Until (12 page)

Evander walked Betty through his old neighborhood with pride. As they walked, he held her hand and occasionally sang songs he didn't know the words to and told her jokes he had heard that he felt would top Jacqui's. When they returned hours later to the Jones house, it seemed everyone had departed except the old men guzzling malt liquor, smoking reefers, and still playing dominoes in the backyard. Inside the house, Mrs. Jones was on the phone talking to a friend and watching Betty and Evander walk up the driveway through the blinds.

Before walking inside, Betty stood in place on the porch and said, “Vander. I just want to say thanks.”

“For what?”

“For so many things. But mostly for getting me away from the office. I can't tell you how much better I feel not to be working today. It just occurred to me as we were walking that this was the first time I've not worked on a Saturday in about three years.”

“You're welcome.”

“But I really wanted to say thanks because you've shared so much of yourself with me today. No other man has ever done this for me, and it means a lot. I know you're serious.” And then, looking into his eyes, she stepped closer and continued, “And so am I. I just want to say—” And then Betty was ready to finally say the words she felt deep inside when Evander covered her lips with a kiss that was as soft as candlelight.

“I love you too, Beep,” he said with an understanding tone. “I love you too.”

With a nervous
tap of his pen on the oak credenza, Drew sat behind his desk, silent, absorbed and alone.

He gazed out the window of the office, which was a vast improvement over the first home of Andrew Patrick Staley and Associates. It was in the Millhopper area of Gainesville, which was the town's version of Park Avenue. While it was small, the sienna and burgundy office was tastefully decorated with artwork from Senegal, pampered plants, and Steven Scott Young prints. In the closet was a cot that Drew used on occasion when his days extended into nights and then mornings, a fully stocked nonalcoholic bar, and a small stereo that played continuous jazz.

As he watched the cars stop for the red light at the intersection of Thirty-ninth and Forty-third Street, Drew remembered the first time he took in the view. He remembered how he'd felt when the realtor told him the price, but he'd also known the location had an unseen benefit. Not only would it be easy for his potential clients to find him, he would also take pride in being at his desk before dawn and getting comments from other planners that they'd seen him after dusk as they'd taken their families out to dinner. No other African-American financial planner had survived beyond three years in Gainesville. Many thought it was because white prospects weren't trusting enough to give them
large sums of money to invest, and black prospects invested elsewhere. Regardless of that, Drew's image in the window was a constant reminder to his colleagues that he had in fact survived and prospered.

Felicia had never liked him to go to work so early. Her biggest complaint about him had been the fact that she hated going to sleep alone and waking up by herself. But after several months, she understood that his firm was as much a part of him as she wished to be eventually.

After the initial rough spots of learning what each other liked and did not like, they became more than a couple. They walked and spoke alike, and appeared to be married in many ways. They had a connection that transcended a band of gold, although they both knew a church was in their future. When Drew was in the mood to take the leap, she always found reasons to say let's wait. When she wanted to say I do, Drew did not feel he was at a point to walk down the aisle. But marriage was never as much an issue with them as it was with their friends, because they knew one day they would be together and so they simply continued to enjoy each other for what it was worth.

Felicia took on the mantle of Mrs. Staley in many ways to assist Drew. She devoted each afternoon to riding around town with his mother to look for a house. She did the research, took notes, and often even took photos; then on the weekends she and Drew looked at selected homes together. Her search ended when she took him to a house that was painted eggshell white with a patchwork lawn in need of work.

“To be sure, this is not the house you want to look at,” he asked with disbelieving eyes.

“Before we go in, just listen to me. Okay?” she asked. And then she allowed Drew to see the house through her eyes. Felicia proceeded to paint Drew a picture in his mind of a house with a vaulted ceiling and a crystal chandelier. She shared with him a home with Italian stained glass in the front door, hickory floors, and a kitchen with hanging pots over an island. A home that could be practical and beautiful. That could be both informal and elegant.

