Langston released her hand and settled back in his chair. “I found out Ayanna was cheating on me when someone at the station sent me a photo of my wife and her costar splashed across the front page of a supermarket tabloid locking lips at a Mexican resort.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“Afghanistan.”
Georgina gasped. She did not want to believe a woman could cheat on her husband while he’d faced impending death every second of the day. “How selfish.”
“Yes and no.”
She gave him an incredulous stare. “Are you saying that you gave her a pass for cheating on you?”
“No. Our relationship was very complicated. When I married Ayanna, I was more than aware of her dealing with issues of abandonment. She was twelve when her father went to the store and never came back, leaving her mother to raise her and her younger sisters on her own. When I told her about my overseas assignment we got married a week later, and our wedding night was spent with her crying and begging me not to go. I manage to convince her that it would be for less than a year, which seemed to belie some of her insecurity.”
“You deceived her, Langston, because you were abroad for more than a year.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. When I told her I was coming home, she said I could stay because she’d gotten a role in a popular Broadway play and with rehearsals and six performances a week we’d rarely get to see each other.”
Georgina felt heat from embarrassment suffuse her face. She’d spoken too quickly and misjudged Langston. “I’m sorry,” she said in apology. “I didn’t know.”
He managed what passed for a smile. “Very few people know. When I confronted her, she claimed she didn’t want a divorce but there was no way I was going to remain married to a woman who didn’t attempt to hide her affairs.”
“Affairs?”
“Yes, Georgi. Ayanna had had several affairs during our marriage.”
“But why?”
Langston pressed a fist to his mouth as he appeared to be deep in thought. “I don’t know the answer to that. Some men and women need constant attention and when they don’t get it at home they seek it with others.”
“Do you ever hear from her?”
“She called me a couple of months before I left Washington to invite me to her wedding. But I declined and wished her the best.”
“Did she marry the man with whom she was photographed in Mexico?”
“No. Her new husband is much older than she is.”
Georgina wondered if Langston’s ex was marrying an older man to replace her absentee father. “I hope she finds what she has been looking for in her new husband.”
“So do I. Enough talk about exes. Do you have your sketches with you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Do you mind if I see them?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you intend to grade me?”
Langston chuckled under his breath. “No. I researched the high school archives and saw old newspapers with your illustrations. I have to admit that you were very good.”
Georgina stared at the tablecloth. “I’m certain I would’ve been a lot better if I’d gone to art school.”
“That is debatable, Georgi. Some people are born with a natural talent without professional training or instruction. I’ve seen phenomenal work by graffiti artists who go from spray painting buildings to having their work hang in museums.”
“Are you referring to Jean-Michel Basquiat?”
“Exactly. I saw an exhibition of his work in a museum and I was blown away that he used social commentary in his paintings to get his message out about colonialism and class struggles.”
“Basquiat is the exception for a graffiti artist, Langston, because he did attend art school. He is what I think of as an artistic genius who was destined for fame. Unfortunately, he couldn’t deal with his artistic success, and the pressures put upon him of being a black man in the white-dominated art world and he turned to drugs to cope. I admire him because he was so prolific during his short life and career, leaving the art world more than fifteen hundred drawings and around six hundred paintings.”
“Imagine, Georgi, you’re only twenty and meanwhile you’re homeless and unemployed and you’ve been supporting yourself selling T-shirts and homemade post cards when suddenly a single painting sells for twenty-five thousand dollars. That’s a lot for someone his age to accept.”
Georgina had taken three art history courses in high school and totally immersed herself in the lives and works of artists, many of whom didn’t achieve fame until after their deaths. “It is. How many artists do you know who were able to sell their work and become über wealthy during their lifetime?”
Leaning closer until their shoulders touched, Langston pressed a kiss on her hair. “Times have changed from struggling artists painting in unheated garrets while subsisting on bread, cheese and wine. And the ones who had a patron were luckier than the others. Artists today have a lot more options when they can exhibit their work at galleries or even on street corners.”
“True. But as an illustrator it wasn’t about becoming wealthy. I just wanted to be known as a professional artist.”
“Have you thought of sketching in your spare time?” Langston questioned.
“What spare time? Right now I’m working an average of ten or more hours a day, with every other Sunday off. Then once I open my shop I will spend most of my time knitting and crocheting sale samples.”
“Do you plan to open seven days a week?”
Georgina shook her head. “No way. I’m going to close Sundays and Mondays. I plan to open at ten and close at six Tuesdays through Saturdays.”
“Good for you. Now, are you going to show me your sketch pad?”
“Sketch pads,” she said, correcting him. “I have at least a half dozen pads.”
“Then I’d like to see all of them.”
“And what do you intend to do with them, Langston?”
“I want to observe your artistic talent before I interview you for the paper’s ‘Who’s Who’ column after you have your grand opening.”
