Easier Said Than Done (37 page)

“Bianca, are you thirsty, too?” I called.

“I'd sell one of my breasts for a glass of Queenie's fruit punch.” In anticipation of her day off tomorrow, Queenie had stocked the pantry and the refrigerator with enough food to last a month.

“We wouldn't want you to go to extremes,” I replied, pouring three glasses of the frothy concoction, adding a plate of cookies to the middle of the table.

Bianca took a long swig, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don't I get some cookies, too?”

I almost choked on a mouthful of punch. After clearing my throat, I asked, “Anything interesting going on with family? I know there's gotta be some juicy rumor ready to be spread around.”

Bianca giggled. “Uncle Winston's still so mad about this whole estate thing, he's practically peeing in his pants. Aunt Bea said he was thinking about suing the estate.”

“What the hell is wrong with him?” I shoved my fists into my hips. “He's always starting some sh. . .” Teeka blinked at me, mouth barely able to contain the three cookies she had crammed in it. “Some stuff. Doesn't he realize that all of this mess takes away from Mama Grace's memory?”

“I think there's still some confusion about where all the money's going. They, Uncle Winston mainly, think because you're running the estate that Mama Grace's fortune,” exaggerated quotes made in the air when she said fortune as if a million dollars were no big deal at all, “is being deposited directly into your pockets. He's not going to make too much noise, though. Aunt Bea said once he found out how much the lawyer's fees were going to run him, he abandoned that idea. Plus, Auntie Dawn said she'll divorce him if he proceeded with the case.”

My mouth popped open. “What? She actually took a stand?”

“Gave him an ultimatum and everything. Aunt Bea said the bastard backed down so fast. I'd have paid good money to have seen that one.”

“Good, I'm too tired for a fight.”

“Well, I hope you're not too tired for a party, ‘cause that's what we're going to have.” Bianca held up a finger when I started to protest. “Wait, just hear me out. I've thought this whole thing through. We can have food, music, and games for the kids. It'll be great.” Bianca waved her hands enthusiastically, a determined look in her eyes. “Can you think of a better way to introduce Mama Grace's estate to the community than to hold a carnival or how do you say it in the states? A block party?”

“Who's going to pay for it?”

“It'll be exciting to write your first official check from Mama Grace's estate fund, doncha' think?”

“Bianca . . .”

“Don't worry, just leave it to me.” She nodded before wrinkling her nose and smiling at me. “I'm gonna take care of everything.”

I rolled my eyes. “That's
exactly
what I'm worried about.”

* * *

Uncle Winston crossed one leg over the other, pulling long and hard on a Kool cigarette. The sun had long since risen and now bounced off the layer of Soft Sheen that covered his grayed head.

It was one week later and Queenie had polished the verandah the day before as a part of the pre-carnival cleanup.

The “block party” had turned into an extravaganza of enormous proportions, starting before noon and lasting until the wee hours of the morning. Bianca had strewn paper lanterns, steamers, and balloons across the entire block. The entire community turned out in their Sunday best and devoured an abundance of food and drinks and the festivities had endured despite the persistent swarm of mosquitoes and smoldering heat. Games were the same as we used to play in the states, but with far more interesting names like: Brown Girl in the Ring, Dandy Shandy, and Stucky Ketchy.

We were all sluggish. Cocoa was curled up on the step next to me, snoozing off and on, both of us content to watch the human tug of war between my uncle and the lawyer. Even Bianca was awake, hovering nearby while picking gold tinsel from an overgrown bush. Teeka was the only one granted a reprieve. Under the pretense of taking a nap, she was jumping on the small wire framed bed, squeaks and squeals meshing together.

Mr. Bartlett had scheduled the meeting with me. I had no idea how Uncle Winston found out about it, but the frown deepening the lines on the weathered face of Mama Grace's attorney showed he was less than pleased.

And he almost said as much when Uncle Winston met him at the gate, then cornered him on the verandah. Uncle Winston wasn't all that happy either; he slumped back in the wicker chair with a groan of resignation as Mr. Bartlett once again reviewed the finer points of Mama Grace's will. His one hundred dollars-an-hour attorney fees had whisked through the five hundred dollars retainer and still hadn't been able to find a loophole that would make Uncle Winston the rich man he thought he deserved to be.

