My Rock

by Pat Simmons

  “Clinical trials show Porital is a proven winner to reduce spine, wrist, and hip fractures for postmenopausal women. Studies show the active ingredient is absorbed faster to help strengthen...” Ava Elise said, referring to a drug Ceyle-Norman manufactured for osteoporosis, causing her to snap out of the reverie.

  Almost immediately, her mind drifted off again. Waking thirty-five minutes earlier every morning, Tabitha’s routine began with checking on Aunt Tweet, who seemed to be sleeping soundly. At least, she thought so before jumping into the shower for seven minutes. To stay on a schedule, everything was timed down to the minute, so how had her aunt wakened, walked out the door, and paraded down the street so fast?

  “The best benefit about Porital is it’s an injection that works with calcium and vitamin D therapy,” Ava Elise added, not knowing she was playing tug of war with Tabitha’s mind and losing.

  If Aunt Tweet was testing her as a caregiver, Tabitha was flunking. Exhausted, she yawned, feeling the effects of getting up a couple times during the night to do a head count in her house. As a result, she had become a light sleeper. One eye would pop open at the slightest stir.

  She sighed and shifted in her seat. Concentrate, she chided herself, refusing to allow her home life to interfere with her livelihood.

  “I think I’ve overloaded your brain cells enough this morning,” Ava Elise told the class. “Take an extra thirty-minute extended lunch.”

  She could use some fresh air. Tabitha started gathering her things as her trainer made a beeline to where she was sitting. “How about Chipotle—my treat and I’ll drive.” The woman didn’t wait for a reply.

  She feared a reprimand or termination coming. On the short car ride to the restaurant, she could feel a spike in her blood pressure while Ava Elise hummed and focused on her driving.

  In the order line, her trainer gave no hint that anything was amiss. As promised, she paid the tab while advising Tabitha to find a table.

  Knowing a tongue lashing was coming, she spied out a nook that was as private as it could be in a public place.

  After Ava Elise said grace in a normal tone, she sampled her burrito, then wiped her mouth.

  Tabitha’s appetite was on hold as she waited for Judgment Day with her job.

  “So, how’s your aunt?”

  The gentleness in the woman’s eyes caused Tabitha to relax. This time instead of bawling, she took a deep cleansing breath and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean? Doesn’t she still live with you?” Ava Elise frowned.

  “Yes, she stays at my house, but it seems like she always wants to escape.” She paused. “I know Alzheimer’s is taking away the aunt I know and love, but I feel it’s taking a part of me too. It seems like once I adjust to one dementia symptom, up pops another one. This morning, she balled her fist at me. I thought she was going to hit me. This disease is scary.” She stabbed at her salad, then forced some in her mouth.

  Ava Elise reached over and patted her hand. “Hey, I know it’s hard to care for a loved one. My brother and I tag-teamed with our mother’s care. Her mind was sharp, but her body was weak from COPD, diabetes, and a mild stroke. We did everything, doctor’s visits, dialysis, bathing, cooking. It’s a physical and emotional strain on a caregiver’s body.”

  At her last company, she represented a steroid drug to treat chronic obstructive pulmonary disease or COPD. She couldn’t imagine struggling for every breath.

  You should have no complaints, she scolded herself. “The doctor said Aunt Tweet is in relatively good physical health,” Tabitha said, relieved. “You saw her. She doesn’t look eighty-nine, and she moves as if she’s in her seventies, but her memory is failing her because, thanks to Alzheimer’s, her brain cells are dying.” She shivered at the thought of her aunt having more complications.

  Ava Elise took another bite of her burrito, then washed it down with a sip from her soda. “For three years, my brother and I watched our mother fall into depression because she felt she had become a burden on us.” She blinked and turned away. Quickly regrouping, she faced Tabitha again. “In truth, she was, but no more than the burdens we had put on her when we were children. The bottom line was she’s our momma, so it was our pleasure. It wasn’t easy. Robert Jeffrey and I had to keep reminding ourselves that she was still alive and with us.” She paused. “Hold onto the good memories. That will keep you going. When we buried her, my brother and I had no regrets.”

