What Mother Never Told Me (2 page)

Forcing herself to concentrate, Parris put the car in gear and slowly headed off toward the end of town and the bus stop.
En route down the main road, they passed the hopscotch of houses, built more for comfort and protection from the elements than design. Some were squat like overripe squashes, others were long and lean like the fields of cornstalks. And some…well, they were just there. She waved at the familiar faces of porch sitters who’d come out to catch a bit of the cool evening air.

“I can only imagine how hard things have been for you,” Nick said, breaking the wall of silence.

Parris sucked in a breath.

“I want you to know that whatever decision you make about your mother, your life…your career, I’m here for you.”

“I know that.” She stole a look at him. “And I never told you thank you for coming here.”

“You don’t have to. I came because I wanted to. I thought you needed me.”

“I did. I still do.” Her sigh filled up the space between them. “There’s so much happening inside me. I…I can’t explain it. But I have to work it out on my own.”

He reached for her, rested his hand on her thigh. “Don’t shut me out, Parris. Please.”

His fingertips were hot coals searing her skin, the heat winding its way to that place in her heart that had turned bitter cold. It would be so easy to let the warmth envelop her, wrap her in the comfort of it, until she drifted off to a dreamless slumber where the yesterdays had never been and there was only now and tomorrow.

What had happened between them in such a short space of time? he thought, frustration and sadness jockeying for position. He’d turned his life around so that he could be the man that she deserved. He’d cut off his ties with Percy back in New
York, paid off his debt. He didn’t owe anyone. He could start fresh with a new club that was his and not controlled by mob money. She knew that. He’d told her everything. He’d worked quietly behind the scenes for months to get her a recording contract—the one thing she’d dreamed of, had worked for—and even that didn’t put the light back in her eyes. He’d been so sure that coming here, being with her during this dark time in her life, would show her how much he cared, what she meant to him. He’d envisioned them returning to New York together, taking the city and the world by storm. Something beyond finding out about her mother had changed her and in turn it had changed them.

The bus depot came into view. Parris’s heart beat a little faster.
Tell him before it’s too late
. She pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and shut it off.

She turned halfway in her seat. “Bus should be here any minute,” she said, instead of the words that really mattered.

“Yeah,” he murmured, then opened the door and got out. He took his suitcase from the backseat and shut the door.

She stepped out and came around to where he stood. “I don’t even have a place to stay if I come back now,” she said, the words and the fear tumbling out. “I have no job….”

Nick’s hopes awakened. He gripped her shoulders. “Look at me.”

Slowly she raised her head and her gaze danced with the dark intensity of his. “We can work it out.
We
. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want right now.”

“Then let’s figure it out together. Do what you need to do here and when you’re ready to come back we’ll make it work.”

“I don’t know how long it’s going to be.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The urgency in his voice competed with the sound of the arriving bus.

Parris’s eyes darted toward the bus and the line of passengers ready to board.

“Just come back to me.” He moved up to her, so close that he could feel the vibrations of her body.

The driver blew the horn. “All aboard for Jackson.”

Nick snapped his head toward the bus then back at Parris. “Promise me.”

Her lips parted to the blare of the horn.

Nick drew her tight against him, so that every dip and curve bent to his will. He kissed her like a Mississippi summer; hot, wet and long, stealing their breath.

“I promise,” she said as air rushed back into her lungs and she found herself standing alone on the curb as the bus pulled off. Tentatively she touched her fingers to her lips while she watched the bus kick up dirt and turn the bend. “I promise.”

She returned to the car and headed back home, and for the first time in days she didn’t feel so terribly alone.

“So you let him go,” David said, coming into the kitchen. He moved to the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of sweet tea, placed it on the table between them.

Parris used her fork to move the collards around on her plate, framing the yams and fried chicken breast. “He couldn’t stay and I wasn’t ready to go.”

