Stepping to a New Day (8 page)

“You're welcome. See you in an hour.”

She nodded her agreement and climbed the steps to the porch. When Mrs. Rivard opened the door and ushered Gen inside, the black car eased away.

TC didn't think it made much sense to drive back to Henry Adams and then immediately turn around and come back. He decided to check out Franklin instead. He had a good eye for landmarks so he was sure he wouldn't have a problem finding his way back to the house to pick up Ms. Gibbs. Franklin was larger than Henry Adams. He passed a couple of national chain hotels and the many businesses lining the main street. Some had plywood over the windows though, as if they were closed, and houses in the neighborhoods sported plywood as well. He wondered what the story was on that. He made a point to ask Ms. Gibbs. Thinking of her made him replay the conversation they'd had on the drive. Her ex-husband sounded like an idiot. What kind of a man chose the company of a hog over a woman, especially one so fine? When she first came out of the house dressed in her blue leather jacket, black jeans, and flat black suede boots, she looked pretty fly. Were he in the market for a lady friend it would be someone like her. She was witty, had a sense of humor, but as he'd noted, had been through a lot. It took a strong woman to walk away from a marriage of over forty years and strike out on her own. Knowing what he did of Henry Adams though, he was sure
she'd received plenty of support because it impressed him as the kind of place that looked after its own. She said she'd been in the area her entire life. He'd bet she'd been a showstopper when she was young. Even now she was a stunner.

He glanced up at the mirror and froze seeing a cop car behind him with its overhead light flashing. Sighing, he pulled over, rolled down the window, and assumed the position—hands on the steering wheel so they'd be in plain sight.

A big burly White cop in a brown uniform came to the window. “Morning, Mr. Barbour. I'm Will Dalton. County sheriff.”

TC's voice mirrored his astonishment. “How do you know who I am?”

“You're driving Ms. Brown's town car and since you don't look anything like Nathan, I called her.”

Amazed by that, TC shook his head with amusement.

“Small town,” the sheriff offered by way of explanation. “Welcome to Graham County.”

“Thanks.”

“Just wanted to introduce myself and let you know you have a taillight out. Have Trent get you a new one when you get back. You waiting on Ms. Gen?”

TC was further surprised. “Yes.”

“She's doing a good thing helping folks out with her literacy teaching.” He handed TC a card. “My card. I'll let my people know you're Ms. Brown's new driver. Got a few knuckleheads who think hassling new people is part of the job. It isn't. If you have any trouble, show them that and have them call me. They'll back down pretty quick.”

TC wondered if there was another word for amazement. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

“No problem. Have a nice day. Tell Ms. Gen I said hello, and don't forget that taillight.”

“I won't.”

When Dalton drove away, TC fell back against the black leather seat. “Wow.” In all his years he'd never had an encounter with law enforcement that even came close to this one. “Definitely not in Oakland anymore, Toto.”

TC was waiting outside the residence when Ms. Gibbs appeared in the doorway. He watched her give a parting hug to the elderly woman and as she waved goodbye TC got out and opened the door.

She approached him with a cheery “Hello there, Mr. Barbour.”

“Hey there. Ready?”

“I am.” Getting in, she offered the same soft-spoken thanks he'd grown accustomed to hearing. After closing the door, he took his seat and they headed back to Henry Adams. “Sheriff Dalton says hello. Stopped me to introduce himself and to let me know my taillight is out. Gave me his card.”

“Will's a good guy. He was in our town talent contest last summer. Plays a mean lead guitar.”

“Really?”

“Brought the house down. Plays with a group called Five-Oh. They almost won.”

He would have loved to have seen that. “Sounds like you small-town folks have a good time.”

“We do. Hopefully you'll stick around long enough to see some of it.”

“I hope so, too.” And he meant it. “Do you want to be dropped off at your house?”

“No. I think I'll stop at the Dog and get some lunch.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have another run today?” she asked.

“No. You're it.”

“If you don't have plans for lunch would you like to share a table?”

He paused and looked at her in the mirror. “That would be nice.”

“Then let's go eat.”

As they entered the Dog it was the beginning of the lunch hour and the place wasn't as crowded as it would be in the next hour or so. Bobby Womack's cover of “California Dreamin'” was on the box. Gen didn't know what possessed her to propose they have lunch, and she hoped he didn't think she was trying to hit on him, but she enjoyed his company.

Mal came over and, seeing them standing side by side, paused a moment. “You two together?”

“Yes, Mal. I'm treating him to lunch for being such an excellent driver.” She didn't care for the way Mal was eyeing him. “But it's not a date so please don't trip, okay?” Beside her TC chuckled softly, at what she didn't know.

