Oh Lordy. He wasn’t making it easy for her to walk away. “Well, it surprises me. I had no idea and I’m sorry that it’s not working out for you. But you’re still married now.”
“Right. And I understand your viewpoint, or I’m trying to.”
“Good,” she said. “If … if things don’t work out between you two, you know, then give me a call.”
“You bet.”
She put the phone back in the cradle and stared at it. Talk about tough. That had to be one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. It wasn’t every day that a man she found attractive was attracted to her. She had never felt so miserable about doing the right thing.
Forget it, Pearl Jackson. Forget him. He is married, married, married. And it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.
She decided not to try and catch Kenyatta. She would change into something comfortable, read a book and dive into that new box of Godiva chocolates. No, not that. The last thing these hips needed was chocolate. She had bought the box before a man started showing interest in her and when she wasn’t so worried about the hips.
OK, she would just read and then start dinner. Alone. Watch some TV. Alone. Go to bed. Alone.
She picked up the phone and dialed Patrick’s number. “Do you still want to get together? I can make breakfast here.”
“Sounds perfect. I’m on my way.”
She closed her eyes. How could a little breakfast and conversation be wrong?
* * *
The doorbell rang and Pearl jumped three feet, spilling eggs over the edge of the bowl. She covered her heart with her hand. Lordy. You would have thought someone had just kicked the front door in.
She quickly mopped the eggs up from the countertop, then buttoned the jacket to her pantsuit and pulled it down over her hips. She would give anything to weigh another thirty pounds less just now. But there wasn’t a thing she could do about that. Thank the Lord, Patrick didn’t seem to mind the extra weight. Bless his sweet soul.
She parted the curtain covering the window in the door and peeked out. He was standing there wearing a navy suit minus the necktie and holding a small bouquet of pink carnations. If that didn’t beat all. It had been ages since a man had brought her flowers. Heck, it had been ages since a man had brought her anything. She crossed her heart and glanced up to the ceiling. Lord, help me keep this man in check. Help me keep myself in check.
She opened the door, and he smiled. She loved his smile. He stepped in and handed her the bouquet. “Good morning again.”
“Good morning, and thank you. They’re so pretty. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I was in the kitchen starting breakfast. I’ll just go and put these in some water. I really wasn’t expecting flowers. That was so thoughtful of you. Do you like scrambled eggs and scrapple?” Why don’t you shut up, fool, or you’ll scare him off.
“Scrambled eggs and scrapple sounds perfect,” he said.
She pointed to the couch. “Have a seat then. I’ll go put these in water.” You already said that, you idiot. “Um, I’ll be right back.”
Instead of sitting, he removed his suit jacket, laid it across the arm of the sofa and followed her into the hallway. “Can I help?”
“Oh no. I have it covered.”
“You sure?” he asked, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “I’m pretty handy around the kitchen. If you haven’t put those eggs on yet, I make a pretty mean omelette.”
“Really? Well, I—”
“You got some tuna, onions and peppers?”
“Of course, but … tuna? In an omelette?”
“Yup.”
She frowned with doubt. “It sounds, uh, different.”
He chuckled. “Trust me. You’ll love it. Just point me to everything.”
Forty minutes later she set her fork down on the table. She was tempted to lick her plate clean. “That had to be the best omelette I’ve ever had.”
He smiled with appreciation. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. I wish I had paid more attention when you were making it.” Instead of focusing on your butt, your biceps, your smile. She had been so thrilled to have a man cooking in her kitchen that she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
“Or you’ll have to invite me over again to fix one for you.”
She lifted her eyebrows and smiled. “Or that.”
He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. It was a big, masculine hand but his touch was soft and gentle. She expected him to say something, but he just smiled with those sexy lips and looked at her. She lowered her eyes and pulled her hand away slowly. This was moving way too fast.
“I’m making you uncomfortable,” he said. He clasped his hands together above the table. “I don’t mean to do that.”
She stood up with her plate and placed it in the sink. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just that I … I …” Oh Lord. She wanted him to touch her hand and a whole lot more, and it was tearing her apart. She knew she shouldn’t feel this way but she couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes and said a quick, silent prayer. Then she opened them and turned to face him. “Would you like some more coffee?”
“Yes. But I can get it.” He stood up.
“No,” she said tersely, grabbing his cup and saucer from the table. “I’m up. I’ll do it.”
He sat back down. “Fine.”
She turned to the stove to refill their cups, and when she turned back he was clearing the remaining breakfast dishes from the table. She couldn’t help smiling. He reminded Pearl of herself. He just couldn’t sit still when there was work to be done around the house. She hoped they could be friends and have a cup of coffee once in a while. No harm in that.
“You have a great house here, Pearl,” he said as he placed the dishes in the sink. “Nice and cozy.”
“Oh shoot,” she said as she placed their coffee cups on the table. “It’s not nearly as nice as yours. And aren’t you building a bigger one nearby?”
He nodded. “Too big if you ask me. I prefer something like this. You’ve added some nice personal touches.”
