Chance on Lovin' You

by Eboni Snoe

“It’s not necessary, Mrs. Ashford.”

  Mr. Ashford was beaming by now, and Sasha could tell he had been drinking. “These are our friends, Randy Davis and Cynthia Barnes.”

  They all shook hands.

  “This is my…friend, Sasha Townsend,” Cay introduced her.

  “Mr. Ashford.” Sasha stood up for convenience’s sake. After Cay’s introduction she felt a little awkward. His hesitation about her status had been obvious to her, if not to anyone else.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Townsend.” Mr. Ashford shook her hand vigorously.

  “Is this our table?” Mrs. Ashford turned to the host and motioned to the table directly across from Cay and Sasha.

  “Yes, it is, ma’am.”

  “I’d say this is some coincidence.” Mr. Ashford looked from Sasha and Cay’s table to his own, his face flushed with alcohol. “And I’m not the kind of man to let an opportunity like this pass me by. Waiter, I’d like for you to pull our table over here.” He pointed to the side of Cay and Sasha’s table. “And the entire bill will be on me.”

  Everyone seemed stunned.

  “You don’t have to do this, Mr. Ashford,” Cay protested.

  “I know I don’t have to, but you’ve been one of the most caring businessmen I’ve ever known. You knew I was in trouble, and even though you didn’t need the inventory, you helped me liquidate those goods in a time that was crucial for my wife and me. It would be my pleasure to buy you and Ms. Townsend dinner.”

  Sasha was intrigued by Mr. Ashford’s candidness—and by what he said about Cay.

  “Stanley” —his wife tugged gently at his arm— “maybe Mr. Ellis and Ms. Townsend want to spend a quiet evening alone.”

  “I just want to show Mr. Ellis my appreciation, sugar. Can’t I do that?” he insisted, a bit too loudly.

  Some people at adjacent tables turned around to look. Mrs. Ashford was clearly embarrassed. She glanced at Randy and Cynthia.

  “That will be fine, Mr. Ashford.” Cay smiled graciously. “By all means join us.” He nodded for the host to move the table.

  “See there, Leslie, I told you Mr. Ellis is a great fellow.” Mr. Ashford insisted on helping the waiter move the table and the chairs. “Now, how should we sit?” He looked befuddled.

  “I’ll sit right here,” Cynthia said, slipping into the chair next to Cay. “I want a seat next to the man who’s being held in such high esteem tonight.”

  Sasha felt as if her forced smile would crack at any moment. She realized she had been looking forward to a private evening, and now she was facing an intoxicated woman sitting beside Cay. He seemed aware of her sentiments, and was clearly amused as he leaned back comfortably in his chair.

  “All righty then, that gets us rolling.” Mr. Ashford smiled again. “So, Randy, why don’t you sit next to Ms. Townsend, and Leslie, darlin’, you sit next to Randy. I’ll sit next to Cynthia. This is great. Just great.” He beamed, easing his big body into the medium-size chair. “So are you here on Green Turtle Cay for business or pleasure, Mr. Ellis?”

  “Pleasure,” Cay said softly without hesitation.

  Everyone at the table looked at Sasha. Mrs. Ashford’s cheeks turned red; Mr. Ashford’s smile broadened, if that was possible; and Randy began to look at Sasha as if she were a part of the dessert menu. Cynthia was the only one who didn’t seem very interested.

  “You did say you were just friends.” Cynthia looked from Cay to Sasha. “I don’t see any rings on any fingers.”

  Sasha couldn’t believe it. Was Cynthia with this fellow Randy or not? First she had made it her business to sit down beside Cay, and now she was inquiring about the status of their relationship.

  “Cynthia can be a little pushy sometimes,” Randy volunteered. “Keep your dress down, babe,” he told her. Sasha could see signs of irritation on his boyish features. “Nobody has told you it’s a go yet.”

  “See, that shows how much you pay attention to me. I’m not wearing a dress,” Cynthia retorted, eyes gleaming.

  Mrs. Ashford looked down at the table, and even Mr. Ashford looked a bit embarrassed.