Apparently reassured, Mal stuck out his hand. “We haven't been formally introduced, but I'm Malachi July.”

“TC Barbour.”

“Nice meeting you.”

“Same here.”

“Let me get you a table.”

“Booth, Mal, please,” she said.

“Okay.”

A few seconds later they were seated in a booth along the wall of windows that looked out onto Main Street.

“How long have you known July?” he asked her.

“Since fourth grade.”

“One of those lifelong friendships you mentioned earlier.”

“Yes. He can be a bit mother hen-ish sometimes but his heart's in the right place. And I'm going to apologize in advance. This is a small town and being in other folks' business is in the water, so please excuse the looks you'll probably get because we're together.”

“I think I can handle it. It's just lunch, right?”

The way he said it made her eye him for a moment. “Right.” He gave her the impression that he knew something she didn't and was amused by it.

But before she could muse further, Rocky walked up with glasses of water and menus. “Hey, you two.”

Gen said, “Hey, Rock.”

“Hi, Ms. Rocky.”

“Hey, TC. Do you know what you want or do you need a minute?”

They viewed the menus. TC pointed to the color picture of the burger and fries.

Gen opted for the salmon salad.

“Gotcha. They'll be right out. Oh, and you two look real good together.”

Gen's jaw dropped.

TC burst out laughing.

“I'm just saying,” Rocky said in parting.

When they were alone again the horrified Gen said, “See why I apologized in advance?”

“No problem. Who knows, maybe next time we'll make it a real date and really give them something to talk about.”

She stared.

“I'm kidding. I know you have a guy.”

“I did, but not anymore,” Gen admitted.

“No?”

“Irreconcilable differences.”

“Ah, I see. I'm sorry.”

“I am, too. But life moves on.”

When their food came, Rocky had nothing else to say about them as a couple but she did give Gen a wink. Gen knew by dinnertime everybody in town would know she and TC had had lunch together. Clay too probably, and speculation would spread like wildfire. As it stood they were already the center of attention in the increasingly crowded diner if all the curious eyes turned their way was any indication.
This was so not a good idea.

But over the course of the meal, they had a good time. He told her about growing up in Oakland and all the jobs he'd had. She told him about growing up as the pampered ladylike daughter of an undertaker and that she still wore gloves to church. They talked about their favorite music groups of the '60s and '70s and Gen revealed that she'd never been to a live concert.

He stopped. “Never?”

“Ever. Why in the world would Earth Wind and Fire or anybody else play Henry Adams?”

“So you never got to hear Phil Bailey in his prime sing ‘Reasons'?”

She shook her head sadly.

“Well, the next time anyone of note comes within a hundred miles. Me. You. Going. Okay?”

She smiled. She knew he didn't mean that but it was the thought that counted. “Okay.”

“And I'm not joking.”

His firm tone made her pause, study him, and ask, “Really?”

“We're the first generation with its own sound track. Every baby boomer has to attend at least one concert before they die. That's the law, you know.”

Gen was enjoying him so much. “Okay, Mr. That's the Law. I'll keep an eye on the newspapers.”

“Good.”

To their utter surprise “Reasons” sung by the aforementioned Philip Bailey filled the air and TC pointed a fry at her. “See, even the universe agrees.”

Enjoying the song, Gen had to admit he was right.

When lunch was over, they went to the desk to take care of the bill.

“How was everything, TC?” Mal asked, running Gen's debit card.

“Best burger I've had in a while. I'll be back.”

“Good.” He handed Gen her card and receipt.

Outside, TC said, “Thanks for lunch. Next time it's on me.”

“Sounds good.” She put another star next to his name. Clay would never let her pay for their meals together. Ever. He took it as an affront to his male pride. TC, on the other hand, hadn't balked. She liked that.

When they reached the car, he opened the back door and she said, “You know, after having lunch together it feels kind of silly for me to be riding in the back. Is it okay if I sit up front?”

“Whatever the lady wants.”

So she sat next to him and told herself she wasn't nervous. But it was a lie. She felt like a teenager on a first date.

He put the key in the ignition and looked over at her. “I had a good time.”

“I did as well.”

Silence filled the car for a long few seconds and as it lengthened her heart started doing that crazy dance thing again. He finally turned the key and drove her home.

As she was getting out, she glanced up at the house and saw the windows on the curtains move. Marie was spying but Gen gave it little thought. “Thanks again for the ride to Franklin and for the good time at lunch.”

“You're welcome. I'm holding you to the concert.”

