Authors: Gwynne Forster

Whatever It Takes (24 page)

BOOK: Whatever It Takes

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Far from chastened and unmindful of the way in which her behavior, especially her outburst that morning, had depressed the members of her family, Kellie set out for her father's house that Saturday around five o'clock, intending to see for herself if Hal had been relieved of his job. When she remembered that Thursday was to have been his last day to work at her father's house, she was less than a block from it. But rather than turn back, she continued toward the house, hoping to find some other way of entering it.

She walked around the north side of the buildingâhidden from view by the intertwined limbs of a grape arborâthe sound of her steps upon the dry leaves and sticks the only noise she heard. She peeped through the dining room window, saw nothing and kept goingâmore stealthily nowâtoward the back of the house.

“What, may I ask, are you doing here?”

“Oh!” She backed toward the house, slamming her shoulders against it, and winced in pain.

“I said what are you doing here?”

She recovered with the speed of one used to being devious and getting away with it. “I could ask you the same thing. This house belongs to my father. Don't tell me he hired you to cut the grass, because that excuse won't fly. There's hardly any grass this time of year.” She ignored his hard and unfriendly stare. “Would you give me the key, please? I need to get some things out of the dining room. Now. I'm in a hurry.”

He folded his arms and continued to stare at her. “If you want the key, get it from your father. And I'm not here to cut grass. I'm landscaping the property.”

She walked close enough to him to see that his irises were a copper brown against a dark brown, almost black background.
Lord, he's good-looking,
she thought and abruptly changed tactics.

“You must be tired from this back-breaking work. Let's . . . go inside and . . . you can . . . uh . . . rest a little.”

She watched, horrified, as Douglas Rawlins threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Do men fall for that drivel? I've had women toss me all kinds of lines, but yours is as infantile as I've heard.”

She stepped closer, unbuttoning her sweater and wiping her forehead to suggest that his heat had gotten to her. “Don't be so mean.” She rubbed her right hand across her left breast, avoiding eye contact as she did so. “Come on, and let's go inside.” She reached for his hand, and he stepped back.

“Your father warned me that you'd try something like this. I ought to let you go inside, so he'll make you spend a few nights in jail, but I wouldn't like to be the one who contributed to the further sullying of the inmates' already tarnished lives.”

“How dare you? You know nothing about me”

“I know enough to be certain that I don't want anything to do with you, and I felt that way the first time I saw you.”

“I suppose you're making it with Lacette.” She couldn't fathom his furrowed brow and bemused expression. What did he have to be confused about?

“How did the two of you come from the same parents? If you weren't twins, I wouldn't believe it. I'll be working here evenings after five. If you come here again while I'm here, I'm going to call your father on my cell phone and tell him you're here, and that you asked for the door key and as much as offered yourself as the lure.”

“He wouldn't believe you.”

“He'll believe me, because he hinted that you're capable of it. If I had to buy sex, I'd expect to pay more for it. Find a guy who's needy.” She gasped as he walked away and left her standing there.

She had to get into that house, and she would. She wouldn't allow anybody or anything to get in her way. But with Hal no longer working there, she had limited options. She left and began plotting her course. At ten forty-five that night, she called the fire department and reported that she was locked out. Firemen arrived, but when she was unable to present a picture ID with that address on it, they refused to help her get inside. She went home and wrote three letters to herself, using different return addresses, and mailed them on her way to work Monday morning. “That ought to do it,” she said to herself, planning to watch the mailbox that was affixed to the wall near the front door.

She consoled herself with the reminder that she was a determined person. “I'll get in there no matter what it takes.” However, Kellie couldn't know what fate had in store for her.

Chapter Nine

Lacette searched her closets and drawers, going from one to the other and back again. “I'm like an excited puppy chasing his tail,” she said aloud, scolding herself. “Girl, there is absolutely no point in this. He's just a man, and he saw you and what you had on every day for six weeks.” Nevertheless, she tried on several pairs of pants, a sweater that had shrunk when she washed it and was then too tight. “Heck, I'm going to be comfortable.” She settled for a green suede riding skirt, beige shirt and brown boots. She tied and draped a beige, green, and brown paisley scarf in the neckline of her open-neck shirt, put on a tan tweed jacket and considered herself ready for her Sunday morning date with Douglas.

“Not too much and not too little,” she said to herself as she looked in a mirror. When he knocked, she took her time opening the door, although she stood less than four feet from it.

“Hi,” he said, and she reflected that she'd been silly about what to wear, for the warmth of his greeting, the delight that shone in his eyes and the sweetness of his smile told her that he would like her no matter what she wore.

“Hi. Where're we going?” she asked him.

“Do you mind the company of a nine-year-old for a couple of hours?”

