Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  “Get to the point, Brock,” Lee urged impatiently, breaking into the long explanation.

  The expectant looks of all present settled on him. “Angel’s place is under lease—to me.”

  Lee thoughtfully lounged back in his seat—arm perched on his stomach—forehead wrinkled. His look, touching on each set of worried eyes in the room complemented his stomach’s spasms, the sign laughter was difficult to suppress as he clarified Chance’s statement. “You’re her tenant?”

  “I’m her tenant,” he repeated proudly, squashing the speeder-caught-on-camera mentality.

  Trell added his two-cents, “And Angela doesn’t know?” grinning from ear to ear.

  “No,” he answered like a man of authority, keeping his voice lowered while checking over his shoulder.

  The women shared “girly” glances.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Chance complained quietly.

  “Why are you whispering?” Chanté asked, noticing Sasha’s mess-maker’s smirk.

  “Look,” he addressed them in order to end their teasing, “none of this matters for she shipped her furniture.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Lee provided unexpectedly, reading the look in Chance’s eyes. “Her belongings are here and I have a key.” Every man’s interpretation was the same as they agreed—in silence—to a pact of subterfuge, disposed of their unfinished beers and awaited directives from Chance.

  “It’s got to be a surprise.” He asked in uncertainty, “Can we pull this off?”

  “I don’t see why not,” replied Sasha. “We weren’t going to stay long anyway. So if we leave now she’ll never suspect a thing.”

  Letha added, “Gram and I’ll go spare the babysitter.”

  “Big favor, Sis,” he said to Chanté.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Christmas lights for the front with enough left over for a nice sized tree.” He flipped open his wallet, emptied the contents on the table, and commented, “You’ll need to follow me to the ATM.”

  “I’d like to contribute.”

  Utter silence prevailed.

  “Not necessary, Jason. I’ve got things covered.” Chance rejected the offer. Jason pulled his wallet from his inside jacket pocket, as Chance fumed, to fan bills card-like instigating Chance’s wrath. “You braggadocios sonofabitch! We’re not impressed with your—”

  It was Jason’s turn to interrupt. “Can it, Lieutenant. She’s my sister regardless of how we feel about it and Haperiskis take care of their own.”

  “Why you—” Chance stomped in Jason’s direction halting abruptly as Lee blocked his path.

  “Let him help, Brock.” Lee showed his bravery in the face of Chance’s demonic look. “We need all the help we can get to make this endeavor work.”

  Chance stood down and the air in the room flowed again. He removed himself from the crowd to check in on the women in his bedroom. “Angela, everyone’s leaving and I’m going get my car at the airport.”

  Angela left her mother’s side to lead him back to the other room where their visitors filed towards the stairs. “Wait. Everyone.” Her look of appreciation settled on all present. “I can’t thank you for your concern and support. You don’t have to hurry on my account.”

  “We’re not, Angel Baby,” Gram promised and the others tensed knowing her tendency for spoiling surprises. “We want you to rest. We’ll see you later.”

  As everyone trailed her to the exit, Chance detoured to make a snappy change and steered Angela out of earshot upon his return. “I’ll be a while to give you and your parents time together. You’ll be okay, right?”

  “As long as you’re coming back,” she confided.

  “You can count on me like the morning tide, Angel. Try and get some rest.”

  Lee, who whispered his intent to Connie, advised aloud, “I’m going, too, Brock.”

  “Men’s night out,” Angela concluded. A good smack on his lips and she quipped, “I can handle that.”

  “We haven’t had our holiday treat, Cookie. Let’s take advantage of this time together.” Connie’s voice hinted at a lift in her spirits.

  “You want to cook, Mama?”

  “The holidays calls for sweets, Sweetie.” A genuine grin played at her lips. “Let’s bake something.”

