by Wayne Jordan
“I can’t believe you’re talking about me as if I’m not here.”
“George, my boy, that’s why we’re doing it now. You can’t be saying that we’re talking about you behind your back,” Shayne reasoned.
“So, tell me about the beautiful Rachel,” Kyle urged. “Is she looking old since she got married to that old man? You’re aware that some people believe that married couples start looking like each other after a while.” Everyone laughed.
All eyes turned to George, waiting for his reply.
They were really pathetic, but he loved them, so he’d put them out of their misery.
“Kyle, I’m sure Troy and Shayne can tell you about her since they visited her at the hospital. She hasn’t changed much. Still as beautiful as sin. I should say more beautiful. She has matured. Definitely. Breasts a lot fuller. She’s filled out in all the right places. Nice curves. She’s taller, but that may be because she wears heels now.”
“Her height has never bothered you before. Didn’t stop you from making love to her all summer of…” Troy injected.
“No need for a trip down memory lane,” George interrupted. “I’m dealing with enough as it is. So no trying to titillate me with memories.”
“You still in love with her?” The question came clear and unexpected. Trust Shayne to put him on the spot.
“Of course not,” he blurted out, raising his hands in defiance. “How could I still love her after she went and married that old man?”
“But what did you want her to do? Wait until you decided it was time for you to get married? I think she did the right thing in dumping your ass. And if you want her back, I hope she doesn’t make it easy,” Troy stated.
“And here I was thinking I’m your friend.”
“I am your friend. That’s why I’m telling you that what you did those years ago was nonsense. At least you’ve partially made up for it since she was attacked.”
“Sir George, the knight in shining armor, saved the damsel in distress,” teased Troy, wielding an imaginary sword with dramatic flair.
“I think we need to eat now, boys. I rest my case. I may be the lawyer, but I can’t win anything against you.” George raised his hands in surrender. “However, let me make it quite clear—there is nothing that will change my mind about Rachel.”
At the appearance of the waitress, the conversation ended. Having the order prepared in advance had been a sensible thing.
While placing the plates on the table, the pretty young waitress chatted with them briefly, then told them to enjoy the meal and left.
For a while they ate in silence, savoring their plates of barbeque ribs.
George broke the silence.
“I’m always amused when each of you criticizes my lifestyle because you want me to end up like you. You’re no fun anymore. I remember when fun was all we cared about. I’m the only one not married yet. But since I have no intention of losing control of my life, I’ll probably end up pleasuring all the little old ladies in the retirement home.”
“You always say that, but I know you, George. We know you. You’re going to end up married, just like we are. I’m going to bet you on it.”
“Here, here,” Kyle added. “You may think we’re all getting boring, but my joy comes from knowing that I have a wife who loves me with every fiber in her bones. The three of you mean everything to me, but having Tamara in my life just makes everything perfect.”
For a moment there was silence.
Shayne spoke first. “Kyle, you must be getting ready to counsel George. Man, that was deep.”
They all laughed, easing the heavy tension.
“Anyone ready for dessert?” Shayne asked.
“I really shouldn’t, but I can’t resist the apple pie,” Kyle replied.
“Banana split for me,” George added.
“I’m going to pass,” Shayne grumbled. “Carla has been complaining about the little bit of growth around my waist. I started back at the gym last week.”
“You need to come join us for cricket on Saturdays,” George remarked.
“Sorry, that’s my day with Darius. I can go to the gym any time I want, but I have to be there for Darius. He’s all into the theater group he joined. I saw a presentation the group did a few weeks ago and he’s quite good.”
“And we didn’t know about it. Why didn’t we get an invitation?” George asked.
“He thought you wouldn’t be interested since it’s the theater. He knows how much you’re all into cricket.”
“I’m going to have to have a chat with that boy. We’re culturally appreciative, aren’t we?” George asked mockingly.
“Not a bone in any of your bodies,” Shayne stated. “I can’t remember any of us going to a play.”
“I go to the cinema!” Troy exclaimed.
“That doesn’t count, Troy. Everyone goes to the cinema.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be going to his next performance,” he promised.
“Me too,” Kyle said firmly. “That’s what godfathers are for. Support.”
At the same time, Shayne’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered, aware of three pairs of eyes on him.
He ended the call. “Well, buddies. I have to go. My mathematically challenged son wants some help with his homework. He’s been waiting patiently.”
“Shayne, it’s Friday!” George exclaimed.
“Yeah, but he likes to do his homework on Fridays so he doesn’t have anything to do on Saturday and Sunday. Of course, I’m always glad when he does this. On Sundays, he always ends up doing some additional studies.”
Troy glanced down at his watch too. “I think I better be heading out too. My wife seems to need my loving each night. I’m not complaining, but she hasn’t given me any rest since we came back from our honeymoon.”