  Accepting the advice, Tabitha began to consume her salad, not realizing she was famished. “Thank you so much for sharing this. I’ve been a little distracted,” she admitted sheepishly.

  “Maybe a bit more than a little.” Ava Elise gave her a warm smile, expanding the space between her thumb and finger to demonstrate how much. “You’re a seasoned sales rep. I know you’ll be at the top of your game after training. Expect the unexpected with your aunt and plan accordingly, but you might consider getting help. If you get sick, who’s going to take care of you?”

  “Understood.” Tabitha and her sisters did agree to discuss other options if Aunt Tweet’s condition worsened. They hoped any talk about a nursing home as an option was a long way off.

  The lunch had been filling and refreshing. With a clear head, Tabitha returned to the classroom and didn’t miss a step in the lesson. Even the thought of accepting Marcus’ invitation didn’t annoy her as much as earlier.

  Monday evening when they arrived home, her aunt hadn’t forgotten about going to Marcus’ house. “Hurry, sweetie. You never keep a young man waiting.” She sounded like a drill sergeant while sitting on Tabitha’s bed.

  Peeping her head out of the walk-in closet, Tabitha said, “I thought it was the man who isn’t supposed to keep a woman waiting.”

  Aunt Tweet smirked. “When you’re my age, that doesn’t apply.” She gave a dainty chuckle.

  Hmph. Tabitha was thirty-two, not eighty-nine. The man, especially that man, could wait. The longer, the better.

  Chapter 10

  M

  arcus arrived home early enough to shower and change. Since his mother had drilled into him and Demetrius’ heads never to entertain a guest without offering a snack or a drink—even water—he stopped by Dierbergs, a local family-owned chain of grocery stores, for chicken salad, crackers, a Tippin’s apple pie, and bottled water. He thought that was plenty on short notice.

  Although he could cook well enough to keep from starving, he had reached out to his mother a while back to assist him with preparing dinner for a lady friend. She guided him step by step for the meal via phone, versus her flying in town to cook it herself. He had a suspicion her gesture was more for curiosity about his date than showcasing her culinary skills. Chelsie Dennis had stolen his heart. His girlfriend, at the time, had the charm and grace that had him enamored.

  It became apparent Chelsie was more interested in what she could get out of the relationship while depositing very little into it. After moving on, Marcus met Reba Green. She looked good on his arm, but they struck out on developing a deep connection. When that ended, he took a hiatus. He could hold off as long as necessary to find a lifelong love like his parents.

  Why was he even thinking about those past regrets? His guests today were no big deal. He was simply helping two neighbors—nothing more. It was almost five-thirty, and he discreetly peeped out his window as Tabitha parked in front of his home. Her aunt wasn’t in her night clothes this time, and judging from the faded jeans and a dark sweater, Tabitha wasn’t dressing to impress, but her womanly curves did impress him.

  He opened the door and stepped out to escort them down the winding path. “Good evening, ladies. So glad you could make it.”

  “I want to see what you’ve done to my house, young man,” Aunt Tweet said as she latched onto his elbow for support as he guided her up the familiar stairs. He reached back and offered Tabitha his hand, but she declined.

  “I insist.” He cupped her elbow as she tried to tug away. He loosened his hold, but didn
’t concede—after all, he was a gentleman, regardless of what she thought of him.

  Once they crossed his threshold, he pulled his phone off the clip. “Ladies, before we take a quick tour, do you mind if we take a picture?”

  Aunt Tweet’s face glowed, and she smiled warmly at the suggestion. He imagined she was a looker in her twenties, because she was still polished. If he were to guess, she was all of seventy-eight or seventy-nine.

  Tabitha folded her arms and shifted on a leg. Was that supposed to be her defiant stance? It was flirty instead. Without heels, he guessed her height was five-six—maybe. “I don’t know if I consent to this.” She squinted. “Is this your twisted idea to use it as evidence to the police? You invited us...”

