On the Rebound 2

by Brenda Barrett

  Her suitcase was opened in the corner; she hadn't even bothered to unpack it. All she needed to do was pick up her toiletries scattered on the bathroom counter, put on her clothes and get out of here. Forget Ashley and the two of them getting back together. Then she groaned.

  How could she forget Ashley? She couldn’t in all good conscience allow her to stay in her relationship with Ruel. She was almost sure that Ruel was less than honest with Ashley about his past. She grabbed his file and looked it over again. When she first read it she had wondered if King was mistaken.

  Ruel Dennison, forty years old, minister of the gospel, up until one year and two months ago married to Rosalie Dennison Nee Miller. They had a volatile marriage. Ruel's mother Miriam Dennison described them as the worst pairing in the history of pairings.

  Rosalie was an abuser, not the easiest of wives to handle, often becoming violent to her husband in public settings. Regina sat back with the file on her lap and couldn't quite imagine it. She had to give it to Ruel, he had not lifted a finger to defend himself against his wife.

  However, the next part of the report had her shaking her head in fear for Ashley. Ruel and Rosalie had taken a vacation together to Florida and Rosalie died in a car accident. Ruel had been driving but had not gotten a scratch from the accident.

  He conveniently had her body cremated and then he returned to Jamaica with an urn full of Rosalie’s ashes, where they had a thanksgiving service for her life.

  One week later he was at a convention and met Ashley. Six weeks later they were married.

  There was no grieving for his first wife; in fact, her friends said that it was the happiest they had ever seen him. His wife's passing had not even caused a ripple in his existence. It was too pat, too convenient. Ruel had something to hide. Regina was almost sure that he killed Rosalie and was getting away with it.

  She laid back down on her pillow and looked up at the ceiling contemplatively. Ashley was so defensive she probably wouldn't listen if she told her anything about her precious Ruel. She was still under the delusion that he was the epitome of love and goodwill. They were probably still in their honeymoon phase where she had her rose-colored glasses fixed firmly to her face.

  But Regina vowed she would not leave until Ashley heard the full story. She was sure if Ashley had heard what really happened she would not have married Ruel. Her sense of preservation would kick in and she would know better than to get herself involved in such a fishy situation.

  She glanced at her clock—too late now to catch Ashley walking, but she could take a stroll outside. She had passed a house at the bottom of the hill that stood out because of its garden. It had some lovely flowers. Maybe she could photograph some of them.

  ****

  When she reached the bottom of the hill she saw a tall young man watering the plants and singing Something Inside So Strong at the top of his voice. The more you refuse to hear my voice, the louder I will sing. He belted that part out and Regina slowed down and grinned. She was disappointed that she would not be able to take pictures but she was finding his antics of watering the plants and singing quite entertaining.

  He saw her and stopped singing. She hadn't wanted him to do that.

  "Hello," he called out chirpily and waved.

  Regina drifted closer to the white picket fence and smiled. "Hello. I wanted to take some pictures of your plants. They are beautiful; the only green place in this drought."

  "You can come in. My mom would be flattered that you like her plants enough to take pictures. If people are not impressed enough by them she finds some way to bring them up in conversations. So take as many pictures as you want."

  "How are they so green, though?" Regina asked, crouching down beside a deep violet shrub and positioning her camera at the perfect spot.

  "We water the plants with water from Rose Hill farms fish ponds. Uncle Conroy carries water from there for my mom every morning."

  "Oh." Regina took her eyes away from the camera and squinted up at him. She supposed that this was Oliver Allen.

  She had a very interesting dossier on his mother, Honey Allen, registered nurse, manager of the only clinic in the district.

  "Interesting isn't it?" Oliver asked her, thinking that she was impressed by the fish water explanation.

  "Yes, very interesting." Regina cleared her throat. "What's your name?"

  "Oliver Allen." He grinned. "And you need no introduction. You are the girl baller, Regina Tharwick."

