The Unexpected Affair Page 7

  “I’m good,” he said confidently.

  “Okay, because I really like the view as we descend in the Bahamas. But I’ve seen it a bunch of times, so again, I’ll let you have the window.”

  “I’m good,” he said again with a laugh. “I can see the view from here. Relax.”

  “Okay.” She placed her phone in airplane mode and stuck it into her purse.

  She’d wanted desperately to be awake when they descended, but by the time her eyes opened, the plane was taxiing the runway and headed toward the gate at Governor’s Harbour Airport.

  She smacked the back of her hand against Lane’s chest, as if they were old friends. “Why didn’t you wake me before we landed?”

  “Sorry.” He smiled. “You were sleeping so good I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  “I was tired,” she admitted. Her sleep habits weren’t the greatest. She had early mornings and late nights. Mostly up thinking about things she couldn’t do anything about, like the lives of the children in her class. Some of them seemed to have trouble at home. She knew it in her heart but wasn’t able to prove any of it—and it drove her crazy.

  “I know. You were snoring...and drooling.”

  “I was not snoring or drooling!” She touched her mouth to check for drool.

  “Okay, maybe not drooling, but definitely snoring.”

  She shook her head and then peered out of the window. She had anxiety just thinking that in just a few minutes she’d be hugging her father. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year—not since her parents’ anniversary party last spring. It was when she and all of her siblings had come home to the islands, and she’d been surprised to see that her brother Edward was reuniting with his ex-wife. They’d found love a second time around and here she was back on the islands for their wedding reception.

  Her father stood tall in his khaki pants, a button-down sky-blue shirt and a pair of loafers. His salt-and-pepper hair looked more salt than pepper, and he looked thinner than he had the last time she saw him. His wide grin was the thing that she missed most about him, and he gave her one when he spotted her. He opened his arms wide and she ran into them—never too old to run into her daddy’s arms. She hugged him tight, just like she did the first time he walked her to elementary school.

  “Hey, Daddy!” she said, her face buried against his chest.

  “Hello, baby,” he said in his baritone Bahamian dialect.

  She held on to his waist and turned to find Lane standing close by.

  “Daddy, this is my friend Lane,” she said.

  “Hello, son.” He reached for Lane’s hand and gave it a strong squeeze. “Paul John Talbot.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Lane. “Lane Martin.”

  “Good to meet you, as well,” said Paul John, and gave his daughter a rise of the eyebrow.

  Paul John rarely said much about what his children did in their lives, but he always took notice of everything. Whitney never brought anyone home to the islands, so she was sure her father was curious about Lane and how he’d gained the honor of accompanying her home. But he didn’t waste time with questions. He grabbed her suitcase and headed outside toward his pickup truck. Her father, a former physician, had driven that truck for too many years. Clearly he could afford something newer but loved that truck. Whitney and Lane followed Paul John and he tossed her bags in the bed and motioned for Lane to do the same.

  Paul John drove down Queen’s Highway, his old-school Bahamian music playing loudly on the stereo. Whitney, who sat in between the two men, changed the station to a more contemporary one. Her father shook his head and smiled. He knew his middle daughter quite well. He knew all three of his daughters well—probably better than they knew themselves. Jasmine was the youngest—outgoing and adventurous, always uncertain of how amazing she was. Alyson, the oldest and the diva of the family. Alyson had no filter. Her rough edges carefully hid her insecurities. Whitney was unlike either of her sisters, in that she was quite sure of herself and didn’t have very many insecurities.

  Being the middle child had taught her strength, to stand on her own—it was she who didn’t require as much attention. Yet her father always gave her a nod, a wink or some gesture to let her know that he recognized her existence. He had a way of making every person in the family feel just as important as the next. That’s what she loved about him. That, and the fact that she could talk to him about any and everything and he never judged. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Glad you’re home,” he said.

  “Me, too.”

  “You two are staying at the house, right?” he asked.

  “At the Grove,” she corrected him, referring to her family’s bed-and-breakfast.

  “Oh,” he said.

  She raised her head. “What?”

  “Your mum was expecting you to stay at the house. Got your rooms all fixed up nice, ya know?”

  “Really?” said Whitney, “I’m pretty sure I told her we were staying at the Grove.”

  “You might have, darling, but I tell you, she’s expecting you to stay at the house.”

  Whitney sighed. She’d always stayed at the house when she’d come home in the past—alone. But this time, she wanted private time with Lane and she knew that wouldn’t be possible at her childhood home. Her mother would be all in her business, and watching her like a hawk. The two wouldn’t have one single private conversation—not with Beverly Talbot around. She was her mother’s favorite. She knew it, and so did her other siblings. Her mother had been a teacher in her former life, and often Whitney felt as if her mother lived vicariously through her. But sometimes that felt like more of a curse than a blessing.

  “Dear God,” Whitney mumbled under her breath.

  * * *

  The moment she walked into the house, she recognized the smell of her mother’s johnnycakes. She heard the sounds of contemporary Caribbean music. Beverly Talbot met them in the living room, wiping her hands on an apron wrapped around her waist.

