Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  “Take the coat, purse and shoes, too.”

  “Angela!” he balked.

  She knew he thought she overdid it, but, the likelihood of another episode was too frightening. “I guess I’m superstitious,” she groaned.

  He reappeared with a black garbage bag tied for disposal. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Angela authorized his actions, observing as he rounded the side of the building. The lid banged shut broadcasting his unhappiness with the outcome.

  Chance, swaggering back, slapped the purse’s contents into her cupped hands and stared her down. “Satisfied?”

  “N-Not r-really.”

  Her teeth-chattering answer persuaded him to shuttle closer to swathe her in a warming bear hug. “What about now?”

  Arms squeezed tightly at this waist, it was the sigh of contentment substantiating her one-word reply. “Completely.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The image staring back from the bathroom mirror mimicked her actions although the eyes exhibited none of the frantic scenes careening in her head. Angela batted and Chance came into view. How long he sat on the commode top studying her was unknown. But, there he was—stroking her with his eyes. Realizing she stood stone-still, her fingers found the brush on the vanity and started unlocking the hair wrapped around her head. Silky strands loosened in their fall to her shoulders. Apparently, his yearning to run his fingers through her hair was too tempting for soon his hand replaced hers on the brush.

  Watching her wash, style and dry her hair was a most sensual activity. One so affecting, Chance had to leave the room previously to cap his runaway desires. He used two hands to tenderly brush her locks copying her strokes until hair framed her face. Standing behind her, looking into the blank eyes of the woman in the mirror saddened him. The pain she thought hidden from him revealed itself there. His lips brushed hair aside as he kissed her ear—just because. That seemed to bring her back to life.

  She needed to gain control of her rampant thoughts choosing to plug in the curling iron as a diversionary measure to remembering her ordeal. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Angela’s awareness lit in on his mode of dress. Chance threw on a t-shirt over the pajamas he continued to wear from last night. Surely, by now, as late as it was, for it was after three in the evening, he’d not only be dressed but probably on the job.

  “No hurry,” he assured her, failing to temper the urge to hold her, nibbling at the skin on her shoulder. “I’ve got time.” He recognized the uncertainty shining in her eyes before she voiced her concern.

  “What time are you leaving for work?” Angela shifted the hair at the nape of her neck granting him free reign to the area, tested the heating element with her fingers and steeled herself for his answer.

  “I’m not.” He could tell his reply surprised her by the flash and quick disappearance of a twinkle in her look. “Does that make you happy?” For an answer, Angela’s one hundred eighty degree revolution settled her comfortably in his arms, her ear to his chest.

  “Absolutely,” she said, squeezing a little drawing his eyes down to hers. “You won’t be reprimanded, will you? I mean for not reporting for duty?”

  “That’s sweet, Angel,” he said. “You’re exhibiting acceptance of my job even though I know it scares the heck out of you.”

  “My lesson was a hard one. Look at me,” she spoke urgently. “These bumps and bruises are my medals of honor in the war against fear and repression. I love you, Chance Alexander. I can’t beat down the feelings I have for you. I won’t be afraid of loving you, either.”

  “That’s my girl,” he uttered, smiling his approval.

  She thought it peculiar how that term took on a different meaning while wrapped in the arms of the man who loved her.

  Chance kept his eyes on hers as he lowered his head for a kiss. “You make loving you so easy. And it feels so good.”

  “I’ll bump my hair and let you have the bathroom.” Chance let her go with a look that said he had no idea what she meant. “Want to watch?”

  “Hmmm,” he moaned suggestively.

  “Watch me bump my hair, that is,” she elaborated.

  “Bumping,” he repeated, his lips twitching in delight as he dropped to the commode top. “Sounds like something that’ll give me pleasure.”

  Angela laughed. A real—full—rich sounding laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” he supplied arrogantly.

  Angela looked down at him, her face beaming with love as she stepped between his knees. “You’re right, Chance. I wouldn’t.”

