The Sweetest Thing (22 page)

It had been the mid-1990s and when Dwayne’s mother, Evelyn Porter, walked into the room, Quentin remembered it like it was yesterday. They were rocking “La Macarena” in the clubs he was too young to get into. Tracy Chapman had a hit with the sexy single “Give Me One Reason.” Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, and Celine Dion dominated the music charts and there wasn’t a girl around who hadn’t seen the movie
Waiting to Exhale
at least two times.

He and Dwayne had celebrated their thirteenth birthdays with a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, courtesy of the Porter family and Quentin had seen Mrs. Porter’s bare breasts. The first pair of bare breasts in his sexual history and they had been attached to the body of his best friend’s mother. Quentin grinned as Mrs. Porter reached up to give him a hug, pressing those oversize mammary glands against his chest.

She was still one of the sexiest senior citizens he knew, meticulously styled in black slacks, a white sweater set, her signature pearls, and a pair of royal-blue high heels. Everything was designer and expensive. Her flattering bob was snow white, a stark contrast to her dark licorice complexion. She was still one of the most beautiful women he had ever known.

“Quentin!” she chimed, her deep alto voice oozing like dark molasses against his ears. “What a pleasure, dear!”

“Mrs. Porter, how are you?” he answered, pulling back to stare into the woman’s deep gray eyes.

“I’m old, darling, but I’m still breathing so I can’t complain.”

She gestured toward Dwayne, her small hands fanning him to her. “Baby boy, come kiss your mother! How are you, my darling?”

Dwayne wrapped his mother in a deep bear hug, lifting her from the ground. She giggled, her small hands patting him against the back as he kissed her cheek and held her tight to him for a quick moment. “I’m good, Mom,” he said as he set her back on her high heels.

She tapped his chest, her smile wide. “You boys come sit,” she said as she led them to the home’s veranda. “Miss Lynn will bring us some lemonade to drink.”

“We’re good, Mom. Don’t go to any trouble,” Dwayne said.

The older woman flipped her hand in his direction. “It’s no trouble, son.” She reached for her requisite pack of Tiparillo cigars and lit one, inhaling deeply before blowing smoke back in the open air. “So to what do I owe the honor?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

Quentin rested his gaze on Dwayne’s face. He and Harper had been back in Memphis a few weeks when Dwayne had called, asking for a favor. Meeting for dinner, Dwayne had expressed a need to face some childhood demons. Since Quentin had been his only support system back then—Quentin and Pop—Dwayne had asked him to tag along. Quentin had been reluctant at first but Harper had convinced him to go, reminding him that everyone needed a little hand-holding now and then.

Just days earlier they’d gone to see Dwayne’s father. That was the first time Quentin had learned about the family’s divorce, Mr. Porter ranting about the offenses committed against him. Mrs. Porter had been pushed to a point of no return, completely fed up, and all she had wanted was out. It wasn’t hard to decipher that she had made out well in the divorce, her ex-husband losing more than he would have liked. Mr. Porter considered the divorce a personal affront, refusing to accept that his own bad behavior had precipitated the separation and the divorce. He blamed everyone and everything for the demise of their marital union, even laying much of that culpability at his only son’s feet.

That meeting had been difficult, for Dwayne and Quentin both, and after, when they’d headed to the club for a drink, Quentin had been visibly shaken while Dwayne had been completely detached from it all. Quentin was hoping things would go better with Dwayne’s mother. He nodded and Dwayne gave him an easy smile.

“I needed to talk with you, Mom. Clear the air about some things,” Dwayne started.

Mrs. Porter dropped a hand against her son’s knees. “You look so serious, darling! What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember Rachel? Rachel Harris?”

His mother bristled ever so slightly. She stubbed her cigar into an ashtray, the lines in her face tightening. “Phil and Brenda’s daughter. I do remember her. Both of you were in school with her. One of you had a crush on her if I recall although heaven knows what either of you saw in that girl. She did not come from good stock. Her father was a delightful man, but that mother of hers! Her mother was nothing but trash. Cheap trash that would not stay out of your father’s pants!”

