it so long, he expected the older man to withdraw his peace offer. But he didn’t.
Reluctantly, Kumi placed his hand in his father’s, pulling him gently to his feet. He wrapped his arms around his body, registering the frailty in the slender frame.
“It’s okay, Dad,” he said close to his ear. Then he kissed his cheek, unaware of the tears filling Lawrence’s eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Lawrence smiled, easing out of his son’s comforting embrace. He reached into a pocket of his trousers and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping away the tears before they stained his face.
“Your mother said you’ve met someone who’s very special to you.”
Kumi nodded, smiling. “Yes, I have.”
Lawrence’s smile matched Kumi’s. “Why don’t you bring her with you when you come for Sunday dinner? We’re having a cookout.”
“I didn’t know I was invited for Sunday dinner,” he countered.
“Well, you are. And so is your lady.”
“Are you asking or ordering me to come?”
A sheepish expression softened the harsh lines in Lawrence’s face. “I’m asking, Jerome.”
Kumi inclined his head. “I’ll have to ask Veronica if she’s free on Sunday.”
Standing up straighter, Lawrence pulled back his shoulders and stared at his youngest child. “I know you haven’t heard me say this in a very long time, but I’m very proud of you, son.”
The beginnings of a smile touched Kum
i’s mouth before becoming a wide grin. “Thank you, Dad.”
Lawrence nodded. “You’re welcome, Jerome.”
Kumi drove up Trace Road, feeling as if he’d been reborn. The single headlight from the bike lit up the darkened countryside, matching the brilliance of the full moon overhead. Tonight there were no shadows across the clear summer nighttime sky, or in his heart.
He parked the Harley alongside the house and removed his helmet. Tucking it under his arm, he walked to the front door and rang the bell.
Veronica was slow in answering the bell, but when he saw her face he knew she hadn’t lied to him. Her eyes were red and puffy as if she’d been crying.
He stepped into the entry, placed his helmet on the floor and then swept her up in his arms. Shifting her in his embrace, he closed and locked the door before heading for the staircase.
“How are you feeling?”
She moaned softly. “A little better.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of her silver hair. “Your head still hurts?”
“Not anymore. It’s now my back and legs.”
“Do you want me to call a doctor?”
“No. It’ll pass in a couple of days.”
Walking into her bedroom, he stared at her as she closed her eyes. “You’ve gone through this before?”
“It usually hits me several times a year. It’s PMS.”
“What is it?”
“Premenstrual syndrome. Headache, bloating, backache, sore breasts and on occasion temporary insanity.”
He placed her on the bed, sinking down to the mattress beside her. “Do you want me to fix you something to eat or drink?”
“I’ve been drinking mint tea.”
He kissed her gently on her lips. “Have you eaten?”
She started to shake her head, but thought better of it. “I’m not hungry. How was Maxwell’s grand opening?” She’d smoothly changed the subject.
“Wonderful. Everything went off without a hitch. By the way, my father invited us to Sunday dinner.”
Veronica opened her eyes. “You spoke to your father?”
“He spoke to me.”
“Does this mean you’ve declared a truce?”
He ran his finger down the length of her nose. “It only means we’re talking to each other.”
“That’s a start.”
“That it is,” he confirmed, kissing her again. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want more tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Pushing off the bed, he smiled at the dreamy expression on her face. “Don’t run away. I’ll bring you your tea.”
Kumi didn’t want her to run away, and she didn’t want him to go away. But he was going to go away in another eight weeks. He was scheduled to return to Paris September 19—exactly ten days before she celebrated her forty-third birthday.
Closing her eyes, she did what she hadn’t done in months—she prayed. Prayed for an answer because she loved Kumi Walker. She began and ended her day in his arms. He’d given her everything she needed as a woman and even more that she hadn’t known she needed.
She was astonished at the sense of fulfillment she felt whenever they were together, and the harder she tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted: she wanted Kumi in her life beyond the summer. She wanted him for all the summers, springs and seasons in between until she drew her last breath.
Chapter Ten
Kumi’s right arm curved around Veronica’s waist, leading her around to the back of the imposing Regency-style pale pink limestone structure where he’d spent the first eighteen years of his life. The fingers of his left hand tightened on the handle of a large container of chocolate cream-filled petits fours, coated with dark and light couverture and an exquisite truffle torte filled with a light chocolate cream.
All or most of the Walkers were extreme chocoholics, and he’d decided to fulfill their dessert fantasies with his contributions to what had become the traditional Sunday afternoon cookout.
His parents had been cooking outdoors on Sunday afternoons whenever the weather permitted for as long as he could remember. Unlike many Southern black families who sat down together for dinner after church services ended, Jeanette and her husband preferred the more informal approach. The only exception had been inclement weather or if his parents had invited guests to share their roof and table with their four children.
He’d gotten up an hour before sunrise, kissing a still-sleeping Veronica, and had returned to his cottage where he’d showered, changed his clothes and then had headed for Maxwell’s. By the time the daytime chef had arrived to begin the task of preparing breakfast for the guests at the bed-and-breakfast, he’d finished the petits fours and had been pressing the chocolate flakes to the sides of the cream-filled torte.
