by A. C. Arthur
Portia walked straight toward him at that moment, pushing past him with a strength Ethan hadn’t expected. He stumbled out of her way and watched her, dumbfounded, as she walked out of the room.
3
There’s no place like home.
Portia couldn’t help but recite the famous line as she stepped up onto the first of three wide front steps late Monday afternoon. The paint was cracked on each, but she slowly took one after the other until she stood on the porch just a few feet away from the cut-out gray and white screen door. Nostalgia flooded her as she looked to one side where a swing hung, with rusted chains holding it to the roof of the porch.
How many afternoons had she spent laying on that swing, rocking back and forth while she read a book that took her to somewhere far from Providence and the cruelty she’d endured here?
Damn, she hated this place.
With determined steps, Portia crossed the porch and grabbed the handle to pull the screen door open. The handle wobbled and she had to use her other hand to hold it in place while she pulled—gentler—this time. When it finally opened, she stepped closer to the front door, its white paint also peeling in places. But the clear white knob tugged on her heartstrings as another bolt of memories soared through her mind.
They were diamonds. Every doorknob in Sunny’s house were jewels and when she was old enough, her dotting godmother would gift them to her and Portia would be rich enough to travel wherever she wanted to in the world. Her ideal destination always included a place far away from Providence.
Shaking her head, she thrust a hand into her bag and shuffled through the things inside until she found the key. It was on a ring designed like a huge sunflower, of course. Gladys “Sunny” Shakur, an eclectic and high-spirited woman, had always loved her flowers. Using the key to unlock the door and push it open, Portia then stepped inside. She’d never imagined she would be standing in this foyer, her Kate Spade ballerina flats on the old planked wood floor again. But the package with instructions and keys had arrived at her apartment in Seattle hours after the surprise call she’d received from Sunny months ago.
“How’s my Ladybug?” Sunny asked the moment Portia had answered her cell phone.
“Sunny! Hi!” she’d exclaimed with sincere excitement because it had been months since she’d heard from her godmother.
Just before Christmas, Sunny announced she was flying out on New Year’s Day for a missionary assignment in Haiti. Portia had only been partially surprised. Sunny Shakur was not the type of woman to let roots grow under her, at least that’s what she always told Portia. The years between Portia’s twelfth birthday and her high school graduation, Sunny had planted herself in Providence, contradicting her own mantra for a time.
“I wanted to tell you I’m heading out again, going to Haiti this time. Got some work to do over there.”
Sunny was always straight and to the point, a trait that Portia tried to learn in her adult years.
“Okay. Well, when will you be back? My publisher has scheduled a book release tour starting at the end of July, so I was thinking of taking a couple of days to visit with you while I’m on the East Coast,” she’d said.
“That’s another thing I was calling about. I need you to do me a favor,” Sunny told her in the husky voice that was more than comforting to Portia.
As her godmother had been the only family member Portia had that gave her anything resembling compassion throughout her life, Portia had come to love that voice.
“Anything,” she’d immediately responded.
And months later, Portia was standing in the foyer of the yellow Victorian on the corner of Langston and Mulberry Streets in Providence, Virginia. Her assignment was to meet with the real estate agent, Cynthia Curtis, and complete all the paperwork to put the house up for sale.
Closing the door behind her, Portia dropped her bag on the antique table and looked around. Everything was the same. From the musky aroma of incense to the eclectic mixture of French Victorian and Afrocentric décor. Sunny was a woman of many different tastes, none of which she ever apologized for or explained. In her words, “I am who I am, and those who don’t like it can kiss my entire ass!”
Portia smiled at that thought. Sunny had been her savior on so many occasions, she would do anything for her. Which is why she was in this town where the children had hated her and her parents had disowned her. At least her parents had moved to D.C. a few years ago, so there was no possibility of her running into them here.
Even still, she whispered “Not for long,” as she moved through the empty rooms of the house.
The real estate agent would be here at any moment. The signed and notarized Power of Attorney to handle all of Sunny’s legal and medical dealings was in her bag and her flight to Charlotte, North Carolina was scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine. Portia would meet with the agent, drive back to the resort in Alexandria, find herself some dinner and prepare for the next stops on her book tour.
The muffled ringing of her phone drew her attention away from the house and its memories and she walked through the arched doorway of the parlor and then the living room to get back to the foyer where her purse was.
“Hello?” she answered after finding the phone.
“Ms. Merin?”
“Yes, this is Portia Merin.”
“Great. I’m Cynthia Curtis from the Thurston Realty Company. I know we were scheduled to meet at five this afternoon, but I’m running a little late. I should be there closer to six, if that’s alright with you. Or we can reschedule for tomorrow afternoon?”
“No!” Portia snapped and then cleared her throat. “I mean, no that’s not possible. I’m flying out tomorrow morning.” She looked at her watch and resisted the urge to sigh. “I can wait until six.”
“Wonderful! I’m so excited about seeing the house and getting it onto the market. It’s a historic home so I’m sure there’ll be lots of interest in the property. Sunny didn’t let too many people inside when she was here, so we’ll definitely schedule an open house to show what a magnificent house it is.”
