A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance) (15 page)

There were so many things he could argue, so much more he wanted to say, but he sensed her resolve. She was as stubborn as she was beautiful, but if she thought this was the end of this conversation, she was out of her mind.

He wasn’t done with Mya. Not by a long shot.

Chapter 12

T
he salty aroma of fried chicken wafting through the air caused Mya’s stomach to automatically react, growling like a tiger despite the fact that she’d eaten some of her grandmother’s panfried shortcake with warm syrup just two hours ago—a late afternoon snack. It should be a sin to eat like this. Oh, wait, it was. Gluttony definitely described her eating habits over the past three and a half weeks.

“Mya, can you check on the corn bread while you’re in there?” her grandmother called.

Mya returned the pitcher of sweet tea to the refrigerator and, donning an oven mitt, pulled the oven’s top rack out. The golden-brown corn bread set her mouth to water, and Mya mentally tacked on another mile to her evening run.

“It’s done,” she shouted toward the dining room where her grandmother had spent the past three days making green-and-white “Celebrate Gauthier” lapel ribbons for this coming weekend’s celebration. Mya stopped just inside the doorway. The table was littered with hot glue sticks, ribbon scraps and God knew what else.

“I’m heading down to Main Street to see how things are coming along,” she told her grandmother. “The electrician I hired to get the waterwheel back up and running should be there in about twenty minutes.”

“I sure hope he can get it working by Saturday.”

“So do I,” Mya said. “It wouldn’t be Heritage Park without the wheel. I’ll pick up some non-fat frozen yogurt to go with the peach pie on my way back.” Her grandmother grimaced, but Mya completely ignored it. Grandma was lucky both Mya and Aunt Mo had made concessions on most of the food she was preparing for tonight’s dinner. The civic association was meeting one last time to finalize everything for Saturday. It had been Mya’s idea to have a dinner as a thank-you for all their hard work.

She grabbed Aunt Mo’s keys and left through the kitchen door. As she made her way down Pecan Drive she pulled her cell phone from her purse. She needed to touch base with the carnival company that was providing the cotton candy machine on Saturday.

Before she could dial, her cell phone started to vibrate. Mya recognized the 212 area code, but not the New York number.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Mya?”

“Ricki?” she asked, identifying her colleague’s voice. She’d worked with Ricki Stanzi on a number of shows.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m happy I finally got you. I’ve tried a couple of times.”

“Sorry about that. Cell phone coverage here is spotty at times. What’s up?”

“Are you sitting down?” Ricki asked.

Mya rolled her eyes at the woman’s dramatics. “Technically,” she answered.

“The new buzz going around the circuit is that
Hitsville
secured the funding it needed. It looks like it’s a go.”

Mya stomped harder on the break at the stop sign than was necessary. “How sure are you?” she asked.

“About ninety percent. You know how these things work,” Ricki said. “Investors have been known to pull out at the last minute, but it sounds as if the group taking on
Hitsville
is pretty solid.”

“You know how much I’d love to work on that show,” Mya said.
Hitsville
was based on the early days of Motown Records. As soon as she’d heard about it, Mya had started thinking up costuming ideas from that era. “Is there any talk about when they plan to start preproduction?”

“Not yet, but I’ll keep my ears open. You need to get yourself back here,” Ricki said. “You don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

No, she didn’t. Mya already had a solid reputation in the theater community, known as one of the go-to costume designers. Her Tony Award nomination had boosted her career significantly, but if she could pull off the ideas she had for
Hitsville,
her career would skyrocket.

She could not pass up the chance to work on this show. This is what she lived for, what she’d spent the past decade building and nurturing.

It was time for her to head back home.

As Mya drove along Main Street, a heavy cloud settled over her heart. She looked from side to side, pride tightening her chest at the thought of the role she’d played in helping to spruce up the street. But sorrow and regret lodged in Mya’s throat.

This was home, too. She’d spent fifteen years pushing Gauthier out of her life, and in just a few weeks the town had wormed its way back into her heart. At odd moments, when she’d let her guard down, she’d pictured life here, tucked away in this sleepy little town. She could see it all too well. Enjoying Sunday dinner at her grandmother’s, cheering on Corey’s baseball team in the stands at the high school games, cuddling up to him every night in that huge bed.

God, she wanted that. But she couldn’t do it.

New York was easier. She had a successful career and the freedom to travel and see the world.

