Monty
Page 14
Major looks to the left, to the right and then back to the left again. He turns all the way around, checks his six, then looks at me and glares. “Who are you?”
I crack a smile.
His glare sharpens.
“Did you at least hear what I said?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. I heard you. That’s why I’m trying to figure out what’s going on. I ain’t never in my life heard you say nothing like that.”
I smile. That speaks to the power of one beautiful lil’ lady who’s changing my life more than she realizes. It actually feels good to say these words to my brother and actually mean it. He’s my brother. I love him. Too often, we take family for granted. I don’t want to do that with my family any longer.
“Major, can you speak on what I just said?”
He shakes his head. “Not right now. I’m flabbergasted. You’re going to have to give me a couple of days just to process this.”
“Come on, man.”
“This is all Cherish, isn’t it?”
I resume eating. “She made some recommendations to me. Yes.”
“And you’re actually following them?”
“I am. It’s a new day, brother. I’m trying to be a better version of myself, starting with you.”
“That’s good. I applaud you. They say the right woman can change a man for the better.”
I grin. “Cherry isn’t my woman.”
“Who? Cherry, you say?”
I laugh at myself. “I mean, Cherish.”
“Yeah, she’ll be yours soon enough.”
“You think so?”
“No. I know so.”
“How you figure?”
“There’s a reason you’re drawn to her—just like there’s a reason she can get you to do things that you never do. I can’t tell you the last time we, as brothers, were out like this to enjoy ourselves over food and drinks. It’s been over what? A decade?”
“Something like that.”
“It shouldn’t be that way, Monty.”
“You’re absolutely right. That’s why I’m looking to change that. And keep in mind, I’m not perfect.”
“You’re not?” he quips.
“If I slip up and revert back to my old habits, cut me some slack.”
“I think I can handle that.”
* * *
When we arrive back at Cherish’s house, Major shuts off the car.
“You’re coming in?” I ask.
“Nah. It’s late. I just wanted to bring up something about our older brother. I know it’s a touchy subject for you and I was wondering if you’ve given any further thought to maybe finding him.”
“I have. What’s funny is, I don’t know if I have it in me to do all the investigative work, you know.”
“If you weren’t so secretive about everything, you could hire somebody.”
“Yeah, I could.”
“Or, you can just let Cherish take care of it. I mentioned something to her about it. She said it was a thorn for you and she wanted to take the lead in finding him.”
“She said that?”
“Yep. She’s got your back…never seen anything like it.”
“Yeah. Me either.”
“It’s probably time you did something about that.”
“Like what?”
“Showing her how much you appreciate her for starters.”
“Maybe so. Ay, be careful driving home.”
“Yep.”
He backs out as I step inside the house. I’m quiet as I enter. If Cherish is sleeping, I don’t want to disturb her. The TV is on in the living room – makes me think she’s still up. As I get closer to the couch, I can see her lying there, sleeping.
I watch her. Can’t take my eyes off of her. I’ve never seen her so relaxed. She’s usually always on the go, taking care of me. Of the house. Of anything that needs to be taken care of. But now, in this moment, is when all the work she’s done takes a toll on her. When she falls asleep without making it to her bedroom. Without putting on pajamas and tying up her hair. She has on a skimpy nightshirt, a white see-through one. I try not to stare, but I rarely get to see her body. She keeps it hidden. Now, she’s on display for my eyes only. So I take it all in, memorizing the curve of her hips. The firmness of her breasts. The chocolate color of her skin. The way her hair is splayed on the couch. I remember her breathing pattern. Watch her chest rise and fall gracefully. My eyes trace her nose. Her lips. Her chin. Her breasts again. They follow the length of her frame down to her toes. She’s beautiful from head to toe. Inside and out. She’s my saving grace.
My angel.
I want to scoop her up and take her to her bedroom but I run the risk of injuring myself with crack ribs and all. She’d never forgive me if I did that. So, I do the next best thing – I go to her room to get a blanket – first time I’d ever been in her bedroom. I take a blanket from the bed. As I’m leaving the room, I glance at the dresser and see a picture of a younger version of her with a man who I assume is her father. It makes me realize something – I have no clue who she is. I don’t know anything about Cherish. When I’m with her, it’s all about me. We never talk about her. Her family. Who she is and what kind of life she had before she started working for the estate.
That shows me how selfish I really am. I’ve never asked about her family and she’s busying herself with helping me put mine back together.
I leave her room and cover her with a blanket. I hate to leave her in the living room alone, so I stay a while. I use one of the pillows that fell on the floor and rest my head on it – keeping my mind occupied by watching TV so I can’t think about how hard and uncomfortable this floor is, especially for someone in my condition. It’s when I hear Cherish talking in her sleep. She’s consistently mumbling something at first – doesn’t make much sense. Sounds like gibberish. Then she yells, “No! Noo! Stop! Don’t touch me!”
