Like Slow Sweet Molasses

by Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  “I can’t change, Daddy. And I don’t expect him to change his profession. Neither of us would be happy.”

  “Then I guess running away was the best thing to do.” Her look was one of shock. “I defer to your decision to give up on love because it’s too difficult, too scary and someone might get hurt subjecting the other to a life of misery alone on this earth. Not that you aren’t miserable and alone as things stand.”

  “As things stand,” she was mad he had the gall to vocalize her inner thoughts, “I’m miserable, he’s alive and I won’t be there to see him get hurt.”

  The fatherly advice kept coming. “Remember one thing,” he stopped for a breath, time to have her teeter to his point-of-view, “everything in this world is worth fighting for if it’s of any value. Isn’t the love you share worth the trouble to find out?”

  “It’s too late.”

  “You said you put your home on the market. Home. You’re connected to New Orleans whether Brock’s in the mix or not.”

  “I’m not brave enough—”

  Lee sliced her self-deprecating sentiment to shreds. “Angela, you went to New Orleans, a city in raw turmoil, when most looked for a way of escape. That was brave…and a bit foolish…but brave, in my book.”

  The study door opened in concert with the cell ringing in Lee’s pocket. He answered his call. Angela—her mother.

  “Shut up in here. You two are up to something.”

  Lee excused himself from the caller, “Cookie and I were catching up, Doll. You, ladies have to pardon me for a moment.” He blotted the mouthpiece with his thumb. “An important call.”

  “You’re on medical leave, professor. No business calls for you.” His wife reached to take the cell coming up short on the try. “Five minutes. That’s how long it’ll be before I come back in here.”

  “Five minutes…starting from the time the door closes behind you.” He struck a deal.

  Connie held up five fingers as she pulled the door on their way out. “Are you alright, Cookie?”

  “I’m fine, Mama.”

  Connie had Angela’s face in a vise. “You’re lying to me.”

  Angela disputed, “I don’t want to spoil your good time or put a damper on your mood with my penny-anny problems.”

  “Brock.” Saying that one word altered her daughter’s features. “What happened?”

  “Everyone immediately expects the worst of him. Daddy. And now you. Why?”

  “That’s not true, Cookie. It’s not Brock. It’s you.”

  She was bowled over. “Me?”

  “You’ve fought your attraction to him from the very first. It’s safer to keep him at bay than completely give in to love because you’d have to open yourself up to hurt, again.”

  Angela’s thoughts carried her to the front window to fiddle with the ornaments as if they required adjusting. The beautiful spruce calmed her—a fraction—while also symbolizing hope for the future. Aromatic pine needles released their fragrance as she played with the branches. She couldn’t resist switching the timer to the on position bringing the multi-colored bulbs to life, charging her low mental batteries simultaneously.

  Pots clanged, breaking into her meditative spirit, while teasing smells declared those in the kitchen champs at their profession. “The house looks wonderful, Mama,” she complimented Connie’s handiwork at decorating, meeting her concerned look and smiling.

  “Lee means well and wants the best for you in a fatherly fashion. But, I’m your mother. If being in love with Brock brings you pain reminiscent of what you encountered with Dom, move on.”

  “In his defense, Mama, I’m the wishy-washy one.” Angela tugged her robe closer to her body. “Chance has offered me nothing less than one hundred percent of himself, shelving all the worries I create about our being together…that included the differences in our races…with his strenuous convictions and loving patience. Honestly, I’m afraid of losing him. Not in the same way as Dominick. To the unknowns of his job.”

  “And you retreat in fear that he’ll expire on the job.”

  Angela shuddered at the thought.

  “Your plane got you here in one piece and didn’t crash. What about losing a life during the normal routine of living life?” She tipped to her daughter’s side. “You’re not living life, Cookie. Now, you’re merely existing. Love him or leave him—completely. Let him go on with his life.”

  Angela saw the light at the end of the tunnel and it wasn’t a train. “I’ll call him later today.”