Staying in Gauthier would be the opposite of easy. It would be catastrophic. These past few weeks had been a mirage—an illusion of what life could have been if she didn’t know better. But she
did
know better. Reality was only steps away from her, working behind the counter of the Gauthier Pharmacy and Feed Store. She’d escaped the snares of this town once. She wasn’t going to put herself in a position to get caught again, no matter how much joy she’d experienced these past few weeks with Corey.

He was the biggest threat of all. Just as he’d done fifteen years ago, Corey Anderson had her considering giving up her dreams—giving up the life she’d built for herself. She would not allow anyone to do that.

“Just get through Saturday and get back to New York,” Mya told herself.

It was time for her to get back to her old life.

By the time she arrived back at her grandmother’s, the yard was crowded with cars. The meeting wasn’t officially supposed to start for another half hour, but when the majority of the committee was made up of retirees who no longer lived by a watch, start times didn’t mean all that much.

As she alighted from the car, Mya spotted Corey’s SUV coming down the street. He pulled up alongside the fence and got out.

It had been three days since she’d seen him. She’d dodged his calls and managed to miss him the two times he’d stopped in at Grandma’s.

“Hi,” she said as he walked up to her.

The intense look on his face told her that he saw straight through her innocent greeting.

“We graduated from high school years ago, Mya. I’m not playing games as if we’re still teenagers.” Corey stepped forward and took each of her hands in his. His stare brooked no room for pretense.

“I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you most of my life and I want to build a life with you. And I know you love me, too, Mya. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work, but you have to be willing, too. The ball is in your court.”

He leaned forward and pressed an innocent kiss to her forehead.

“I’m on my way to speak with the developers and convince them that they no longer want to build their new store in Gauthier. Give my regards to the rest of the committee.” He gave her another kiss, then turned and headed back for his truck.

Mya stood in the middle of the yard, completely stunned.

How had this happened?

When she’d boarded the plane to return home for her grandfather’s funeral less than a month ago, she could not have fathomed the twists and turns her life—and heart—would take. How had she found herself back here, in love with Corey?

Mya stood rooted in that spot until Aunt Mo came outside looking for her a solid five minutes later. She lied to her aunt, telling her she had a couple of things to get from the car. Mya used the short reprieve to compose herself.

She could take the easy way out and run back to New York. It would be the simplest answer. She could pick up her life right where it had left off before her grandfather’s death.

Maybe running made her a coward. Maybe it made her no better than her mother—the queen of running. But it would also make her smart.

The other choice was one that made her breath hitch and her blood run cold. She could stay in Gauthier and face the fears that had kept her away for so many years: the fear of becoming trapped in this small town, of losing the opportunity to really live.

The fear of revealing the truth to Corey about the child she’d lost.

She needed to face it—face
him
. She’d used the miscarriage as an impetus to run years ago. She couldn’t cower to her fears any longer.

Despite the anxiety chilling her blood at the thought of finally sharing the truth about her pregnancy, Mya knew it had to be done.

* * *

His muscles shook, weariness making them tired and weak, but Corey went for another board of plywood anyway. The pain in his legs and shoulders kept his focus on something other than Mya. At least that had been his plan when he’d pulled into Jamal’s driveway and offered his services.

He squinted to keep the droplet of sweat from entering his eye, pulling out nails he held between his lips and hammering the board in place. Once relieved of his burden, he wiped his brow and reached for the beer Jamal had brought him a couple of minutes ago.

“Hey, man,” his friend said, nodding toward the sheets of plywood Corey had hung. “I appreciate the hard work, but you’re going to wear yourself out if you don’t ease up.”

“I didn’t come here to ease up,” Corey said. He set the beer on the floor and went for another sheet of plywood. Jamal grabbed the other end and held it in place while Corey pounded nails with more force than necessary.

Jamal looked over at him with a big, stupid grin on his face.

“What’s so funny?” Corey asked.

Jamal shook his head. “Sexual frustration is a bitch. Am I right?”

Corey let out a derisive snort.

“Hey, I’ve been there, man,” his friend said. “Why do you think I spend so much time working on this damn house? Manual labor is a poor substitute, though.”

“If it’s that bad, why don’t you get laid? I can name at least twenty women in this town who would line up for the opportunity.”

