by Daria White
“You didn’t think to warn me?”
“We thought she wouldn’t be here until tomorrow. You know my sister.”
“You could have said something.”
“I think you two need to bury the hatchet. It’s long overdue. Besides, you’re getting married.”
Lance nodded. “Right. I’m getting married.”
“Lance?”
Her smoky voice melted his heart as always, but he rubbed the back of his head to meet her gaze. “Yeah?”
She pointed to the foyer. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Lance rose to his feet to meet her. His height still towered over her. She would fit his embraces when he would hold and kiss her at the lockers in high school.
“What’s up?” he asked, stuffing his hands inside his pockets.
“How are you?”
“Fine and you?”
She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I’m okay. Chicago is great.” An awkward moment of silence passed. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I’m… I’m—”
“Dinner’s ready.” Mrs. Evans announced.
Lance rubbed at his chin. He could get through dinner. He didn’t want to disappoint her mother.
He walked past Chantelle and met the rest of her family at the dining room table. He chose the seat next to Grant, making a mental note to talk to his friend later. Chantelle sat across from him, her chair scraping the floor as she scooted closer to the table. Lance grabbed a glass of water, hoping the cool liquid would ease his upset stomach.
“Help yourselves.” Mrs. Evans then opened her hands, palms up, and the rest of the family joined hands. Once they said grace, they served their plates.
“Douglas working late again?” Elise asked.
“Yes, but he should be here soon,” Mrs. Evans said.
Grant cleared his throat. “It’s good to have you home, sis.”
“I’m so happy you’re back again, sweetie.” Her mother’s smile beamed.
Chantelle smiled, but it appeared forced. “Me too. You told me to always come home, right?”
Her mother nodded. “You got that right. Never forget where you come from.”
Lance ate in silence. He didn’t care to ask her questions. He only wanted to eat dinner and get out. Thank goodness Mrs. Evans’ cooking didn’t disappoint.
“So Lance, how’s Andrea?” Elise asked. “I can’t believe Delta Heights is hosting a celebrity wedding.”
He swallowed. “She’s doing well. Working hard.”
“As long as you got the tux, that’s all that matters,” Grant said.
Elise cocked her head towards him. “Ever think she may want him involved in the wedding plans?”
“We don’t care, Babe. I didn’t care about flower choices and the cake.”
Her mouth dropped open, but her grin gave her away. “So... why did I cave in so our wedding cake could be chocolate?”
Grant shrugged. “I wanted chocolate.”
Elise looked at Chantelle. “Get your brother.”
She giggled. “He’s your husband.” Then her attention turned to Lance. “Lance, um... how’s work?”
“Busy. You?” he asked.
“Same.” Chantelle wiped her hands with her napkin. “Actually, I wanted to say—”
His cell rang in his pocket. He lifted a finger to her. “Hold that thought.” If he didn’t answer his mother, she would leave a trail of voicemails. He excused himself from the table and entered the living room close to the foyer. “Hello?”
“I need you here at the bakery. We need your choice of cake. I’ve already called Andrea, and she wants you to make the ultimate choice.”
“Mom, I’m at dinner.”
“With whom?”
“With the Woods family. You know I still—”
“Sweetheart, I’m sure they’ll understand that this is your wedding. Don’t disappoint Andrea, dear. I even convinced the owner to stay open a few minutes late in exchange for some publicity.”
He wouldn’t hear the end of it if he said no. “Okay, I’ll be there soon.” He hung up with his mother. When he felt a presence behind him, he turned to find Chantelle. She laced her fingers together.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. Look, I would love to catch up, but this wedding stuff won’t plan itself.” He stared into her eyes. “It’s good to see you, Chantelle. Tell your Mom I’m sorry I had to leave so soon.”
She nodded as he walked out the door. He paced the sidewalk for a moment. It was best to leave dinner early. Did he want to continue sitting next to his ex reminiscing? No.
Chapter 5
Chantelle watched as Lance left. Ripping her eyes away from the door, she caught Grant standing with his hands at his sides.
“You invited him?” She asked, releasing a cleansing breath. How did she hold it together with him at the table? She returned to the dining room. How much spaghetti did her mother cook? Her mother sat another pot on the table.
“He’s still a friend of mine. For the record, I didn’t know you were coming home today. Mom said tomorrow.”
“I know you’re still friends. I only wanted to tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
She sighed. “I’m not here for a regular visit, Grant. I’m here for a story.”
Her brother cocked his head to the side.
“Did Lance tell you his wedding’s being profiled?”
He bobbed his head and then his eyes widened like saucers. “No way.”
“Yes.”
Rubbing the back of his bald head, he returned to his seat at the table. “This can’t be good.”
“What?” Elise asked, carrying a pitcher of iced tea.
“Nothing.” Chantelle eyed her brother and mouthed. “Not one word.” She didn’t want to talk about it. It was awkward enough.
He mouthed back. “No promises.”
Elise and their mother joined them again at the dining room table. Chantelle breathed easier with Lance gone, so she could eat and taste her food this time. The scrape of cutlery and clink of glasses filled the room, while the radio continued playing in the background.