“Right.” Portia agreed. “It is a magnificent house.”
After disconnecting the call, Portia resigned herself to being here a little while longer. She decided to walk through the entire house while she waited. The moment she stepped upstairs; Portia knew she’d made a mistake. She should have just stayed downstairs.
The room she used to stay in when she was here was exactly the way it had been when she’d last left it. A full-size bed with white iron head and footboards with a pink flowered bedspread sat in the center of the room. The walls were covered in pale pink wallpaper. At the large window were white lace curtains. Portia’s bedroom at the ranch style house she’d lived in with her parents, just six blocks away, had a twin-size bed, a desk and a computer.
Wayne Merin was as frugal as they came. No matter how much money he made working for Nivas Associates, a top lobbyist firm, his house had still functioned in a minimalistic manner. His wife, Judy, abided by Wayne’s every rule, regardless of how their only child may have suffered. Portia had let them down from the moment she was born a girl. In her parents’ mind, her failures continued when she decided to attend Spelman instead of Yale and chose to study psychology and women’s studies, instead of political science.
“You can only walk your path, Ladybug.” Sunny had told her one of the many nights Portia had spent at her house when she was a junior in high school. “At one time Judy and I were as thick as thieves, signing on to fight the injustices in the world side-by-side. Then she met your daddy and Wayne turned her into a totally different woman. Now’s your turn to be the woman you’re meant to be. Not what somebody else expects of you.”
Those were the words that pushed Portia to apply to Spellman and to rejoice the moment she received the acceptance letter.
To pass the time, Portia moved to the closet where she began going through her old boxes, laughing at some things and crying about others. So many memories and
feelings were locked in this room. From the many spiral notebooks she’d used as journals to the magazines she’d read before cutting out pictures of her favorite entertainers. One particular picture still had tape on its back and she held it in her hand remembering the Keyshia Cole song simply titled Love, that she’d sung at the top of her lungs almost every time she’d finished a tutoring session with Ethan.
In seconds, her mind was instantly back to those times when she and Ethan sat all the way in the back of the library. He always pulled his chair close to hers so they could share the thick Algebra textbook he’d carried from school as if he actually understood what was going on in that class. She hadn’t been particularly fond of numbers, but once she memorized a formula the rest came pretty simply. The concept of numbers and letters together to create an equation completely baffled Ethan. But he needed to pass the class in order to play and everyone in school wanted him to play. Everyone including her.
“Remember that both sides have exactly the same value,” she’d said one afternoon. She wrote the equation on a piece of paper in pencil.
“How do you know all this stuff?” His question had startled her. She’d always had to try hard to remain focused on the work instead of on the way Ethan looked in his football uniform, or how great his smile was when he was at the table goofing off with his friends in the cafeteria. But now he was staring at her instead of at the paper or the textbook.
“I just know.” She shrugged and tried not to obsess over the faded jeans she wore that were just a little bit too high, and the long-sleeve shirt with the material thinning at the elbows. She’d worn the shirt because it was royal blue, one of her favorite colors and she’d styled her hair in two braids because her natural curls were unruly.
“I mean, do you study all the time? Is that how you know everything? You’re easily the smartest girl in all your classes.” When she looked up at him again it was to see him staring at her ear—both her ears were pierced and she wore cubic zirconia studs in them.
It had taken all her restraint not to reach up and touch the earring self-consciously. Did he know it wasn’t a real diamond? Did he really expect her to wear diamond earrings? While his clothes were definitely more stylish and fit better than hers, Ethan didn’t have a lot of money either, especially not staying at the group home with the rest of his friends.
“I study when I’m supposed to, which is why we’re here right now. You’ve got a quiz tomorrow. I’ve taken Ms. Holback’s Algebra I and II classes, so I know all her tricks. You really have to study the formulas. From there it’ll be easy, just addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. All the basic in math.”
He shook his head. “Nothing about you is basic.”
The comment had taken her so off guard she’d dropped the pencil and sat back in the chair as if she’d been pushed. Ethan had worn a short sleeve t-shirt that day, white and fitted tight across his chest. He lifted weights every day in the gym after school and it showed.
“I’m just me,” was all she’d managed to say. It was probably a very weak remark and she knew Cassidy Lewis and the rest of the cheerleaders would’ve had some practiced coy response instead. They would’ve flipped their long relaxed and styled hair over a shoulder and giggle and Ethan would stare at them like he’d dreamed of them every night. The thought irritated her, and she shrugged again.
“You’re pretty great,” he’d said as if it were a simple truth and she needed to believe it.
She hadn’t, but she’d also never forgotten that he’d said it.
Not even all these years later as she hummed the song in her mind. The sound of a car passing outside had her turning to look out the window. The sun had set and it would be getting dark soon. Time had really flown by as she’d sat here reminiscing. Glancing at her watch she noted it was now close to eight-thirty. Where the hell was Cynthia Curtis?
