Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin' (6 page)

Trevor decided Cassandra resembled Mother Vale. Both had the same coffee-bean coloring, rich brown eyes silhouetted by lashes short but full, and a face more oval than round. Cassandra’s face and the rest of her, if he were honest, had become a tenant in his thoughts, difficult to evict. And that was an enigma, if ever there was one. Skinny women were not his type. Brenda had been full-figured, and full was how he liked his hands to be. But Cassandra’s slim body was a perfect fit next to his.

And all these hours later, it seemed he could still smell her sweet-scented skin, still feel her ragged breaths tapping below his collarbone where his shirt was unbuttoned, still feel her soft palms lying against his chest. He had wanted to cover her hands with his larger ones and whisper against the flow of hair shading her ear that she shouldn’t be alarmed. But what else would she be, considering the way he had barged in on her and held her longer than necessary, then gawked at her like a boy of twelve while she stood there in that little white shirt.

He hadn’t meant to stare. Anyway, the material was thick enough that he couldn’t see anything. Not that he was trying. And Trevor had every intention of apologizing for the way he and his daughter had intruded, but Cassandra had zoomed from the room before giving him the chance.

Brandi asked another question. “Do you want some of our food, Daddy?”

Trevor suspended his musings to concentrate on his girls, the two of them sharing a cheesesteak and a basket of fries. He’d only ordered a soft drink for himself. “No, baby, I’m not hungry.” He wiped her mouth with one of the white restaurant napkins.

Brandi’s naturally wide eyes stayed on him. “Do you got a tummy ache?”

“Do you
have
a tummy ache?” he corrected with a gentle voice, and noticed that his elder child had ceased chewing, a fry doused with ketchup dangling midair as she waited for his response to her sister’s question. Brittney rarely had much to say to him anymore, but it did make him feel better to think she might harbor a pinch of interest. “No tummy ache, girls.” He smiled at them, then playfully pulled one of Brandi’s braids and rubbed a hand across the top of Brittney’s thick cornrows. The children resumed eating, and Trevor contemplated how one might express to girls this young that what ached was his heart; it was lonely, and missing their mother. Additional pain screwed through it as he watched a couple in a neighboring booth share a kiss. He hoped they knew how blessed they were.

Trevor helped the girls discard their trash and accompanied them to the ladies’ room door. He paced outside, leery over sending his little girls into a public restroom unattended—a single father’s apprehension. Brandi exited the lavatory first, hands dripping with water. “Why didn’t you dry your hands?” he asked, his voice on edge because he hadn’t come completely down from worrying.

Brittney, having heard the question as she came out of the bathroom, answered for her sister, “No towels,” and returned to the booth to collect the stickers the waitress gave all kids under eleven, drying her hands on the front of her shorts. Trevor grabbed a handful of napkins and gave them to Brandi before she also resorted to using her clothing. Outside, he whisked her into his arms.

“I want to see another movie,” she whimpered, hugging his neck.

“No more movies tonight.” He kissed Brandi’s chin, sticky with ketchup. He reached for Brittney’s hand. She immediately plunged it into her pocket.

Their seat belts fastened, Trevor cruised from the parking lot. The rain seemed to be over, and a few stars brightened the sky. At the traffic signal, he peered around the headrest. Brandi’s lids fluttered on the brink of sleep. Across from her, Brittney stared through the window. A week after Brenda’s funeral, he’d sent both girls to professional grief counseling at the church, though he hadn’t signed up for it himself. The sessions benefited Brandi, but Brittney would cry hysterically when it was time to attend, and he eventually gave in and stopped making her go. He just couldn’t stand the crying anymore. And since Brittney continued to earn passing grades in school and was playing as energetically on the soccer field as normal, Trevor thought forcing her into counseling might do more damage than good and only make her hate him more.

The little girl who used to shoot hoops with him, help him make cookies, and confide in him about everything was angry with him. She had every right to be. His behavior on the day they lost Brenda was irresponsible, insensitive. But at this point, he didn’t know what else to do or say to make things right. Not a day went by that he didn’t hug his girls, kiss his girls, and tell them how much he loved them. What else could he say that would mean as much as “I love you”?

