by Day, Zuri
“Hold on. I’ll do it right now.”
He placed Ava on hold and tapped Leah’s name. The call immediately went to voice mail. “Leah, this is Uncle Byron. Unless you want the brothers out looking for you, and you know how we do, you need to call me as soon as you get this. And then you need to call Ava. I know why you’re acting out. We’re all still hurting. But worrying your mother isn’t cool. So call me. No matter the time. You’ve got an appointment that I’m going to make sure you don’t miss, even if I have to find you and take you myself.”
4
Cynthia sat in her office with the door closed, venting to the friend she couldn’t reach last night.
“You should have seen her at the meeting yesterday, Dynah, giving me a fake smile while listing all the reasons she’d make the perfect director. Well, back in Boston,” Cynthia mimicked, nailing her accent to a tee. “I did similar work for the Hughes Foundation.”
“How did you respond?”
“By just as sweetly reminding the board that what she’d done in Boston is what I’ve done here for two years, with less money and more cases. And then I casually mentioned my recent appointment to the board of a major donor’s foundation.”
“Ha!”
“Oh, Miss Margo thinks her friendship with Tracy, the current director, has all but sealed the director deal. I’ll admit that Tracy’s opinion matters. But so do facts and money.”
Cynthia’s intercom buzzed. “Hang on, please.” She clicked over. “Yes, Ivy?”
“Your ten o’clock is here.”
“Give me five minutes. Thanks.” Back over to Dynah. “Duty calls, girl. Thanks for listening. We’ll finish up on Sunday.”
“Okay. Keep calm, and act like a director.”
“Thanks, girl.”
Cynthia closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. She hoped that her client would be cordial and cooperative. Still bothered by Margo’s antics, this was not the day for attitude. Cynthia’s singular goal with each of these kids was to put them on the right track for a viable future. This meant keeping their names out of the criminal system, and their person out of jail. But given Cynthia’s tense disposition, if little miss came in sulking and pouting, giving shrugged shoulders instead of answers or the teenaged universal “I don’t know,” this young adult might be headed for lockup.
After checking her makeup and replacing the compact, Cynthia pushed the intercom button. “All right, Ivy, send her and Ms. Thompson in.”
She cut off the intercom, belatedly realizing Ivy was saying something else. Instead of buzzing her, Cynthia decided to just go out there. She stood. The door opened. A greeting was swallowed with a quick intake of air, expertly covering surprise with a soft cough.
The bus driver.
The one whose image had kept sleep at bay.
The man she thought she’d never again see in life.
Oh. My. Goodness. With one quick sweep of her lashes she’d taken him in: about five-foot-nine or ten she guessed, freshly shaved, wearing black slacks with a tan and black striped shirt—tail out—that complemented his complexion and hid the slightly flabby tummy so clearly visible yesterday. He’d cleaned up nicely. Too nicely, considering the work Cynthia had to put in to look nonchalant. It’s that cologne, darn it! And those eyes . . . and lips.
A slight smirk graced said luscious lips, and though he undoubtedly was just as surprised as she, it didn’t show on his face.
Hers either, and she silently thanked her mother who drummed poise at all times into her head. Composure firmly in place, Cynthia held out her hand. “Hello, Leah.”
“Hi.”
Shifting her attention to Leah’s chaperone, she smiled with hand outstretched. “Hello, I’m—”
“Cynthia.” He grasped her hand. “I remember.”
Leah looked from her uncle to Cynthia. “Y’all know each other?”
Cynthia was thankful for Leah’s unbridled response of surprise. It gave her a chance to recover from the feel of Byron’s rough, meaty hand caressing her skin. Rough, unlike the hands of the men in her circle who’d not done hard labor. The way this man affects me makes no sense whatsoever. He’s nowhere near my type! If only she could get this message through to her pulsating pearl.
Subtly pulling back her hand, instead of snatching it as if away from a hot stovetop like she wanted to do, Cynthia turned to respond to Leah.
But he answered first. “Cynthia rode my bus yesterday.”
Leah’s face showed even more surprise. “You rode a bus to the hood? Why?”
Byron smiled at Cynthia, his eyes twinkling. She knew what he was thinking. Yesterday’s question gets answered after all.
“When I drove over to deliver the notice, my car stopped. But that’s all handled and as of five o’clock today, my car will be fine.” Her attention returned to Byron. A slightly raised eyebrow and the merest of smiles were the only signs that Cynthia had guessed Byron’s message and formed a reply. Not so fast, Mr. Bus Driver. This is my office, so we’ll go by my rules.
“We didn’t meet formally. I am Cynthia Hall.”
“Byron Carter.”
They shook hands. Cynthia braced herself before looking into the seductive eyes that were boring into hers.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Carter. Are you related to my client?”
Leah answered the question directed to Byron. “He’s my uncle.”
“I see. Is Ms. Thompson all right?”
“She’s okay, but asked for my assistance in bringing in Leah.”
“I wish this had been communicated when she and I spoke yesterday.”
“Why, is there a problem?”