  He grinned.

  Moving from his embrace, she began the task of curling her hair giving it the lift and body that brought her features back to life. She did a two-handed fluff to loosen the ringlets for a softer, curlier look than before. “I’ve got to call home, again,” she announced to him while disconnecting the curling iron.

  Chance rose observing as she tried hard to disguise the sadness fogging her eyes. She blinked furiously but the mist remained. All he did to pry out her concerns was look at her. She spilled her heart out to him.

  “I think something’s happened to Daddy, Chance,” she relayed. “It’s not like them not to keep in touch.”

  “Angel, that’s not necessarily the case. It’s two days before Christmas. They’re enjoying the holidays. That’s all.” He wished that was true.

  They left the bathroom through the door adjoining the living room with Angela going straight over to grab the phone on her hike to the windows. By the time she got there, the ringing in her ear and the doorbell started simultaneously. A pivot and she peered through the glass to see a uniformed chauffeur standing at attention at the door. Her anxious gaze swung to Chance as he headed towards the stairs.

  “Who is it?” he asked from his stance on the second step down.

  “I don’t know,” she responded absently more interested in why there was still no answer at her parents’ home. “It’s a limo driver.”

  The bell gonged again forcing Chance to speed up his descent. His foot touched the cement floor of the garage when he heard her yell his name in distress. There wasn’t a doubt which individual rated his immediate attention as he shot back upstairs.

  “Just ignore it, Chance,” she begged as he approached to see what was so interesting occurring in the street.

  Chance watched her advance on him as he attempted to get to the window. “They’re not going away, Angel,” he consoled when the bell continued to bong. He resisted her attempts at redirecting him by clutching her arms, dragging her along to the tinted glass. “I’ll be goddamned!” he charged, relapsing into his old habit of vulgarity.

  “Don’t—”

  Angela’s plea went unheeded as he struck out to the door, covering the distance in record time to snatch it open so violently, the wall behind lost kernels of mortar at the impact. The uninvited visitor didn’t flinch. “What the fuck do you want?”

  Jason Harper stood his ground. “I’m not here to start trouble, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s funny that’s the first thing out of your mouth.” Chance disagreed with Jason’s assessment of the climate his intrusion created for Angela. She hadn’t appeared for which he was glad.

  “I’m here because—” Jason commenced answering only to have Chance cut him off.

  “You’re a pain in the ass? Get on with it. What do you want?” He nervously looked over his shoulder.

  “This is a proxy visit on behalf of my father who’s worried about Angela’s condition.”

  Chance, ignorant she raced down the stairs at the mention of her name, but alerted to her antics by the look on Jason’s startled face, knew what tripped her switch and felt terrified that she finally snapped from the trauma.

  “Why won’t you leave me alone?” Angela, provoked by his presence, attacked. “What did you come to see? If I have another cultivation left in me? Or if your donor cow perished in the fire?”

  T
he setting sun’s vivid glare framed Jason as a harbinger of bad news.

  “Angela!” Chance tried to tame her fury. “Shush!”

  “Are you defending him, now?” she screamed.

  He whispered for her ears only. “No. I’m protecting you. Never allow your opponent the satisfaction of the upper hand by letting them goad you.” Magically, her rants ceased. “I love you, Angel. I want all of you to love me back. You can’t do that if you’re courting a nervous breakdown.” Her abrupt about-face into his chest jolted Chance.

  Jason, who held his tongue during the entire dramatic scene—recognized and admitted to himself theirs was a thriving love against all odds, broke his silence. “My mission is to report on your condition, Angela. But, not for the reasons you outlined. My father—our father,” he stammered, “saw Lt. Alexander on the news, made a few phone calls and confirmed your name on the plane’s roster.”

  “See? Ulterior motive extraordinaire.”

  “He felt inclined to check on you and called your parents to—”

  “He what?” she exclaimed.

  “Fuck!” came the retort at her back.

