The Unexpected Affair Page 12

  Lane Jr. shrugged. “That’s what my coach says.”

  “It’s what your dad says, too,” said Lane.

  Most women doted over Lane Jr., but Whitney had a way with him that let him know that she didn’t care that he was a star football player. She was used to dealing with kids his age. Lane respected that. He was falling for her.

  “Come on, honey, grab your things. Let’s go,” Helena interrupted. “Tell your dad goodbye.”

  “Bye, Dad. I’ll see you next weekend.”

  “We’ll go check out that movie you’ve been wanting to see,” said Lane. “The sci-fi one.”

  “Okay, that’s cool.”

  “Say goodbye to Miss Whitney,” Lane reminded him.

  “Goodbye,” said Lane Jr. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Nice meeting you, too.”

  Lane grabbed Whitney’s hand and the two walked to his car. He opened her door and she stepped in. He hopped into the driver’s seat, started the engine and sat there for a moment. He turned the volume down on the radio. He moved his body so that he was facing her.

  “What’s up, babe?” she asked. It was the first time she’d called him by an endearing name.

  “I think I’m ready to go home for a visit.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. But only if you’ll go with me.”

  “I don’t know, Lane. I just took off for the Bahamas. I don’t know if I can get the time off.”

  “We’ll make it a quick turnaround. A weekend.”

  When his mother insisted that he come home to Saint Louis for a visit, Lane knew that he couldn’t run from the pain of his past any longer. Fear had kept him away for a long time, but Whitney had given him courage again. He felt empowered when she was around. Lane knew that his mother would love her. She was the girl that every mother wanted for her son—beautiful, smart, respectful and someone who cared for him. With her Bahamian accent and quirky sense of humor, she would quickly win over his entire family.

  “Okay,” she surrendered. “When?”

  “Next weekend.”

  She sighed, took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  He smiled and leaned over and kissed her lips. “Thank you, babe.”

  He exhaled.

  Chapter 21

  Whitney was falling for Lane. He made her feel as no one ever had. She finally felt that tingle in the pit of her stomach that she’d only heard talk of. But he was the wrong guy—wasn’t he? Her friends certainly would think so. Kenya would give him the benefit of the doubt, but Tasha would be beside herself with judgment. So she hid him. He would be her little secret.

  In the Bahamas, they had connected. She wasn’t surprised at all that her family had fallen in love with him. They didn’t care what he did for a living or that he’d been previously divorced and had a teenage son. Those had been her hang-ups in the beginning. However, she hadn’t given any of that a second thought when they made love at the Grove beneath the Caribbean moonlight. And it certainly didn’t matter now. She was all in.

  As the wheels of the jet hit the pavement, Lane held on tightly to her hand. He kissed the back of it.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  “Yes, we are.”

  She knew he hadn’t been home since his brother Tye’s funeral. That had to be weighing heavy on him. Her heart went out to him. She wished she could take away the pain and the fear. That was the thing that validated her love for him. She wanted nothing more than to see him happy. But grief was a terrible thief. It always managed to steal hope, happiness and joy from people—without warning and without mercy.

  “My brother Clint is picking us up at the airport.”

  “Can’t wait to meet him.”

  “He’ll love you.”

  They deplaned and headed straight for baggage claim. A man who was an older version of Lane, with a tattered salt-and-pepper beard, stood near the carousel. A wide smile covered his face when he saw them. Lane went straight for him. They slapped hands and hugged strongly.

  “My little brother!” said the man. He patted Lane’s stomach. “What you been eating?”

  “The same thing you’ve been eating,” said Lane as he returned the pat to his brother’s stomach. He grabbed Clint’s beard. “And this bird’s nest of yours is out of control. You need to shave, man!”

  “The ladies love my beard!” said Clint.

  They both laughed, heartily and without regard for where they were.

  “Come here, babe.” Lane grabbed her by the hand. “This is Whitney. Whitney, my brother Clint.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Clint.”

  “Is he holding you hostage, young lady?” Clint playfully asked. “Because if he is, I’d be happy to rescue a pretty lady like you.”

  “Watch it, bro. This is my woman!”

  She was stunned by his words. When did she become his woman? They’d just had a discussion about relationships and commitments, but suddenly she had a title. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that title and she’d address it with him later.

  “Pleased to meet you, Clint. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about you,” said Clint as he took her hand in his and gave her a quick scan from head to toe. “What are you doing slumming with this guy?”

  “He’s a sweetheart,” said Whitney.

  “Oh, what a beautiful accent.”

  “She’s from the islands.”

  “Very nice dialect,” said Clint. He owned a beautiful smile quite similar to Lane’s. She could definitely tell they were brothers. “Let’s get these bags. Your mother is beside herself with excitement. Cooked all this food...all of your favorite stuff. She never cooks like that for me!”

  “It’s because you live here. She doesn’t see me every day, so she has to make up for lost time.”

  “Lost time, my ass! She cooked enough food to feed an army. Got everybody coming over tonight for a crab boil, like you’re a celebrity or something.”

