“Sure, Lacette. How’s your new business going?” He handed her a pass.
“Great, so far. Thanks for the pass.”
In different circumstances, she would have told her sister that she planned to stop by the place where she worked, but these were not normal circumstances. For her parents’ sake as well as her own, she had to know whether Kellie was all right and whether Hal Fayson had coerced Kellie into living with him.
Before she could speak, Kellie glanced up from her computer, saw her and gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Lacette dragged a chair from a desk nearby and sat down. “I want your address and home telephone number,” she whispered. “And I want to know if you’re all right and whether you need anything.”
“I’m not supposed to have visitors here, Lacette.”
“Then, give me that information, and I’ll leave. If you mislead me, I’ll be right back here tomorrow morning.”
She wrote the address and apartment number. “We don’t have a phone yet. Lacette, please don’t come there. Hal won’t like it. You’ll make things difficult for me. Don’t worry. I went with him, because I can’t stay away from him. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry. Thanks for this.” She put the paper in her briefcase, leaned over and kissed Kellie’s cheek and, to her amazement, Kellie didn’t shrink away from her gesture of affection as she usually did. She hoped that meant something, that this blood sister who almost never expressed genuine affection had learned to feel for others.
“Now go. I don’t want to get fired.”
Chapter Twelve
My sister’s living half a block from the railroad in a city housing project. And how did that scoundrel manage to get an apartment in the projects? The worst part of it is that she is not happy. She’s scared of him. I can’t tell Mama that.
She called her father and gave him the address. “She said we shouldn’t visit her. That’s all I know, Daddy.”
“Hogwash! I’ll visit my daughter whenever I please, and that little snipe had better not lay a hand on her, or he’ll hear from me.” And he would, too, she knew, no matter what Hal Fayson said or did.
Telling her mother what she’d learned proved more difficult, for her mother reacted with tears and self-accusations. “It’s all my fault. I coddled her and stood between her and your father when he wanted to discipline her. You mean she’s living with him because she couldn’t stay away from him? My Lord! He’ll treat her like dirt. I can tell you that from . . .” she didn’t finish it, and she needn’t have.
Lacette managed to close the conversation without revealing her understanding of what her mother had left unsaid. However, the idea that you risked your marriage for a tryst with a man who subsequently mistreated you caused her to wonder about her mother’s judgment. Maybe judgment has nothing to do with it.
“I’ll have Nick with me this weekend,” Douglas told her while they ate lunch at her desk. “He wants a place on his school’s spelling team, and he wants coaching. I can’t leave that to my parents, because it’s my job. Dad will bring him Friday afternoon.”
She didn’t want to offer, but she knew she should. “He can hang out with me Saturday till you get off from work. I can test his spelling, if he’ll let me.”
His hand remained suspended over the bowl of potato salad while she spoke, as if hearing her words immobilized him. “You’d do that?”
Her easy shrug belied her concern. “It’s important to you.”
He spoke as if his thoughts were far away. “Yes, it is, and I appreciate the offer.” She couldn’t help wondering about the thoughts he didn’t express.
The week sped by much faster than she wanted it to. On Thursday night, she went with Douglas to shop for furniture, and learned that he liked to sleep in a king-size sleigh bed. They chose one along with several matching chests as well as furnishings for the bedroom that his son would use.
“As soon as I get the house halfway decent, Nick’s coming to live with me. School’s out in May, and I hope to have it ready by then.”
“Why does the house have to be in perfect order? He’s your son, and he should accept what you can give him.”
“Yes, and that is the way I’ve tried to raise him, but I want his standards to be as high as mine; I don’t want him to settle for second best, not in anything and not ever. We could fix it up together, you say, but it’s the first house I have owned. When I was married, I rented an apartment; since I’ve been widowed, we lived with my parents for Nick’s benefit. It’s the psychology of the thing that concerns me.” He looked hard at her. “I wouldn’t take you into a half-furnished house.”