  “Hello, baby,” she exclaimed.

  “Mother!” Whitney gave her mother a tight squeeze.

  “You lookin’ good.”

  “Thank you, Mum.”

  “And who do we have here?” Beverly gave Lane a wide grin.

  “This is Lane. Lane, this is my mother, Beverly Talbot.”

  “Nice meeting you, ma’am,” said Lane as he took Beverly’s hand in his. “You’re way more beautiful than I expected.”

  “He’s quite the charmer,” said Beverly to Whitney with a smile. “Come on. I know you’re both hungry.”

  “Starved!” said Whitney.

  “The others will be here shortly. But you can grab a small bite before supper.”

  “Yes!” Whitney exclaimed.

  Paul John gave Lane a pat on the back. “Follow me, son. I’ll show you where to put the bags.”

  Whitney followed her mother to the kitchen. Lane followed Paul John.

  “He’s cute,” said Beverly. “I don’t think I ever remember you bringing a young man home.”

  “He’s just a friend, Mum.”

  “Is he a teacher, too?”

  “No. He drives a truck.”

  “I see,” said Beverly. “And he makes a good living from that?”

  “A very good one,” said Whitney as she began to search through the cupboards. “Is there any rum in the house?”

  “Of course. I made your rum punch.” Beverly pointed at the refrigerator.

  “Good.” She grabbed a glass and poured herself a drink.

  She was grateful for rum punch. It was what she missed most about the Bahamas. That and the beach. But mostly the rum. And she was going to need plenty of it to get through the weekend.

  Chapter 12

  The Bahamas was way m
ore beautiful than Lane could’ve imagined, with its clear blue skies and the scent of the ocean floating through the air. He couldn’t understand why Whitney had chosen to leave this place—her home. It was far more beautiful than Saint Louis, or Texas for that matter. His first trip out of the country, and he wondered why he’d waited so long.

  “I love it here,” he told Paul John as they reclined on the front porch, a Bahamian beer in his hand.

  “I love it, too,” said Paul John. “Would never live anywhere else.”

  “Beautiful home you have, too, sir.”

  “Thank you. It’s where we raised all six of our children. It’s old and in need of a few repairs, but it’s home,” said Paul John. “Where do you call home?”

  “Saint Louis.”

  “Old Saint Louie. I’ve been through there as a young man. I played in a band in my younger days, and we played Saint Louis a few times.”

  “It’s a great place to call home. My mother is still there,” said Lane.

  “And your father?”

  “He’s still there, too. But I don’t acknowledge him much. He wasn’t around when I needed him most.”

  “I see.” Paul John leaned back in his chair, gave his beard a tug and thought about Lane’s words. “Is he around now?”

  “He’s in a nursing home, too sick to care for himself. I don’t think I will ever forgive him for the way he treated my mother, or for abandoning us.”

  Paul John shook his head up and down. “Forgiveness is a funny thing, ya know. Everyone thinks that it’s for the wrongdoer. Thinks it lets them off the hook. Truth is, forgiveness is really for the forgiver—to give them peace, to make them whole.”

  “I’m at peace.”

  “I don’t doubt that you are, son. But I learned a long time ago that it’s best to let some things go. And forgiveness does us all a world of good.” Paul John stood, headed for the door. “You want another beer, son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lane sat there and reflected on what Paul John said. He was right. There were some things that just needed to be let go. And he would...someday. He enjoyed chatting with Whitney’s father. However, he wasn’t looking forward to meeting her siblings. When he agreed to accompany her on the trip, he’d thought of it as a chance to spend some time with her, get to know her better, not meet the entire family. It wasn’t as if they were in a relationship. He was looking for fun. But since he was here, he’d make the best of it.

  * * *

  Dinner was a medley of baked fish, peas and rice, Bahamian macaroni and cheese, and something that Lane had never tasted in his life—conch fritters. He sat at the table across from Whitney and sipped on a glass of port wine while Caribbean music played on the old stereo. The table was filled with loud chatter from Whitney’s siblings and in-laws who had made it home for their brother’s reception. To his right, Whitney’s brother Nate grilled her about why she rarely made it home.

  “I’m home just as much as you are!” she exclaimed.

  “Where were you when Mother turned sixty-five? We had a huge dinner. It was like an...event, for chrissake! And what about Independence Day?”

  “I can’t come home for every event or holiday. I have a job.”

  “We all have jobs,” said Nate.

  “I have a real one, a nine-to-five.”

  “Are you saying my job isn’t real?”

  “No, I’m not saying that at all,” said Whitney.

  “Leave her alone,” said Whitney’s younger brother, seated to the left of Lane. He stuffed macaroni and cheese into his mouth. “She was here for Mother and Pop’s anniversary party last spring.”

  “Thank you, Denny!” Whitney blew him a kiss.

  “She was actually supposed to come help out at the Grove once we got it up and running,” Whitney’s youngest sister, Jasmine, chimed in. “She reneged.”

  “I didn’t renege,” said Whitney. “I ended up teaching summer school last year.”

