Walk a Straight Line

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Table of Contents

 

 

 

Michelle Lindo-Rice

 

 

 

 

“Ms. Lindo-Rice writes with heart, humor, and honesty . . .”
Shana Burton,
author of
Flawless, and Flaws and All

 

“Michelle Lindo-Rice has written a sweet story of the power of love despite the main character's (Tiffany) sordid past . . .”
Michelle Stimpson,
bestselling author of
Falling into Grace

 

“The author's writing is crisp and her characters' emotions are authentic . . .”
Pat Simmons,
award-winning & bestselling author of the
Guilty Series

 

“The author did a phenomenal job in drawing the readers' heart and spirit into the characters . . . Ms. Lindo-Rice developed an endearing, engaging, multilayered story with realism and redemption . . .”
Norma Jarrett,
Essence
bestselling author of
Sunday Brunch

 

“I applaud the author for sharing a wonderful story of forgiveness and faith. I enjoyed the characters, plot, and anticipation . . .”
Teresa Beasley,
APOOO Book Club

 

“. . . when you feel like things cannot get any worse or better, Lindo-Rice shows the power of God and the influence that He has in our lives . . .”
Women with Words Book Club

Thank you for choosing to read my work. You did not choose this by accident, but it was by divine ordination. I grew up in the church and have been a Christian since my early teens, so I know that sometimes the road to salvation can be rocky, but rewarding. There is no greater, more fulfilling love than what I have experienced through developing a personal relationship with God. I urge you to discover, or rediscover, God's unchanging love, and hold on to this truth. God loves you.

Romans 10:9–10 says, “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.” Yes, it really is that easy.

Everyone always acknowledges God—even the potty-mouthed artists—but when I do, it's because I am thankful to Him for every single experience He has brought me through. It is because of His tender leading and nudging that I have been extended this amazing opportunity to reach some amazing people. Thank you, Lord.

I thank my two sons—the troopers who give me much-needed time and space while I write and rewrite. I love you, Eric Michael and Jordan Elijah. I'd also like to mention my three godchildren, Imani Crystal Nugent, Nehemiah Lindo, and Joseph Alexander.

I thank my parents, Pauline and Clive, who was my photographer for my author picture.

To my beautiful cousin from Montego Bay, Jamaica, Tanisa Samuels, the face of “Colleen.” Thanks, Ten Ten.

To my cousin, reggae artist, Kashief Lindo, of Heavy-Beat Records, who allowed me to mention his remake of Gregory Issac's
Love is Overdue
.

To my youngest sister, Sobi-Dee Ophelia—my support, my rock, my friend. I also thank my “publicist” and younger sister, Zara Anderson, who organizes events for me. I recognize my entire family and support system.

As this novel is about friendships, I recognize my close circle of friends—Sharon Amoy Heron, Sarah Miller, Lea Philippe, Michele Millwood, Teresa Martin, Glenda Clarke, Nicole Fox, and Bridgette Murray.

A special thank you to Jane Adams whose support goes above and beyond.

Shout out to Kathy Stack, whose presence got me through my first reading as a new author. My entire work family at Charlotte County Public Schools—too extensive to name and not get in trouble, but my biggest supporters.

I am indebted to so many authors who helped me with my writing. A very special, special, special mention to Rhonda McKnight. To the Urban family, and a BIG THANKS to an amazing, supportive editor, Joylynn Jossel-Ross, who believes in me, helps me develop my craft, and tells me what the readers want to know.

 

 

Colette Alexander, my best friend of twenty-five years. She supports me through every discovery, heartache, and triumph. We fight, we cry, but loyalty is never questioned.

 

“You were easily the best dancer on the dance floor.”

Gina Price's body responded to the Barry White voice from behind. After an energetic bout with the Cha-Cha Slide, she'd sought respite at one of the recently abandoned guest tables. Her now crushed gold satin dress bore the after effects of her abandon, but she had no regrets. She just needed a brief power nap, and she'd be ready for round two. It took some effort, but she opened her eyes.

Starting with his shoes, her eyes swept his tall frame. The dark blue suit fit him like a second skin. A jacket hung carelessly in one hand, while uncontrolled muscles popped from under his light blue shirt. His tie had been savagely loosened and now draped over his well-defined shoulders. At the end of her journey, she saw his face.

Oh, my.
He sounded like Barry White, but he looked like Shemar Moore. Um, pretty boys spelled trouble.