If there was one thing Portia hated, it was someone disrespecting her time. She picked up her phone to call the agent but paused when she saw the text message that was left an hour and a half ago. Cynthia wasn’t going to make it today. She apologized and assured Portia that they could take care of everything via email if necessary. Irritated that her plan had been changed and undecided as to what to do now, she locked the house and headed for the rental car she’d parked at the curb.
Minutes later, she rode past Main Street and was headed toward the industrial area of town when she passed a bright blue sign that read: Game Changers Bar & Grill. Her stomach growled and she thought about turning around and going into the restaurant to get something to eat. But it was past time for her to leave Providence. As much as the things in her room had made her feel nostalgic, the town still held bad memories. One of which was Ethan, the guy who’d been part of the best of her times here and some of the worst. How ironic that he’d been the first person from this town she saw a few days ago?
Just as her thoughts began to circle back to Ethan and the complicated friendship they’d shared, the car began to swerve and she held tight to the steering wheel to keep from going through the guard rail and down an embankment. There was a loud thumping sound as the vehicle continued to move at a much slower pace, until she finally pressed on the brake to stop. Switching off the ignition, she stepped out of the car. Slamming the door closed, she moved quickly to the front of the car getting out of the way of oncoming traffic whizzing by.
Damn. Damn. Damn!
She almost screamed the words, but instead shook her head as they filtered through her mind. After waiting for the realtor and going through blasts from her past, now she had a flat tire. Her stomach growled again…or was that thunder? She looked up to see that the sky was indeed dark, but not with night. With heavy gray clouds that looked as if they would burst at any moment.
“Please, no. Not now,” she prayed as she went back inside the car to grab her cell phone. AAA was one of her speed dial numbers so she pressed the button and continued to pray that someone would come to help her soon. Like, before the sky opened up and rained on her as a welcome home present.
“I’m telling you, it was like nonstop sex all damn night,” Rod said after downing his third shot of whiskey.
After the three beers he had while playing darts, and the glass of wine he’d forced himself to drink while trying to score with Meta Haynes, the new fourth grade teacher in town, Rod was slumped over the end of Ethan’s heavily glossed dark oak bar top. His blonde hair was tousled and his fingernails were dirty from working at the construction site all day. One more drink and he was cut off. Ethan had already warned Jeret they were going to need black coffee ready to be poured at any minute. Lance would have to drive Rod home since he lived the closest to the apartment building where Rod stayed.
Nobody left Game Changers drunk with car keys in hand. That was a standing rule the guys decided on when they’d dreamt up the plans for the bar and grill.
“They were coming out of this big room horny as hell and looking for action. And we were just sittin’ in that room harrassin’ Charlie about gettin’ tied down,” Rod continued, his eyes glazed with inebriation and desire.
Ethan chuckled to himself as he used a cloth to wipe the spots of the bar where nobody sat. Monday nights were pretty slow for them when it wasn’t football season. Noah Jordan, the marketing guru for Game Changers, was trying to come up with special events that would bring customers into the bar on a daily basis. The manager, Delano “Del” Greer, thought the idea was too fancy-schmancey, as he’d called it. Men wanted things simple, beer, wings and sports on television. Noah disagreed and brought up a very valid point during their monthly poker game and business meeting. His point was that men and women liked sports, beer and wings, but women also liked wine, salads and internet access, which was why it was a good idea to have an entertainment spot with a wide range of offerings for both sexes. Ethan agreed with Noah. After that, the poker game had turned to grumbles, accusations of cheating and more debate about men and women. It was one of the moments that Etha
n felt glad to be home.
Six friends that met under less than perfect circumstances—they’d all stayed at the Grace House for Boys for one reason or another at the same time—had grown up, went their separate ways and come back together again. A year ago, Ethan would’ve never thought that would happen, but it had because as his father used to say, “shit happens”. As it had when they were teenagers and ended up at the House together, life altering events in each of their lives once again forced them to change course. Now, Del, his twin brother Delancey “Lance” Greer, Jeret McCoy, Noah Jordan, Rochester “Rock” Patterson and Ethan were back together again. Brothers, as they called each other, had come home promising that this new life was a permanent venture. Game Changers was the place for second chances and to prove a point to the people in Providence who once thought they’d amount to nothing.
“Sounds like one hell of a bachelor party,” Del said.
He was sitting a few seats away from Rod at the bar, flipping through an overstuffed spiral notebook. Ethan picked up the empty glass in front of Del and refilled it with Sprite. Del was a former DEA agent and didn’t believe in drinking alcoholic beverages while on duty—or working at the bar. He was also a workaholic, which was why at nine at night he was still here going over his notes about the marketing plan Noah had given them last week.
“It was!” Rod exclaimed, his words a little slurred. “Tell ‘em, Ethan. He was there, he saw all that action.”
At the mention of his name, Ethan slowly set Del’s glass on a new red napkin. Del lifted his gaze from his notebook to find Ethan’s in question.
“Wait, did I just hear that Ethan got some action?” Jeret, asked as he was bringing the first pot of coffee out from the kitchen.
A former Army Ranger, Jeret was tall, fit and dressed like he was on a ranch in Texas instead of just an hour away from the nation’s capital. He set the pot of coffee on the warmer and switched it on.