So, after fielding endless questions, Mr. Bartlett was prepared to cut a check just so Uncle Winston would go away. But of course, he couldn't do that without my approval.

That was a delicious thought. I savored it, allowing a few minutes of silence to pass. Just when I thought Uncle Winston was good and ready to burst, I gave the official nod.

Mr. Bartlett yanked his glasses from his long nose and wiped them with his pinstriped tie, amidst a promise that the check would be in the mail first thing in the morning. Finally, in a finely tuned impervious tone, he asked, “If we're done, sir?”

Uncle Winston stubbed his cigarette with two fingers, ashes falling carelessly to the ground. Queenie would not be happy. After pulling his baseball cap low on his forehead, and giving Mr. Bartlett a final once over, he hopped in his pick-up truck and drove away.

“I don't envy you,” Bianca whispered as I followed Mr. Bartlett inside. Luckily, our business was dispensed in less than an hour and he was on his way, a neat stack of paper requiring my review and signature left on the dining room table.

I pushed them to the side and powered up my laptop. Just as I had suspected, there were at least five e-mails from Jonetta that needed my attention, one from Keela. I opened that one first. I was halfway through Keela's long list of pregnancy complaints when Bianca strolled into the dining room with Teeka. They both looked like sunflowers, Teeka in a gathered yellow sundress and Bianca in yellow shorts and matching halter-top.

“Wanna walk to the market with us?” she asked, adjusting the band of her top so it covered more of her belly.

“If you have to keep pulling on it, then it's probably too small,” I muttered, opening up an e-mail attachment that contained the budget projections that Jonetta had inserted into a spreadsheet.

Bianca rolled her eyes, making Teeka laugh.

The invitation was tempting, but someone had to be responsible. I had someone else to worry about besides myself.

“Don't be a sourpuss,” Bianca said.

“I've got work to do.” I didn't even spare her a glance, instead I skimmed through the numbers; pleased with what I saw. Everything seemed to be on target for an early spring album release. I couldn't wait to tell Scooby.

I grinned at Teeka. “Next time,” I said, patting her cheek. “Just bring me back some candy, a chocolate bar or something. I've been craving something sweet all day.”

“The need for chocolate has been directly linked to the lack of S-E-X,” Bianca spelled for Teeka's benefit.

“Be good, sweetie.” Ignoring my cousin, I pulled Teeka in for a hug, not at all discouraged by her body's sudden stiffness. “You're in charge of picking out a candy bar for me, okay?” I pulled twenty Jamaican dollars from my pocket and pressed them into her hand.

“Okay, ‘Ingston.” She pulled at Bianca's hand. I smoothed some of her hair back into her ponytail and then, they were gone.

I turned to the stack of papers that Mr. Bartlett had left. I knew the majority of it contained information about the adoption. Thumbing through the thick stack, the light fan of air hit my face. I sighed and settled more comfortably into my chair. This could take awhile.

Chapter 32

A plate clattered to the ground followed by a squeal and the sweetly whispered promise of a quiet morning was broken. A whirlwind consisting of Teeka, Cocoa, and Toy swept into the tiny bathroom. Queenie dashed behind them, a dishtowel whooshing through the air as she chased the two dogs from the house, her carefully spoken English flying out the door with them.

“Pickney and dawgs dem' eatin' from de‘ dayum dinner table. Jeesum' Peeze'! Who ever ‘eard of such a ting? Dawgs eatin' in de' kitchen,” she exclaimed in disbelief. “Lawdamercy! Child's gwan' make me lose muh religion.” The rag sliced again before she looked at Teeka, shook her head, then tisked all the way back to the kitchen, her sturdy legs shaking.

Teeka stuck her tongue out at Queenie's retreating figure before barreling into my chest, her body quivering with sobs. “Don't let Queenie catch you doing that,” I chastised, even as my hand flew to cover my laughter. Shampoo ran close to my eyes as I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it around my hair before guiding Teeka to the side of the chipped pedestal bathtub, it groaned beneath both our weights.

Queenie had long since lost the patience needed for a four-year-old under foot. I don't think I ever had it. But I was learning.