I sit up to look at her. “Cherish,” I whisper, but she’s sound asleep with a frown disturbing her otherwise beautiful, majestic face. There’s nothing to suggest she’s in distress. All I see are her pretty lips and closed eyes.
She’s had a bad dream. I would be lying if I said I didn’t wonder if there was any significance behind it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cherish
I wake up in the morning realizing I’m on the couch. There’s a blanket on top of me. The TV is on, but the volume is turned down. I stretch and try to remember how I ended up sleeping here.
Oh, that’s right—waiting for Monty to get back. Did he ever come back?
I stretch again and push the blanket off of me to get up off the couch. When my feet touch a body instead of the floor, I scream, snatch my legs back and tremble with fear, only to realize it’s Monty.
He sits up, stretches and asks, “What are you screaming about now, girl?”
I’m heated. Scared and heated. “What are you doing down there?”
“I was sleeping—”
“You’re supposed to be in the bedroom, not on the floor! I could’ve hurt you.”
He laughs. Pisses me off. My heart is beating so fast, I can hardly catch my breath.
“It’s not funny, Monty!”
“It is funny,” he says, still laughing.
It’s like music to my ears to hear him in good spirits, but I’m still angry.
He looks at me, amusement still on his handsome face. “Okay, first of all, I slept here because I wanted to be close to you.”
“Close to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to. Second, you’re not going to injure me, girl, with your lil’ petite self.”
“I’m heavier than I look.”
“I doubt it.”
“I am. I used to lift weights.”
He laughs more. “The only weights you lift are those garden tools you use when you’re playing in your flowers.”
I growl, get up off the sofa and snatch my blanket, wrapping it aro
und myself like a towel. “I’ll cook breakfast when I’m out of the shower.”
“Okay, heavyweight champ.”
I roll my eyes at him and head down the hallway smiling. He’s loosening up, showing more of his personality. I can’t be mad at that.
* * *
My mother calls when I’m at the stove cooking French toast. I know this because Monty picks up my phone and says, “Ay, Belinda’s calling you.”
I leave the stove to take the phone from his grasp.
“Aren’t you at work?” I answer, returning to the stove.
In other words, why are you calling me?
“Yeah, I’m here. The boss took the day off. Listen, I’m not going to chat long but just wanted to let you know your stepfather’s retirement party is this coming Saturday.”
“And? Why are you telling me?” I ask her. I flip over the bread.
“It would mean the world to him if you showed up. We need to put the past in the past and start supporting each other like a family is supposed to.”
“Are you—!” I pause before completely losing it, remembering I have an audience of one. When I turn around, Monty’s looking intuitively at me while he sits behind his laptop with his hands steepled. I wonder how long he’s been looking at me. Did the staring start with my mother’s phone call or had he been staring all along, pretending to be engrossed in work? I can never tell with him. He’s an intelligent man. Can easily pick up on situations without knowing the whole story. I can literally see him thinking the way he does when he stands at the windows in his office with his billionaire hands in his pockets.
I remove the pan from the stove and decide to take the call out on the porch.
“Helloooo? Are you there? Hellooo?” Mother croons.
Gosh, she gets on my nerves…
“I’m here, Ma.”
“What’s wrong with your phone, girl? I’ve been telling you to get rid of that cheap phone service. You’ve been working all this time and your phone breaks up more than celebrity couples.” She cackles.
The side effect of having Webster Gregory for a husband is, his bad joke telling has rubbed off on her. She’s even starting to sound like him. Ugh. They pronounce words the same now. Makes my stomach turn.
“There’s nothing wrong with my phone, and, no, I will not be coming to Webster’s retirement party.”
“Why not? Give me one good reason?”
“Because your husband’s still a pervert.”
“Cherish—!”
I hang up the phone and step off of the porch, letting the sun warm my body. I close my eyes and angle my head up to the heavens. It’s freeing to push bad memories to the back of my mind. My mother has a way of making them come back to the surface. She’s the queen of sweeping things under the rug and keeping up appearances. So what if it comes at her only daughter’s expense?
“What’cha doin’, Sherrish?”
Oh, crap. Ms. Kettleworth...
I can’t even get five minutes to myself to bake alone in the sun.
I open my eyes to see the old lady sliding between the bushes that separate our driveways. I swear she stays lurking behind them, waiting for an opportunity to slither her way over here and talk. The woman has a mess of grandkids and nobody to talk to but that funky feline that has her house smelling like cat poop and rotten kitty litter.
“I see yur schedule all thrown off.”
“Yeah. I’m just switching some things up.”
“Umm-hmm…dats what dey call it now-er-days, eh?”
“What do you mean, Ms. Kettleworth?”
“Oh, don’t fart around with me, Sherrish,” she says, poking me with her feeble elbow. “I see you done got yurself a man. I seent him. Umm-hmm. Sure did. Good looking feller. Riding up here in a Mer-Mer—what’chu call dem fancy rich-folk cars?” she asks, looking over at Monty’s Mercedes.
