Chapter 6
Nydia felt her pulse quicken when she spied Lamar walking into the Louis LaSalle lobby. It had been almost a week since their last encounter and images of him would creep into her mind when she least expected it. He wasn’t the type of man she’d found herself drawn to in the past—but then she hadn’t chosen very wisely in the past.
Those she’d encountered when she worked for the investment bank, who were attracted to her, tried too hard to impress. They were braggarts, egoists, and a few egomaniacs. They turned her off, while Danny had become a refreshing change from the well-heeled men earning six and seven figures. She’d told her ex over and over his salary did not have to match or exceed her annual income, but he needed to secure a permanent job where he could become an independent adult.
Lamar wasn’t a braggart or egoist, but intelligent and modest. He was an engineer, widowed, and a single father with a ten-year-old daughter. The fact that he spoke Spanish and was familiar with Puerto Rican food were assets and not liabilities. Hey now, she mused as he came closer, Papi’s got a little swagger in his walk. He was casually dressed in a pair of dark slacks, an untucked pale-blue shirt, and Italian slip-ons.
It had taken her a while before Nydia selected what she’d planned to wear to a place Lamar deemed rustic. And she interpreted rustic as a dive, greasy spoon or juke joint. Her bed was filled with discarded garments until she decided on a pair of black stretch pants, paired with an off-the-shoulder black-and-white striped stretched top, and four-inch animal-print sandals. At five-two, and she estimated Lamar was at least six foot, she needed a little assistance in the height department.
She stared up at Lamar through her lashes, unaware of how seductive it appeared. “Hello again.”
* * *
Lamar angled his head and kissed Nydia’s cheek. “Same here,” he said. When he saw Nydia standing near the table in the middle of the lobby he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. The gown she’d worn at Cameron and Jasmine’s wedding had concealed a petite body with curves in all the right places. “You look wonderful.” She looked and smelled wonderful.
“Thank you.” She held her hands out at her sides. “I hope what I’m wearing is okay.”
“It’s perfect.”
Lamar wanted to tell her she would look okay wearing a burlap sack. Her subtly applied makeup accentuated her hazel eyes and lush mouth. The hair that had been styled atop her head was brushed off her face and fashioned into a bun on the nape of her neck. He marveled that she could appear so refreshingly young and womanly and sophisticated at the same time. He tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow and slowed his stride to accommodate Nydia’s shorter legs as he led her through the lobby and out of the hotel to the parking lot.
Lamar noticed men taking furtive glances at Nydia as he escorted her to where he’d parked his vehicle. He opened the passenger-side door to the Volvo and helped her up onto the leather seat, and then circled the SUV and took his position behind the wheel.
Nydia sniffed the air as she buckled her seat belt. “Your car still has a new-car smell.”
“That’s because it’s new. I bought it a couple of months ago. My old Volvo had more than one hundred thousand miles, and even though it was still running I decided it was time to buy another with updated safety features.” He punched the start-engine button and backed out of the space. “How did your pasteles turn out?”
Nydia shifted on her seat and met his eyes when he glanced at her. “They were delicious. I saved a few for you. I’ll give them to you after we come back.”
“Thank you so much! Who taught you to make them?”
“My grandmother. The year I turned ten, Abuelita said it was time I learned to cook. Making pasteles was always a family affair that included my mother and aunts. Initially I was given the task of going to the supermarket and buying the onions, peppers, garlic, cilantro, culantro, ajices dulces, and tomatoes for the sofrito. Abuelita wanted me to recognize all of the ingredients that went into making it.
“Once she trusted me enough to use a knife without losing a finger, I chopped everything and put it into a food processor. Then she would grade me after spooning a tiny portion into the palm of her hand and tasting it. It took a couple of attempts before she gave me her approval.
When I graduated to peeling yautia and calabaza I was ready to literally throw in the towel because the skins are so hard to remove. However, in the end, all of the labor-intensive work was worth it, because the pasteles were delicious.”