  “And singing at some club,” said Whitney’s oldest sister, Alyson. “And I heard that she was thinking of singing as a career.”

  “What’s this about singing as a career?” asked Beverly Talbot. “She would never leave teaching to go chasing some pipe dream. Right, Whit?”

  “It’s just something that I like to do on the side,” said Whitney. “Now, can we attack someone else?”

  “No one’s attacking you,” said Jasmine.

  “Tell me more about this singing,” said Nate, “because I remember being damn near beat up... Excuse me, Mother...Pop. I was nearly stoned for wanting to pursue a career in art!”

  “I admit, I wasn’t too keen on the art thing,” said Beverly. “We sent you to college to study engineering.”

  “And look at me now, Mother. Doing something I love, and it’s actually paying the bills.”

  Beverly gave her son a light smile.

  “Has anyone heard from Edward and when he and Savannah are supposed to arrive?” asked Alyson. “Why are we all here, and they aren’t? Isn’t this their blessed weekend?”

  “They’re scheduled to arrive later this evening,” said Beverly.

  “Maybe I should’ve waited and come over later this evening with Samson.”

  “No, Samson probably wanted you to leave. I’m sure he needed a break from you!” Nate laughed.

  “No, I needed a break from him!” Alyson exclaimed. “He was getting on my nerves.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Go to hell, Nathan Talbot.”

  “I’m just saying.” Nate laughed. “You’re not the easiest person to get along with.”

  “I just have high standards, and most people aren’t able to meet them.”

  Lane smiled at the banter between Whitney and her family. It made him miss his own family. He felt guilty about not returning home in so long. His mother had been pressuring him about coming home, and he’d found every excuse not to. Too many memories, too much heartache.

  “And what’s your story—Lane, is it?” Alyson asked before taking a long drink of her wine.

  “My story?” Lane asked.

  “Yes, what do you do? Who’s your family? Where are you from?”

  “I drive a cement truck. And my family? The Martins from Saint Louis, Missouri.”

  Jasmine smiled at Lane. “You pour cement? I bet my hubby would love to have a chat with you. He’s in construction and always looking for someone to recruit for his many projects.”

  “Your mother and father still back in Saint Louis, honey?” asked Beverly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lane said. “My mother retired from the old Chrysler plant there. They’ve since closed down, but she worked there for many years.”

  “What is she doing now?”

  “Church stuff. Volunteer work.”

  “Have you met his mother, Whitney?” Beverly continued to pry.

  “No, Mother, I haven’t,” said Whitney and then turned to her sister. “Jazzy, can you pass me the peas and rice, please?”

  Jasmine passed the bowl across the table.

  “Why not?” asked Beverly.

  “Beverly, I think we’re all ready for dessert now,” said Paul John. He seemed to sense his daughter’s discomfort. “Would you like for me to help?”

  Beverly rolled her eyes at her husband, who was obviously trying to distract her from her line of questioning.

  She stood. “No, Paul, I can manage.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Completely,” she said and then headed for the kitchen.

  Lane exhaled. And he could’ve sworn he saw Whitney exhale, too.

  Chapter 13

  After dinner, the women put food away and cleaned the kitchen, while the men retreated to the front porch. Soo
n the women gathered in the living room and chatted about nothing, and Whitney thought it was time she rescued Lane from her family. Thought they’d take a walk along the beach or take the ferry over to Harbour Island. She went to the front door and peeked out. He was seated in between her father and brothers, a beer in his hand. His laughter told her that he was having a good time—fit right in. Her oldest brother, Edward, who’d finally arrived, wrapped his arm around Lane’s shoulder and they looked like old friends.

  She didn’t want to interrupt, so she backed away from the door, went into the kitchen and poured herself another rum punch. Joined the other women in the living room.

  “Thought you were going for a walk on the beach with Lane,” said Beverly.

  “Looks like he’s having such a good time, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “I like him,” said Jasmine with a warm smile.

  “Me, too,” said Savannah, Whitney’s sister-in-law, who had finally arrived from Florida. She held on to the bowl of her wineglass. Gave Whitney a wink. “Edward seems to like him, too.”

  “Well, don’t get too cozy with him. She’s made it very clear that they’re just friends,” said Alyson.

  “We are.”

  “I find it hard to understand why you would bring a man home to meet your family if you have no intentions of something long-term,” said Alyson.

  “I wanted a date for Edward and Savannah’s reception.”

  “It’s okay to bring a friend home,” said Jasmine. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “She’s never brought anyone home...not even what’s-his-name.” Alyson waved her hand.

  “Gregory!” Jasmine exclaimed and then frowned. “He was a jerk.”

  “He broke her heart. It’s why she’s gun-shy. Won’t give anyone else her heart,” said Alyson, who seemed to be an expert on the matter. “I don’t blame you, girl. Men are overrated.”

  “How can you say that when you have a wonderful husband?” Whitney asked her.

  “He’s okay. Gets under my skin most days, though.”

  Whitney laughed inside. She knew that her sister could be impossible and the truth was probably that she got under his skin.