“Don’t even try and go there, Crystal Robinson. I’m going to let you try my shoes on, but you’re not going to wear them. Besides, those heels are four inches, and I doubt whether you’d be able to walk in heels that high.”
“I have almost a month to practice.”
“How tall is this boy?”
“He’s taller than me.”
“Will he be taller than you when you put on four-inch heels?” Deborah questioned.
Crystal scrunched up her face. “I don’t know.”
“Find out how tall he is before we buy your shoes. At sixteen boys don’t like it too much when a girl is taller than them.”
“I don’t like being tall.”
“I’m tall, Crystal, and so is your grandmother. Learn to accept it.” Pearl Williams was five-ten, Deborah five-eight and Crystal was five-nine—and still growing. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was after seven. “Where’s Whitney?”
“He’s in his room typing a sample article for his meeting with Mr. Wilkes tomorrow. I should let you know that there’s talk going around the school about Whitney.”
Deborah closed her eyes. What she didn’t want was a repeat of what had happened to Louis. “What kind of talk?” she asked, opening her eyes.
“Some kids are saying he’s gay. That he doesn’t like girls.”
“What does Whitney say?”
“He doesn’t say anything. I know he likes girls, because he’s been talking and texting one who lives in Haven Creek.”
“I take it the other kids don’t know this?”
“He says it’s none of their business.”
Deborah smiled. “Good for him. I’m not going to say anything to him about what you just told me, but I hope she’s at least a nice girl.”
“I don’t think she’s a ho, but I don’t know her like that.”
“I hope you don’t talk like this around that boy you like.”
“I don’t,” Crystal confirmed.
“Then why me, Crystal?”
“Because you’re cool like that, Mom.”
Smiling, Deborah ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Yeah. I guess I am cool like that. I’m glad you found a boy you like.”
“He’s nice, Mom.”
“That’s even better. Where does he live again?”
“Charleston.”
“I’d like to meet him,” Deborah said.
Crystal’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Can he come tomorrow for the grand opening?”
Deborah nodded. It had been a while since Crystal seemed so upbeat about someone or something. “Of course. After dinner I want you to call his mother and I’ll talk to her.”
Crystal’s expression changed, the excitement in her eyes fading quickly. “How is he going to get here, Mom? Darius doesn’t drive. That’s his name. Darius.”
Deborah knew her daughter was flustered because her words came out choppy. “Don’t worry about him getting here, baby. If his mother says he can come, then she can drop him off at the ferry and I’ll have Whitney meet him at the pier.”
Springing up from her chair like a jack-in-the-box, Crystal wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best, Mom.”
Deborah hugged her back. “I thought I was cool.”
Crystal kissed her again. “That, too.”
“What are we going to make for dinner?”
Crystal jumped and ran over to the refrigerator, holding the door open while she peered inside. “I defrosted some ground beef yesterday because I wanted burgers. But we can always use it for chili.”
Deborah rose to her feet. “Chili sounds good. There should be some kidney beans in the pantry,” she said as she walked to the half-bath to wash up. “See if the lettuce is still good. I’ll put together a salad.”
“How about garlic bread, Mom?”
“That sounds good,” she called out from the bathroom.
She returned to the kitchen to find Whitney standing there in bare feet, holding several printed pages. He wore a white tee and jeans. She could never understand his aversion to wearing shoes.
“Hey, you look nice.”
“Thank you, Whit.” It had been weeks since her children had seen her made over, and having them compliment her buoyed her spirits.
“Mom, can you look these over when you get a chance?”
Deborah tossed the paper towel on which she had dried her hands into the wastebasket under the countertop. “Are you sure you want me to see them before they’re published in the Chronicle?”
“What makes you so sure that Mr. Wilkes is going to hire me?”
“The news he prints is old and tired, Whit. Hannah Forsyth’s column about the history of the island is repetitious. People only buy the paper because they’re hoping for something new. I’ve read the articles you’ve published in your school paper, and they are a lot better than what’s in the Chronicle. If it wasn’t for the ads, Eddie would’ve closed up shop a long time ago.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t close down until I get some articles in print. These are about Grandma Sallie Ann. I need you to tell me if I got the facts straight.”
Deborah nodded. “Okay. I’ll look at them after dinner. Leave them on the table in the back porch. And I promise not to take out my red pencil.”
Whitney cut his eyes at his mother. “Real funny, Mom. I meant to ask you if you’ve read Grandma’s letters.”
“Yes, and burned them.”
“Why?”
“What’s in them was for my eyes only.”
“Were they X-rated?”
“No, Whit. They were very personal. Things that happened before she married my grandfather. I plan to start reading her journals tonight. I’m willing to bet they’ll be less personal. And if they are, then I’ll let you read them for yourself. Maybe one of these days you’ll write a book about her.”
“Why haven’t you written a book?” Whitney asked his mother.
“What would I write about? My life hasn’t been that exciting that someone would want to read about it.”
“It doesn’t have to be nonfiction.”
Deborah opened a cabinet and took out the pressure cooker. “I’d rather read books than try to write one.”
“If I do write one, will you edit it for me?” Whitney asked.
