A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance) (3 page)

“How is she?” Mya asked. “Can we see her?”

“She’s going to be fine,” the doctor answered patiently. “You’ll be able to see her soon.”

“What happened?” Mya asked.

“Well, her blood glucose levels were extremely high—”

“But she’s okay now?” Maureen cut the doctor off.

The doctor nodded.

“Thank you, God.” Mya collapsed into the chair nearest the door. Elizabeth was the one who usually favored dramatics, but relief that she would not bury both grandparents within a week was so overwhelming, it knocked Mya’s legs right from under her.

“Can we bring her home today?” Aunt Mo asked.

The doctor’s eyes darted around the room. “Can you all follow me?” she asked.

Anxiety thrummed through Mya’s veins at the seriousness she sensed in the doctor’s voice. “What’s wrong? Is she really okay?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. There are a couple of things we need to discuss regarding Mrs. Dubois’s care, and patient confidentiality prevents us from discussing it here in the waiting room.”

Mya accepted the explanation with a nod, but still walked on shaky legs as they followed the doctor to a room two doors down. The square plaque next to the door had
Privacy Room
embossed on it in raised letters.

“Is my mother going to die?” Elizabeth asked as soon as the door closed.

“Not anytime soon,” the doctor answered. “
If
she continues to take her insulin and monitor her blood sugar levels. However, we did see an abnormality on her initial blood scan. We want to keep her to run a few more tests.”

“What type of abnormality?” Maureen asked.

“I don’t know enough yet. Any time flags are raised on the blood tests of a diabetic, we take it seriously. I’d rather be overly cautious than miss something and see her back here in a few weeks.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Mya said. “As long as she’s okay.”

“Absolutely,” the doctor answered with a smile. “I’ll send a nurse to the waiting room to let you all know when you can see her.”

The morning had been an emotional roller coaster, but at least they now had the doctor’s word that her grandmother would be okay. Mya welcomed the muscle-relaxing flood of relief that rushed through her body.

“Well, I guess I should call myself a cab. It’s time for me to get out of here,” Elizabeth announced.

The muscles in Mya’s neck and shoulders instantly tensed. “What do you mean it’s time for you to get out of here?”

“My plane leaves in three hours. I’m running late as it is. It’ll take me at least an hour to get to the airport, and I wanted to stop in New Orleans for a few things before I fly out.”

“Mother, are you seriously leaving while your mother is in the hospital? Before even going in to see her?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mya. I swear you should be on the theater stage instead of designing costumes for other actors.”

Mya turned to her aunt, who stood at the door to the privacy room, her hands crossed over her chest. “Did
she
just call
me
dramatic?” Mya asked.

“Just let it go, Mya. Let
her
go.”

“Yes, please, let me go,” Elizabeth said. “It’s time for me to get back to civilization. I swear I don’t know how you people in Gauthier can stand it. There’s not even a Starbucks.”

Anger simmered beneath Mya’s skin. She had been just as anxious to get back to New York, but there was no way she could leave with her grandmother in the hospital. Apparently, Elizabeth didn’t share the same sense of responsibility.

“You will never change,” Mya huffed with a disgusted snort. “I don’t know why I expected anything different from you.”

“Well, I certainly won’t stand here while you look down your nose at me.” Elizabeth stalked over to the door in her high-heeled sandals. “Tell Mama I’ll see her next time I’m in town. And take better care of her, Maureen.”

“You have the nerve—” Mya started, but her aunt raised her hand, cutting her off.

“I will take better care of her. Now go on. You’ve got a plane to catch.”

Elizabeth nodded and, without another word, turned and walked out of the privacy room.

As soon as she was gone, Mya stomped up to her aunt. “Why would you let her talk to you that way? As if it’s your fault that Grandma is in the hospital.”

“Haven’t you learned that the best way to deal with your mother is to say whatever is necessary to get her gone?”

“But Grandma is just as much her responsibility as she is yours,” Mya pointed out. “I hate how she treats you, Aunt Mo. And the way she walks around as if she’s better than everybody? It just sickens me.”

“Mya, your mother has been that way since she was a little girl. She has always been too good for this little town and the people in it. I learned a long time ago that the best thing to do as far as Elizabeth is concerned is to just ignore her. Just let her go,” her aunt stressed.

