by Roi, D. S.
“I’ll cover the next two semesters.”
“Iona, no. He’s my son and my responsibility. You have your own son—”
“Ce Ce, Josiah isn’t even in Pre-K. I think I can handle a few grand in book expenses. Now, I know you have the shoe box paid up for four more months in the iceberg, so you really don’t have much to worry about. Once the guests take one bite of your cake at this wedding, you won’t have to be nervous about covering anything for my nephew. If it is cards you need, then you can use mine. Bring your logo. Mama will hook you up for the next throw down.”
The truck beeped again. Cyana groaned. Suddenly, the hospitable drivers in Georgia seemed like a great idea. “And when would I be doing this sisterly act?”
“In sixteen days exactly.”
“Sixteen days. Iona—”
“I told you I was in a bind,” she defended.
“I don’t have a design. I don’t have a plan.”
“Oh, we have a little more than a week to submit the final design to the bride. Since you’re the genius artist, I thought you might want to be involved in the planning. The bride likes dolphins and surprises. I don’t know what to do with that. But, I’m sure you can think of something.”
“Crap, Iona, how long will I need to be away from my job?”
“The wedding’s on the third Sunday this month. We still have to get the supplies you’ll need. You can make it, right?”
Cyana ticked her teeth again and maneuvered the car another three feet. “Crap, crap, crap.”
“You’re coming.” Iona’s voice raised in triumph. Cyana could visualize Iona’s large smile while she held the phone to her ear.
“Okay-okay,” she agreed quickly.
“When are you leaving?” Iona asked.
“I’d love to come this weekend but I have work tomorrow and—”
“Work? Ain’t you been workin’ every weekend for two months now?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“And you got your two weeks vacation time last month, right?” Iona asked.
Cyana adjusted the unruly curl from her view, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. “Right, but I have to give notice if I want to use it.”
“Give it a shot. You’ve been good to that tyrant Lancaster. You deserve a vacation. Come on down here.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
2
Cyana's stomach churned with the guilt of missing two weeks of work during a busy election year. She heaved her duffle bag into the backseat of the vehicle before slamming the passenger side door of her orange monster. Mr. Lancaster must have been in a generous mood to approve the time off, but was known for changing his mind at the last minute. She had to get out of town in case he called her back in. She was a terrible liar. No matter how desperately she wanted to help her family, she knew herself well enough to know she’d turn around and go to work if he asked.
The portable CD player sat atop the roof. She nabbed it before scooting around the bumper to open the driver’s side door and shifting the bucket seat forwards. With more care, she settled the device in the middle of the bench seat. Straightening, she chose to do a few stretches before her voyage. The change of the season painted the skyline in pink, purple and gold, but a darker hue along the base of the clouds promised unfavorable weather. I need to get going.
Eric had given her specific instructions on where and when to call him between classes. With football in full swing, she doubted he’d have much time to worry about his number one fan traveling alone. After six and a half hours of traffic, her enthusiasm for the trip started to wane. The air conditioning didn’t work in the Gremlin and traveling at the twilight and night hours was the best option in the heat of the season.
Cyana was grateful to make out the horizon stamped with mountains against the backdrop of stars and the scent of cow pastures. The Appalachians marked a sizable milestone in the journey, but brought the anxiety of steep curvy roads marked with run off ramps for out of control vehicles that might lose their brakes against the challenge. She yawned; then reached into the back seat to activate the small CD player. She’d get the radio fixed in the car one day. But, until then, the portable radio and a backup pack of D batteries would do. The distraction of the music would keep her apprehension low. She stopped bopping to the rhythm once the weather turned sour.
The cold front she’d set out ahead of had caught up with her and brought one hell of a rain storm. Wind whipped against the small car. The wipers may well have been going back and forth in a shallow pond. With only three feet of visual clearance, Cyana dropped her speed; shifting closer to the steering wheel in a better effort to navigate the vehicle.
The Tennessee welcome center lights sprouted hope she was nearly home. Her back and legs warned rest was imminent. Her vision blurred from fighting a normal bed time. She drove up next to a street light at the center, but kept her classic compact at the edge of its glow and parked. Probably should sleep in the car until this passes. With her decision to wait-it-out made, she thought it best to call Iona.
Grabbing her patchwork bag, which resembled more of a pouch hanging on a thin line, she fumbled around the lip gloss and Shea butter cream to locate her phone. Her stomach rumbled. She sighed, diverting her attentions long enough to look for a snack before securing the phone. She hadn’t packed enough snacks to take her all the way to Weynor.
She lifted the hood on her Illinois sweatshirt then dialed the number to Iona. Her sister’s cheerful voicemail greeted her while she tossed the handbag over one shoulder and headed out of the car into the storm in search for food. The scent of pine almost choked her. The rain drops slammed down at an angle, coaxed by the wind.
Water cut through the parking lot like a raging river. She kept her head down to cover the phone with her hoodie. She looked both ways to time her jump over the rapids. She double checked her thought about the acrobatics in heels. Perhaps pumps weren’t the most practical thing to run across a flooded parking lot in.
