Loving Mr. Wright

by Brenda Barrett

  Erica groaned. "You were doing so well, until you started on my body."

  "You are good-looking, okay," Phoebe said exasperated. "The things people have to say to get a drive to Great Pond. If I had a car I would not be complimenting you so long and hard."

  Erica grinned. "Well you did a good job. I'll pick you up at six."

  Phoebe got up hurriedly. "I've got to go take the orders for the other people. Okay, six it is. I'll be waiting out at my front gate, so try to come on time. I have a new neighbor who is trying to get my attention, but he is unemployed. Don’t know why he even bothers to try."

  Erica rolled her eyes. "Okay ma'am, six it is."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Caleb jumped off the bus at Great Pond and rubbed his leg. The conductor had booted him through the door like yesterday's rubbish. He winced and brushed himself off. He was trying to explain to the young man that he had no money. He had walked all day from the Adult Remand Center and had seen the bus in Spanish Town and exhausted, he had tiredly sunk into a bus seat.

  He had no money, no friends, and no family. His aunt Reba had died three years ago while he was in prison. Fortunately, she had the foresight to leave a will and she named him as her only heir, making him the owner of ten acres of farmland, a run down two-bedroom house, three goats, and a cow.

  The harried legal aide had handed him the papers with a smile. "It is in St. Ann, a place called Three Rivers…a lovely side of the island. You will do fine."

  The prison warden had shoved some papers at him to sign and he was practically shoved out of the gates of the correctional center with a black plastic bag containing his old jeans and an old blue shirt from five years ago when he was first arrested. The clothes smelled moldy and were stiff.

  He had a mind to dump the plastic bag in the nearest garbage bin and sit outside the thick prison walls and howl, but the bag contained all his possessions. If the legal aide had not bought him the shoes, jeans, shirt, and new underwear, he would have had to wear the old smelly stiff clothes.

  He grimaced and felt hopelessly lost; the feeling of freedom was overshadowed with apprehension and uncertainty. He had absolutely no idea where he was going. He knew where St. Ann was, and could vaguely recall taking a trip with his father to visit his grand aunt, Reba. His mother had long jumped ship when he was born and he only had his father for familial ties. Since his incarceration, his father had abandoned him completely and his remaining family members wanted nothing to do with him. No cousins or siblings came to visit. He was on his own.

  He was brought back to the present when he felt a drop of rain on his arm. He looked up at the evening sky in despair, not even a star in sight; it was thickly overcast. He looked up the road into the distance and saw several cars parked at the side of the road at what looked like a church. He could even hear singing. Down the road he could barely make out the sign 'Welcome to Great Pond.'

  He was of two minds: he could wonder around in the dark all night, having no idea where he was, or he could go to the church and sit at the back. Hopefully, no one would realize he was there. He patted his head; he had been clean-shaven just this morning by the prison barber, so he knew he looked decent. When he looked in the mirror this morning he had looked a far cry from the scruffy dreadlocked man he was used to glimpsing in the mirror on Sundays when they allowed the men out in the cramped auditorium for church—thanks to the barber he now had a neatly trimmed beard and moustache.

  He had loved those times; it was a comfort to his soul because every day, for two long years, he had gotten up bitter and angry. He used to plot how he could easily kill the woman that had been instrumental in getting him behind bars, but then he had attended the weekly meetings that the various churches had every Sunday and slowly his anger subsided. He had begun to look forward to the singing and then he had accepted one of those blue New Testament Bibles and gradually read it through. Eventually he started talking to God regularly. He gave his life to Christ and was baptized by the prison chaplain. His cellmates had started calling him Jesus Boy and ribbed him about it day and night, but he didn't care.

  He slowed his steps before he entered the foyer of the church. This would be his very first church visit, if the prison chapel were not counted.

  He stepped into a very busy crowd of people who were in various choir robes. He glanced through the church doors and looked inside, it was partially full, but there were a couple of empty seats on the backbenches.