“A quick lay doesn’t have the same appeal it had when I was in my twenties,” Jamal said. “Besides, I could say the same for you. Though I don’t think you’d jump at the chance to get with just any willing woman, either. How long have you had it bad for Mya Dubois?”

“High school,” Corey answered, because what was the use in denying it? All Jamal had to do was ask anyone in town.

“Is she thinking of staying in Gauthier?” his friend asked.

“I don’t think so,” Corey answered after a pause. The words were harder to voice than he’d thought they would be. But he hadn’t heard from Mya since he’d caught her outside of her grandmother’s house before the celebration dinner. He’d started dialing her number three times over the past twenty-four hours, but had stopped midway each time.

He’d laid his heart bare. The decision was hers to make.

Corey feared she’d already made it.

She would be gone in two days. He felt it in his bones, and the ache that came with this inevitable truth ripped through his body. Mya had crushed him once before. It had taken him years to get over it. This time, Corey knew it would take even longer to recover.

It would take a lifetime.

Chapter 13

T
he sun shone like a beacon, smiling down on the town of Gauthier. The weather report called for crystal-blue skies, low humidity and temperatures in the low eighties. Mya considered the perfect weather a gift from God. He knew how important today was for the town.

The downtown area was decked out for the celebration. Food booths lined the street, with locals selling everything from homemade jams and jellies to one of her personal favorites, crawfish pie. Green-and-white streamers draped from light pole to light pole, and a huge banner stretched across the entrance to Main Street, held up on either side by ladders extended from the Gauthier and Maplesville fire trucks.

Mya moved the basket of lapel ribbons her grandmother had made to the opposite end of the welcome table where people could pick them up after they had browsed the paraphernalia that had been spread across the table. There were registration forms for residents to join the civic association, surveys on how to improve life in Gauthier and pamphlets about the town’s history.

“Hey, you,” Phil said, giving her a hug. “You need to get to the stage. Mayor Johnson is about to begin the opening ceremony. You should be up there with him.”

“I’m not getting onstage, but I do want to hear the announcement,” Mya said, following Phylicia. Included in the mayor’s opening remarks would be word of Gauthier’s connection to the Underground Railroad. They had managed to keep the new findings under wraps, and Mya was anxious to see how the townspeople reacted to the news.

It was more satisfying than she had anticipated. Excitement hummed through the air as folks chatted about the history that had been hidden in plain sight here in Gauthier.

“Pretty sweet.” Phil looked over at her. “You’re way more gracious than I am, Mya Dubois. If it were me, I’d have hired a skywriter to spell it out overhead. ‘It was me! I found the proof!’ ”

Mya burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t say I found the proof, just a few initial cues.” And she didn’t deserve all the credit. Corey had been there with her. He had earned just as much praise as she had.

She returned to the welcome booth to greet newcomers.

“Honey, this place looks fabulous!” Claudette said.

Mya thanked her as she handed her one of the “Get to Know Main Street” maps that pointed out the businesses and things to do in downtown Gauthier.

“I can’t take the credit,” she reiterated. “So many people pitched in.” She looked around at the crowds, which had swelled in the past couple of hours since she’d arrived. “People seem to be having a good time, though. This should provide a nice boost to the local economy.”

“It already has. I’ve seen more foot traffic in front of my shop this week than I’ve seen in the past month. You had better take credit for it. A lot of this was your idea.”

Claudette motioned for her to come closer. In a loud whisper, she said, “I’ve heard rumors that those developers are now thinking of bringing their store to Bogalusa instead of Gauthier. They said the town isn’t the right market.” Claudette squeezed her shoulder. “I think it’s because of what you helped to uncover about Gauthier. You did your grandmother proud, Mya. You did us all proud.”

The instant lump that formed in Mya’s throat nearly choked her.

“Thank you.” She ducked her head, discreetly swiping at the tears that gathered at the corner of her eye. “I need to check in on Grandma,” she told Claudette. “You mind taking over for a little while?”

Mya handed over greeter duties to Claudette and headed in the direction of the sweets booth where her grandmother and several other ladies from New Hope Baptist Church were selling every homemade dessert imaginable. Different community organizations had purchased the right to sell items. The Knights of Columbus were grilling burgers and hot dogs, the Masons were selling fried seafood and the Gauthier High School Glee Club was making a killing with their snowballs.