  He found himself enjoying their tit-for-tat, which summoned fiery darts in her eyes, but Marcus interrupted her tirade. “The ‘evidence’, as you call it, is to amuse my brother. The whole unknown woman camped out on my porch scenario has him piqued.”

  “Trust me, I’m not only embarrassed, but insulted—” Tabitha stepped closer, lowered her voice, and scolded—“that you would lure an unsuspecting elderly woman into your house. Just so we’re clear, I pack Mace and will use it. My aunt knows self-defense, and something tells me her memory will kick in and give you a beat down you won’t soon forget.” She jammed her fist on a hip and squinted in a challenge.

  “Excuse me?” It was his turn to bite back. “I took control of a situation that you couldn’t control, otherwise she wouldn’t be running away from you to my house.”

  His bite must have been too much because she flinched and her eyes watered.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Young man,” Aunt Tweet interrupted, pointing to the living room. “Kym, I’m ready for a tour of my house.”

  He nodded at the elderly woman. “Of course.” Then frowned and faced the woman he knew as Tabitha. “Your name isn’t Tabitha?”

  “Of course it is. Kym is my older sister. Aunt Tweet stayed with her before me.” She rolled her eyes as if he was supposed to have known that information.

  “Come this way.” He held out his arm, and Aunt Tweet placed her hand gently on it. He waited for Tabitha to do the same. She scrunched her nose and placed her fingers on his arm. He flexed his biceps, and she pinched him.

  He laughed at her antics. Even though he didn’t know much about Tabitha, he admitted he liked what he saw beyond the physical attraction. However, her irresponsibility where her aunt was concerned was the gulf between them. Where other women played coy to get his attention, Miss Knicely didn’t have a problem not being nice. Any other man would have taken the hint and retreated. Marcus should have been a firefighter because he had a knack for running into danger.

  Dismissing his musings, he switched into tour guide. “As you ladies can see, the marble tile accents the bleach wood on the bannister. The railing still has some of the original pieces. Despite the house’s grandeur, it’s only three bedrooms and three baths. I’m updating the kitchen.”

  For the first time, Tabitha seemed to drop her guard and took note of her surroundings. The ladies oohed and ahhed at the grand entrance.

  What drew Marcus’ attention when he looked at the house was the L-shaped staircase that blended well with the beige, peach, and tan ceramic tiled floor. His mother said it screamed elegance when she saw it. He thought the floor would be an easy mop job.

  Two large glass scones on both sides of the arch opening to his living room was his mother’s doing. She also took delight in strategically placing every wall hanging and furniture to create the ooh and ahh effect. It started with the elaborate wood carving on the King Frederic console table under a ridiculous huge painting to the even heavier round table in the middle of the foyer. Its sole purpose was to display an oversized vase with fake flowers. Two matching bold red cushioned benches held court under the stairs.

  Tabitha slowly spun around. “This is nice! Are those closets?” She pointed to the twin narrow doors on each side of the massive wood carved front door. He nodded, amused that his house wowed her. “Clever and a nice touch.”

  “Can’t take credit for that. They were like that when I purchased the house.”

  “How long have you lived here?” she asked as they both kept their eyes on Aunt Tweet as she slowly began to wander through the living room as if she was a house inspector.

  Were they having a civil conversation? Where was the old Tabitha that he could annoy? Being nice, too, he played along. “Four years.” The ceramic tile came to a halt at the entrance to the living room. From there, his highly polished hardwood floors took it over from there throughout most of the house. A massive wood-carved fireplace with an attached mirror commanded the room, and a pair of arch-shaped French doors opened to mock porches. The sole piece of furniture was a large blue sofa with an attached chaise between the two walls. This was purely a showroom. Despite owning the big house, he essentially lived in three rooms. When he entertained, it was in his family room—also known as his man cave.

  Aunt Tweet made herself comfortable and seemed content to stare out the window. Tabitha peeped into the adjacent kitchen, but didn’t step farther until he invited her.

  “This is a slow work in process,” he explained about some missing overhead cabinets, “but I can’t update it like I want.”