  “They’re about twenty minutes,” he looked at his watch, “make that ten minutes away.”

  Angela eyed her half-brother still unconvinced he spoke the truth. “My parents are coming here?”

  “That’s why you got no answer,” Chance deduced. His eyes roamed the street over her head to see another shiny black Towncar heading their way. “Actually, they’re here.” Down the street, a rolling caravan inched towards them as slowly as a New Orleans jazz funeral procession. Nipping her chin, Chance added, “And…my family’s bringing up the rear.”

  Angela and Jason’s mouths twisted in the same fashion as their eyes clashed after viewing the scene. “You just had to stick your nose in where it wasn’t needed.”

  “You and I are obligated to one another for our parents’ sakes. Even though there’s no love between us, I don’t wish for your demise, Angela,” he defended.

  “Like I believe that.” She tossed a look up the street. “Rest assured, Jason. I want nothing from you or your father short of your making this stop a very brief one.”

  “Angel, he’s extending an olive branch—of sorts.” Chance interpreted not only Jason’s words but also the absence of malice his expression always held when in her company. “We have to make the best of this situation.” He took possession of her lips then showed her the stairs. “You’d better put on a pair of sweats. Company’s here.”

  The street transformed into a parking lot right before their eyes as two vehicles split from the group to pull into spots behind the black cars, the third—an SUV slanted in front, all emptying out more legs than a octopus has tentacles.

  Angela vanished into the interior of the loft.

  “You’re all welcome.” Circumstances compelled Chance to stipulate a few rules of engagement. “All I ask is you respect and have compassion for Angela’s delicate frame of mind during this ordeal.” He championed her cause. “Lee and Connie, she’s beating herself up for not being completely honest with you.” To his immediate foster-family which included all seven of the adults, he said, “Thank you for your support.”

  Everyone converged just inside of the door waiting on introductions.

  “Brock,” Connie said, “we weren’t fooled one minute about where Cookie rushed off to. Her body was in Chicago with us. Her heart was here.”

  Chance’s relief was audible.

  “We don’t hold you responsible for Cookie’s actions any more than you can blame yourself for the close call,” Lee added.

  He professed in front of all present, “I love your daughter, Lee.”

  Lee clasped Chance’s shoulder in a firm grip. “Then, you’re in for one hell of a ride, Brock.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He broke from the group to stand on the first step. “Robinsons and offspring meet the Munsoes.” He did a rapid rundown of the individuals huddled in front of him remembering the lone outsider lurking in the door. “Come on in, Jason.”

  “Jason Harper,” he introduced himself closing the door behind him, flooring Chance with his big finish. “Angela’s brother.”

  While they exchanged greetings of their own, and Chance knew they also tampered down questions about Angela’s ancestry, he started upstairs. “Come on up, everybody. I’ll see if she’s dressed.”

  He heard the rustle of movement of all trampling behind as he vanished into his bedroom. “Angel?” Chance found her sitting on the side of his bed, shoulders slumped, head down. He sat, too. “All in that room want nothing more than your speedy recovery.”

  “Is Jason in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, that’s not true,” she said.

  “Forget Jason. You don’t have to come out if you don’t feel up to it. My family will understand. I’m inviting Connie and Lee into the bedroom.”

  She nodded her consent. He kissed her forehead, nipped her chin and walked from the room.

  “Connie, Lee, she’s waiting for you.” To everyone else, “I’ll get the coffee going.” He watched her parents join hands on the jaunt to see about their daughter.

  “I’ll do that, Bro,” Chanté volunteered.

  “You take a load off,” Sasha put in dashing to assist her sister-in-law.

  “Thank you all for your concern. I’m sure Angela will express her gratitude when she—”

  Gram whisked away his apology. “Peace and quiet is the right thing for her now, Brock. That and some of my down-home red beans and rice.”

  Chance’s foster-mother chimed in. “I’ll get it out of the SUV, Miss Gladys.”