  Regina frowned. "News travels fast around here."

  "Yes." Oliver nodded. He finished watering his section of the garden and came closer to her. "Josiah told me that you were staying up here. I have never met a girl who plays football before."

  Regina grinned. "A girl? That's very flattering, Oliver, but though I look like a fresh young chicken, I am really a tough old hen."

  Oliver laughed, his eyes sparkling in mirth. He was a handsome lad, maybe what the little girls in high school would call cute and whisper in the corners about. His hair was in curly ringlets across his head. Some of them were long enough they were almost in his eyes. He raked them away with his free hand and they came right back. The style should look feminine but didn't, not on him.

  "What was it like playing football on the national stage?" He grinned again and Regina got the sensation that she had seen that exact same grin just yesterday morning on Josiah Coke.

  They even had the same way of holding their heads. Oliver was waiting for her to say something about playing football but for the life of her she was shell-shocked. Why would he remind her of Josiah Coke? What was the story here?

  And once the thought took root that indeed there was a story there, it wouldn't go away. They didn't look much alike. Josiah was taller than average, whipcord lean and had a longish, straight face. This boy, Oliver, was average height and had a square face, a little cleft in his chin, all that curly Indian hair...

  "Excuse me," Honey called from the veranda. She was in a bright green and voluminous caftan dress. Her long hair hung to her hips in black, snaky tendrils. "Who are you?"

  Regina dragged her eyes from Oliver's face and concentrated on his mother. Oliver looked like her and she was aptly named honey. Her brown, smooth skin was the shade of orange blossom honey.

  "Hi, I am Regina." She pointed to the flowers. "I was just admiring your flowers and Oliver said it was okay for me to take pictures."

  Honey looked at her unsmilingly. "Okay."

  Obviously not impressed by the explanation, she folded her arms and looked at Regina as if waiting for something else.

  Regina searched in her mind for something to say. "It is a lovely area."

  "It's fine. We could do with some rain," Honey said, her voice slightly warmer. "We have a river about a half mile down the road but it is almost dry."

  "Completely dry. No water at all," Oliver murmured beside her. "It even has a waterfall. People go down there and swim when it has water. It's a pity you won't see it when it is flowing. You could take some pictures."

  "I could still take some pictures," Regina said, smiling. "Even dry river beds have their beauty."

  "I could show you where it is," Oliver said, putting down his watering can.

  Regina nodded. "Would you? That would be so nice of you." And then she added for his mother's benefit, "I must say, the people in this community are so welcoming and Christian-like."

  Oliver flushed at the compliment. "It's just how we are."

  Honey abandoned her folded-arm stance and the hostility fell from her. She stood back, looking at her son. "When you come back you have the flowers in the greenhouse to take care of."

  "Yes Mom." Oliver nodded.

  "Well, have a nice day, Regina." Honey's voice was much warmer now.

  Regina smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. er..." she stammered, deliberately pretending that she didn't know Honey's name.

  "Honey Allen," Honey said pleasantly. "You can call me Honey."

  *****

  "Very well-
played," Oliver said when they were out of earshot of his mother.

  "What are you talking about?" Regina feigned innocence.

  "You compliment her flowers, the neighborhood, you throw in Christianity and she's like putty in your hands."

  Regina looked at him, surprised at how astute he was. "I am not admitting to anything."

  Oliver chuckled. "You never did answer me about what it was like playing for the national team. You went into a little trance, staring at me, until my mother broke it up."

  Regina stopped walking and looked at him. "How old are you?"

  Oliver raised an eyebrow. "I am flattered, Miss Tharwick, by the question but I may seem like an old rooster but I really am a spring chicken."

  Regina laughed, unexpectedly surprised at his quick wit and sharp intelligence.

  "I am seventeen." Oliver folded his arms and looked at her. "How old are you?”

  "Thirty-five." Regina smirked. "I am old enough to be your mother."