“Not exactly, but along with discussing a general strategy, this session is where the procedures for those who come here by way of the legal system are explained to the parent so that they, along with the client, can be fully aware of what’s required to fulfill the diversion program. For that reason, I’d prefer that Ms. Thompson were present. However, you can sit in for her and I’ll make sure she gets a copy of all that’s discussed. Please”—Cynthia motioned toward the two chairs in front of her desk as she walked behind it—“have a seat.”
Once they were settled, Cynthia got right to the heart of the matter. “Leah, why were you a no-show for yesterday’s meeting?”
Eyes fixed on fingernails. Silence. Shrug.
Uh-oh.
Her face was once again a mask of professional composure, but behind it, Cynthia was steaming. The people around her obviously cared more about her future than did Leah herself. That she was with young men who were stopped by police, men who had known criminal records was a bad thing. That one of them had given her a gun and a sizable amount of drugs to hide in her purse, which was subsequently searched by the police, was worse. At seventeen, she could be convicted as an adult for drug possession or the charge the officer preferred, possession with intent to sell. She could get five years for spending time with these friends. Instead, with the diversion program, she’d get probation and hopefully no lasting record.
And she answers my question with a shrug?
Thoughts that were processed in seconds as Cynthia casually tapped her pen on the desk’s edge a couple times before turning to her computer. I have no patience for this dogged insolence. Maybe jail time will teach her the lessons she needs to learn. End this session. Call the court. Law enforcement can take it from here.
The words were on the tip of her tongue, about to spew out. And then . . .
“Leah.” One word; spoken with such authority, conviction, and implied intent that it changed the room’s atmosphere.
Leah’s posture changed. “Yes, Uncle Byron?”
Cynthia sat back. Well, now.
“You were asked a question.” He looked at Cynthia. “I’m sorry for interfering with your meeting, but—”
Cynthia held up her hands as if to say, “Go right ahead.”
Byron cut his eyes back at Leah. “Remember our discussion, and my promise.”
Leah cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for not showing up yesterday. There is”—quick glance at her uncle—“no excuse.”
“Apology accepted, Leah. Now”—Cynthia reached for two stapled documents, handing one each to Byron and Leah—“let’s discuss your future.”
During the next thirty minutes, Cynthia went over the legal requirements of the program, and briefly explained the plan she’d designed to facilitate Leah’s successful transition into life as a responsible adult. The plan included Leah’s taking summer courses to successfully graduate high school on schedule and, since it was too late for the universities, hopefully getting into a community college. By the time the meeting ended, the disinterested countenance on Leah’s face had been replaced by one showing cautious optimism. Cynthia’s impression of Byron-the-bus-driver had changed as well.
The three stood near Cynthia’s now-open office door. “Leah, would you mind waiting in the reception area while I have a word with your uncle?”
5
Closing the door, Cynthia turned to Byron. With her client gone, the atmosphere shifted. Maybe closing the door wasn’t the best idea.
“About yesterday, I’m sorry if I appeared rude. There was a lot on my mind. Still, had I known you were related to one of my clients . . .”
“What? You wouldn’t have dissed me, treated me like a low-level public servant instead of a gainfully employed man who simply paid you a compliment?”
Quickly crossed arms made her defensiveness clear. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, really? How would you describe your funky attitude?”
“That of someone unimpressed with game you probably use on every female rider when”—Cynthia tapped each finger for emphasis—“one, my car had broken down for the very first time; two, Triple A had a waiting time of at least ninety minutes; three, I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood that looked pleasant enough to reside in, but where a murder had occurred, so no taxi would come to pick me up.” Cynthia took a breath. “While on your bus, being threatened with eviction if your rules weren’t obeyed, I was trying to prepare for a very important meeting that I came precariously close to missing. So if I was not as cordial, chatty, or flirtatious as you’d like, you now know why.”
Cynthia watched as Byron’s direct gaze left her face and gave her body a quick perusal. When their gazes locked again his expression was neutral, but not his eyes. Curiosity, appraisal, and appreciation were all conveyed as he digested what she’d said.
“Thanks for the explanation. That indeed sounds like a bad day. Though I have a feeling that had we met under more, say, comfortable circumstances, I still don’t think you’d have given a brother like me the time of day.”
“It’s obvious you have another woman doing that.”
“Who?”
“Your girlfriend, the one with the charming personality sitting in the first seat.”
“Tanya? She’s not my girlfriend. And she’s not the one who won’t give me her time.”
His gaze pierced Cynthia’s soul and dared her to lie. An energy of chemistry—indefinable, undeniable—wafted around them, an invisible cocoon of possibilities that neither expected.
“I’m trying to take time right now and thank you for helping Leah. It’s obvious she respects you and that you or someone has had a talk with her in a way that after your slight encouragement produced results. I’ve also apologized for behavior justifiable considering the circumstances. But it seems you’ve already formed an opinion about people like me, who we do or don’t see, even where we reside so . . . there’s not much more to be said.” Cynthia stepped around him and walked toward the door.
“Have I been wrong about anything?”
Silence as she turned around.
“Do you live on the south side, over by where you caught the bus?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Will you go out with me?”