“Nothing for you to do here. Seems to me that’s the reason why you left in the first place—to pursue your dream. This town is too small for you. No dreams here.” He eased down into the hard-backed chair and refilled her glass.

“Thank you.” She cupped the glass but didn’t drink. “I’m
angry at Nana,” she blurted out. “So angry.” She bit out each word. “I know I shouldn’t be, but I can’t help it and the anger is eating me up inside.”

“Your grandmother did what she needed to do.” He glanced away. “What she had to do for everyone concerned. You have no idea the weight she carried all those years.” His voice shook with the passion of his convictions, rumbling right down the center of Parris’s chest. “So you can go on being mad, faulting other folk, being miserable, or you can do something about it.” He stood, drew in a long breath. “All I got to say about it. Be sure to put the food up and turn on the porch light. I’m going to bed.”

She watched him walk away, his always ramrod-straight back was suddenly stooped by more than he could carry. And she realized she’d done that, throwing one more boulder on his shoulders—her own weight of uncertainty.

She pushed up from the table. “I’m sorry, Granddad,” she called out.

He waved it off with a swipe of his hand and took each step as if he were scaling the mountaintop.

The bedroom door opened and swung shut. She flinched.

She couldn’t be another weight. Granddad didn’t deserve that. And as much as she tried to convince him and herself that she was staying because she didn’t want him to be alone, it was all smoke and mirrors, a parlor trick. She was adrift and she was desperately trying to hold on to the preserver of a life that was familiar. But he was right. Her life was no longer hers and hadn’t been for much too long.

She glanced at the clock above the sink. Nick’s bus should be arriving at the Jackson airport station in another half hour at best. Possibility jumped inside her. She picked up her plate of uneaten food and scraped it into the trash. If she hurried…
She bit down on her lip. She had her ticket. Her resources were limited. This wasn’t a big city. There were no all-night car services. Her gaze rose toward the stairs, and she listened to the heavy footsteps that crossed the floor.

If she hurried…She sprinted upstairs, raised her hand to knock just as the door opened.

“I know all the back roads,” David said.

Her luminous green eyes widened, followed by an awe-filled smile. She leapt into his broad chest and he enveloped her in understanding.

“We better get going before we miss him,” he said into her cottony soft spirals. He kissed her smooth forehead and stepped back.

She gazed at him and saw the familiar love brimming in his tender brown eyes. She nodded, spun away and ran down to the opposite end of the hallway to her room. Without thinking of anything except getting to Nick before he took off, she tossed her few belongings in her suitcase, snatched up her purse and ran out to meet her grandfather, who had already started up the old Ford.

With Granddad behind the wheel, Parris tried to relax and put her impulsive actions into perspective. She was on her way to catch a man whom she’d let go with no more than a whispered promise of “perhaps,” and now she needed to take him up on his offer to house and employ her until she regained some semblance of her life.

She hadn’t even offered to drive him to the airport, she thought, flinching inside. Her momentarily buoyant spirits began to sink. What if he’d reconsidered his offer?

“No use fretting about it,” David said, reading the frown
lines in her forehead. “He’ll either be glad to see you or he won’t. And judging from the way he looks at you, I can’t imagine him being anything but a happy man.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.” She patted his thigh. “Thanks for this, Granddad.”

“Back home is where you need to be.”

They bumped along the back roads before suddenly emerging on the main highway. The road was empty. Their only company was the intermittent lights that illuminated the pitch-black roads.

“What are you going to do, Granddad, really?”

He sighed heavily. “Take one day at a time, sugah. I been thinking maybe I’ll turn one of those rooms into an office. Start seeing some of my patients right at the house. Cora always took issue with that. Said she didn’t want a whole lotta sick folk traipsing in and out of her house.” He chuckled at the memory and shook his head. “Yeah, she was something.”

Parris heard the wistful note in his voice. She could only imagine how difficult it would be for him. But hopefully his medical practice would fill some of the space that Cora had left.

