by Tina Martin
Am I imagining this?
“Cherish?”
“Oh, you’re welcome, Monty.”
“I mean it. I appreciate everything. You’ve taught me to appreciate people and what they do for me. Going forward, I’ll be more conscientious of my workers. But you—there’s just something extra special about you.”
“There’s nothing special about me.”
“There is. No one can take care of me like you, Cherish Stevens.”
The way he’s looking at my lips makes me think he wants to kiss me.
“Oh, please. I’m sure there’re plenty of women out there vying to take care of you.”
“Probably, but there’s only one I want,” he says.
I try not to twist his words. Try not to trick myself into believing they mean something. He didn’t say he wanted me. He said it in the context of me being the only woman he trusts to take care of him. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at my lips…
“Maybe I should get started on the salad now,” I say.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
* * *
Sylvia arrives. I greet her at the door with a hug. She hasn’t seen Montgomery since he’s been here and when he comes walking into the living room, she’s reduced to tears.
“Oh, son, I love you so much,” she says, her arms wrapped around him so tight, I don’t think she’ll ever let him go.
“Stop crying. I’m okay,” he tells her.
I go ahead to the kitchen to give them some privacy. I’m preparing their plates, instantly deciding I’m not going to be a part of this conversation. Monty needs this time alone with his mother and she needs it with him just as equally. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I want them to say what needs to be said without a third party being eyewitnesses to their innermost thoughts.
I relay this to Montgomery when he walks in the kitchen and he says, “No. I want you here.”
“Monty—”
“It’s not up for discussion, Cherish.”
Monty has a way of being assertive when he doesn’t get his way. I know this about him now, but I won’t accept it this time. “It is up for discussion,” I toss back.
Sylvia stays quiet and takes a seat at the table.
“Let’s talk.” Montgomery secures me by the arm and leads me down the hallway to my bedroom then closes the door. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m being respectful of you and your mother. She has things she needs to get off of her chest and so do you. I don’t want to be in the middle of that, Monty.”
“You’ve been in the middle of it, Cherish. If it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t be here right now because guess what? I didn’t have the desire to fix things between me and her. That was all you. Now you’re backing out on me?”
“No—”
“Then what do you call it?”
“I’m giving you privacy.”
“I don’t want privacy. I want your support. I need it. I need you.”
We stare at each other. I’m more shocked than anything because I know he’s a strong man. He’s fully capable of having this discussion with Sylvia without me there. But he doesn’t want to.
“Monty, you have my support.”
“Then why are we having this discussion? Hunh?”
I grit my teeth.
This man, this man…
He’s going to be the death of me.
I take his hand and say, “Let’s go.” I open the door and we head back to the kitchen.
We all sit around the table with plates. Sylvia comments on how good the food is.
“Thanks, Sylvia. Monty helped me cook the Ziti.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Monty hasn’t cooked a day in his life.”
“Now he has, so you can’t say that anymore.”
He looks at me and smiles. Then, with the straightest face I’ve ever seen on him, even more so than before the accident when he was a cruel dictator around the estate, he looks at Sylvia and says, “Let’s get down to business. Why don’t you love me?”
“What?”
“We’re here to resolve our issues, and my main issue with you is, I don’t feel that you love me. Or Major.”
“Son, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
I feel helpless. I can’t jump in and remediate. I’m just a fly on the wall trying to understand both perspectives, but leaning more toward Monty’s because, well—I love him. There. I said it. I love him and I’m no longer willing to deny what my heart feels. I love Montgomery St. Claire and it hurts me to see him sad. Pains me to think he feels this way about Sylvia when I can clearly see how much she loves him.
“If you loved me, I’d have your last name. I don’t have your last name. Major doesn’t have your last name. You never adopted us. You fostered us, hoping the social workers would find us a permanent residence but they never did. So, you were stuck with us, but we weren’t good enough to be adopted.”
“I wanted to adopt you. The first day I laid eyes on you and Major, I wanted to adopt you both then and there, but your father—”
“Please don’t blame this on dad.”
“Son—”
“He’s not here to defend himself.”
“Monty, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you the truth whether it’s hard to hear or not. If we’re truly going to get to the bottom of this, you need to hear my side of the story.”
I can see Monty struggling. Can feel his strong rigid vibes that used to paralyze me when I worked at the estate – before I knew him as well as I do now. To help him through this, place a hand on his thigh. Still frowning, he looks at me. “It’s okay, Monty,” I whisper.
He places his hand on mine and says, “Okay. Let me hear your side of the story,” he tells Sylvia.
