Lessons of a
Lowcountry
Summer
Also by Rochelle Alers
Secrets Never Told
Published by Pocket Books
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Rochelle Alers
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-8898-3
ISBN-10: 0-7434-8898-9
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Interior design by Davina Mock
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To Vivian Stephens—for the endless chats.
I belong to my love, and his desire is for me.
—The Song of Songs 7:11
The New Jerusalem Bible
Part One
HOPE SUTTON
One is not born a woman, one becomes one.
—Simone de Beauvoir
One
Every night we make love, every hour we are parting.
—Anna Swir
Dear Dr. Hope,
Last year I married a man who is the father of my four-year-old son. My husband also has a ten-year-old daughter from a prior relationship. He is a supportive partner, and a loving and affectionate father, but his daughter’s mother is making my life a living hell. A month after we were married, she began dropping off her daughter at our house every weekend and during school holiday recesses with the excuse that she wants her to get to know her brother better. The girl is disrespectful to me, but only when her father is not around, and rebels by refusing to bathe or change her clothes. I have spoken to my husband about her behavior, and he says she’s just going through a phase. It may be a phase, but it is putting a strain on my marriage. After a rather heated argument, I threatened to leave him because I am tired of being used by a woman who is not above using her daughter to disrupt our household.
Stressed out in San Antonio.
Hope Sutton stared at the letter, seeing, yet not registering, the words; she’d answered the same query thousands of times since she had become an advice columnist for a leading New York City daily. She had been a high school psychologist with a small private practice when she had begun her “Dr. Hope’s Straight Talk” column for the newspaper’s weekend edition. What had been a temporary assignment had become a publishing success for her. Four years later, her daily syndicated column appeared in more than eighteen hundred papers nationwide.
At thirty-eight, her gift for analyzing interpersonal conflicts had earned her the sobriquet “the female Dr. Phil.” Her in-your-face approach to tackling life’s problems in her syndicated column had become her trademark. Her dulcet voice, if she decided to accept a position with an Atlanta talk radio station, would be broadcasted throughout the South and Northeast.
“He’s not a supportive partner,” she said softly.
“Who’s not a supportive partner?”
Hope shifted her gaze from the letter resting on a stack of others on the desk beside her laptop. Hope smiled at her significant other as he closed the distance between them. He was dressed for bed in a pair of silk pajama pants that rode low on his hips. Kendall Clarke leaned down and brushed his mouth over her parted lips. She kissed him deeply, enjoying the feel of the crisp hair above his top lip.
“A woman’s husband who refuses to back her up.”
His fingers circled her neck. “You know I always have your back.”
“My back and my front,” she teased.
“You’ve got that right. Aren’t you ready to go to bed?” His deep voice rumbled in his chest. It was after eleven.
“Yes.” Her throaty voice dropped an octave.
The word was barely out of her mouth before Kendall swept her up into his strong embrace. He shifted her weight and carried her into a bedroom in his Brooklyn Heights duplex. Hope tightened her grip on his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but she had fallen in love. It had been three years since a mutual friend introduced her to KC, and at first glance she had dismissed him as someone she would never consider dating. Not only did he not look like her type but he was also an accountant. She’d thought watching moss grow on a rock would be more stimulating than interacting with a man who found balance sheets and investment portfolios the pinnacle of excitement.
All of that had changed once she’d taken the advice she dished out to her readers whenever they complained of not being able to find a “good black man,” and decided to give him one try. She’d discovered that KC was an astute businessman, disease and drug-free, not a baby daddy, and did not have a string of crazy chicken head ex-girlfriends harassing him. It no longer mattered that he was shorter than average, balding, and matched her weight pound for pound. He was sensitive, generous and had impeccable manners.
The coup de grace had come when he’d picked up her five-nine, one-hundred-seventy-pound body with the ease of a running back carrying a football the length of the field, removed her clothes in under a minute, and made love to her in a way that had left her screaming for someone to dial nine-one-one to stop his sensual assault.
He lowered her to the king-size bed, his body following. Supporting his weight on his arms, he pressed his groin to her middle. His dark gaze lingered on her mouth before it inched up to her eyes.
“I love you, Hope.”
She closed her eyes. “And I love you, too, KC.”
He touched her cheek. “Open your eyes, baby.” She complied. “Why do you always close your eyes whenever you tell me you love me?”
Kendall ran his forefinger down the length of her short, straight nose. The light from the bedside table lamp threw a shaft of light across her face, illuminating the warm orange and gold undertones in her flawless mahogany skin.
“I wasn’t aware that I do.”