  "Oh excuse me," a young lady with long braided hair said to him, her eyes bright, "do you have a program?"

  He shook his head.

  "How come?"

  "Huh?" she asked puzzled. "Aren’t you the MC?"

  "Nooo," he said slowly.

  "Oh sorry," she said flinging her braids around to her back and storming off.

  He looked down at himself and half smiled. He was fresh out of prison and one girl had mistaken him for the Master of Ceremonies. He wasn't such a stand out then. He inwardly sighed and went into the church. There were four rows of benches; the seats were wide and padded. He headed for the left, which seemed like the least conspicuous place to be.

  He sat behind two women. One of them was impossibly pretty and he had to shake his head and look at her again. She had what looked like hip length wavy hair and the longest eye lashes he had ever seen on a woman. She was whispering to her full-bodied friend. He couldn't see her face properly but he heard her chuckling.

  He contemplated moving but he wanted to look at the pretty girl some more. They both smelled nice and for a split-second, he realized that he had given up the bitter animosity that he had felt toward women and the vow he had made never to go near one again.

  He found himself straining to hear them.

  "They said they'd start at seven, Erica," the pretty one said to her friend. "How was I to know that this church has a time issue?"

  Erica shrugged. "No sweat off my back, I would have been curled up in the settee watching a movie now and eating a tub of ice cream. This is actually not such a bad way to spend the evening."

  The pretty one shrugged. "All the so-called men on the male chorale are boys. I cannot marry a boy. Boys are broke and are either at school, financing an education, or obsessed with cars and brand name shoes. I need a man to finance the life I am not accustomed to."

  Caleb flinched when he heard that. So, she was a gold digger. He actually moved up higher on the bench, he didn’t want to hear her friend's reply. She was probably a gold digger too.

  A gold digger caused him to go to prison for five years. He almost lost his life. He lost his family, and had no reputation to speak of. Because of that woman he didn’t even know where he was going to sleep tonight. He closed his eyes tightly willing the memories to stay at bay. He kept his eyes closed until he heard the MC announcing the beginning of the program.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The music was extremely good and Erica found herself rocking to more than one song and getting as excited as the rest of the crowd. The church was now packed to capacity and though there was a late start, they were having a good time. Phoebe whispered to Erica non-stop about who was good-looking, who was not, who looked like marriage material, and who was perennially single. Phoebe was a treasure trove of banal, shallow conversation and despite the lovely program Erica felt like shaking her.

  "Oh my," Phoebe whispered in her ear once again.

  Erica stiffened. She was just about to tell Phoebe to shut up once and for all. Not even her five and seven year old niece and nephew were so fidgety and talked so incessantly. It was like being out with a restless hormone driven teenager.

  "What?" Erica snapped at Phoebe.

  "Look in the bench behind you, nine o'clock," Phoebe whispered fiercely. "Tell me, isn’t he fine? He looks like Boris Kodjoe with that clean-shaven head and neat moustache. Isn’t he gorgeous?"

  Erica sighed. She would give this so-called handsome specimen a look, then she would tell off Phoebe—this was getting ridiculous.
<
br />   She glanced around quickly, then, had to swing her head around again. He was handsome: full lips, straight nose. She could bet his eyelashes were long when seen close up. He had on a black shirt and blue jeans pants and his legs looked like they were long. He also had a worried furrow between his eyes and he was looking on at the proceedings as if his mind was not quite on it.

  "Didn’t I tell you?" Phoebe was whispering fiercely in Erica's ear. "And to think, all this time he was sitting close to us…and look, no ring on any of his fingers. Indeed God is good."

  Erica swung around to look at him again and he looked at her at the same time. She was caught red handed. She felt herself getting warm under the scarf she had around her neck, like a naughty child being caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

  He didn’t smile at her or anything; he just stared with almost no expression on his handsome face. Another group was about to start singing and he didn’t look on the stage, neither did she. It was now a competition to see who would win in the stare down.