  “Don’t hate...appreciate...”

  Whitney enjoyed the playful banter between Lane and his brother. It was a side of him she hadn’t seen. The men grabbed their bags from the carousel and they trampled out to the parking lot to Clint’s car.

  “Mama’s still driving this old Chrysler?” asked Lane.

  “Yeah, man. She’s going to drive it until the wheels fall off. You just watch.”

  They threw luggage into the trunk of the old Chrysler. Whitney slid into the front seat of the car, with the worn red leather seats and wood-grain dashboard. Lane hopped into the back seat. Clint started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, music blaring from Saint Louis’s hip-hop station. He sang every word to every song along the way, in between updating Lane on everything that had taken place since he’d been gone. Clint also pointed out every landmark that he thought Whitney might be interested in seeing—the Saint Louis Arch, Sweetie Pie’s soul food restaurant and Busch Stadium.

  Finally, they pulled up in front of Lane’s childhood home—an old two-story traditional brick house with a large front porch. A slender woman of average height stepped onto the porch with a cigarette extending from her long fingers.

  “I thought she stopped smoking!” Lane frowned and gazed at his young-looking mother.

  “She did for a while. Now she’s back at it.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Lane said matter-of-factly as he hopped out of the back seat of the car.

  He opened Whitney’s door and then rushed to the front porch. He grabbed his mother into his arms and lifted her into the air. She laughed with exuberance. She couldn’t contain the joy of seeing her son.

  “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal child,” she said and grabbed his face into both her hands. “How are you, baby?”

>   “I’m good, Ma.”

  “You look so good! I have missed you like crazy.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “And who do we have here?” She looked past Lane and saw Whitney climbing the porch steps.

  “This is Whitney. Whitney, my mother, Sylvia.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Whitney smiled at Lane’s young-looking mother, with dark brown flawless skin like Lane’s. They were twins, she thought.

  “Nice to meet you, honey. I know you must be something special, because my son doesn’t bring women home,” said Sylvia. “Come on in here and get something to eat. I know you two must be hungry.”

  The house smelled of seafood and Cajun spices. They followed Sylvia to the kitchen, with the glass table and four chairs and a vase with fresh flowers. A large aluminum crawfish pot stood tall atop the gas stove. Sylvia walked over and stirred whatever was in it.

  Lane took a sniff in the pot. “Seafood boil.”

  “You like seafood, Whitney?” asked Sylvia.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Whitney. “Love it. It’s the staple of my home.”

  “Which is where?”

  “The Bahamas.”

  “Ahh, the Bahamas! I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “It’s beautiful, Ma. You would love it.”

  “You mean you’ve been to the Bahamas?”

  “Yes, ma’am, a few weeks ago.”

  “Okay, so what’s really going on here?” asked a skeptical Sylvia.

  Lane kissed her cheek. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Sylvia pointed toward the cabinets above the sink. “Grab a couple of bowls from the shelf over there, honey.”

  Whitney was standing closest to the shelf and grabbed two bowls, handed them to Sylvia. She filled each of them with shrimp, crab legs, fish, corn and potatoes.

  “Have a seat and enjoy. I have to go get your rooms ready,” said Sylvia. She kissed the top of Lane’s head and wrapped her arms around his neck. “When I come back, we’ll catch up.”

  She disappeared from the kitchen.

  “Notice she said rooms. Plural.” Lane laughed.

  “Just like my mother. You don’t sleep together unless you’re married. Otherwise you burn in hell.”

  “No worries.” Lane lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ll just sneak in your room after the lights go out.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t want me to sneak in your room and rock you to sleep?”

  “You’re not getting me in trouble with your mother. I have to make a good impression.”

  “She’ll never know. She sleeps like a rock.”

  “Not taking any chances.”

  “We’ll see.” He grinned and took a mouthful of seafood.

  * * *

  Before long the house was crowded with Lane’s uncles, aunts and cousins. His aunts brought dishes filled with food—red beans and rice, fried fish, cakes and pies. They were all excited to see Lane and he them. Loud music and louder voices filled the house. Bottles of rum, vodka and tequila filled the dining room table. A game of dominoes was being played at a card table. Lane had long found his home at the table and slammed dominoes down. He taunted his cousin and claimed that he was the “king of dominoes.” Surely it was the vodka talking, Whitney thought. She smiled at him, and he gave her a wink of the eye. He was enjoying himself immensely and it warmed her heart. She didn’t understand how he could stay away from this bunch of people for so long. Their love for him was undeniable.

  Lane’s mother pulled up a chair next to hers. She leaned over toward Whitney. “He looks happy. I haven’t seen him happy in a long time, even before Tye’s death. He was always so serious.”

  “Really?”

  “And then after the accident, I thought he wouldn’t recover. I thought I wouldn’t recover. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to endure.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was watching Queen Sugar one night, and Remy said to Charley, ‘You can’t outrun grief... It leaves when it’s ready. Sit with it, listen to it, respect it.’ Those words were so profound. Helped me out a lot,” she said. “You watch that show?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ve seen a couple of episodes,” said Whitney.