  “There’s no time like the present.”

  She headed towards the stairs. “I have to think first.”

  “Don’t put it off too long,” Connie urged, fast-walking to the study where Lee remained caged.

  Angela hovered on the stairs to spy into the kitchen at the hubbub emitting lively noises of preparation. The rest of her steps propelled her into her room and straight to the window that looked out back over the ice encrusted lake. Her dilemma boiled down to which emotion would rule her life: love or fear. All the snippets of advice they handed down guided her to this fork in the road. Tired of thinking, she whirled for the phone choosing group activity over solitude and setup a get reacquainted romp with a friend from college. Youth and intelligence buoyed her selection of an outfit from her closet and she boarded herself in the bathroom.

  A super quick shower, the light coverage of makeup, clothed in attractive, yet, warm slacks and turtleneck sweater—she was ready to take on the world. Angela tucked thick hair behind her ears to fit the pepper-red knitted hat on her head for the excursion to the mall. Chicago’s winds could chill parts of anatomy, left arrogantly unprotected, down to the bone in a matter of seconds. That’s why she sat on the edge of the bed to stuff her heavily wrapped feet into a pair of weatherproof booted heels. One last check of her reflection in the mirror and she swiped up her long coat on her way out the door.

  Because she needed transportation but not necessarily a fight to acquire any, she tipped into her parents’ bedroom first and lifted Lee’s keys from his change plate on their dresser. The calve-length coat covered her frame as she dashed down the stairs, purse swinging wildly on her shoulder from the motion, and butted into the study where they abruptly stopped all conversation at her commotion.

  “Going someplace?” Lee asked, a smile twitching at his lips.

  “To the mall,” she answered, slithering over to him to plant a syrupy kiss on his cheek, backing away as she confessed. “I have your keys.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Connie put in her two cents. “Why? You’ve got her rotten, that’s why.” To Angela, “Don’t be gone all afternoon.”

  “Do you need my help with anything before I go?” Guilt surfaced. “Need me to pick up anything from the store?”

  “I’ll call if I do,” her mother said.

  “Uh, you can’t call me. I disconnected my cell.”

  “What?” they chorused.

  “Here, take mine,” Lee offered.

  “No, that’s alright. Eliminates the chances of unwanted phone calls before I’m ready to talk.”

  “Take it in case something happens and you need assistance,” her mother put in.

  “I’m like Patti LaBelle—you know the song you like so much, Mama, about a new attitude. That’s me. I won’t pine away for something not meant to be. No-o-o, you can’t keep a smart woman down.”

  Connie and Lee looked at each other, their expressions telling a story of doubt and awareness of overcompensation on Angela’s part.

  “Gotta go,” she preened saucily, popping over to tribute each with another so-long kiss.

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  An incredible feeling welcomed her as she skipped out through the kitchen to get in Lee’s SUV. Climbing onboard, Angela cranked the motor, buckled up and chose another station on the radio that inspired the individuality and crunk out of her.

  “Goldie!”

  “Cookie, you look m
arvelous, girl!”

  “So do you.” Angela complimented her longtime friend, noting the optimism for which she was known glittered in her eyes, as usual. People would react to her name thinking about her complexion until they saw her. The name was a reflection of her golden outlook on life. Their embrace sent shoppers on alternate routes around them.

  “I haven’t heard from you in ages.” Goldie’s brilliant smile shed some of its opulence. “Not since your divor—” She halted. “What have you been up to?”

  “Teaching children how to enjoy music. And you?” She grasped her hands and swung them between them. “Last I heard from the eternal bachelorette—she climbed the corporate ladder of success, money and power.”

  “Haven’t hit the glass ceiling, yet, Cookie, and love the thrill of competition to stay at the top. However,” she veered to a set of benches when Angela started to the restaurant’s door, “about that bachelorette comment…I want you to meet someone.”