“Sorry, George. Since Shayne is leaving, I’m going to have to desert you too,” Kyle said. “But I’m finishing up my latest book, so at least I’ll be able to do a bit of writing tonight.”
“No worries. I came with Troy. Next bestseller?”
“Hopefully, but it’s not fiction. It’s more autobiographical and hopefully a book that can help individuals who are blind.”
“Sounds good. You know you have our support.”
“Thanks, as always,” Kyle replied.
“Well, it’s time to go,” Shayne said, glancing at his watch again.
Troy turned to George. “I’ll drop you at the mechanic so you can pick your car up.”
Fifteen minutes later, George nodded as Troy drove away. He paid the mechanic and got into his car, but the thought of going directly home to an empty house had lost its appeal.
He drove westward, heading toward the Grantley Adams International Airport. A drive along the east coast would take him about an hour, but he felt the need to spend some time in reflection.
He’d enjoyed the night with his friends, but their talk about love and family had affected him more deeply than he was willing to admit. He loved his friends, but in the past few years his desire to be around them, especially at their homes, had diminished. It always made him feel lonely.
Hanging out with them in a bar or restaurant wasn’t a problem. It was at Christmas and birthday dinners when all the families were present that left him feeling this way.
Anger, hot and boiling, rose to the surface. He could be like them now. In fact, he could have been the first to get married. Today, he’d probably have the four children he and Rachel had planned and still have his career. Whenever he looked back he couldn’t believe he had let her go. It hadn’t really been about the dedication to his work but because he’d been afraid.
He’d been afraid that he wouldn’t ever be ready to be a husban
d or father. He’d been afraid he would not live up to Rachel’s expectations of him.
Despite his virility, the slight niggling about his height would surface, but one of his “friends” would lavish him with attention and affection and he would bury those insecurities for a while. Until Rachel had come along and left him feeling vulnerable and helpless.
When he reached the dense vegetation of the East Coast Road, he parked the car on the shoulder and stepped out. Locking the car, he maneuvered between the thick sea-grape shrubs, reaching the soft sand of the beach.
The ocean lay asleep, an unusual occurrence for this part of the island, known for its restlessness.
He stripped his clothes off and dropped them on the sand, the cool ocean breeze caressing him softly.
He felt wild and free, at one with nature. He stretched his hands skyward, embracing the tranquility of the night. Picking his clothes up, he strolled down the beach, stopping when he reached a curve in the shoreline. He turned around and headed back to the car, sure to put his clothes back on before he left the beach.
The drive back to St. George, the parish where he lived, took less time than his trip there, but he felt much better.
Entering the house, he went directly to his bedroom, stripped his clothes off for the second time and headed to the shower.
Five minutes later, he was lying in bed, his body and spirit feeling better than it had in weeks. He had tried to clear his mind of the things that were troubling him and had come to the realization that he needed Rachel back in his life.
He didn’t know how he was going to prove to her that he was a changed man, that his priorities were changing, but he would do whatever was needed to let her know. He planned on helping her to realize that he was the man for her. It would take time and effort on his part, but he wanted what Shayne and Kyle and Troy had. Not only the idea of family, but also he wanted his face to light up, like theirs did, when he talked about his love ones.
He gripped the pillow on his bed and pretended it was Rachel, like he’d done many times when he was a teenager.
Inside he felt warm and cozy. He smiled in the darkness. He was getting all romantic and vulnerable.
He still loved her…loved her with an intensity that he didn’t know was possible.
He smiled again.
Tomorrow always held promise and possibilities. He just hoped it was not too late for him. Though he’d defied his destiny many years ago, he hoped that fate was still smiling down on him.
Chapter 8
Rachel closed the door behind her, thinking she might take a nap, but she could not sleep. The pain wasn’t all that bad, so she couldn’t understand why she couldn’t sleep. Sleep hadn’t come easily since the attack. Each time she closed her eyes she would relive that day. She’d never been one to wallow in affliction, so her response in this case worried her. It was so totally out of character.
Walking over to the window, she watched Gregory and Jonathan playing cricket. She’d been so glad there was a boy her son’s age next door. At first, Gregory had not been happy when she’d told him they were returning to Barbados. But he’d accepted her decision without throwing a tantrum. In fact, her son never threw tantrums. He was the model son, something that worried her a bit. She loved Gregory but he was too introspective, a bit too quiet and serious. She wanted her son to live life to the fullest; she wanted him to have fun. Edward’s parenting had been a bit too much like her father’s. Too much work and too little play make Jack a dull boy. Gregory had had very little play.
Outside, Gregory took the bat and stood in front of the makeshift wickets. In the past few weeks, she’d seen him playing more and more cricket. He was his father’s child. The usual ache she felt whenever she thought of George sharpened until she felt the familiar sting of tears.
