Stranger in my Arms (17 page)

I
t took four days for Alex to drive to Boston for her interview, but she accomplished the return drive to Virginia in ten hours. On the trip northward she'd stopped and toured the historic districts in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Connecticut, staying overnight in the respective states' capitals. She'd planned on calling Merrick her first night on the road, but when she checked in to her hotel the only thing she'd wanted was a warm shower and firm bed. When she checked her cell-phone voice message, there was a call from him. His terse reprimand about her not checking in with him raised her hackles, and she waited another day before calling him back.

She had her first serious disagreement with Merrick when she told him that she hadn't needed to check in with anyone since she'd celebrated her twenty-first birthday, and now at twenty-nine, soon-to-be thirty, she wasn't going to begin. Alex couldn't remember his brusque retort because she'd abruptly ended the call.

The volatile interchange forced her to rerevaluate her relationship with Merrick Grayslake, that perhaps she hadn't married or had a serious relationship because she unconsciously valued her independence; that she was unable to commit to sharing her life and future with a man.

Her interview had gone well, and with her degree and outstanding grades she was offered a position with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She'd formulated a game plan and had accomplished everything she'd set out to do.

Alex loved Merrick, enough to marry him and become the mother of his children, but she refused to be subjugated by him or
any
man. She'd been reared to think for herself, nurtured and taught to take care of herself, and being a Cole meant she would always be able to take care of herself.

It was late afternoon when Alex crossed the state line from Maryland into the District of Columbia. An accident backed up traffic for miles along the road leading to the Key Bridge, so she headed south to the Fourteenth Street Bridge to cross the Potomac River. It was a longer route to Arlington, but at least she wouldn't have to sit in traffic.

Half an hour later, she pressed a device, raising the door to one of the four garages in the rear of her building, parked, then alighted from the car where she'd spent too many hours. Not bothering to remove her luggage from the trunk, Alex unlocked the front door, mounted the staircase and opened the door to her apartment, encountering a blast of hot air that forced her to take a backward step.

Placing her keys and handbag on the foyer table, she pressed a button, activating the central cooling unit, while chiding herself for not leaving it running during her absence.

Going into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom, she stripped off her clothes and placed them in a wicker hamper. Just as she prepared to step into the shower, the telephone rang. She returned to the bedroom to answer the call. A smile parted her lips. It was her sister.

“Hi, Ana.”

“Where have you been?”

“Let's begin again, little sister,” she chastised softly. Ana was as bad as Merrick. What was with them clocking her? “Hello, Ana.”

“Sorry about that. Hi, Alex.”

Alex smiled. “What's up?”

“I'm in Georgetown. I've been staying with Michael, Jolene and the baby for the past two days. Alex, she is the most adorable little girl.”

Alex hadn't seen Teresa since the day she'd come to the hospital because she wanted to give Jolene time to recover before she had to entertain visitors. The fact that Michael, as a teacher, did not work summers would make Jolene's transition from wife to mother easier than it would if she had full responsibility of caring for Teresa.

“She is beautiful. Why are you staying with them when you could've stayed here?” Before she'd left for Europe Alex had given her sister and brothers the key to her condominium so they could use her extra bedroom whenever they were in the D.C. area.

“I called you, but when I didn't get an answer I decided to hang out with Michael.”

“I was in Boston on a job interview. Why didn't you call my cell?”

“I just got a new cell phone, and I hadn't programmed in your number. Do you want company?”

“Of course. Come on over.”

“I'll see you in a bit.”

Alex hung up and headed for the bathroom.

 

Ana lay at the foot of Alex's California king bed, her head resting on a mound of pillows. The flickering light from candles on tables provided the only illumination in the air-cooled space.

“I can't believe you're going to get a real job,” Ana teased her sister.

Alex shifted until she found a more comfortable position against the headboard. “I
had
a real job, Ana Cole, when I worked for that art gallery.”

Ana sucked her teeth. “That was play-play and you know it. Now, working for the National Trust is real.”

Alex smiled. “I think the most exciting aspect of the position will be the traveling and meeting with groups whose focus is on preserving our history for future generations.”

Turning over on her side, Ana tried making out her sister's face in the subdued light. “I don't understand how you get so excited about broken-down old buildings.”

“That's because you can't see the beauty in them. What you see as broken down and worthless I see as the fading beauty of magnificent wraparound porches, moldings, lintels, columns and newel posts. Only in America do we tear down to make way for the new, which isn't necessarily better or prettier than what stood before. That's why I love going to Europe, because they value their architecture and history.”

“Don't forget that the United States is an infant when you compare it to the rest of the world, Alex.”

“But that's no reason not to respect past artisans. Many of the antebellum mansions were designed and built by African slaves.”

Ana closed her eyes and listened to Alex recount the names of the mansions that rose to glory and splendor under the human toil of their ancestors. She was so caught up in the history that she jumped as if jolted by a bolt of electricity when the telephone on the bedside table rang.

Reaching for the instrument, Alex picked it up. “Hello.”

“Hello, cuz,” said a deep voice with a distinctive Southwest intonation.

“What's up, Michael?”

“My folks just called to say they're coming up for the Fourth. Jolene's parents are also coming in to see Teresa, so I decided to throw a little something. If you and Ana aren't doing anything, then come on by any time after noon.”

“Hold on, Michael.” Alex covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “When are you going back to Boca?”