“So…” her mother said, “Lance couldn’t stay any longer?”
“He had a phone call and had to leave. He said he was sorry for having to leave so soon.” Chantelle twirled the noodles on her plate despite being famished getting off the plane. She had tapped her high heels, waiting at baggage claim, shifting and sighing. Though vending machine snacks ranged from honey buns to Little Debbie cupcakes, she didn’t want to spoil her dinner at home. Though her appetite left her after seeing Lance, her stomach’s sensitivity subsided.
His broad chest and chiseled face haunted her for years. Yet, his looks were only on the surface. It wasn’t the real him. The real Lance listened to her stories, even though he wasn’t an advent reader as she was. Though he grew up privileged, he didn’t act proud. He always treated people with respect. Chantelle had a problem meeting his eyes without her breath hitching.
“It’s too bad.” Her mother continued. “He loves our spaghetti nights.”
“Spaghetti night?” Chantelle’s eyebrows etched together. “I thought that was our thing. He comes over for spaghetti night? Since I left?”
Her mother bobbed her head. “He’s one of the family, dear. I hope he’ll still stop by after the wedding.”
Elise touched Chantelle’s shoulder. “Are you okay? We didn’t know you were coming this early and your brother…” She eyed her husband. “Grant didn’t tell me Lance was coming until after we left the house.”
Chantelle rolled her eyes. “It’s just Lance.”
Her mother waved a finger at her. “I don’t think so. You two were close.”
“And now he’s getting married and I’m living my dream. We both got what we wanted.” Chantelle stuffed a meatball in her mouth.
“I see you started without me,” a baritone voice
stated.
Chantelle wiped her mouth in case some spaghetti sauce splattered her face. Looking over her shoulder, she gazed at her stepfather, Douglas Evans. She wasn’t keen on her mother remarrying at first. Even after meeting the kindhearted carpenter and seeing her mother’s happiness, Chantelle struggled to accept her step-dad. Yet, she knew he cared about her mother, so she stood from her seat to greet him.
“You’re just as pretty as ever,” he said to her. He opened his arms wide.
She forced a smile. “There’s more to me than my looks.” She felt a twinge of pain inside her chest as she hugged him. Why did that comment always bother her? Douglas didn’t mean any harm, nor did the others that complimented her beauty.
Douglas towered over her with his six-four frame. Though sixty-one, the man kept in shape with his hard chest. “I know you are. Your mother saves all your articles and keeps them in a scrapbook. She’ll read them out loud to me every once in a while.”
“It puts him to sleep,” her mother said.
“That’s nice… I guess.” Chantelle didn’t know how to take that one.
Her mother waved away her response. “They’re good Chantelle. He says it’s the way I read. What do you want, dear? A performance?”
Elise giggled while Grant rose from his seat to shake Douglas’ hand. Out of everyone, her brother accepting their step-dad took her by surprise. He had been against them dating, but seeing their mother’s eyes beam must have changed his mind. Chantelle was working on it still.
“Good to see you, Douglas,” her brother said.
Chantelle returned to her seat. Would she ever get used to someone else sitting in her father’s place? Douglas greeted her mother with a kiss, and she held back an inward wince.
“So I was thinking?” Douglas said, interrupting her thoughts. “Why don’t we take a family photo?”
“What?” Chantelle asked, her mouth falling open.
“I’m a little surprised myself,” her mother said.
Douglas took his wife’s hand. “This is our first year as husband and wife, and I want us all to get together for a photo.” He looked at Chantelle. “I know it’s important to your mother. She’s sentimental about these things.”
“I’ve learned that the brief time I’ve been in this family.” A hint of humor was in Elise’s voice.
“I’m cool, as long as I know the date and time,” Grant said.
Chantelle scooted her chair back from the dining room table. “Excuse me. I need some air.”
Her mother stood, but Douglas appeared to talk her down. Chantelle hurried out the door to the tree house in the backyard. It had been her favorite place to play with her brother until he got older, got into sports, and found his first girlfriend. Careful in her heels, she climbed the board steps to the fort.
Opening the latched door, she entered the space that filled her memories as a child. A cut out window with a cloth nailed over it made a curtain. A small table with mismatched cups sat in the corner while a list of membership rules caught her eye. She and Grant spent hours thinking about what to write, but it all came down to “no adults allowed.”
The boards squeaked underneath her feet as the wind ruffled the leaves. It brought a fresh breeze with a hint of tree sap. Recalling the splinters as a kid, she sat on the rough wooden planks.
“I know you’re in there.” Grant called out.
Chantelle huffed. “Leave me alone.”
“Can’t do that.” Hearing the creaks in the background, she knew her brother was coming to pester her.
He peeked his head through the door. “I’m almost thirty. I’m not climbing trees anymore.”
She wrung her hands together. “Did you go visit him?”
He shook his head but proceeded inside to sit next to her. “Not today.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know Mom’s happy, but you know how broken she was when dad died.”
Grant bobbed his head. “I know, and we lost someone too, Chantelle. I won’t negate that, but Mom’s moved on. It doesn’t mean she forgot Dad.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t say a word. The day had been clear as a sky after rain. She and Grant sat in the same spot three years prior, dressed in black from their father’s funeral.
