Chapter 11
Kayana hadn’t realized how tense she’d been since leaving Graeme’s house until she walked into Leah’s rental. Images of what they had discussed lingered with her during her waking moments. And his kissing her and her reaction to the pressure of his mouth on hers seeped into her erotic dreams, where her body betrayed her, and she woke gasping from the aftermath of multiple orgasms. She could not and did not want to sleep with Graeme and use him to assuage the dearth of sexual fulfillment she’d experienced since she’d decided to end her marriage.
She asked herself over and over why she had agreed to accompany him to the movies and what had possessed her to give him cooking lessons, and the same answer came up every time—empathy and gratitude.
Then, his sending her a plant to thank her for going out with him was something she hadn’t experienced with any other man. The men she’d dated thought she should’ve been grateful that they’d asked her out, and some of them would send her flowers for her birthday or take her to dinner for a special occasion, but nothing beyond that. James had thought of her as a challenge, and once he married her, she had become his trophy. It wasn’t the cost of the jade plant, but the thought behind it when Graeme thanked her for agreeing to go out with him.
And when he’d talked about his parents, she was able to put on the professional face she’d used when counseling patients. Her gaze never wavered when they disclosed events in their lives that made her want to weep with and for them. There was no doubt that Graeme’s adopted mother was not only used to getting what she wanted; she was also quite manipulative, and Kayana wondered if it had been a trait her son had unconsciously adopted.
She could not fathom how a woman who knew she couldn’t have children would fake a pregnancy and then concoct a story to get out of it. It was apparent that Graeme’s father was either totally unaware of the flaw in his wife’s devious personality or chose to ignore it. Graeme wasn’t her patient, so she did not want to question him about his feelings once he read his mother’s diaries. Had he thought ill of her, or did he forgive her because she’d afforded him a life he would not have had if other parents with more modest means had adopted him?
It had been a week since she last saw Leah, and she had to admit that the woman looked well. Her face was fuller, and it was obvious she had gotten some sun because her fair complexion had taken on a rosy hue. A profusion of freckles covered her bare arms under an orange tank top she’d paired with white slim jeans. Today she’d brushed her hair off her face and secured it in a ponytail.
Leah opened the door wider. “Please come in. Cherie is in the kitchen blending margaritas.”
Kayana pressed her cheek to Leah’s cool one. “It’s a good thing we only meet once a week or I would be too tipsy to get up the next morning.”
“I’m glad we decided to end the meeting at nine, because if it went on any longer, we wouldn’t be able to get up the next day.”
Kayana wanted to remind Leah that she could always sleep in late, while she had to get down to the kitchen at 5:00 a.m. to begin cooking in order to have everything ready for 7:00, when the restaurant opened for business. She sniffed the air. “I smell cilantro.”
“You’ve got a good nose. We’re having Mexican food today.”
“You cooked?”
“Yes. And don’t look so shocked. I do know how to cook.”
“Okay, Martha Stewart,” Kayana teased.
Looping her arm through Kayana’s, Leah led her through the living/dining area to the rear of the house and a patio, where she’d set up a table with plates and bowls filled with spicy salsas, empanadas, hard and soft beef, chicken, and shrimp tacos, quesadillas, guacamole, and crispy tortilla chips.
“Wow!”
“That’s what I said when I saw this spread,” Cherie told Kayana as she emptied a blender of margaritas into a chilled pitcher. “It looks as if Red wants to give you a run for your money when it comes to burning pots.”
Leah blushed. “That’s not going to happen. There’s no way I can begin to cook like Kayana.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Leah. If you’re good, then own it.”
“Word!” drawled Cherie. “I’m not going to lie and say I can even come close to putting something like this together, so my contribution will have to be store-bought.”
Kayana shook her head. “That’s where I draw the line. I’m not going to buy food from deli or gourmet shops when I can make it myself.”
“I agree,” Leah said. “Come, let’s eat and drink before we talk about the Bennet sisters and their quest to find husbands.”
Cherie filled margarita glasses with the icy, pale-green concoction. “I’d like to make a toast to celebrate the second meeting of the Seaside Café book club.” The women took turns touching glasses before taking a sip.
“Damn!”
“Shit!”
Kayana and Leah had chorused in unison.
“Don’t tell me y’all going to punk out on me,” Cherie said, laughing. “Y’all supposed to be grown folks, and so I decided to make a grown-folk drink. Now, if you want fruit punch, then I’ll bring it the next time we get together.”
Leah blew out a breath. “I am grown, but if I keep drinking this, then I doubt whether I won’t be blind, crippled, or crazy tomorrow.”
“Let it sit for a while so the ice can dilute it,” Kayana suggested. She made a sucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “And I can’t believe y’all were complaining about my sour apple martinis.”