She chuckled. “I made a lot of things myself, if that’s what you mean, like the curtains and these matching place mats. Only because I can’t afford to buy them.”
“It looks like you,” he said as they sat back down at the table with fresh cups of coffee. “And by the way, you’re looking real good since I last saw you, Pearl. You’ve lost some weight or something.”
She smiled broadly. She was delighted that he had noticed. “Well, thank you. I have lost a few pounds and I’m hoping to lose more.”
“Not too much more, I hope.”
She shrugged. “As much as I can. You know what they say—you can never be too rich or too thin.”
“I hope you don’t believe that. I know that some brothers think a woman is only attractive if she’s, well, a certain size.”
“Humph. You mean, if she’s skinny.”
He nodded. “Well, yeah. But I happen to like a woman with some meat on her bones. And the older I get, the more I realize that it’s much more important that a woman’s heart is in the right place.”
She couldn’t stop smiling at this man. She was tempted to kiss him on the spot, and that shocked her. She stood up abruptly. It was getting warm in here. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” she suggested. “It will be cooler, er, more comfortable there.”
He stood and followed her. She pulled her suit jacket down over her hips, certain he must be watching them every step of the way. She also put a little extra umph into her steps. If he liked a little meat on a woman’s bones, he must love these bones on her.
She turned when they reached the couch, and that million-dollar smile was within inches of her face. Oh Lord. Before she could take a step back, his lips were on hers. Her heart was pounding so wildly she thought he must surely feel it beating against his chest. But she for-got all about her thumping heart as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body closer.
She was about to grab his shirt collar and pull him down to the couch when she heard the front door open. Oh Lord! If Patrick’s lips hadn’t been smothering hers, she would have screamed at the top of her lungs. Instead, she pushed him away and turned. Just as she feared. It was Kenyatta.
Kenyatta stood at the entrance to the living room and stared at them with his jaw hanging down to his knees. Pearl didn’t know who was more stunned, Kenyatta or her.
* * *
“Ma, do you know who that was?” Kenyatta asked, his eyes big with surprise. His unexpected entrance had scared Patrick off, and Kenyatta was following Pearl around the kitchen like a puppy as she cleaned up.
“Of course I know who that was,” Pearl replied curtly. “I’m not stupid. It was Patrick Brown.”
“I know you know his name, Ma,” Kenyatta said sarcastically. “I should hope so, the way you two were just getting it on. But do you know he’s married?”
Pearl removed her suit jacket and draped it on the back of a chair. Then she rolled up the sleeves to her white blouse. She was trying to buy some time while she figured out how to talk her way out of this mess. Jesus. She was just slobbering all over a married man, and her son had walked in and caught her red-handed. Lord, have mercy.
“Yes, I know that,” she mumbled, turning to the sink. “I don’t know what came over me, but it won’t happen again.”
“Ma, you were kissing the brother. What the hell is going on?”
Pearl twisted her lips. “Nothing’s going on. And stop cursing.”
“Stop trying to change the subject. Ma, he’s married.”
“How many times are you going to say that? Like I said, I don’t know what—”
“Holy shit. I can’t believe this.” He reached around and felt her forehead. “You been feeling OK?”
She smacked his hand away. “Stop that.”
“But this is so unlike you. Is he still with his wife?”
“I … I don’t want to talk about it anymore. So can you please drop it?”
Kenyatta lifted his hands and backed away. “Fine. But it’s kinda hypocritical if you ask me, that’s all.”
There it was, Pearl thought. He was going to use it against her to justify his relationship with a white girl. She wiped her hands on the dish towel and turned to face him. “Exactly what do you mean by that?”
He scoffed. “You get on my case about Ashley and here you are necking with some married dude. What’s with that?”
Pearl paused to compose herself. “You’re right, Kenyatta. What I did was wrong, I admit it. But don’t you dare compare that with dating outside your race. That’s different. It’s—”
“Yeah,” Kenyatta said sarcastically. “Fooling around with a married man is sinful.”
Pearl turned back to the sink and grabbed the edge tightly. Who was she fooling? Nobody but herself. What she had done was a sin in the eyes of God, and there was no way to defend it. “You’re right. What can I say? You going to bug me about it the rest of my life?”
“Nope. Just for a couple of years.”
“I bet you are. But can we drop it for now? You’ve made your point. And it’s not going to happen again.”
“Good. I should hope not. There are plenty of unmarried men out there who would be lucky to have you, Ma. I’m going on up.”
“Wait. Why did you come home early, anyway? I thought you were going to have brunch with Ashley.”
“She called me on my cell phone and said something came up at home. Her mom has some big news, and she wants the whole family there to hear it.”
Just her luck, Pearl thought as he left the room. The one time he gets home early, she wishes he had kept his butt out. Well, maybe not. If Kenyatta hadn’t showed up, there was no telling what might have happened with Patrick.
