Easier Said Than Done (21 page)

Two plates and three hours later, I was sipping my fourth rum punch and filling the fifth person in on what I'd been “up to.”

Aunt Bea held court in the corner with her whispers loud enough to be overheard, but not quite loud enough for anyone to comment. “The high yellow one is her granddaughter, too. You know the one that fools with them horses and such. She stood there looking like the devil when
she was talking about Grace. A hypocritical devil, that's what I say; and if Grace had been here to see it, she would have just died. I tell you, it's them kids and grandchildren that put her in her grave. Worried her to death, that's what I say. And now they're standing around with their hands out, knowing they didn't do diddly squat for Grace while she was alive.”

When Aunt Bea realized I was staring her down, she had the decency to blush. But that didn't stop her from adding a parting shot behind a cupped hand, this time too low for me to hear.

With a chuckle, I excused myself from the current conversation. Auntie Dawn had held me captive—waxing over the finer points of antique silver when I spotted Uncle Winston and Aunt Lonnie beckoning me to follow them to the kitchen. I shook my head in disgust. I already knew the topic of this discussion. Bianca stopped me midway. “You look vexed,” she observed. “ How ya' holding up?”

“Okay. What about you?”

“Same. It's good to see everybody, but . . .” Bianca shook her head. “It's going to be hard without her here. I think that's finally beginning to sink in. I wonder what's going to happen to all of us now that she's gone. Mama Grace was the one that held us together. Well, as together as we could be, anyway.” Sniffing, her almond brown eyes were surprisingly sad. “And I'll miss you. We only get to see each other a couple of times a year as it is. It was so nice spending this little
bit of time together, even if you did yell at me today.” She smiled and took another sip from her chilled glass of Rum Punch.

“I'm sorry about that, Bianca. It wasn't you I was angry at. Damon and I have a lot of history and not all of it's good. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. And don't worry; you and I will be fine. We just have to be better about staying in touch, not forget what Mama Grace stood for or all that she has done for us. As much as I hate to say it, Bianca, that's going to be pretty much left up to us.”

“Yes.” She agreed. “We are certainly going to have to be better at communicating.” She paused and looked me squarely in the eyes. “And we can start with you and Damon. Why am I just now hearing about this juicy affair?”

“Because it was over before it started.” I said, the explanation sounding lame even to me but Bianca was gracious enough to move on. The understanding clear in her expression. “But yes, we will be better about communicating.” I leaned in closer. “And maybe you could try to spend more time with Adana and Andrew, they could use a strong role model.”

Bianca rolled her eyes as my gaze landed on the twins. They were seated between Aunt Dawn and Aunt Bea on the settee. All four held over-flowing plates of food. Andrew and Adana
were giggling and hitting each other on the arm—in on some secret joke. They really did need help.

“Just think about it, Bianca. I'll be right back, okay?”

Bianca followed my eyes, then turned to me with raised eyebrows. She understood what was about to happen.

“Yes, Uncle Winston?” I stepped through the narrow door into the kitchen where Uncle Winston and Aunt Lonnie paced. With all of us there, it was more than a tight fit. Aunt Lonnie pulled the sliding door shut behind me, and they wasted no time in getting to the point.

“We,” Uncle Winston began, then looked to Aunt Lonnie. She nodded before he continued, “We wanted to know how you planned on handling tomorrow.”

“I don't plan on handling tomorrow,” I replied, my back arching like a cornered cat.

“You know what he means,” Aunt Lonnie said, her chin lifting.

Uncle Winston placed a hand on my shoulder. “We just want to know what you're planning to do after the will is read.”

“I don't know what the will says, Uncle Winston. The attorney will be here at eleven o'clock. Until then, I don't know what else to say.” Then it occurred to me; they must know something more, so I asked, “Am I missing something here?”

The look the two exchanged was quick and dripping with guilt. Aunt Lonnie rushed to answer. “No, of course not. We know Mama Grace set some money aside for family members and we want to make sure everything is distributed fairly, that's all, Kingston.” If Aunt Lonnie thought she was doing a good job of cleaning this up, she was mistaken.

