Trevor grimaced. “Most likely. And for the record, the
jerk
prefers ‘Kirk.’”
“I could care less what that cheating dog prefers.” Kregg yanked a romantic comedy from the shelf. “I don’t know why Penny can’t see it. Anytime a man tells you not to call his house and won’t give you a legitimate reason, it means another woman is the reason.”
Trevor selected a movie he thought his sister might welcome. “Maybe if you’d shown more interest, Penny wouldn’t have gotten involved with Kirk.”
“Like I’ve always said, I can’t date Penny. I’ve known her since she was in diapers. We’re like family.” Kregg looked down at the romantic comedy he was holding. Putting the film back on the shelf, he opined, “Romance is so overrated.”
“Romance is a vital organ of the love relationship. Having a relationship without romance is like having candles and never lighting them. Where’s the pleasure?”
Kregg grinned for a moment. “I remember how you and Brenda were always doing something romantic. Your love for each other was quality, and it showed, man. And speaking of love, guess who I ran into at the gym yesterday?”
A young male employee with short dreadlocks and two gold hoops in each ear ambled by with a stack of videos. Another employee straightened a nearby shelf.
“Sherron Markham,” Kregg answered his own question.
Trevor stopped looking at DVDs and focused on Kregg. Sherron had played basketball with them at Penn State. Sherron’s girlfriend Staci had also been a student, and when you saw one around campus, you saw the other. No one was surprised they married before graduating. Everyone was stunned when Staci died suddenly of an aneurysm two years ago.
“How’s he been doing?” Trevor remembered Sherron had cried throughout Staci’s funeral.
“Great. He showed me a picture of his fiancée.”
“He’s engaged?” There was total surprise in Trevor’s tone.
“Engaged,” Kregg echoed. “And he looks like a happy man. I gave him my best wishes and told him he better let us know when the big day is.”
Trevor suppressed a frown. He was having a hard time bending his brain around this bit of news. It seemed like Staci had died only yesterday. And now Sherron was in love with some other woman. How could he disrespect Staci like that?
Kregg scrutinized Trevor intensely. “So what about you, man?” Kregg asked.
“What about me?” Trevor said uncomfortably.
“Do you think you’ll ever marry again?”
“I seriously doubt it,” Trevor responded from his heart, and walked away.
Wordlessly, the men trekked to the next aisle. Kregg pointed out an action film. “Rave might like this, huh?”
“I’m clueless.”
“Help a brother out, will you?”
“Okay, two words”—Trevor made the peace sign for the number two—
“Fatal Attraction
.”
Kregg meandered a few feet down the aisle. “Look, I admit Rave’s spoiled and self-centered, but she has a sweet side.”
Trevor followed Kregg into lane four and dodged a set of rambunctious boys about the size of his eight-year-old, hoping his boyhood crony was right about his girlfriend Rave. From what he’d heard of her, Rave Brown wasn’t spoiled, she was rotten—a woman accustomed to having her wishes fulfilled, and more mercy on the man who refused to grant them.
“I’m bringing Rave next Saturday,” Kregg said.
When Trevor learned that all the coaches were bringing dates to the City Champions awards banquet, he felt like he was in seventh grade again. It was one week before the spring dance, and he was the only boy without a date. Kregg, already possessing a charm that made all the girls blush and giggle, had asked Natalie Thomkins for him. Natalie was taller than all the boys and had beat all of them up at least once, but miraculously, Trevor got through the dance without a scratch.
“Is Penny still coming with you?” Kregg asked.
Trevor bobbed his head, signaling yes. The only other woman he would have felt no trepidation asking out was Kendall McBride. She had been his wife’s best friend. She was also his children’s godmother. Kendall lived on the West Coast, and flying her in so she could be his date seemed a little over-the-top. So it was either take Penny or attend the semiformal alone. Trevor coached an all-boys’ basketball team, and Kregg a mixed-sex tennis team. In years past, at the season’s close, the City Champions league rewarded the basketball, football, and tennis teams, comprised of kids from multiple Philadelphia neighborhoods, with an all-you-can-eat cookout in Fairmount Park. This year the board decided on an evening affair, something to inspire the kids to dress up and promote some manners.