“Baby,” he said, “I see where it could be improved. I love
the subdivision and all, but I'm not really interested in a fixer-upper. I just don't have the time or patience for it.”

“I understand that. Trust me, I do. But,” she said, and then looked at him, “I'll do it. I don't mind. I'm off early every day and I don't have anything to do on the weekends. I can make this work, Drew.”

Drew looked at the bent mailbox held to its post with a single rusty nail, and the flower bed which was overrun with weeds, as the venerable owner of the property stuck his head out the door. “Why don't we do this?” he said as the man walked toward their car. “Why don't you just move in with me? If I get this place, I wouldn't need all of the room, and besides, I wouldn't want you to work here helping me with this and not live here.”

Felicia returned his smile, reached down and squeezed his hand, and said, “Let's go look at the house. Okay?”

It took Drew three months to negotiate the price of the house, and Felicia another two months of working with subcontractors to get it up to move-in condition. But on Christmas eve the movers pulled into the driveway with only Drew's furniture. Felicia had told him a week earlier that she had decided not to give up her own house.

“Why?”

“Because I want it all,” she'd replied. “I don't want half now and half later. When we get together, I want it all. Including the name.”

On the night of the move with the clock ticking toward Christmas, Drew sat on an imported rug, exhausted from unpacking. He had just taken his bath, more to relieve his tired and aching muscles than anything else, when Felicia smiled at him from the island in the kitchen where she was chopping vegetables. “You know you're getting old, don't you?”

“I'm not getting old,” he said as he looked at “Moneyline” on television. “What's that smell?”

“It's a surprise. I wanted the first meal here to be something different. You always say you like trying new dishes, so let's see how this grabs you.”

Drew took a deep breath and released an old-man grunt as he lifted his achy body from the floor. “Whatever it is, it
smells good. Are you broiling steaks?” he asked as he rubbed his football knees and moved toward the kitchen.

“No! Don't come in here!” she said with a smile and a knife pointed at him.

“I just want to get something to—”

“Shhh,” she said with the knife still aimed in his direction, and blindly reached into the fridge for a can of Coke. “Here you are! Now, go back in the living room where you came from.”

Taking the can with a smile, he said, “You don't scare me, you know. I can come in there if I want to. I just happen not to want to.”

“Try me,” she said slowly with a scowl on her lips and a twist of the knife in the air. “Just try me,
Mister
Man.”

For their first dinner Drew and Felicia had roast beef covered with horseradish sauce surrounded by brown rice and English snow peas. The meal was complemented by pear and tarragon soup, and she served a red wine that was given to them as a Christmas gift from Peggy and Walter. For dessert there was a strawberry soufflé waiting in the oven. As she set his plate in front of him, Drew said, “Now, you know you're spoiling me with a meal like this. How am I supposed to go back to eating Boston Market after dining on something like this?”

“Be quiet,” she said, barely above a whisper, as she scanned the table to make sure it was perfect. It was candlelit and she had used his special sterling silver and black china as well as the crystal wine glasses. Felicia had also used touches of garnish to make the dish as beautiful as it was appetizing, and in the background from the stereo was “Some Enchanted Evening” to hold the mood. “Just be quiet,” she repeated, looking into his eyes, “and let's just enjoy the moment.”

Drew reached across the table for her hand, and together they silently blessed the meal. As their eyes opened, they both looked at their hands in the middle of the table. Drew loved how soft her hands were, and as his thumb grazed the outer surface of her palm, he smiled and then looked at her over the blushing flicker of light as if everything else came in a distant second.

“Felicia? I'm not telling you this because of this meal. I'm not even saying it because of all the work you've done in this house. Actually, I really don't have a special reason to say what I am about to say at all.” Then Drew looked into her dark brown eyes as he had never looked into them before and said softly, “I love you. And I just want you to know that.” Then with a glance back at her hand, he repeated, “I love you.”