“I will keep an eye out. I promise.”

“Good. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You, too.”

Gen went inside and before she could close the door behind her, Marie, now seated on the couch, asked coolly, “Who was that?”

Gen didn't like her tone. “TC Barbour. Bernadine's new driver.”

“Since when?”

“Since Nathan and Lou and the baby moved to Lawrence.”

“If he's a driver, what were you doing riding in the front seat?”

Gen took off her coat and hung it in the closet. “Because we had lunch. And he's a nice guy.”

“What's Clay going to say about you riding around with Mr. Nice Guy?”

Gen held onto her temper. “If you would leave the house or talk to me occasionally you'd know that Clay and I are done.”

“Why?”

“Because he's Clay.”

“So you're throwing yourself at this new guy? You don't know anything about men.”

“And you do?”

Marie's lips tightened.

Gen didn't want to throw Marie's past relationships in her face but she wasn't putting up with this third degree any longer. She'd been putting off telling Marie she was moving out because of the uncertainty of how she'd react, but at this point, Gen was too upset to care. “So you'll know, I'm moving out.”

“When?”

“Probably by the middle of next week. I'm leasing a double-wide and putting it where my house used to be.”

Gen thought she saw pain cross Marie's face before it was immediately replaced by the familiar mask of disinterest.

Marie shrugged. “Fine with me.”

Gen waited to see if she'd say anything more but when she didn't, Gen walked by her and climbed the stairs to go to her room.

Alone, Marie closed her eyes against the painful emotions and told herself it didn't matter. She was lying, of course, but it was easier to look upon Gen's plans to move as yet another low blow to her life rather than deal with reality. She was terrified of growing old and being alone and she resented Gen's newly found strength and independence.
How dare you do this to me!
she wanted to scream up the stairs.
How dare you!
Not that she'd given her old friend much choice. Having been distant and uncommunicative probably killed their friendship, but weren't friends supposed to stick together through thick and thin, no matter what? When Gen finally saw the light and walked out on Riley who'd taken her in? Who'd taken her to Las Vegas for the first time? Who'd stood by her when
her home was razed, and had her back when Riley's embezzling came to light? She'd supported Genevieve when nobody else had and this is how Gen repaid her.
I'm moving out.
Marie knew laying all this at Gen's door wasn't right, nor was any of it her fault, but it was easier than looking in the mirror and facing the truth that this was the bed she'd made.

A
s Eli drove home with Crystal riding shotgun, he asked her, “Do you think we're ever going to hear back about the art contest?”

She shrugged. “Wish they'd hurry up, though. This waiting is about to kill me.”

“Tell me about it. I wonder how many entries they got total.”

“Couple of hundred probably, but who knows.”

“You going to this pizza party Leah's uncle is giving?”

“Yeah. She said he's going to show us how to make pizza from scratch so since I'm into the cooking shows, I'm interested. You coming?”

“I don't know. Sounds kind of lame.”

She rolled her eyes. “Everything is lame to you.”

“No, it's not.”

“Yeah, it is. You had the easy life growing up—two parents, nice house, too, I'll bet. Grandparents. The whole American dream thing.”

“So I'm supposed to deny that?”

“Nope, but you're content to not put too much effort into things because you've always had them—like delivered pizza. You're happy just opening a delivery box and not wondering how that pizza got made.”

“You're not making sense. You know that, right?”

“I am making sense. It's just easier for you to say I'm not so you don't have to dig beneath that comfort zone of yours.”

“No comfort in losing my mom.”

“True, but kids like Amari, Preston, and myself had to deal with the loss of ours from day one. You don't know how blessed you are, dude.”

“I do.”

She didn't look convinced.

“Changing the subject. I went over to check on Wyatt the day he walked away from the table and he closed the door in my face.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think there's a lot more going on with him than he's letting us see.”

“Probably. Lost his mom. Grew up on the South Side. Probably one of the few White kids. I'd have a lot going on underneath, too. You going to try and be big brother?”

Eli hadn't given that any thought. It sounded like a good idea though, and would probably win him points with her. “Yeah. If he'll let me.”

They were now in front of her house. She gathered her stuff from the floor of the car. “Sounds good. Let the rest of us know if we can help, and if you learn anything new about him we might need to know.”

“I will.”

“God, I hope the letter from the contest is in the mailbox,” she said, looking at her house.

“Me, too.”

“Now, remember you're supposed to be happy for me when I win.”

He laughed. “Get out of my car, girl. I'll text you later.”

Giving him a smile, she did just that.

Backing out of her driveway, he drove across the street to his own house.