  Secret smiles abounded as the room cleared leaving Angela and Connie to their bonding.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chance was on pins and needles the entire ride back to his loft nervous about Angela’s reception to his deceptive scheme of leasing her place behind her back. The more he agonized about it, the antsier he became with his constant grip change on the steering wheel accentuating his dilemma. He felt Lee’s chiding smile even in the darkened interior of the Cobra, stiffening his spine for he knew what was to come. The wait was a short one as Angela’s dad bellowed his delight apparently tickled by the turn of events.

  Lee took in Chance’s posture amused that the big, bad lieutenant was a mess of jittery Jell-O as he kept his eyes directed at the road ahead. It was obvious he had no interests in the spectacular light displays passed along the route to the French Quarters and back to where Angela and Connie waited. He imagined Chance running lines in his head practicing his speech for forgiveness.

  Another howl escaped.

  The ride lasted a little longer than usual since Chance used a meandering scenic route in his endeavor to get his thoughts together. Within sight of his building, he activated the remote, the door rolled upwards and he slid into the garage stopping with the rumble he knew Angela recognized. His car door hadn’t closed good before he saw her racing down the staircase towards him, all excited and giggly. Her approach did not slow as she leaped into his chest, locked her ankles around his waist and showered him with tiny kisses all over his face and neck—right in front of her father.

  “What took you so long?” she asked between smooches.

  “Uh, uh,” he stuttered while gripping her waist, completely thrown off his game at the reception, his eyes cutting to see Lee’s reaction.

  “Don’t look at me,” Angela’s father said and headed upstairs.

  Chance lost himself in her arms returning her kisses with fervor. “Feel up to taking a ride?”

  “Not really. But, whatever you want to do—I’m game,” she amiably agreed.

  “Good,” he sighed in relief. “It’s Christmas and New Orleans has its own brand of decorating for the holidays. I think you’ll enjoy the sights.”

  Angela unlocked her legs and slid down his frame to stand in front of him. “You don’t know how many batches of cookies I had to make while you were out boying it up. Mama is a taskmaster this time of the year.”

  “Oh, so—that’s why you complained about the length of time I was away. Not that you missed me. It was pure selfishness,” he mocked.

  “Look at me, Chance,” she implored.

  He did—straight into her bruised face and red eyes and couldn’t resist the urge to swaddle her battered form in his strong, comforting arms.

  “I know the value of time, now, and want to waste none of it. I love being in your company. I love being in your arms.” She lay back in his embrace. “This is going to sound mushy, but, I love loving you.”

  Her words set him on fire. Chance’s mouth claimed Angela’s in a possessive exchange of passion that swept both of them up in excitement. He broke it off, panting to recover his composure. “Your parents are upstairs, Angel. Remember?”

  “Hmmm, Chance,” she groaned in acknowledgement to what he said, her senses reeling.

  The will to disengage from her softness drained him of every ounce of his energies. He breathed heavily while pulling her up the stairs behind him. Muted whispers seeped into his awareness as Connie and Lee milled around his kitchen table munching on the sweets spread out for cooling. Chance planted Angela in front of him with his arms banding her middle and faced them not unlike a man facing the firing squad. Their smiles suggested they knew the heated battle fought
on the lower floor. He was just happy everyone was on the same page in reference to the love shared by him and Angela.

  “We’re going look at the Christmas lights,” he announced. “Why don’t you come along?”

  Connie gushed, “Sounds great! I love doing that. Gives me ideas for the next year.”

  “Like we have space for anymore paraphernalia relative to this time of year, Doll,” her husband grumbled.

  Chance liked how easy it was for Lee to use his pet name for his wife.

  “Be nice, Grumpy,” she scolded. “You know you wouldn’t have it any other way.” Lee nuzzled his wife’s neck for an answer. “That’s better.”

  “I need to change,” Angela chimed in. She swiveled in his protective circle and rewarded him with a juicy kiss. “Be right back.”