“How many did you make, and how long did it take to teach your friend?”
“She caught on easily because she’s a professional chef. But it took nearly four hours to make about one hundred.”
“Why so many?”
“Tonya plans to offer them on her Caribbean night menu once she opens her restaurant at the DuPont Inn. If they become a hit with their customers, then she and Gage will make them regular items.”
Lamar tapped a button on the steering wheel and tuned the satellite radio to a station featuring soft jazz as he left the central business district and drove in a northerly direction along Canal Street to Canal Boulevard. “Where did you grow up in New York?” he asked Nydia after a comfortable silence.
“I lived in East Harlem for the first five years of my life, until my parents bought a brownstone in West Harlem. My father, who was a police officer, applied to HUD’s Good Neighbor Next Door program and bought an abandoned three-story brownstone. He was eligible for a low-cost loan through the program to make renovations. Mami and Papi had the contractors divide the spaces on the second and third story into two apartments, each with three bedrooms. They rented out the apartments on the second and third story, and we lived on the first. There was enough room for me, my brothers, parents, and my grandmother whenever she came for an extended visit. We finally convinced her to move out of her apartment into the mother-in-law suite at my brother’s house in White Plains.”
Lamar listened intently to Nydia as she talked about leaving home for the first time when she attended college on Long Island. Living on campus had allowed her a modicum of independence from her overprotective father.
“I moved back with my parents while I got my MBA, then left for good after passing the CPA exam and securing permanent employment. I’d rented a furnished apartment in a three-family house in the Bronx, but my landlady was so nosy she should’ve been a covert agent for the CIA. I got a reprieve last year when I sublet Tonya’s East Harlem apartment. Now I can come and go without being surveilled.”
Lamar laughed. “Good for you.”
“If you ever want to show your daughter where you used to hang out in el barrio, then let me know and I’ll have my parents put you up in their place now that my brothers are married and live elsewhere. My eighty-five-year-old grandmother will probably talk your ear off if she knows you speak Spanish. She complains that her family members, her great-grandchildren in particular, have become so American that they never speak Spanish anymore, while my mother constantly reminds her that as a Puerto Rican she is also an American and fluent in English.”
Momentarily shocked by Nydia’s invitation, Lamar stared straight ahead. There were a number of times, whenever Kendra asked him what he’d seen or done as a student, when he’d considered revisiting New York City and showing her where he’d attended college. His daughter knew he expected her to attend college, because she was bright and had the ability to become an exceptional student if she was able to remain focused.
“I’m certain Kendra would love that. Whenever I talk about New York City she pleads with me to take her there on vacation.”
“Why haven’t you, Lamar?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I must confess that I really don’t have an excuse. Maybe if I can convince my two partners to close the office for the week between Christmas and New Year’s, then we can spend the holiday in New York.”
“You own your company?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have an excuse if you run your own company with two other partners.”
“I know and don’t remind me.”
“Someone should remind you that all work—”
“Makes for a dull boy,” he interrupted.
“I was going to say something else, but I’ll keep it to myself.”
Lamar’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You’re not one to bite your tongue, so spit it out.”
Nydia laughed. “Oh, so you noticed.”
He stopped for a red light, stared at Nydia, and then burst into laughter. “Of course I noticed. Has anyone ever told you that you don’t have a filter?”
“Plenty of folks,” she said proudly. “I’ve never been one to sugarcoat a situation or predicament. What you see is what you get when it comes to Nydia Stephanie Santiago.”
“I happen to like what I see, Miss Santiago, because at thirty-eight I’m much too old to play head games.”
Nydia wanted to tell Lamar that at thirty-three she also was too old to play head games. She had become an adult at eighteen, but it was only over the past year that she’d actually felt as if she had reached the full potential of the responsibilities of being an adult. She stared out the side window at the passing landscape. There were abandoned properties interspersed with one-story structures with young barefoot children playing in the yard.
“Thank you for offering your folks’ place, but I can’t impose on them.”