Ana sat up and stared at Alex. She'd come to the D.C. area to meet with a young female vocalist who'd sent Serenity Records a demo, but once she met with the fifteen-year-old she realized she wasn't the one who'd recorded the songs. Livid because she'd been duped, Ana hadn't bothered to stay and uncover who'd actually recorded the demo and decided to extend her stay to visit her sister and cousin.

“There's no rush for me to go back. Why?”

“Michael wants us to come over for the Fourth. Uncle Josh and Aunt Vanessa are coming up to see the baby. He said Jolene's folks are also coming in from Chicago.”

Ana flashed her dimpled smile. “Count me in.”

Alex removed her hand. “We're in. Do you want us to bring anything?”

“No. I've got everything covered.”

“How about dessert?”

“I'll order pies and cobblers from Rudy B's.”

“Hot damn!” Alex had discovered Rudy B's by accident when she drove through northwest D.C. The original Rudy B's, a one-room log cabin, was built behind the small house that belonged to Reuben Brown in 1908. It was expanded after World War I, then again in the sixties, and had undergone extensive renovations in 1998 for its ninetieth anniversary. The family-owned restaurant had earned the reputation of serving the best soul food in the Capitol District. The first time she ate a slice of sweet-potato pie she was hooked!

“I guess that means we'll just show.”

Michael laughed. “You do that.”

Alex hung up, smiling. “Save your appetite because Michael's ordering dessert from Rudy B's.”

“Who or what is Rudy B's?” asked Ana.

“It's the best soul food joint in the world.”

Ana lifted her eyebrows. “Did you say the world?”

“You heard me.”

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Ana pushed her feet into a pair of sandals. “Get up. We're going on a food run.”

Alex took a quick glance at the clock next to the telephone. It was 8:48 p.m. “Are you sure you want to eat this late?”

Combing her fingers through her short hair, Ana gave Alex a knowing look. “Don't play yourself, Alexandra. You know it's never too late to eat. Especially when the food's good.”

Grinning, Alex swung her legs over the bed and pushed her feet into a pair of worn leather flip-flops. “Let's roll.”

 

Merrick had spent the night vacillating over whether to accept Michael's invitation to come to Georgetown for a cookout or stay in Bolivar because he knew Alex would be there; she'd hung up on him, and his pride, false pride, wouldn't permit him to call her back.

He missed her, missed their nightly chats even when they were hundreds of miles apart. He missed her so much that his heart ached. There had been a time when he'd accused her of ripping his heart out, and she had, leaving him to bleed emotionally.

Perhaps, he mused, he wasn't cut out to be a good boyfriend because he didn't know how to be a boyfriend. There were women, women he'd slept with, but they weren't someone with whom he would plan a future.

Love, the emotion that had eluded him, had come into his life like a slow-moving mist, the silent paws of a stalking cat and death when it came stealing to reclaim the breath given at birth. It was so unexpected that he wasn't given the opportunity to reject it.

Slumping lower in the porch chair, he stared at a doe and her fawn feeding on blackberries. Something must have startled them because they took off running in the direction of the woods.

Merrick closed his eyes, sighing heavily. Love. Men and women sang about it, poets wrote sonnets about it, people took their own lives and killed others for it.

He'd fallen in love with a slip of a woman who made him look for the next sunrise, a woman he had proposed marriage to and wanted to have his children with, a woman who had pulled him from a morass of self-pity and irrelevance where one day turned insignificantly into the next. He opened his eyes, pushed off the chair and went into the house. Grasping the hem of his T-shirt, he pulled it over his head.

He had to stop the bleeding, and the only way he could do that was to confront Alex.

 

Merrick drove from Bolivar to Washington, D.C., utilizing back roads and pushing the speedometer above ninety. Crossing the Virginia state line, he slowed to the speed limit. He'd made the trip in half the time.

He made one stop on Connecticut Avenue at Dupont Circle. Returning to his truck with his purchase, he drove the short distance to Q Street NW. Fortunately, Merrick found parking outside Michael's house. The cars lining the driveway bore Virginia and Florida license plates.

Hoisting a box to his shoulder, he walked around to the rear of the house. A large awning and colorful beach umbrellas shielded the Kirklands' guests from the blazing summer sun as they sat at tables eating, drinking and laughing.

Merrick saw her, and went completely still. Alex had her back to him so he was given the opportunity to observe her unnoticed. A baseball cap covered her hair and a pair of sunglasses shielded her eyes. His gaze caressed the smooth brown skin on her back and shoulders under a halter top.

“Hey, man. What do you have there?”

Merrick lowered the box and put it in Michael's outstretched arms. “It's just a little something to quench your thirst.”

Michael's eyes, hidden behind the lenses of a pair of sunglasses, crinkled when he smiled. “What is it?”

“Your favorite sake.”

“All right,” Michael drawled. He'd acquired a fondness for the Japanese brew when he'd been stationed in Japan. “Why don't you circulate while I take this in the house. I'll make the introductions later.”

Merrick wanted to tell Michael that he didn't need an introduction, at least not one to Alexandra Cole. He knew not only her name, but every inch of her compact body. He knew how to make her moan and sob in ecstasy. He knew what made her laugh and cry. And he'd heard her admit to loving him as much as he loved her.

 

Alex felt Ana's fingers tighten on her wrist. “He's here,” she whispered close to her ear.

She frowned at her sister. “What are you talking about?”

“The guy from our New Year's Eve party. You know, the one who was staring at you and I told you he was hot.”