Like Slow Sweet Molasses (20 page)

Angela
looked to Chance when Mrs. Robinson boisterously got the attention of the crowd
over the blasting music. Her stomach tightened as her ears refuted what she
heard.

“We
have a wedding on the horizon,” Gram announced.

The
talking stopped. All eyes swung to them. It was like time stood still.

“Gram,
you’re scaring her,” a gentle voice warned.

Angela
recognized her rescuer. It was Chanté.

Chance
eyed Angela to see how she faired under the circumstances. “Gram, Chanté’s
right. I brought Angela to meet the family. Don’t chase her away.”

Angela
found herself surrounded by Robinson off-spring of all ages.

“I’m
Letha. The mother of this brood.”

Angela
endured her motherly hug with a smile. She was beginning to relax among the
people who loved him and weren’t afraid to show it. Pops came up. Trell, his
wife, Sasha and Chanté’s husband, Troy rounded out the group. Introductions
went around the circle bringing her one step closer to Chance. She looked to
him for guidance at this time.

It
was Letha who disbanded the group and urged the others to resume their
activities with a promise they’d eat right away.

“Some
family you have,” she joked.

“They
like you, too,” he bantered.

“Hey,
Bro.” Trell interrupted. “Give me a hand. Angela, Mama wants your help in the
kitchen.”

They
parted ways with Angela slinking into the kitchen unsure of what to expect. She
saw Chance through the window engrossed in a serious looking conversation with
the men as Trell’s six year-old son watched the words tumble from the
grown-ups’ mouths. They moved closer to the carport wall out of her view.

“Angela,
it’s tradition that the hardworking women get to sample the goodies before the
men.”

“Sounds
great to me, Mrs. Robinson. I’ve never had fried turkey.”

“Well,
my dear, you’re in for a treat. And call me Letha,” she invited, bustling over
to peel the foil from the many dishes obscuring the countertop.

All
five women eagerly grabbed a sturdy paper plate with Angela receiving first
honors in dishing hers since she was a guest. The smells emanating caused her
stomach to grumble—loudly. Just as she forked a piece of turkey Trell’s son
burst in nearly toppling her over as she languished in the kitchen doorway.

“Grandmother,
Granddaddy said to send four long necks outside,” his squeaky voice eeked.

“Say
excuse me, Brian.” Sasha’s curt reprimand boomeranged. “You can’t take all
four.”

“Uh-huh,”
he contradicted her, munching his way platter to platter with squirrelly little
hops.

“Go
tell your daddy to come here.”

“He’s
looking at Uncle Bro’s arm.”

“What
do you mean looking at Bro’s arm?” Sasha questioned. “What’s wrong with Bro’s
arm?”

“He
got shot.”

Angela
lost all feelings in her fingers sending her plate on a downward spiral to the
floor.

“Brian,
what did I tell you about fibbing?”

“I’m
not fibbing.” He pouted. “I saw it, too. They didn’t think I could see. But, I
saw it.” He patted the bicep of his skinny little arm. “Right here. It has
blood on the big band-aid and everything.”

“Here.”
Letha shoved the brown bottles into his arms. “Go on. Take those outside.”

Angela
regained some of her composure, leaned to clean up the mess she created and
remembered his reaction to her hitting his arm. “I’m sorry.” She’d just gotten
off the floor when she heard Chance bellow her name.

Chance
made the grim discovery as he participated in securing the hot grease to
prevent an accident, particularly, since there were children around. It was
while breaking down the burner he happened to peer under the prep table and
what he saw spurred him into action. He rocketed into the house filled with
panic at the sight of what he viewed as a half-eaten plate of food.

“No!”
he shouted and snatched it away without explanation. She looked at him with an
indescribable sadness.

“You
promised me honesty,” she complained.

He
ignored her. “How much did you eat?”

They
glared at one another unperturbed that the others witnessed their sparring
match.

“I
need to be able to trust you, Chance. A day later and I find that that’s not
possible.”

He
heard finality in her words. “Wait. Wait.”

“Wait
for what? For you to get wounded, again? Or heaven forbid—killed?” She faced
her hosts. “Thank you for your hospitality.” Then to him, “Take me home,
Chance.”

“I’m
taking you straight to the ER if you don’t answer me,” he intoned. “Now!” He
gripped her shoulders in despair. “The fry kettle contained peanut oil,
Angela.”

Angela
let go of her distress long enough to see the terrible fright in his eyes. She
brushed at the frown on his forehead. “I didn’t get to eat any. I dropped my
plate when Brian let it slip you’d been shot last night.”

“Did
you touch it all when you picked up the scraps?”

“Did
you hear me?” she countered.

“Crap,
Angel!” he snapped. “Will you just answer me?”

“No.
I used my napkin.” Angela found herself entrenched in his arms where he nearly
smothered the life out of her. “Are you badly injured?”

“It’s
just a graze. A nick.”

She
wanted proof. Angela’s hands brushed up his arms to detect the bandage secreted
under the sleeve of his right arm. He knew she would inspect the area whether
he wanted her to or not. So, he rolled up the sleeve himself to uncover the
bloodstained patch and witnessed her already misty expression turn stormy.

“Like
I said…just a scratch.”