Once inside, Eli made himself a sandwich. His dad wouldn't be home for at least another hour, so he needed something to tide him over until dinner. If he knew how to cook he could get their meal started but his dad had always done the cooking and he'd done the eating, so he didn't know how. He thought back on the conversation he'd had with Crystal in the car. Was this what she'd meant about him not looking past his comfort zone? Eli didn't expect to have the world handed to him, or did he? He certainly expected his dad to cook dinner, but he helped out, too. He cleaned his own bathroom, did his own laundry—well, sometimes. He also put the dishes in the dishwasher after dinner. Since his mom's death his dad had taken over the chores she used to handle and Eli never really thought about how his dad felt about carrying the load. He just expected his dad to do it. It never occurred to him until that moment that maybe his dad would like to come in after school and chill sometimes instead of heading straight to the kitchen to cook for his almost nineteen-year-old son every day. He winced at that truth. He supposed he was being selfish.
Damn you, Crystal
. Now he was going to have to learn to cook.

After school, TC and his nieces piled into his truck and drove the short distance to the grocery store. Once there, Tiffany grabbed a cart.

“You have our list, Leah?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. What's first?”

She looked at her phone. “Tomato paste.”

When they reached the right aisle he stood back and watched Leah pick up a can, before asking her, “Is that paste or sauce?”

She read the label. “Oh, this is sauce.” She put it back, studied the other red-labeled products nearby and grabbed another can. “This is paste.”

Tiff asked, “What's the difference?”

“Paste is thick. Sauce is loose, almost like juice,” he explained while Leah put a number of the correct cans into the cart.

“Never knew there was a difference,” Leah admitted.

“That's why we're doing this,” he said with a smile. “What's next?”

She consulted the list on her phone again. “Yeast.”

In the baking aisle Tiff stopped the cart at the yeast.

TC said, “We need rapid-rise.”

Both girls studied the offerings. Tiff found it first.

“You sure it's rapid-rise?” he asked her.

“Yep. Says so right here,” and she pointed at the wording before tossing the packets into the cart.

“Cheese next,” Leah told them. “Parmesan and mozzarella.”

When they reached the dairy aisle he once again made the girls double-check the package labeling to ensure they'd picked up the correct product. They then moved on to the meat. After adding ham and pepperoni, sliced turkey, bacon, and a few other choices to their cart, Leah said they needed
dried oregano, so they grabbed a bottle and because TC liked mushrooms on his pizza, a small package was added to the cart as well.

“Is that everything, Leah?” Tiff asked.

“I think so.”

They were on their way to the checkout when Gary walked up.

“Hey, Daddy,” Tiff said.

“Hey there. You guys find everything you needed for your pizza party?”

Leah nodded. “We did. This was fun.”

That was music to TC's ears.

“Good. Just checking. I'll see you at the house. Thanks, TC.”

“No problem. Like Leah said, we had fun.”

Gary left them to go back to his duties. Their cashier was Wyatt's grandmother, Gemma, and after she checked them out, groceries were put in the truck and the happy trio drove home.

They were putting everything away when TC's phone sounded. Seeing his daughter Bethany's profile picture put a smile on his face. “Hey, baby girl.”

“Hey, Daddy. How are you?”

Excusing himself from Tiffany and Leah, he walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch. “I'm doing good.”

“How's Mayberry?”

That made him smile. “Stop hating on your cousin's town. It's a nice place. Slow but nice.”

“Everywhere's slow compared to Oakland. So, are you still coming to see me this summer?”

Bethany managed a large resort on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. “That's the plan.”

“Good. I may have found a class for you to take while you're here.”

TC stilled.

As the silence lengthened, she asked, “Daddy? You still there?”

“I am.”

“I know you don't want me up in your business—”

“You're right.”

Her voice was contrite. “I'm sorry. Not trying to make you feel bad or anything but you can do this. The teacher promises it'll be a really small class, and I'll help.”

“I have to go, Beth baby. I'll call you in a few days.”

“Daddy—”

“Bye.” Fighting off the troubling emotions triggered by the conversation, he went back into the kitchen to check on the girls.

