Intensity (9 page)

A first-generation immigrant, she had many traditions and insights from her Welsh upbringing. She taught me the language and established customs I still followed. The dragon tattoo and quote on my back, a tribute and evidence of her influence. Her positive attitude became my anchor. She demonstrated what I strive to be: caring, compassionate, and independent.

Perhaps the charming man waiting for an answer entered my life to teach me a few things too. Unlike what I’d envisioned, his generosity and thoughtfulness blindsided me. Mylaynee had been right. He would take care of me, but I couldn’t let him.

“The Millers depend on me. They have three young kids, and it’s not easy to find someone else. Besides, I’ve been working for them a long time. When Gram passed, Mrs. Miller added more days to my schedule so I could make extra money. I won’t ditch them.”

“Let me make some calls then.”

God, I didn’t know why it felt so right to be with him, but it did. I set my hand on his cheek, brushing the stubble. His sincerity and heartfelt gaze formed a lump in my throat. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll handle it.”

His cell phone rang, and he silenced it.

“It’s okay. I have to get back to work. Take your call.” I gave him a peck on each cheek and went inside, sitting at the computer. I turned to grab the next folder, and Linc snuck in, planting another dizzying, lingering kiss on me. Phone extended away from his ear, the sing-song voice was unmistakable—B.B. She continued to talk, but I couldn’t make out the gibberish, because my Linc-addicted brain wiped her out.

I had to give him credit. He was thorough and gave more than he got. He rolled his tongue back and forth on the roof of my mouth and drifted it side to side, playing “tag, you’re it,” leading me on a wild goose chase. Every kiss upped the stakes and made me crave him no matter the cost. Maybe he should sell his carnal techniques on the black market. He’d never have to work another day in his life.

An annoying beep tugged me from the blissful moment. Instead of pulling way, Linc nibbled along my swollen bottom lip, nipped my chin, and pecked the ridge of my jaw on his way to my earlobe, where he flicked and sucked. Our bodies touched nowhere else except where his firm grasp molded my hands to the armrests. He took a step back, the dead call buzzing in the room stung and left a bitter taste in my mouth as he tucked the phone in his pocket all casual-like and smooth. That act produced a tsunami of clarity and perspective, slapping me out of my euphoria. My position in an awkward forming triangle, caught in-between Linc and B.B., caused me to squirm in my seat.

“Bring some clothes to my place.” As I watched him mosey out, the dull thud of the closing door replicated the sound that repeated in the room when I dropped my head on the computer desk. Another example of why I was born on April first. My middle name should’ve been fool instead of Angelique. One stupid move after another amplified the pit in my stomach. Dang it, I didn’t need any more problems. Disgusted with myself, I snatched a file off the stack and logged the entries in a spreadsheet.

Concentrate on work, nothing else.

Hours later, I threw on a track suit and took off for a jog, returning to my old stomping grounds. At the end of the sidewalk, I stared at the overgrown yard and vacant house. It looked different without lights on, without two females sitting on the front porch, without the wood blinds open…

Without Gram.

Without me.

Without…even the sun.

It had come out earlier but now remained hidden, concealed by a misty fog that rolled in about an hour ago, shielding my homestead and shrouding it in a haze.

Right there. My reminder. My purpose. My intent.

Fired up, I ran full blast, determined nothing and
no
one
would get in my way.

Sunday and my first day off began with Mylaynee pounding on my door at the crack of dawn, rocking on the balls of her feet. “So what are we doing today?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. I need another cup of coffee before I can think straight.” I walked to the kitchen for a refill. “Want some?”

“No, I don’t drink that stuff.”

I pretended shock at her claim. “I’ll have
three
then, one just for you.” She giggled all the way to the balcony. We plopped down in the plastic chairs and propped our feet on the rail as we watched the whitecaps. Hypnotized by the ripples, I wracked my brain for something we could do. In under a week I’d made at least one friend, and maybe over time I’d have a few more. Mylaynee situated herself into my life, making the transition smoother and happier than I could’ve predicted. An idea forming, I asked, “Do you like animals?”

Her scrunched brows and hesitant answer didn’t show much confidence. “Yes.”

I took a sip from the steamy mug before responding, building the suspense. “Have you gone horseback riding? Croton Point Park offers trail rides on the weekends, and it’s not too expensive.”

She sat up taller, her feet dropping from the railing. “No I haven’t, but I’d like to try. Have you gone?”

“Gram and I used to sometimes.”

She grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We could do something else.”

I shook my head. “No, I need this, but thank you.” My smile widened to reassure her.

She leapt across, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing tight. “Okay, then. What do I wear?” she said on a rush, glancing down at her bright white, steam-pressed linen outfit.

I laughed because I hadn’t seen her in jeans or anything that could be considered casual. My smile got larger as I envisioned her wearing my thrift store garb. “Let’s go look in your closet and see what we can find.”

After rooting through her massive collection, we found out that cowgirl duds most definitely did not come in designer labels.