Her blood began to race. He didn't know her well enough to take her to meet his son. Or did he? “Won't you give him the wrong impression? Meeting all of your girlfriends may have a negative influence on him. Perhaps it would be best if you . . .” she nearly choked on the words . . . “if you . . . if he just met the one who's real special to you.”

He took her key, locked the door and started toward the van holding her hand as they walked. “I have never introduced my son to a woman other than his teachers.”

She missed a step. “Oh.”

She had learned that Douglas joked a lot and teased, but she also knew when he was serious, and when he stopped walking, looked at her and said, “Well?” she didn't hesitate. “I'd love to meet him.”

He squeezed her hand, opened the passenger's door of the van and helped her in. “When I get a sedan, you won't have to worry about wearing wide skirts,” he said, surprising her, for she hadn't considered the height of the seat when she chose the A-line skirt.

She straightened out her skirt and fastened her seat belt. “When will that be?”

“When I start my own business. I need the van to transport plants, tools and other things. Maybe another four months, and I'll be straight.”

And he would, too, she thought, and said as much. “I'm rooting for you, Douglas. I know how proud it makes me to be sitting in my office rather than someone else's, and I don't wish any less for you.”

“Thanks.” He pulled away from the curb and headed into the heart of Historic Frederick on his way to Route 70 and Hagerstown, a city of about 38,000 sleeping between Antietam Creek and the Shenandoah River in Northwest Maryland. “I like to drive this way on a sunny Sunday morning when there's very little traffic and I can see the beauty of this region.” He passed an elegant old house on Benz Street. “I always slow down, when I pass here,” he said of the Roger Brooke Taney House. “I always give it the finger, and I want to be sure it goes to that house and not to the Francis Scott Key Museum next door. I suppose you know Taney was the supreme court justice who wrote the Dred Scott Decision.

“Sure, I know it, which is the reason I always spit in the direction of that house.”

His laughter, warm and robust, comforted her. “I have the opposite feeling about this place,” he told her about twenty minutes later when they passed the Seton Shrine.

“Ever been inside?” he asked her.

“You mean the Stone House? It's very stark. Imagine the courage of that woman. She established a religious community right there in 1809.”

“Yeah. They had no heat or running water, but Elizabeth Ann Seton had guts.” He said. “I've always admired strong and purposeful women. Wait'll you meet my mother.”

“You mean I'm going to meetâDouglas, I would have put on something else.”

“What for? I love my mother, and I respect her opinion, but she'll never choose a woman for me. I say you look great.”

Maybe, but she knew to take that with a bit of doubt. A nice word from Mom never hurt.
At least I haven't got so much invested here that I'm going to sweat over it. Heck, I might not like her.
When he drove up to 1104 Harper Street about a mile from the creek and cut the motor, she opened her eyes with a start.

“We're here already?”

“It wasn't such a quick trip; you slept.” He went around to help her out, locked the van and started up the walk toward the redbrick, two-story row house.

“Do your parents and your son know I'll be with you?”

“You bet. My mother hates surprises when they're people. Presents? Now, they're always welcome.”

She understood that his words were intended to put her at ease, but they only made her nervous.
Oh well,
she thought,
if I fell out of a boat and swam my way to safety, though I had no idea how to swim, I can doggie paddle my way through this, too.

He didn't use his door key, but rang the bell. His mother opened the door, hugged Douglas and looked over his shoulder at her. Then she smiled, stepped away from Douglas and wrapped Lacette in a big motherly embrace.

“Mom, this is Lacette Graham. Lacette, my mother, Edwina Rawlins.”

“Welcome, Lacette.”

Lacette returned the greeting, but her mind had focused on the son who wasn't there to greet his father. As they walked into the comfortable but modest home, she glanced around at the evidence of family unity, the photographs of three people when Douglas was growing up, then of five after he married, of six people after his son's birth, and then . . . she stopped short.

“When was that picture taken?” She pointed to a photograph of Douglas and his son, a boy of about six, astonished at the pain mirrored in both their faces, wondering how a child so young could be so sad.

“We were leaving my wife's burial. I didn't know anyone took pictures that day until I received that in the mail about a year ago. The photographer was best man at my wedding.”

“Where's your son right now?”

Edwina spoke with a slight lisp. “He said that if we're having company, we need ice cream for the pie, and he and my husband went to buy ice cream.”

Her relief was so great that her entire body seemed lighter. “Lunch will be ready as soon as they get back,” Edwina said, walking ahead of them. “You two make yourselves comfortable.”

This is one woman who does not hang onto her son. What a relief!

“What can I do to help?” Douglas asked her.

“Just keep Lacette company. If I need a jar opened, I'll call you.” She winked at Lacette. “You will learn that a man's main roles in your life are: one, to give advice; and two, to open bottles and jars. They're expert at both.”

Douglas stretched out his long legs and crossed his ankles. “I forgot to warn you; she's a comedienne when it suits her.”

