It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining

Read It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining Online

Authors: Ernest Hill

BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining
6.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Also by Ernest Hill
Family Ties
 
A Person of Interest
 
Cry Me a River
 
 
Published by Dafina Books
I
T'S
A
LL
A
BOUT
THE
M
OON
W
HEN
THE
S
UN
A
IN'T
S
HINING
ERNEST HILL
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Chapter One
“M
aurice, stop it!”
I heard her terse whisper cut through the still darkness and float toward the ceiling. I paused for a moment. My bedroom window was up, and I could feel the breeze from the pond on the back of my neck, and I could hear the crickets chirping and the birds singing and the bullfrogs calling to one another. And she was lying on the bed and I was straddling her. And I looked down at her face and I saw her beautiful brown eyes staring up at me and all I could think of was how much I loved her, and how much I missed her, and how bad I wanted her. And at that moment, I felt my body stiffen at the thought of her and there rose in me an overwhelming desire to possess her as I had done only a few times before. With a movement that was slow and gentle, I eased my sweaty body from atop hers and slid down against the softness of the mattress and, when my mouth was next to her ear, I whispered softly.
“Baby, didn't you miss me?”
I hoped she had, for it was now December and I had not seen her, nor she me, since I had left for the university back in August. But when I asked, I heard her sigh softly then frowned disapprovingly. And in the quiet of the moment, I hesitated, fearing that I had ruined the moment. I glanced at her, but she was not looking at me. Her dainty shoulders were flat against the bed, her knees were propped up, and her flushed face was tilted toward the dark, ominous hall. And I was lying on my side next to her, and my left arm was underneath her head, and my right arm was draped across her midriff, and my face was only inches from hers. Her blouse was open and her breasts were exposed, and I could see her nipples full and erect. I moved forward and when I was close, I opened my mouth and touched her nipple with the tip of my tongue. She cringed, then recoiled.
“No,” she whispered. “They gon' catch us.”
“They're gone,” I said. “Won't be back for a long time.”
I tried to kiss her neck but when I did, she recoiled again and pulled away. And I saw her eyes narrow and her forehead wrinkle.
“Maurice ... I mean it ... stop it.”
“I can't,” I whispered. “Baby, I'm aching for you.”
I put my hand in the small of her back and pulled her closer to me. I felt her body become rigid. Then I felt her hands pushing hard against my hips. Again, I moved my lips toward hers but at the last minute she turned her head.
“Maurice, I mean it ... stop it!”
“Honey,” I whispered, “don't do me this way.”
An awkward moment passed and I gazed into her eyes and I saw her eyes soften, then her lips parted and she spoke again.
“Not here,” she said. “Not in your mama's house.”
“We're engaged,” I said. “Besides, she's not here.”
I pressed closer to her, and her hands came between us.
“Engaged ain't married,” she said.
I tried to kiss her again. She turned away.
“No,” she said. “I'm not comfortable. I want to leave.”
“Come on, Omenita,” I said. “Don't be like this.”
“No,” she said. “Not in your mama's house. Now, I want to go up front. If Miss Audrey catch us back here she'll kill us.”
“Ain't nobody gon' catch us,” I said. “Mama at the church ... Won't be back for hours.”
“I want to go up front,” she said.
“Omenita ... please!” I said. “Don't do me like this.”
“I'm serious,” she said. “I want to leave.”
“Baby—”
I started to say something else, but before I could, she raised her finger to her lips, then looked toward the door.
“What is it?” I asked. I paused, listening.
“I heard something,” she said.
Our house was located just off one of the highways leading in and out of Brownsville. We lived well beyond the city limits. I raised my head and looked about, and just as I did a large truck rumbled by. I paused to let it pass and when it did, I heard nothing except the crickets and the birds and the bullfrogs.
“Girl, that's just your imagination,” I said.
“No,” she said. “I heard something.”
I listened again and when I heard nothing, I turned my attention back to her.
“Baby, don't make me beg,” I said.
I kissed her on her neck, and she pushed me away.
“Maurice ... stop it!”
“Okay,” I said. “Just let me touch you then.”
“You are touching me.”
I moved my face closer and instantly I could feel the warmth of her breath upon my face, and I could see the dark pupils of her beautiful brown eyes. And all I could think of was how much I loved her and how much I wanted her and how many hours over the past few weeks I had lain in my small apartment, far from this place, thinking of this moment, longing to feel the touch of her lips on mine and the touch of my fingers on her soft, yearning flesh.
“You know what I mean,” I whispered.
I reached for her thigh, and she grabbed my hand.
“No,” she said.
“Come on, Omenita,” I said.
“No,” she said. “I want to go up front.”
My room was near the back of the house at the end of a short hall. Mama and Daddy's room was at the other end of the hall. Between the two bedrooms was a bathroom. Directly across from the bathroom was a doorway that led into the living room. My door was ajar, and from where I was lying, I could see into the living room. No one was home except us ... I tried to reassure her.
“Omenita—” I called to her softly, but before I could say another word she interrupted me.
“I mean it,” she said. “If we don't go up front right now, I'm going to leave.”
“But baby—”
“That's it,” she said, rising from her supine position and placing both of her hands on the bed behind her. “I'm leaving.”
“Okay,” I said. “Okay ... we'll go up front.”
I slid off the bed and started toward my bedroom door but before I got there, I heard the knob on the front door jiggle.
“Maurice!” I heard Mama shouting my name. “Maurice! You in there?”
Instantly, I fell back against the bed and looked toward the door.
“Goddammit, Maurice,” I heard Omenita say. “I told you I heard something.”
I looked at Omenita, and her eyes were fiery.
“Now what we gon' do?” she asked.