“Well, you do,” he countered softly. “Can’t you tell me that you love me without shutting me out?”
She gave him a direct stare. “I love you, Kendall. Is that better?”
He laughed, displaying a mouth filled with large, perfectly aligned teeth. Tiny lines fanned out around his eyes. “Yes, baby.”
Hope smiled as Kendall slowly and methodically unbuttoned her man-tailored shirt, pushing if off her shoulders. His gaze lingered on the swell of flesh rising above the cups of a white lace bra. Reaching around to her back, he unhooked the bra and removed it. She raised her hips as he eased her leggings and panties down her legs. Seconds later, his pajama pants joined her discarded clothes at the foot of the large bed.
Hope closed her eyes as Kendall parted her knees with one of his and eased his penis into her. They sighed in unison when her body closed around his. Curving her arms under his shoulders, she held him as he moved in and out, establishing a rhythm that never failed to bring her to a climax. Just when she felt as if she were falling over a precipice, he changed tempo, pulling her back. This was what she loved about making love with him. He always took his time, making certain she received as much pleasure as she gave. She raised her knees until they almost touched her shoulders, allowing him deeper penetration. Her soft moans overlapped Kendall’s as they climaxed together.
Sated, Kendall rolled over and lay beside Hope. “Marry me, baby.”
Hope went completely still—so still that she could hear her heart beating inside her chest. She closed her eyes and cursed Kendall’s timing. If he had proposed three days before, she would have accepted without hesitation. Three days ago she hadn’t been engaged in talks to host a late-night radio talk segment at Atlanta’s top radio station. Taking the job would mean relocating from New York to Georgia.
“Hope?”
She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. His hand was soft, and as smooth as hers. Hope smiled. Kendall could figure an amortization schedule in his head, yet he was completely helpless with a hammer and nail. “Yes, KC?”
He turned his head and stared at her profile. Her expression was impassive. “I asked if you would marry me.”
“I heard you.”
Pulling his hand away, he rose on an elbow. “Yes or no?”
Hope looked at him and smiled. Kendall’s expectant expression reminded her of her nieces and nephews whenever she visited them with a shopping bag filled with colorfully wrapped packages.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Pushing into a sitting position, she reached down and pulled a sheet up over her naked body. “Don’t make it sound like that.”
“Like what?” The two words exploded from him.
“Like I’ve rejected you.”
Kendall waved a hand. “What the hell else is it, if it isn’t a rejection?”
Hope combed both hands through her hair and stared at the man beside her. A flush of color had suffused his gold-brown face; his toned pectorals rose and fell heavily with each breath.
“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for certain if I was willing to relocate.”
His eyes literally bulged from their sockets. “Relocate where?”
“Atlanta.” Her voice was soft. It was her therapist voice.
Shaking his head, Kendall fell back to the pillows. “Who or what is in Atlanta?”
Hope briefly explained the offer she’d received to host her own radio show.
“When were you going to tell me, Hope?”
“I just told you.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. If I hadn’t proposed to you, would you have confided in me? Were you waiting for the movers to load their truck before—”
“Stop it, Kendall,” she said, cutting him off.
“No, Hope, I will not stop. Why haven’t you given them an answer? Are you holding out for more money?”
She was irked by his mocking tone. And for the first time since meeting Kendall, she saw him as a spoiled little boy who wasn’t going to get his way.
“It has nothing to do with money.” She refused to tell him how much she was being offered, or that one of the perks included a home in an upscale suburb.
“If it’s not the money, then what is it?”
Hope stared at him, letting seconds tick by. “I have to decide whether I want to leave my home, my family and you.”
A look of tenderness softened Kendall’s gaze. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you. Even if it means relocating to Atlanta to be with you.”
She was momentarily speechless. “What about your company?” Kendall had entered into a partnership with several investment and mortgage brokers two years before.
Curving an arm around her shoulders, Kendall pulled Hope close. “I have to wait another year before I can sell my share of the business.” He kissed her forehead. “Meanwhile I’ll accumulate a lot of frequent-flyer miles commuting between here and Atlanta to be with you.”
Hope closed her eyes as a new and unexpected warmth surged through her. She was lucky to have found someone like Kendall. Most women complained about men who were unable to commit, but she had a man who was willing to commit and relocate to share her life and their future.
A smile softened her mouth as she buried her face against her lover’s shoulder, and within minutes she had fallen asleep.
Two
My baby has no name yet.
