Like Slow Sweet Molasses (7 page)

He
was all ears if her father wanted to lighten his weighty load. Chance had
nothing but time.

Chapter Five

The
wind chimes hanging under the eaves near Angela’s window tinkled a tune,
spurred by the humid breeze coming in from the south. It was a hazy start to
the Sunday morning vista seen from her bedroom into the yard next door. She
observed as nephew and aunt arrived in Mrs. Thatcher’s vintage Buick LeSabre,
resplendent in their church-going apparel. The genteel old lady, decked out in
a soft flowery dress, topped the outfit off with a wide-brimmed summer hat. She
was definitely a throwback to another era as proven by the wrist-length gloves,
and white pumps and handbag that likely were seeing their last wearing before
Labor Day.

Angela
approved of the way he catered to his aunt as a means, she imagined, of making
amends for the lack of interest shown earlier. He stepped up to her challenge
and awarded his kin the attention deserving of an aged relative. Right now, he
assisted her up the back stairs that entered into the kitchen, his black
clothing rivaling the darkness of the hair on his head and face. In her
opinion, he was one person she preferred not to meet in an alley on an inky
night. She had firsthand knowledge of his pendulum-swinging mood and
devil-be-damned attitude. It was as fresh as recalling how he bodily removed
her from the presence of others or even his method of cowing the interloper
found on her front porch. Yes, she knew him capable of violence, but to what
extreme was a mystery. Yet, she also believed him competent of caring.

Her
interest in what actions transpired across the fence had her in suspended animation.
She was still in the same spot when he emerged fifteen minutes later wearing
blue jeans, the cut of which emphasized the long, solid trunk of his body
without appearing spray painted on and a sea blue T-shirt complimenting his
coloring. He didn’t come out empty-handed for he hoisted a large bag of
charcoal on his trip to the barrel grill stored beneath the covered patio.
Watching as he continued with his preparations cast doubts on her unprovoked
attack of him the other day. He became her target merely because of the color
of his skin. If she thought about it, that put her in the same category as some
others she encountered throughout her life.
 

He
hadn’t deserved it. Her ex-husband had.

Angela
startled, brought back by a noise beside her. Her mother peered at the same
sight as she.

“I’ve
been calling you,” Connie advised. “Several minutes, to be precise.” She looked
directly into her daughter’s sad eyes afraid to broach the subject they both
avoided.

“I
didn’t hear you. Sorry.”
 

“Does
he stay there?”

“He’s
just visiting.” Angela answered with an inquisitive lift to her brow. “Why?”

Her
mother hesitated. “Just curious how congenial you were towards him.”

“Yes,
Mama. I’ve already flogged him with my forked tongue.”

“You’ve
got to get over that, Cookie.”

“Maybe,
I don’t want to. It reminds me to be on my guard. If I’m on guard there’s less
chance of that ever happening to me again.”

She
was angry, now.

Connie
perceiving the shift in topics simply by the rise and fall of Angela’s chest,
courageously jumped in, feet first. “Don’t continue to punish your father for
my mistake.”

“You
both were in cahoots…co-conspirators…perpetrators of this great hoax.” Facing
the window once more, she unknowingly took stock of every move made by Chance.

“He’s
the best daddy you could ever have.”

“I’m
a bastard child,” she practically shouted, turning in time to witness her
mother recoil like she’d slapped her straight across the mouth.

Outside,
Chance’s head cocked.

Connie
fought to maintain her composure. “Your father’s downstairs probably listening
to you whine right now.”

“Whine?”
Angela asked, beleaguered.

“Whine.
Lee may not be your biological father, Angela. Nevertheless, he loves you like
he is. Do you doubt that?” Connie’s temper manifested in the twisting of the
wedding band on her left hand. “Well?” she pushed, her voice louder than she
realized.

“I
had to find out, not from you as I should have, but from someone representing
the man from whose loins I sprang. And not because of any interest in me or how
I’ve faired over the years in his absence, but, in a solicitation for medical
help.”

“Answer
the question, Angela. Is there any doubt in your mind that Lee Munso cares for
you as if you were his biological offspring?”

“That’s
beside the point, Mama,” she cried.

“No,
darling girl. That’s exactly the point.” Connie reached to take Angela’s hands,
fearful of rejection. Angela let her lead her to the bed where they sat side by
side. “You and I were a family all to ourselves until I met and fell in love
with Lee. He was a little older and lots wiser than I committing to have the
patience of Job as I learned how serious he was about loving me. I’d trusted
before and received burns for my trouble, promising never to let anyone have
free access to my heart ever again. No one but you, that is.”

Their
surroundings were quiet enough for them to hear the chimes jingling and Angela
to recognize the different musical notes as they rang.

“You
were almost two when we got married. I had my reservations when Lee started
talking about adopting you. I couldn’t believe this man, whom I sincerely
loved, but reserved a portion of myself just in case things didn’t work out,
wanted to take on another responsibility of being your legal father.”

Angela
sat in silence, her heart getting full on the details.

“He
was serious.” She stroked the hand that grew from a child to the beautiful,
intelligent, hardworking woman Angela became. “You deserved a mother and father
similar to other children in two-parent households. I loved you. Lee loved you.
I did what was best for you.”