“Son, I wanted children. I desperately wanted children but your father and I couldn’t have any. We looked at alternative treatments, but by that time came around, we were exhausted. He was tired of trying so he kept himself occupied with work. I suggested we adopt a baby. He refused. Said he wanted children of his own. The only other option for me was to become a foster parent. I nearly begged him to get on board with that idea. At first, he didn’t like it. Told me I could only take one of you. I convinced him I wasn’t going to split you two up, so we took you both—you and Major. As the years went by and we knew you two weren’t going to be adopted, I asked your father to make it official. Told him I wanted to adopt you. He didn’t want to. Said he loved you all the same—didn’t matter what your last names were. He wanted you to keep your name. Wanted you to have that connection to your roots in case you ever wanted to go looking for your relatives. It had nothing to do with a lack of love. I fought to keep you two together and even though we were well off, I made sure your upbringing was as normal as I possibly could.”
She pauses. I look at Monty. His head is down. He’s not saying anything. He’s thinking about what he wants to say. That, I can tell. “Monty,” I whisper to get his attention. Then I say, “Tell her what’s on your heart.” I interlock my hand with his, assuring him of my support.
He draws in a deep breath, looks at her and says, “As a child, you don’t fully know what’s going on, you know, being in a situation where you’re being placed in different homes. You don’t understand the reason your parents gave you away. But as you get older, as I got older, I realized they didn’t want me. That somebody actually gave me away like—just handed me away as easily as I can hand you this fork. I never got over that and I don’t think I ever will. That’s why I’m the way I am. Why I feel like when you and dad took us in, it was confusing because it’s like you wanted us, but you really didn’t. We were being handed off again, waiting to be handed off to someone else. I remember as a teen thinking I didn’t want to get too attached to you or dad because the time would come when we would have to move to another house. That fear subsided when I graduated. I was grown. I could go where I wanted
, choose my own path. I chose to learn the business because I felt like—”
He pauses. Takes a breath. His lips trembles just slightly.
“I felt like it would be the only thing that would keep dad from dismissing me as the foster child he raised. I felt like it would make me his son even though I didn’t deserve to be his son.”
“Montgomery,” Sylvia says, with tears streaming down her face.
“How do I qualify to be his son—the great Caspian Hawthorne—when my own father didn’t want me? Why did you want to be my mother when my real mother threw me away?”
His hand shakes. My heart breaks for him. It’s how I know I love this man. I only want the best for him. Want him to be happy because his happiness makes me happy. Right now, he’s not happy. He’s broken.
Sylvia gets up, sits beside him and puts an arm around him. “Monty, I don’t know what happened to your biological parents, so I can’t answer that, son. All I know is, I love you. I always have. I raised you and Major. I wish things were different for you. I do, but I don’t regret taking you in. You and Major—you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I will love you ‘til the day I die. Love you like I’ve always loved you.”
He nods. “I’m sorry,” he tells her. “Sorry for the way I’ve treated you.”
“It’s okay, son,” she says.
“No, it’s not okay,” he says looking at her. “I’m sorry and I want you to know that. And I love you too, Mother.” He releases my hand to embrace her in a full hug.
I smile. Finally. She’s his mother again.
He clears his throat when they separate and says, “Now, that we’ve cleared that up, let’s eat.”
“I’ll re-warm the food,” I say getting up to take their plates to the microwave.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Monty
It’s freeing to rid myself of the pain my past has caused me. I have a long way to go but getting back on good terms with my brother and now my mother is a great start.
And it’s all because of her.
Cherish Stevens.
She’s cleaning the kitchen. I’m perched against the doorway my hands in my pockets watching her work. She’s washing the casserole pan, wiping down the counters and putting away dishes.
She turns around, surprised to see me standing here at first, but then a smile comes to her face. A face I’ve come to enjoy over the last few weeks. “Hey. Everything okay?”
I hear her question, but I’m so enthralled by this amazing woman who’s come into my life that I can’t fix my mouth to make words. I only stare, take in her beauty. Appreciate her for being accommodating of me. For being my support through this difficult time in my life.
“Monty,” she says and smiles.
She owes me nothing. She doesn’t have to do a thing for me. I haven’t offered her any compensation and she hasn’t demanded anything of me but respect. She does what she does out of the goodness of her heart. This beautiful girl has paused her life for three weeks for me and I’m not blind to it. I know why. There could only be one reason she’d do this for me.
Only one.
She smiles again. Narrows her eyes. “Monty?”
I take a few steps over to her, stand in her immediate space while she’s holding a dishcloth.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers.
“Why do you think something’s wrong, sweetheart?” I brush my knuckles down her soft, warm cheek. Her eyes close at my touch. Her breaths are short and quick. She nibbles on her lip but stops just as quickly as she started to my chagrin.
I take my hand away from her face.
Her eyes open, peering into mine.
That soul exchange phenomenon happens again.
She glances away like she always does when she looks into my eyes. Then she’s right back, looking. Losing herself in my gaze.
Time stands still.
I’m too much in awe to say anything. My heart swells with joy to be in her presence. To know how this woman feels for me without her having to say it. Her actions have told me all I need to know. That’s why it’s so easy for me to open my heart to her – to let her see all of my faults and fears – all the things that make me who I am.