“I love you, too,” Rave Brown whispered to the man in her daydream before concluding with a kiss to his lips.

She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. She rested a stem glass half-f of white wine on the nightstand and rose from the king-size canopy bed. The thick carpeting of the large bedroom snuggled the soles of her bare feet as she crossed the room and pulled open the door of a walk-in closet. She stepped inside and snapped on the light. Rave removed the pantsuit she’d worn to the firm, and for a long time, she stood motionless in front of a wide full-length mirror in a lace chemise and a matching thong. Finally, with her hands planted on her waist, she studied her curves from different angles and smiled applause. She had been blessed with her father’s fair skin and straight hair and her mother’s C-cup breasts and small shapely backside.

The satisfaction on Rave’s face withered to disgruntlement. No matter how breathtaking she was, the man in her thoughts never appeared enamored. She stomped her foot like a contentious child and fussed at him, “You should be finished grieving by now.”

Rave stared into the resolute eyes of her reflection. The woman staring back at her was an attorney. She didn’t settle for no without a fight.

Rave jetted out of the closet. A hasty rifle through her bottom bureau drawer rewarded her with a pair of hip-hugging black shorts and a red top that was more bra than shirt, perfect for showing off her navel piercing. She slid into the clothes and a pair of red platform slides, then strutted to the kitchen to search for the ice pick.

Inside thirty minutes, Rave slammed her foot on the gas pedal of her Mercedes and whizzed out of the driveway of the Germantown Towers Luxury Apartments. A screech of tires turned heads as she swung a sharp and reckless right at the corner. “I’ll get you, Trevor,” she swore, “by any means necessary.” That’s why she’d gone after his friend. Get close to the friend, and eventually, she’d get close to Trevor. Rave remembered the day she resurrected the age-old idea. Easter Sunday. She hadn’t planned to attend service, but with several new outfits, she figured it would be a shame not to model at least one on such a holy day. The benediction spoken, she approached her targets. As always, Trevor’s greeting was wintry. But Trevor’s friend, like most men, fondled her with a lascivious gaze. Rave would have been flattered had it not been Trevor’s lust she craved.

“Trevor,” she murmured, anticipation building as she thought about tonight and how they would spend it together with candles and music and silk sheets. She disregarded a stop sign for a third time and sped along the route that would lead her to him, the road to happiness.

Delight bubbled in Cassidy, her smile deepening as she rested in the arms of the unconditional love flowing from the piano. Over the years, the ivory and ebony keys had become her confidants. The music spoke to her, and she spoke to the music. The notes knew all about the despicable act she’d committed when she was a student at Tilden University, yet they could be trusted to keep her disgrace from the world.

Cassidy struck a final note with as much gusto as she had the first, and lowered the lid of the dark upright, a gift from Odessa for her eighth birthday. The older woman joined her in the living room, carrying a purple leather-covered Bible and a mug of coffee that perfumed the air with mint chocolate. Odessa put her mug on a side table and settled into her antique rocker. The chair had been upholstered twice in fifty years, but the sepia-stained wood remained sturdy and smooth.

“Since you’re home, will you be attending the baby shower?” Odessa asked, flipping the pages of her Bible.

One of the sisters from the church was due next month, and her mother was throwing a shower at the church on Sunday afternoon. Cassidy wouldn’t get into a long discussion with Odessa about it, but the last baby shower Cassidy took part in left her battling a three-week attack of the doldrums. “No, I’ll probably hang out with Dunbar Sunday afternoon.” Cassidy shot a look at the crystal clock on the mahogany mantel, the color of the woodwork throughout the room. It was close to nine o’clock. “I’m going up for the night,” she said. “I need to go over my Bible lesson.” The Bible lessons were the chief reason she attended Charity Community’s twice-a-month Saturday night singles’ fellowship, unlike many of her female counterparts, who admitted they were there for the solitary purpose of finding a husband. Cassidy used to be one of those women who checked out every half-good-looking male who walked through the door while entertaining the thought that he might be
the one
. But these days Cassidy didn’t care one iota about who showed up. “Good night,” Cassidy said, and pasted a kiss on Odessa’s cheek. She got as far as plank one of the stairs when the doorbell chimed. Cassidy left the steps and followed Odessa to the door. She listened over the older woman’s shoulder, pleased she was using the intercom. She had cautioned Odessa against opening the door without checking first.