“I hope we’re at the same table. That way you can get to know Rave better. Just promise you’ll leave off the ice.”
Trevor thought if anyone left a chill in their path, it was Rave. He imagined the woman carried a pointed icicle in her purse and wouldn’t think twice about impaling someone’s heart with it. He shot a pitying look at Kregg.
“What’s up with your face? You’re the one who introduced me to her,” Kregg reminded him.
It had been purely accidental. A couple of months ago, following Easter Sunday service, the two men were about to exit through the church doors when Rave intercepted Kregg. Trevor hurled Kregg a look of warning, but it was too late. The man was already salivating. Unable to quickly devise a purpose for pulling Kregg away, Trevor was left to do the polite thing and make introductions.
“Man, where are you?” Kregg questioned, two DVDs in his possession.
Trevor let the memory drift away and checked the time on his wristwatch. He needed to get going. The men joined a checkout line. “Look,” he said, “if you’re happy with Rave, that’s all that matters. And I can see one good thing has come out of the relationship.”
“What’s that?”
“Rave has you coming to church more often.”
“Yeah, well . . . I like being with her and doing the things she likes to do.”
Trevor pulled out from the parking lot ruminating over what Kregg had said about him and Brenda. Kregg was right. Their love had been quality.
And Brenda Mosley had been his only love.
He was thirteen the first time he spotted her. She was dressed in a yellow blouse and a denim mini, a celestial sight, even finer than his Sunday school teacher, Sister Cornelius. He had a chronic crush on Sister Cornelius and planned to marry her—until Brenda.
Little Miss Mosley snubbed him at first, and understandably. He’d been a pubescent disaster—a mouth full of braces, a face stitched in acne, and too much corner-store cologne under his chin and armpits. Yet ugly and offensive as he had been, he had vowed then and there he would marry Brenda someday, giving Sister Cornelius to the second luckiest guy in the world. He, no doubt, would be the first.
Trevor turned on the windshield wipers, the thunderstorm forecast on the morning news coming in strong—building instant puddles, tugging down the temperature, and sending the unprepared scurrying for cover. For the length of the windy, rainy ride to Penny’s, a hallowed collection of scenes shared with Brenda played on the stage of his mind, and it seemed almost sacrilegious, as well as ludicrous, to think he could marry again, love another as much as he loved Brenda.
“Get moving. Your dad is here.”
Trevor heard Penny’s voice before she opened the door to her sixth-floor apartment. “Hi,” he said seconds later, and pushed a DVD into her hand. The satisfied expression on her face reminded Trevor of his mother and grandmother. Penny wore her typical relaxation gear: sweat shorts and a tank shirt. Her hair was a group of short charcoal twists, untamed but vibrant.
“Daddy,” Brandi screamed, and squeezed between the wall and her aunt so she could get to him.
Trevor caught the five-year-old under her arms, lifted her, and kissed her cheek.
“What’s our surprise?” she said, giggling.
Keeping her in suspense, he answered, “Not yet.”
“Aw,” she whined, although her face was a circle of elation. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his. “I love you.” The happy sound coasted into his ear.
“I love you, too.”
A second little girl eased beside Penny.
“Hi, Brittney baby,” he said, a lump fighting its way into his throat.
Brittney’s hello was scarcely audible, and miles away from welcoming. She put her backpack on and progressed through the doorway without taking a glance at him. Trevor placed Brandi on her feet. When he straightened, Penny stroked his shoulder.
“Hang in there,” she said supportively.
He nodded, masking inner chaos with a blank face. “Gotta go. I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the movie.”
“Anytime,” he said, and followed his children to the elevator, finally swallowing that lump.
C
assidy relaxed beneath the water’s warm flow. As the liquid soothed the tired muscles she hadn’t realized she’d used while traveling, she listened to Minister’s stern instructions.
“You’re going to have to make it shut up.”
“I’m trying,” she cried, and put the baby to her breast again. “I can’t get him to suck.”
Minister stomped to her. “Give it to me.”
She hesitated, then lifted the baby, secured in a bath towel. “Be careful with him.”