“I'm sure Mama Grace was very fair and tomorrow we will see just what her idea of fair is. But I don't think now is the time to have this discussion. We have guests out there.” As I closed the sliding door behind me, I felt steam rising from the top of my head. How dare they try to turn this into a showdown? Whatever sliver of unity we experienced this morning, had disappeared like a puff of smoke. I would have even less support than expected as executor of Mama Grace's will. I couldn't even imagine what Uncle Winston and Aunt Lonnie expected; but if it turned out even half as bad as they thought that it would, it was not going to be good.

“Whoa! Where's the fire?” Damon grabbed my arm and I spun to face him. He was still wearing his navy suit, but now a few of the buttons loosened on his white shirt, a hint of chest hair poked out, and his dreads fell loosely around his shoulders.

“Funerals seem to bring out the worst in people.” I paused. “No, I take that back, money brings out the worst in people.” I leaned forward. “I think my aunt and uncle have gone mad! They're trying to figure out what their share of Mama Grace's money is going to be.”

Damon laughed and kissed me on the forehead. “Sad, but true; and this is only the beginning, Kingston. Same thing happened when my grandmother died. Not many family members were in favor of my turning the house into a community center. Most wanted to sell it, then split the money. No one could see the good that could come from it. Thank God, my aunt was there to fight with me.”

“I can't deal with this right now, Damon.” I threw my hands up, my voice breaking from the tears I was fighting to keep back.

“So don't,” he said and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Let's get outta here. You've put in your time. Let's go relax, have some fun.”

An automatic red light went off in my head. I laughed out of nervousness.

“Scared?” he teased.

“Of course, I'm not scared. Scared of what?” I sputtered. Damon raised his eyebrows up and down, a corner of his mouth pulled into a lopsided grin, the word DARE written all over his face.

The red light started flashing; but never one to back down from a challenge, I wasn't going to start now. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just you.”

“Where are we going?”

“Trust me on this one, Kingston. Just trust me.”

Now that was easier said than done.

I placed my hand in his and dared myself to trust him—and myself—just a little bit. I whispered in Bianca's ear that I needed to get some air, which wasn't exactly a lie. I just didn't tell her that Damon was going to be sharing some of that air space. It was a small omission, a lie by omission.

The evening air was dank—warm and humid—with the smell of smoke lingering. I regretted not changing from my Ann Klein suit and heels into something more casual. I hadn't wanted to give Damon the idea that I was concerned about my appearance.

It was five minutes before I realized where we were going. “Your house?” I asked, looking up at Damon, one hand shielding my eyes from the stubborn sun.

“That okay with you?”

“Fine,” I replied, nibbling on the inside of my jaw, but I didn't feel fine at all. A whirling sensation in the pit of my stomach caused a lightheadedness that made me want to sit down. My palms were sweating and I didn't feel as if my legs were going to carry me too much further.

“Good,” Damon said and grabbed my sweaty hand in his. I had forgotten how affectionate Damon could be. While it was comforting at the funeral, it now felt like a lover's gesture and that didn't sit well with me at all. I was enjoying the attention way too much and the last thing I
needed was to get used to Damon being in my life. After all, I'd be on a plane to Chicago in a few days.

The rest of the distance was covered in silence, giving me plenty of time to reacquaint myself with the community. Children were outside playing, kicking a worn soccer ball and jumping rope. A woman passed, her arms full of groceries. She nodded warmly at Damon and gazed at me with open curiosity. A group of men were standing in front of the Chinaman's corner store, swigging cheap beer and swapping cheaper stories. In the distance, a baby goat baahed. Coconut trees bent under the weight of their bounty. A breeze prickled against my sweaty neck. It was a typical Jamaican evening.

Damon led me around the side of his house to the backyard. A privacy fence had been put up so it looked like a tiny piece of a tropical heaven had been captured, then stashed away for his pleasure. Rows of fruit trees—orange, ackee, and pear—lined the yard while a myriad of potted plants decorated the wide, wooden deck. In the middle of it set an in-ground hot tub that started bubbling when Damon flipped a switch.