Dwayne cut an eye toward Quentin, who lifted his brow ever so slightly. Mrs. Porter was clearly irritated, the memory of the Harris family, Mrs. Harris in particular, reawakening a host of hurt feelings.

“What about her?” Mrs. Porter questioned.

Dwayne reached for his mother’s hand. He pressed his lips to the back of her fingers as he took a deep breath. “I married Rachel, Mom. We eloped to Vegas a few weeks ago and she and I are having a baby. I was hoping that I could bring her to visit with you. I want you to get to know her.”

Mrs. Porter waved off the housekeeper, who’d come in with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. She was staring at Dwayne, her harsh look cutting. “Well, I guess I remember now which one of you had that crush.”

“Rachel’s not her mother, Mom. She’s nothing like her mother.”

Mrs. Porter nodded. “Perhaps, but you are very much your father’s son,” she said, an edge to her tone. “So where does that leave your new wife and your baby?”

Quentin could see a glimmer of hurt flash through his friend’s eyes. “I am trying to be a better man, Mom. I don’t want to make the mistakes Dad made. I don’t want to be like him.”

The matriarch moved onto her feet, striding to the porch rail to look out over the landscape. Silence flooded the space between them, both men knowing that there was nothing else Dwayne could say until his mother was ready for him to speak.

She suddenly turned her attention back to Quentin. “Quentin, how is that beautiful father of yours?”

“He died a few months ago, Mrs. Porter. He had lung cancer.”

Sadness suddenly flooded her face, her eyes reflecting her sorrow as she pressed a hand to her chest. “I am so sorry to hear that!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know.”

Quentin smiled ever so slightly. “Thank you.”

“Everett Donovan was a wise, wise man. He had a beautiful spirit and he loved you and your brother very much,” she said as she suddenly fought back tears, saline pressing hard against her lashes. She took a deep breath and then a second before she spoke again. “Quentin, did Dwayne tell you that I’ve been sober for almost twelve years now?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am, he didn’t. But congratulations.”

“It was very hard for Dwayne to grow up with an alcoholic mother and an abusive father. Neither one of us served him well. I’m grateful that he was able to find sanctuary in your home, with you and your brother. Your father saved his life, and mine, a few times but I’m sure you didn’t know that, did you?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t.”

“You wouldn’t have. Your father was a gem like that. Never shared other people’s business unless he absolutely had to.” Her head bobbed ever so slightly, her face looking as if she were trying to recall something specific. She turned her attention back to Dwayne.

“I was pregnant with you the first time your father hit me. It surprised me and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t understand how the man I loved and married could put his hands on me like that. Of course, he was very apologetic afterward. Bought me my first strand of pearls. He always bought me something after he beat me.”

She nodded slowly, fingering the jewels around her neck, and Quentin got the sense that she was counting the number of somethings she’d received over the years.

She continued. “Appearances were everything and I always played the perfect wife. No matter how much I hurt or what bones were broken I always played the perfect wife and mother. I never failed you or your father in public but once we closed these doors I was very much a disappointment.”

A tear rolled down Dwayne’s cheek. He shook his head.

His mother smiled. “I drank to make my hurt go away and you deserved better,” she repeated, emphasizing the word “deserved.” “I’m sorry for that and I’m sorry that I allowed you to believe that the man your father was, was the kind of man I wanted you to be. I was very wrong for that.”

Mrs. Porter moved to her son’s side and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him, kissing the top of his head, and then she sat down beside him.

“Have you hit her?” she asked, his face cupped between her hands as she stared into his eyes.

Quentin leaned forward, waiting for his response. The man blinked, his eyes closing then opening as he took a deep breath. It was written all over his face and Quentin clenched his own fists, his jaw tightening.

Dwayne finally spoke. “It is a daily struggle for me to not be that kind of man. I’m going to counseling, working with a therapist, and things are good with us right now. I’m going to break this cycle. I have to.”

His mother nodded. She leaned to kiss his forehead before she released the grip she had on his face.

“My new daughter-in-law will need to know she and your baby have a place to run to if you do not keep your word.” She looked at Quentin, the question unspoken.

He nodded. “She will always be able to come to Harper and me.”

Mrs. Porter smiled. “Is Harper your wife?”

“We plan to be married in the next few months.”