“Yes, I will. Remember, I want you and Crystal to come to the grand opening tomorrow. In fact, you should write about it. I know it smacks of nepotism, but who cares.”
“What are you wearing, Mom?” Crystal asked as she cradled two large cans of beans to her chest.
“Probably a blouse and dress slacks.”
She set down the cans. “Can I pick out your shoes?”
“Don’t pick out anything that will make her look like a hoochie, because you know there will be photos,” Whitney warned his sister.
Deborah gasped. “I beg your pardon, young man. For your information none of my shoes come even close to hoochie status. So, mind your mouth.”
“I guess I’d better take my foot out my mouth and get out of here while I can still walk,” Whitney whispered under his breath.
“Good advice, brother love,” Crystal drawled facetiously, laughing when her brother left the kitchen. “What if we have chili burgers instead of chili con carne?”
“You’re the chef tonight and I’m the sous chef. It’s whatever you decide. What do you want me to do?” Deborah asked.
“I need you to cut up several onions, garlic, bell pepper, and a few jalapeños.”
“How much is a few, Crystal?”
“Three, four.”
“No pepper mouth. I’m not going to eat food so spicy that I’m reliving it days later.”
“Okay, Mom. Two jalapeños.”
Deborah sat up in bed, her journal on her lap. Crystal had outdone herself when she added cubes of pepper jack cheese and finely chopped jalapeños to the ground beef patties, cooking them on the
stovetop grill until they were tender and juicy with just enough heat to tantalize the palate. The garlic butter slathered on toasted hamburger buns and covered with a thick piquant chili along with an accompanying Greek salad had surpassed what they would’ve eaten at their favorite restaurant. She could see Crystal growing her own vegetables and serving them for dinner.
Reaching for a pen, she opened the cloth-covered book.
January 14th—I don’t know what’s happening to me. I find myself thinking about Asa when I least expect it. And I find myself wanting him when I don’t want to. I say want because I don’t want to need him. Needing Asa would make me dependent upon him, and that would prove disastrous when it comes time for him to leave the Cove. However, whenever I am around him I feel good—very good.
He’s been a perfect gentleman, not giving me any indication that he wants more than friendship. But, I have to be honest when I say I don’t know what I would do if he did. I’m still in love with Louis. I will always love Louis, and right now there is no room in my life for romance or another man.
Deborah closed the journal, placed it in the drawer, and turned off the bedside lamp. As she lay down to fall asleep her mind was flooded with images of Asa. His face, his smile, his tall, strong body, his hands. She loved his hands and the way they felt when he touched her. She thought about the way they skimmed the keys when he’d played the piano, envisioning his fingers caressing her naked body as they had the ivory. She imagined what it would feel like to have him stroke her most intimate places, bringing herself to climax before she realized what she’d been doing. Exhausted, she finally fell asleep, but not before trying to convince her heart that she was not falling in love with Asa Monroe.
Chapter Eleven
As Deborah maneuvered her car into the lot behind Moss Alley, she spotted Asa’s truck. She shut off the engine and exited her car, but instead of entering the bookstore from the back door, she came around to the front. She wanted to see the new door in the bright daylight. The rain had stopped at dawn and the heat had returned with the rising sun. The weather was perfect for a grand opening. It was Saturday, the weekend, and a time when tourists came to the Sea Islands to shop.
Deborah had a sudden memory of years before. When she’d first told Louis her intent to stop teaching and open a store, he’d looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. Although in the end he’d given her his support Deborah knew he’d believed she would fail. However, she proved him and the other skeptics wrong because The Parlor offered the public what other bookstores hadn’t—a nostalgic down-home, small-town charm that was wholly Americana. Those were past times when life was hard, but simple. Most people didn’t have much, but they were content with their existence. Sunday dinners were family-oriented and national holidays meant fireworks, picnics, and county fairs. When her customers walked into The Parlor they felt that and more. Most were repeat customers, some who sat and talked long enough to form friendships. The homey atmosphere was what she’d tried to evoke, and had with much success.
This was what she’d duplicated with the Cove’s bookstore. The piano was certain to garner a lot of interest, and the fact that she and Asa could play the magnificent instrument—he a lot better than she—was a double asset. There had been a time when she’d played for her children every night before putting them to bed. She’d gone from playing nursery rhymes to pop and show tunes to classical compositions once they’d begun taking lessons.
She still played duets with Crystal, who’d taken to the instrument like a duck to water, and Deborah attended her many recitals. Whitney, who’d hated to practice, stopped playing altogether when he turned ten. Crystal had continued taking lessons until she was thirteen. Deborah knew that Deborah McLeary would be proud to know that her precious piano hadn’t been sold or left to gather dust in some warehouse, and that her namesake had kept it in concert-ready condition.
Standing outside the bookstore, she stared at the newly installed doors. The glass on the outer door was spotless. Moving closer she peered at the designer door, with its pattern reminiscent of those designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Peter Raney was right. The beveled glass distorted objects inside the store, while the blinds covering the plate glass window concealed the piano and everything beyond it from view.
