Like Slow Sweet Molasses (44 page)

“Why
are you whispering?” Chanté asked, noticing Sasha’s mess-maker’s smirk.

“Look,”
he addressed them in order to end their teasing, “none of this matters for she
shipped her furniture.”

“No,
she didn’t,” Lee provided unexpectedly, reading the look in Chance’s eyes. “Her
belongings are here and I have a key.” Every man’s interpretation was the same
as they agreed—in silence—to a pact of subterfuge, disposed of their unfinished
beers and awaited directives from Chance.

“It’s
got to be a surprise.” He asked in uncertainty, “Can we pull this off?”

“I
don’t see why not,” replied Sasha. “We weren’t going to stay long anyway. So if
we leave now she’ll never suspect a thing.”

Letha
added, “Gram and I’ll go spare the babysitter.”

“Big
favor, Sis,” he said to Chanté.

“What’s
that?” she asked.

“Christmas
lights for the front with enough left over for a nice sized tree.” He flipped
open his wallet, emptied the contents on the table, and commented, “You’ll need
to follow me to the ATM.”

“I’d
like to contribute.”

Utter
silence prevailed.

“Not
necessary, Jason. I’ve got things covered.” Chance rejected the offer. Jason
pulled his wallet from his inside jacket pocket, as Chance fumed, to fan bills
card-like instigating Chance’s wrath. “You braggadocios sonofabitch! We’re not
impressed with your—”

It
was Jason’s turn to interrupt. “Can it, Lieutenant. She’s my sister regardless
of how we feel about it and Haperiskis take care of their own.”

“Why
you—” Chance stomped in Jason’s direction halting abruptly as Lee blocked his
path.

“Let
him help, Brock.” Lee showed his bravery in the face of Chance’s demonic look.
“We need all the help we can get to make this endeavor work.”

Chance
stood down and the air in the room flowed again. He removed himself from the
crowd to check in on the women in his bedroom. “Angela, everyone’s leaving and
I’m going get my car at the airport.”

Angela
left her mother’s side to lead him back to the other room where their visitors
filed towards the stairs. “Wait. Everyone.” Her look of appreciation settled on
all present. “I can’t thank you for your concern and support. You don’t have to
hurry on my account.”

“We’re
not, Angel Baby,” Gram promised and the others tensed knowing her tendency for
spoiling surprises. “We want you to rest. We’ll see you later.”

As
everyone trailed her to the exit, Chance detoured to make a snappy change and
steered Angela out of earshot upon his return. “I’ll be a while to give you and
your parents time together. You’ll be okay, right?”

“As
long as you’re coming back,” she confided.

“You
can count on me like the morning tide, Angel. Try and get some rest.”

Lee,
who whispered his intent to Connie, advised aloud, “I’m going, too, Brock.”

“Men’s
night out,” Angela concluded. A good smack on his lips and she quipped, “I can
handle that.”

“We
haven’t had our holiday treat, Cookie. Let’s take advantage of this time
together.” Connie’s voice hinted at a lift in her spirits.

“You
want to cook, Mama?”

“The
holidays calls for sweets, Sweetie.” A genuine grin played at her lips. “Let’s
bake something.”

Secret
smiles abounded as the room cleared leaving Angela and Connie to their bonding.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chance
was on pins and needles the entire ride back to his loft nervous about Angela’s
reception to his deceptive scheme of leasing her place behind her back. The
more he agonized about it, the antsier he became with his constant grip change
on the steering wheel accentuating his dilemma. He felt Lee’s chiding smile
even in the darkened interior of the Cobra, stiffening his spine for he knew
what was to come. The wait was a short one as Angela’s dad bellowed his delight
apparently tickled by the turn of events.

Lee
took in Chance’s posture amused that the big, bad lieutenant was a mess of
jittery Jell-O as he kept his eyes directed at the road ahead. It was obvious
he had no interests in the spectacular light displays passed along the route to
the French Quarters and back to where Angela and Connie waited. He imagined
Chance running lines in his head practicing his speech for forgiveness.

Another
howl escaped.

The
ride lasted a little longer than usual since Chance used a meandering scenic
route in his endeavor to get his thoughts together. Within sight of his
building, he activated the remote, the door rolled upwards and he slid into the
garage stopping with the rumble he knew Angela recognized. His car door hadn’t
closed good before he saw her racing down the staircase towards him, all
excited and giggly. Her approach did not slow as she leaped into his chest,
locked her ankles around his waist and showered him with tiny kisses all over
his face and neck—right in front of her father.

“What
took you so long?” she asked between smooches.

“Uh,
uh,” he stuttered while gripping her waist, completely thrown off his game at
the reception, his eyes cutting to see Lee’s reaction.

“Don’t
look at me,” Angela’s father said and headed upstairs.

Chance
lost himself in her arms returning her kisses with fervor. “Feel up to taking a
ride?”

“Not
really. But, whatever you want to do—I’m game,” she amiably agreed.

“Good,”
he sighed in relief. “It’s Christmas and New Orleans has its own brand of
decorating for the holidays. I think you’ll enjoy the sights.”

Angela
unlocked her legs and slid down his frame to stand in front of him. “You don’t
know how many batches of cookies I had to make while you were out
boying
it up. Mama is a taskmaster this time of the year.”

“Oh,
so—that’s why you complained about the length of time I was away. Not that you
missed me. It was pure selfishness,” he mocked.

“Look
at me, Chance,” she implored.

He
did—straight into her bruised face and red eyes and couldn’t resist the urge to
swaddle her battered form in his strong, comforting arms.

