Like Slow Sweet Molasses (9 page)

Chapter Six

Voices
escalated as the discussion between Chance and Trell stretched on in duration.
Chance kept straight to the back of the garage, passing to one side of his
prized limited edition Cobra Mustang sitting smack dab in the middle of the
floor, to jiggle a concealed latch which opened a section of wall the size of a
doorway. He jumped on the assorted collection of electronic equipment ready to
review the most recent data provided thanks to Angela’s foresight, which was a
boon. Popping in the camera’s memory card, he made his selections and to his
indescribable amazement, the clearest pictures of his sparring match with
Darrell “Clik” Williams filled the screen. Mousing through each of them set the
line firmer around his mouth.

“Come
see, Trell,” he called behind him.

“H-How?”
Trell stuttered. “Those were just taken.”

“Angela.”
Trell’s look posed an unspoken question. “Clik ‘aroused her suspicions’ she
said.”

They
poured over the primary ones of interest trying to remain unaffected by the
implications of Clik’s surprise visit.

“She
didn’t trust you, either, it seems.” Chance teased while Trell reacted to
himself caught in digital format through the darkly tinted glass.

“That
Angela’s good. We need her on the team.”

“You
think that’s outstanding—check this out.” He switched to another picture.
Trell’s neck telescoped for a closer look.

“Isn’t
that—?”

“Tony
Rowe, our Clandestine OPS trainee.”

Trell
agreed in a slightly perturbed manner. “That’s him alright.” Then he laughed so
hard Chance thought he would bust a gut. “Good thing this was a mock mission.
What are you going to do?”

“Rip
him a new asshole for one.” Turning to leave, Chance stopped at Trell’s next
statement.

“She
got you good, too. Man, look at your glower.”

“Trell,
Darrell saw us arrive and mentioned her as she stood in the window.” His
brother instantly sobered.

“That’s
not good.”

“I
know. At least, he doesn’t know who she is. That’s a small comfort.”

The
brothers sauntered into the garage as the panel rapidly slid to a close behind
them. Each mulled over the required tactics to lessen the implicit threats of
their nemesis’ pop visit.

“I
have a bad feeling about this,” Trell confided. “He hasn’t, and from his overt
hatred of you—still, will not forget how your travels through the juvenile
court systems differed from his own outcome.”

Chance
concurred. “I know. I only thought I was a bad-ass, so the promise of jail time
took the crook out of me. Darrell was hardnosed and continued to ask for
trouble.”

“Bottom-line,”
Trell summarized. “You’d better sprout eyes in the back of your head.” There
was no segueing as he jumped to another subject, bluntly and straight to the
point. “You seemed pretty involved when I entered. How intimate is your
relationship with Angela?”

“Not
that it’s any of your business, but you know I just met the lady the other
day.”

“I
could’ve sworn differently. I mean, she wasn’t exactly pushing you away.” Trell
wondered if Chance was ready to leave the past in the past.

“I
see where you’re going with this. But, my profession is too dangerous, my life
too complicated to add another distraction. I simply don’t have the energy.”

“That’s
not what I saw.” Chance’s ‘
that’s as far as you go’
glare deterred
Trell’s further questioning. “Guess I better get going.”

“Guess
you better.”

Chance
followed him to the door and knew the last discussion was not over by
Quantrell’s knowing expression; just suspended. The rush of running water and
her soft hum treated him to an undesired lurch in his heart as he climbed the
stairs to the upper level for dry clothes. He realized it behooved him to
quicken his pace or risk Angela catching him yearning for her with his hardened
exterior shelled away, exposing his soft side for her to see.

The
warehouse’s smooth concrete floor curled Angela’s toes on the walk from the
bathroom to the bed where he thoughtfully left a plastic bag and laid out a
pair of his thick, white athletic socks. She disposed of the soggy bundle in
her hands by shoving it into the sack, then stashed the sack in a corner out of
the doorway in preparation to slip her feet into the oversized socks. Doing so
was no easy task for her balance was still off-kilter when she leaned. She felt
it prudent not to sit on the side of his bed, in the event he came to monitor
her progress, choosing to take the socks into the living area for propriety’s
sake.

Chance
was out-of-sight but hardly out-of-mind as she heard him tinkering on the floor
below. She’d already pried and poked into things that were none of her
business, disturbing his privacy as she waited on him, to satisfy a haunting
interest. From her observations, there were no feminine items nonchalantly
lying around. Angela relaxed a bit speculating there’d be no surprise
interruptions or unwarranted accusations of why she occupied not only his home
but also his clothing.

Making
herself comfortable was as simple as lounging on the primary seating in that
part of the room, a supple leather couch in the most amazing color of what she
would call inferno red. He watched the big screen television anchored on the
brick wall from that focal point. The angle of the furniture let the occupants
snoop in on what happened in the kitchen, around the bank of windows with their
unobstructed view, as well as keep an eye on the circular stairway entry. Not
far from the sofa was an ottoman that if pulled into position actually turned
that section of the seat into a space comparable to a twin bed.

The
jack-in-the -beanstalk-sized ottoman, alternatively, became her perch. Dry
clothes improved her disposition though no matter how hard she scrubbed in the
shower the melancholy feeling remained intact. Her head rested on knees drawn
up to her chest, giving notice of her injury. Closer inspection revealed
prominent brush burns that cracked the skin there, pulling apart the tears with
every move. She blew and fanned the spot, bent on lessening the burning. There
was nothing to do as the ache throbbed except tuck her legs under her chin to
wait for the discomfort to dissolve.

