An Inconvenient Friend (10 page)

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Authors: Rhonda McKnight

BOOK: An Inconvenient Friend
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Chapter 16
Angelina wanted to knock that lying smile off his face. An emergency consultation. Oh it had been a consultation, but it had nothing to do with anything medical.
“Can we talk now?” She still wanted to accomplish her agenda. Still wanted a win despite the diminished aura of the atmosphere. It was killing her to speak to him calmly, civilly.
Greg was peeling his clothes off. She could smell the cologne from his woman all the way across the room. Or was her mind playing tricks on her? The scent was the same as hers, but it seemed so fresh. She hadn 't sprayed herself since she'd gotten in the car when she was on the way to the restaurant for the dinner she'd so carefully planned. “Can we?” she repeated the question that had come back unanswered.
“I'm tired, Lena.” He went into the bathroom.
Angelina flew off the bed and went into his closet. She pulled his shirt from the hamper and buried her nose in it. Perfume. Her perfume, but it was so strong. What was going on? She was losing her mind. She dropped the shirt in the hamper and thought about the one she'd cut to shreds the other day. Maybe it was her. Maybe she was imaging all this drama; imaging that Greg was cheating. Maybe he was working and doing all the things he said. She was going to acquiesce and let it all go when she saw it. Stuck to the back of his shirt. A rose petal near the hem that fell off when she reached for it. A lavender one.
She waited until she heard the water go off in the shower and walked into the bathroom with her evidence. Greg was toweling off. She extended her hand. “What's this?”
Greg looked at the rose, his face a mask of confusion. “Where'd you get that?”
“It fell off your shirt.”
“So are you doing laundry this late at night or snooping through my clothes again?”
“Does it matter how I found it? Tell me where it came from?”
Greg turned his back, wrapped the towel around his waist and reached for his electric toothbrush. She grabbed his hand before he could turn it on and shoved the petal closer to his face. “Tell me where this came from?” She applied pressure to his fingers until their bones met. Until his cold stare forced her to release him.
“Don't get started with that nasty temper of yours.” Greg shook his hand, no doubt to work out the discomfort from her grip. Then he applied toothpaste to the brush. He did it so casually that she would have been impressed with his ability to stay placid under pressure if she hadn't been so disgusted. “It's nothing.”
Angelina looked from his face to his reflection in the mirror. “It's a freakin' rose petal, and I want to know how it got in your clothes.”
“Freakin'?” He leaned close to her. A sarcastic grin came over his face. “Come on, Lena. If you're going to curse, be a real woman about it. At least use the word.” He turned on the toothbrush and proceeded to do his three minute brushing routine. She stood there determined that tonight he was going to answer her. He was going to tell her where he'd been, or he was going to find out how nasty her temper really was.
“I'm not letting this go, Greg.” She opened and closed her hand around the petal.
He turned off the toothbrush. “It's nothing. It's a flower petal.”
“You stood me up for your tramp!” she yelled. “I drove all the way—”
“What are you talking about? There is no tramp, and I called you,” he interjected, walking out of the bathroom.
“I was almost there.” She followed him. “How could you do that to me? I told you I had a special evening, and you cancel—”
“Lena, I had to work.” He turned back to her. “You know this happens.”
“Where were you working, in a flower garden?”
Greg sucked in his cheeks and let out a long, frustrated breath. “You really want to know where that came from?”
“Yes.” She guffawed. She knew he was stalling, trying to think of a lie. “I want to know.”
“You and those outrageous delusions of yours have spoiled my surprise. I stopped by the florist on the way home this evening and ordered roses for you. I intended to buy some, but the only ones she had left were wilted, so I ordered them to be delivered at your office tomorrow. I felt bad about cancelling tonight. It couldn 't be avoided. I wanted to make it up to you.”
Angelina was not convinced. Her gut told her Greg was lying, so she pushed. “It was not on the outside of your clothes, it was inside. How did a rose petal get in your pants?”
“What?”
“You heard me. How did the petal get
inside
your pants?”
Greg threw up his hands. “I don't know. I was in the place looking around. I guess I bumped up against something.” He walked into his closet and pulled pajama bottoms from the bureau. He removed his towel and stepped into them.
Angelina's glance darted between her husband and the evidence in her hand. She didn't believe him, and now it was time to let him know that. “Where's the receipt?”
Greg shook his head. “What?”
“The receipt for the flowers?”
Greg dropped his chin to his chest and sighed, then met her eyes with a shake of his head. “You're the snoop. Go look in my wallet. Look in pockets. I'm not going to hand it over like a child. If you want it, you find it.” He pulled a T-shirt over his head and walked out of the bedroom.
Angelina closed her eyes, but a tear escaped and ran down her face.
Liar, liar, liar.
She collapsed on the bed. Did she go through his pockets, check his wallet, and embarrass herself with the hope that he was telling the truth? She opened her fist and looked at the crushed petal in her palm. She wished she could make it disappear.
Lavender.
How ironic that the very thing she thought would serve to bless her today had done the opposite and cursed her.
Chapter 17
Angelina stared at the lavender roses sitting on her desk. They'd been delivered before she returned from court this afternoon. The search through Greg's wallet and pockets had been futile. There had been no receipt. Not that she expected to find one. She trusted her instincts. They told her he was lying.
“They pretty.” Katrice pointed her tiny finger in the direction of the enormous vase that took up most of the space. Angelina smiled at the little girl and returned her gaze to the blossoms. He did have good taste. Too bad his attempt to fool her left such a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Let's see.” Angelina stood and removed one of the flowers from the arrangement. She broke the stem off close to the bud and pushed the flower into the child's wild, kinky hair above her ear. Angelina reached into her handbag and removed a compact. She showed Katrice her image, and the little girl laughed with delight.
“Pretty,” Katrice said.
While Angelina appreciated the woman who'd finally had the nerve to step up and temporarily house Katrice, she was white, and the child 's hair was a wooly mess of cultural misunderstanding. Katrice needed an African American foster mother, and she needed one bad.
Angelina stared into Katrice 's beautiful brown eyes. What was the world coming to when someone as sweet and affectionate as this baby could be displaced? She'd had a not so nice visit with her mother. Angelina had observed it with her own eyes through the one way glass outside the visitation room. Afterward, she decided rather than send the child back to the daycare center with a hundred other kids, she'd give her one-on-one attention that no one else in the world had time to share. It was uncustomary, but so were her feelings toward the child. She did what she deemed best and didn't worry about protocol.
Katrice reached up and touched Angelina's hair. “Your hair pretty.”
“Thank you,” Angelina said, and then she had a brilliant idea.
She picked up her phone and made the call that was necessary. Then she closed Katrice's file and locked it in her desk draw. “Let's go, baby. Let 's go make us both prettier.”
An hour and half later they stepped into the McDonald 's across from the Shine and Swing Hair Salon where Angelina had a standing weekly appointment. Katrice was a vision in cornrows and beads. The little girl was so excited. She'd had a wash and got to sit under the dryer. Terri, Angelina 's hairstylist, was in between clients, so she gave the little girl special attention. Katrice even got a coat of clear nail polish from the manicurist. It was the most fun Angelina had had in a long time, and there was a light in the little girl's eyes that she'd never seen.
McDonald 's was an adventure. Angelina had to admit she'd never really paid attention to the play areas for children. Katrice behaved like she'd never been inside one. Angelina had no doubt that the little girl hadn't. After all, her foster mother 's level of trifling had only been exceeded by the child 's natural mother's.
“I think it's time for us to leave,” Angelina announced when Katrice came out of the ball pit for the third time and took a sip of her fruit punch. Angelina glanced at her watch. She hated for the fun to end, but it was getting late. It was almost seven, and she'd told the foster mother she'd have her home by seven-thirty. “I have to take you back to Ms. Henry's house.”
“I don't wanna go Ms. Henry. I stay with you.”
Angelina sat back in the chair. A wave of emotions assailed her because in truth, she was beginning to feel like she didn't want to let Katrice go. She had facilitated foster parent certification classes for years. One of the standing lessons in the course taught that foster parents could not get attached to children. They had to be prepared at any time for the children to go home. Now she realized how preposterous that statement was. How does one not fall in love with a child like Katrice? She was sweet, well-mannered, and that smile ... it was melting Angelina 's heart more and more every time she saw the child.
“Don't you want to show Ms. Henry your pretty hair? I bet she'll be glad she doesn 't have to tussle with it tonight.”
Katrice 's face was marred with a frown, and her eyes filled with tears. “I wanna stay with you.”
Angelina let out a breath and reached under the table for the child's shoes. “Come on, baby, I have to take you home, but I promise we'll do this again. We'll make your hair pretty and we'll come to McDonald's, okay?”
“Not home.” Katrice shook her head. She raised her leg and let Angelina put her feet in her sneakers. All the joy that the little girl had been exhibiting seemed to slide down on the floor and disappear into the concrete.
 