“It’s a Mercedes.”
“Yeah. Dat’s it. A Mer-shay-dees. Dem cars sure cost a lotta mucho dinero.”
“Yeah…” But it ain’t nothing for a billionaire. He got the kind of money where he shouldn’t be driving himself at all.
“And he’s easy on the eyes, too, I tell ya dat.”
“Um, yeah. Look, I was just in the middle of cooking breakfast, so I’ll talk to you later, Ms. Kettleworth.”
“Alright,” she says like she’s sad I abruptly ended our conversation. I feel bad for her sometimes, but I can’t make her family visit her.
I return to the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Monty’s laptop screen before returning to the stove. He’s staring at a picture of a drawing of some kind.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yep. Fine and dandy.”
“Doesn’t sound convincing.”
“Yeah, well—”
I take some butter from the fridge and a pack of strawberries. I cut them in halves and put some on our plates. I make him coffee. I’m not in the mood for caffeine this morning.
When he sees me walking over to him with his breakfast, he folds his laptop closed and stares at the plate.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome,” I say. I don’t feel like having breakfast with him this morning. I’d rather eat alone but I don’t want to be the kind of person I told him not to be so I take a seat and just start eating, forcing it down. The faster I eat, the quicker I can get out of here.
I eat a strawberry and glance up at him. He’s chewing, looking at me.
I look away.
His eyes, his face still gets to me. Seems to affect me differently when I’m in a somber mood. I was okay before my mother called. Now, I’m inhaling strawberries and whatnot.
I glance up at him again.
His eyebrows raise. Head tilts.
I look away. Eat more strawberries. Retreat to my shell.
“Who’s Belinda?” he asks.
How do I answer that? Telling him about my mother opens the door for more questions about my family – something I don’t want to discuss.
“Why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “I’m just asking.” He takes a sip of coffee, never taking his eyes off me. I imagine this is the same way he does interviewees for high-level positions at his company. “Besides, I realized last night I don’t know much about you. So—who’s Belinda?”
“She’s my mother.”
“Oh. She lives here in Charlotte?”
“Yep,” I say tight-lipped.
“You don’t get along with your mother?”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. You just yelled at her before taking the call outside, and when I mentioned it was her on the phone, you cringed.”
“I didn’t cringe.”
“You did, and you’re very uncomfortable right now. Something’s off.”
I ignore his last statement and drink water.
He drops his fork in the plate so it purposely makes a loud clank. He knows it’ll get my attention. I look at him. He narrows his green eyes at me. “Wow. You really don’t want to talk about her, do you?”
“Not right now I don’t.”
“Okay, then. Let’s talk about your boyfriend.”
I crack a smile. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“You got something. Maybe you don’t call him a boyfriend, but he’s something.”
“What would make you think that, Monty?”
“Last Saturday, you came home eleven o’clock at night, hair hanging all loose, had on that pretty dress that’ll turn any man’s head and well, I can tell when a woman is dressing to hang with her girls versus to be with a man.”
“Okay, first of all, that was my Saturday outfit. I told you I was going out to do something fun. You talked me into staying home for a movie that we never watched by the way. So, when you flipped your lid and went berserk on me, I got dressed and went out. I wasn’t about to waste an outfit staying home.”
He chuckles. “You went out where?”
“For a drink.”
“Where was my question.”
“Sticky Fingers.”
“In Concord?”
“Yes.”
“With who?”
“Your brother.”
He frowns. Surprises me because I don’t know the reason behind it. Why does it bother him that I was with Major?
He resumes eating, doesn’t say a word more. I imagine he wants to know what me and Major were doing. If we were talking about him, or if we were having a good time together. Laughing and chatting it up. Just me and him.
“You got dolled up to go out on a date with my brother?”
I sigh. He took it there. He doesn’t frown. Doesn’t sound disappointed. He sounds more like he can’t believe it. He puts on his poker face awaiting my response. “It wasn’t a date, Monty.”
“Then what was it?”
“It was two friends having drinks and talking.”
“Talking about what?”
“You.”
He raises a brow. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever you want to know about me, you can ask me.”
“Yeah, now I can. Last Saturday, I couldn’t ask you nothing. You were about as talkative as a brick wall.”
“Sort of how you were just a few minutes ago when I asked you about your mother?”
I pause. I can’t tell if he’s upset because I compared him to a brick wall, that I spoke to Major about him behind his back or that I was out with him. I don’t leave it to him to tell me which. I make the effort to ease the sudden tension mounting between us by saying, “You know what, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything to Major about you.”
“What did you want to know?”
“The things you told me on Sunday—that’s what I wanted to know. I was trying to figure out the best way to help you. I had no ill intent.”
“Do you like him?”
“Major?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. I like him. As a friend.”
“The same way you like me,” he says.