Her voiced oozed honey when she uttered a low, “Thank you, but tell that to my aching feet.” Gina swayed her body to the up-tempo beat. “The deejay is doing his thing—'cause this crowd is pumped. I mean, it's almost midnight, and nobody's rushing home.”

Shemar Moore chuckled. “Yes, this was some reception, wasn't it? Terence and Colleen didn't spare any expense because this wedding was top-of-the-line.”

“Uh-huh . . . People will talk about this wedding for years to come,” Gina agreed. With the ice doves, to the still-glowing imported scented candles, orchid and lily centerpieces, and crystal one-of-a-kind chandeliers, her head spun. Such opulence and grandeur made their wedding picture-perfect from beginning to end. Even the weather had cooperated.

Gina rubbed her bare shoulders and eyed the other members of the wedding party who still held it down on the dance floor. By the looks of it, it would be awhile before the festivities died down. She snickered. There'd be some back pains and sore limbs come morning.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

She had propped her feet on one of the empty chairs to rest them and admire her black, gold-encrusted, three-inch heels. Yup, the shoes were worth it. Colleen, the former Miss MacGregor, had dubbed them Men-fishing shoes.

Well, she'd reeled in a live one.

Gina moved her legs and waved him into the chair next to her. “Not at all.” She didn't play coy.

“I've been admiring you all evening. I couldn't leave without at least introducing myself. I'm Michael Ward—friend of the groom.” He extended his hand.

Long, tapered fingers . . . Groomed nails . . . She'd give him an eight. Gina realized he waited for a response. “I'm sorry,” she blushed and took his outstretched hand. “I'm Gina Price, best friend of the bride.”

“Gina. Nice name,” Michael replied.

“Thank you.” Okay, he bored her already. Time to cut this brother loose until he got some swag or even a corny pickup line. So far, he held as much appeal as a Twinkie without the filling. Then she looked at him. Yup, he was worth a second try.

She tilted her chin toward Colleen and Terence and made small talk. “Look at them dancing like they're the only two people in the room. I mean, I had tears in my eyes when they recited their vows. And doesn't Colleen make a stunning bride?” Terence had hired a top-of-the-line makeup artist to do her face and hair, and the results were spectacular. Colleen looked like she could be on the cover of
Vogue
magazine, and Terence would fit right in with the men at
GQ.
He was handsome. Gina had to give him that.
Yeah, a handsome devil.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Michael intercepted her thoughts. He stood, “I'm going to get something to drink. Can I get you something?”

“Just water.”

Gina watched his long, confident stride and appreciated the view from behind.

Just then, Terence and Colleen danced past her. Gina smiled and gave a small wave, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She tapped her chin as she contemplated. Something about Terence didn't sit well with her. He seemed to genuinely love Colleen, and at thirty-four, he'd found success as an art designer for
Cozy Homes
magazine. He was religious and
seemed
to be for real about his love for God, not like some of those hypocrites out there.

Still, Gina felt doubtful about him. She had voiced those misgivings to Colleen, calling him Shifty Eyes. Once, she could have sworn that he had been checking her out, but she wasn't one-hundred-percent sure. So, she'd had no choice but to dismiss it. But, mark her words, Terence wasn't all he appeared. He was like . . . like a sweet, delicious piece of candy that was good to eat, but also gave you a vicious toothache.

Despite Gina's doubts, Colleen had fallen in love and after a mere four-month courtship—here they were.

Michael returned with two ice-cold glasses of water. When Gina reached for the glass, she felt an electric jolt zap through her spine as their hands connected. Did he feel that? She took a huge swig to drown her reaction.

A slow jam came on. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

Gina hesitated. Her feet ached . . . throbbed . . . but, his body . . . his voice . . . no, her feet hurt.

Then he smiled.

Wow. That did it. She slid her feet off the chair, took his baseball-mitt-sized hand, and followed him to the dance floor.

“Well, since I don't know if you'll disappear at midnight, let me tell you about myself. I'm an architect and self-employed. I met Terence at college, and after we graduated, we went our separate ways. Then about a year ago, we bumped into each other, quite by accident, when I was commissioned to design the layout for Terence's magazine. During our conversation, he invited me to his wedding.”