He
wanted to offer an explanation to the entire family for the men now blocked the
light from the doorway. “Is it okay if I share my concern?” he whispered,
praying for her permission. He received his answer in the form of her
fingertips drying her eyes as she stood her tallest and spun to face everyone.
“Angela is allergic to peanuts, its derivatives and any residue. Until the
other day, she wasn’t aware skin contact could also send her into shock.”
Chance grimaced. “We have Clik to thank for that discovery.”

“Clik?”
Trell asked incredulously.

“Long
story for another time.” Touching on each person present, he added, “She can’t
have the fried turkey.”

“Then
we’ll fix her something else,” Letha said like it was nothing.

“You’ll
do no such thing.” Angela opposed the suggestion. “I’ll have some of that delicious
smelling cornbread dressing, peas and potato salad.”

All
present hung around like mother hens.

It
took Angela to put everyone at ease. “You’re missing the kick-off. Go on. Have
fun.”

“I’ll
ring the dinner bell,” Pops announced and proceeded to do just that.

Angela’s
headshake accompanied her grin.

Soon
they sat on the sofa after their meal, eyes trained on the television but their
concerns were elsewhere. Another lesson learned is the way Angela and Chance
viewed the day thus far. She wrestled with his constant flirt with the dangers
of his job. He agonized at the helplessness of protecting her from an untimely
demise. Between the cheers and groans, depending on which team was in
possession of the football, they fought to hide their impatience to be alone.
Their list of discussion topics grew exponentially.

Finally,
Chance had enough. Angela followed his lead and trailed him to say their
good-byes to his family. All graciously received her thank you’s. They even
welcomed her to return anytime. Said she didn’t have to wait for an invitation.
They said all the right things. Why did she feel as though she’d put them out?
Or better yet, put a damper on their festivities?

No.
She couldn’t show her face there again.

“Are
you coming in for a few minutes?” Angela asked Chance once they arrived at her
door.

“I
shouldn’t,” he declined.

“I
guess you’re right. What’s the point? This so-called relationship failed its
first test.”

“That’s
not the way I see it, Angela.” Chance cut the motor but stayed on the bike.
“We’re both afraid of circumstances beyond our control. I’m more than certain I
want you, exclusively, in my life. I’m just not certain you feel the same about
me…and my profession.”

“I’ve
confessed to having a humongous crush on you, Chance. An infatuation that
supersedes all the anguish I’ve experienced in my lifetime. What would I do if
you’re mortally wounded?” Her eyes closed at the thought and opened to him
closing in for a kiss.

Chance
relished the closeness as she melted in his arms accepting his affection. The
kiss would have to last him several days for his next mission, assigned to him
months before meeting her, would take him away from her and out of the state.
He held on imprinting the feeling into his heart, rebelling at the thought of releasing
her. “I’m going to walk away, now. I won’t be responsible for what might happen
next in this relationship if I enter behind those doors.”

“I
can tell,” she quietly admitted, her own passion rising. “Can I say something
and you won’t think I’m easy?”

“I
would never think that about you, Angela.”

“I’m
glad you refused my offer to come inside. Lately, my will isn’t my own when I’m
so close to you.”

He
hoped she felt that way if she learned of his omission to inform her of his
call to duty. If everything went according to schedule, she’d be none the
wiser.

“Then,
there is hope for us.” He drew from her well of sweetness once more, mounted
his bike and left the words, “I’ll call you,” in the wind as he drove away.

Chapter Thirteen

The
wait for Chance’s return call took its toll on Angela who, by this time,
directly after the school’s last dismissal bell, parallel parked in front of
his residence. Two days of unsuccessfully trying to reach him unleashed a fear
so debilitating she even considered contacting his family to inquire about his
wellbeing. How possessive would she appear if she turned up on their doorstep
in an emotional meltdown? His occupation ruled. She understood that now.

Angela
called his number once more with the same results. His voicemail picked up. She
disconnected without leaving a message. Her last ditch effort was to ring his
doorbell. She stood patiently at the entrance, backed into the street for a
better look at the windows above her head, willing him to answer. Disappointment
gripped her and her spirits wilted. All she could do was load herself back into
Mrs. Thatcher’s car for the urgent drive to the airport.

Her
strength deteriorated eaten away by her most recent troubles—concerns she
needed to share with Chance. On top of all else, the frantic call from her
mother while en route to his home had her stressing. Her greatest fear came to
fruition. A heart attack threatened to claim the life of her father. Lee just
refused to give up smoking stating he had to die from something. For an
educated man, statistics weren’t enough to convince him to even decrease his
habit. Any disagreement they had stemmed from their differing views on
improving his health. According to Connie, Angela had better get there as soon
as possible for his survival was questionable.

Angela
whizzed along the interstate on automatic as she dealt with the pressures by
silently enumerating the complications of the mess called her life. When she
compiled the list and mentally eliminated the troubles easy to dispose, she
drew a blank at Chance. He was an enjoyable distraction, one she considered a
positive impact in her universe. Their brief time together filled the hole
purposely left void out of terror. To have her heart broken twice in a lifetime
would hurt too much. Yet, her heart convinced her to take a chance on him.

Sadness
welled up inside as she raced through Armstrong International Airport to catch
her hastily arranged flight to Chicago, reverently mindful of its temporary use
as a triage center and morgue during the height of Hurricane Katrina. A
heaviness encroached. Her chest failed to expand enough to allow for a full
breath of oxygen. Angela knew she’d hyperventilate if she couldn’t control her
anxiety. To stop for a moment was feasible and she dropped into the nearest
chair. Interested eyes stared but no one offered assistance for which she was
glad.