Mylaynee insisted on buying a cowboy hat and boots on our way there. The little kids on the trail ride got a kick out of her as she sang out-of-tune country songs the entire time. It didn’t take long for the others to join in too. She had me in stitches so much that tears flowed non-stop. Joyful ones and exactly what I needed.

Not a second off the horse, she announced another activity, taking me to a different type of park not far from Croton Point. Sweat dripped from my hairline as I tilted my head back and locked sights on the towering monster she made a beeline for as soon as we got there. I regretted in that instant, agreeing to her idea. My stomach twisted in knots as I peered at my worst fear—the Ferris wheel.

“I don’t think I can ride that. The sign says it goes six hundred thirty feet in the air and carries up to fourteen hundred people. What’s with those capsule things? Where’s the seats? I’m dizzy and we haven’t even gotten on it yet,” I whined with scaredy-cat perfection.

She looped her arm through mine and tugged me forward. My hand cupped over my brow forming an imitation sun shield, I examined every inch. Crap,
much
worse than I thought.

“It’s brand new. First season. Want me to hold your hand?” she teased.

“Oh, so we’re crash dummies now? I know you love amusement parks, I’m right there with ya, but look how high it goes, for cripes sake!” My shouting got louder the closer we got, and I pointed upward as if she couldn’t see it.

“Geesh, girl, live a little.” She hip checked me, making me stumble. Her determined grasp on my arm kept me from falling; all the while she giggled and chanted, “You can do it, you can do anything.” Her smart-alecky remark and grin didn’t help one bit. My mini panic attack grew to new heights, matching the towering monstrosity. She didn’t give my rant another thought and tugged me to the end of the line.

Faster than I’d hoped, the ticket taker motioned for us to enter the glass cylinder. As my feet shuffled inside, I sucked in just as many breaths of artificial air as steps taken. When we came to a stop, I leaned my gonna-die weight against Mylaynee, hoping she’d hold me up if I passed out. After about fifty or so people were locked in, the ride moved upward at a snail’s pace. New York City and the Manhattan skyline spread across a never-ending canvas. Mylaynee’s hand flashed in front of me, pointing at the bay. “I love Staten Island. You been here before?”

“Yeah, a few times, but I don’t get on stuff like this, and wouldn’t if you didn’t force me.” I gave her the evil eye, and she laughed at my half-baked attempt to look upset.

“Relax, girl. I’ll make you a deal. You can pay me back some day. Besides, I wanted to share it with you.”

Yeah, I did need to enjoy it, since there was no way in hell I’d get on it again. She threw an arm over my shoulder and pulled me tighter to her side, like best buds. We shared the view with our heads propped against one another. The Verrazano–Narrows Bridge, Lady Liberty, Ellis Island, and the Staten Island 9/11 memorial gave us glimpses of the past and present. From this vantage point, the closer the wheel brought us the more chills I got on my arms. I glanced at Mylaynee, her wet cheeks said the awful memories of that day affected her too. “My heart hurts every time I see those wings. That’s what they look like to me anyway,” she whispered and I nodded in agreement.

“Life’s so short,” I muttered, and on a silent breath said a prayer for all the people who lost their lives, including one for those who loved them.

The afternoon flew by as we ate elephant ears, chased each other through the fun house and rode everything in the park, almost. On my dare, Mylaynee tried to sweet-talk a conductor into letting her get on the kiddie go-carts. He patted her on the shoulder and shooed her away. We giggled, recited silly knock-knock jokes, and acted like schoolgirls. I never realized what I’d missed before. Gram fulfilled a big part and her friends were great, but today proved I needed to reach out and form friendships with other people around my age.

At Mylanee’s apartment, we each claimed a couch and vegetated after a fun-filled and exhausting afternoon. Classic movies chosen from her vast collection, I relaxed and ate junk food, willing my eyes to stay open through the scenes. Out of the blue, something plunked me in the head. I glanced down; a piece of popcorn was stuck in between my boobs. “Ha ha, real funny. Do I need to take your treat away, little girl?”

Her hysterical giggle followed me across the room. I plopped down next to her and she nudged her shoulder into mine. “We had fun, huh?”

I kept my eyes glued on the large screen TV and replied with my best monotone voice. “Nah, I could’ve had better.”

A handful of popcorn hit me in the face. Miss Gonna-Get-Her-Ass-Kicked dashed away, hiding behind the other couch. Stunned by her ridiculousness, it took me a second to get with the program. “Food fight!” I yelled and snatched fistfuls of strawberries and grapes, whipping them at her. Loud banshee cries erupted as we darted from one piece of furniture to the next, ducking, throwing, and diving again. I tried to keep her from getting to the center table with all the reinforcements, but quick-witted Mylaynee had other ideas. She darted into the kitchen and came out wielding a new weapon.

My hands flew up in the air in total surrender. “Mother May I, Simon Says, and any other safe words.” I ducked into a closet and peeked through the crack, suppressing the laugh I wanted to let out. “If I had a white towel I’d hold it out. Come on, Mylaynee, you started it. I’m done, no more, honest. I’m not taking another shower tonight.”