“Why not? We could furnish it together.”
He shook his head. “A man is supposed to provide shelter for his family. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but that’s the way I was raised.”
Around six on Friday, Douglas telephoned her. “Nick’s here. Would you like to have dinner with us? I thought we’d go to Benz Street Raw Bar. You like crabs, Nick likes barbecue, and I’m in the mood for a steak.”
She had to know where she stood. “Is he going to let me help him with his spelling?”
“Here he is. Ask him.”
It was his good fortune that more than a mile separated them. “Hello, Nick,” she said. “What time are you coming over tomorrow?”
“Hi, Lacette. What time do you eat breakfast? I can come then.”
She held the receiver at arms length and looked at it. This kid was a modern Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. “About nine. What do you like for breakfast?”
“Anything you cook except oatmeal. I’ll help clean up the kitchen, and then we can start with my spelling. Okay?”
She realized that he couldn’t see her nodding her head, so she made herself say, “That’s fine. I’m looking forward to seeing you, Nick.”
“Me, too, Lacette.”
She hung up, put both hands on her hips, looked toward the ceiling and said, “Well, I’ll be damned!”
Nick’s pleasant and subdued behavior during dinner with her and Douglas that Friday night gave her hope that she hadn’t bargained with the devil for nine hours of hell on Saturday. True to his word, Nick put their breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, cleaned the pots and pans in which she’d cooked grits, sausage, eggs and fried apples and left the kitchen counters neat and tidy.
“You’re very good at this,” she said.
“I used to hate doing it, but when I saw how happy I made Nana when I did it right, I got so I didn’t mind it.” He looked at her. “My dad can do this, too.”
Still perplexed at his about-face, she decided that he’d have an answer for it, leaned against the refrigerator and asked him, “Nick, the last time we were together in Hagerstown, I decided that you didn’t like me, and you didn’t. What happened? I mean you’re as charming and gracious and anyone could be. What made you change?”
He looked her in the eye. “My dad said you volunteered to help me study for the spelling team. He said he was shocked that you wanted to help me after the way I acted. I don’t usually act like that, Lacette.”
“I know that. Don’t worry about it, you and I are going to get along great. Have you been spelling aloud?”
His face creased in smiles, his relief honest and open, apparently because he realized that she didn’t hold his bad behavior against him. “All the time. Shouldn’t I?”
“That’s one way to spell, but let’s mix it up. I’ll read the words to you and you write them. In that way, you’ll get used to seeing them and when you have to spell a word, you will visualize it. Okay?”
“Cool.” He took the tablet and pen that she handed him. “Gee, Lacette, you don’t know how bad I want to make the team. I want it worse than anything I ever wanted. I didn’t tell my dad, cause if I don’t make it, he’ll feel awful.”
There was hope for them, she realized, for he had confided to her what he had withheld from his father. She took the liberty of stroking his shoulder and was relieved to see that he
didn’t mind. “In this life, Nick, we are only required to do our best, and that’s what you’re aiming for.”
She began to read. “Circle . . .” He raised his head and looked at her as if she thought him an idiot, but she ignored him and continued. “Circumference, circumambient, circumstantiate—”
“Oh! I get it. Cool.”
At about ten-thirty, the telephone rang. “Excuse me for a minute,” she said to him. “Hello.”
“Hi. This is Douglas. How’s it going? Are the two of you getting along?” She detected the anxiety in his voice, and it didn’t surprise her for she knew how badly he wanted them to like each other. “Like peas in a pod. You wouldn’t believe it.”
She heard him exhale a deep breath. “Thank God. I’ve been so worried that I’ve hardly been able to work. I’m going to bring lunch around twelve-thirty. See you then.” She told him good-bye and returned to Nick.
“Was that my dad?”
“Yes. He’s bringing us lunch at twelve-thirty.”
“He’ll be right on time, too, so we’d better get busy.”