The woman nodded. “I look forward to meeting Harper and I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding.”

He nodded. “Of course!”

She paused, her head still bobbing ever so slightly. “I was grateful that your father’s door was always open to Dwayne and me,” she said. “You’ll never know how much.” Her smile lifted the worry lines that creased her forehead. “Dwayne!”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I think dinner Sunday will be a nice time for me to get to know my new daughter-in-law. Miss Lynn will have the food on the table at three o’clock. Please, don’t be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Quentin, will you and your young lady be able to join us as well?”

“We wouldn’t want to intrude on your family, Mrs. Porter.”

“Nonsense! You and Dwayne are like brothers. So you are my family, too. I appreciate how you are supporting him. I expect you both to be here.”

Quentin and Dwayne locked gazes. Dwayne shrugged.

“Yes, ma’am,” Quentin responded.

She came to her feet. “Dwayne, come help your old mother up the stairs. Quentin, if you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with my son before he leaves. You are welcome to anything in my home. Just see Miss Lynn.”

Both men stood up. “It was good to see you again, Mrs. Porter,” Quentin said, leaning to kiss the woman’s cheek.

Pressing a warm palm to his cheek, she smiled. She reached for his hand and pulled it to her ample chest, placing it directly over her heart. Her other hand was clasped tightly above it, her fingers tapping lightly. And Quentin remembered everything that was good about the mid-1990s.

He was sitting in the car when Dwayne finally exited his mother’s home. Quentin didn’t bother to ask what the two had talked about. He imagined the hurt the two of them needed to work through was just beginning. Dwayne was settled in the passenger seat, the seat belt locked around his waist and Quentin still hadn’t started the vehicle. His friend looked at him, his stare questioning.

Quentin had a tight grip on the steering wheel, every muscle clenched. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Right here, right now, I’m giving you a clean slate. But from this point forward if I even think you’re putting your hands on Rachel, I’m going to whip your ass. We clear?”

Dwayne turned to stare out the window. “Crystal.”

Quentin took another breath and started the engine. As he pulled the car out of the home’s circular driveway, Dwayne tossed him one last look.

“Thank you,” Dwayne said.

Quentin cut his eye at him and nodded.

As they rounded the corner, heading toward downtown, Dwayne suddenly chuckled. “It’s been twenty years and you’re still copping feels off my mother!”

 

 

It was late and Dwayne was still in his office. Most of his employees were gone for the evening and as he took a quick glance at his watch he fathomed that he needed to be headed home as well. The knock on the door startled him from the files he was reviewing.

Rising from his seat he pulled the structure open. Rachel stood on the other side, her eyes wide.

“Hey,” she chimed.

“Hey, yourself,” Dwayne responded. “How did you get in?”

“Your security guy. I asked him not to call you. I wanted to surprise you.”

Dwayne leaned to kiss her lips. “I’m surprised. What brings you here?”

“I was missing you. You’re always here lately and I don’t get to see you much.”

“I’m sorry for that but duty calls.” Dwayne moved back to his desk and sat down.

Rachel nodded. An awkward silence rippled between them. Rachel was suddenly nervous, feeling wholeheartedly out of place. Dwayne sensed her discomfort, lifting his eyes to hers.

“What’s up?” he questioned. “Why do I get the impression that this isn’t a casual visit?”

“I’ve really missed you,” she said.

Dwayne looked confused. “You see me every day. I come home to you every night. What are you missing?”

Rachel moved to the center of the room. She unbuttoned her shirt, slowly pulling it off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. She eased the zipper down on her skirt and kicked it from around her feet. Standing in a red lace camisole and matching thong, she rested her palms on her slightly pregnant bulge.

Dwayne smiled, rising from his seat. He moved around the desk to the other side, his eyes still locked on hers. Dwayne watched as she stroked herself, her fingers disappearing beneath the elastic of her thong. Moving to him she lifted her fingers to his mouth, urging him to taste her as he sucked the digits one by one. When her fingers were clean she turned, brushing against him as she moved to his desk and lowered her torso across the top. Her ass was sky high, her long legs standing on her designer pumps. Dwayne was suddenly rock hard and eager, his dick pressing tight against the fabric of his pants.