Felicia stared at their hands as they held them firmly together in a connection that extended beyond the physical. “Drew, I've never told you this, and it never occurred to me until I was talking to my sister on the phone today. But you are the first man to send me flowers.”

“Ohh, baby. I had no idea.”

As she covered their joined hands with her free hand, she gazed at a spot just above his head and continued. “You are also the very first man to write me a poem. I know it sounds childish, but that means a lot to me.” Then Felicia took a deep breath in and released it as she looked him in the eye. “But, Andrew, you are the only man . . .” And then her voice trailed off. Whatever it was she wanted to say, she could not.

“What, baby?” Drew asked, seeing the desire on her face to share whatever was in her heart.

Felicia had stared back at Drew, and whatever had been in her heart had not shown in her eyes, because her expression had been stoic. It had not been on her lips, because they had not moved. She'd sat the same and her impassive body language had given no clues as to what she'd wanted to say. But as Drew had asked her once again what it was she wanted to share, a single tear had found its way down her cheek.

While it had been a couple of months since her death, he often thought back to that warm Christmas eve. Not so much for the meal or the atmosphere. Not so much for the board game they'd played afterward when she'd beaten him for the first time at Monopoly. He didn't recall that evening for the way they'd played with high-powered water guns in the chilled waters of the pool or the way she'd made him laugh.

“Drew!” Felicia had screamed. “Boy, you know I can't swim, and if you drop me, I swear I'll kill ya!” She'd added, “Whatever you do, don't get my hair wet. You know we gotta go to church tomorrow.” He did not recall that night for the way she'd looked after she reached her peak in the pool or how she'd felt when she pushed him away and dipped her hair in the water. That night was remembered for such simple words. Not the words she hadn't said, but the words she had. Words Felicia may have never thought twice about after saying them. When she'd looked at him over dinner and said, “Drew, let's just enjoy the moment.”

He repeated the words aloud to himself over and over again. His shoulders slumped in his chair as he watched the traffic light turn green and he wished he could have understood fully what she'd so desperately tried to tell him. Now that she was gone, it was hard going back to Boston Market in so many ways. As the cars passed outside his window, the simple words stung like the winter's sun and were just as unforgettable.

The small TV in the comer of Drew's office played more for noise than anything else, and with a glance at his watch he clicked it off so he could concentrate on the solicitation of new business. Although he had received a call from the insurance underwriter informing him that the program he'd designed for Murphy, Renfro and Collins was partially approved, he felt uneasy about it. He had made several calls to Franklin Renfro regarding modifications, but the managing partner of the firm had not returned his calls, instead delegating the task to his administrative assistant. This was not an uncommon practice with people in his position, but knowing Renfro the way he did, Drew felt especially perturbed.

“Come in,” Drew said in response to a knock at the door.

With a look inside before entering, Grace asked, “Why you got the door closed? I thought you were on an important call or something.”

“Just thinking. Did they deliver lunch?”

“Got it right here,” she said, and set the red and white Wing-A-Lidous container on the edge of his desk. “So what are you back here thinking about, with the door dosed no less?”
she said, and took the first wing tip from the aluminum foil.

“Ah, they got this new thing now'days? It's called
asking
for a person's lunch before you start eating it?”

“Oh,” she said between chews, “can I have some of your wings, Drewww?”

“No,” he said, and pulled the box closer to his side of the table as Peggy walked in.

“What are you all doing back here all huddled up? Dag, why didn't anyone tell me we had wings?” she said as she took one out and pulled the container back to the edge of the desk.

“Because
we
are not having wings. I'm having wings,” Drew replied.

“Anyway,” Peggy said, and sat in the leather chair across from him with her legs crossed. “Listen, Grace. What's up with you and old boy? You know? The football player?” She took a bite and looked at Drew with disdain. “Damn, Drew! Why don't you ever order spicy? These don't have any kick! I hate mild!”

Drew could only look at her and shake his head with a smile, as Grace said, “We're doing fine. We've been going out three weeks now, and so far he's been totally not what I expected.”