She wiped her hands and sat at the table. What had come over her? She had kissed a married man in their home after coming in from church, and loved every single minute of it. Well, that was it. They couldn’t even be friends, since it was obvious that she had not one iota of control over herself around him. She was going to tell him this was as far as it went the very next time he called or came by the shop. If he called or came by. For all she knew, Kenyatta had scared him off for good. And it was just as well. Kenyatta was right. How could she criticize him about Ashley or anything else if she was sinning with a married man?
Chapter 31
Candice sat in the stuffed armchair and looked around the living room at her family. Caitlin was seated on the couch filing her fingernails, and Ashley sat next to her twisting a lock of her hair, her cell phone resting in her lap, no doubt in case Kenyatta called. Jim sat in a straight-backed chair with the Sunday sports page. Their lives were all about to change, and Candice wanted to remember this last innocent moment.
She couldn’t be sure how they would react to the news that her great-grandfather was a slave. For all she knew, Jim could decide to split. He thought he had married a white woman, not a woman with slave ancestors. But they all had to know. It wasn’t fair to go on deceiving them.
She wished she could tell them and then they could all put it aside and forget about it. She had gone over and over in her mind how that might work. But in the end she realized that was impossible. Sooner or later Ashley or Caitlin would tell someone and then it wouldn’t take long for the news to spread through Silver Lake.
She was also going to have to tell her folks, and that was really going to be tough. Mom would have to deal with the news about her ancestors and her racist husband’s reaction to it. Candice wasn’t even sure she would tell her dad. She might just leave that up to her mom.
She let out a big gust of air. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should just keep her mouth shut and suffer in silence. This might be the one time when it would be better to hide the truth from her family.
“How long is this going to take?” Caitlin asked, not even looking up from her nails. “I have to call Sue Ellen back.”
“And I had to cancel a date with Kenyatta,” Ashley complained.
“I don’t know how long it’s going to take,” Candice said, “but it’s more important than a phone call or a date. Sue Ellen can wait. So can Kenyatta.”
Ashley blinked at the sharp tone of her mother’s voice.
Caitlin sighed impatiently.
“It must be pretty important for your mom to call us all in like this,” Jim said.
“Caitlin, can you put that file down for five minutes?” Candice asked shortly. “It’s getting on my nerves.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes to the ceiling and dropped the file into her lap.
Candice set her eyeglasses on the coffee table and stood up. She tried to soften her tone of voice. “Um, you all know that I’ve been looking into the family background, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I’ve come across some unexpected findings.” Candice paused and looked down at her hands. She laughed nervously. “I hardly know where to start.”
“At the beginning,” Jim suggested.
Candice looked into the eager faces of her daughters—so young, so innocent. This would rock their little worlds. They should be dealing with hair and nails and boys and school, not this heavy race stuff. They were teenagers, for God’s sake.
And what about her parents? It could ruin their relationship. She didn’t want to be responsible for that.
She sat back down in the armchair. This was a big mistake.
“What is it, Mom?” Ashley asked with obvious concern.
“Well, I … I …” Candice paused and fumbled with her hands in her lap. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “It’s … it’s about your great-great-grandfather George. It seems that he was, um, that he was married twice.”
“And?” Caitlin asked impatiently.
Candice blinked. “And, well … everyone assumed Marianne was his only wife. But she wasn’t.”
“What about
his father Andrew, the landowner?” Ashley asked. “Was he married twice, to Sara and that woman you found at the archives named Caroline?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, he was.”
“Is that it?” Jim asked.
“Yes.” Coward. Liar.
Ashley jumped up. “You mean you made me call off my date with Kenyatta for this?” she asked indignantly.
“I thought it was important for you to know,” Candice murmured.
Caitlin stood and threw her hands in the air. “Like you couldn’t have told us later. Honestly, Mom. I am so not believing you did this.”
“Well, sorry,” Candice said curtly. But she felt relieved, so she must be making the right decision. “You can go now.” But they were both already halfway out of the room.
“Are you OK?” Jim asked. He was looking at her strangely.
Candice looked down at her hands. “Yes, I’m fine.” Suddenly she didn’t feel so relieved anymore. She felt guilty as hell. She had to get out of there. She picked her eyeglasses up and stood. “I’m going to do some reading.”
“Wait. I thought we were going over to Home Depot to pick up some things to get the yard ready for spring.”
“Oh, right.” She frowned. “Maybe next weekend, Jim. I’m really tired.” How the hell could she go shopping at a time like this?
“You’re always tired lately,” Jim complained. “Maybe you should get a checkup.”
She didn’t say anything. Maybe he was right.
“When are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, Candice?”
Good question. And he had every right to ask. But not yet. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”
He shoved his hand into his pocket. “Suit yourself.”
She started for the stairs.
“No, wait,” he said.
She turned back to face him.
“Look,” he said. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s eating you, fine. But don’t insult my intelligence by telling me there’s nothing going on. We’ve been together long enough for me to know when something’s not right. You act different. You look different. You even went so far as to dye your hair blond. What’s that all about?”
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