  Erica refused to look away first so she inspected him quietly. His eyes looked weary and tired and there was a slight slump to his shoulders. He endured her scrutiny and then raised an eyebrow.

  Erica raised back her eyebrow.

  He sighed and then broke the eye contact almost sullenly crossing his arms and leaning back on the bench; once again staring ahead.

  "What was that about?" Phoebe whispered frantically. "He wasn’t even looking at me. He was looking at you."

  "It was war," Erica, said, smiling. "I think I like him."

  "Oh, no you don’t," Phoebe said. "I saw him first."

  Erica grinned. "He looks mysterious, kind of dangerous, don’t you think?"

  Phoebe cleared her throat. "Well, he does look a bit rough around the edges, like he drives an ordinary car. We will have to check out his car. The car is the deal breaker for me. If he drives a nice car you can't have him, he's mine."

  Erica shrugged. "Go easy Miss Piggy. We are not in a school yard fighting over dolls."

  "Don’t call me Miss Piggy," Phoebe snorted. "I am slim and beautifully shaped."

  Erica chuckled. "Was referring to your attitude."

  The whole place erupted in applause and Phoebe's stinging retort was drowned out. Erica subsided in her chair.

  *******

  It was an entertaining program. The male chorale gave some outstanding renditions and the other acts that supported them also did well. The congregation was asked to sit and wait to be ushered out. Because they were seated in the second to last row, they were among the last persons to be ushered out of the church.

  Erica glanced at her watch; it was a quarter to ten. She looked around for him, she had been challenging herself throughout the program to not sneak a look at him again and she had succeeded. She allowed Phoebe to drag her into the parking lot, all the while looking around for him.

  "I wonder if he is parked outside." Phoebe was craning her neck over the mass of people that had gathered on the outside.

  "You were serious about the car thing?" Erica asked incredulously.

  "Of course," Phoebe said, "I have to determine a man's material worth before I can even think of talking to him."

  "But that's…that's…" Erica stammered. She grabbed Phoebe's arms. "That's wrong and unchristian."

  "You can say what you want," Phoebe said with a frown, "but I did not grow up with rich parents or the privileged life, you did. I grew up rough, so I know that poverty is not easy, it smells bad and it looks awful—it's a prison I long to escape from."

  Erica shook her head in exasperation.

  "Oh there he is," Phoebe said excitedly and headed toward the guy who was leaning against the side of the church hall with both hands in his pocket. He was tall, Erica thought ruefully and he was indolently looking out at the crowd. His eyes lit up with recognition when he saw them.

  Erica followed reluctantly. She was sure that when they had that stare down he had been looking at her with a cynical twist to his lips. This guy was no push over and the beautiful Phoebe was going to be in for a bluff. She could already see the sneer in his eyes.

  "Goodnight," Phoebe said to him brightly.

  He looked at Phoebe seriously and then responded, "Goodnight."

  He didn't shift from his stance and looked at both of them expectantly, as if he was on the verge of being entertained.

  Erica's hackles began to rise. Who does he think he is? Did he think that he was the king and she and Phoebe were the court jesters?

  "Let's go, Phoebe," Erica said roughly. She was strangely attracted to this man, even though he had that haughty attitude.

  "No," Phoebe said defiantly to Erica.

  "Where's your car?" Phoebe asked Caleb.

  He looked at Phoebe, a smirk across his lips. "I don’t drive; don’t have a job or any source of income."

  Phoebe gasped, "I didn’t ask you any of that."

  He gave a nasty laugh and sauntered off.

  "He is rude and crude," Phoebe was sputtering, a look of horror across her face. "Did I ask him anything about money or a job?"

  Erica was struggling hard not to laugh but the laughter erupted from her lips, and she had to lean on the wall where he had been standing. She laughed so hard that she had to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

  "Pheebs," Erica was almost wheezing, "what about, what's your name? Is this your church? Where do you live? You know, questions to show that you are interested in him."