  Angela bobbed to see who Goldie beckoned to across the atrium practically squealing in gladness as a hunk of a man in military uniform walked their way and he was not alone.

  “This is my family.” Goldie glided in their direction taking the toddler in her arms. “Cookie, this is my husband—Tobias and our son, TJ.”

  “Goldie—you are full of surprises.” Angela greeted Tobias with awe in her voice. “It’s so good to meet you.” She gazed at her friend whose love shimmered brightly on her face. “I’m so happy for you two. And little TJ is a doll.”

  “I’m glad to talk to you in person because I feel badly about excluding you from our wedding,” Goldie explained.

  Tobias jumped in. “Our introduction happened about the same time as your spilt, Angela. Goldie agonized over how you’d react to our good fortune in finding one another when your life took such a turn.”

  Stepping back with flair, “As you can see—I survived to love another day.” What did she just say? And why did she say that at all? Those were the questions plaguing Angela at her loose lips.

  Goldie and little TJ hugged her. “You’re saying you have a beau?”

  Oh, my God. I did. Aloud, she said, “One I adore.”

  “You belong with someone who makes you happy, Cookie. Look at Tobias and I. Our time is limited to this go round of military leave. I look forward to every minute we have together and take nothing for granted.”

  Angela teared up.

  “Don’t cry for us,” Goldie reassured.

  “That makes us appreciate what we have for as long as we have it,” Tobias seconded his wife’s words.

  “I don’t know what to say other than I…am…thrilled. For someone who staunchly opposed matrimony to not only get married but have a family. I know there’s hope for me to love again with my whole heart.” It was her turn to hug them. “Thanks for the inspiration, Goldie.”

  If that wasn’t proof enough true love conquers all—she was living on a dead planet on the wrong side of the black hole.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Angela ate very little at lunch choked up with feelings of remorse at being such a coward in the face of love. After saying good-byes to Goldie, she wandered aimlessly through the mall entombed in her sorrows, hunting for a way to get her life back on track. Her mind was a trash can of discarded ideas. Not one supported any reason why Chance should forgive her loser mentality. She had to show herself worthy and able to accept his chosen profession regardless of how scared she was of him dying on her. Today’s society saw innocent people die every day for innocuous reasons like being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s not the way she wanted to live her life—running from love.

  Growing fatigued of ambling without a destination in mind, she sat in the atrium; surprised she'd walked the entire mall and was back where she started. The bustling grove of shoppers paid scant attention to her as she selected one from the crowd to create a story in her mind based on their expression. She deduced those appearing to be teens to early twenties and early to mid-fifties wore the happiest expressions of all. While the mid-age shoppers took to the task like it was a chore. Luckily, none knew she secretly analyzed them.

  Just slouching on a bench got her nowhere when a couple joined her and eagerly reviewed what she gathered were airline tickets. She looked over their shoulders without deciphering the destination. Angela envied the way they kissed and cooed their way from the front cover to the back of an island pictured travel envelope. The lovers solved her problem without saying a word.

  Her purse turned up no cell phone when she tore up the insides searching. She sprang up craning for a phone bank. The mall directory sent her in high gear to the customer service area near the food court. Angela made a call securing two one-way tickets to a location the reservationist determined was half-way between Chicago and New Orleans, shaking slightly in anticipation of what Chance’s reply to the invitation would be. One way to find out and that was to call him.

  She dialed his cell. It went to voicemail. His home number rang and rang. Things looked pretty dismal. Angela came to the only logical conclusion: he avoided her. Sadly, she called the one remaining number capable of putting her in contact with him. The fact the phone went unanswered was troubling to Angela because Mrs. Thatcher’s understanding of their burgeoning relationship, thus far, was unbiased. Angela denied her emotions the luxury of shutting down choosing instead to mount another attack once she reached the house.

  Pumped and refusing to backslide, a pool of self-pity was a place she no longer wanted to reside.

