February 6th—Asa prepared dinner for me. We danced together again—and I find myself growing closer and closer to him. It is as if I need to connect to someone other than Whitney, Crystal, and the customers that come into the bookstore. The more time we spend together the more I like him. He is a wonderful friend and I know I’m going to miss him when he leaves to return to Delaware.
If she were truly honest then she would admit that Asa was becoming more than a friend. A knowing glance, a gentle caress, and a chaste kiss. These were hardly things shared by friends—especially between a man and a woman. When, she mused, had she become a coward?
Recapping the pen, she returned it and the journal to the drawer. She couldn’t write anymore. Not tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
Don’t forget to come straight home after practice.”
“I know, Mom.”
Deborah stared at Whitney’s impassive expression, her hand resting on the door handle. “Is something wrong, Whitney?”
“No, Mom. I was just thinking about something.” He exhaled audibly. “I’m going to have to leave now if I’m going to get to practice on time.”
“I’ll see you later,” Deborah said as she pushed open the car door and got out. She stood on the macadam staring at the Corolla’s taillights as Whitney drove off. They’d gone to early service without Crystal. Her daughter had overslept and Deborah had kept her promise not to become the girl’s alarm clock.
She’d reminded Whitney not to hang out with his teammates following basketball practice because she wanted him home when Asa arrived for dinner. Having her children there made it look less like a date than an invitation—which it was.
Deborah mounted the porch steps, pausing before unlocking and opening the door. It was only after she’d announced to her son and daughter that she’d invited Asa to eat with them that she’d noticed a change in Whitney’s demeanor. He’d looked at her, then mumbled “that’s nice.” Crystal had lifted her shoulders, but didn’t say anything.
Then Deborah began to question herself. Had she acted impulsively when she’d asked Asa to come to her house? Or was the invitation one she would’ve extended to anyone of whom she’d become fond? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had company for Sunday dinner before.
When Louis was alive they’d had Barbara and Terrell Nash and their children, Mabel and Lester Kelly, and of course her parents, Herman and Pearl Williams, as house guests and for holiday celebrations. She wasn’t going to let her children’s reaction to her inviting her friend spoil her excitement.
Tossing her keys into the small sweet-grass basket on the table in the entryway, she made her way to the half-bath off the kitchen to wash her hands. It was nine-thirty and Crystal still wasn’t up. How, she thought, was her daughter going to get up and make it to class on time once she was in college? Or worse—to work when she got a job? Deborah knew she couldn’t continue to agonize over Crystal’s inability to wake up on time, because they’d talked about it over and over until she was at a loss for words.
She left the bathroom and flicked on the coffeemaker. There had been a time when Deborah would brew a four-cup carafe and drink four cups of coffee a day. That changed when Louis gave her a single-cup brewing system for Mother’s Day, and she’d gone from four cups to one, or sometimes two, cups a day. She had always switched from caffeinated to decaf because she’d had a problem falling asleep.
Deborah had finished her coffee and a slice of cracked wheat toast topped with strawberry preserves when Crystal walked barefoot into the kitchen in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. Her hair stood out like tiny spikes on her head.
“Good morning, Mom. Why didn’t you wake me so I could go to church?”
“You know I stopped waking you up months ago. If you’d wanted to go, then you should have set your clock.”
Crystal sat on a high stool at the cooking island. “I did. But I guess I didn’t hear it.”
“You didn’t hear it, or you hit the snooze button?”
“I remember hitting snooze, but then I guess I went back to sleep.” She ignored her mother’s pointed stare. “I had cheerleading practice today.”
Deborah did not respond. In the past Louis would’ve driven her to practice. He would pick up the slack, or pitch in whenever Deborah was unable to make a meeting or arrive home in time to start dinner. But Louis wasn’t here.
Deborah rinsed her coffee mug, placing it in the dishwasher before opening the refrigerator to take out the fresh turkey she’d marinated the night before.