Her granddad was the definition of country doctor. He still made house calls, had delivered half the babies in town and had treated generations of families. As much as she wanted him to come back to New York where she could look after him, she understood that he would never be happy there. The frenetic pace and the noise would drive him right back to the Delta.

“We should get to the airport in about twenty minutes,” he said.

Parris glanced at her watch. Nick’s plane was due to take off in an hour. Her heart thumped. She should probably call, let
him know that she was coming. Maybe now she’d get a signal on her cell phone, which she’d been unable to do since she’d arrived in Rudell.

She dug her phone out of her purse, studied it as if she’d never seen it before. David stole a glance at her.

“Let him know we’re only ten minutes away.”

Parris smiled at her grandfather’s intuitiveness. She pressed in Nick’s numbers and held her breath as the phone rang on the other end.

Just before the call went to voice mail, Nick came on the line. “Parris?”

“Hi, uh, we’re…I’m about ten minutes away. Don’t let the plane take off without me,” she said on a breath of excitement.

“They wouldn’t dare.”

She heard the laughter and relief in his voice and she began to think that just maybe everything would turn out all right.

Parris faced her granddad as they stood in front of his pickup. So many emotions swirled inside her: sadness, hope, uncertainty, guilt, anticipation.

“I’ll write…often,” she promised as he held her close, stroking her back. “And I’ll come to see you as soon as I can.” She looked up into his eyes that held a hundred stories.

He kissed her forehead. “You keep your promise to your grandma, that’s all you got to promise me.” He squeezed her one last time before letting her go. “It’s up to you to make things right, for all of us.”

She frowned in a moment of confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll know.” His smile was tender. “Go on now, before you miss your plane and your man.”

Her throat clenched. “I love you, Granddad.”

“Love you, too, sugah. Now go ’head.”

She reached down for her bag, gave him one last kiss on the cheek and hurried off into the small terminal to find Nick. Once inside the glass doors she took a parting look over her shoulder but David was gone. She drew in a long breath of resolve and hurried through the travelers in search of her future.

Nick spotted Parris before she saw him and he was once again moved by her simple beauty. Her long, slender body covered in satiny soft skin reminded him of warm honey and her curly brown hair which she’d taken to wearing wild and carefree, was the texture of spun cotton. But it was her eyes that had always captivated him—they were green like the color of jade and had the intensity to look beyond the surface and right into your soul. And a voice that could charm the angels out of heaven.

Yet the internal package held so much more. It was the purity of her spirit, her sense of right and wrong and fairness. She’d been willing to sacrifice her own happiness because of her beliefs, which had forced him to face his own demons, freeing himself from the financial hold that Percy had over him and his daughter Tara had.

He knew Tara had never been the woman for him. Their relationship was an outgrowth of his dealings with her father, Percy. She’d always been a “daddy’s girl,” and what Tara wanted, Tara got. Percy made sure of it. Initially Nick thought it might work, but as time went on and Tara grew more demanding and controlling and began to remind him at every opportunity that her daddy owned him, he knew they were doomed. Finally severing all ties with both of them was the best thing he’d done, no matter the cost. In doing so, he knew he was a
better man for it and a better man for Parris—the one she deserved.

He waved over the heads of the stream of travelers until he got her attention.

Parris sidestepped suitcases and bodies until she stood in front of him. “I guess you have this whole thing figured out,” she said.

He offered a crooked smile. “Not really. But I guess you know by now that I’m a gambling man.”

“This is a big gamble, Nick. I don’t know what I may find out. My whole life has been rearranged and I don’t know where all the pieces are.”

“That’s why you have me.” He stroked her arm as he spoke. “Wherever the pieces may fall we’ll pick them up and put them together.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“The hard part was getting you here. The rest will be a breeze.” He kissed the tip of her nose then took her bag with one hand and her hand with his other. “Come on, we have a plane to catch.”