Mya clutched her hands at her sides, trying to release some of the pent-up anger coursing through her blood. Aunt Mo was right. Letting Elizabeth get on that plane was the best thing for all of them. Now they could focus on her grandmother.

“You have your own plane to catch, don’t you?” Aunt Mo asked.

“I’m not going anywhere until I know Grandma is okay. I can spare some time off,” Mya continued when she saw her aunt about to protest. “I’m between shows right now, and anything else I need to do can be accomplished via email.”

Maureen shrugged her shoulders as they exited the privacy room. “I won’t waste my time arguing. Lord knows you’re just as stubborn as Elizabeth.”

Mya gasped. “You would compare me to
that
woman?” She put her hand to her chest as if covering a wound. “Now that’s just mean, Aunt Mo.”

As soon as they reentered the waiting room, Corey shot up from his seat. “Is everything okay? I came back from Drusilla’s and you were both gone.”

“The doctor took us to another room to update us on Mama’s status,” Aunt Mo answered. “She’s fine, but they want to keep her to run additional tests.”

Mya saw the way his shoulders wilted with relief and she was struck again by this complete one-eighty. Fifteen years ago, Corey Anderson was enemy number one in her grandmother’s eyes. She’d claimed he was only after one thing and had forbidden Mya to see him. It hadn’t stopped her, of course. Mya had been intrigued; she had craved the taste of trouble.

As a cocky seventeen-year-old, Corey had done everything he could to live up to her grandmother’s low expectations of him. He’d encouraged Mya to sneak out of the house at all hours of the night. He’d snuck liquor from his daddy’s liquor cabinet and gotten her drunk on more than one occasion.

And let’s not forget the biggest trouble of all—her brush with the stork.

Corey had never learned of the pregnancy and, as far as Mya knew, her grandmother still thought the two nights Mya had spent in the hospital was from a vicious stomach bug that had been going around. Aunt Mo was the only one who knew about the baby she’d miscarried at seven weeks. She doubted her grandmother and Corey would be so chummy now if either of them knew about
that
little incident.

Mya pushed back against the wave of shame that threatened to crash through her whenever she thought of the child she’d never told Corey about, and the heartache it still summoned. It was too long ago to even matter anymore.

Corey’s cell phone trilled. He held up a finger and answered. “Yeah?...Tell me you’re lying.... Damn.” He pocketed the phone. “I need to go.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Aunt Mo said, giving him a hug. “Thanks for bringing Mya.”

Her aunt turned to her. “They’ll probably put Mama in her own room soon, so I’m going to run back to the house to get some clothes, and then come back here for the night. They’ll only let one family member stay, though.”

“I know,” Mya answered. “I’ll go home once visiting hours are over.”

“What time do you want me to come back and pick you up?” Corey asked.

“I’ll call Phil,” Mya answered, knowing her best friend, Phylicia, would drop whatever she was doing to be at her side. “I don’t plan to leave the hospital anytime soon anyway,” Mya said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

A smile, subtle though it was, inched up the corner of his mouth. “No one ever doubted you’d be fine, Peaches.” He kissed Aunt Mo on the cheek. “I’ll see you later. You tell Mrs. Eloise not to scare us like that anymore.”

Mya watched as Corey left the waiting room. She waited until she was sure he was out of earshot before turning to her aunt. “What’s going on here?”

“What?” Aunt Mo asked.

If Mya didn’t spend her life around the theater, she would have bought the innocent act. “Don’t even try it,” she said. “When did you, Corey and Grandma all become best friends? The two of you both hated him.”

“We did not
hate
him,” her aunt protested. “At least I didn’t. I was just concerned that he was a bit too fast for you. With good reason,” her aunt added with a pointed look. “But all of that is beside the point. Corey’s not the boy he was when you two were in high school.”

“How do you know that? He’s been gone from Gauthier nearly as long as I have.”

“That’s not entirely true,” her aunt said. “Corey visited several times a year when his daddy was still living. He moved back last year to coach the high school baseball team.”

“You still haven’t explained why he’s all of a sudden your new BFF,” Mya said.

“My what?”

“Forget it.” Mya sighed. “I just think it’s strange. Grandma thought those Anderson boys were nothing but trouble back when I was in high school, and now she’s got one cutting her grass? Why didn’t she ever mention him when I called home?”

Her aunt hunched her shoulders. “Maybe she didn’t think it was a big deal to you. As far as Mama is concerned, everything between you and Corey ended after you graduated from high school.”