  The doorbell rang in alarming succession causing Angela to wonder if her mother misjudged and should have rented a hall for the party. Their friends and colleagues came in record numbers to pay homage to Lee in his period of recovery. The gaiety drifting into her room declared the party’s success. She was all set to make her appearance when her phone rang.

  “Hello.” She knew the caller’s identity before hearing the voice. “Hi, Keitha.”

  “We have a signed lease.”

  “Already?”

  “You sound disappointed, Angela.”

  “No, no. Only surprised it went so fast. We posted three days ago.”

  “It’s a three month lease with the option to re-sign if all REGS are met or even to buy at the end of the period.”

  “That’s great.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm.

  “I’ll keep you informed. Congratulations. Bye, Angela.”

  “Bye, Keitha.”

  This was supposed to be a joyous time for Angela, having her investment turn a profit in such a short period of time. But, conflicted is what she was. Another unforeseen complication that was just one more square peg in her round hole of a life. Her plan was to get back in Chance’s good graces and being without a place to reside put a crimp in her strategy.

  Angela’s finger kept time with the bouncy melody as she tapped Chance’s number in the receiver. “I’m not giving up, love. I’ll keep trying until I reach you,” she confided to the constant ring as she finally hung up.

  Her courtesy appearance demanded she put forth a good impression and be on her best behavior as was required of the hosts’ offspring. One more touch of wine lipstick topped with a smear of clear gloss and she practiced a happy face in the mirror, the winning one she was able to produce over and over until it became second nature. The smile held its place on her lips as she whisked out of her room to descend the stairs, careful not to disturb the garland crusted banister.

  The party was in full swing when she got downstairs curtailing the need to do anything more than the occasional nod. She smiled and nodded her way to the buffet. Voices raised in conversation over the disc jockey’s prattle got louder when the music started again. Angela nibbled pickled okra from the relish tray laughing inside as her intuition came true. Dancers started with a step or two of a hip-hop dance that twitched back in time to the comfortable steps of their younger days. There was no way anyone presently gyrating on the dance floor failed to be in touch with t
heir youthful alter-ego. This time she scanned the table, plate in hand, for dishes she liked when a hand on her elbow stayed her. She knew without turning whose it was and what he wanted.

  Angela faced her father.

  “Your turn,” he announced, moving backwards and forward with chugging steps.

  “Daddy, no-o-o.”

  He took her plate. “It’s easy.”

  “I’ll show you,” they said together, Angela intimating having heard that before.

  “You shouldn’t get so stimulated…right after a massive heart attack less than a month ago. Remember?”

  The volume increased and Lee leaned in to say, “All the more reason to enjoy my second chance at life. I could have been dead and gone.”

  Angela saw the truth in his statement, again, rethinking her impromptu decision to leave New Orleans. “I know. Tomorrows aren’t promised.”

  Her feet shuffled, her arms seesawed front and back and laughter bubbled up and out as Lee danced her into the center of the crowd to demonstrate their prowess at doing the Train. Angela’s robust laughter mingled with the dozens of other voices engaged in excited chatter. Here she was—doing exactly what she said she wouldn’t do—and loving it.

  Two or three long songs of the marathon kind played keeping her occupied for what seemed like hours. When she was finally able to disengage from the festivities, she fixed a plate and sneaked back upstairs to make another stab at contacting Chance. The first things to come off, once she entered her room, were her heels in favor of faux fur-lined slippers. The robe protected her slinky red velvet, off the shoulder long sleeved dress from any tidbits likely to fall as she ate. Angela set her plate on the desk to rehearse her “take me back” speech.

  No matter what she said sounded desperate.

  The phone left its base like a jack-in-the-box. Once again, she was unsuccessful. Only this time, his safety rather than his reaction to her scared rabbit run was responsible for her uneasiness. Why was she unable to reach him or Mrs. Thatcher? Mostly, that’s what worried her. If only she had his family’s telephone numbers.