I looked away, then looked back at her. She was scanning the room, and I knew she was searching for someplace to hide. I paused a minute, thinking. I heard Mama call to me again. Then, suddenly I thought of a plan.
“Go in the bathroom,” I said.
She nodded, and no sooner had she bobbed her head yes, than I heard the door jiggle again; then, I heard Mama's key in the lock, and I told Omenita to hurry and she snapped to her feet and raced into the bathroom. I hustled to open the door before Mama could unlock it.
When I pulled the front door open, Mama was standing on the stoop cradling a bag of groceries under each arm, and her keys were dangling from the lock. She looked at me, and I could tell she was wondering what was going on.
“What took you so long to open this door?” she asked, and I saw her looking back toward my bedroom. And when she did, I looked back over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. I heard Omenita in the bathroom ... I heard the toilet flush and then I heard Omenita turn on the faucet and I knew she was pretending she was washing her hands.
“Nothing,” I said. Then I was quiet.
“Whose car is that out there?” she asked. And I knew she knew before she asked, but I answered her anyway.
“Omenita's,” I told her.
“Omenita!” she said, her voice slightly elevated.
I saw her looking past me trying to locate Omenita. And I knew she was looking toward my bedroom again, and I was angry at myself because I had left my bedroom door open, and the covers were ruffled. At that moment there was in me no doubt that if Mama saw the condition of my bed, her suspicious mind would quickly conclude what Omenita and I had been doing.
“What she doing over here?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I told her.
I became quiet, hoping to say as little as possible.
“Must be something,” she said after a moment or two then paused, and I knew she was waiting on an explanation.
“Just visiting,” I said. “That's all.”
Our eyes met, then I looked away.
“You know better than to bring that gal in this house when Nathaniel and me ain't home,” she scolded me. “Don't you?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said submissively. Then I became quiet again and Mama looked at me.
“Where is she?” she wanted to know.
“In the bathroom,” I said lamely. “Ought to be out in a minute.”
Suddenly, I saw Mama looking past me again, and I knew she was trying to decide whether she believed me. She looked for a moment, then spoke again.
“Reverend Turner took sick,” she said, still looking about. “Turned prayer meeting out early. Sister Thompson was kind enough to take me to the store before she brung me home.”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “That was kind of her.”
Then, before she could say anything else, I took one of the bags of groceries from her and started toward the kitchen, hoping that she would follow. I heard her feet on the floor behind me and began to relax. Then, I heard her stop and instantly I knew she was still trying to figure out what was going on. I turned and looked and as I suspected, Mama was still looking toward my bedroom, and I knew she was trying to spot Omenita.
“What was y'all doing 'fo I come home?” she asked.
“Just watching TV,” I said. “Just watching TV and talking.”
Mama frowned, then looked about. The lights were out in the living room, but the television was on. As was the hall light.
“In the dark?” she said.
“The hall light's on,” I said, then waited, but Mama did not say anything else, and I knew she was letting me know that I wasn't fooling her. I started back toward the kitchen and I heard Mama behind me. Then I heard her click on the switch, and I saw the living room light go on. I was glad that Omenita was still in the bathroom, for now I only wanted to place the bags in the kitchen and leave before she and Mama had an opportunity to have words.
When I made it to the kitchen, I stopped just inside the door and moved against the wall to let Mama pass. Ours was a small kitchen and Mama had to turn sideways to squeeze by me. And when she had passed, I watched her place the bag of groceries on top of the deep freezer, then turn and open the refrigerator door. I knew she would place it there even before she had, for there was neither room on the tiny counter next to the sink nor on the small table at the opposite end of the freezer, which in actuality, was not a traditional kitchen table, but one similar to those found in a soda shop or a fast food place. Our kitchen was too small for a traditional table. In fact, it was too small for anything except the old stove, which was crammed in the corner just as you entered the room. And the sink that was directly across from the deep freezer and the old late-model refrigerator that sat in the corner just beyond the sink and just before the back door. And in the center of the room there was a walkway between the sink and refrigerator on one side and the deep freezer on the other. The table sat at the end of that alley. And Mama had been standing near the table when she placed her bag atop the freezer.
I set the bag I was carrying on the deep freezer too. Then I heard the bathroom door open and close. Then I heard Omenita walking toward the kitchen. And when she walked in, I looked at her and she appeared nervous, and I knew she was worried that Mama knew what we had been doing.
“Hi, Miss Audrey,” Omenita spoke, her voice low and uncertain.
“Omenita,” Mama said, then continued putting the groceries in the refrigerator.
“Can I help you with anything?” Omenita asked.
“No, thank you,” Mama said. “I can manage.”
There was an awkward silence, and Omenita looked at me, and I could tell she was upset. And I knew she was upset with me because she thought Mama was upset with her. I saw her turn toward Mama again.
“Miss Audrey, you sure look nice this evening,” she said.
Mama was wearing a navy blue dress with a belt around the waist and she had on heels and her hair was down and she did look good for her age; she was fifty-eight. But I could tell that she was still dissatisfied with us for she neither nodded nor looked up. Just said “Thank you,” and kept putting the groceries away.

Other books

Fred and Ted's Road Trip by Peter Eastman
Save the Date by Laura Dower
Guarded Passions by Rosie Harris
The Hotter You Burn by Gena Showalter
Charley by Tim O'Rourke
The King by Rick Soper