  “I tell you, that Ralph Angel is something to look at, ain’t he?” Sylvia laughed.

  Whitney laughed. “He’s a good-looking guy.”

  “I love that the show is set in Louisiana. That’s where my family’s from.”

  “Lane told me. Says we’re going to drive down there sometime.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad my family is close to him. So even when he can’t make it home, he can get to them.”

  “Yes, there’s nothing like family.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” said Sylvia. She stood. “I’m going to dance. You want to get out there and show us what you got?”

  “No, ma’am, I’ll sit this one out.”

  “Okay, baby.” Sylvia joined her brother in the middle of the floor.

  Whitney sipped on a glass of wine and chitchatted with Lane’s aunts and female cousins. She discovered that his cousin Diana taught middle school, so she and Whitney had plenty to talk about. They hit it off right away, swapping classroom stories. His aunt Jean played the piano and wrote music. She encouraged Whitney to follow her passion for music. Before long, she felt as if she knew every one of them intimately. She already loved them.

  “I hear Lane’s going to visit Tye’s grave site tomorrow,” said Aunt Jean.

  “Yes,” said Whitney.

  “He’s never been there. It’ll be hard on him.”

  “But you’ll be there with him, right?” asked Diana.

  “Yes, I will. I’ll be right by his side,” said Whitney.

  “Good.” Aunt Jean gave her the warmest smile. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  Sylvia was in the middle of the living room floor dancing with Lane’s uncle Bud. She swung her hips from side to side while the Marvin Gaye track played, a glass of wine in her hand. She was in her element, happy that her son was home. Whitney smiled.

  “Come over here, Whitney, and dance. Show me how they do it in the islands.”

  Whitney’s heart dropped. Was she serious?

  “Come on, child, before the song ends!”

  Whitney stood and gave Lane a look of despair.

  He smiled and raised his glass in the air. “Go show ’em what you got, baby,” he yelled.

  He was no help whatsoever, she thought as she made her way to the living room, where Sylvia was dancing. She moved to the music. She loved to dance, and she was good at it. However, she hadn’t planned on dancing in front of Lane’s entire family, whom she’d met only hours before. However, by the time the song changed, she was all in. She ended up dancing the night away.

  After every guest had been bid a good night, Whitney helped Sylvia put food in plastic containers and placed them in the refrigerator. Sylvia’s eyes were tired. She looked like a woman who was at least ten years younger than she really was—fit and energetic—but her eyes told a different story. Whitney could tell that years of being a single parent and experiencing heartache had worn on her. Whitney had been raised in a two-parent home with six children and she knew that parenting was no easy task. Her heart went out to Sylvia.

  “You make my son smile,” she said. “Are you two serious?”

  Things had grown rather quickly in the past few weeks, and Whitney hadn’t had a moment to analyze what she and Lane were or weren’t. She’d only lived in the moment. Usually she lied to herself or the people around her. However, she needed to be honest with this woman who’d endured enough in her life.

  “I like him.” Whitney smiled. �
��I actually think that I’m falling for him.”

  It was the first time she’d admitted it or said it aloud.

  “Well, he’s definitely fallen for you,” said Sylvia. “What do you two plan to do about it?”

  “Just live in the moment. I don’t think that either of us is looking for a commitment.”

  “It’s funny how we always seem to find what we’re not looking for.” Sylvia gave Whitney a strong hug. “Thank you, honey. You go on up and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night.”

  When she passed Lane’s bedroom, she could literally hear him snoring loudly. She smiled and shook her head. She loved that he knew exactly how to be himself, without inhibition or shame. He didn’t care what people thought or said. He was simply who he was, and after meeting his mother, Sylvia, she knew exactly where he’d gotten it from. He had threatened to sneak into her room, but she was sure he wouldn’t be sneaking into anyone’s room before the night was over. She crawled into bed in the guest bedroom, with bedding that smelled of lavender fabric softener. A jasmine candle rested on the nightstand. She rested her head against the pillow and tried giving in to sleep, but as she stared at the ceiling, she knew that rest wouldn’t come easy.

  Chapter 22

  The drive to the cemetery seemed like the longest drive ever. Lane glanced over at Whitney in the passenger’s seat as she held on to a bouquet of artificial roses. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly. He was grateful that she was making this drive with him. He didn’t know if he could’ve done it alone.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “I know.”

  He drove his mother’s Chrysler across the gravel road and then slowed and parked at the place where his brother’s grave was located. He stepped out of the car and then came around and opened Whitney’s door, grabbed her hand and helped her out of the car. They searched for Tye’s headstone. It was made of granite and engraved with his name and photo. He remembered that photo of Tye, and the moment he saw it, his heart ached and a tear crept down his cheek. He modestly wiped it away and then stood there with his arms folded across his chest. Whitney placed red roses atop the granite.