With a parking lot filled with cars, their father proved to be a beloved man in town. Filled church pews, along with a book filled with signatures from family and friends offering condolences. Chantelle had been grateful for a closed casket funeral, her father’s wish. Footsteps had muffled the thick carpet, while soft music played. She’d never forget the quiet weeping.
“I know,” she told Grant. “I still miss him though.”
“I miss him too.” He sighed. “I’m going to head back.”
“I’ll be inside in a minute.” Chantelle’s brother left her alone inside the tree house, and she hugged her knees to her chest as she leaned against the wood panel wall. Not wanting to worry her mother, she climbed down from the tree house and walked back inside. She skipped the dining room and hurried to her bedroom.
She sat on her bed and stared at her old wooden desk, which held a lamp, her phone charger, and pens. Her dresser sported the stray coins her father had given her and framed pictures of her and her old friends. Trophies from her basketball and volleyball days stared back at her, and posters of her favorite music artists still hung on the wall. The music group Dru Hill being one of them.
Chantelle could remember the movies she used to watch in her room along with the music she would play while studying. She would arrange her nail polish on her dresser, experimenting with various colors. Then a knock sounded at her door. She grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest.
“Come in,” she said.
Her mother peeped inside. “Are you okay?” She then came inside, shutting the door behind her.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied.
Her mother sat next to her. “Chantelle?”
“Mom, it’s fine.”
Her mother’s features softened. “I know having Douglas as my husband will take some getting used to. It’s a change for all of us.”
“I’m happy for you, Mom.”
Chantelle’s mother took her hand. “I know you are. Remember that love doesn’t die with a person. I’ll always love your father.”
She clasped onto her mother’s hand. “I know that. I need time, that’s all. I’m working on it.”
Her mother then brought her into a hug. “Do you want me to bring your dessert in here?”
Chantelle patted her mother’s back and released her hold on her. “No. I’ll go to bed. Can you tell everyone I said goodnight?”
Her mother bobbed her head. “I’ll tell them. Get some rest.” Her mother stood to her feet and exited her room.
***
From tasting chocolate to lemon flavor, Lance settled on the red velvet cake. His mother made sure he called Andrea for her input. He didn’t care about cake, much less choosing flowers. All that mattered was… Chantelle.
He shook the thought from his mind. His gaze lowered to his empty plate with a few crumbs left behind. He’d thought of her over the years, but it only made his stomach turn sour thinking of his own mistakes. Lance had been too scared to know he met his soulmate at eighteen.
A huff escaped his mouth. Soulmate? The term didn’t exist. Rubbing at his eyebrow, he pushed his plate away.
“Lance?” His mother waved her hand at him to get his attention.
“You say something?” He ran his hand down his face.
“What is it with you? You’ve been in a mood since you got here,” she said.
“It’s nothing. Long day, that’s all.” He wouldn’t tell his mother Chantelle was back in town again. He’d heard enough of his mother’s opinions for one day.
His mother fluffed her loose, short salt-pepper curls in her hair. Then she held her compact mirror in her slender hand as she scrutinized her appearance. It was always appearances with her. Ever since he was a b
oy, he lived his life according to what others thought.
Lance’s father wasn’t much help running his own law practice. Arrogance. Why did some use their education to act superior to others? Couldn’t they use their influence for good? Lance’s childhood played in his mind. His mother ran the household, along with him and his sister. Amelia would have been twenty-five today. Lance shut his eyes for a moment. He needed to visit his little sister’s gravesite.
She would have been a terrific athlete at fourteen, since she desired to be a professional swimmer. Her coach reminded her to count her strokes when in the water. However, the day of her first high school swim meet, Amelia had hit her head. She was later pronounced dead on the way to the hospital.
“If only we had more time for this wedding,” his mother said, fiddling with her diamond studded earring.
“It’s Andrea’s schedule.” He answered.
“Well, at least she comes from an excellent family, despite her parents splitting. Her father’s a senator, and her mother was—”
“Shannon Hall, the retired Academy Award-winning actress. I know, Mom.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m only saying that this wedding will be the talk of the town. We can’t afford any hiccups. Make sure you’re up bright and early for your first interview tomorrow with the reporter.”
Lance would much rather sleep in and stay in bed. All he did nowadays was travel back and forth across the USA. Conference calls with CEOs. Zoom meetings. Reading and renegotiating contracts. He rarely had a day off.
Once upon a time, making deals gave him an adrenaline rush. He couldn’t wait to make partner in his father’s law firm, but at what price? When was the last time he enjoyed working a case? Life wasn’t about fun all the time, but Lance couldn’t recall the last time he loved his work.
He blinked. A dream. He overrated passion in work along with the soulmate jargon. People worked to make a living. He did pro bono work in the past. That’s how he connected with the town’s community center.
“I’ll talk with the baker one more time before we leave. Just in case we missed something.” His mother didn’t give him a chance to respond. She strutted away.
Lance pulled his lips in and called his fiancé. He waved goodnight to the baker and walked to his car. After three rings in the background, Andrea answered. Loud music flooded his ear along with muffled voices.