Mya kept her eyes averted from the game booths, which were all being manned by members of the high school baseball and track teams. She knew she would have to face Corey sooner or later—in less than an hour, in fact, when the visitors from the local parish tourism board were set to arrive—but she would put it off for as long as possible.

He’d expect an answer to the offer he’d proposed, and she wasn’t ready to give him one.

She’d stayed awake half the night, running the list of pros and cons in her head, trying to picture what life would be like if she were to remain in Gauthier. The picture was different than the one she’d seen years ago, as a teenager hell-bent on getting out of this place. Now she was older, wiser. She had more resources at her disposal and could hop on a plane whenever she felt the need to get away. Small-town life no longer resembled a prison sentence.

But her life was in New York. Her work, her friends. Everything she’d worked hard for these past fifteen years. Could she just give it all up?

Maybe she didn’t have to give up anything. She could divide her time between both cities, finding sanctuary in Gauthier’s peace and quiet when the frenetic pace of the city got to be too much. Heading to New York to work or when Gauthier’s calmness had her climbing the walls.

Could she make it work?

Mya had hoped if she asked the question enough, the answer would reveal itself. But she’d asked herself over and over and was still as confused as ever. The only thing she knew for certain was that she had a flight to JFK booked for one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.

Mya dipped under the wooden beam sectioning off the various food booths.

“How’s it going?” she asked her grandmother, who was counting dollar bills like a loan shark raking in the night’s bounty.

“I don’t think I made enough coconut pies,” Grandma answered. “It’s not even noon yet, and we’ve sold almost all of them.”

“I told you people were going to buy those up,” Mya taunted. “You know no one can resist your coconut pies.”

“She’s right about that.”

Mya stiffened at the deep voice only steps away. She turned and wanted to scream at how good Corey looked.

“Good morning, ladies.” He addressed all the women in the booth, but even with the sunglasses covering his eyes Mya knew he was looking directly at her.

“Do your players have everything they need?” she asked him. “I have more prizes at Grandma’s if they start to run out.”

“The only one in danger of running out of prizes is the dunk tank, but I think the opportunity to dunk Assistant Principal Donaldson is enough of a prize for anyone. Manny’s spent about fifty bucks already. Is everything in place for the tourism board?” Corey asked, handing her grandmother a dollar before picking up an oatmeal cookie.

Mya knew better than to be fooled by his easygoing demeanor. “I was going to run over to Matthew Gauthier’s office just to make sure Carmen doesn’t need any help,” she answered.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, just as she knew he would.

As Mya was leaving the booth, her grandmother grabbed her hand. She looked back, and Grandma sent her a wink.

Oh, great
.

Who would have thought having her grandmother hate Corey back in high school would be easier than having her like him now?

Mya left the booth and started toward Gauthier’s law office. Corey fell in step beside her, breaking off a piece of his oatmeal cookie. He held it out to her. “Want a bite?”

“No, thanks,” Mya answered.

He took the shades from his eyes and hooked them in front of his shirt. “So, are we going to talk about why you’ve been avoiding me, or should we save it for when we have more time? Although I don’t know when we’ll find more time since I’m pretty sure you’re leaving town as soon as you can.”

Mya slowed her steps. “Corey, please.”

He stopped and encircled her wrist, halting her steps as well. “The decision was yours to make, Mya. If you’ve made it, at least grant me the courtesy of letting me know what you chose.”

She took a fortifying breath before saying, “My flight leaves at one tomorrow afternoon.”

Corey’s jaw hardened, but he didn’t let her go.

“So that’s it,” he stated.

“You knew this was temporary,” she said. “I’ve been in Gauthier nearly a month longer than I’d originally planned. My life is in New York, Corey. There’s a new show in the works that I’ve wanted to be a part of ever since I heard it was a possibility.”

“That’s not why you’re leaving,” he said. “You told me yourself that a lot of the work you do can be handled remotely. Stop skirting the issue, Mya.”

She yanked her wrist from his grip and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine, you tell me why I’m going.”

“Because you’re scared,” he charged. “You’re leaving because the thought of loving me scares the hell out of you, the same way it did fifteen years ago.”

She shook her head, vehemently denying his claim. “I was never afraid of loving you. You know I loved you, Corey. I never denied that.”

