Guilty of Love (25 page)

Tilting her head to the right, Cheney
glanced in their direction. After a few seconds, she moved toward
Parke and placed her hand on top of his, in a comforting gesture.
“Your day is coming. You’ll find the love you’ve been searching
for. I can feel it.” She grinned as she laid a hand over her heart.
“I’m sure you’ll charm some unsuspecting sister soon.”

“
You think so?’

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

I’m counting on it.
He smiled
smugly, wiggling his mustache. Whatever ice was around Cheney’s
heart, he was determined to chisel it away until she thawed out. He
needed a prayer to do it.

November

St. Louis’s first snowfall of the
season was beautiful, soft, and treacherous. Five-inches deep and
still falling, it could transform the most blighted neighborhood
into a peaceful picturesque wonderland.

All it took was the threat of an inch
to send St. Louisans storming into grocery stores and leave shelves
empty enough to starve a mouse. The steady accumulation would also
turn Cheney’s Friday evening commute into a nightmare.

Staring out her office window, Cheney
wanted to ignore the paperwork on her desk and go sled riding down
Art Hill in Forest Park. She closed her eyes and embraced the
snow’s magical effect. Her mind conjured up its own
images.

Cheyenne’s childish
giggles echoed throughout the yard as she formed an odd-shaped
snowball, ready to aim.

“
Ha, ha. I got you, Mommy.
You’re supposed to duck.”

Cheney chuckled as mother
and daughter frolicked in the snow before tumbling down a small
hill.

“
Weee, you caught me,
Mommy.”

“
Sure did. C’mon, let’s
make our snowman.”

Cheney blinked as a teardrop splashed
on the report on her desk. Would she always cry at the memories of
what could’ve been? This guilt had to be exorcized. “God, how can I
be set free? If You’ve been talking to me, I can’t hear You, please
show me a sign like You did Gideon in the Book of Judges. Yeah, I
need a sign, Amen.” With nothing more to say, she returned to her
duties, nervously shuffling papers. She hoped her fleet of
twenty-one company cars wouldn’t collide with other vehicles in
this weather.

Two hours later, Cheney locked her
office door. She would be sequestered in her house the entire
weekend. The ten-minute drive home turned into a thirty-minute trip
despite the snowplows’ paths. Minutes after walking through her
front door, her phone rang. “Hello?”

“
It’s about time I got ya.
You had me worried.”

“
Oh, Grandma BB, I just got
in. I was about to come over and check on you.”

Mrs. Beacon’s high-pitched laugh
pierced her eardrum. “Chile, I’m stuck in Kirkwood.”

“
What are you doing way out
there?” The west St. Louis suburb was easily forty-five minutes on
the other side of town.

“
My Red Hat Purple Ladies
Club scheduled a day of movies, shopping, and the spa without
checking the forecast. You’ve got to come to this Westfield Mall.
It’s kickin’ as you young people say. Nordstrom’s had a sale where
I shopped until I was ready to drop, but you know at my age, it’s
easier going down than it is getting back up.”

She envied her neighbor’s carefree
spirit that made it seem as if she were a teenager locked in a
senior citizen’s body.

“
Anyway, about six of us
are spending the night at my friend, Gina’s house. We’re going to
turn it into a slumber party, order some real scary movies and make
bowls of buttery popcorn.”

“
I hope no Chippendales
show up,” Cheney joked.

“
Hmm. Now, wouldn’t that be
something, but I’m worried about you, Heney. You going to be all
right over there all by yourself?”

“
Yeah.” Cheney glanced
around her quiet house. “No worries. I’ll build a fire, relax, and
watch some movies—nothing scary—or some reruns.”

“
Okay, make sure the fire
is out before you go to bed and the doors are locked.”

“
Yes, Fairy Grandmother,
good night.” Cheney shook her head.

Opening her refrigerator, she moaned
at the near-empty shelves. Soup would have to do. Walking into her
pantry, she sighed. A sparse number of cans were visible, but no
soup. Throwing her hands up, she yelled, “Do I live here, or
what?”