“It wouldn’t be an imposition, Lamar. They love entertaining company. Whenever my cousins come up from Puerto Rico, they prefer staying with Mami and Papi.”
“I’m not going to promise anything except that I’ll think about it.”
Nydia knew if Lamar and his daughter decided to celebrate Christmas with her family it would become an event they would not only enjoy but remember for a while. This year her brother Nelson had offered to open his house for the festivities.
“Were you affected by Hurricane Katrina?” she asked Lamar as he drove along a one-lane unpaved road.
“No, but many folks were not so fortunate. The area was flooded, and the homes built on the ground sustained a lot of water damage. Some folks were able to rebuild while others were forced to relocate. I try to patronize the businesses here rather than in the French Quarter because they’re still struggling to survive.”
“Do you ever take your dates to places in the French Quarter?”
Lamar’s hands tightened noticeably on the steering wheel. “No. I don’t date.”
Nydia went completely still. She hadn’t missed the iciness in Lamar’s voice. And she knew what she was about to ask him would either make him turn the car around or continue to the restaurant as planned.
“Are you celibate?”
Lamar’s stone-faced expression changed like a snake shedding its skin when the corners of his mouth lifted before his lips parted in a smile. “Well, damn, woman. You truly aren’t subtle about saying what comes to your mind.”
She smiled. It was apparent he wasn’t angry. Just taken aback. “Weren’t you the one who said you’re too old to play head games? Well, it’s the same with me, Mr. Pierce.” She winked at him. “I’m a thirty-three-year-old accountant who in the past year discovered exactly who she is and what she wants for her future.”
“And that is?” Lamar asked, slowing to less than ten miles per hour.
“I’m in control of my own destiny. That I do what is good and best for me.”
“That sounds a little selfish.”
She blinked slowly. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it sounds as if there’s no room in your life for other people. What if you fall in love and marry or have children? Then it can’t be all about you.”
“I wasn’t talking about marriage or children. Of course my life would change if I had a husband or a child. Now, back to my question. Is your daughter the reason you don’t date or sleep with women?”
“I never said I don’t sleep with women.”
A flash of humor swept over Nydia’s features. “So, you’re not celibate.” Leaning to her right, she peered closely at Lamar. “Are you blushing?”
His mouth tightened. “I don’t blush.”
“Yeah,” she drawled, “and I have a bridge in Brooklyn I want to sell.”
Lamar signaled and then pulled into a parking area behind a one-story clapboard building that needed a coat of fresh white paint. The lot was filled with old and new vehicles ranging from pickups to SUVs, minivans to sedans. There were even a few motorcycles. He shut off the engine and rested his arm over the back of Nydia’s seat, his expression a mask of stone.
“When my daughter lost her mother I made myself a promise that I wouldn’t do anything that would have her believe she isn’t the most important thing in my life. And that’s why I’m not involved with a woman, because I don’t want her to think I’m replacing her.”
Nydia silently applauded the sacrifice and loyalty Lamar afforded his daughter. He had deprived himself of female companionship for the sake and emotional well-being of his child, who probably was still grieving the loss of her mother.
“You are an incredible father.”
Lamar shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’m just a father who happens to love his daughter.”
“A lot of men love their daughters, but that doesn’t mean they would be willing to give up having a woman or women in their lives.”
“It depends on the circumstances, Nydia. If Kendra’s mother and I had been divorced, then it would be different. And that’s not to say I would expose my daughter to the woman I was seeing unless it was serious enough for me to consider marrying her. Kendra’s ten, and it won’t be long before she’ll start talking about some boy she likes and wants to go out with and that’s—”
“—when Daddy meets him at the door and threatens to rip his head off if he touches his daughter inappropriately,” Nydia said, cutting him off.
Attractive lines fanned out around Lamar’s luminous eyes when he laughed. “You must have been reading my mind. How did you know?”
“That’s because my father and brothers did the same thing to me. And knowing Papi was a cop had a lot of boys in the neighborhood afraid to even talk to me.”