She left Iona the message she’d arrived in Tennessee and would catch a few winks at the rest stop before heading back out after the rain passed. When she reached the door to the facility, a loud male voice erupted; thick with a country accent. The man looked back into the building, waving at someone who took on a sudden look of surprise. His companion had seen her first. Cyana halted abruptly and sidestepped.
The door handle caught her purse. It let out an agonizing rip, sending its contents to the ground. The man must have noticed his friend’s alarm. He twisted to avoid her, but bumped her arm hard enough to wrench the phone from her hand. The cell shattered against the concrete.
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am.” The battering ram spoke, taking hold of her shoulders to stop her fall. “Are you okay?”
With eyes opened wide, she sucked in a breath to respond. His heavily spiced cologne dominated her nostrils. She made a quick decision to breathe from her mouth before responding. “Yeah, I think so.”
“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am. Awfully sorry. Let me help you get your things together, Miss.”
“I’ve got it,” she spoke immediately, going to the spilled contents of her bag. She gathered everything, making a mental note of her belongings: wallet, lip gloss, birth control case, Shea butter and a pen. The battering ram retrieved the remains of her phone.
“Your phone looks like a nice piece of equipment, ma’am, but I’m afraid our get together cracked it.”
Cyana sighed audibly. She finally got a look at him. He was heavy in the belly and unshaved for what seemed like three weeks. His wire hair stuck out in all directions while the rain made quick work of slicking it to his neck and over his flannel shirt. The gray in his beard and clear blue in his gaze reminded her of Santa Clause.
“I tell you what,” he reached for his back pocket and fished out his wallet, “I’ll give you sixty dollars towards any repairs to the phone you have to make.” He fisted out a few twenties and some smaller bills.
“
Oh, no thank you. I couldn’t take your money.” Cyana waved her free hand.
The man didn’t budge his thick fist. The sparkle in his eyes only seemed to become more kind. “Now, I insist. You ought to take this money and get inside out of this here rain. Perty girl like you gonna catch a cold out in this.”
She smiled and took the cash. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Go on in now.” He held the door for her.
Southern hospitality. She’d been away from it for only two years and forgotten it existed. She tucked the larger bills away in her wallet and resolved to use a few dollars for a snack. She needed the gas money anyway. Swiping every dime from the ATM barely covered the fuel for the trip. The thought made her shift the hoodie back and blow at the wild curl obstructing the right side of her vision. It’s okay. I have everything I need. She inwardly consoled her thoughts on cash flow, or lack thereof.
It almost didn’t make sense to leave her hated stable job to get back home and cook, but she’d missed the kitchen with enough longing to make her chest ache. Admittedly, she had wounds to lick. Getting some validation might be just the kind of pick-me-up she needed. Loving arms and warm smiles always helped. They were something the Huffing’s had plenty of.
Cyana stalked up to the vending machines. Somewhere in her head she knew acquiring a mouth watering and sinful chocolate treat would make the worries rush from her mind. Instead, she grabbed a protein bar and milk. The treat could wait until she got to Georgia and ate some of Iona’s home cooking.
The thought put a smile on her face. She trotted across the torrential parking lot back to the car, tossed the wrapped up shredded purse into the passenger’s side and leaned back in her seat. She contemplated getting a real handbag for a second, a nice Coach bag. She tore into the protein bar and took a bite. Mm, gritty peanut butter wannabe. Savoring the weird texture for a moment, she relaxed, dismissing the purse idea. Considering her luck, it would be a waste of money.
The calls of birds woke her. Cyana sat straight up in the seat. It was intensely daylight. She scrunched her brow a moment. The alarm on her birth control pill case should have sounded. It has to be past six o’clock with all the birds singing in a new day.
She reached into the passenger seat and lifted the rag of a purse to check if all her things were there. The case and lip gloss were gone. Her heart sank but she stared across the lot with hope. She saw the remains of her cute pill case crushed in the parking lot. All notions of optimism crashed. The red and pink kisses, X’s and O’s against the black background littered the lot along with her morning alarm from its built in clock.
She rolled her eyes at her inability to notice she missed it when she’d tossed her things in the seat last night. Double checking the passenger’s side confirmed her wallet remained there. Great. She tossed the purse rag over her belongings. It could hide her possessions from thieves, since it couldn’t do anything else. She attempted to start the Gremlin three times before the engine turned over and rattled into action. She passed a final glance at her once adorable pill case.
“If you haven’t gotten your groove on by now, you probably won’t,” she rationalized. She shrugged and assumed she just wouldn’t be riding any stallions until she got back to her doctor.
3
Cyana reached Weynor city limits. The pecan trees had started to litter the roads with clusters of fruit. The leaves on the maples were a deep aged green, a sign they would be changing in a few short weeks. Cyana had found the cold front again. It slowed over the mountains. Its effects on Weynor were light. The mass of frigid air dropped the September weather into a bearable upper-eighty. She didn’t resist the need to drive with the window cracked to smell the sweet Georgia rain. To her satisfaction, the citrus hint of magnolia blossoms wove into her senses.