Jonathan bowled the ball and Gregory stuck it powerfully across the lawn until it came to rest in the garden next door.
The memories were strong. She saw George holding the bat in his hand, his muscular body graceful as he stroked the ball.
Gregory looked in the direction of the house and, seeing her, he waved.
She returned the greeting and watched as he prepared for the next ball. The sound of the phone ringing interrupted her thoughts, and she turned instinctively to answer it. Pain stabbed her in the side and she doubled over with the impact of it. She straightened slowly and groaned when the ringing stopped. When she reached it, she looked down.
Unknown name. Unknown number.
There was nothing she could do about it. If it was important, the caller would try again.
She walked toward the sofa, taking the handset with her in case it rang again.
She eased herself onto the chair, reaching for the magazine she’d been reading. She’d always loved this room. It was here she’d spent most of her time with her father. She missed him even more now that she was home because photos and other reminders of him remained.
She glanced at a photo she wished she could move. It was one of her father and George. She tried each day to keep her eyes off it, but she couldn’t help it. Her gaze would inevitably linger before she looked away.
The room had not changed much since her childhood. It had always been homey, a sanctuary. Flowers continued to bloom in crystal vases her mother had collected over the years. Her mother could tell visitors the story behind each vase and where she had purchased it. Her parents had loved to travel and each of the vases represented one of their trips.
Her mother and father had married when very young, but she’d only come along when both of them were in their later thirties. Her father had died exactly twenty-two years after she was born. Her birthdays were always tinged with a bit of sadness. But at least he had seen her complete her secondary education. He’d been delighted when she had been accepted at Oxford University.
Her memories of her father were good ones. He’d been the perfect husband and father. He’d loved her mother unconditionally. A soft-spoken, gentle man, he had been a voracious reader, enjoying anything from fiction to nonfiction to poetry. He would read any poet, but he’d adored the romantic work of English poet John Keats and the poetry of protest of Guyanese poet Martin Carter. Complete opposite in style and content, but that’s the kind of man her father was and she’d loved him. She’d been his “Bright Star,” a nickname her mother still used on occasions.
At times like these she missed him. She had used her father’s death to motivate her to study harder. When she received her law degree, she had taken it to the cemetery where he was buried and showed it to him.
The shrill sound of the phone dragged her from the past. She answered, wondering if it was her mother.
No. George.
Why was he calling?
“Rachel, this is George,” he said. His voice was low and husky. “I called to find out how you were doing. Troy told me that you had been discharged.”
“I’m doing fine. I should have called to let you know. I’m not sure when I’ll be cleared to go back to work, but when I see the doctor next week, he’ll let me know.”
“Has the pain eased up?” he asked politely.
Why was he being so nice to her? She didn’t want him to be nice to her. When he was like this, she ached for him.
“A bit. I still have to use the painkillers at times, but most of the time it’s bearable.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Please say hello to your mom for me. I’ll see if I can drop by sometime.”
“No!” she shouted. Immediately, she regretted her sharp response. She had to act normally. He could never find out what was wrong.
“I’m sorry I asked,” he said. “You have a good night and take care.”
The soft click of the phone told her he was gone.
He was angry. She had hurt hi
m again.
She didn’t have to be so mean to him. He didn’t deserve her attitude. All he’d been to her since she returned home had been polite. He’d been the perfect gentleman and all she’d done was hurt him. She knew she’d hurt him.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost six o’clock. Gregory needed to come in and take his shower before he did his homework and then have dinner. He had school tomorrow. She couldn’t believe the weekend had gone by so quickly.
As if by clockwork, she heard the door open and Gregory rushed into the room, his face animated with his excitement.
She rose, listening intently as he described how he’d hit six runs and sent the ball sailing over the rooftop to the other side of the house. He held up the ball as if it could show her the punishment it had received.
“You’ve got to take your bath. Your grandmother is soon going to be home, and you know she wants us to eat with her.”
“I’ll be done in a flash, Mom.”
“Good, and don’t forget behind the ears.”
“Yes, Mom,” he groaned.
He raced upstairs and left her there. Maybe for the next few moments she wouldn’t have to think of George.
She’d focus all of her attention on the person who loved her most in the world.
Her son.
* * *
Halfway across the island, George slammed the phone down. Damn, he hated outward displays of anger. He always tried to control his ire. His body’s mass rippled with bulging muscles and he knew his strength and ability. He could, if he wanted to, crack a man’s hand with his bare fist, not that he’d ever do that.
He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.
He had to ignore her attitude. She seemed intent on riling him up but he would not give her the satisfaction of seeing him lose control. He suspected that she’d use it to discredit him if the opportunity ever arose.
However, he had no intentions of letting her deter him from his plan to win her back.