“It
did
end after graduation,” Mya stated. “Still...”

Was there a “still”? Corey was nothing more than a guy she’d dated a long time ago. It had been years since she’d seen him, since she’d had anything to do with him. Why should it matter after all these years that he’d moved back to town and ingratiated himself to her family?

A nurse entered the waiting room. “Dubois family?”

“Right here,” Mya called. She and Aunt Mo sprung from their seats like coils in a new mattress. “How is she?” Mya asked the nurse.

“She’s doing well. She’s in room seventeen. Follow me—I’ll take you to her.”

Chapter 3

C
orey pulled into an empty parking spot between two Gauthier P.D. cruisers. He noticed his friend Jamal’s shiny silver-and-black quad cab parked a couple of spaces down. He walked through the front doors of the brick building and was greeted by Manny Gilbert. Manny, who had spent his last two years of high school as shortstop for the Gauthier Fighting Lions baseball team, was now a cop.

“Where are they?” was Corey’s greeting.

“In the back. We left them in the cell.”

“Good,” Corey said. “Safer for them to have bars between us.”

“Don’t be too hard on them. We did much worse when we were on the team.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t coaching the team back then. Any stupid crap they get into reflects on me.”

By the time they reached the cell area, Corey could feel the vein in the middle of his forehead throbbing. The three knuckleheads sat shoulder to shoulder on a bench inside the cell. Jamal Johnson stood just outside the cell door.

He and Jamal had been friends for years, ever since they’d played collegiate ball together. Jamal had decided to make Gauthier his new home earlier this year, and he had offered to help Corey out with the baseball team since the school district had turned down Corey’s request to hire another assistant coach.

“So they called you first?” Corey asked Jamal.

His friend shrugged. “Guess they thought I’d go easier on them.”

He nodded toward Manny, then stood to the side as the man disengaged the lock. Corey stepped into the holding cell, bracing his feet apart and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You three really thought I wouldn’t hear about this?”

“Sorry, Coach,” they said in unison.

“What did they do to the house?” Corey directed his question to Jamal.

“Took the porch light out with a BB gun. Covered a few of the windows with black paint. Pissed on the back steps.”

“Junior high stuff,” Corey snorted, shaking his head. He turned to Manny, who had taken the spot next to Jamal outside of the cell. “How long are they in here for?”

“Coach!” Terrence Smith, his star outfielder, jumped up from the bench. “You can’t leave us here.”

“You did the crime, didn’t you?” Corey fired at him.

“And you were stupid enough to get caught,” Jamal added.

“We were just playing around,” Terrence maintained.

“By vandalizing the assistant principal’s house? You three couldn’t think of anything better to do?”

“They’re lucky Donaldson is out of town. He would demand you three be locked up,” Manny said.

“But, Coach, you can’t leave us in here. This’ll look bad to the scouts,” Pierre Jones, the centerfielder, said.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to act like a bunch of children instead of young men on their way to college next year.” Corey bore down on them, backing them to the bench. “You think you’ll be able to get away with stunts like this at LSU, or Tulane, or Alabama?” he roared at Andre Thomas, the pitcher and best player on the team. “They’ll kick you out of there so fast you won’t know what’s hit you.”

“I know, Coach,” Terrence said.

“We’re sorry,” Pierre added.

Corey knew he’d gotten his point across when they all crouched back. He noticed Andre Thomas’s chin remained defiantly stiff.

The boy’s recalcitrance incensed Corey even further. He had no doubt Andre had been the ringleader. The kid seemed hell-bent on causing as much trouble as he could around town. He had so much potential, but was flushing it down the toilet because he was more concerned with being a knucklehead. Corey refused to sit back and watch Andre ruin his future.

He cut another menacing glare at his players and stepped out of the holding cell. “It’s your call, Officer Gilbert.”

Manny glanced his way, and Corey knew they were on the same wavelength.

“Well, you know we don’t play favorites,” Manny said in his best take-no-crap police-officer voice. “Just because these guys are baseball players doesn’t mean they can get off scot-free.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Corey had to bite back a laugh. He and Manny had gotten away with more than they should have back in the day. Partly because Manny’s dad had been the police chief. The entire squad used to cut them slack, especially if they were playing Kentwood or Jesuit. Nothing got in the way of a big game against a known rival.