Cyana drove up to the house her mother and sister shared, but the vehicle was missing out front. She remembered they would be at the fair in the port-a-kitchen and cursed under her breath. The rain and long nap placed her behind schedule. She was certain they’d gone out to the festivities without her. Which fair?
They could be clear to Savannah for all she knew. She wished for her phone, any phone, to call and tell them she was in town. At least then she could meet them somewhere.
She considered her possibilities. This was Mama’s sanctuary. There were no neighbors on either side of the house. The two-story home sat square in the middle of four acres of land, wooded all around.
Cyana massaged her temples. Iona had mentioned they would be catering at the Milway mansion across town. It would be a fifteen minute ride. Cyana scanned the passenger seat to check the clock on the phone; then huffed at how hard the habit would be to break since the device was now trash. She glanced to her wrist watch for the second option. Still early.
Putting the Gremlin in drive, she set out for the Milway. If they were going to cater there, then someone should be at the house prepping the grounds. Southern hospitality wasn’t always free. Stopping at any gas station or restaurant to ask to use the phone would result in the shopkeeper pointing to the pay phone outside. At least at the Milway she could explain her situation, borrow a phone, call her sister and then meet both her and Mama at whatever fair they were attending, she rationalized. She nodded her head to no one in particular.
Cyana’s chest swelled with admiration once she drove through the Milway gates. They were open, a positive sign someone was home. The Milway hadn’t been inhabited for any recent length of time, still, the magnolias lining the long cobblestoned driveway fragranced the air and added to the charm of a perfectly lush lawn. The drive rounded a fountain in front of the house. She frowned at the thought of parking her brightly colored 1975 Gremlin at the front steps of the impressively columned cement porch, thinking the house was probably younger than the car. A narrow drive leading to the right side of the building would be the perfect place to hide the car for a short time.
She turned off the engine and listened for a moment.
The lights of the mansion were on, visible through the tall glass windows veiled with thin white lace. The porch formed a half circle, dominating the front of the house with ten steps leading to the landing. A total of eight white rocking chairs sat out front.
The crickets chirped against the steady patter of rain. Cyana had cracked the window to keep the fog from the humidity off the windshield. Now, the scent of gardenia and rose bushes filtered through the car’s interior. The scenery stripped away all her tension. She sighed and opened the door.
Someone inside will let me use the phone. She was certain of it. Mounting the steps refreshed the muscles of her legs. She walked casually to the front door to ring the bell. She stretched a bit while waiting.
What the hell is that damned tapping? Asher paused from sweeping the floors in the former stable and stepped outside the newly remodeled space. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn he’d heard a car. Then the headlights of an orange vehicle came into view beyond the roses before stopping.
Damn. He’d left the gate open for deliveries, but the vendor already called to cancel. Some poor soul had probably gotten lost, or worse, had come to case the place for a robbery. The police department had sent over a uniform to warn him about the reports of several break-ins in the area. Such activity was highly unusual in Weynor. He wiped his hands clean against a towel and set his jaw in a firm line. Whoever it was would have all their plans ruined once they came face-to-face with him.
He rounded the corner of the house and heard a clicking getting closer.
“Hey,” he called out.
He was answered with a shriek. The young woman stood at the top of the mansion steps with her hand pressed to the center of her chest. Her eyes were wide, breathing fast paced.
“Holy crap, don’t scare me like that,” she said.
Her voice was soothing in a higher alto pitch with a slight Georgia accent. He scanned the fitted, Illinois College hoodie wrapped around a red dress which stopped along toned thighs, one shade li
ghter than a milk chocolate bar. A pair of simple red pumps covered her feet.
The sight halted his headlong stride and set him back on his heels. Not a burglar, he assumed. If she was, then it was the sweetest looking hoodlum he’d ever seen.
“Can I help you?” He changed his tone.
“I’m Cyana.” She spoke coming down the steps with her hand out.
He wrapped his palm around her grasp. “Asher.”
“Nice to meet you, Asher. I’m in a bit of a bind. I’m with a company that has the catering contract for an event being held here next Sunday. Huffing’s Kitchen, have you heard of them?”
He nodded. “Yep. Sure have.”
A broad smile crossed her face. It stole every bit of annoyance. “I’m the cake designer.”
“Cake designer?” he asked.
She shoved both hands in the hoodie’s large front pouch. “Pâtisserie and Baking diploma from the Art Institute of Atlanta. I had to travel a long distance to get here, but my phone got bashed on the way.” She produced a piece of equipment from her pocket. It’d definitely seen better days. “I need to call them and let them know I’m in town. I was hoping I could stop here and use a phone.”
Asher listened patiently to her story. He wasn’t able to decide if he wanted to let her go on due to interest or to keep listening to her voice.
“No one’s home at the Milway, ma’am. I’m the only one here.” He didn’t know why he admitted it. If she did have a weapon tucked away on her tight body, he would have to resort to his black belt training for a quick defense.
Her shoulders slumped. She sighed and peeked to the sky as if searching for some other way to get what she needed. Definitely not the sign of an attacker. He reached into his front pocket and tugged out his cell.