Edwina's smile enveloped her whole face. “Lacette, you can ring Douglas's bell anytime you feel like it. His father and I do it regularly. Of course, he's pretty good at it, too. Oh, there they are,” she said in response to the noise and chatter in the foyer. “Nick never does anything quietly.”

She didn't know why she did it, but Lacette stood when Douglas's father and son walked into the living room. “Dad! Gee, this I great. Till you called, I thought you were coming next Sunday.” She remained standing while father and son greeted each other, stunned by the emotion that showed on Douglas's face.

“You've grown a lot in a week,” he said.

“I'm eating everything Nana stuffs into me.” He stopped talking and looked at Lacette. “Hi.”

She walked over to him and extended her hand for a handshake. “Hi. I'm Lacette.”

Douglas completed the introductions. “His name is Oscar Edwin, but we call him Nick.” Suddenly the boy appeared to be embarrassed and pressed his hands to his sides. “Gee, Dad, I should've gotten dressed. I'm sorry.”

“You look fine. You're clean and reasonably neat. That's what matters.”

“But look at her. She's all sharp.” He turned to Lacette. “In a couple of years, I'll be as tall as my dad. All Rawlins men are tall. That's what Nana says.” She could feel Douglas's gaze on her, scrutinizing her behavior, judging her reaction to his son. Unfairly, she thought, because her experience with young children was limited to her Sunday school class years earlier. And their behavior had been all but exemplary, thanks to her fathers' constantly badgering them with reminders of God's wrathful treatment of sinners.

Douglas's voice brought her mind back to the present. “I do not want you to play tricks on Lacette. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” His eyesâlarge and rounded like those of his fatherâwidened, and she recognized in them a mischievous glint with which she was already familiar.

“Can you play basketball? We have a hoop out back.”

She assured him that, although she'd been a point guard in college, she had forgotten how to shoot a basket. “I'll teach you,” he said, and as he inquired as to her athletic abilities, Douglas's father walked into the living room.

“Hello, Lacette. I'm Oscar Rawlins. You're welcome here. Is Nick giving you his litmus test?”

Glad for the interruption, she quickly extended her hand and liked Oscar Rawlins's handshake. Strong, as if he meant it. “Thank you, sir. Nick's just being a boy, I guess.”

A tall man with broad shoulders and a muscular body, Oscar Rawlins's presence generated warmth and security, much as her own father's had as she moved through her childhood and into womanhood.

“Having Nick here with us is like raising Douglas all over again,” Oscar said. “I've never seen two people more alike. Edwina wants you all to come and eat.” He patted Douglas on the shoulder. “She's been cooking ever since you called.”

They sat down to a meal of stewed chicken and dumplings, string beans, fried peppers and rice, with apple pie Ã la mode for dessert. “Douglas and Nick love chicken and dumplings,” Oscar explained after he said the grace.

The ease with which she interacted with Douglas's family impressed Lacette. She wanted to ask Douglas whether they ever had the kind of tension and drama that had marked her family in recent months. She marveled at the warmth, love, and camaraderie that seemed to bounce off each of them, and at the family togetherness that she had once enjoyed with her parents and Kellie
. No,
she thought, trying to see the comparison more clearly.
The tension between us was always there for as long as I can remember; I bought the peace and warmth with my catering to Kellie and at the expense of my own self-worth.
As the afternoon wore on, she failed to see hostility or resentment in any of them.

She might have left with an impression of Nick as a model child had he not maneuvered to get her alone with him and try to test her mettle. He began with a smileâproving that he knew he had charismaâand followed that with the question: “Do you have any children?” Innocuous enough she thought, told him she didn't have, took another deep breath and waited.

“Nana is always after my dad to get married so I'll have a mother, but Nana is my mother. Are you going to marry my dad?”

Taken aback by his declaration that he didn't need her as well as by his male toughness, she could do little more than stare at him.

But he didn't wither beneath the fire of her gaze. “Well?” he asked, reminding her that, in that same attitude, Douglas posed that word to her as they left her house a few hours earlier.

She snapped out of her mental lethargy. “Nick, your father and I have not discussed marriage, and if he mentioned it, I'm not sure what I'd say. Another thing. Nana is your father's mother, not yours.”

He stared at her. “What's wrong with my dad that you don't want to marry him?”

“I didn't say that. He's a wonderful man, but we haven't gotten that far.”

His stance changed from that of challenger to conciliator. “Can you play darts?”

She recognized the question as an effort to make peace in case he'd upset her. “No, but you may teach me.”

He grabbed her hand and led her to the basement and what was obviously a game room where she saw, strewn around, a guitar, darts, a pool table, and an easel. “Who paints?” she asked him.

“Granddaddy. I'll stand behind you and show you how to hold the dart and throw it.”

Douglas found them that way nearly an hour later. “Lacette, I think we ought to head back to Frederick.”

BOOK: Whatever It Takes

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