Georgina hesitated as she pondered Langston’s reason for wanting to see her sketches. Pushing back her chair, she stood. “Okay. I’ll get them for you.”
* * *
Langston waited for Georgina to leave the kitchen before he began clearing the table. Sharing dinner with her was enlightening. It wasn't until Georgina revealed she had been involved with a man that something had communicated to him that she was a virgin. There was something in her body language that had led him to believe she hadn’t had much experience with the opposite sex. She didn’t shrink away whenever he touched her, but he’d detected an uneasiness in her which would not allow her to completely relax.
She’d proudly announced that she was a country girl down to the marrow in her bones, and that was what he’d found so refreshing. Georgina was open and wholesome, while not flirtatious or overly provocative, He thought of her as an enigma when she went from a bare, freckled-face woman with braided curly hair to a drop-dead gorgeous sophisticate with a subtle cover of makeup highlighting her best features. He much preferred her natural curly hair to the straightened strands. And his libido always went into overdrive whenever she wore a dress to reveal her legs. Some men liked breasts, and others were drawn to hair and hips, but for Langston it was legs.
Georgina Powell was an unpretentious small-town woman who appealed to his need to settle down and begin a life far from the glare of cameras or adoring fans who’d come to bookstores for him to sign their books. She was a reminder of how life was and could be again after the constant fear and threat of losing his life in some foreign war-torn country.
When first assigned as a foreign correspondent Langston felt as if he was on top of the world. He had recently celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday when
he found himself on a jet flying to Africa and a tiny country on the continent that had gone through decades of war and genocide. He was optimistic and fearless, believing himself invincible. The first time he saw a dead body on a street that had been there so long it was bloated from the heat, he’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach. His guide laughed and told him to get used to it.
Langston never got used to seeing death and dying in all the years he remained abroad, and whenever he was granted a vacation he’d book a flight to someplace he deemed relatively safe for tourists. He’d check into hotels off the beaten track and sleep until hunger or nature forced him to get up. His facility with languages proved invaluable whenever he asked locals for places he should visit or restaurants serving the best food in town.
He fell in love with Venice, Paris, Córdoba and Granada, the Moorish cities in Spain and the tranquility of several Greek islands. The respite allowed him to regroup and refuel to return to his assignments and view them differently with the realization that it was his chosen career and he had the option of staying in or getting out.
And when his mother questioned him about not coming back to the States he told her if he had then he would not have returned. But after eight years he had decided to call it quits once he realized he was experiencing PTSD. The nightmares had kept him from a restful night’s sleep. He never regretted handing in his resignation and knew he had to see a therapist to deal with the flashbacks. It took a year before he felt able to cope with his past in order to move forward.
He’d cut himself off from friends and colleagues. The exception was his sister and her family. She lived in a DC suburb and whenever he went to visit with her he was able to experience a modicum of normalcy as Uncle Lang.
Georgina returned with the sketch pads and handed them to him. “At what age did you begin drawing?”
“I had to be about six or seven.”
“Do you mind if I take these home with me? I promise to give them back after I go through them.”
A beat passed before she nodded. “Okay.”
Langston exhaled an audible breath. At first, he thought she was going to refuse him. “I also promise not to eat or drink anything while I look at them.”
“I would appreciate that even though I doubt if I’ll ever do anything with them.” She paused. “Are you ready for coffee and dessert?”
He set the pads on the chair at the table. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
It wasn’t until Langston drove home, changed into a pair of sweats, sat in the family room and opened the first sketch pad that he immediately recognized talent even at the age of six or seven. She’d sketched a cat asleep and stretched out on the driveway of her house. There was nothing childish or amateurish in the pencil drawing. He lost track of time as he turned page after page in each of the books, seeing the growth and confidence in the drawings as she matured.
He was transfixed with one of two little girls jumping rope. The expressions on their faces radiated joy, matching those of the ones turning the rope. Langston noticed she’d change themes from people to flowers, animals and landscapes. He went back to the ones of young children and stared at them for an interminable length of time. Then something in his head clicked when he reached for his cell phone and called his sister.
“Now, what did I do to have the honor of my favorite brother calling me?”
Langston smiled. “I’m your favorite brother, Jackie, because I’m your only brother.”
“True. What’s up?”
“I think I have something you should look at for your next book.”
“Do you want to give me a hint?”
“No. I’m going to photograph them and send them to you. I’ll text you before I send them, so Mrs. Lindemann, please don’t forget to check your email.” His sister claimed she had thousands of emails but loathed reading and deleting old ones.
“Now I’m really curious.”
“By the way, what size sweater does Brett wear?”
“I usually go by his chest size, which is now twenty-six inches. But if you’re going to buy him a pullover, then it should be at least twenty-six inches, because I always have him wear a shirt under it. And don’t forget he’s sensitive to wool, so it has to be acrylic.”