  Her animated exit brought a smile to his lips and a ka-boom to his heart. “What do you think? Will she understand?” he whispered to the other two conspirators.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Connie answered morosely, confusing Chance with her capitulation. Suddenly, she grinned. “Hurry, Cookie. Chance is chomping at the bit.”

  “I’m coming,” Angela yelled back. She stepped out commanding their attention in her borrowed getup. “I know. I know. A little tight but Sasha was kind enough to loan them to me.”

  As she progressed towards him, Chance scoped out her footwear—a pair of his heavy white athletic socks. Realization set in that she had no clothing of her own since the location of her luggage remained a mystery. Just like a man demonstrating compassion and support of the one he loved, he marched forward to scoop her into his arms for the ride down the stairs and to the car, receiving a humongous hug for his trouble. He was her willing prisoner until disturbed by Lee and Connie after making their descent.

  “Guys in front,” Angela proclaimed. With a laugh, she teased while fitting herself behind the passenger seat. “There’s no way Daddy can squeeze back here.”

  “That’s mighty gracious of you, Cookie,” he said piling in after watching with concern as Connie manipulated her body into the low slung vehicle.

  All were adequately, if not comfortably, situated for the excursion when Connie spoke up. “Let me tell you. That wasn’t the easier thing I’ve ever had to do.”

  That remark set the tone erasing any uncertainties harbored in relations to their personal concerns about Angela’s mental recovery. She laughed harder than any. They embarked on a randomly chosen route selected by Chance to showcase the artistry of a cross-section of New Orleans’ culture. The ooo’s and ahh’s kept coming as the women enjoyed the spectacle laid out before them as they cruised one neighborhood after another. The highlight for Chance was Angela’s bright sparkly smile that wooed him silly whenever he stole a glance over his right shoulder. One such move garnered him a secret message from her father as their eyes met.

  Chance took the hint steering the Mustang back across Carrollton, up Canal Boulevard where he hung a right on St. Charles to follow the streetcar rails. The locale changed from business to residential with palatial old homes majestically settled along the avenue. The gaiety reverberating within fractionally reduced in the back seat until only Connie’s enthusiastic comments sounded. Angela’s voice mysteriously quieted leaving all to wonder about the sudden change in attitude.

  Then the error of his ways dawned on Chance, soliciting a heart-felt apology from him. “Crap, Angela. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t thinking.” Measuring the damage inflicted was as simple as trailing her eyes. They burned the site of his preemptive strike and her near death experience into her brain.

  “Why did you come this way?” she asked miffed.

  He told a bald faced lie. “To check on Aunt Belle’s house. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Of course, I don’t mind that,” she bickered totally out of character. “You should’ve come from the other direction, that’s all.”

  “You’re right,” Chance conceded. “Just like you were right that night. I should have listened to your pleas and taken you home first. Instead, I put my job ahead of your safety.”

  Angela extolled her part in that awful night’s outcome glad when he turned off Eighth Street. “None of that would’ve happened if I hadn’t persuaded you to stop for a stupid slurpy.”

  “You can’t know that, Angel. Besides, you’re so damn cute when you connive to have your way.”

  She blew in agitation.

  He maneuvered his vehicle into his aunt’s driveway and halted on the incline. The front of Angela’s home depicted the Christmas cheeriness devoid in their midst. The rumble silenced returning the neighborhood to the quiet peaceful night. They sat taking in the beautiful arrangement of traditional colored bulbs intermingled with garland dressing the eaves, posts and railings of the house. The front porch displayed a mix of decorating flavors seen throughout New Orleans with the flair of an inflatable Crawdad Santa sitting in the rocking chair complete with a full toy sack in his claw.

  “Look at the lighted runners along the walkway,” Angela cooed.

  “You like that?” he asked proudly, opening his door to exit.

  “Very much,” she lamented.

  Angela twisted in her seat to monitor his actions as he made the obligatory run in and out of his aunt’s home. Chance’s rhythmic gait had him bypass the car as he charged up the walk to her former home, knocked on the door and vanished into the interior alive with children’s laughter that filtered over to them. An incredulous openmouthed look dominated her face as she linked eyes with her parents.