Lifting a Ritz crackers carton, the
lightness told her it was empty. Smashing the box, she aimed for
the trash just as the phone rang. “Hello?”

“
I’m glad you made it home.
I thought it was going to be a blizzard out there,” Parke
said.

“
I wish I’d braved the
streets for the store to fight for the last loaf of
bread.”

“
Can I tempt you with
homemade chili with my secret ingredients? I’m simmering it
now.”

“
I’m not driving in this
stuff, maybe tomorrow if the streets are cleared.”

“
I wouldn’t want you
driving anyway. I could bring over my big pot of chili, some funny
videos, and you can build a fire.”

Not wanting to get her hopes high,
Cheney licked her lips, starving. “I don’t think I’ve got enough
logs to hold a fire for more than an hour, but the food sounds
good.”

“
Okay, then you supply the
bread.”

“
Can’t do that either.”
Cheney sighed.

“
Okay, how about some
crackers?”

“
Nope.”

“
What do you have over
there?” Parke chuckled.
 “Plenty of snow and a can of French loaf dough.”

“
Excellent. I’ll see you
real soon.”

“
Parke?”

“
Yes?”

“
Thank you.”

***

Parke grabbed bags and an empty crate
when his phone halted his movements
.
“The woman said she was
hungry. She better not be calling back to cancel,” he threatened
under his breath as he answered it.

“
Hey, Parke.”

He withheld a groan. He loved his dear
friend, but he didn’t have time for her version of a Jesus
conversation. “Hey, Annette, how you doing, babe?”

“
I’m fine. I thought I’d
call you since we’re both snowed in with nowhere to go.”

“
I do have somewhere to go,
and I’m on my way out.”

“
You’re drivin’ in this
stuff? Parke, the woman’s bed isn’t worth it.”

“
She’s worth it, but I’m
not going for her bed. I’m going for the woman.”

“
Hallelujah,” Annette
shouted. “Praise the Lord.”

“
I’ll talk to you later, so
you can have church right here on the phone.”

“
Okay, sweetie, but don’t
forget what I said before, Jesus is calling you.”

Parke bent down and manipulated his
six-quart pot in the crate. “I’ve already told you, Jesus and me,
we’re cool, but if you have to have a certain quota on your prayer
list, then you can use my name.”

Her voice softened, “Okay, make fun if
you want, but the Bible says,
‘Search the scriptures; for in
them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify
of me.’
Jesus is the only answer. Love you.”

“
Hmm. I’m glad you love me,
because you could do some damage if you hated me.” He disconnected.
Parke put on an extra pair of socks before cramming his feet into
snow boots. He also added another sweater before donning his
double-lined wool coat. He riffled through boxes in his basement
storage room, searching for a metal laundry cart from his college
days. Dressed like the abominable snowman, he opened his front door
and a gust of strong wind slapped him across his face. “I’ve lost
my mind.”

After three attempts, he made it out
his front door, then locked it. Snatching an armful of wood logs
off his porch, he haphazardly stacked them on top of the pot. When
he jumped into his SUV and turned the ignition, his low fuel light
flashed. He’d been so intent on getting home, he’d ignored the
vehicle’s warning. Now, he had less than five miles worth of gas.
Getting out, he slammed the door. He didn’t want to chance
it.

“
Yes, I have lost my mind,”
he said to no one as he started the ten-minute, half-mile trek
through snow that had drifted, forming small hills.

The ten minute journey took forty
minutes before he made it to Cheney’s, shivering and sucking in the
frigid air. Despite his fur-lined leather gloves, his hands were
too numb to knock, so he slumped against the door, hoping she would
hear a thump.

“
It’s about time you—” She
greeted him, swinging her door open. “You look like a mugger.” She
giggled.

“
Excuse me. Ice is stuck to
my thermal underwear.” His teeth chattered. “Can I come
in?”

“
Sorry,” Cheney apologized,
sounding anything but. “Take off your coat and leave those Herman
Munster boots there.” Cheney pointed to a towel-covered spot on the
floor. “I’ve got a pretty good fire going. Don’t know how long it
will last.”