“I forgot about that. How’s Sophia?”
“Please don’t talk about Miss Grown. She’s all of three and trying her best to work my last nerve. I told her father that one day he’s going to come home and find him with one less dependent to claim because I’m going to send her down to her grandparents to live, and you know Mama refuses to put up with a sassy girl.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Langston teased. His sister did not know when to stop talking whenever Annette warned her the conversation was over, and it always ended with Jackie being grounded for weeks at a time.
“That’s not funny, Langston. Just wait until you have some kids.”
“And I’m willing to believe the children I hope to have will be perfect.”
“Yeah, right. I hate to end this call, but Chris just walked in and I want to make certain he eats something before he goes to bed.”
“Give him my best, and I’ll be in touch again.” His brother-in-law, assigned to the FBI’s CIRG—Critical Incident Response Group, was on call 24/7.
“Love you, Lang.”
“Love you, too, sis.”
Langston rang off and continued to stare at the images of the children before he rose to his feet to get a camera. He had to use a wide-angle lens in which to capture the entire sketch on each page. It was close to midnight when he finally finished what he wanted to send to his sister. Jacklyn had taught school for several years before deciding she wanted to stay home with her children until her youngest was at least five. In the interim she’d fulfilled her wish to write a children’s picture book. After several rejections, she finally found a publisher willing to accept it. She’d published it under a pseudonym and then bragged to him that he wasn’t the only published writer in the family.
Her first two books proved to be successful, which gave her confidence to begin a series focusing on diversity and inclusion for elementary school-age children, and Langston believed Georgina’s sketches of children would be the perfect illustrations for Jacklyn’s books.
He didn’t want to say anything to Georgina until after he got feedback from his sister. However, he planned to return her sketch pads in a couple of days. Hopefully, Jackie would like what she saw and would recommend the illustrator to her editor and thus fulfill Georgina’s wish to become a professional artist.
Langston knew he wasn’t being completely altruistic in wanting to help Georgina realize her deferred dream. He liked her a lot and those feelings deepened whenever he spent time with her.
Although he’d been married, Langston hadn’t been given the opportunity to feel like a husband when he was thousands of miles away from his wife. Now he craved stability that let him come home every night to his wife and children. He wanted to have family vacations and he wanted to grow old with his wife, and the biggest concern was where they would retire so they would have time to spoil their grandchildren.
To others he probably would sound naive. But if they’d witnessed what he’d experienced in his former career they would want the same.
Chapter Nine
Georgina covered her mouth with her hand to keep from screaming. Her permit to open A Stitch at a Time was approved and she could officially occupy the space in July.
After reaching for her cell phone, she punched in Sasha’s number. “I got it,” she said when her friend answered.
“They approved you?”
“Yes! Right now I’m doing the happy dance. I can officially open next month. I’m going to arrange for the shelving and the furniture to be delivered.”
“Oh, Georgi, I’m so happy for you. I’m going to make a batch
of cupcakes and other goodies for your grand opening.”
“You don’t have to do that, Sasha.”
“Yes, I do, so please act gracious and accept my gift.”
“I can’t be gracious when I’m delirious.”
“I hear you, girlfriend,” Sasha drawled. “And with your artistic ability, I know your shop is going to be beautiful.”
“I’m going to try. You’re the first one I called, so don’t say anything until I go public.”
“Girl, please. Your secret is safe with me. Speaking of secrets, Dwight and I were seeing each other on the down low, but now I’m ready to go public.”
“I knew it! I saw the way you two were looking at each other. And you denied everything when I asked you about him.”
“That was then, and this is now. I did not want to say anything because I didn’t want to jinx myself. Georgi, he’s wonderful. I was so turned off men after marrying that pompous, egotistical cretin that I refused to look at another one.”
Georgina smiled even though Sasha couldn’t see her. “It’s real hard not to stare at Dwight Adams. The man’s beautiful.” The town’s resident dentist was the epitome of tall, dark and very handsome.
Sasha laughed. “I could add a few more adjectives to describe him, but it would be too much information.”
“I get the picture. I’m going to hang up now because I have to call my cousin.”
“Congratulations again.”
“Thanks.”
Georgina had managed to calm down by the time she dialed Sutton’s number. He picked up after the third ring. “Hello.”
He sounded sleepy. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I was just...” His words trailed off.
“Look, Sutton. Call me when you have time.” Something told Georgina she’d interrupted something she didn’t need to know about.
“It’s okay, Georgi. What’s up?”
“My certificate of occupancy was approved, and I can officially open for business July first. I haven’t told my folks because I want to know when you can come up to help out in the store.”
Starting Over In Wickham Falls (Wickham Falls Weddings Book 9) Page 12