  “What is he doing?” she asked alarmed to which they simply stared. Throwing the seat forward, she stood with one foot in and the other out of the car as she tried to gauge his whereabouts. He appeared in the doorway, as if on cue, poked his head out and flagged for her to come over. “You’ve lost your ever-loving mind,” she accused, staying exactly where she was.

  She leaned into the interior with an excuse on her lips only to feel the sensation of falling as she lost her balance. However, Angela never hit the ground. Instead, she perched in Chance’s arms and endured, but, not quietly, as he bodily carried her towards the house. Her obvious upset transmitted in the stiff pose of her body draped across his arms. This experience brought tears to her eyes for she was without recourse except for making a scene and humiliating herself even further.

  “Brock, don’t you make another step.” Her order was urgent and succinct.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, alerted by the calling of his given name, and offered up an explanation. “Your new tenant is a nice guy and agreed to let you have a look inside.”

  “Uh-hmmm,” Lee grunted at their backs, his interruption a form of instigation.

  “Put me down.”

  The words barely vibrated the airwaves causing him to second guess his approach. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate her. “I promise you it’s okay.”

  “You can’t just barge in on people because you happen to be their landlord,” she educated him while squirming for her release.

  Chance held tight locking her against his solid chest in response to her antics. “Would you feel better if he invited you in himself?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because I told him it would mean a lot to you to see inside for old time sakes.”

  Angela knew Chance could wrangle that because he’d already been inside with the strangers. One thing, though. She did want to see inside to put feelings to rest in that she left in such a hurry when she departed the other day. It would be nice to have a close-up look at the fabulous Christmas tree in the picture window. Everything from this vantage point proved very tastefully done. There was no way she could have presented a better display.

  “Okay. Call him out and I’ll talk for myself,” she bargained.

  Connie’s snicker broadcast her amusement.

  “You don’t think I should, Mama?”

  “That’s your decision, Cookie,” she strangled.

&n
bsp; Chance stood her on her own two feet and she watched him lope back into the house. Again, he enticed her forward with a beckoning wave. This time she proceeded up the walk extremely self-conscious about her shoeless state, flanked by her parents on either side. The laughter heard a while ago minimized in volume shrouding the atmosphere in a somber mood. Eventually, not one sound sneaked out as they stood poised in the doorway a few feet from Chance.

  “Welcome. Come on in,” he invited playfully at her stunned expression.

  “Where is he?” Angela inquired.

  Bashfully, he answered, “You’re looking at him.” He grabbed her hand to prevent her getaway and pulled her across the threshold.

  Angela’s eyes darted as far as the eye could see. Surely, they played tricks on her for all the furniture in the place was hers. She inhaled and released a soothing breath as her nostrils relished the scent of baked goods permeating the air. Her look zoomed back to him. The answer to the question roiling around in her head seemed a logical one. Yet, her brain refuted her conclusion.

  “Why…would you…do…this?” His fingers massaged hers, turning her knees to rubber.

  “New Orleans needs people like you, Angel, someone willing to lend a helping hand.” He stepped closer. “Its children need you to champion their causes. To do that, you need a place to live.”

  “Oh.” Not exactly what she wanted to hear. Angela tugged free, took a step back and deigned to scan the faces in the room for reactions.

  Chance wasn’t through speaking. “But—I need you more.” Angela did that nose crinkle thing he came to recognize indicated pure satisfaction.

  He waited. She stared.

  In an instant, her heart rejoiced with the idea he would go to so much trouble for her. Her love for him took wings as she flew into his embrace. Angela’s clutch of his waist spoke volumes. Her soft-spoken words elevated the contact. “I guess it’s safe to say we’re now an “us”.

  “Then, that means you aren’t angry.” Chance heaved a blow. Her reply was a long, hard kiss without regard to the audience gathered around them.