Like Slow Sweet Molasses (43 page)

“Just
ignore it, Chance,” she begged as he approached to see what was so interesting
occurring in the street.

Chance
watched her advance on him as he attempted to get to the window. “They’re not
going away, Angel,” he consoled when the bell continued to bong. He resisted
her attempts at redirecting him by clutching her arms, dragging her along to
the tinted glass. “I’ll be goddamned!” he charged, relapsing into his old habit
of vulgarity.

“Don’t—”

Angela’s
plea went unheeded as he struck out to the door, covering the distance in
record time to snatch it open so violently, the wall behind lost kernels of
mortar at the impact. The uninvited visitor didn’t flinch. “What the fuck do
you want?”

Jason
Harper stood his ground. “I’m not here to start trouble, Lieutenant.”

“It’s
funny that’s the first thing out of your mouth.” Chance disagreed with Jason’s
assessment of the climate his intrusion created for Angela. She hadn’t appeared
for which he was glad.

“I’m
here because—” Jason commenced answering only to have Chance cut him off.

“You’re
a pain in the ass? Get on with it. What do you want?” He nervously looked over
his shoulder.

“This
is a proxy visit on behalf of my father who’s worried about Angela’s
condition.”

Chance,
ignorant she raced down the stairs at the mention of her name, but alerted to
her antics by the look on Jason’s startled face, knew what tripped her switch
and felt terrified that she finally snapped from the trauma.

“Why
won’t you leave me alone?” Angela, provoked by his presence, attacked. “What
did you come to see? If I have another cultivation left in me? Or if your donor
cow perished in the fire?”

The
setting sun’s vivid glare framed Jason as a harbinger of bad news.

“Angela!”
Chance tried to tame her fury. “Shush!”

“Are
you defending him, now?” she screamed.

He
whispered for her ears only. “No. I’m protecting you. Never allow your opponent
the satisfaction of the upper hand by letting them goad you.” Magically, her
rants ceased. “I love you, Angel. I want all of you to love me back. You can’t
do that if you’re courting a nervous breakdown.” Her abrupt about-face into his
chest jolted Chance.

Jason,
who held his tongue during the entire dramatic scene—recognized and admitted to
himself theirs was a thriving love against all odds, broke his silence. “My
mission is to report on your condition, Angela. But, not for the reasons you
outlined. My father—our father,” he stammered, “saw Lt. Alexander on the news,
made a few phone calls and confirmed your name on the plane’s roster.”

“See?
Ulterior motive extraordinaire.”

“He
felt inclined to check on you and called your parents to—”

“He
what?” she exclaimed.

“Fuck!”
came the retort at her back.

“They’re
about twenty minutes,” he looked at his watch, “make that ten minutes away.”

Angela
eyed her half-brother still unconvinced he spoke the truth. “My parents are
coming here?”

“That’s
why you got no answer,” Chance deduced. His eyes roamed the street over her
head to see another shiny black Towncar heading their way. “Actually, they’re
here.” Down the street, a rolling caravan inched towards them as slowly as a
New Orleans jazz funeral procession. Nipping her chin, Chance added, “And…my
family’s bringing up the rear.”

Angela
and Jason’s mouths twisted in the same fashion as their eyes clashed after
viewing the scene. “You just had to stick your nose in where it wasn’t needed.”

“You
and I are obligated to one another for our parents’ sakes. Even though there’s
no love between us, I don’t wish for your demise, Angela,” he defended.

“Like
I believe that.” She tossed a look up the street. “Rest assured, Jason. I want
nothing from you or your father short of your making this stop a very brief
one.”

“Angel,
he’s extending an olive branch—of sorts.” Chance interpreted not only Jason’s
words but also the absence of malice his expression always held when in her
company. “We have to make the best of this situation.” He took possession of
her lips then showed her the stairs. “You’d better put on a pair of sweats.
Company’s here.”

The
street transformed into a parking lot right before their eyes as two vehicles
split from the group to pull into spots behind the black cars, the third—an SUV
slanted in front, all emptying out more legs than a octopus has tentacles.

Angela
vanished into the interior of the loft.

“You’re
all welcome.” Circumstances compelled Chance to stipulate a few rules of
engagement. “All I ask is you respect and have compassion for Angela’s delicate
frame of mind during this ordeal.” He championed her cause. “Lee and Connie,
she’s beating herself up for not being completely honest with you.” To his
immediate foster-family which included all seven of the adults, he said, “Thank
you for your support.”

Everyone
converged just inside of the door waiting on introductions.

“Brock,”
Connie said, “we weren’t fooled one minute about where Cookie rushed off to.
Her body was in Chicago with us. Her heart was here.”

Chance’s
relief was audible.

“We
don’t hold you responsible for Cookie’s actions any more than you can blame
yourself for the close call,” Lee added.

He
professed in front of all present, “I love your daughter, Lee.”

Lee
clasped Chance’s shoulder in a firm grip. “Then, you’re in for one hell of a
ride, Brock.”

“I’m
looking forward to it.” He broke from the group to stand on the first step.
“Robinsons and offspring meet the Munsoes.” He did a rapid rundown of the
individuals huddled in front of him remembering the lone outsider lurking in
the door. “Come on in, Jason.”

“Jason
Harper,” he introduced himself closing the door behind him, flooring Chance
with his big finish. “Angela’s brother.”

While
they exchanged greetings of their own, and Chance knew they also tampered down
questions about Angela’s ancestry, he started upstairs. “Come on up, everybody.
I’ll see if she’s dressed.”

He
heard the rustle of movement of all trampling behind as he vanished into his
bedroom. “Angel?” Chance found her sitting on the side of his bed, shoulders
slumped, head down. He sat, too. “All in that room want nothing more than your
speedy recovery.”