“Teeka?” I gently peeled her away, and tilted her chin up.

“But they were hungry and my mommy taught me to share,” she whined, her words rushed together. “I was sharing with Cocoa and Toy, ‘Ingston. That's all.” She pushed her face back into my chest. “Queenie's just mean and I don't like her. Neither would my momma.”

I sighed, wiping her running nose. The mentions of her mother were coming fewer and farther between, but they still hit me like fat drops of water from a slowing faucet. Understanding Teeka's confusion and pain was not hard, loving her through it was the challenging part. But in her round dimpled face, I saw myself, I saw Joanne and every other little girl who had been left by a parent, and that was enough to recharge my determination to stick it out. My words were firm, softened with a slight smile. “I know, sweetie, and your mom's absolutely right. You should share with others, but dogs are not allowed to eat from the table. You can help us put out their food in the mornings, but you need to eat your own breakfast and let them eat theirs.” My smile deepened. “And mind Queenie. No more sticking your tongue out behind her back. I'm sure your mom also told you about listening to others and being nice, right?” My eyebrows remained raised until she nodded grudgingly, but her lip shot so far out I was afraid she might trip over it. “Now go back and finish eating your food.” Teeka rolled her eyes and stomped all the way to the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.

I fought the urge to yank her back and give her one of those time-outs child experts seemed so fond of. It had been almost a week since our arrival and neither Teeka's attitude nor my mood had improved. This mother thing definitely took some getting used too.

I towel dried my hair, releasing fragrances of strawberry and citrus. I was determined to enjoy a few minutes of peace with a novel and cup of coffee on the verandah before Teeka finished her breakfast. She was already sitting at the kitchen table, legs swinging, waiting for the lumps to be beaten out of the batter. Queenie had resigned herself to making pancakes and sausage for breakfast, and sometimes lunch, almost every day depending on which way Teeka's wind was blowing.

I laughed softly, not seeing the shadow stretching across the burgundy carpet until it was too late.

“Hey, slow down.” Damon's hands reached out to steady me, a warmth flowed from his body to mine. “Where's the fire?”

“Ohmygosh!” I pressed my hand to my chest and took a few quick breaths to quiet my thudding heart. “Damon, you scared the mess outta me.”

He threw his head back and laughed. I batted away his lingering hands, snatched the towel from my head and tried to work my damp clumps of hair into something halfway presentable.

Sunglasses fitted his face, an easy smile graced his lips, and a multi-colored beach ball was hooked under his arm. “Thought you could sneak back into town without me finding out?”
Damon pulled his lips back and chucked my chin with his finger. “I knew the minute your sexy butt stepped foot on the island.” Damon's eyes traveled past my face taking in my too small tank top and unrestrained breasts that pushed at it. A warm white oozing pleasure spread through me at the appreciation that shone in Damon's eyes.

“Just showing up is becoming a bad habit for you,” I said with my hands resting on my waist, determined not to shrink beneath his gaze. My French-manicured toes curled into the soles of my tan beaded flip-flops to keep from flying up and kicking him.

The eyelet curtains that dissected the two front windows lifted and rippled from the moist mid-morning breeze. A slick humidity coated the city and I pressed the edges of the towel against the dampness sliding down my forehead.

Damon's smile broadened, non-plussed. He took a step back. “Do you remember my Aunt Olivia?” he asked and it was only then that I noticed the tiny woman at his side. Her shimmery, pale pink lips—the color of well-chewed bubble gum—parted to reveal a gap between her two front teeth. Subtle shades of gray and silver were scattered throughout her short, feathered haircut. Thick brown age spots covered her face like continents on a map. Her green floral culottes swayed against her skinny, pecan-colored legs.

“Of course. How are you, Aunt Olivia?” I leaned down for a jasmine scented hug, pulling away with the fragrance still clinging to me.

“Please just call me Olivia. I've been trying to get Damon to drop the aunt for years. Makes me feel too old.” Her voice was wispy, full of extra breath as she shoved a foil covered Bundt cake into my hands. “Sorry, I wasn't able to make it to your grandmother's funeral. I couldn't get a ride in from Hope Bay. The roads were rained out that day, y'know?”