“But you left. You left because you thought loving me meant loving this town, and you were always so damn afraid of getting stuck here.” He ran an agitated hand down his face. “You criticize your mother for the way she looked down on Gauthier, but you are just like her. You’re still letting some crazy notion of being trapped here keep you away.” He stepped up to her, his intense eyes searing a path straight to her soul. “What you don’t understand is that leaving here doesn’t make you better than anyone, Mya. It just makes you a coward.”

Every word from his mouth hit her like a blow to the chest. She wanted to lash out at him. She wanted to pummel his chest with her fist for even daring to compare her to Elizabeth Dubois.

There was only one thing that stopped her: the fact that Corey was right.

She
was
running. Not just from Gauthier, but from the secret she’d been hiding all these years. The truth stabbed at her conscience, taunting her. She knew she would never truly be at peace until she finally came clean to Corey about the baby.

“Mya!”

Both she and Corey spun toward the law office, where Carmen stood just inside the doorway. She pointed toward three vehicles that had just pulled into the parking spots in front of the building. It had to be the people from the tourism board.

Corey let out a frustrated curse. “Come on,” he said. “It’s showtime.”

* * *

Corey stood in the corner of the cavernous back room in Matthew Gauthier’s law office. Earlier in the week, he, along with a dozen of the players on his team, had helped move about a hundred file boxes into a climate-controlled storage unit in Maplesville. The Washington Parish Historical Society had toured the room on Wednesday, along with a professor from Tulane University’s history department, who had quickly determined that this was indeed a stop on the Underground Railroad. The professor was in the middle of a big research project on the Underground Railroad in Louisiana and had set up residence in Matthew’s office.

The historical society had asked that the room be closed off to visitors—even to Matthew and his staff—while they awaited confirmation from the state preservation board, but Mya had explained that an exception would have to be made for representatives from the Louisiana tourism bureau. The pitch was in full swing, and the tourism board seemed to be eating it up.

One by one, they ducked into the opening in the wall that had been discovered once the boxes had been removed. The dank crawl space was illuminated by a low-wattage lightbulb on a tripod. The researchers with the historical society had cautioned against using bright lights that may cause damage to anything that was found.

“This is awe inspiring,” one of the representatives said. She held out an arm. “I have goose bumps.”

The history professor explained that small, secret rooms such as this one were common back then. He pointed out hash marks on the bricks as markings the slaves used to count down the days until the next push to the North would be made.

They moved from the law office to the other buildings on Main Street. Mya played tour guide, and the irony wasn’t lost on Corey. He could hardly stomach hearing her expound on all the wonderful attributes of Gauthier when she was itching to leave the town as soon as possible. How she didn’t manage to choke on the words was a miracle.

“Hey, Coach!”

He turned and spotted Pierre Jones jogging toward him. Corey stepped away from the touring contingent. “What’s up?” he asked the boy when he arrived.

“It’s Andre,” Pierre said. “He’s talking crazy.”

“What do you mean by crazy?” Corey asked, anxiety instantly raising the hair on his neck.

“He says he’s leaving. He’s got two suitcases and his drum set packed in the back of his truck.”

“Dammit,” Corey cursed. “Where is he?”

Pierre motioned for him to follow and they took off toward the west end of Main Street. When they turned down Maurepas Drive Corey spotted Andre’s dusty gray pickup, with its orange door and red tailgate. The mishmash of truck parts was courtesy of Corey’s father’s old junkyard.

The boy was sitting behind the wheel when he approached. Corey rapped his knuckle against the glass. Andre’s eyes remained straight ahead.

“He told me not to tell anybody,” Pierre said from a few feet away. “He sent me to get his iPod from his girlfriend. He wasn’t even going to tell her that he was leaving.”

“Go on.” Corey gestured for Pierre to leave. “I’ll take care of this.”

Pierre looked at him as if he wasn’t sure he should leave Corey alone with a pack of rabid dogs, let alone his best friend, but he nodded and started back toward the festivities.

Corey went around the front of the truck and opened the side door, which he remembered from the team’s constant locker room ribbing of Andre, didn’t lock. He slid onto the seat, closed the door and stared straight ahead.

“So, you want to talk about this?” he asked Andre.

Andre cursed. Harshly. As an authority figure Corey should have chastised him for it, but it was obvious the boy’s problems warranted it.

“I’m going to kill Pierre,” Andre said.

Corey hitched a thumb toward the truck bed, which apparently contained all of the kid’s belongings. “Where do you think you’re going?”