Lamar unbuckled his seat belt. “Fathers want to protect their daughters because they know what they’ve done to the daughters of other men.” He held up both hands. “I plead the Fifth.” He reached over and caught Nydia’s left hand. “Don’t move. I’ll help you down. I don’t want you to turn your ankle in those stilts.”
She raised her right foot and wiggled her blood red painted toes. “These aren’t even my highest pair.”
Nydia waited for Lamar to get out and come around to help her down. His hands spanned her waist, she holding on to his neck to maintain her balance as he effortlessly lifted her until her feet touched the ground.
He laced their fingers together. “Are you ready to get your eat on?”
She smiled up at him. “Lead on.”
Lamar had mentioned the place where they were going to eat was rustic, and Nydia realized it wasn’t an over exaggeration. The sign over the front door identified the restaurant as Ruby’s, and the establishment had roughly hewn log walls that matched long tables and benches. Tree stumps doubled as smaller tables and chairs. It was dimly lit in contrast to the raised stage where the spotlight shone on a scantily clad, plump, middle-aged woman who was bellowing out a tune about a cheating husband and what she’d planned for him when he came home. The rhinestone-covered black bustier, tutu, and matching thigh-high patent leather boots were better suited to a much younger woman. Several televisions were tuned and muted to news and sports channels.
Nydia knew Lamar was a regular customer when he was greeted by a number of men and women seated at the bar and tables. She hadn’t missed the curious stares and whispers when they saw her with him.
“Hey, Pierce,” the bartender called out. “Where have you been hiding her?”
Lamar waved to the man as he led Nydia to a round table for two and helped seat her. “What do you feel like eating?”
Nydia met his eyes across the table. The bartender questioning Lamar about seeing him with her confirmed his declaration that he did not date. He’d claimed he wasn’t dating, but did that also extend to her? That tonight she wasn’t a date to him?
She moved the lighted oil candle to the middle of the table. “Is there a menu?”
Lamar pointed to a far wall. “The menu is on the whiteboard.”
She studied the handwritten selections. “What is the mess?”
“A little bit of this and that.”
“Please explain this and that.”
“Fried chicken, catfish, crab, shrimp, oysters, okra, and grilled corn.”
Nydia scrunched up her nose. “It sounds like a lot of food.”
Lamar chuckled. “What it sounds like is goodness.”
“You’ve had it?” He nodded.
“Okay. I’ll have the mess.”
Lamar signaled a passing waiter heading for the kitchen. “We’ll have the mess for two.” He returned his attention to Nydia. “All meals come with a complimentary pitcher of beer, but if you want something stronger then I’ll order it from the bar.”
Nydia recalled the two times she’d overindulged during her visits to New Orleans. She’d sampled her first hurricane and felt the effects almost immediately. And she’d overindulged on champagne at Hannah’s wedding reception, which left her lethargic and slightly hung over the next day.
“Beer is okay.”
“You don’t drink much.” Lamar’s query came out as a statement.
“It all depends on what I’m drinking. I have a two-glass limit when it comes to wine and champagne, while I’m barely able to finish a hurricane or Sazerac.”
“Did you ever do shots as a college student?”
Nydia shook her head. “I never drank until I was twenty-one.”
“How old were you when you graduated college?”
“Twenty-one. I took AP courses in high school and graduated college in four years with a BA and MBA.”
“So, you were a nerd.”
“It takes one to know one,” Nydia countered with a wide grin. “And don’t deny you weren’t a nerd, Lamar.”
“There’s no shame in my game.”
Nydia’s response was preempted when their server returned with a pitcher of beer and two frosted mugs and set them on the table. “Your mess is coming right up.”
Lamar filled one mug and gave it to her before filling the other with the sudsy brew. He raised his glass in a toast. “Salud.”
“To health,” Nydia said in English.
