Guilty of Love (4 page)

“
Where did
you
come
from?” she asked, still dazed.

“
From across the street. I
was jogging when I saw an accident in the making.”

This woman was the perfect poster
child for an Amazon woman, which in his mind wasn’t appealing.
Parke considered them too long to be shapely and their clothes
never fit. Instead of showing off their full height, they stooped
when they walked. She had so much dirt and grass in her hair that
contestants on the
Survivor
reality show looked
better.

“
I’m so clumsy. Sorry to
bother you,” she apologized. “I’m okay. Did I hurt you? I’m not
exactly petite.”

She was right about that.
My
muscles are still screaming
, a thought he kept to
himself
.
Her soft, melodic voice grabbed his attention. It
didn’t match her body. Parke chuckled. This new neighbor was
intriguing. Turning, he walked to the trunk of her car. “Let me get
those for you. Where do you want them?”

The neighbor waved her dirty glove in
the air. “Oh, don’t bother. I couldn’t ask you to help. I don’t
even know you.”

“
You didn’t ask. I’m
offering.”

Her politeness, rather than being
flirtatious, got his attention. Somehow he thought it was
attractive. Aggressive females wore down his nerves and tested his
good manners.

A descendant of kings, Parke was a
connoisseur of women—short, shapely, cuddly females. He was also a
man driven by the history and profiles of people, places, and
things.

Taking his early morning jog through
the historic Ferguson neighborhood, he wanted to see the new owner.
Personally, he was glad someone bought this eyesore, since vacant
buildings attracted the wrong kind of tenants—drug addicts or the
homeless. Accosting his new neighbor to the ground was not his
preferred way to conduct a proper introduction. Since he wasn’t
trying to impress, he felt downright silly.

“
Then, let me introduce
myself.” He grinned and bowed. “Parke Jamieson VI.”

Amused, she gave him a mock curtsy.
“I’m Cheney Denise Reynolds, the first and last.”

Parke unknowingly found himself
enchanted with their childish exchange. Most women manipulated
their smiles, laughs, and orchestrated struts into an art of
seduction, which explained how they became his dates. “Hey, where
you want your stuff? I’ll stack them for you.” Cheney pointed to
the front of the house where the expertly-crafted landscaping was
in progress.

Carrying two, sometimes three bags at
a time, Parke didn’t stop until he finished unloading. He moseyed
over to Cheney who was at the other end of the lawn planting more
flowers. Kneeling, he unconsciously picked up a garden tool and
began poking in the dirt.

“
Nice, very nice. You
didn’t do all this yourself, did you?”

Without breaking her rhythm, she
answered, “Yes. I’ve been at it since five this
morning.”

“
You’re kiddin’?” Parke
stared, unbelieving. “Didn’t your husband help?” When she didn’t
answer, he cleared his throat. “Oops. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.
Uh, how many of those things are you planting anyway?”

“
About two-hundred. No
husband and glad about it,” she said unfazed.

“
Why?”

“
Why what?” Again, she
didn’t look his way.

It was none of his business to know
anything personal about Cheney, so he played it safe. “Why so many
bulbs since they multiply. What kind are they?”

“
Caladiums, peonies, three
different colors of begonias, and my favorite, gladioli, to answer
your first question, so I’ll have enough to cut and put
inside.”

Parke continued to dig as he tried
indiscreetly to snoop for more information, but Cheney Reynolds
answered sporadically as she worked at a steady pace.

“
That’s a beautiful and
unique name. Is there a story behind it?”

“
Nope.”

After an hour, Parke gave up any hope
of getting the scoop on her, so he stood and brushed off his
sweats. “Well, I better head home. Welcome to our
neighborhood.”

Cheney surprised Parke when she
glanced up. At that moment, the sun shone on her face. He had never
seen brown eyes as dark as hers with long lashes.
Nice.

“
I appreciate your help
today. Eventually, I’d have gotten all the bags out, without
killing myself. Thanks again.”

A genuine smile and the sweet tone of
her voice did something to Parke’s heart. It skipped, stopped, and
sucked in an extra dose of oxygen. He shrugged to hide his sudden
flare of emotion.

If his recently-saved, good friend,
Annette, was with him, she’d call him a dog and probably would have
hauled him to church. Annette wasn’t there, so Parke could be as
carnal-minded as he wanted. That was the problem with Annette’s
church. Her pastor expected more from people than God did and that
was to live sanctified.

“
No problem, any time.”
Parke backed away. Doing an about-face, he jogged down the street.
It was mind boggling that Cheney Denise Reynolds’s sincerity tugged
at him. Meeting her appeased his appetite as a nosy neighbor, but
prompted other curiosities.

The following week, Parke guided his
SUV onto Benton Street at various times. Instead of house-watching,
he found himself watching for Cheney. Parke wasn’t disappointed
when male visitors seemed non-existent. “I still can’t believe what
she did to the front lawn,” he mumbled and drove off. None of the
women he had dated would’ve lifted a finger to toil in
dirt.

One Monday evening, as the blazing sun
was retiring, Parke cruised pass her house as he chatted on the
phone through his OnStar car speakers.
Bingo
. Cheney was
toying with accent lights that dotted the path from the sidewalk to
her front door. He parked, locked his vehicle and rudely trampled
across her yard. “Good evening.”

Startled, Cheney twirled around,
dropping her screwdriver. Frowning, she planted a hand on her hip.
“Do you always sneak up on your neighbors, Parkay?”

Throwing his head back, he laughed.
“You almost had it right.” The first day, she was adorably quiet;
now she wore her attack wings, ready for battle. But in her
defense, he did scare her. “I’m sorry.” He gripped his stomach.
“I’ve been called many names before, but never butter. It’s Parke,
like Parker, without the ‘r.’ “

“
Right, sorry,” she
apologized as she bent to retrieve her tool.