  "I have never really had to approach a guy before," Phoebe pouted. "They are usually the ones asking the questions."

  "Initially," Erica straightened up from the wall, "after that they all flee from you like they have encountered something evil." She giggled again. "Let's go, the parking lot is getting empty enough for me to back out of our parking space."

  Erica walked off with a sullen Phoebe traipsing behind her.

  They drove out of the churchyard and turned up the road slowly. There were several vehicles in front of theirs and the road was still wet from the rain earlier.

  Erica turned on the car radio and hummed along to a song.

  "I am going to work tomorrow at ten, so I can sleep in late," she peered through the windshield, "then be back home at four. Being a hotel nurse is perfect for me right now. The hospital job was extremely stressful and I couldn't bare seeing Jay every day."

  Phoebe shuffled in her seat. "I hate being a bank teller. I have to smile at ugly people all day."

  Erica rolled her eyes. "I was sure that you couldn’t be more shallow. You just proved me wrong."

  "Whatever!" Phoebe kissed her teeth, then she sat up straighter. "There he is, that creature who just insulted me."

  Erica looked through the window and saw him walking towards the sign that said Great Pond. He had his head down.

  "Why on earth would he be walking on this stretch of road now? From here to Three Rivers is only sea on that side and uninhabited hills on the other. The community is down the road."

  "Serves him right," Phoebe snickered, "doesn’t even have a bicycle."

  Erica pulled over beside his forlorn figure. Caleb looked up and saw that it was her and stopped. He had a lost look on his face and Erica's heart melted. Something was going on with him. She could sense his desperation from where she was.

  "Before I offer you a ride, I need to know your name," Erica said winding down the car window further.

  He grinned; she could see his white teeth in the semi-darkness.

  "My name is Caleb Wright," he paused, "before I get in your car I need to know yours."

  Erica was still recovering from the honeyed tones of his voice. She almost didn't hear him. "Oh, I am Erica Thomas and this is Phoebe Bridge."

  He nodded and she released the central lock.

  "He could be anyone," Phoebe was murmuring. "Haven’t you been keeping up with the news?"

  He came in, sat in the car, and sighed. "I have no idea where I am going, my grand Aunt Reba lives in a place
called Three Rivers and I was kind of left here by the bus."

  Phoebe frowned looking around at him. "Reba Brownwell was your relative?"

  He nodded.

  "Well, well, well," she pursed her lips. "Did you know that it was the church that had to bury her? Not one of her family members came to the funeral."

  Erica drove out into the road. "So are you going to her house?"

  "Yes," he said. "This is providential that you know where she lives because I was just gearing up to walk to the town and maybe sit out the night somewhere."

  "I think so too," Erica said, "because Miss Reba's place is about half an hour from here up in the hills. She definitely does not live on the main; she is way off the beaten path."

  "And has a fabulous view," Phoebe said, warming up to Caleb slightly. "If only Miss Reba had built a good sized house to take advantage of the view. So, where are you coming from?" Phoebe asked Caleb. "You don’t have any bags and you don’t know where Miss Reba lives. Are you a deportee? Kicked out of some foreign country for crimes committed? Or were you hibernating in some mental hospital somewhere?"

  Erica sighed. "Pheebs…"

  Phoebe ignored Erica and looked around to the back seat. "So which is it?"

  Caleb clenched his jaw, the feeling of joy that he had felt when Erica had pulled up dissipated like mist in hot sun. Phoebe reminded him of one of those unfeeling lawyers that had represented the prosecution in court. They had questioned him with the same rapid-fire questions and had the same evil glint in their eyes.

  He cleared his throat. "I am coming from Kingston." He chose his words carefully. "I heard quite recently that Aunt Reba had passed and named me in her will as the sole beneficiary to her property. As you can tell, my family is not close, so the information reached me belatedly. I came as soon as I could."