Within minutes of their toast the table was filled with a heaping platter of crispy fried food, plates, place settings, and napkins. Lamar mentioning goodness had not even come close to describing the items that made up the mess. Nydia found her taste buds bombarded with a plethora of flavors. The spicy and crispy Cajun-brined chicken was deep-fried perfection. The shrimp and oysters literally melted on her tongue. She ate slowly, savoring every morsel she put into her mouth.
“This food is like crack,” she whispered. “One bite and I’m hooked.”
Lamar gave her a questioning look. “What do you know about crack?”
She made a sucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “I’ve seen enough crackheads to know once they get on the stuff they crave it over and over. And no, I’ve never done drugs.”
Lamar held a forkful of catfish inches from his mouth. “Did I insinuate that you did?”
“No, but your expression spoke volumes.”
He set down the fork. “What did it say?”
“That maybe I had some experience with substance abuse.”
Reaching over the table, Lamar took her hand, increasing the pressure on her fingers when she attempted to pull away. “The thought never entered my mind. If you say you didn’t drink until the legal drinking age, then I figured you didn’t do drugs. It had nothing to do with your father being a cop, because I’ve known kids whose parents were in law enforcement and it was only their intervention that kept them out of either jail or prison.”
Nydia felt properly chastised as she stared at their hands. “I’m sorry about what I said, and will you please let go of my hand? I want more of this mess,” she added with a forced smile. The mention of drugs served to change the mood from easygoing to tense as they finished their meal in complete silence.
The only information Nydia knew about Lamar was what he’d revealed to her, and it was apparent she had misjudged him. There were times when her quick tongue had gotten her into situations from which she had to work hard to extricate herself, and she didn’t want to have to repeat the action with Lamar. Spontaneity had come into play when she invited him to come to New York and stay with her parents; once the words were out she wasn’t able to retract them.
She remembered her grandmother’s warning over and over whenever she’d gotten into a verbal confrontation with her mother: “Piensa antes de hablar.” It had taken years, and after being grounded over and over she made certain to think before talking back to Isabel Santiago.
Lamar settled the bill and escorted her out of Ruby’s. There was no exchange of conversation during the drive back to the city, and if it hadn’t been for the radio, the car would have been as silent as a tomb. Lamar found a spot in the lot for hotel guests and parked.
Nydia now knew the drill. She’d wait for him to open the passenger-side door and help her out. He held her hand as they made their way to the entrance to the hotel. The daytime heat had only slightly abated with the setting sun, but not the humidity, and she had come to recognize the smell of the Mississippi River, which was within walking distance from the Louis LaSalle. The lobby was crowded with guests in formal dress filing into one of the ballrooms. It was only a week ago the Singletons had taken over the entire hotel for an anniversary and wedding celebration.
“What floor are you on?” Lamar asked Nydia when the doors to the elevator opened.
“Fifth.” He punched the button for the designated floor. The doors closed, and the car rose swiftly.
Nydia removed her key card from her wristlet and swiped it. The light turned green, and she pushed open the door. “Please come in. I have to get the pasteles out of the freezer.”
* * *
Lamar walked into a suite that was nearly twice as large as the two-bedroom Brooklyn walk-up he’d shared with two engineering students. The apartment had contained a galley kitchen, a minuscule eating area, a tiny bathroom with a commode and shower, and every third week someone would sleep on the living room’s convertible sofa. He dreaded those weeks, because the mattress was so thin the springs left an imprint on his body. After a while he bought a roll-away cot; although smaller than the sofa, it was a lot more comfortable.
He stared at Nydia when she took off her heels and left them on a mat near the door. He smiled. Even her feet were tiny and delicate. She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Would you like some coffee?”
Lamar nodded. “Only if you’re having some.”
“I’m going to make café con leche, or as you folks call it down here, café au lait.”
“There’s nothing better than café au lait and beignets in the morning. That’s what I call powdered crack.”
Nydia gave him a long, penetrating look. “Please. No more crack jokes.”
He pantomimed zipping his lips. “Done.” Lamar stared the laptop, printer, and stack of folders on the desk in a corner near the wall-to-wall windows. It was obvious Nydia had brought work with her. “Do you always work while on vacation?”