 
They arrived at the Henry home a minute before Katrice's promised delivery time, and Angelina removed the child from her car seat.
“Remember what I said,” Angelina whispered in a soft, affirming voice. “We'll do it again real soon. And I'll get my hair and nails done too, so we'll be like best friends.” Angelina was careful not to use the word sisters.
“But I want you to be my mommy,” Katrice responded, big eyes shining with tears.
Angelina felt the wind rush out of her lungs.
Mommy.
She wanted to be somebody's mommy so terribly bad, and all Katrice wanted was to be somebody 's child. They were two of a kind. Both alone and looking for someone to love. “I'll be back. I promise.” She knew she shouldn't have said that. It was unfair to make promises to foster children. Her professional training taught her that was a no-no. But her heart—her heart was a part of her soul. The one Katrice had climbed into with every tender smile and word the little girl said.
Ms. Henry retrieved her at the door and thanked Angelina for getting Katrice such a pretty new hairdo. Angelina instructed Ms. Henry on how to care for it, handed her some hair products complete with a silk head scarf, and walked back to her SUV. She was determined not to turn around and see Katrice's anguished face. She climbed in, started the vehicle, and finally unable to stop herself, she looked back at the house one more time. Nose pressed against the glass, Katrice was still standing there.
“I want you to be my mommy,” she'd cried. Angelina wanted to cry with her because she wondered why she couldn 't be somebody's mommy.

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