P
arris and Nick arrived at JFK airport and bumped along with the surging crowd to the exit and joined the long line of tired passengers waiting for cabs into the city.

During the two-and-a-half-hour flight they’d talked and slept, but mostly talked, feeling each other out on this new direction their relationship was taking.

“Are you sure about this?” Parris asked. “I can always find a hotel until I can get a permanent place to stay.”

Nick angled himself in the seat to face her. A look of quiet dignity mixed with uncertainty floated in her green eyes, and tightened the corners of her mouth. “When you left New York to come to Mississippi I thought I’d lost you for good. I knew I couldn’t deal with that. I couldn’t deal with the idea that we hadn’t given each other a real chance. And I knew that most of the reason for that was my fault. I had to get my stuff to
gether. And I did. I want us to have a chance. I know this isn’t the perfect scenario. But I’m willing if you are.”

Parris studied his expression, listened for any hint of doubt in his voice. “The only man I’ve ever lived with was my grandfather. I’ve been on my own since I came to New York.”

“I definitely can’t live up to your granddad but I ain’t half-bad.” He took her hand. “Look at it this way. My place is a temporary stop, somewhere to lay your head and hang your clothes. Whatever happens while you’re laying and hanging will be up to you. Fair enough?”

She nodded. “My Nana used to always say that everything happens for a reason even if we don’t know what the reason is.”

“You came into my club all those months ago with no idea that it would lead you to this moment. When I saw you that first time I had no idea it would lead me to feel about you the way that I do.”

Her heart thumped.

“I thought at first you were just another pretty face with a voice to float to heaven on. But it was more than that. Somewhere along the way I fell for you, hard.”

She didn’t dare breathe or move, sure that if she did this moment would vanish for good.

Nick glanced away then looked back at her. “There, I’ve confessed.” He chuckled to hide his embarrassment. He reclined his seat and closed his eyes.

She shook his arm. His eyes popped open. “How dare you say something like that and then pretend to go to sleep?”

His brows formed two half-moons. “What did I say?”

“You know what you said. How can you tell me something like that?” she asked, her tone part accusation, part trepidation.

“Tell you what? That I’m crazy about you and have been
for months but couldn’t tell you until the time was right? Is that what you mean?”

Her heart was racing so hard and fast that she could barely catch her breath. “Yes. Now with everything going on in my life…” She frowned. “Feeling so disconnected and unsure about who I am…”

He cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “That’s exactly why I told you. So that you’ll know that no matter what happens with your mother that I’m here for you.”

Her throat clenched. How could she explain the sick sensation that had taken up residence in her gut? The feeling that she was somehow unworthy. When your own mother can’t love you it made you question everything about who you are. That’s the space she was in right now. The feeling of walking on a window ledge a hundred stories up off the ground.

Nick opened the door to his two-bedroom apartment on the south side of Harlem. He’d lucked out when he found it eight years earlier—before the neighborhood had gone condo, prices soared and the complexion had changed. It was one of the last rent-stabilized buildings in the immediate area. All the others had been gobbled up by the Ivy League university, Columbia.

He stepped aside to let Parris in and she was instantly taken aback at the treasure trove of art, books and music that lined the walls. She was sure she’d stepped into a Black arts museum and not a bachelor pad.

The off-white walls were lined with black framed photographs of legendary jazz and blues musicians and singers, and art from Basquiat, Gordon Parks, Romare Bearden and Jacob Lawrence. Parris strolled along the hall of fame, enthralled
by the beauty of Black history—American history—that continued to live and breathe in his space.

She could almost hear the blistering blues of Bessie Smith, the angst of Billie Holiday, the cries of Miles and the pull of Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme.” Reverently she fingered the framed photo of her idol, Sarah Vaughan, right next to Nick’s best friend, pianist Quinten Parker, captured accepting his first Grammy.

Parris turned. Nick was behind her with a smile of “yeah, I know what you’re feeling” on his face.