Minister placed the bundle against his shoulder. He paced the length of the small living room, intermittently shooting her glances mixed with desperation and derision as he thumped the baby on the back.
“Please, Minister,” she pleaded, “not so hard. He’s so small. You’ll hurt him.” She began to quake with fear, and her sobs joined the baby’s as she begged, “Please don’t hurt him.”
The recollection burdened Cassidy with sorrow. Shoulders sagging, she tipped her face to the showerhead, and the steady spray washed the tears from her face. Turning off the water, she let the stinging memory trickle back to an ocean of others like it. At times like this, when depression approached with an engulfing wave, she sought safety within the arms of her Father. “
When my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy. I will abide in thy tabernacle for ever: I will trust in the covert of thy wings
,” she said aloud, encouraging herself with the passage from Psalms, a series of verses she had committed to memory so she could draw upon them at any moment.
Cassidy pushed aside the shower curtain, snatched the shower cap from her head, and stepped onto a terry bath mat. After drying herself and applying deodorant and lotion, she dressed in panties and a T-shirt. The white top, beginning to fray in some spots, was small, barely reaching her thighs, but it was comfortable. She reached up and freed a shoulder-length mass of black braids that she often styled off-the-neck when the temperature and humidity were high. The braids were so thin it was difficult to tell that they were braids unless you were standing beside her. She let the silky strands remain on her shoulders, and following a quick comb-through with her fingers, she reached for the knob of her bedroom door, her hand stalling in the air. She tilted her head toward the door on the opposite end of the room—the door that linked the bathroom to the guest bedroom. The floorboards in that room were creaking, and what sounded like footsteps clomped closer. Someone was in the house. Cassidy sensed it wasn’t Odessa back so soon, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled as her heart suffered a twitch of anxiety. She spun around as the door flew open.
“You can’t catch me!” a voice yelled, speeding by.
Cassidy jumped backward, bewildered by the sudden appearance of a little girl with light-colored skin and long dark brown beaded cornrows. Her small hand twisted the doorknob to Cassidy’s bedroom, and the girl with the head full of clacking beads disappeared inside the room. It wasn’t likely, but Cassidy was thinking the child might be an angel. What other logical explanation was there? Cassidy moved to follow the angel, but the sound of much bigger footsteps drew her attention. Not knowing what to think now, she swung around again and bumped into the wall.
Cassidy tottered, the jolt having disturbed her balance as much as the shock. There was no wall, at least not of brick and mortar. This one was flesh and blood, hard as any wall. Her hands flattened to the male chest in her face as she steadied herself. She swallowed tightly as she realized a pair of sturdy arms had slipped around her waist, and large hands, all ten strong fingers, had secured her back. Stranded between the urge to flee and the desire to remain, she wandered into the eyes that were searching her face. Cassidy lingered inside them, deeper than planned, and before she could gain control, a flurry of excitement throbbed through her, setting off trembling from limb to limb. Possibly, he had felt her shiver, because he lowered his arms, though he did not back away. Cassidy supposed it would be up to her to place distance between them. She gave a feeble push against his chest and began to retreat—one step, then another.
So this was the Trevor her aunt had referred to. Oh, Cassidy had recognized him mere seconds after impact. But though she’d seen him countless times at church, she had seldom looked at him for more than a quick beat and never from this intimate stance, where it was easy to inventory every detail of his face. The skin, baked brown like bread edges, was without crater, wrinkle, or pimple. A mustache colored the area above his lip ebony, while a goatee, trimmed short, embraced his chin. A complete head of hair was cropped close to his scalp, and his eyebrows, moderate slashes, held faintly noticeable arches.
But it was more than surface good looks that held Cassidy’s interest. She’d immediately perceived something pure and good and gentle in this man. And she’d felt from the moment he touched her that he was trying his best to keep her from falling, and was not attempting to be forward. First impressions, however, could be misleading. And from her experience, men that looked like Trevor, the handsome, “I work out regularly” type, like Minister and Larenz, were shallow and conceited and endowed with the personality of a peanut, so she wasn’t about to get caught up in him.