“My, what a way we've come up,” I said under my breath, trying not to appear impressed. “It's beautiful.”

“Thanks, but don't go getting the wrong idea about the hot tub, Kingston. It's strictly for therapeutic purposes and tonight a chilled glass of wine and a nice long soak in a hot tub is what the doctor ordered.”

My eyebrows shot up, but my lips gave me away, curving into a flirtatious half smile. “ Oh really?”

“Yep. So I‘m going to give you a few minutes to get undressed and climb in while I get the wine.”

“I don't have a bathing suit.” I gestured with my arms, highlighting the obvious. “I don't have anything.”

“I know, Kingston,” he bantered over his shoulder while unlocking the padlock on the wrought-iron porch door. “Neither do I.” Then, he disappeared into the house.

Just call me the Mario Andretti of undressing. I set a record getting out of my clothes. The thought of getting in the hot tub naked just to freak Damon out did cross my mind; but in the end, I left on my sheer black bra and thong panties. I folded my clothes and draped them over a wooden bench. I stuck my big toe in the water and closed my eyes in ecstasy. “This is going to be heaven,” I whispered to the stars, sinking down so far into the water that the bubbles kissed my chin. My hair was piled on top of my head and secured only with a wish; one false move and it would come tumbling down around my shoulders.

Damon returned, carrying a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice and two glasses. “I'm sorry, but there's nothing prepared to eat.”

“It's okay. I ate more than enough already.”

“Same here. Queenie's amazing when you let her loose in a kitchen.”

It was nervous conversation; small talk, nothing more. Damon poured the wine. He had changed out of his clothes and was wearing electric blue shorts with funky orange squiggles that complimented his cocoa brown skin. And I was right, he was in better shape now than ten years ago.

This is a potentially explosive situation
, I told myself and wondered how it had gotten to this point. Less than five days ago, you couldn't have told me that I was capable of having a civil conversation with Damon much less be in a hot tub, damn near naked, drinking wine and thinking lustful thoughts.

“Here you go.” Damon handed me a glass of wine, then lit three candles before climbing into the hot tub. “Let's drink to the beauty of Jamaica.” We clinked glasses.

“It is a beautiful country,” I murmured, lowering my eyes and focusing on the wine. I couldn't look at him, his gaze was too intense.

“And you too are part of the beauty of Jamaica.”

That did it. Things were going too far. “Damon, please stop.”

“You're a beautiful woman.”

Flustered, I shook my head. “I'm not talking about that. I mean the wine, the candlelight, the hot tub, the sweet words. What exactly are we doing?”

“We're two old friends catching up.”

“Two old friends, Damon?” I repeated incredulously.

“Okay, more than two old friends. But I still want to catch up.”

“We did that when I came down to your house. There's not too much more to catch up on. ”

“I think that there is.” Damon put down his wine glass. I took another long swallow, swirling the cool liquid in my mouth.

Damon scooted closer to me. “Do you know how many times I wanted to call or write you? I wondered what you were doing; wondered if you were married with three babies and a white-picket fence, wondered about everything, really. I've missed you.” He pushed at a few strands of hair that were stuck to the moist side of my neck. His stroking my neck was too intimate a gesture, and I moved to reclaim my personal space. It bothered me that Damon could still push my emotional and physical buttons so easily.

“I hate when people say that, Damon,” I replied, pushing his hand away. “Because it's nothing to pick up a phone and call somebody. It's nothing to drop them a postcard. It was not
my intention to have this conversation. There's no point to it. What's done is done. There's nothing you can say to excuse what you did.”

Damon reached for me again, but then drew his hand back as if he were afraid to touch me. “You don't think I realize that? And I'm not going to give you excuses. As a man, I'm not proud of what went down; but at the time, I didn't know what else to do. My grandmother was dying and not being able to help her brought back all the feelings that I had about Joanne and I went into a meltdown. I had all of these responsibilities that I was not equipped to handle and it emotionally drained me.