The Sapphire Pendant (23 page)

“It’s not funny,” she said.

He glanced at her and laughed harder.

She bit her lip, refusing to be so immature. “Kenneth—”

He leaned against the wall and held his sides. “Only her eyebrows moved,” he gasped.

She covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, but didn’t succeed. Soon they were holding onto each other, weak with laughter. All they had to do was look at each other, and the laughter would start again.

“I think I should go,” she said into his chest.

He nodded.

She grabbed the folder and her sweater, then raced out of the room, careful not to look at Mrs. Mathew as she passed her desk. She stepped into the elevator and took a deep breath. When she turned, she saw Kenneth standing in his office doorway, imitating Mrs. Mathew’s expression. She burst into laughter once more as the doors closed, ignoring the curious stares.

* * *

Kenneth fell down on the couch. She was up to something, he could feel it. He had learned early that tenderness was earned, not given. And Jasmine had given too freely for a hot dog and popsicle. Yes, she definitely was up to something…damn her. But the fact was that he didn’t care. He didn’t care at all. His face spread into a grin. Whatever scheme she was up to, he definitely liked the process.

He rested his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He wanted her. He wanted her like an art thief craved an original Van Gogh, like a hacker craved an encrypted code. He wanted her wet, dry, dressed, naked—he especially wanted her naked, preferably in his bed, but he could be creative.

He shut his eyes, still able to remember the taste and smell of her. He rubbed his chin. He had to be careful; he couldn’t let it go too far. Unfortunately, it had already awakened the longing in him. He’d fed a tantalizing morsel to the hungry man within him. He shook his head. He couldn’t forget that he wasn’t like other men. He had an image to maintain, secrets to keep. The next time he had her, it would be under cover of darkness. He would have to plan it right.

The buzzer on his desk rang. He growled and leaped to his feet. He hit the button. “Yes?”

“You have a call,” Mrs. Mathew said.

He coughed to discourage himself from laughing, remembering the look on her face. “Okay.”

“Your brother Eddie is on line three.”

All good humor died.

Chapter 17

He hated talking to his brother, but he had discovered that avoidance was just as stressful. He counted to ten then picked up the line.

“What do you want?”

Eddie laughed. “Is that any way to speak to your flesh and blood, man?”

“Would you prefer silence? What do you want?”

Eddie slipped into the dialect of their youth. “I have fi get money,”

It had the expected effect, transferring Kenneth from a powerful executive to a young man who would do anything to protect his family. He turned towards the window and watched the traffic down below. “Is what ’appen to the money mi give you last time?”

Eddie’s voice lifted to a whine. “I told you I’ll pay you back when I get the chance. Come nuh, man, I have fi have it. Mi ina worries.”

“Fi what?”

“Rent. A little jill is all me want.”

Kenneth let his eyes fall on the daylilies sitting on his windowsill. They seemed to be watching him and cautioning him behind their sunny smiles. He didn’t believe Eddie, but he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t let his brother suffer when he knew he could help him. “I see.” He sighed, sickened by his own weakness, sickened by how quickly his brother could trap him in the tentacles of their past, reminding him of the young man he used to be, a young man who had envied Eddie his daughter, his mother’s love, and his freedom. “Awrite.”

“Thanks. Okay, mi gone.”

Kenneth sat up in his chair. “Wait, now. Is that all?”

Eddie paused. “Yeah, I think so.”

He ground his teeth. “Aren’t you missing something?”

“Uh…?”

Kenneth sighed, exasperated. “Like a dawta, perhaps?”

“Oh, yeah, Shiraz. Look, uh, I trust her wid you.”

Kenneth tightened his grip on the phone. “It’s not about trust. She’s not my child. You need to take care of her.”

He could almost hear his brother’s mind working, trying to make up excuses to have Ace stay longer.

Eddie switched to Standard English, the language in which he did his best scheming. “Things aren’t at their best right now, Ken. When everything is sorted out, I’ll come get her.”