Whatever he had expected, it was not that his son would be gracious to Lacette. He hoped she hadn’t exaggerated how she and Nick were getting along. He had wanted to leave them alone together for a lengthy period, and the spelling bee proved opportune. When she volunteered, he scotched his plans to find a substitute for the florist shop and take the day off to tutor Nick. At twelve-thirty he parked in front of Lacette’s house, got the food and had started up the walk when Nick dashed out of the front door.
“I’m doing great, Dad. Lacette throws all those big words at me, and I have to write them down. She’s real nice, Dad. I’m sorry I was such a nerd, but she acts like she doesn’t remember it.” He took one of the bags from his father. “And she cooked me a breakfast that was the bomb.”
“She remembers your bad behavior, Nick, but she has forgiven you. I’m happy that you like her, because she’s very important to me.”
Nicked pushed open the door as if he had a right to do it. “Yeah. I know she is, Dad.”
To make certain that Nick understood his relationship with Lacette, he dropped the bag of food on the floor, folded her in his arms and bent to her lips. The hunger that seared his insides stunned him, and he released her quickly before looking around to see his son’s reaction.
“Want me to set the table, Lacette? Nana taught me how.”
“Thanks. I’ll help you.”
He waved a hand at her. “Oh, you don’t have to. You can talk to Dad.”
Douglas looked down at her. “I don’t believe this. I’m sound asleep.” Her laughter rang with pure happiness, and he pulled her back into his arms.
“I believe in telling it like it is,” she said, “so I asked him what accounted for his changed attitude toward me. He said in effect that I shamed him when I volunteered to help him win a spot on the school’s spelling team. Made sense, too. But I can tell you I was expecting nine hours of torture.”
He couldn’t have kept the smile from his face if his life depended on it. “I was feeling the same.” He gazed at her and felt himself immersed in her sweetness. “I need some time with you. Can we be together Sunday night?”
“I’d like that. Come over about seven, and we can have dinner here.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
At about that time, Marshall got into his car and headed for the address that Kellie gave to Lacette. “I’d better not park in front of that building,” he said to himself. “If they see this car, they won’t open the door.” He parked the Cadillac around the corner and set out for the building, picking his way among broken bottles, pieces of brick, empty cans and assorted other rubbish. The wind blew a dirty rag and a greasy brown paper bag against his legs as he walked. He had expected the hallway of the building to be filthy, and was happy to discover that it was clean. He knocked on the door and stepped aside to prevent being recognized through the peephole.
Hal opened the door without asking who knocked, and when he saw him, attempted to shut it. Marshall was closing in on sixty, but he didn’t drink, he went to bed early and took his daily walks, and he knew that, even at forty, a man who spent hours sitting on his sofa drinking beer and watching TV couldn’t match him in strength and agility. He stopped the door with his left foot.
“I came to see my daughter, and I’m not leaving until I do.”
“She ain’t here.”
“No? Then you can entertain me until she comes back, no matter how long that proves to be.”
“Who is it, Hal?” Kellie called.
He glared at Hal and brushed past him. “It’s your father,” he said and took the seat in front of the TV that he was sure Hal had just vacated.
She walked into the room and stood still, gazing at him, but obviously uncertain as to what to say. “Hi, Daddy. I’m . . . uh . . . glad to see you, but I wish you hadn’t come.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that. I didn’t come here to browbeat you. Did Fayson coerce you into moving in with him?” She shook her head. “Are you in love with him?”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
So she wasn’t in love with the man. That was something. He raised himself to his full six foot, four inch height and faced Hal, who lounged against the doorjamb. “I’m a man of God, Fayson, but if you lay one of your hands on Kellie to hurt her in any way, I’ll break you in two, and I’m not kidding. If I hear about it years after you do it, I’ll still settle the score with you. Write that down!”