So, they are more acquaintances than friends,
Gina thought. Good. He just went from an eight to a nine. She liked his soothing voice, and his arms made her feel secure. “Colleen and I have been best friends since we were fourteen and freshmen in high school. Since we didn't have siblings, we clung to each other. We've been joined at the hip, like Siamese twins, ever since. We went to the same colleges for our bachelor's and master's, and now we both work at August Martin H.S. I teach English Language Arts, and Colleen teaches social studies—excuse me, used to teach. I forgot she took a leave of absence. Terence doesn't want her to work.”

“Oh.”

His monosyllabic response made Gina wonder if she'd struck out with this one. Had she rambled too much?
Please don't let him mention the weather
. People only mentioned the weather when they had nothing else to say.

“So, are you single?”

Good, she was still in the game. “Yes, I am.” She caught the huge, anticipatory smile.

Michael led her through an intimate dance move that ended with a dip. “Are you seeing anybody right now?”

That voice of his mesmerized her. “No,” Gina supplied, with a huge smile of her own. She held her breath, feeling the magnetic pull, when Michael slowly lifted her and curved her body to his.

His voice deepened, and he spoke right into her ear. “Good, 'cause I'm single too, and available—no kids, no ex-wives—just one brother and a mother, who's retired and living in Atlanta.”

Disbelieving, Gina couldn't hold the unladylike snort. “You expect me to believe that you're available?”

But Michael quickly schooled her. He took a few steps back, licked his lips, then clarified, “Okay, I am
reformed
and officially retired from the heartbreaking business. Any games I used to play ended with my retirement.”

Whatever he was selling, she wasn't buying. Well, it depends on how much, her inner self countered. When a more suggestive melody filled the room, Michael drew her closer to him. She inhaled. He smelled like ocean, outdoors, the rugged outback—and pure, unadulterated man. Her stubby legs liquefied, and her insides quivered. Engulfed in his arms, she felt like a petite china doll.

Gina snuck a glance up at Michael. His eyes held promise for some serious pleasure. Whew!
Hold it together, girl.

Gina Ward
.

Yes, she liked that. Too much. She'd known this man for what? Fifteen minutes. Ridiculous. All too soon, the song ended, and it was time to see the lovebirds off. Gina and Michael lagged behind the well-wishers and blew bubbles at each other, before he excused himself. Bereft, she looked for the other girls in her party, while shivering in the night air.

She saw a black Range Rover pull over to the curb. Curious, her eyes followed the tinted window's slow descent to reveal the driver. When she saw it was Michael, she edged closer.

“You need a ride?” he beckoned.

Did she ever! “Sure, thanks.” She opened the door and put one leg in. Wait! What was she doing taking a ride from a virtual stranger—a possible stalker.

“Gina!” one of the girls called out from the limo that drove up behind Michael's car.

She waved them off, feigning bravado. “I'm good. I've got a ride.” Cautiously, she held onto the door and lowered her body until she was halfway in. She chewed her lip, wondering if she should make a speedy escape. The limo hadn't pulled away yet, as the other girls were still piling in.

Perceptive, Michael surmised her dilemma. “You're safe with me.”

Said the wolf to the lamb.
Should she? Her heartbeat increased. Then her inner imp egged her on. Whatever—you only live once. Heeding it, Gina pushed the hesitation aside and decisively shut the door. “I'm good.” She luxuriated in the feel of the leather beneath her and chattered, “You just saved me from having to crawl my way to the back of the limo with the other girls, then enduring the winding taxicab-style ride.”

“It's my pleasure.”

In mere minutes, Michael pulled up to her home in Rosedale. He parallel parked beside her blue Volkswagen.

“Thanks for the ride.” Gina turned to look at him from under her lashes.

“Anytime,” Michael returned and patted her hand. “I hope this is not the last I hear from you.”

Gina rattled off her digits. He texted her so she could save his number in her phone. Michael took a curious peek at her house, but remained in his car. He waited until Gina got out of the vehicle and unlocked her front door. When she turned to give a final wave, he vocalized, “Call me. Soon.” Gina nodded her assent before slipping inside.

Leaning against her door, she heaved, “Thank God.” She bent, wearily undid her shoes, wiggled out of her dress, and fell into bed.

Then she thought about Michael. She appreciated that he hadn't come on to her or tried to kiss her. In fact, he'd been the perfect gentleman. She'd wait a couple of days to call him. Can't appear too eager . . . or desperate—a definite turnoff. So, Tuesday evening it is. No contact before then. Gina rolled over, looked at the clock, and moaned. Seventy-two hours.