Leah pointed to the pitcher. “This stuff is as lethal as napalm.”
“It’s a good thing your husband isn’t around, or you would jump his bones,” Cherie teased.
“I’d rather cut his throat,” Leah said under her breath. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said when Kayana and Cherie stared at her. “I can’t wait for the son of a bitch to die so I can finally live my life.”
Kayana took another sip of the cocktail, grimacing when the icy liquid slid down the back of her throat. “You do know that you have options other than murder.”
Leah’s blue eyes narrowed as she stared down at the contents in the glass. “He would never give me a divorce.”
Cherie set her glass down on a coaster on the table. “How do you know that?”
“Alan would make certain to drag it out so long that I’d probably just give in and stay with him.”
“Don’t you have a brother or some thug trailer-park cousins who would be willing to fuck him up if you gave them money,” Cherie said, deadpan. “That’s what some of the thugs in my family would do for me if I told them some dude was abusing me.”
The natural color drained from Leah’s face, leaving it a sickly sallow shade. “I’ve never told anyone in my family what goes on between me and Alan.”
A slight frown creased Kayana’s forehead. “Why keep it a secret?”
“Because I don’t give a fuck what Alan does as long as he doesn’t bother me.”
“What about your sons, Leah?” Cherie asked.
“Aron and Caleb worship the ground their father walks on, and I don’t want to do anything to change their opinion of him.”
Kayana went completely still. “You named your sons after John Steinbeck’s twin characters from East of Eden?”
Leah nodded. “Yes. It’s my overall favorite of Steinbeck’s work, and when I discovered I was having twins, I knew what I wanted to name them.”
“What did your husband say?” Cherie questioned.
“He thought I’d gotten them from the Bible and not from a book of fiction.”
Cherie shook her head. “The poor dumb fuck.”
“That’s what I said,” Leah agreed, “when he told me they were good strong, masculine names for his sons. If I keep drinking this nitroglycerine and don’t eat something, I’ll wind up on my hind parts.”
Kayana also reached for a plate and began filling it with tacos, an empanada, guacamole, and tortilla chips. After biting into the flaky dough of the empanada, she had to give Leah high marks on her cooking. The woman truly had skills in the culinary department. “If you come down here next year and want to help out in the restaurant, I’ll put in a good word with Derrick for you.”
Leah’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Really!”
“Yes, really.”
Cherie emitted an unladylike snort. “Then she can ogle your brother all she wants until she goes blind.”
Leah’s eyes appeared abnormally large when she glared at Cherie. “You had no right to say that.”
Kayana felt Leah’s pain as if it was her own. “Cut the shit, Cherie. I’m not going to sit here and allow Leah to become your personal punching bag.”
Cherie rounded on Kayana. “Why do you always feel you have to take up for her?”
Kayana clenched her teeth so tightly that her jaw ached. She liked Cherie, but she couldn’t understand her resentment of Leah. “I’m sick and tired of your hostility because some white man did you wrong. You’re not some teenage girl who can’t get over the man who took her virginity and then married someone else.”
“That’s exactly what the bastard did!” Cherie spat out.
She fell back in the chair, slumping like a deflated balloon. If Cherie was in her early thirties, then she probably had had a long-term relationship with her lover. It was no wonder she was angry and resentful. “I’m sorry.” Her apology sounded trite, even to Kayana’s ears.
Leah stood up, rounded the table, and eased Cherie up to stand. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she pulled her close. “It’s okay, baby girl,” she whispered in Cherie’s ear. “You’re not going to feel better until you cry and let it all out.”
Kayana watched the interchange between Leah and Cherie and knew instinctually Cherie wasn’t ready to let go of her rage. Pain and anger couldn’t be shrugged off like slipping out of a pair of too-tight shoes after standing in them for hours. It was a process—a very slow process—until one day you woke and decided you’ve had enough.
Cherie struggled out of Leah’s embrace. “I’m okay.”
Kayana wanted to tell her she wasn’t okay and wouldn’t be until she sought a professional to help her achieve closure.
“I’m okay, and I promise this is the last time I’ll go off on you.”
Leah smiled. “Not to worry. I’m not that thin-skinned.”
Picking up her glass, Cherie took a long swallow. “I think I need to get laid.”
“You’re not the only one,” Leah said in agreement. “I can’t remember the last time I had a cock inside me.”
Kayana’s mouth gaped with Leah’s pronouncement. She didn’t expect her to be so explicit when talking about her sex life. She’d noticed the lowering of inhibitions once they’d begun drinking, in Cherie’s case in particular. Perhaps she mused, at the next meeting they should serve mocktails.
Leah retook her seat. “What about you, Kayana? When was the last time you slept with a man?”
“More than a couple of years ago.”