“Every time I walk down this hallway it inspires me.” He adjusted the sepia-toned picture of Ella Fitzgerald. “Reminds me of how great we are and all that I need to do to live up to and carry on the legacy.”

It was one of the reasons she’d come to New York, to pursue the musical legacy handed down to her by her grandmother Cora, who sought her own moment in Chicago and had the unforgettable experience of meeting Bessie Smith. Music and its purity was what drew her and Nick together, bound them in a way that was inexplicable. They understood the underlying messages, learned how to convey the most abstract emotions through his sax and her voice. The combination, it was said by those who witnessed them onstage together, was to experience an anointing.

“Come on. Let me show you where you can put your things.”

He led her down the hall that opened onto a large living room, which was in sharp contrast to “the time gone by” feel of the corridor. This space was a testament to high tech. One entire wall was equipped with state-of-the-art recording and stereo equipment and enough bells and whistles to baffle the guys at NASA. In the corner near the window, perched ma
jestically on a gold-toned stand, was his prized Selwyn saxophone. Goose bumps rose on her bare arms. A flash of the first time she’d seen him silhouetted onstage, his lips wrapping around the mouthpiece, his tongue playing with the reed, the baleful cry of the notes caressing her skin, played before her, shortening the air in her lungs.

The sound of the door opening in the hallway drew her back to the present. She rubbed her hands along her arms and followed Nick to the room. The trapped heat—thankful for release and as happy as kids on the last day of school—rushed out, skipped past them and filled the house.

“Whew. Let me turn on the fan.” He flipped a switch on the wall. “Sorry, no air-conditioning in here but it should cool off pretty quick.” He set her suitcase down by the closet.

“I’ll be fine.”

She stepped around him and took in the room. It was definitely a guest room, she surmised. Very simple and utilitarian. The full-sized bed was covered in a beige-and-brown print comforter. A throw rug in the same muted shades of wood sat at the foot of the bed. The only other furnishing was a six-dresser drawer and a nightstand.

“There’re clean sheets and towels in the hall closet next to the bathroom.”

Parris nodded. “Thanks.”

“Look…” He hesitated, wanting this to come out right. “I know this is awkward for you. Before you left to go to Mississippi, things were strained between us. But we were moving in the right direction. At least I thought we were.” He stroked his chin with his thumb. “All those things,” he said, his hand flicking the past away, “that were obstacles are gone. The only thing that will keep us from being an us, is me and you.” He
moved. She held her breath. His fingertip touched her cheek. “We’re going to make this work. All of it.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I’m just that kind of guy.” He leaned down. So featherlight was his kiss that the only way she was certain of it was the heat that warmed her mouth.

Reflexively she ran her tongue along her lips and let her eyes traverse languidly over him. For months they’d tangoed around the possibility of being together, but Tara and Frank kept cutting in. The music had stopped. The dance floor was clear. It was just the two of them.

They’d come so close on those late nights that they’d worked together, perfecting and practicing arrangements long after everyone in the club was gone.

She’d seen the look of desire in his eyes. She felt her own need in the pit of her stomach. But as much as she wanted Nick, she’d never disappoint her grandmother, who raised her to believe she was worthy of being the “only one,” not the “other one.” And as long as Nick stayed with Tara, Parris would stay out of his bed.

“Hungry?” he asked, his low timbre penetrating her daydream.

Parris blinked. Her stomach answered before she could. She laughed, embarrassed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teased. “Come on. I’m starved. That bird food we had on the plane didn’t do a thing for me but make me mad.” He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.

They went into his small but efficient kitchen, which from the looks of it was well-used. A spice rack attached to the far right wall was filled. The stainless steel fridge and matching freezer took up the other side, with a two-seat table in the
center. Copper and cast-iron pots and pans dotted the countertop in an odd pairing of old and new.

“How about one of my world famous omelets?”

“Sounds great. Can I help?”

“Sure. The bowls are in the cabinet above the fridge and there’s a cutting board hanging over the sink.”

