Like Slow Sweet Molasses

by Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  “Did you hear me?” she countered.

  “Crap, Angel!” he snapped. “Will you just answer me?”

  “No. I used my napkin.” Angela found herself entrenched in his arms where he nearly smothered the life out of her. “Are you badly injured?”

  “It’s just a graze. A nick.”

  She wanted proof. Angela’s hands brushed up his arms to detect the bandage secreted under the sleeve of his right arm. He knew she would inspect the area whether he wanted her to or not. So, he rolled up the sleeve himself to uncover the bloodstained patch and witnessed her already misty expression turn stormy.

  “Like I said…just a scratch.”

  He wanted to offer an explanation to the entire family for the men now blocked the light from the doorway. “Is it okay if I share my concern?” he whispered, praying for her permission. He received his answer in the form of her fingertips drying her eyes as she stood her tallest and spun to face everyone. “Angela is allergic to peanuts, its derivatives and any residue. Until the other day, she wasn’t aware skin contact could also send her into shock.” Chance grimaced. “We have Clik to thank for that discovery.”

  “Clik?” Trell asked incredulously.

  “Long story for another time.” Touching on each person present, he added, “She can’t have the fried turkey.”

  “Then we’ll fix her something else,” Letha said like it was nothing.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Angela opposed the suggestion. “I’ll have some of that delicious smelling cornbread dressing, peas and potato salad.”

  All present hung around like mother hens.

  It took Angela to put everyone at ease. “You’re missing the kick-off. Go on. Have fun.”

  “I’ll ring the dinner bell,” Pops announced and proceeded to do just that.

  Angela’s headshake accompanied her grin.

  Soon they sat on the sofa after their meal, eyes trained on the television but their concerns were elsewhere. Another lesson learned is the way Angela and Chance viewed the day thus far. She wrestled with his constant flirt with the dangers of his job. He agonized at the helplessness of protecting her from an untimely demise. Between the cheers and groans, depending on which team was in possession of the football, they fought to hide their impatience to be alone. Their list of discussion topics grew exponentially.

  Finally, Chance had enough. Angela followed his lead and trailed him to say their good-byes to his family. All graciously received her thank you’s. They even welcomed her to return anytime. Said she didn’t have to wait for an invitation. They said all the right things. Why did she feel as though she’d put them out? Or better yet, put a damper on their festivities?

  No. She couldn’t show her face there again.

  “Are you coming in for a few minutes?” Angela asked Chance once they arrived at her door.

  “I shouldn’t,” he declined.

  “I guess you’re right. What’s the point? This so-called relationship failed its first test.”

  “That’s not the way I see it, Angela.” Chance cut the motor but stayed on the bike. “We’re both afraid of circumstances beyond our control. I’m more than certain I want you, exclusively, in my life. I’m just not certain you feel the same about me…and my profession.”

  “I’ve confessed to having a humongous crush on you, Chance. An infatuation that supersedes all the anguish I’ve experienced in my lifetime. What would I do if you’re mortally wounded?” Her eyes closed at the thought and opened to him closing in for a kiss.

  Chance relished the closeness as she melted in his arms accepting his affection. The kiss would have to last him several days for his next mission, assigned to him months before meeting her, would take him away from her and out of the state. He held on imprinting the feeling into his heart, rebelling at the thought of releasing her. “I’m going to walk away, now. I won’t be responsible for what might happen next in this relationship if I enter behind those doors.”

  “I can tell,” she quietly admitted, her own passion rising. “Can I say something and you won’t think I’m easy?”

  “I would never think that about you, Angela.”

  “I’m glad you refused my offer to come inside. Lately, my will isn’t my own when I’m so close to you.”

  He hoped she felt that way if she learned of his omission to inform her of his call to duty. If everything went according to schedule, she’d be none the wiser.

  “Then, there is hope for us.” He drew from her well of sweetness once more, mounted his bike and left the words, “I’ll call you,” in the wind as he drove away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The wait for Chance’s return call took its toll on Angela who, by this time, directly after the school’s last dismissal bell, parallel parked in front of his residence. Two days of unsuccessfully trying to reach him unleashed a fear so debilitating she even considered contacting his family to inquire about his wellbeing. How possessive would she appear if she turned up on their doorstep in an emotional meltdown? His occupation ruled. She understood that now.

  Angela called his number once more with the same results. His voicemail picked up. She disconnected without leaving a message. Her last ditch effort was to ring his doorbell. She stood patiently at the entrance, backed into the street for a better look at the windows above her head, willing him to answer. Disappointment gripped her and her spirits wilted. All she could do was load herself back into Mrs. Thatcher’s car for the urgent drive to the airport.

  Her strength deteriorated eaten away by her most recent troubles—concerns she needed to share with Chance. On top of all else, the frantic call from her mother while en route to his home had her stressing. Her greatest fear came to fruition. A heart attack threatened to claim the life of her father. Lee just refused to give up smoking stating he had to die from something. For an educated man, statistics weren’t enough to convince him to even decrease his habit. Any disagreement they had stemmed from their differing views on improving his health. According to Connie, Angela had better get there as soon as possible for his survival was questionable.