“Who is it?” Odessa repeated. The first reply had been too fuzzy to decipher.

This time the blissful voice sailed through plainly. “Special delivery.”

Aunt and niece looked at each other and chorused, “Lena.”

“Hello, ladies,” the charismatic five-foot-one body sang with enough vibrancy to light a Christmas tree. Lena Stroud strutted in, dressed in pale orange nursing scrubs and swinging a large shopping bag from Strawbridge’s. The department store was Lena’s home away from home and only a few blocks away from the hospital where Lena worked.

“I got the message you left saying you were back in town. I didn’t have to work a second shift, so I decided to stop by and show you what I bought.” Lena hugged Cassidy. She gave Odessa a tight squeeze, too, and they all moved deeper into the living room. Odessa lifted the mug she’d taken a few sips from and retreated to the kitchen. Cassidy knew Odessa would soon return with something for Lena to eat and drink. It didn’t matter whether you called ahead or not, Odessa made sure everyone was served a heaping dose of hospitality.

Lena collapsed into a wing chair and stored the shopping bag on the floor by her sneaker-clad feet. “Today’s the day. Did you remember?”

“Yes. Did you?”

“The twins are fine.”

“Mine, too,” Cassidy told her partner. They became partners last year when the church sponsored their first Family Health Conference. At the women’s wellness seminar, Cassidy learned that twenty-something was not too young to begin breast self-exams and that it was a good idea to team up with someone who would remind you to perform the exam once a month.

“So did you meet any cute and
eligible
guys while you were away?”

“I had better things to do with my time.” Cassidy stretched her bare feet beneath a wood coffee table that matched smaller tables at both ends of the sofa.

“You know, you need to stop being so cold. There are some
good
men out there. I know I’m going to get me one.”

“I thought you already
had
a good man.”

“The only thing Floyd was good at was spending my money. I’m still paying for the laptop he bought with my Visa.” She waved her finger in the air. “Don’t say it. I know. I was stupid for letting that clown use my credit card.” Lena reached into the shopping bag. “And since we’re on the topic of credit cards”—she tossed a piece of black fabric across the room—“American Express just had to get this for you.”

Cassidy caught the airborne item and held it up.

Lena grinned. “Isn’t it hot?”

Cassidy stuffed the teddy that would leave very little to a man’s imagination between her hip and a sofa pillow.

“Put it with the others.” Lena winked, folding her petite legs and fingering a tress of the dark brown hair that bordered a round face and underscored the bronze hue of her skin.

“I should return it to the store.”

“Trust me, one day all our lingerie will be put to good use.”

Cassidy rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. Every month for about a year now, Lena bought the two of them a sexy piece of lingerie that they were supposed to tuck away to wear when they were married. An act of faith, Lena maintained. Cassidy only kept the skimpy garments to humor Lena. Cassidy was content as a single woman. She intended to live life to the fullest without a man by her side. She knew lots of single women who were doing just that. They weren’t sitting around waiting for a mate who would make life grow wings and take off. They were flying high, working toward goals, serving God by serving others, being the best individuals they could be. In fact, they had more zing in their steps and larger smiles in their eyes than some of the married women she knew.

“I bought you one more thing,” Lena said, uncrossing her legs. Her eyes were bright with excitement. “It had your name written all over it.” A second later, she was on her feet singing, “Ta-da,” as she exhibited a dress that was longer than she was.

A big smile found a home on Cassidy’s face. “It’s the dress I wanted.” The store had every size except her size, and the sales associate had said they wouldn’t be getting any more in.

“It’s a return, but a couple of the tags are still on it, so likely it wasn’t worn,” said Lena.

Cassidy appraised the denim dress. Denim was her fabric of choice, and she liked the style of the dress so much she would have accepted it without the tags. “I’m going to try it on,” she said, her feet already in progress. She wiggled out of a pair of knit leggings and an oversize T-shirt and came from behind the dining room wall attired in the straight, sleeveless, button-down white outfit. She walked the length of the room with all the spice and flair of a professional model.