Dressed in clean white sweats,
Cheney’s face was the color of a lemon without makeup. It was
flawless and dirt-free. Parke eyed the shape of her black eyebrows.
He imagined a painter’s finger dipped in ink tracing a smooth line,
arching it to perfection. They were natural. Her hair, pulled again
in a ponytail, was neater.

Why did he stop? Parke had no reason
for his visit except being nosy. He had another client in a few
hours. He needed to prepare his portfolio. Wearing his shirt, tie,
and brown slacks, Parke thought about the appointment he just left.
His clients had been a distraught young married couple who hadn’t
taken his advice to diversify their stocks before the company filed
for bankruptcy.

Common sense told Parke he should go,
but his feet refused to budge. He didn’t take rejection well. This
woman was brushing him off again. Despite not fitting his profile,
Cheney fascinated him. If he kept her talking, maybe he would learn
more about her this time. “You didn’t install the
lights.”

She squatted to adjust a spotlight.
“Yeah, I know it made more sense to do it while I was planting, but
I couldn’t take the electrical class until last night.”

The jackie-of-all trades, Parke’s jaw
dropped as she got up and headed to the garage and flipped a
switch. The strategically placed lights illuminated, transforming
the former old shack to the likes of a new display
model.

“
Lady, what can’t you
do?”

“
You’d be surprised,” she
mumbled, then walked inside her house, never looking
back.

The old adage,
If you take one
step, then God will take two,
nagged at Cheney until she woke.
The phrase kept revolving in her head. Irritated, she sat up and
threw back her cover. Spoiling herself, she had dared to indulge in
the expensive super-soft sateen sheets that coordinated with the
earth tone colors of stone, topaz and terracotta in her chenille
jacquard comforter.

Matching curtains and an off white
recliner transformed her bedroom into a sanctuary. She padded
across the cool wood floor, repeating the adage. Once inside her
bathroom, she faced her reflection. “I’ll concede to one step, but
I can’t to making two.” She hoped God was eavesdropping.

Less than an hour later, she stood in
her living room staring out the window. Sipping her coffee, she
stalled for time. When the last drop dried in the bottom of her
cup, she realized she couldn’t put the task off any
longer.

She lifted her cordless phone from its
holder. With her other hand, she pulled the tiny yellow post-it
note out of her pocket. Despite the tiny scribbling, Cheney had
memorized her sister’s non-published phone number as the pen
stroked the paper. She had risked her job to retrieve it from the
company’s internal phone database system. There were strict
guidelines in place to protect customer’s privacy.

“
Allen residence,” her
young niece answered.

“
Hi, is your Mommy home?”
She stopped short of identifying herself as her aunt. Besides
knowing the child’s name was Natalie, Cheney knew little else, not
even who she looked like. Choking back a flood of tears, she gulped
a deep breath. It would be okay. Someday a child would call
her
mommy.

“
Hello?” Janae’s clear
voice came on the line.

“
Hey, sis.” She picked at
her sweater until she formed lint-shaped knots.

“
Well, well. Cheney
Reynolds. Did mother give you my number?”

“
I…I.” Cheney
grimaced.

“
Never mind, you have it
now,” Janae sounded annoyed. “What can I do for you?”

Was this the seed she’d sown five
years ago? The wound was open and the nerve severed. Now, Cheney
was the recipient of reaping the remains of what locusts left
behind from the harvest. She cleared her throat. “How about getting
together for lunch?”

“
Can’t. We’ve got a family
picnic. Maybe next time.”

“
I could tag…”

Click.

The tone amplified the disconnection.
Cheney exhaled, then inhaled to gather strength. Bouncing back from
stumbling off step one, she decided to take another one. Luckily
her twin brother’s number was listed and hadn’t changed. She
punched it in, and relaxed as if the call was part of her normal
daily routine.

“
Yeah,” Rainey snapped on
the first ring.

“
Hey, it’s me.”

Silence.

Rainey recovered before Cheney could
say anything. “How are you?”

“
I’m fine,” she paused,
biting her lip.
Where do I begin?
Before she could open her
mouth, another woman beat her to the punch.

“
Girl, can you believe her
nerve? Calling my man while I was right there—”

Frowning, Cheney listened and realized
the lines were crossed on a party line. “Rainey? You hear
that?”

“
Who is this? Get off my
line,” the woman ordered.

“
Hello? Sorry, but we were
on this line first,” Cheney informed her.

A loud burst of gum popping preceded
the voice of a teenage girl. “Listen…” and she began throwing out
profanity and without a click, the two were gone.

“
Don’t sweat it, happens
all the time,” Rainey said then added sarcastically, “That’s our
new millennium phone system at work. Just think, I pay for that
premium service every month. Usually after a heavy storm, I use my
cell phone. The land lines are so unpredictable.”

Was his remark aimed at her directly,
or the phone company that employed her? She made a note to look
into the problem on Monday. Someone must be tapping into Rainey’s
phone line, or have access to his outside phone box regardless of
the company’s lock; or maybe heavy downpours were deteriorating his
phone lines.

“
So, to what do I owe this
call?”

She heard him sigh, but ignored it.
“You feel like hanging out?”

“
Can’t. I’m going to the
Juneteenth celebration this evening.”

“
Yeah, that’s right. Are
you still with…” Cheney paused, racking her brain to remember the
girl he was in love with before she moved to Durham, “Shanice!” She
grinned, pleased with herself, considering she was more than out of
touch.

“
Shanice and I split years
ago.”

“
Oh, well, I’d love to go
with you.”

“
Sorry. I’ve got a date.
You wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”

Strike two. She didn’t need a third
strike to be out. “No, no I wouldn’t. Well, have fun.”