“Is
Jason in there?”

“Yes.”

“Then,
that’s not true,” she said.

“Forget
Jason. You don’t have to come out if you don’t feel up to it. My family will
understand. I’m inviting Connie and Lee into the bedroom.”

She
nodded her consent. He kissed her forehead, nipped her chin and walked from the
room.

“Connie,
Lee, she’s waiting for you.” To everyone else, “I’ll get the coffee going.” He
watched her parents join hands on the jaunt to see about their daughter.

“I’ll
do that, Bro,” Chanté volunteered.

“You
take a load off,” Sasha put in dashing to assist her sister-in-law.

“Thank
you all for your concern. I’m sure Angela will express her gratitude when she—”

Gram
whisked away his apology. “Peace and quiet is the right thing for her now,
Brock. That and some of my down-home red beans and rice.”

Chance’s
foster-mother chimed in. “I’ll get it out of the SUV, Miss Gladys.”

“Gram,
you didn’t.” His grin was infectious causing her to chuckle as she reached up
from her seat—drawing him to her level—to pat his cheek.

“Gram
takes care of her own. You know that.”

He
honored her thoughtfulness and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Gram.”

“You’re
welcome.” Gram was full of surprises. “Why are you boys standing around like
this is a funeral? It’s a celebration of life! Get this boy a beer. I know he
could use one.”

“Yes,
maam,” Trell answered, only too happy to march over to the refrigerator as
ordered.

Letha
returned loaded down with heavy containers big enough to hold enough servings
to feed a bunch of people. The men milled around quietly undoubtedly at odds
with their roles in this situation. Chance kept tabs on things from the kitchen
table all the while thinking of Angela and her parents in the other room.

The
scene in his bedroom lent itself to a touching movie, the kind shown day in and
day out during the Christmas Holidays.

“I
decided Chance was worth the fight to overcome my fears. I never meant to lie
to you,” Angela explained as she sat flanked by Connie and Lee.

It
was Lee who replied. “We suspected who this friend was before you left the
house last night, Cookie.”

“You
did?” she asked surprised.

“We’re
your parents,” Connie reminded her. “We know you like a book—”

“That’s
been read over and over again,” Angela said, reciting the words left on her
mother’s lips. She caught the hand of each. “I love you so much and am ashamed
for ruining your Christmas.”

“Ruining
our Christmas would have been coming here to recover your…your—” Connie
responded unable to continue.

“What
your mother is trying to say, Cookie, is having you safe and sound makes this
the best Christmas ever. Anyway, Christmas is two days away,” Lee advised. We
can celebrate at home thanks to the generosity of Philip Haperiski.”

Angela
just knew her parents heard her heart thump to the floor. “Not him, again?” The
crescendo in her voice wouldn’t be tamed.

“Cookie,
he simply provided the use of his jet to get us here faster. That’s all.”

Angela
gaped at her mother. But, it was her father who spoke next.

“I
would’ve accepted a ride from the devil himself if that meant getting to you
any sooner.”

Her
anger tempered. “You’re right, of course. However, I can’t go with you. I can’t
fly right now, Mama. I—I can’t.”

“Is
that what this is about? Flying?” her mother asked. “Cookie, we’ll send Jason
on his way and get a hotel downtown.”

Everything
Connie said resonated with Angela, playing on her guilty conscience. “You’re
here because of me and I can’t offer you a roof over your heads because I no
longer have a roof over my own head.”

Silent
tears rolled and Lee and Connie smothered her in their comforting embrace.

Lee,
removing himself out of the way to allow Connie to work her motherly magic,
joined the men at the table, his long face telling a sad story.

“Is
she okay?” Chance asked, pushing the full brown bottle aside.

“Weighed
down by another molehill,” he sighed. All activity slowed to lessen the noise
in the kitchen in order to hear his calm comments.

“What
do you mean?” Chance asked.

“Cookie’s
upset because she’s afraid to fly back to Chicago and to top that off—she can’t
offer us a place to spend Christmas.”

Gram
gave one of those
old people
grunts that translated into an idea. “You
can stay with me.”

“That’s
a kind offer, Mrs. Robinson,” Lee acknowledged.

“It
sure is, Gram,” Chance agreed, leaving his seat to hug her.

Letha
spoke up. “Brock, isn’t Miss Belle out of town? You stay there and let them
have your place. That way everyone has some semblance of privacy.”

“That’s
a good idea. But, I have a better one—just not a complete solution.” He
commanded everyone’s attention with those words. Chance waved everyone closer.
“Angela can stay where she’s comfortable. In her own home—if she wants to.”

Pops
broke his silence. “You know that’s not possible, Brock.”

“It
is,” he admitted with a shamed face.

“Tell
us more,” Lee pursued the matter. “How—when her place is unavailable?”

Chance
hedged trying to find a way to admit his folly. “I hoped she’d come back to New
Orleans. Just in case she did, I knew she’d need a place to stay.”

“Get
to the point, Brock,” Lee urged impatiently, breaking into the long
explanation.

The
expectant looks of all present settled on him. “Angel’s place is under lease—to
me.”

Lee
thoughtfully lounged back in his seat—arm perched on his stomach—forehead
wrinkled. His look, touching on each set of worried eyes in the room
complemented his stomach’s spasms, the sign laughter was difficult to suppress
as he clarified Chance’s statement. “You’re her tenant?”

“I’m
her tenant,” he repeated proudly, squashing the speeder-caught-on-camera
mentality.

Trell
added his two-cents, “And Angela doesn’t know?” grinning from ear to ear.

“No,”
he answered like a man of authority, keeping his voice lowered while checking
over his shoulder.

The
women shared “girly” glances.

“Don’t
give me that look,” Chance complained quietly.