“Are you taking me to practice?”
Deborah set the large glass-covered dish with the turkey on the countertop. “No, Crystal, I am not taking you to practice.”
Crystal pushed out her lip, slid off the stool, and stomped out of the kitchen. “It’s not fair! I’m going to get kicked off the squad.”
Deborah wanted to tell her that life wasn’t fair. It had taken her husband and the father of her children from her in the prime of his life. And if Crystal was going to get booted off the cheerleading squad, she had no one to blame but herself.
“You can’t live your life expecting people to wake you up, Chrissie. If you got up when you were supposed to, then you could’ve caught a ride with Whitney. Why don’t you move your clock to a place where you can’t reach over and hit the snooze button? Put it on your dresser, then you’ll be forced to get out of bed to turn it off.”
“It’s still not fair.”
Mentally dismissing Crystal and her antics, Deborah busied herself setting the dining room table with a handmade crocheted tablecloth, china, silver, and crystal. A bouquet of flowers in a Waterford vase doubled as the centerpiece.
She’d ordered the fresh turkey from the supermarket. The produce section was stocked with a cornucopia of locally grown vegetables, and she’d selected fresh mustard and turnip greens and enough sweet potatoes for two pies.
Deborah had planned her menu to include roast turkey with herb/sausage stuffing, white long-grain Carolina rice, giblet gravy, greens with smoked turkey, and cornbread. She would cook enough so there would be leftovers. She’d just placed the turkey on the rack in a roasting pan when the telephone rang. Wiping her hands on a towel, she picked up the cordless receiver.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Deborah. Babs.”
“Hey! How are you?”
“Good, girl. I’m calling to ask you whether Whitney and Crystal can spend the night at my place after the school dance. You know Janelle’s birthday is the fourteenth, and instead of a party I told her she could have a sleepover. I know Whitney’s not going to want to be around a bunch of giggling girls, so he’ll probably hang out with Nate.”
“Crystal didn’t tell me about the sleepover.”
“I just thought of it this morning. I’d planned to have something at a restaurant at the end of the month, but then remembered Crystal and Whitney were going to Florida for the break.”
“I don’t have a problem with them staying over,” Deborah said.
“Good,” Barbara said. “Nate will tell Whitney and he’ll give Crystal an invitation. I know I should have my head examined for entertaining a houseful of teenagers, but I’d rather have them here where I can keep an eye on them rather than drop them off at a restaurant. Janelle wants a D.J., but I told her I don’t want the neighbors calling the police if it gets too loud.”
“How many kids do you plan to invite?”
“No more than a dozen. That’s why I’m handing out invitations. If anyone shows up without one, then they’re not coming in. And you know how these kids do when they hear about a party. It becomes a mob scene and when you try putting them out or not letting any more in, they get stupid and come back with guns. I swear before goodness that I will not have a bunch of thugs crash my child’s party.”
“Have Terrell act as bouncer. I’m certain he could toss a few of them like he used to throw a football when he was a college quarterback.”
“Please, Deborah. A
ll the kids know my husband is all bark and no bite.”
“I’m willing to bet he won’t just bark when it comes to his daughter.”
Barbara’s high-pitched laugh came through the earpiece. “Anyone messing with Janelle will turn my teddy bear of a husband into a beast. And that’s one side of him I witnessed once and don’t want to see again. I just want you to know that your kids will be safe while they’re here.”
It wouldn’t be the first time Crystal and Whitney would stay with their former neighbors, but it would be the first time they would attend a house party there while Deborah remained so far away on the Cove. She knew Barbara was apprehensive about hosting the party because there had been a rash of shootings when uninvited partygoers were denied access, but Deborah trusted Terrell and Barbara and was certain they would take the necessary steps to avoid a similar situation.
“I know they will.”