Nydia waited until after she’d ground coffee beans to answer his question. “Yes, but only because I’m handling the payroll and taxes for three neighborhood restaurateurs. The owners input the hours for their employees, and I compute the withholding and generate electronic payroll checks. I also electronically file quarterly and year-end taxes, reconcile bank statements, and oversee accounts payable and receivable.”
“Wouldn’t you do the same if you become the accountant for Hannah’s business?”
She nodded. “Yes. The difference is Hannah doesn’t want me to maintain her books remotely. Once I invest in her venture it would be best for me to live here. Hannah is hands-on when it comes to her business. This is not to say she will micromanage what we do, because she’s perceptive enough to recognize her partners’ expertise.”
Lamar wanted to ask Nydia why she hadn’t accepted Hannah offer to invest in the inn. She’d claimed she wasn’t involved with a man, so he wondered what else was going on in her life that would prevent her from relocating. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, yet he did not want to pry all the more into her personal life.
Pushing back his chair, he rose and walked over to the windows. Nightfall was complete, and he could barely make out the slow-moving waters of the Mississippi River. The river, the sights and smells, the distinctive speech cadence of locals, the food, music, architecture, the city’s ethnic mix and colorful history served as aphrodisiacs that Lamar was helpless to resist. He’d flown to different countries and islands in the Caribbean for vacation and over long holiday weekends during his first year of marriage because of the benefits afforded him through his flight attendant wife. However, anytime he spent more than a week away from his city of birth he would experience a restlessness that made him crave home. What he found ironic was that he hadn’t felt that way when attending college in New York City, perhaps because there were parts of the city that reminded him of the Big Easy: the ethnic mix of different neighborhoods, the offbeat Bohemian funkiness of Greenwich Village, the many international restaurants, jazz clubs, and the nonstop excitement of a city that never went to sleep.
When Nydia had invited him and his daughter to come to New York to visit with her family during Christmas, initially he’d believed she was throwing out the idea to see his reaction, but then he realized she was serious. There was something about Nydia that reminded him of Iggy, who’d invited Lamar to share his family with him. Interacting with the Gonzalez family had assuaged his homesickness.
“The coffee is ready.”
Lamar turned from the window and returned to the dining area. Nydia had set two mugs of steaming coffee on woven placemats. He pulled out a chair and seated her, unaware he’d lingered a bit too long over her for propriety, as he inhaled the coconut scent on the strands of her shiny dark-brown hair. He recalled Nydia saying that Cameron was Jasmine’s genie who sought to grant her every wish. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to become Nydia’s genie and grant at least one of her wishes. And as unguarded as she presented, he felt there was another side of her personality she would never reveal. Only those closest to her would be privy to her innermost secrets.
He rounded the table and took his own seat. “Do you like our French roast and chicory blend better than Bustelo?” Lamar recalled drinking the robust coffee that was brewed in espresso coffeemakers.
Nydia stared at him over the rim of her mug. “It’s a tossup. I prefer café au lait with beignets because the bitterness of the chicory offsets the sweetness of the powdered sugar, while Bustelo can be drunk as espresso or blended with warm milk and sugar for café con leche.”
“You sound very diplomatic.”
“There’s no way I’m going to utter a bad word about your local foods, because it’s truly off the chain.”
Lamar winked at her. “At least we can agree on something.”
Nydia’s eyelids fluttered wildly. “Why would you say that? It’s not as if we’ve been arguing about nonsensical things.”
Suddenly Lamar felt as if he’d come down with another case of foot-in-mouth. “You’re right. I must confess we have gotten on rather well for strangers.”
Nydia smiled. “I agree.”
Lamar continued to stare at Nydia as he drank his coffee. He had to acknowledge that she brewed an excellent café au lait. He drained the mug and stood up. “It’s time I head out.”