  "I don't doubt it," Oliver grinned, "and I wasn't flirting. Besides, with your hairstyle and tattoos and masculine trod, I am going to assume you are not into my gender."

  Regina squinted at him. "Now, now, that's quite an assumption."

  "Yup." Oliver nodded. "I am guessing that's the right assumption too."

  Regina started walking. "So tell me about Primrose Hill. You are so observant I am guessing that you are the right source of information about this place."

  "You could say that." Oliver reached into his pocket for an elastic band and pulled his hair back into a ponytail.

  "And you won't go blabbing to anyone that I asked you?" Regina looked at him.

  "Nope. I don't blab." Oliver shrugged. "There is nobody to blab to. I am basically a loner. My mom made sure of that. She's, er, how would you put it?"

  "Overprotective?"

  Oliver chuckled. "That's my mom."

  "Where's your dad?" Regina put the camera to her eyes and pretended that she was interested in capturing a bird perched on a branch.

  "My dad is gone. Last my mom heard he was in Barbados, but she doesn't really know. He left when I was a baby. I don't remember a thing about him. My mom doesn't even have a picture. Uncle Conroy is more of a dad to me."

  Regina lowered the camera and looked at him quizzically. "That’s Conroy Coke, the guy with the farm?"

  "Yes." Oliver grinned. "You really don't do pretending that well."

  "What on earth do you mean?" Regina lifted the camera again.

  "You want to know about my parents and their relationship and if my mom has a guy in her life."

  "Well, yes." Regina nodded. "Is she with Conroy Coke?"

  "Maybe." Oliver shrugged. "They are pretty close. Every morning he carries water for Mom’s flowers in the back of his truck. She cooks breakfast for him. They talk a lot on the phone..."

  "Okay," Regina spun around and looked at him fully, "have you ever given thought to the fact that he is your real father?"

  Oliver laughed and then he sobered up. "No. That would be pretty impossible."

  "How impossible?"

  "Well, I am seventeen," Oliver said patiently, "which means they would have met up what, eighteen years ago. Eighteen years ago both of them were married to other people."

  Regina snorted. "Were they both in Jamaica?"

  "Yes." Oliver was looking uncomfortable now.

  "Where?"

  "In Kingston," Oliver said faintly. "My mom was a nurse at the University Hospital and Uncle Conroy was working as a police detective at some place or the other in Kingston too."

  "And..." Regina prompted.

  "And nothing." Oliver frowned. "They are not the kind of people to sneak around and have affairs. My mother is so, so..."

  "Perfect," Regina said, "holier than thou."

  Oliver looked at Regina contemplatively. "And Uncle Conroy is..."

  "The church police and a strict vegetarian," Regina grinned, "therefore they must not have had sexual relations."

  Oliver frowned but didn't say anything to that.

  "Never underestimate the drama potential of country folks," Regina said softly. "People are people wherever they are."

  "Why are you really here, Regina?" Oliver asked, frowning.

  "To make someone see sense and come back home with me," Regina answered promptly. "Speaking of returning home, when did your uncle Conroy come back to this place?"

  "Seven…eight years ago," Oliver said. He was obviously troubled. He ran his hand through his hair, dislodging the band that was holding it back.

  "And when did your mother come back?"

  "Around the same time." Oliver had all but slowed down. He stumbled slightly and then sat on a rock at the side of the road and put his hand on his head.

  "Coincidence," Regina murmured, "strange coincidence. Your father disappearing without contacting you. Conroy's wife leaving him and now they are back in the same district where they grew up together."

  "They were childhood sweethearts," Oliver said weakly. "My mom's parents were against them getting together because he is older than her, so they split them up. Both sets of parents are dead now, so when they returned to Primrose Hill they could hang out freely."

  "I wonder why they don't just get married, because here you are, their love child of years past." Regina grinned. "Quite a story."

  "It's not true." Oliver stood up and brushed himself off. "My mom would not lie to me for so long about something so important. Besides, she is very much against premarital sex, extramarital sex—well, sex in general."