Later that evening while alone in the spare bedroom that had been turned into his own, TC pointed the remote at the big flat screen and clicked it off. Lying there in bed, he thought back on Bethany's call. The father in him owed her an apology. She'd only been trying to help and he appreciated her concern even though it wasn't needed, or at least that's what he'd been telling himself all these years. He reached over and turned off the light. Sometimes a person could admit things in the dark that they couldn't at any other time and for him it was that he couldn't read. He was what the folks on a program he'd watched on PBS called
functionally illiterate.
He knew numbers and basic words but lacked the ability to read a book from cover to cover or pore over the sports section in a newspaper. His father, Elwood, hadn't been able to read, either. He'd grown up in Mississippi, the son of sharecroppers, and had
chopped cotton instead of going to school because his help had been necessary to put food on the table. When he became a man and moved west, the dock supervisors hired him for his brawn, not his brain. He made a decent living for a man of color in the '40s so schooling hadn't been important, and with times being what they were he hadn't seen its importance for his son, either. Whether TC's mother was literate or not, TC would never know. She left him and his father when he was about six and he never saw her again. With his father working long hours and being dead on his feet when he finally did make it home, TC basically raised himself. No one cared if he went to school or not, nor was there anyone around to make sure he did his homework. When he grew old enough, he too went to work on the docks and a few years later, saw a pretty little brown beauty named Carla George at a dance one night and fell head over heels in love. He courted her for six months before admitting the truth and to his surprise she didn't walk away and eventually agreed to be his bride. Over the years, she kept his secret, covering for him when she could, but always gently encouraged him to bite the bullet and take a class. He never did and that was why he'd taken the girls to the store. He couldn't read the labels on the cans. He knew some things by sight like meat and eggs, and even though tomato paste and tomato sauce often came in different sized cans, he wasn't familiar with the brands Gary carried and he needed the girls to read the labels for him. He also needed them to get the yeast because rapid-rise was different than the regular kind. Yes, it had been a shopping exercise for them but it was also one of the tricks of the trade employed by a man with his deficiency. He thought back on Genevieve and her literacy classes. He sensed she might be the one to
help him out, but like many people in his position there was an element of embarrassment and shame tied to his condition. They'd had such a nice time together at lunch. Would she think less of him if he confessed the truth and asked for her help? There was no way to know and he didn't want to mess things up with her. So he lay in the dark haunted by his future and his past. Right before Carla died he promised her that he'd learn in her memory but hadn't kept his word. “I'm so sorry, baby,” he whispered. And he was.

He turned over hoping for sleep, but it was a long time coming.

Friday morning, Gen rode over to the rec with Tamar to help set up for movie night. There were hot dogs to take out of the freezer, packages of buns to count, cartons of soda syrup to mix and put into the fridge, and countless other duties that went into making the weekly gathering a success. Bobby Douglas had been tapped by Tamar to be their muscle for the morning. Under Gen's supervision he was moving the big popcorn machines into place when Clay walked in.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Genevieve?”

Even at the age of sixty plus Clay Dobbs with his golden skin was still gorgeous as a sunrise, but when she unconsciously began to compare him to the tall dark handsome TC, she shook her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Sure. Bobby, see what else Tamar needs help with. I'll be back in a minute.”

“Let's go to the gym,” Clay said.

Upon entering, she asked, “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I hear you had lunch with Gary's uncle.”

“And?”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“It was lunch. It had nothing to do with you.”

Obviously upset, he looked off for a moment. She hoped he didn't think he had the right to tell her what she could or couldn't do but he gave the impression that he did.

“I don't want you having lunch with him again.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm not your child.”

“Genevieve, I know we're having some issues, and you probably think—”

“Stop right there. You don't know what I'm thinking because if you did we wouldn't be having these so-called issues. You've stated your position. I stated mine. I'm not the woman you want. I can live with that.”

“You're too old to be trying to turn yourself into somebody different,” he gritted out.

That hurt.
“Thank you, Clay. I really wanted to hear that. Excuse me, I have to get back to work.” And she left so he wouldn't see her tears.

On her way down the hall, Sheila stepped out of one of the storage rooms. “Gen? Are you okay?”

“No, but I will be.”

“What's wrong?”

An angry Clay passed them by without a word. As he barreled through the door leading to the parking lot, Gen said, “That's what's wrong.” She told her about the hard time Clay had been giving her, and what he'd said.

Sheila shook her head disapprovingly. “You know I had the same sort of problem with Barrett.”

“I do.” Sheila left her husband for a brief time in response to his extramarital affair and returned revamped and stronger.

“He didn't like who I turned myself into but the more I
liked myself the more I didn't care what he thought. Stick to your guns, girl. There's nothing wrong with what you're doing. At all.”

Gen wiped her eyes. It was good hearing Sheila affirm what she already knew. And she was not too old. “Thanks, Sheila.”

Sheila draped an arm over her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Forget about Old Man Sourpuss Clay Dobbs. A man worth your heart will love who you are.”