Anchoring the receiver between her chin and shoulder, Deborah continued to talk while she put up a pot of boiling water for the sweet potatoes, then went into the pantry for a canister of flour to make pie crusts. She brought Barbara up-to-date about the bookstore. Deborah didn’t mention Asa because she wasn’t certain when Crystal would walk into the kitchen.
“I’ve been working double shifts,” Barbara said. “We had eleven nurses retire at the end of last year and so far administration has only hired two to replace them. I am working harder than a pack mule going down the Grand Canyon. I keep telling Terrell that I’m going to quit and find a position as a school nurse. At least I’ll have holidays and summers off.”
“That was why I loved teaching, Babs.”
“I know you have the bookstore, but would you ever consider teaching again?”
“That’s something I thought about after Louis died and I closed the store,” Deborah admitted. “I knew I was going to move to Sanctuary Cove, so I went online to look into vacancies for the schools on the island.”
“Did you find any?”
“There is one opening for a language arts teacher in Haven Creek, for the upcoming school year. While I was thinking about whether to fill out the online application I found the vacant store, and you know the rest.”
“It’s nice that you have options, Debs. You have three elementary/junior high schools on the island from which to choose if you decide to go back to teaching. You’ll probably have no more than an eight-to-one student-teacher ratio and field trips will be picking up seashells along the beach.”
“Stop it, Babs. You know I’m a visual person. All you have to do is mention the beach and I’m there.”
“Have you been to the beach since moving back?”
“Not yet. But soon.”
“I envy you, Deborah. Every time I go to Cavanaugh Island I get mad as hell when I come back. Please, don’t get me wrong. Charleston is beautiful, but the older I get the more I want a slower pace. I’ve been telling Terrell that as soon as the kids are up and out of the house we are moving. I wouldn’t mind buying a little place in Sanctuary Cove and commuting.”
“I know there are a few houses on the market. Some are fixer uppers and one or two are close to move-in condition. Remember Congressman Jason Parker?”
“The Ken doll?”
Deborah laughed. “He’s the one.”
“What about him?”
“He moved to the Cove.”
“No!”
“Yes. I saw his wife and kids in church last Sunday.”
“But they live in a mansion on South Battery.”
“They don’t live there anymore,” Deborah stated. “They bought a dilapidated house that had belonged to an eighteenth-century shipping merchant and renovated it. I’ve heard talk that it is one of the grandest homes on the Cove. It’s apparent they wanted a slower, simpler way of life for themselves and their children. I happen to know of a foreclosed abandoned property that’s going for around thirty thousand. It’s small, but it would be the perfect vacation home. There’s even enough land where you can build out and up. And with developers sniffing around like hounds after a rabbit, it’s not going to stay on the market long.”
She gave Barbara an overview of the last town council meeting. “I don’t want to believe they’re the type to cut and run. They’ll probably resort to underhanded tactics, like having their people buy up vacant lots and homes and hold on to them while waiting for sentiment to change in their favor.”
“I’m definitely going to talk to Terrell about looking into buying property on Cavanaugh. Maybe before the year is out we’ll be neighbors again.” Barbara told her, then said, “What’s up with you and Asa?”
“He’s coming for dinner,” she whispered into the mouthpiece.
“Are you home alone?”
“No.”
“Then you have to call me once he leaves and fill me in.”
“I will,” Deborah said in a normal tone.
By the time Deborah ended the call, she’d rolled out two pie crusts and boiled the potatoes. Crystal, having showered and combed her hair, returned to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself. She seemed to have recovered from missing practice when she talked excitedly about attending her first high school dance. Deborah told her about Janelle’s birthday party and sleepover.
Mother and daughter worked together cutting, chopping, and sautéing as the kitchen was filled with delicious smells that tantalized their olfactory nerves. The basted turkey had taken on a light golden color, and the aromas from the roasting bird permeated the space.
Deborah finished preparing her dinner at one-forty, then retreated to her en suite bath to shower and change her clothes. Whitney, who had returned at two claiming he was starved, knew he wouldn’t sit down to eat until their customary four o’clock. He showered quickly, also changing his clothes. When the doorbell rang at three-thirty, he went to answer it.