Jamal leaned to the side and whispered to Corey, “We’re not really leaving them in here, are we?”

“Hell no,” Corey whispered back. “We’re in the middle of the season.

“So, Officer Gilbert,” he called. “What’ll it be?”

The trio of hefty ballplayers looked as if they’d shrunk five inches over the past ten minutes. They sat hunched over. Corey was pretty sure Pierre Jones was trembling.

“They’re all still minors, right?” Manny asked.

“Yeah,” Corey answered.

“Since this is a first offense for all three...” Manny paused. One by one, the boys’ heads rose, as if sensing hope. “I’ll let them off with a warning. I’ll leave their punishment up to you.”

The three collapsed with relief, glancing at each other with conspiratorial grins.

“You three really think you just got the easier end of the bargain, don’t you?” Corey asked with deliberate softness as he stepped back into the cell. He closed the gap between them, bending down to eye level with his players before continuing. “By the end of the week, you’ll beg Officer Gilbert to let you back in here.”

The grins vanished.

Corey stood and jerked his head toward the open cell door. All three shot out of the cell so fast, one would have thought they were sleek marathoners instead of bulky baseball players.

As he walked out of the cell, Manny and Jamal were both trying like hell to hold in their grins, neither doing a good job of it. Manny broke first. “Man, you learned more from Coach Edwards than I thought you did.”

“I was channeling him for a bit there,” Corey said. He turned to Jamal. “You’ll never meet a hard-ass like our old coach.”

“Worse than Richards back when we were at Arizona State?” Jamal asked.

“Richards didn’t have a thing on Edwards.”

“He was a mean SOB.” Manny shook his head.

“But he saved my life,” Corey interjected. “If not for Edwards, I would probably be sitting in this jail, or in prison with Shawn and Stefan. I owe that old man everything.”

“I’m glad you came back to coach.” Manny clapped him on the shoulder. “That guy they brought in after Edwards retired wasn’t worth the starched khaki pants he used to model around in.”

“Some of the people around here wouldn’t agree with you on that one,” Corey reminded his ex-teammate. “In fact, I should probably sneak out the back door. If anyone sees me leaving here, news of my arrest will be the talk of the town by the end of the day.”

Manny just shook his head, but didn’t refute Corey’s claim. Corey knew it was because he spoke the truth. If he hadn’t been on national television and in sports magazines, half the people in this town would have probably thought he’d been in jail instead of playing in the major league. With good reason. He was, after all, one of those Anderson boys.

Because his eldest brother, Leon, was eight years older, he had avoided the stigma the twins had brought upon their family. Leon had been admired by many in Gauthier after he’d enlisted in the army straight out of high school, but the twins had wreaked havoc on this town. And since Corey was only a year younger than Stefan and Shawn, he’d quickly fallen in with his rowdy brothers.

Vandalism, breaking and entering, petty larceny, even taking Assistant Principal Donaldson’s car for a joyride—he’d done it all. Now that he was back in Gauthier, Corey was determined to show the town that he’d changed.

“Is there any paperwork to fill out?” he asked Manny.

“I didn’t process them.”

“Maybe they can clean up the mess they made of Donaldson’s house before he gets back,” Jamal said.

“I’d leave it there,” Manny grunted. “Serves him right for being such an idiot.”

“It’s been fifteen years.” Corey chuckled. “You need to let that stuff go. I have.”

“Let it go, my ass,” Manny mumbled.

“During our freshman year, Donaldson caught a bunch of us smoking behind the gymnasium,” Corey explained to Jamal. “He suspended us all for a week, but Manny got two weeks because he was the one who brought the cigarettes. Ever since then, the two of them have butted heads.”

Terrence, Andre and Pierre were waiting at the booking counter. Corey got back into character as he approached the boys. “When you leave here, go straight to Donaldson’s house. I want every window spotless, and not just the ones you painted. And you all better work fast, because you don’t know what time I’ll be there to inspect. You got me?”

Three heads bobbed in unison.

Corey turned and nodded at Manny, flashing his friend a knowing smile before leaving the station.

“How long you going to give them to clean the place up?” Jamal asked as they headed for their vehicles.

Corey shrugged. “I’ll swing by sometime tomorrow. I really don’t care what they did to Donaldson’s house. Manny’s right, the guy is an idiot.”