Assisting the chef, Kumi had chopped the ingredients needed for omelets, and had rolled out several trays of what would become fluffy biscuits. The chef, one of two recent culinary school graduates, was talented and creative.
They’d spent more than an hour discussing cooking techniques, and before leaving to return to check on Veronica, Kumi had left a note for the pastry chef to include an assortment of chocolate candies for the dessert menu. The suggestions had included cognac balls, kirsch rolls, croquant peaks and the ever-popular chocolate truffles. Preparing the chocolate and inhaling its aroma of chocolate had triggered his craving for what had been referred to as “food of the gods.”
Veronica now heard the sounds of laughter and raised voices before she saw Kumi’s immediate family. The PMS had eased with the onset of her menses. She hadn’t thought she would be so thrilled by the obvious sign when she’d left her bed earlier that morning; a lingering fear had gripped her after she and Kumi had made love without protection the day she’d shared lunch with Jeanette and Deborah at Maxwell’s.
At forty-two I’m much too old to think about having a baby. Her declaration to her sister had haunted her once she’d realized the recklessness of her actions. She loved Kumi, but she wasn’t certain she loved him enough to bear his child.
Sixteen-year-old Marlena Walker spied her uncle first. “Uncle Kumi’s here,” she announced in a loud voice.
A petite slender woman, an older version of the teenage girl, shifted on her webbed lounger, frowning. “Marlena Denise Walker, please. It’s not becoming for a young lady to scream like that.”
Marlena’s smile faded quickly and she rolled her eyes upward. “Give it a rest, Mom,” she said under her breath.
Bending slightly, Kumi kissed his niece’s cheek. “Chill,” he warned softly. Glancing at Veronica’s composed expression, he silently admired her flawless skin. She had forgone makeup with the exception of lipstick. She’d brushed her hair back, securing it in a ponytail. She was appropriately dressed for the occasion: a pair of black linen slacks, matching ballet-slipper shoes and a sleeveless white cotton blouse that revealed her toned upper arms.
“Veronica, this little minx is my niece Marlena. Marlena, I’d like for you to meet Miss Veronica Johnson.”
Marlena smiled. “Nice meeting you. You’re very pretty. I like your hair color.” The words rushed out like a run-on sentence.
Veronica returned the friendly open smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marlena. And thank you for your compliment.”
“Well, it’s true,” the teenager insisted.
Kumi handed her the large container. “Please take this into the house and refrigerate it for me, princess. Don’t tilt it,” he warned softly.
“I bet it’s chocolate.”
“And don’t open it,” Kumi called after her as she turned and retreated to the house.
Over the next quarter of an hour Veronica was introduced
to Dr. Lawrence and Jeanette Walker’s children and grandchildren. Kumi’s older brothers—Lawrence, Jr., whom everyone called Larry, and Marvin, were exact physical replicas of their father. Both were tall, slender and had inherited the older man’s complexion, eye coloring and slightly stooped shoulders. Their collective offspring of four boys and two girls had compromised—the boys resembling their fathers and the girls their mothers. Both of Kumi’s sisters-in-law were petite women with delicate features. She found everyone friendly, but curious, judging by surreptitious glances whenever her gaze was elsewhere.
Veronica sat on a webbed lounge chair, staring at Kumi through the lenses of the dark glasses she’d placed on her nose to shield her eyes from the harmful rays of the hot summer sun, while taking furtive sips of an icy lemon-lime concoction through a straw. Kumi wore a pair of khaki walking shorts with a navy blue tank top. His youngest nephew had stopped him, pointing to the small tattoo on his left bicep. She smiled when he translated the two words that made up the Latin motto of the United States Marine Corps: Semper Fidelis—Always Faithful.
His eyes widened as his gaze went from the tattoo to his uncle’s smiling face. “Mama,” he said loudly. “I want a tattoo like Uncle Kumi.”
Marvin’s wife glared at her son, then turned to her husband. “I think you’d better talk to that child or he won’t be around for his fourteenth birthday.”
Marvin, who had assumed the responsibility for grilling meats, waved to his youngest child. “Come here, Sean. Kumi, please take over while I have a heart-to-heart with my son.”
Larry patted Kumi’s back. “Go to it, brother. I don’t know why Marvin thinks he can cook, but every once in a while we humor him and let him think he’s doing something.”
“I heard that,” Marvin called out.
“Good,” Larry countered. “Now that Kumi’s here, we really don’t need your expertise.”
The eating and drinking continued well into the afternoon and early evening. Veronica sat at a long wooden table with all the Walkers, enjoying their camaraderie. There was an underlying formality about them, as if they feared letting go of their inhibitions. It was if they had to be careful of how others viewed them. Then, she remembered Kumi telling her that his mother was a snob. Having the right family pedigree was very important to Jeanette; however, it appeared as if some of her grandchildren exhibited streaks of rebellion—a trait that was so apparent in Jerome Kumi Walker.
The Blackstone Promise Page 24