  “Gram, you didn’t.” His grin was infectious causing her to chuckle as she reached up from her seat—drawing him to her level—to pat his cheek.

  “Gram takes care of her own. You know that.”

  He honored her thoughtfulness and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Gram.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gram was full of surprises. “Why are you boys standing around like this is a funeral? It’s a celebration of life! Get this boy a beer. I know he could use one.”

  “Yes, maam,” Trell answered, only too happy to march over to the refrigerator as ordered.

  Letha returned loaded down with heavy containers big enough to hold enough servings to feed a bunch of people. The men milled around quietly undoubtedly at odds with their roles in this situation. Chance kept tabs on things from the kitchen table all the while thinking of Angela and her parents in the other room.

  The scene in his bedroom lent itself to a touching movie, the kind shown day in and day out during the Christmas Holidays.

  “I decided Chance was worth the fight to overcome my fears. I never meant to lie to you,” Angela explained as she sat flanked by Connie and Lee.

  It was Lee who replied. “We suspected who this friend was before you left the house last night, Cookie.”

  “You did?” she asked surprised.

  “We’re your parents,” Connie reminded her. “We know you like a book—”

  “That’s been read over and over again,” Angela said, reciting the words left on her mother’s lips. She caught the hand of each. “I love you so much and am ashamed for ruining your Christmas.”

  “Ruining our Christmas would have been coming here to recover your…your—” Connie responded unable to continue.

  “What your mother is trying to say, Cookie, is having you safe and sound makes this the best Christmas ever. Anyway, Christmas is two days away,” Lee advised. We can celebrate at home thanks to the generosity of Philip Haperiski.”

  Angela just knew her parents heard her heart thump to the floor. “Not him, again?” The crescendo in her voice wouldn’t be tamed.

  “Cookie, he simply provided the use of his jet to get us here faster. That’s all.”

  Angela gaped at her mother. But, it was her father who spoke next.

  “I would’ve accepted a ride from the devil hims
elf if that meant getting to you any sooner.”

  Her anger tempered. “You’re right, of course. However, I can’t go with you. I can’t fly right now, Mama. I—I can’t.”

  “Is that what this is about? Flying?” her mother asked. “Cookie, we’ll send Jason on his way and get a hotel downtown.”

  Everything Connie said resonated with Angela, playing on her guilty conscience. “You’re here because of me and I can’t offer you a roof over your heads because I no longer have a roof over my own head.”

  Silent tears rolled and Lee and Connie smothered her in their comforting embrace.

  Lee, removing himself out of the way to allow Connie to work her motherly magic, joined the men at the table, his long face telling a sad story.

  “Is she okay?” Chance asked, pushing the full brown bottle aside.

  “Weighed down by another molehill,” he sighed. All activity slowed to lessen the noise in the kitchen in order to hear his calm comments.

  “What do you mean?” Chance asked.

  “Cookie’s upset because she’s afraid to fly back to Chicago and to top that off—she can’t offer us a place to spend Christmas.”

  Gram gave one of those old people grunts that translated into an idea. “You can stay with me.”

  “That’s a kind offer, Mrs. Robinson,” Lee acknowledged.

  “It sure is, Gram,” Chance agreed, leaving his seat to hug her.

  Letha spoke up. “Brock, isn’t Miss Belle out of town? You stay there and let them have your place. That way everyone has some semblance of privacy.”

  “That’s a good idea. But, I have a better one—just not a complete solution.” He commanded everyone’s attention with those words. Chance waved everyone closer. “Angela can stay where she’s comfortable. In her own home—if she wants to.”

  Pops broke his silence. “You know that’s not possible, Brock.”

  “It is,” he admitted with a shamed face.

  “Tell us more,” Lee pursued the matter. “How—when her place is unavailable?”

  Chance hedged trying to find a way to admit his folly. “I hoped she’d come back to New Orleans. Just in case she did, I knew she’d need a place to stay.”