Asa smiled at the tall, lanky young man. “Good afternoon, Whitney.”
Whitney opened the door wider. “Good afternoon, Mr. Monroe. Please come in.”
Asa handed the boy a shopping bag. “This is a little something for dessert.”
Whitney peered into the bag. “What is it?” he whispered conspiratorially.
“Mississippi pecan pie. I hope no one is allergic to nuts.”
Whitney’s eyes danced with excitement. “No one in this house. Come in,” he urged when Asa held back. Going to the staircase, he called out, “Mom! Mr. Monroe is here.”
Deborah skipped down the staircase and slowed when she saw Asa staring up at her. A slight smile parted her lips as she took in the sight of him. He wore a pair of black, sharply creased slacks, slip-ons, a white silk shirt opened at the throat, and a pale-gray lightweight jacket.
She stepped off the stair, extending her hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Asa inclined his head. “Thank you for inviting me. Something smells good.”
Crystal, who had come from the kitchen, stopped when she saw Asa standing in the entryway. She tilted her head to the side as if trying to remember where she knew him from, then her gaze shifted between Asa and her mother. She closed the distance between them, holding out her hand.
“Hello again, Mr. Monroe,” she said, finally recognizing him from the bookstore.
Asa smiled at Deborah’s daughter and shook the proffered hand. “Hello to you, too, Crystal.”
Crystal released his hand. “Come and I’ll show you where you can wash your hands. My Mom has a cow every time we come to the table without washing our hands. Well, you do, Mom,” she added when Deborah gave her a no you didn’t say that look.
Whitney handed his mother the shopping bag. “Mr. Monroe bought a pecan pie.”
“I told him not to bring anything.”
“No biggie, Mom. I’ll eat it,” Whitney volunteered.
“You do that, you’ll be bouncing off the walls from a sugar rush.” Looping her arm over her son’s, they walked toward the kitchen. “Put the pie on the countertop with the others.” When Asa emerged fr
om the half-bath, she took his hand and led him to the dining room where Crystal had taken her seat. Deborah had removed the leaf in the dining room table and took away two of the six chairs for a more intimate seating. “You can sit here,” she said, directing Asa to sit at one end of the walnut pedestal table.
Crystal stilled, glaring at Asa. Deborah noticed the change in her daughter’s demeanor, wondering what had caused her to bristle.
“Asa, would you mind saying grace?” Deborah asked.
With wide eyes filling with tears, Crystal glared at her mother. The tears overflowed as she bit her lip to stifle the sobs. It wasn’t until a sob echoed in the room that Deborah turned to look at her daughter.
A frown of concern lined her forehead. “What’s the matter?”
“How could you, Mama?”
Whitney, who had entered the dining room, stared at his sister. “What’s going on?”
Crystal pointed to Deborah. “Ask the traitor.”
Deborah wanted to disappear on the spot. “Traitor? Crystal, honey, why would you say something like that?” she said, clasping her daughter’s hands. “I’m not a traitor. I’m your mother,” she responded softly. “What’s wrong?”
Crystal’s chin trembled as the tears continued to flow. “How… how can you have him sit in Daddy’s chair when…” Her words trailed off in another round of heart-wrenching sobs.
Pushing back the chair, Asa stood up. “I’m sorry, but I think I need to leave.”
Resting her hands on her hips, Deborah’s eyes went from Asa to Crystal and back again. “No, Asa. You don’t have to leave.”
He held up his hands. “But…”
“Please, sit down, Asa. You too, Whitney,” she said in a voice made her children stare at her as if they’d never seen her before. Although spoken softly, it held a hard edge.
Deborah sat opposite Asa, her eyes moving slowly around the table before coming to rest on Crystal. “If you have a problem, then speak on it. After that I intend to have a civil Sunday dinner without your disrespect.”
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