The day before, Deborah had set up her computer and printed a sign with the store’s hours of operation, and set it in a silver frame that she placed in the window for all to see. Whitney had been given the task of designing a business card and the result was in keeping with the locale. Green lettering on buff-colored parchment with the image of a palmetto tree advertised the Cove’s first and only bookstore.
Returning to her car, she opened the trunk and retrieved the hand-quilted runner for the table where she would place the live plants. She’d just put the key in the lock when the door opened and Asa stood, gaze fixated on her.
“Welcome to The Parlor.” He bowed low as if she were royalty.
Deborah was too stunned to react, her breath catching in her throat. Asa had exchanged his casual attire for a white shirt, dark-gray silk tie, and a pair of charcoal gray suit trousers with a faint pinstripe. His footwear was a pair of Stacey Adams black leather slip-ons. He looked and smelled incredible.
She recovered quickly, giving him a modified curtsey. “Thank you, sir. You’re here early,” she said when he stepped aside to let her in.
“I decided not to wait and moved in earlier this morning.”
Deborah smiled. “Good for you.”
“You look beautiful.”
Deborah froze, her eyes meeting Asa’s. She’d wanted to tell him how handsome he looked, but he had complimented her first. A swath of heat swept over her, settling in her chest before moving lower. When she’d gotten up that morning she’d wondered about his reaction to seeing her with makeup, heels, and a different hairstyle. What she hadn’t understood was why she was concerned about his reaction to her appearance, but seeing the way he was looking at her made it all the more clear. She wanted him to think her pretty, because she liked Asa Monroe.
Lowering her eyes and giving him a demure smile, Deborah said, “Thank you.” As she turned to put the finishing touches on the store’s appearance, she could feel the heat from Asa’s gaze on her back.
Asa stared at the woman he’d grown to care for during his stay on the island. The electrician and his son had installed the doors before Deborah was to leave for her hair appointment, so he left after they did to return to the boardinghouse to pack. When he’d sat down to eat with the other guests he realized it would be the last time he would dine with them. Just knowing he would have a place to eat, sleep, and read in peace had made it difficult for him to contain his excitement. And for the first time, he’d joined the others in the parlor for cordials. That night when he went to bed, there was luggage sitting by the door. And when he finally fell asleep he’d dreamed of a beautiful woman with curly hair and a face like the angels in Renaissance paintings.
But the Deborah Robinson he knew had morphed into a sophisticate who belonged on the slick pages of Town and Country. The curls were missing and in their place was a sleek coif that swayed around her face and neck whenever she moved her head. Parted off-center, the smooth dark-brown strands with streaks of gold looked like threads of liquid silk. A light covering of makeup enhanced her dark eyes and full mouth.
How, he mused, could a woman look so utterly sexy in a tailored white blouse and black slacks? Some men liked their women in a state of undress, while he preferred his women clothed so he could imagine what they looked like without them. And right now his imagination had gone into overdrive. A single strand of large pearls, matching studs in her ears, and a pair of black cloth-covered pumps with decorative silk bows complemented her incredible look.
“What are you going to put on the table?” Asa asked.
“I have potted plants in the trunk of my car. I thought having live green plants would add a nice touch.”
“I’ll bring t
hem in. What else do you need me to do?”
Deborah turned and patted his chest. “Nothing. Just look gorgeous for the ladies.”
“So, I’m going to be your piece of meat.”
Deborah ran her hands along his solid shoulders, smoothing the pristine shirt. “You’re more than just meat. You’re filet mignon.”
Asa shook his head, smiling. “I prefer well-done rib eye with garlic butter or prime rib with horseradish.”
Her smile matched his. “I’ll keep that in mind when I treat you to dinner.”
“Let me go and get those plants.”
Deborah glanced at the time on the cable box. She had twenty minutes before The Parlor would open for business. She turned on the fans to circulate the warm air and lit scented candles, and the glow from track lighting and the sound of soft music set the stage for when she would finally open the door to welcome her first customer.
Asa came through the back door, kicking it closed behind him while carrying a plastic crate overflowing with greenery. “I’ll leave you to arrange them however you want.”
“Put the crate on the floor and I’ll take care of them,” Deborah called out. “Can you come over here for a minute?” She waited for Asa to come to where she sat at the desk, opening the top drawer and handing him a key on a black elastic band. “That’s the key to the drawer in the writing table. Please open it.”
Asa sat down at the table and opened the drawer, revealing the built-in compartment with stacks of bills in denominations from twenties to singles. There were also compartments for coins. “Nice.”
“We need enough cash on hand to make change for customers.” She punched several buttons on the cash register and the drawer opened. “You’ll have to put in a pin number to open the register.”
“A little security to keep someone from reaching over and dipping in the till,” Asa said, nodding.
Deborah nodded. “I had to learn that the hard way. One time when I’d stepped away from the front someone walked in, opened the cash register, and scooped up whatever money was there before I realized what was happening. That’s why I bought this one and I don’t leave much cash in it. The credit card machine is connected to the landline telephone.” She’d plugged in a cordless phone extension in the apartment and had an additional handset on the writing table. “All daily receipts will go here, orders in this one,” she said opening and closing drawers in the desk. “I keep thinking I’m forgetting something.”
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