Chance
stood riveted in place at the top of the stairs enjoying the view before him.
She huddled, ignorant of the wholesome beauty in her pose. He sopped up as much
of her loveliness as humanly possible through osmosis, filling himself like a
thirsty sponge, teetering on the realm of reality. What did he think he was
doing? The intentional noise made by the scraping of his heels on the stairs
garnered her attention. Luminous gold-brown eyes ran the length of his body
causing an electrifying current to travel across the distance. They shared the
moment in reverent silence with him passing her to enter the bathroom.

“Lee
and Connie want you to call home.” Salve and bandages shared space in one of
his large hands. He sat on the couch, spun the ottoman so that she faced him
and gently probed the exposed affected area to gauge the soreness.

She
flinched.

Angela’s
insides quivered as she let him smear the ointment across the abrasions on her
knee. The bandage applied covered the kneecap and adhered when he tested his
work by holding her at the bend of her knee to flex the appendage. His
fingertips went on to smooth her arms below the elbow and both palms. Her eyes
welled, a condition she hoped to avoid by mind-traveling to another space and
time. His warm, calloused fingers abbreviated her trip when he massaged her
skin. Knowing him for all of two days imposed the fact that she trusted him
wholly after such a short acquaintance.

Chance
experienced a giddy withdrawal from the loss of contact after releasing her
leg. This seemed the proper time to enact a self-imposed exile from her
magnetizing charisma. The phone was within reach prompting him to spur her into
the act of making the dreaded phone call. “They’re waiting,” he urged.

Angela
sat like a statue. Miraculously, her business card appeared, the one she handed
the policewoman on her initial visit to his office. Her eyes sparked as he
dialed the number and suggestively shook the phone at her.

“
Hello.
Hello? Cookie?”

She
snatched the phone all the while slinging daggers with her eyes. “Yes, Daddy,
it’s me. I’m fine. I’ll be home soon.” She listened. “Before dark? I’m not an
adolescent. I’ll be there when I get there.” The phone hit the ottoman. She hit
the floor flouncing over to the kitchen table.

“You’re
being a little hard on them, aren’t you?” he ventured.

“How
much did Daddy tell you, Chance,” she asked, “about my circumstances?”

“Honestly,
Angela, nothing. I’m picking up bits and pieces and guessing at the rest.” That
was partly true in that the bits and pieces gleaned were from the conversation
overheard right under her bedroom window as he prepared the grill. At times,
their distressed voices broke through to the outside.

Chance
ambled into the kitchen intending to rustle up a couple of sandwiches, putting
the peanut butter, jelly and bread on the table. He wasn’t a great cook but
held his own as far as bachelor meals were concerned. He hadn’t shopped in days
and offered what he had available. Mismatched plates clanked in one hand as the
other secured the milk carton and two glasses. The butter knife was the final
item to the party.

Continuing,
he asked, “Want to talk about it?”

“Nothing
to tell. I’m a bastard baby, that’s all.” A crimson stain flushed upwards
indicating it started from her toes.

Her
admission floored him.

“My
father is a bastard who treated my mom like a rug and loved his children like a
drug addict loved getting busted. I don’t consider that a reflection on me.” He
began slapping peanut butter on slices of wheat bread using the same knife to
dip the jelly.

“Not
the same thing I can assure you.” Watching him fix the first sandwich, she
stopped him before he moved on to the next. “Nothing for me. Thanks.”

He
saw the little wrinkle on the bridge of her nose. “Don’t eat peanut butter?”

“Can’t
eat peanut butter. Deathly allergic.”

“Oh.
How about a jelly sandwich, then?” Chance’s big bite lopped his sandwich in
half.

“Can’t.”
Beating him to the punch, she explained, “You put the peanut butter knife in
the jelly. Any peanut residue can send my body into anaphylactic shock.”

Chance
opened an overhead cabinet to remove a fresh jar of apple jelly and plopped
down a clean knife for her use. Angela dug in with relish, rewarding him with a
semi-smile. “All these years,” she licked at the jelly off her fingers, “and I
never suspected a thing.”

“Was
love from your parents ever a question for you?”

“No.
Never.”

“So,
you admit you had the love of a mother and father throughout your entire
life.
 
Correct?”

“Yes.”

He
loved the way she nibbled her sandwich while contemplating her answers to his
questions. “Then why let the knowledge that your biological father is other
than the father who loves, raised and protected you, blind you to that fact?”

“Stop
interrogating me!” She leapt up from the table, her sandwich a memory. Only his
hand locked around her wrist brushing her lightly against the chair. He didn’t
let her go, apologizing softly for his actions.

“My
family life blew to pieces when my father walked out on us and Mom decided to
return to her hometown in another state. I’d taken a wrong turn with the law
during my early high school years putting me in contact with Freddy Robinson,
Quantrell’s father. He took pity on me, prodding me to stay in school, inviting
me over to spend time with his family. Said he saw potential that I was
‘blowing out my ass’.” Chance paused to see her reaction. She looked speechless.
“The Robinsons welcomed me into their home. At first, Trell and Chanté weren’t
too happy with that development.”

“Chanté?”

“The
Robinson’s daughter. My sister.”

“They
came around, I suppose.” Then answering her own question, “He said as much today,
didn’t he, calling you brother.”

“My
point is—love comes in many colors, Angela. I’ll always be grateful that I
wasn’t cast aside because of the color of my skin.”

“My
biological father is white,” she blurted. He didn’t look surprised. “You’ve
surmised that already, haven’t you?”

“Your
aversion to white people clued me in. I suspected the moment you said your
father wasn’t your father. The puzzle pieces just fell into place.” His fingers
unlocked at her insistent jerk.

“You
want to know all the sordid details of why there’s no love lost between me and
people like you?” She rattled on recklessly, panting hard and hardly seeing him
in front of her.