“I
know the value of time, now, and want to waste none of it. I love being in your
company. I love being in your arms.” She lay back in his embrace. “This is
going to sound mushy, but, I love loving you.”

Her
words set him on fire. Chance’s mouth claimed Angela’s in a possessive exchange
of passion that swept both of them up in excitement. He broke it off, panting
to recover his composure. “Your parents are upstairs, Angel. Remember?”

“Hmmm,
Chance,” she groaned in acknowledgement to what he said, her senses reeling.

The
will to disengage from her softness drained him of every ounce of his energies.
He breathed heavily while pulling her up the stairs behind him. Muted whispers
seeped into his awareness as Connie and Lee milled around his kitchen table
munching on the sweets spread out for cooling. Chance planted Angela in front
of him with his arms banding her middle and faced them not unlike a man facing
the firing squad. Their smiles suggested they knew the heated battle fought on
the lower floor. He was just happy everyone was on the same page in reference
to the love shared by him and Angela.

“We’re
going look at the Christmas lights,” he announced. “Why don’t you come along?”

Connie
gushed, “Sounds great! I love doing that. Gives me ideas for the next year.”

“Like
we have space for anymore paraphernalia relative to this time of year, Doll,”
her husband grumbled.

Chance
liked how easy it was for Lee to use his pet name for his wife.

“Be
nice, Grumpy,” she scolded. “You know you wouldn’t have it any other way.” Lee
nuzzled his wife’s neck for an answer. “That’s better.”

“I
need to change,” Angela chimed in. She swiveled in his protective circle and
rewarded him with a juicy kiss. “Be right back.”

Her
animated exit brought a smile to his lips and a ka-boom to his heart. “What do
you think? Will she understand?” he whispered to the other two conspirators.

“There’s
only one way to find out,” Connie answered morosely, confusing Chance with her
capitulation. Suddenly, she grinned. “Hurry, Cookie. Chance is chomping at the
bit.”

“I’m
coming,” Angela yelled back. She stepped out commanding their attention in her
borrowed getup. “I know. I know. A little tight but Sasha was kind enough to
loan them to me.”

As
she progressed towards him, Chance scoped out her footwear—a pair of his heavy
white athletic socks. Realization set in that she had no clothing of her own
since the location of her luggage remained a mystery. Just like a man
demonstrating compassion and support of the one he loved, he marched forward to
scoop her into his arms for the ride down the stairs and to the car, receiving
a humongous hug for his trouble. He was her willing prisoner until disturbed by
Lee and Connie after making their descent.

“Guys
in front,” Angela proclaimed. With a laugh, she teased while fitting herself
behind the passenger seat. “There’s no way Daddy can squeeze back here.”

“That’s
mighty gracious of you, Cookie,” he said piling in after watching with concern
as Connie manipulated her body into the low slung vehicle.

All
were adequately, if not comfortably, situated for the excursion when Connie
spoke up. “Let me tell you. That wasn’t the easier thing I’ve ever had to do.”

That
remark set the tone erasing any uncertainties harbored in relations to their
personal concerns about Angela’s mental recovery. She laughed harder than any.
They embarked on a randomly chosen route selected by Chance to showcase the
artistry of a cross-section of New Orleans’ culture. The ooo’s and ahh’s kept
coming as the women enjoyed the spectacle laid out before them as they cruised
one neighborhood after another. The highlight for Chance was Angela’s bright
sparkly smile that wooed him silly whenever he stole a glance over his right
shoulder. One such move garnered him a secret message from her father as their
eyes met.

Chance
took the hint steering the Mustang back across Carrollton, up Canal Boulevard
where he hung a right on St. Charles to follow the streetcar rails. The locale
changed from business to residential with palatial old homes majestically
settled along the avenue. The gaiety reverberating within fractionally reduced
in the back seat until only Connie’s enthusiastic comments sounded. Angela’s
voice mysteriously quieted leaving all to wonder about the sudden change in
attitude.

Then
the error of his ways dawned on Chance, soliciting a heart-felt apology from
him. “Crap, Angela. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t thinking.” Measuring the
damage inflicted was as simple as trailing her eyes. They burned the site of
his preemptive strike and her near death experience into her brain.

“Why
did you come this way?” she asked miffed.

He
told a bald faced lie. “To check on Aunt Belle’s house. I hoped you wouldn’t
mind.”

“Of
course, I don’t mind that,” she bickered totally out of character. “You
should’ve come from the other direction, that’s all.”

“You’re
right,” Chance conceded. “Just like you were right that night. I should have
listened to your pleas and taken you home first. Instead, I put my job ahead of
your safety.”

Angela
extolled her part in that awful night’s outcome glad when he turned off Eighth
Street. “None of that would’ve happened if I hadn’t persuaded you to stop for a
stupid slurpy.”

“You
can’t know that, Angel. Besides, you’re so damn cute when you connive to have
your way.”

She
blew in agitation.

He
maneuvered his vehicle into his aunt’s driveway and halted on the incline. The
front of Angela’s home depicted the Christmas cheeriness devoid in their midst.
The rumble silenced returning the neighborhood to the quiet peaceful night.
They sat taking in the beautiful arrangement of traditional colored bulbs
intermingled with garland dressing the eaves, posts and railings of the house.
The front porch displayed a mix of decorating flavors seen throughout New
Orleans with the flair of an inflatable Crawdad Santa sitting in the rocking
chair complete with a full toy sack in his claw.

“Look
at the lighted runners along the walkway,” Angela cooed.