Parris began her assignment and before giving it much thought she felt as if she’d been in this place and at this time on countless occasions. Their banter was easy. Their movements in perfect sync, as if they’d always worked in harmony.

It was the same feeling she had when they performed together onstage. He knew exactly when to allow her voice to float just above his notes and when to carry them along. They made magic on stage. There was no doubt in her mind about that. What she was uncertain of was if they could make magic offstage, behind the scenes. What you can’t have is always so much more enticing. The allure of the unknown.

“What do you like in your omelet?”

She dried off the mixing bowl with a paper towel. “Surprise me.”

“Me, I like a bit of everything in mine,” he said. “I like the surprise mixture of tastes and textures.”

His words, like the score of a movie, were filled with meaning. But that was Nick, Parris admitted as she watched him take mushrooms, green peppers and tomatoes out of the crisper. He rarely came directly at you, but rather around you, beneath you, wrapping you in a lullaby. Before you knew it, you were moving to his beat. She didn’t care for tomatoes, but suddenly it didn’t matter.

Soon the cozy kitchen became filled with the ting of pots and pans against the iron eyes of the stove top and the
splash of water in the sink, while the opening and closing of drawers and cabinets kept time.

“This is really good,” she said as the fluffy concoction nestled in her stomach.

“Glad you like it. Omelets are about the only thing I can cook, so I figured I better give it my best shot.”

“No complaints from me.”

“Could be that’s because you were starving.”

“Could be,” she teased.

He tossed a paper napkin at her and she ducked, laughing at his aim.

Nick raised his arms over his head, stretched and yawned. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Day’s finally catching up with me.”

The reality of spending the night right across the hall from Nick crept up on her and stole her breath. “I’ll clean up since you cooked.” She rose from her seat.

“They’ll keep until morning. You have to be as tired as I am.”

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing there were dishes and pots to be washed,” she said, lifting plates from the table and looking for the time that had been snatched away.

“Good home training.”

She caught the wistful note in his voice, full of almosts, and could-have-beens. Nick’s growing-up years had been a far cry from the protective nest she was nurtured in. Where her days would almost always be remembered as endless summers, his would be a desert of desolation.

“Something like that. Nana was a real stickler for keeping up a house,” she said, her Southern roots curling around the turn of phrase.

Nick took the forks and glasses from the table to the sink. He moved next to her. The knotted muscle of his arm brushed her, sizzling her skin. Reflexively she jerked on the faucets full-blast, startling them both with the force and tempering the air.

“I should have warned you,” he said, chuckling while grabbing a paper towel from the roll. He wiped off the spray of water from his face. “When you turn on the water, the first gush is pretty hard. Have to stand back a bit to keep from getting splashed.” He pressed the towel to her forehead then her cheek.

She sputtered a nervous laugh. “I’ll know for next time.”

“You can have first dibs on the bathroom.”

She put her hands beneath the water and scrubbed the frying pan. That meant getting naked and being totally vulnerable with Nick only feet away. She scrubbed until the pan gleamed. She didn’t consider herself a prude. She’d had relationships before, been with a man, but this was different. Their boundaries were tenuous, the expectations unclear.

“No. You go ahead. I’ll finish up here,” she finally said.

He looked at her a moment. “Okay.”

When he left the room she felt her insides loosen and her lungs inflate with air. Alone with her thoughts, she wondered if Nick felt the same level of uncertainty that she did. But, of course, he wouldn’t. There was nothing uncertain about Nick Hunter. He knew his mind and he knew himself. He wasn’t one to question himself or his actions.

She’d been the same way until recently, when the thread of her life was pulled and she began to unravel. The fabric of her being now pooled around her feet, tripping her up at every turn.

The only thing she was sure of was that daylight comes in
the morning. It was her grandmother’s favorite saying. The answers were within her and when she put her troubles to rest she’d see the answers clearly in the morning.