  “Pleasure, that’s what brought me and my wife here,” Mr. Ashford spoke up rather quickly. “Leslie and I are just looking to have a good time now that we’ve gotten past that trouble. We met Randy over on Abacos. He lives there, and we spent the night in his hotel. Cynthia” —he motioned to the pixieish female— “is a friend of his.”

  Cay nodded.

  “So what about you, Ms. Townsend, where are you from?” Mr. Ashford continued.

  “I’m originally from Gary, Indiana. I lived there all of my life before I went off to college, then I returned to take care of my mother, who was ill. After she died I moved to the Keys.”

  “That must have been rather difficult,” Mrs. Ashford said, “taking care of your mother like that. I know how it was for me when my mother became ill. We ended up putting her in a nursing home. It got to be an impossible situation.”

  “I wasn’t in a position to do that, so I did what I had to do.” She paused. “And if I had to do it again I would.”

  Cay’s features softened as he leaned across the table toward Sasha. “I didn’t know your mother was ill and you took care of her until she passed away.”

  “Well,” Sasha replied softly, “it’s not the kind of information you volunteer unless someone is interested enough to ask.” She gazed into his compassionate eyes.

  “All right. Break it up. Break it up,” Cynthia said, patting the table. “I’m jealous.” She pouted. “Randy, you used to use that tone when you spoke to me. But you don’t anymore.”

  “Maybe you don’t give me cause to,” Randy replied.

  The table got quiet.

  “Stanley and I live in Fort Lauderdale,” Mrs. Ashford said to Sasha. “How do you like living in the Keys?”

  Sasha could tell Mrs. Ashford felt obligated to keep the conversation going. “I love it,” she replied. “I hope to make the Keys my long-term home.” She did not look at Cay.

  “And what do you do, Mr. Ellis, that has Stanley so fired up about you?” Cynthia leaned on Cay’s chair arm.

  “A little of everything,” he said diplomatically. “But my family has been in the tourism industry in the Keys for a couple of generations.”

  “Wow. Tourism in the Keys. Sounds lucrative,” Cynthia chimed in.

  Cay simply smiled.

  “Here’s the wine list, sir,” the waiter said to Mr. Ashford.

  “Give it to Mr. Ellis.” He pointed to Cay. “I’ll trust his judgment any day.”

  The waiter went around the table, gave Cay the menu, then stood silently by.

  “Let’s see what we have here.” Cay glanced over the list, then asked, “Are we going to be eating seafood tonight?”

  “We’re in the islands; we’ve got to have seafood,” Cynthia said, forcing Cay to share the menu with her. Everyone agreed.

  “Then I suggest we go with a white wine,” Cay announced.

  “Sounds good, but make it kind of sweet,” Mr. Ashford advised. “Leslie hasn’t developed the taste buds for really dry wine.”

  Mrs. Ashford looked down. “Stanley, you didn’t have to tell them that,” she chastised him.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Ashford.” Sasha smiled at the woman. “I haven’t developed my taste buds, either.”

  Mrs. Ashford’s eyes lit up with appreciation.

  Cay looked at the two women before looking back at the menu. “We’ll start with a couple of bottles of Robert Mondavi’s Moscato d’Oro,” he instructed, handing the list back to the waiter.

  “Thank you,” the man said, then walked away.

  “I’ve never heard of that wine before,” Mr. Ashford said, glancing at the ceiling.

  “I like it,” Cay said. “It’s semidry with a fruity taste. I think it’s an excellent California wine. I hope you like it, Sasha,” he said, pulling her into the conversation.

  “I’m sure I will.” She felt pleased by his atte
ntiveness.

  After the wine arrived conversation eventually got easier. Sasha discovered she sincerely liked Leslie Ashford, a quiet woman with a calm demeanor. But her curiosity about Cynthia and Randy’s relationship increased. She guessed that either Cynthia was starving for Randy’s attention or they were competing to see who could make the other the most jealous.

  Everyone was eating dessert when the entertainment started. A team of jugglers went first, spinning and tossing objects from the islands. A female contortionist with amazing abilities followed. She kept everyone’s eyes on the stage except for Cynthia’s.

  “Believe it not, I can do that,” Cynthia professed to Cay while the performer was in a very accessible position.