With little effort, Parke slid to the
floor and landed on his padded rump. He forced the airtight boots
off his feet and stood. Gliding across the room, he added more logs
as Cheney carried the pot into the kitchen.

Using the mantel for support, Parke
leaned in to thaw out. He scanned the neat stack of unopened mail
and spied an envelope that had been ripped opened. He did a double
take after scanning the open letter’s contents. He had one
question, why?

“
French loaf should be
ready in a few minutes,” Cheney yelled from the kitchen.

“
Whenever you’re ready,” he
answered, re-reading the letter.

Lugging dishes, glasses, and flatware
to the dining table, Cheney plopped down in her chair. “You’re a
lifesaver.”

Parke gave nothing away of what had he
saw. “How about being my lifesaver and eating on the floor closer
to the fireplace? I’m still freezing.”

“
O-okay, I’ve got all this
nice furniture and you want to sit on the floor.”

They scooted the coffee table closer
to the fire. Within minutes, they sat Indian-style across from each
other, buttering warm bread. “Oops, we almost forgot to pray,”
Parke reminded her.

“
Yeah, you’re right. Let
me.” They bowed their heads and held hands. “God thank you for the
food and bless it, me, and Parke. And please show me a sign. Thank
you, Jesus. Amen.”

“
What kind of sign?” He
lifted a brow.

Releasing hands, Cheney shrugged as
she bit into her bread and swallowed a spoonful of chili. “I don’t
know. Whatever God will show me. Mmm, this is really
good.”

“
Admit you’ve never tasted
homemade chili so good. My secret weapon: a touch of cayenne
pepper,” Parke boasted then something happened before his
eyes.

Cheney’s cheerful guise faded to a
frightful, downcast look. “What? What did I say?” The following
moments seemed rigid as an imaginary guest named Strained Silence
invited himself to dinner. Parke scrutinized Cheney’s closed lids
as she ate her chili in a slow, mechanical manner.

Parke lost his appetite as dinner
abruptly ended minutes after it began. He reached over and laid his
hand on Cheney’s, hoping to pull her back from whatever place she
had drifted. “Are you okay?”

No response.

He lifted her six-foot
lifeless-looking frame and cuddled her close. He wanted to whisper
consoling words, but for what? From all appearances, she looked
comatose.

“
Are you feeling okay? Why
are you zoning out on me? Did you have some kind of allergic
reaction? Is this the sign you asked God for?”

Shrugging, she stared into the flames
and spoke in a trancelike monotone voice. “Sometimes it just hits
me with no warning.” Twisting her lip, tears trickled down her
flushed cheeks. “Lately, the visions have been good. It’s the good
ones that gnaw at you.”

“
Baby, talk to me. What’s
haunting you?”

“
Cheyenne.”

“
Who?”

“
Cayenne reminded me of
Cheyenne.”

The stressed-out, defeated creature he
was staring at didn’t resemble the tall, beautiful woman he had
been spending time with over the past few months. His heart ached
as Cheney closed her eyes, crying silently.

Her words became choppy. “When you
mentioned cayenne pepper, it was like a bright flash, a deafening
blast, and a sudden slow, burning pang snaked down my throat,
igniting a fire that spread to the pit of my belly.”

“
I’m sorry. I forget
everybody doesn’t like spicy chili. I kinda go overboard with the
seasoning—” He couldn’t recall anyone getting sick
before.

She dropped her head in defeat,
whispering her confession, “I aborted my baby, Parke. Everything
within me tells me it was a little girl. A sweet, beautiful,
adorable daughter I would’ve named Cheyenne.

“
That burning sensation and
the mention of cayenne triggered my memory. It took me back to the
recovery room almost six years ago. My entire body was racked with
constant vibrations of pain. My nerve endings were raw as a tiny
viable part of me was ripped away. Imani is the only person who
knows. My family might, judging from my imaginary leprosy that is
keeping them away.”