Jamal chuckled. “Gotta love a place where the police let you exact revenge.”

“Don’t mistake him for being a pushover. Manny can be hard-core when he needs to be. His dad was tough. He busted me and my two brothers more times than I can count.”

Soon after Jamal told him of his plans to move to Gauthier, Corey had clued him in on his family’s history in the town. Knowing the way folks here gossiped, Corey figured his friend would be regaled with stories of Decker Anderson’s troublemaking sons within ten minutes of his arrival anyway.

They reached Jamal’s truck first. “So, now that you don’t have to play bad-ass baseball coach anymore, you think you can swing by and help me with some sanding? I’m trying to refinish the banister on the front staircase.”

“Didn’t I warn you against buying that run-down house?” Corey laughed.

Jamal—an architect by trade—had bought a fixer-upper in the old part of Gauthier. Corey had tried to talk him into buying a house in one of the newer subdivisions, but Jamal said he hadn’t moved to a small town just to live in a house that looked as if it belonged in the city. Corey figured his friend was regretting that decision after losing his first several months in town to renovations.

“Don’t talk about my house, man.” Jamal punched him on the shoulder. “The work is going better than I thought. You think you can lend me a hand later today?”

An image of Mya’s distraught face flashed in his mind. Corey shook his head. “I’ll be tied up for the rest of the day. Maybe you should just get a professional over there. Why don’t you call Phil?”

“Who’s Phil?”

“One of the most talented home restoration specialists you’ll ever meet.” Corey pulled out his wallet and searched. “I thought I had a business card, but apparently not. Just do an internet search for Phillips’ Home Restoration.”

“You sure this Phil is good?” Jamal asked. “I want to make sure that banister is preserved. I need this done right.”

“Don’t worry.” Corey smiled. “You won’t be sorry with Phil.”

They bumped fists, then Corey headed for his SUV. He’d wanted to get a couple of projects done at his own place this weekend, but it looked as though he’d have to push those to the side for now. Starting up the Escalade, Corey pulled onto the street and headed for the Dubois house.

* * *

Mya waited at the four-way stop sign at the corner of Water Street and Pecan Drive as a line of kids on bicycles crossed the street. A straggler pedaled up to the edge of the curb. Mya waved him along, grinning as his little legs pumped to catch up with his friends.

She cranked up the air conditioner in Aunt Mo’s car and continued along Pecan Drive, on this all-important errand for her grandmother. The stately homes that lined the broad avenue stood like elegant Southern belles. Their well-kept yards were surrounded by short, wooden picket fences, while others had graduated to the vinyl fencing Mya would love to have installed out at her grandparents’.

Grandma had labeled this neighborhood pretentious, based on the fact that its residents were not allowed to grow vegetables in their backyards. Mya didn’t care how uptight they were. She used to love walking through this area on her way to work at Gauthier Pharmacy and Feed Store, imagining what it must be like to live in what had seemed like mansions to her young, unworldly mind.

Pecan Drive turned into Main Street after the intersection at Pecan and Shoal Creek Lane. As she cruised down Main, Mya was once again struck by how much everything looked the same. It was as if time had stopped.

Main Street had always been this town’s pride and joy. Back when she’d worked here after school, every proprietor had been required to sign an agreement stating that they would paint their storefronts every year. Littering had been a dirty word, and the Gauthier police department had responded to a call for loitering just as fast as one for shoplifting.

Mya pulled into a slanted parking spot in front of Claudette’s Beauty Parlor. Like the rest of the buildings on Main, Claudette’s looked as if it had been lifted from a painting entitled
Small-Town Life
.

She headed up the wooden steps that led to the wraparound porch. The beauty shop shared a porch with Lou Cannon’s Dry Cleaning and the Main Street Sweet Shop. Across the street was the pharmacy, post office and Emile’s Restaurant, Gauthier’s version of five-star dining.

Mya walked through the door of the beauty shop and smiled in remembrance as the familiar sounds and smells greeted her.

“Hello, everybody,” she called.

“Well, look who decided to step into my shop.” Claudette Robinson set down a curling iron and stepped from behind a salon chair, embracing Mya in a long hug.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk after the funeral,” Mya apologized.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Claudette said, adding an extra squeeze before letting Mya go. “There were so many people at the house, it was impossible to visit with everybody. How is Eloise doing? Did the doctor say when she’d be out of the hospital?”