Time stands still.
My gaze doesn’t let up. In my mind, I think of ways I can repay her for all she’s done for me. That somehow turns into images of us making love in this kitchen. I’ve never thought of her this way before, but it’s all I can think about lately – about hoisting her up on this counter while my body is embedded so deep inside of her, I make her thoughts dissipate. Make her brain turn to mush. Make her moan with pleasure. I can already taste her lips. Her mouth. I can feel the warmth of her body. Her heartbeat thumping. Chest to chest with me, we’ll share sweat and heat. She’ll cry her moans until they become screams. She’ll scream so loud, her nosy neighbor will call 9-1-1 to request a wellness check.
But I pace myself. She’s too special of a woman to rush anything with her. Besides, there’s plenty I don’t know about her. A lot of things.
“Monty,” she whispers again in a sweet voice that instantly makes me want to change my mind. The counter is looking better and better.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Are you okay?”
She smiles. My heart dances.
“Yes. I’m okay.”
“It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. It has, and I’m so proud of you.”
“Why?” I ask for no other reason than wanting to see her lips move when she answers me – to give me another minute to decide if I want to catch her off guard and devour them.
“You worked things out with your mom. You opened up and got a lot of your problems out. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did.”
It also takes a lot of courage to resist your lips right now. Instead of going for them, I leave a kiss on her temple. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She smiles. Blushes.
“Do you need any help in here?” I ask her.
“No. I’m done. I’m just about ready to take a shower and crash.”
“Me, too.”
“Have a good night.”
“I will. You do the same, Cherry,” I say and walk away from her quickly to avoid pushing my lips to her temple again. Why? Because they might divert and drive towards her mouth instead and I know if I ever kiss her lips, I’ll never want to stop. So, I walk away. Don’t want to, but I do. “Oh, by the way,” I say before exiting the kitchen, “I’m taking you out tomorrow night and I want you to wear something pretty like you do when you go out with my brother.”
She smiles. That’s something I can take with me to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cherish
I get up early in the morning to water my flowers since I didn’t get a chance to do it yesterday evening. I glance over at Ms. Kettleworth’s house. The front door is wide open. I run back inside to get the plate of baked Ziti I saved for her and walk it over. I step up on the porch.
Meow, meow. Butterball is circling my leg like a shark. “Hey, Butterball. Where’s your—um—your mommy?”
Meow. Meow!
“Ms. Kettleworth, are you up?” When I don’t hear anything, I say her name louder, remembering she’d lost one of her hearing aids.
“Sherrish, what you doing over here so early this morning doing all dat hootin’ and hollerin’?”
“Sorry. I didn’t know if you heard me, Ms. Kettleworth. I know you had lost your hearing aid.”
“I found it. It fell off in the bed.”
“Oh. Okay. I just came by to bring you some Ziti.”
Her eyes light up. “You brought me some Zeebi?”
“Yes. I told you I would. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will, hun. I’ma eat this for dinner tonight. I’ll tell you how I like it. I most certainly will.”
“Okay.”
“How’d your lil’ shindi
g go last night? I saw a lady come over. She was driving a nice car, too. One of dem spaceship lookin’ thing-a-ma-jobbers. That’s what I call ‘em. Spaceships. Doggone thangs run off bat’tries and a push from the lord.”
I grin. “I went good. The lady you saw is Montgomery’s mother. She came over for dinner.”
“Well ain’t dat nice. That’s how you do it, Sherrish. Get in good with the mum and you’ll have dat man wrapped ‘round your finger and fo’ long, you’ll have a ring on dat same finger.”
“We don’t have that kind of relationship, Ms. Kettleworth. Montgomery is a friend. I’m helping him.”
“Friend.” She releases a sneaky grin. “He’s a mighty good-looking friend. How you stay trapped in a house with a man dat looks like him and call him a friend is beyond me, hun. I might be old and can’t hear worth a lick, but these here eyes—ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes.”
“Yeah, he is easy on the eyes. I’ll admit that much.”
My cell phone rings. I check to see who it is. It’s Magnus St. Claire. I’ve been waiting for his call. “Ms. Kettleworth, I have to take this. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. Thanks for the Zeebi, hun.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, walking back to my yard, then I answer the phone, “Hello.”
“Cherish?”
I’m amazed that it’s him and not his secretary. He said he would call me back. Looks like he’s a man of his word. “Yes, this is Cherish.”
“Hi. It’s Magnus St. Claire. How are you this morning?”
“I’m doing well. I’m glad you returned my call.”
“I’m glad you called me. I want to schedule a meeting with Montgomery and Major as soon as possible.”
“So, do you think they’re your brothers?”
“I don’t think it. I know it, and I cannot thank you enough for reaching out to me. I don’t know any of my family. I just found out I had an uncle – my father’s brother – who’s alive and he has four sons.”