  “Impressive,” Cay replied, looking down into her inviting features.

  “Isn’t it?” She set her empty wineglass down. “Perhaps I can show you sometime.”

  Sasha glanced at Randy, who let go of an “Oo-wee” as he ogled the contortionist. She looked at Cay and gave him a fake smile. It was proving to be an interesting night indeed.

  Chapter 25

  “I went by the Bethel House.” Sherry pinched a piece off a johnnycake, then placed the morsel in her mouth. “Sasha’s car was parked out front, but she wasn’t there.”

  Olive looked as if she could blow steam when she eyed the crumbled bread. “Ms. Sherry, the food will be on the table shortly. There’s some cut-up fruit over there if you want something to snack on before dinner.”

  Aware of Olive’s tight-lipped expression, Sherry moved on to the fruit. “Sorry about that. Your johnnycakes are always so good. One day you’ve got to teach me how to make them.”

  “Didn’t think you were interested,” Olive replied without looking up.

  “I guess time is helping me see things in a different light,” Sherry said. “Take Papa, for instance.”

  “What about Mr. Ellis?” Olive cranked up the salad spinner.

  “Well, he’s getting on in years, and I guess I’ve given him just cause to feel the way he does about me.”

  “You guess,” Olive said beneath her breath.

  Sherry decided to ignore Olive’s quip. “But you have to admit, Olive, he hasn’t been the easiest man to live with. You’ve had some close calls with him yourself.”

  “I’ll admit that. But he is his mother’s son, and that’s the only reason why I pardon some of the things he does. When you bring a child up with all the prejudices and screwed-up ideas that Mr. Ellis was brought up with, what else can you expect? Thank God, Baltron and I were around to help bring some balance and tenderness into Cay’s and Wally’s lives.”

  “And thank God you’ve been around all these years that I’ve been here.”

  Olive raised a discerning eyebrow.

  “I mean that, Olive. I realize there are a lot of things I could learn from you.” Sherry munched a grape. “For so long I acted as if I was above you and your beliefs, and now I know that isn’t true, and it never has been.”

  Despite herself, Olive stopped what she was doing and gave Sherry her full attention. “Is this coming from your heart, Ms. Sherry? Or is this another one of your performances?”

  Sherry walked over to Olive. “I know I haven’t been an ideal person, and I deserve anything you might say against me. But I’m tired of being on the outside, Olive.”

  “Or do you mean you’re tired of not being able to really get next to Mr. Cay?”

  Sherry drew a breath and held back the retort that tingled her tongue.

  “There’s no need to try and deny it, Ms. Sherry.” Olive’s head took on a stubborn tilt. “If we’re talking honestly that’s what you were doing.”

  Sherry looked down at the marble island counter. “I’ve always made it known that I wanted to be a part of this family,” Sherry began quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have married Wally, but at the time I thought we would make a good couple.”

  “And at the time Mr. Cay had already married Precious.”

  “Yes, Cay had already married Precious,” Sherry admitted doggedly. “But it wasn’t like I had rigged this great plot for Precious and Wally to die,” she defended herself. “It just seemed to me after they did, Cay and I getting together was the most natural thing to do.”

  “There are other folks who don’t hold the same opinion.” Olive gave Sherry a deadpan look. “But let’s forget about everybody else but Mr. Cay. His opinion is the only one that really matters. And I don’t think he feels the way you do.”

  Sherry remained quiet.

  “So, if you’re really tired of the problems you’ve been having here at Guana Manor,” Olive continued, “that’s one of the truths you got to face. You’re Mr. Cay’s sister-in-law, and you need to start looking elsewhere for a man.”

  “Things here at Guana have gotten to be pretty rough. All these horrible arguments and confrontations drain me so. Life’s so complicated. I just want to get on with it. I’m tired of fighting with everyone in this house. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I realize I must be causing some of the problems, and I’m truly sorry.”

  Olive looked dumbfounded. “Ms. Sherry, I’ve got to tell you, I never expected to hear you say that.”

  “Well, I’ve got to admit I never thought I would.”

  They looked at one another. Tentative smiles passed between them.