Kenneth stroked the petals of the flowers with his thumb. “She told me you’re still drinking.”

“The kid’s got a big mouth. I cut it down, Ken, way down.”

“You don’t need to do this.”

“I’m trying. I don’t drink much.”

“You’re not supposed to drink at all.”

Eddie’s voice hardened. “Hey, don’t start acting like mi fadda.” He quickly regretted his words, knowing what an insult they were. “Mi sorry.” He coughed. “I mean, I’m sorry. Ken, I didn’t mean it. Kenneth? Kenneth, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

Like always
. “Hmm.”

Eddie let out a deep breath. “Just give me time. I’ll mend everything.”

“Not too much time.”

“So when are you going to send the money?”

Kenneth ripped off a petal, then stomped on it. Why couldn’t his brother get his priorities straight? Why couldn’t he get through to him? Sometimes he wasn’t sure whether he hated his brother or just the addiction.

“I’m going to pay your landlord directly,” he said.

“What?” Eddie’s voice lifted in surprise and hurt. “You don’t trust me?”

He had learned early not to trust him with money. “No.”

Eddie’s voice turned surly. “Well, if you can find it in your heart to send some money for food, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll make sure you get food. How’s your job?” Eddie wrote a syndicated column about the joys of life. The irony never escaped them.

“I’m living. No worries. So are you going to send the money?”

“I’ll take care of things.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated. When he spoke again, it was not as an indigent brother, but man to man. “In spite of what you think, I am trying, but I’m not much of a fighter.” He laughed bitterly. “We all can’t be perfect like you.”

Kenneth gripped the phone. “You of all people know I’m not perfect.”

“Maybe.”

“How come you never did tell me about Jasmine giving you her scholarship?”

“I’m a Preston. Appearances—I’m sure you know a little something about that.” Eddie hung up.

Kenneth held the receiver until it began to buzz, then he put it down and sighed. Appearances were all his life was about.

* * *

What had caused her to be so bold?
 
Jessie wondered, returning to Kenneth’s place. Never in her life had she been so brazen, so sassy. God, it felt good. She tossed her bag on the couch and held her head as a nagging thought struck her. She had told him to trust her. She shouldn’t have said that. She’d unwittingly pointed to her Achilles’ heel: the Clifton word of honor. She swore. If he ever found out about the bet, he would remember her words and use them against her. Then once again the Clifton honor would be at risk because of her. She groaned, recognizing the truth: she had lost the pendant again.

Instead of mentally kicking herself, which she decided to leave for the evening, she typed his letters. She had just completed the stack when Teresa called.

“So did it work?” she asked, excited.

Jessie hit the print icon. “What?”

“The flowers, you ninny.”

Jessie sat back and rested her feet on the desk. “Like a magic potion. He even took me to lunch.”
And kissed me until my skin tingled
. “Right now I’m typing some letters for him.”

“Excellent! You may pull this off after all.”

She shook her head. “No, I won’t.” She lowered her voice. “The bet’s off.”

“Why?”

She rested a hand on her forehead. “Because I kissed him.”

Teresa gasped. “You kissed Kenneth Preston? On the mouth?”

She sat up. “Yes, where else?”

There was a pregnant pause as they both imagined the many possible places.

“Never mind,” Teresa said quickly. “That’s great!”

Jessie stared at the computer monitor, blinking back tears of frustration. She had lost even before she had begun. “No, it’s not. I told him to trust me. If I continue with the bet and he finds out, everything between us will seem like a lie. The Clifton word would be a sham.”

Teresa sighed, understanding the dilemma. The integrity of a family name was sacred. “Oh, but you’re so close.”

“I know.”

“Michelle will be proud.” Teresa paused. “But what if he never finds out? You could win the pendant and still keep him as a friend. Nobody else knows about the bet, and if you win, I doubt Deborah will tell anyone.”