  Angela whizzed along the interstate on automatic as she dealt with the pressures by silently enumerating the complications of the mess called her life. When she compiled the list and mentally eliminated the troubles easy to dispose, she drew a blank at Chance. He was an enjoyable distraction, one she considered a positive impact in her universe. Their brief time together filled the hole purposely left void out of terror. To have her heart broken twice in a lifetime would hurt too much. Yet, her heart convinced her to take a chance on him.

  Sadness welled up inside as she raced through Armstrong International Airport to catch her hastily arranged flight to Chicago, reverently mindful of its temporary use as a triage center and morgue during the height of Hurricane Katrina. A heaviness encroached. Her chest failed to expand enough to allow for a full breath of oxygen. Angela knew she’d hyperventilate if she couldn’t control her anxiety. To stop for a moment was feasible and she dropped into the nearest chair. Interested eyes stared but no one offered assistance for which she was glad.

  She caught sight of the gate number cognizant only a few steps remained before she reached her concourse. Thinking rationally and almost breathing normally, Angela started out again. There was no way she was going to miss that plane. It was time to use some of the tenacity inherited from her parents to accomplish this personal feat. The only one, besides her parents, she could count on was herself. Her journey would end as it begun: all alone.

  “Connie?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  Chance couldn’t place the funny sound in her voice. “It’s Brock Alexander. Angela’s friend.”

  His mind wistfully skipped backwards to the night of his departure—the night he failed, again, to be honest with Angela about his business. The cameras monitoring his home’s exterior captured her distressed attempt at seeking him out the other day. Somehow, he knew he’d let her down when she most needed him
.

  He replayed the scene one more time as he talked.

  “Of course, I remember you, Brock,” she cut into his introduction, her tone a little bit on the breathy side.

  “May I speak to Lee?” He preferred to talk to Lee to lessen the concern he knew Connie would feel when she realized Angela was missing.

  “He’s unavailable.” She tried in vain to stifle a sob.

  He mistook her sadness for impatience and rushed to explain.

  “I’ll get right to the point. My aunt is worried about Angela.” He struggled for the proper words but blurted out his concern. “She hasn’t been seen in two days. I’ve been out of town. Otherwise, I would have—” Chance absently stroked at the four days’ worth of growth on his face. “Have you heard from her, Connie?”

  “She’s here, Brock. In Chicago.” Connie pulled herself together, a burdensome sigh hinting at what was to come. “Lee’s had a massive heart attack.”

  “Oh,” he groaned. “Sorry to hear that. He is going to be all right?”

  “It’s touch and go.”

  “What can I do, Connie?” He felt helpless to ease her pain.

  “There’s nothing anyone can do at the moment. We’re on hold praying he’ll respond to treatment.”

  “How’s she taking it?” He knew that was a stupid question.

  “She hasn’t left his side since getting here. She won’t eat. She only nods off a few minutes at a time.”

  Chance heard her immense anguish.

  “Angela’s guilt is governing and overruling her common sense.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said confused. “What has she done to be guilty about?” Angela’s mother searched for the proper answer while he gathered she was unsure of how much information was too much for his ears. “I know about Philip Harperiski.”

  “She told you?” she gushed in shock.

  “I’ve met both he and his son.”

  “What?” Her irritation mounted.

  “We met with them a few days ago. They came to New Orleans and forced a meeting. She didn’t feel comfortable going alone and asked me to accompany her,” he explained. “I did.”

  “She never said a word.”

  “Connie, may I speak to her?”

  A deafening silence blossomed as the two people desperately tried to make sense of all that was happening in Angela’s life, unraveling it at the seams. Connie spoke up, at last.

  “I wish you would. Perhaps, she’ll listen to you.” Her pace quickened. “Lee’s mother, the only grandmother Angela’s ever known, just left the hospital. Even she couldn’t get through to her.”

  He heard her puffing as she talked.

  “I’m almost there.”

  Connie entered the room, swiped the curtain aside and addressed Angela. “Cookie?” Angela’s face lifted. “Telephone.”

  Angela had no use for telephones as was evident when she returned to her previous posture, forehead on the hand that clutched her father’s.

  “It’s Brock.” Her mother attempted to bribe her to the phone. “Angela’s in a very uncooperative state and refuses to talk. I’m sorry, Brock.”

  If he closed his eyes, he could see her keeping vigil over Lee.

  Connie moved into the hallway. “Jason Harper is partly responsible for the way she’s beating up on herself.”

  He listened attentively at the mention of Angela’s half-brother’s name. “What was that bastard doing there?” His slip of the tongue punctuated his anger. “Sorry, Connie.”

  “He had the gall to call her like he was a long-lost relative offering support. Do you know what he said to her?” She seethed.

  Anger transmitted on the line. Chance could almost feel her upset.

  “She said he said,” she inhaled deeply, “‘she’d better act quickly before she loses two fathers.’” Another sigh disrupted the transmission. “Wasn’t that a cruel thing to say? I still can’t figure out how he found out about Lee or for that matter, how he knew Angela was in town.”