  “Now, you must tell me, how do you make those johnnycakes.” Sherry took a spatula and began to remove the bread from the paper towel-lined pan.

  “Oh, there’s nothing to it. It’s just a mixture of cornmeal, self-rising flour, coconut milk, and egg. I add a little ginger, to give it my own special flavor, before frying them in a little oil.”

  “How can something so simple be so good?” Sherry was confident she had broken down Olive’s defenses.

  “My mother taught me how to fix them when I was a little girl. My father loved them.”

  An odd expression crossed Sherry’s face. “You know, when I think about it, the reason I acted the way I did was because I was jealous.”

  “Say what?” Olive put her hands on her hips.

  “I was jealous of your sense of family.” Sherry’s lip quaked before she collected herself. “I mean, you seem to know so much about where you come from and your history. There’s a natural kind of pride and strength in that. Your ancestors were never slaves, were they, Olive?”

  “Not really. The slave-trading boat my great-greatgrandfather was being transported on was shipwrecked. He and some others were able to swim to Cat Island. A free life began for them there.”

  “So you can trace your ancestral roots back for generations.” Sherry sighed. “I walked around here acting uppity, proud of who I am, but the truth is, I felt inadequate around you. I like to brag on my family tree, but the truth is I can only take it back so far.”

  Olive was won over by the admission. “Yes, I do know a lot about my family history, but like any history, it wasn’t all good. Some of the things folks on the islands have done I’m not so proud of. My ancestors may have profited from the slave trade that was going on here in the States.”

  This time Sherry was surprised. “I didn’t realize that.”

  “It’s true. It was all about money, as it is today.” Olive dumped the salad into a large bowl. “No matter what race he is, man seems always to have profited from the misfortunes of other men. Even bring it about if he could.”

  Sherry looked down when she heard the timely truism.

  Olive continued. “I remember some of the stories my grandmother used to tell me. Some of them were pretty hard to believe. Fascinating, actually.” Her eyes widened.

  “What was your grandmother’s name?” Sherry pushed to show her interest.

  “Ruth,” Olive said with retrospection. “Ruth Owens.”

  “Ruth,” Sherry repeated the name. “I bet she did have some tales to tell. I bet she knew a lot about your ancestors in Africa. The things they did. The way they believed and lived.”

  “Yes, she
did, and of course they brought their culture with them to the islands. What else would they do?” Olive gave one strong nod. “Back in her day, my grandmother said, the obeah was really strong. That’s where it came from. The obeah started in Africa.” Then Olive turned her back. “Although I know you say you don’t believe in any of it.”

  Sherry’s eyes brightened with interest. “I just couldn’t imagine it, that’s all. And I guess I was a little afraid. I mean, how can something like that really work?” Sherry had worked her way around to the point of the entire exchange.

  “All I know is Grandma Ruth said the obeah men and women knew how to work with the sperrids.”

  “They did? How did they manage that?”

  “They respected the sperrids and were respected in return. Said they had some sperrids that were very loyal to them.” Olive wiped her hands on a dish towel. “And the sperrids could tell when a dabbler was even looking their way.”

  “A dabbler?” Olive’s lingo confused Sherry.

  “A dabbler is somebody who was just playing with the power,” Olive explained. “Said sometimes they’d zap their life force or their mind from them before they even got started.”

  Sherry looked uneasy. “But you said the spirits were loyal to them.”

  “Yes. Loyal. They could call on the dead when they wanted to.”

  Skeptical, Sherry looked up at the ceiling. “And that’s how they did it? By calling on the dead? They didn’t use any special tools or words…”

  “Of course, they used them. I remember folks saying the tools they used were alive with the obeah’s spirit.” Olive took to talking about one of her favorite subjects. “I’ve heard tell of them using pieces of clothing, photographs, and other things belonging to folks to put a fix on them. And herbs, too. Herbs that could kill or cure. But it was because they knew how.” She pointed her finger. “Grandma Ruth told me it’s a real power that they tap into. The power of good and evil—or God and the devil, as I like to say.”

  “But you never really saw an obeah perform this kind of thing.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Olive quickly disputed her.

  “So you have seen it?” Sherry used Olive’s desire to show how much she knew about the obeah to manipulate her.