—Kim Nam-Jo
Hope slipped out of Kendall’s bed at sunrise while he lay on his back, snoring softly. It was a rare occasion when she woke up before him. Most times he was up and preparing breakfast for her whenever she slept over at his loft. However, the same wasn’t true when he slept at her Harlem brownstone. They usually lingered in bed, either talking or making love. For Hope, early morning love-making was the best medicine for starting her day.
She made her way to the guest bathroom and filled the bathtub with water. She had decided to use this bathroom instead of the one adjoining the bedroom so she wouldn’t wake Kendall. Half an hour later she had brushed her teeth, bathed, and pulled a black, sleeveless cotton knit sheath dress over a set of matching lingerie. She had just finished brushing her hair and securing it in a French twist when Kendall’s image joined hers in the wall mirror.
“You’re leaving now?”
Turning, she smiled at him. “Yes. I have a breakfast meeting with my editor at seven and a GYN appointment at nine-thirty.” She had requested the early morning meeting to discuss the possibility of her continuing to write her column if she decided to accept the talk show position.
Kendall angled his head. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Not really,” she answered truthfully. “Even though I’m on the Pill, my cramps are getting worse and my flow heavier.”
“Do you want me to go to the doctor with you? My flight isn’t due to leave LaGuardia until three this afternoon.” He was scheduled to attend a four-day conference for African-American CPAs in Las Vegas.
Closing the distance between them, Hope kissed his stubbly cheek. “No, thank you. I want you to have a safe flight, and don’t forget to have some fun.”
He frowned. “You know I don’t gamble.”
“I wasn’t talking about gambling. You can always take in some of the shows.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She kissed him again. “Don’t think too hard, darling. Gotta go or I’ll be late. My driver will be here in a few minutes.” She had contracted with a car service to drive her around the city because it was more convenient than taking the bus, subway, or attempting to hail a taxi to take her uptown at odd hours.
She rushed out of the bathroom and pushed her bare feet into a pair of suede-covered mules. She gathered the stack of letters, put them and several disks into a manila envelope, then slipped them into her leather tote, along with her laptop computer. Making certain she had everything, she picked up her tote and shoulder bag, and headed for the door.
The driver pulled up to the curb in front of a diner a block off Hudson Street. Getting out, he circled the car, opened the rear door and extended his hand to help Hope alight.
She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome, Miss Sutton. I’ll be back to pick you up at nine.”
Hope thanked him again, then headed toward the twenty-four-hour diner where she frequently met with her friend and editor, William Cullen. She spied him as soon as she walked into the restaurant. He rose to his feet in his favorite booth, waiting until she sat across from him before retaking his seat.
“Good morning, Bill.”
William’s bright blue eyes crinkled. “Good morning to you, too. I hope I’m not out of order when I say you’re positively glowing this morning. Is something spectacular going on in your life I should know about?”
Hope stared at the tall, freckled, raw-boned, middle-aged man with a head full of flyaway graying red hair, to whom she owed her journalism success. They’d met for the first time when William had become the temporary guardian for his at-risk adolescent niece, Erin, during a family court PINS hearing. He and the girl had been referred to her as private clients for individual and family therapy sessions. Toward the end of treatment, he had asked her to write an advice column for his newspaper.
/> “I’ve been offered a position as a late-night, call-in host for an Atlanta talk radio station.”
The color drained from William’s face. “Let’s order something to eat, then we’ll talk.”
Hope ordered half a cantaloupe, scrambled egg whites on wheat toast, and coffee, while William requested a mushroom omelet with a rasher of bacon and tea. Over breakfast she outlined the terms of the radio station’s proposal.
“I don’t want to stop writing the column.”
“And you don’t have to,” William said quickly, “but will that become a conflict of interest for you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m scheduled to meet with the station’s producer in three weeks.”
William lifted a reddish eyebrow. “If they don’t have a problem with you working for them and the paper, then I’d love for you to continue. What I need to ask is, will you have the time to do both?”
“I believe I will.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I refuse to consider not being able to do both. Instead of delivering my disks to you by messenger, I’ll attach them to e-mails. I love the personal contact of writing too much to give it up right now.”
“And I don’t want you to.”
William gave Hope a long, penetrating stare. She was one of the most intelligent and confident women he had ever met. And if she hadn’t worked for him, he would have considered asking her out after she had discharged him as one of her clients.
Hope lingered long enough to have a second cup of coffee. She gave William the envelope with the letters and disks and promised she would have another batch completed before the end of the week. She checked her watch. It was minutes before nine.
“I have another appointment.”
William paid the bill and escorted Hope out of the diner and onto the sidewalk teeming with New Yorkers. “Where are you headed?” he asked.
Lessons of a Lowcountry Summer Page 1