“I
love both of you, too,” Angela admitted. “Only…why not tell me I was adopted?
Why let me get blindsided by a stranger, Mama?”

Both
women held their tears in check. Connie went on with her story.

“That
should never have happened. I do apologize, Angela. Never in a million years
did I expect that to happen. Your biological father and I were students at the
university on the verge of graduation when I realized I was pregnant.” Her eyes
sought forgiveness for what she was about to reveal. “I never told him about
you although I believe he suspected. Our careers sent us on separate paths and
the journeys of life kept us from reconnecting. Until we ran upon each other a
few years ago where we had a cordial exchange and parted like the strangers we
were.”

“You
still didn’t tell him about me?”

“Why
would I do that after all these years?”

Angela’s
resentment sieved through the pores of her body. “Because he was my father,
maybe?” She broke from her mother. “I’m blaming him and his color for denying
me. When really it was you!”

Her
rant pulled Lee up the stairs and he burst into the room without knocking. A
frown creased the brown skin of his forehead only to disappear as his look
changed to one of fleeting pain and unconditional love. “Time out. I have
coffee waiting. Take off the gloves for a while.” He walked over to kiss his
wife’s lips and his daughter’s brow. “You two get dressed and meet me
downstairs. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going next door to see if I can
be of any help.”

“Daddy?”
Angela called. The lip under his moustache trembled. She couldn’t let the man
she called daddy all of her life walk out without letting him know what was in
her heart. Although a woman grown, a part of her heart would always belong to
her
daddy. She rushed into his open arms. “I love you so much.”

“I
never doubted that for a second. I love you, too, Cookie.” Then he was gone.

Told
so many times how much she resembled her mother with little likeness to her
father took on a different meaning after that conversation. Resuming, “Do you
know how he learned of my existence?”

“I
really believe it was something I said. We discussed our children and their
ages.”

Understanding
the implication, “He did the math.”

“I
believe so.” Connie cupped Angela’s face in her palms. “I love you and am truly
sorry for the way this turned out. What are you going to do about his request
for your assistance?”

“I
don’t know. I feel guilty for not being sympathetic.” She permitted her
mother’s embrace, reciprocating, deciding not to hold a grudge. “I’ve got to
think.”
 

“I’ll
let you dress. See you downstairs.”

Pressing
the corners of her eyes did not stem the tears tracing paths down her cheeks.
She needed air—plenty of it.

A
cloudy mist saturated the mid-day air as Angela wandered the downtown streets
of New Orleans without a destination. Her intent was a brief stroll around the
block and back. When she realized it, she roamed the CBD in a fog of distress.
The lackadaisical stride did little to alleviate the internal turmoil roiling
and nearly exploding her brain. Although penniless, she walked to the River
Walk, browsed the stores and meandered the aisles of the food court. In her
haste to escape, she left without bringing her purse, which also meant she was
minus identification.

The
double doors pushed outward onto the balcony as she sought solace at the
river’s edge. The mighty Mississippi River barely had any traffic floating with
the exception of the ferries crisscrossing their human cargo from one levee to
the other. In the days before Hurricane Katrina, you would be lucky to get a
table to eat your meal al fresco, the populous in that time jockeyed for a
place. No such problem today. She was one of about six people outside. It was
easy to tell the others were tourist as their interests had them glued to the
upright binoculars anchored to the flagstone flooring. Today even the pigeons
stayed away.

Angela
followed the balcony’s length until it ended back at double doors on the far
end of the River Walk. Entering, she flowed through the concourse, down the
escalators and back out into the damp air. She walked past the courtyard,
paying no attention to the Aquarium of the Americas or the beginning drizzle
and stumbled over the name-engraved, donated brick walkway on her way down to the
levee promenade. Raindrops fell like silvered baubles, hitting here and there
until they increased exponentially in size and numbers. There wasn’t a need to
rush for she had nowhere to go. Roaming aimlessly in the steady downpour put
her just in reach of the benches strategically arranged to view the river.
Angela didn’t quite make it, as her sandal hung up on a protruding paver,
sending her hurtling towards the ground.

The
pain in her knees hardly registered as the force of the fall propelled her
forward to land on her chest, narrowly escaping a crushing blow to her face.
She lay inert, stunned, wallowing more in self-pity than rainwater. Slowly and
with great deliberation, she rose to a sitting position inspecting the damage
done to her body, finding a gaping hole in her pant leg and a bloody gash on
her knee. The scrapes on the heels of both hands, earned in her attempt at
breaking her fall, burned and tinged the surrounding skin blood-red. All in
all, she hadn’t hit her head and that was a blessing. For if she had, and
sustained complications hindering her recovery from the concussion, not only
would the pain have impacted her body, but her livelihood as well.

Angela’s
state of mind dictated she throw caution to the wind. Her current predicament
consumed her where she sat. She was no more cognizant of the need for a rapid
recovery than she was of Chance’s approach or his signaling wave. Slowly, she
lifted herself to a bench, eyes glued to the broken strap dangling in her hand.
She startled when he dropped to the seat beside her, surprised to see anyone
there in that weather, especially him.