“Mr. Carter—”
“Byron is fine, since I’d prefer calling you Cynthia and not Ms. Hall.”
“Byron, in light of the fact that I’m counseling your niece, I—”
Byron’s genuine laugh interrupted her. “Oh, the job’s the reason. All right, that’ll work. I appreciate what you’re doing with Leah. I’m sure you know all about why she’s having a hard time. Her brother was her world and when he died, she changed. From what my sister told me, it’s gotten worse. So I’m going to do what I can to help Ava and make sure Leah gets it together. I believe my contact information is already in her file.” He held out his hand. “Hopefully today is going better than the one that landed you on my bus. You take care.”
This time it was Cynthia watching Byron’s back as his long strides quickly ate up the distance to the door.
“What about coffee?” What are you doing? She didn’t know. But she kept doing it. “Something quick, early in the day on Saturday maybe, to make amends?”
He turned around. The look in his eyes warmed her heart, and other places. She told herself the feeling was because a professional cordiality was important for Leah. Liar.
“I’d prefer dinner, but coffee’s all right. Can I have your number, or would you prefer mine?”
“We can do both.”
She reached for her phone. They exchanged numbers and decided on where to meet. Byron held out his hand. Cynthia braced herself, and shook it. “I’ll see you on Saturday, Cynthia. Looking forward to it.”
They joined Leah in the general area just outside Cynthia’s office. Byron stared unabashed as she gave Leah a parting encouragement and a light hug. When she glanced his way, he winked. There was no explanation or excuse for what that single eye action did to her insides. She’d tried and failed to figure it out, but something about his fire did something to her ice. Once again, she was left melting, inside of the mask. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Carter.” Professionalism oozed from every pore. “Good-bye.”
“Ivy, hold my calls for a half hour or so. I need to . . . take care of something.”
“Sure thing, Cynthia.”
Cynthia walked into her office, closed and locked the door, and relieved the pent-up energy due to lack of dictation, the Margo frustration, and this Byron situation by twenty minutes of meditation with Deepak and Oprah.
6
Later that evening, Byron parked in front of an older, yet well-tended apartment building less than ten minutes from his home. He bounced up the outer stairs to the second level and was barely in the door before conversation began.
“Man, you’re not going to believe the day I’ve had.”
“Uh, and what’s up to you, too, Byron.”
Byron plopped down on the couch and placed his shoed feet on his brother’s coffee table.
Exasperation showed in the eyes that witnessed the blunder. “Are you drunk?”
Byron and his next youngest brother, Douglas, had always been close. Douglas was younger by a year and two months and taller by two inches. When it came to standing up for himself and voicing an opinion, Douglas didn’t hesitate . . . not even with big brother.
Byron slowly removed his feet. “You and your bougie nonsense. I don’t know where you got that, but it wasn’t from Mom and Dad.”
“There’s nothing wrong with owning nice things.” Douglas picked up a bottle of water off the dining room table and joined his brother in the living room.
“But better to put nice things in a home you own, at least that’s how I see it.”
“If anybody gave two cents about your vision, it would matter. Since I don’t, well . . .” He took a long swig of water. “So what happened that brings you over at nine o’clock on a weeknight?”
“I met this chick on the bus yesterday.”
“Breaking news so far.”
“Not just any woman, Douglas. The woman of my dreams! I don’t get many of her type on my bus. Come to think of it, she acted like she’d never been on one before.”
“Man, if you think this is exciting, you need to get out more.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No, so I’m talking to her, joking around as usual, and she ignored me.”
Douglas placed his hands on his chest. “Fool, you’re killing me.”
“It gets better. I promise. Her uppity attitude pissed me off, so I gave her the space she wanted. But damn, her body was everything! Plus, she was well put together, had that corporate look going with the suit and the pumps, talking all professional, all proper. Damn that stuff was sexy . . .”
“Sounds like she’s way above your pay grade, bro.”
“You’re probably right. Women like her want to date actors, professional athletes, men with six-figure bank accounts.” Byron rested his head against the back of the couch and locked his hands behind it. “But I still pulled a date.”
“Quit bullshitting.”
“I told you the story would get better.”
“You asked her out, while driving the bus.”
“Turns out she’s Leah’s counselor.”
“Whoa! Real talk?”
“I couldn’t believe it when I stepped into the office and saw her standing there. She was more stunned than me, but I have to give it to her. She kept up that stiff professional veneer. I’d like to . . . relax her a little bit.”
“Ha! From what you’re telling me about her, almost any man would.” Douglas drained the bottle. “I thought you were seeing someone. What’s that girl’s name, the one who went to school with Nelson?”
Nelson was the middle brother out of five, younger than Douglas by 364 days.
“Turns out that behind those designer shades and that luxury car that she probably can’t afford was a thirsty female out for what she could get.”
“Sounds like Tanya.”
“Man, don’t even mention Tanya. That girl’s a trip.”
“What else is new?”
“She’s back to claiming that Ricky is my son.”
Douglas made a sound of disgust. “Again?”
“Yep.”
“Her and big Rick’s on and off relationship must be in the off season.”