  “I’m coming to Chicago on the next thing flying, Connie,” he announced. Then seeking her permission, “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Lee doesn’t give his private cell number to just anyone, Brock. That tells me something about the impression you made on him.” She encouraged him. “Get here as soon as you can.”

  “Thanks, Connie.”

  Chance hung up, stumped as to why Angela never returned his calls. She left him several messages, one marked urgent, which he didn’t get the chance to return right away. He did, however, attempt to contact her as soon as he returned from the field but to no avail. It was almost impossible to put his regrets into perspective for his mind always landed on the trust issue. Could she believe him insincere in his admission of interest? She ignored his repeated messages and refused to speak to him on the phone.

  “I’m screwed,” he bashed himself all the time throwing a change of clothing into his grip. Red eyes in his haggard face burned from the lack of sleep. The hairs bristling on his jaws begged for a trim. Minor infractions when he thought about the possibility of Angela booting him out of her life. Chance hightailed it out of his loft to blaze a trail to her. Perhaps, she’d forgive him if he humbled himself and begged for mercy, in person. That’s exactly what he planned to do.

  Angela’s walk, minus her usual pep, just managed to get her back to the waiting area with Connie’s coffee request. She had to pass through the space to access ICU where her father lay fighting for his life. Her unfocussed eyes strayed into the room as she closed in on the receptionist’s desk. Chance set his sights on her and all he desired was to wipe away her pain. He stood in preparation to make his presence known when a figure seated closer blocked him and called to her.

  She stared in stunned recognition and Chance saw her blink in disbelief. The enormous cup slid from her hand as she whirled for a fast getaway. Her erratic behavior spurred him into action as he chased the man chasing her. She dived into the stairwell. By the time Chance arrived, she fervently fought to disengage herself from her captor and blasted the man for his behavior, promptly gaining her release.

  Chance propped the stairwell door open making his presence hard to ignore.

  The man spoke to him while pointing a staying finger at her. “Are you passing through or not?”

  Chance’s computer brain broke the man’s statistics down like a science problem. He was inches taller than Angela but lacked Chance’s stature and build. He appeared physically fit as proven by his sprint to reach her and extremely condescending in the way he held Angela at bay with his pointer finger. She looked from him to the man and back to him as if not quite sure what to do. Chance, realizing he’d never seen her so indecisive, took his lead from her.

  “Leave, Mister, if you don’t want to pass.”

  “No, Dom.” Angela found her voice. “You leave.”

  Chance watched in silence as the scene played out.

  “Not before we talk, Love.”

  Love?

  “Don’t call me that ever again.” She trembled with rage. “You shouldn’t be here at all. What were you thinking?”

  “I received word during my conference at the university about Lee’s hospitalization. I came to lend my support.”

  “You’ve no right to be here,” she complained. He moved closer to her forcing her hand. “Go back to your tramp.”

  Ah-ha.

  “That’s not nice. Nor is it characteristic of you,” he scolded.

  She scowled at him.

  “Why are you still here?” This question he slung at Chance. “This is a private conversation.”

  “Angel?” He played his hand without addressing the man he assumed was her ex-husband.

  Angela’s laugh bordered on hysterics as she deciphered the shock on Dom’s face. “You don’t think you’re the only equal opportunity lover, do you?” She became aware of the way Chance tensed before letting the iron door slip to a close with him on the other side. Her eyes teared.
/>   “Guess you hurt his feelings.”

  “Forget you, Dominick!”

  Angela trotted down six flights of stairs as a way of escaping her ex. Too many people with too many demands on her contributed to her current state of mind. She exited into the emergency room waiting area and dashed straight out the automatic doors almost colliding with a wheeled gurney. The freezing night air rattled her bones as she sought a cubby hole near the entrance to block Chicago’s whipping wind.

  While she beat herself up downstairs, Chance reined in his temper by cleaning up the mess she left with a wad of paper towels swiped from the men’s room. That little distraction was just what he needed. Manual labor had a way of taking the edge off whatever troubles he had. Since his tinker toys weren’t around what better alternative than scrubbing floors. Connie called to him as he put the clean towel down to rid the floor of the excess moisture.

  They met half-way in the middle of the room.

  “Sorry to take so long in coming. I got the page but Lee had an episode.” She gulped in a breath. “He’s awake!”

  Connie confiscated his hands in a tremendous show of excitement and relief, jerking back from the sticky, wet paper. She thanked him for the clean moistened towelette he produced.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” His voice relayed other emotions.

  Connie picked up on a problem. “Have you seen Cookie? She left to get me a cup—” It came to her what he did and she glanced at her own hands. “My coffee?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s what happened when she saw you?”

  He heard the suspicious concern in her voice. “That’s what happened when she saw…Dom.” This time the breath Connie caught hung in her throat for a spell causing a coughing fit. He didn’t know if it was appropriate to slap her on the back or what. So, he asked, “Are you alright?”

  “First, Jason,” Connie threw out between coughs, “now, Dominick. I don’t know how much more she can stand, Brock.” Her face rested in the palms of her hands.

  “Who’s Dom?” He knew but wanted to be sure.