“Don’t leave until I give you the pasteles.” Nydia rose, walked into the kitchen, and opened the freezer to the French door refrigerator. She returned with a decorative shopping bag and a plastic container filled with tamales wrapped in parchment and tied with butcher twine. She placed the pasteles in the bag and handed it to Lamar. “Buen provecho.”
He took the bag from her outstretched hand and then leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” There was no need for her to wish good appetite; he knew it was going to be a struggle not to devour them in a few days.
Nydia walked him to the door. “Thank you for a most enjoyable evening.”
His eyes lingered on her delicate features as if committing them to memory. “It’s been my pleasure.”
She opened the door. “Get home safe.”
Lamar forced a smile. “I will.” He walked out of the suite and down the hallway to the elevator.
During the drive home he thought about the three hours he’d spent with a woman whom he’d wanted to get to know better, yet he hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask her if he could see her again before she returned to New York.
He had only a few more days before his vacation would come to an end. And he was scheduled to return to Baton Rouge on Sunday to pick up Kendra and bring her back to New Orleans for the start of the new school year. Monday would signal a return to life as he knew it: work and caring for his daughter. Interacting with Nydia was a pleasant and temporary distraction—something he hadn’t anticipated when Jasmine had called to ask him if he could show her friend the renovations on the house.
And Jasmine’s friend and maid of honor was someone who had reminded him of how routine his life had become. If the employees and regulars at Ruby’s were shocked to see him bring a woman to the restaurant, then he’d surprised himself when he’d asked Nydia to accompany him. The venue had always been a favorite of his, but he had never been able to convince Valerie to go with him because she refused to visit what she’d called a juke joint.
When he first met Valerie he’d found himself drawn to her sunny, outgoing personality, a trait perfect for a flight attendant whose duties included tending to the needs of her passengers. Once they began dating she exhibited a wicked sense of humor and a passion that had him waiting for her to return from her assignments.
Valerie had been a wonderful wife, a devoted mother, and when she died a part of him had also died with her. She may have been gone, but her image lived on in her daughter. Kendra’s resemblance to her mother was uncanny, and the only thing Lamar regretted was that his daughter’s personality had changed dramatically after Valerie’s death. The once happy child became sullen, refusing to talk, and preferred spending hours in her bedroom texting on her phone. Lamar had enrolled her in counseling to deal with the loss of her mother, but sessions yielded not much more than he’d suspected. She was angry with Valerie for dying and leaving her when her cousins and friends still had their mothers.
He’d allowed Kendra to spend the summer with her cousins, and whenever he went to visit her in Baton Rouge he’d found her changed. She appeared more carefree, laughing and playing with his sister’s daughters, while saying she would talk to him later. For Lamar, later meant her coming home, and he wanted her to feel comfortable enough to talk openly with him about any and everything.
He entered the Upper French Quarter and drove down the dead end street to the last house on the block. He slowed and maneuvered through the porte cochère and into the courtyard. Light shone through the windows of his housekeeper’s bedroom. It was apparent Ramona had returned from her two-week vacation.
He parked the Volvo in the two-car garage next to her Mini Cooper and scooped the shopping bag off the passenger seat. Lamar got out and disarmed the security system outside the door leading directly into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and placed the container with the pasteles on the shelf with vacuum-wrapped, labeled, and dated meat packages.
Lamar felt as if he’d hit a grand slam when he’d asked Nydia to save him a dance at Jasmine’s wedding. Not only was she feminine, sophisticated, and smart, but she was also refreshingly witty. Whenever she opened her mouth he could not imagine what she would say. She’d kept him off-balance, which meant he was forced to step up his game to keep up with her. A slight smile tilted the corners of his mouth as he left the kitchen and headed for the back staircase. He liked Nydia and thoroughly enjoyed the time he’d spent with her. Four months. That’s how long it would be before he would see her again.
He decided not to say anything to Kendra about taking her to New York during her school’s Christmas break. A change of scene during that time of year would benefit both of them. Valerie had lost her life two days before Christmas.