“I don’t know.” Jessie felt a shadow descend. She looked up and saw Freda glaring down at her.

“Uh, Teresa, I’ll call you another time. I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Syrah’s at Denise’s house, but she’ll be home for dinner.”

“Great.” Jessie placed the receiver down, stood up, and smiled. “May I help you, Freda?”

Freda did not return the expression. “Sit down, Ms. Clifton. I want to talk to you.”

She sat. “Is there a problem?” It was a silly question. Freda’s lips had all but disappeared.

Freda sat down, arranging the pleats in her skirt. “I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t overhear your phone conversation; nor will I pretend that I’m not disappointed in you.”

Jessie opened her mouth to defend herself, but Freda continued, “I’ve seen a lot of women try to wheedle their way into Mr. Preston’s affections.” She held up both hands, as if trying to fend off something. “Now, I try not to get involved, but I cannot be silent this time. Whatever little plan you’ve concocted is working. You’ve won. He called me up to ask me to make ‘dip and fall back,’ because it’s your favorite.”

“Freda, I—”

Freda’s wide mouth tightened to a thin line. “I will not make this meal unless your feelings are sincere. Unless your presence here is without pretense.”

Jessie sighed, helpless to come up with a solid explanation. “It’s complicated.”

“Deception usually is.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“But you will. Everyone usually does.” She stood. “Dinner will be served at seven-thirty. We’ll have chicken.”

Silenced and defeated, Jessie watched her go.

Syrah came home soon after and told Jessie about her day while they washed up for dinner. Later, they began to set the table.

Freda came into the dining room and frowned at them. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to help,” Jessie said.

She snatched a plate from her. “You do your job and I’ll do mine.”

Silently Syrah and Jessie went into the family room to wait until Kenneth came home. Time passed. He didn’t come.

“I guess Uncle’s working late,” Syrah said, during the second round of checkers.

Freda closed the blinds. “He’s probably not coming home tonight.”

“He could have called, at least,” Jessie said.

“Mr. Preston is used to being a bachelor,” Freda replied gruffly. “He’s not used to unnecessary ties. Why don’t you two eat dinner before it turns to ice? He can take care of himself.”

Jessie stood.

“How come Freda is in such a bad mood?” Syrah whispered as they walked to the table.

She glanced at Freda as she plumped the pillows. She’d never have guessed that she would end this wonderful day making a new enemy. “She’s had a long day.”

* * *

“You’re angry at Uncle, aren’t you?” Syrah asked as she took off her robe for bed.

“No, I’m not angry,” Jessie lied. “I have no right to be angry.”

“Uncle likes to work. It makes him happy.”

Syrah was right. That didn’t stop Jessie from wishing that Syrah would be angry with Kenneth too. He gave her toys, but never his time. Anytime she got close to him, he would move away or give her a quick pat on the head, as if he were trying to keep some distance between them. Had he been so hurt in the past that he couldn’t accept even the simple affections of a little girl? “Your uncle needs a hobby. Like spending time with you.”

Syrah shook her head. “Oh, no. I don’t need him to be with me. I’m all right.” She changed the subject. “Do you think your sister will write me back?”

“Yes, she’s very dependable that way.” Jessie watched Syrah hang up her robe and saw that the hem of her nightdress was fraying and there was a tear under the sleeve. “Don’t you have another nightdress? That one’s torn.”

“Nah, I really like it. But one day I’m going to save enough money to buy a pair of pajamas.” She got under the covers. “Really nice ones made out of soft cotton with ice cream cones or clouds on it.”

“I’m sure your uncle would buy you a pair if you told him.”

She shook her head. “Nah, he’s busy as it is.” She pulled up the covers. “It’s nice to have a dream, though.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a dream, Aunt Jessie?”

Her present dream seemed to be slipping away from her. Perhaps she’d never have the pendant in her hands again. “I never thought about it, really.”