  “That’s because you purchased it after the houses in Pasadena Hills joined the ranks of National Historic neighborhoods on the US Department of Interior National Park Service National Registry of Historic Places,” Tabitha informed as if she was reading from Wikipedia and without running out of breath.

  “Yeah. I know. I researched the neighborhood before buying here and was impressed by the meticulous details on each home. This house...” He paused and glanced back. Her aunt hadn’t moved. “I never learned so much about architecture until I read the detailed description of Pasadena Hills’ Tudor Revival, Colonial Revival-Georgian Revival homes; Cape Cod, minimal Traditional, and Creole French homes...” he said not to be upped by her knowledge. “I’m the proud owner of Georgian Revival architecture.” He grinned.

  “And it is beautiful. It took about thirty years to complete the hundreds of homes and other structures in the Pasadena Hills neighborhood district. My family moved here in the 1970s.”

  Another tidbit about Tabitha. She had an older sister, a great-aunt, and lived in the neighborhood as a child. What about a man in her life? He froze. Why did he care? Clearing his throat, he guided his mind back to the topic of discussion. “I can’t imagine any developer today taking that long to complete a project.”

  “You’re right,” she said, leaning against his marble counter. “This was a trendsetter suburban neighborhood, bordering the city limits. The concept was new to build houses for homeowners with cars, even though streetcars were the mode of transportation back then.”

  A history buff. Tabitha was becoming more fascinating by the minute. He took that as his cue to serve his light refreshments. “I have snacks in case you didn’t have time to eat something.”

  “Thanks, but we’ve taken up enough of your time.” She spun around. Aunt Tweet was in the doorway, eyeing the platters Marcus was removing from the refrigerator. “We’d better go home.”

  She brushed passed Tabitha to the counter. “Hush, girl. I’m hungry. What do you have here?”

  He chuckled at Aunt Tweet, but watched Tabitha’s expression when her aunt dismissed her. She easily concede and allowed her aunt to have the upper hand.

  He felt sorry for her reprimand as if she was a child. They trailed him to his breakfast nook right off the kitchen. Six narrow windows were designed in a bay-shape that gave him a fantastic view of the neighborhood.

  After they were seated, her aunt nodded for him to say grace.

  “Thank You, Lord, for this food and companions to enjoy it. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  They whispered “Amens” then served themselves.

  While Aunt Tweet mentioned her girls, Tabitha discreetly tr
ied to get his attention.

  Marcus didn’t know sign language, but slowly he understood Aunt Tweet was talking about her niece as a child. Next, the woman switched subjects to name places she had visited. He eyed Tabitha for confirmation that it wasn’t a fabrication, but she gave no reaction.

  “I’m a twin, you know.”

  He dabbed his mouth before speaking. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “That’s right. Pearl and I were twins, and we had a big sister named Pallie.”

  “No, you and Pallie are twins,” Tabitha corrected. The woman frowned. “Pearl was my grandmother, remember?” She sighed. “We’d better head back. We need to get ready for tomorrow. Plus, I have a lot of homework to do.”

  Not wanting them to leave just yet when he was learning so much about his guests, he asked. “You’re still in school?”

  She looked surprised and smiled. “Oh no. I’m a pharmaceutical rep. I study background information on drugs I’m representing for my company.” Leaning back in her chair, she asked, “And what do you do?”

  His stall tactic worked. “My brother and I founded Whittington Janitorial Services. Some of our employees have cleaned doctors’ offices, as well as bigger businesses. We also have a brand of industrial cleaning products we sell to our clients.”

  Not only was Tabitha listening, so was Aunt Tweet. “Impressive. We need more black entrepreneurs. Congratulations.” She stood. “Do you want us to help clean up?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m glad we had a chance to formally meet.” He lowered his voice. “I hope it helps us become friends.”

  She graced him with a smile, and it was dazzling as he towered over her and admired her soft facial features. Tabitha was a pretty woman, and under different circumstances, he would have asked her out. She spoiled the moment when she extended her hand for a shake as if they were concluding a business transaction.