He walked over to Kellie. “You have disappointed me, but you’re still my daughter, and I love you. I’m moving into my house next Thursday. You’ll get tired of this.” He waved his hand to suggest that his words covered everything around him. “As long as I live, my home is your home, and you’re welcome to live with me.”
She sniffed a few times, to hold back the tears, but her watery eyes told the tale. He put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “God bless you.”
He rushed past Hal without looking at him, for the temptation to slug him was greater than anyone who knew him would have imagined. His child lived in the slums with a man who couldn’t give her a carpet for the floor. Somewhere, somehow, he’d made terrible mistakes in raising her. What other reason could there be for the mess she was in?
After leaving church Sunday morning, Lacette drove to the supermarket, unmindful of the city’s flowering gardens and fragrant trees and shrubs. Her thoughts centered on the coming evening. She wanted to serve a meal that would make a man romantic and very susceptible to a willing woman, so she bought candles and flowers for the table and bought groceries for a menu that appealed to the senses as well as the belly. The one bottle of red wine in her pantry would have to suffice.
At six o’clock, with dinner ready, the table set and feeling as if she’d run a marathon, she treated herself to a warm bubble bath, oiled and perfumed her body, slipped into scant, red bikini lace underwear, and pulled on a red, one-shoulder, floor length jersey dress over them.
“Thank God, I’m not as worn out as I was before my bath,” she said to herself. “He’s planning to seduce me, but I’m way ahead of him. If he leaves here the way he came in, it’ll be proof that one of us is sick.”
When the doorbell rang at seven o’clock, it seemed as if every nerve in her body stood on end. She started down the stairs, but as she looked toward the bottom step, it seemed that the distance down was twice as great as it had always been. The bell rang again, and she told her self to move, but it seemed that her belly had begun to quiver and roll like an ocean swell. Perspiration beaded her forehead, and she gripped the banister. When the bell rang a third time, she told herself that only her father was that persistent and, armed with self-deceit, made herself walk down the stairs, go to the front door, and open it, albeit with shaking fingers.
“Oh, my,” Douglas said, when she opened the door. “All this for me?” He handed her a bouquet of purple Dutch irises and yellow lilies and a small b
ag, bent over and quickly kissed her on the mouth.
She stared at him. Mesmerized. In his gray suit, pale gray shirt and gray and yellow striped tie, his good looks jumped out at her. Blatant. In your face. She’d never seen him so elegant with sex appeal radiating from him like heat from a smelter’s furnace.
All this for me? she was tempted to reply but instead she said, “Mmmm. You look good.”
His grin banished her jitters. “Thanks for the flowers. What’s in the bag?”
“Wine. One red and one white, since I didn’t know what you’d serve.”
She tore her gaze from his. My Lord, this man is good-looking.
“Can I help?”
“Sorry. This may be the only time it happens, but tonight I am pampering you. I won’t even let you wash the dishes.”
He poked his tongue in his right cheek, inclined his head to the side and squinted at her. “If dressing up give me privileges, I’d better make it a habit. And you can pamper me all you want; you won’t get a word of complaint out of me. Not even a sigh.”
She winked at him, pinched his cheek and strolled into the kitchen, knowing that his gaze was locked on her, and that the movement of her behind beneath that silk jersey sheath was doing its job. She served the meal in courses beginning with melon soup laced with tawny port and ending with crème Courvoisier and coffee.
He put his coffee cup down and looked at her, deadpan. “I was half besotted when I got here. That dress did what you knew it would do, and this meal finished me off. I’m putty in your hands, sweetheart.”
“Oh, dear,” she heard herself say, “and here I was thinking that from the minute I opened the door, I was completely seduced.”
He coughed several times, and it seemed that the coffee had gone down the wrong way, strangling him. “Slow down, Lacette,” he managed to say. “Don’t say such things playfully.”
She got up from the table. “Who was being playful? Not me. Excuse me, while I take these things to the kitchen. I like to leave my table neat.”
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