  "Suit yourself if you want to believe that. Obviously, she must have been into sex at some point." Regina shrugged. "Tell me about Norma Kincaid."

  "What about her?" Oliver asked warily.

  "She scares me," Regina said after a pause.

  Oliver laughed. "Aunty Norma is nice."

  "Nice, huh?" Regina shuddered. "She's really not nice. She is the queen of naughty."

  Oliver breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the dry river bed after Regina's statement about his precious Aunty Norma.

  "I don't think I want to hear anything else." Oliver massaged his head.

  "Not even about your pastor? I have something juicy on him."

  "Good God, no!" Oliver said shakily. "You have suspicions about Pastor Ruel too?"

  "Oh yes," Regina said grimly. "I have suspicions about everybody and I am pretty sure I am right."

  Oliver looked at her, astonishment lighting his eyes. "But why?"

  "Because I told you I want back what is rightfully mine."

  "What is rightfully yours?" Oliver shook his head. "I thought you said that you want somebody to come back home with you."

  "I do," Regina said, determined. "And she is rightfully mine."

  "She? You say that as if this she is a possession." Oliver frowned. "Who could this person be?"

  "You'll work it out." Regina grinned. "Because I am pretty sure she'll be coming back with me soon. Until she comes home, there will not be any rest for the people at your church and their bag of secrets."

  *****

  Oliver returned home a little after ten. Regina had found the dry riverbed fascinating and she had changed the subject from secrets and cover-ups to football, a move calculated to make him feel more at ease, and it had worked. He watched as she walked up the hill, her camera swinging, and then he walked toward the greenhouse.

  His mother would be long gone to work by now and he had the rest of the day to himself after he watered the plants.

  He realized that he didn't want the rest of the day to think; Regina's little theory had stuck in his head and was whirring around like a whirlpool. He was convinced that Regina was totally wrong about his mother and Conroy Coke but he couldn't help but think, what if?

  What if she was right?

  His hand trembled on the water can and he put it down. His mother would not do what Regina was suggesting, nor would Conroy Coke. It was ridiculous, preposterous and downright crazy.
/>
  He was Oliver Allen. His real father was Tony Allen, medical doctor. His mother described him as tall, squarish face, a quiet person who had depression issues.

  He might not know him personally because he was too young when he left but he was still the donor of biological material to his DNA. Not anyone else. To even entertain such thoughts was madness.

  He imagined his mother shaking her head at him and confirming it. Madness Oliver, trite speculation by a stranger who doesn't know your family or the values they stand for.

  He left the water can in the middle of the greenhouse and then headed inside. He hadn't been this curious about his father in years. His mother had a grainy photo that she had showed him some time ago but it had disappeared since then and she was so defensive about talking about Tony Allen that it was not really worth it to bring him up in conversation.

  He needed a distraction, something, anything to take his mind off this loop it was on. He didn't have any distractions at home. His mother was distrustful of the television and when the last one broke down four years ago she did not replace it. She was also distrustful of computers and the Internet.

  He had gotten a laptop from the Kincaids for his birthday last year and he had gleefully watched as his mom tried hard not to refuse it. She was afraid of rubbing Norma Kincaid the wrong way.

  Knowing the power she wielded, Norma had given him the opportunity to come to her house to use the Internet anytime he wanted.

  He showered and pulled on his blue jeans and a purple t-shirt which could use some ironing but he was disturbed enough to not stop and get that done. He grabbed his laptop, pushed it in his bag and hoped that when he reached the Kincaids’ house Jack would be there. They usually played against each other in various video games. He had stopped playing a year ago but he really needed not to think today.

  Two things struck Oliver when he rode up into the Kincaid's yard. Pastor Ruel was in a whispered conversation with Aunty Norma in the middle of the driveway and the driver side of his car door was opened. A girl was sitting in the passenger side, her jean clad feet on the dashboard.