Cherie sat down and massaged the back of her neck. “It’s been longer than that for me.”
Kayana realized her friends were not interested in discussing Pride and Prejudice but wanted to air their personal gripes. She was willing to go along with them if it meant they would eventually focus on discussing books.
“What if we scrap today’s book discussion and talk about whatever we want,” she suggested.
“I’m game,” Cherie said.
“So am I,” Leah agreed. “Is there anything we can’t talk about, Kayana?”
“No. After all, we are grown.”
Not discussing the book appeared to take some pressure off everyone as they ate, drank, and talked about everything from their childhood, the time they lost their virginity, and the friends they’d made in college. Kayana ate more than she drank once she began to feel the effects of the tequila.
“Kayana, how did you meet your husband?” Leah asked.
“I was completing my internship at the hospital where he was a trauma surgeon when he asked me out. I gave him a hard time because I didn’t believe in office romances. Needless to say, he wore me down, and I finally agreed to have dinner with him. The first time we slept together, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.”
“Was the sex that good?” Cherie asked.
Kayana smiled. “The only thing I’m going to say is it was the best I’d ever had at that time.”
“Have you slept with anyone since you’ve been divorced?”
It was Leah’s turn to question her love life, or lack of it. “No.”
“Don’t you get horny?”
“Not really.”
She didn’t want to tell Leah a recent erotic dream had kickstarted her libido, and she was unable to ignore the slight pulsing in her nether region that occurred when she least expected it. She did not want to believe that the slight brush of Graeme’s mouth against hers had triggered a desire she’d thought long dead.
Cherie popped a tortilla chip with a glob of guacamole into her mouth, moaning under her breath as she chewed and then swallowed it. “Wow, that’s so good. Leah, I know you told us your husband has had affairs, but did you ever have one?”
A mysterious smile tilted the corners of the redhead’s mouth. “Yes. With my reliable vibrators. I have several in different colors, sizes, and speeds. My go-to one is the rabbit with a three-speed rotating shaft that’s guaranteed to make me climax.”
Cherie grimaced. “I can’t imagine putting a foreign object in my body to pleasure myself.”
“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it,” Kayana said.
“You’ve used a vibrator?” Leah asked.
“A few times,” she admitted. “I was in grad school and not dating anyone, so I bought one and tried it out. It was okay, but I prefer a real penis to a fake one. I’ve been celibate for more than two years, and right now, I’m on the fence about whether I should buy one.” She didn’t want to tell her friends that desire had resurfaced and she needed something to assuage it.
Leah smiled at Kayana. “Since you’re not sleeping with anyone, I’ll text you the specs on my rabbit. You’ll have to let me know if you like it. Better yet, I’ll order one and give it to you as a gift.” Leah turned to look at Cherie. “Should I order one for you, too?”
Cherie waved her hand. “No, thank you.”
Leah shrugged her shoulders. “Suit yourself.”
“Do you know what I don’t understand about you, Leah?”
“What, Cherie?”
“You know your husband is or has been having affairs for years, yet you’ve remained faithful to his cheating ass.”
“I symbolically divorced my husband a long time ago. And now that we’ve had separate bedrooms for ten years, I merely tolerate his wrinkled old ass. A couple of months ago, I saw him naked and I almost barfed. He needed to be fitted for a bra, his behind looked like cottage cheese, and his droopy balls were at least five inches lower than his shriveled little cock.”
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Kayana laughed until tears rolled down her face at the same time Cherie doubled over in hysterics. She wanted to tell Leah it wasn’t nice to talk about the man like that, but held her tongue. When she’d suggested they not discuss books, she hadn’t known it was going to turn into a man-hating session.
Kayana didn’t hate men, not even her ex. His cheating had given her the excuse she needed to get out of the marriage. There were a few times when she was tempted to send James’s mistress a gift basket with a note thanking her for taking him off her hands.
Reaching over, she patted Cherie’s back as she hiccuped. “Take a deep breath.”
Pushing back her chair, Leah stood up. “I’m going inside to get some water.”
“I think I’m all right now,” Cherie whispered. She sounded as if she’d run a grueling race. “I’m a very visual person, and I almost lost my shit when Leah described her husband’s body.”
Kayana nodded. “Underneath her so-called prim and proper demeanor is a homegirl of a lighter hue.”
Cherie nodded. “Leah and I have a lot in common. She lived in a trailer park, while I grew up in public housing.”
“You both were luckier than a lot of folks because you were able to make it out. I’ve counseled a lot of women who are third- and even fourth-generation public housing because that’s all they know. I once had a twenty-one-year-old client who was a single mother with six kids from four different men. She, her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother all lived in public housing, and she loved it.”
Cherie sobered. “That sounds familiar. My mother had my brother when she was fifteen and me at eighteen. She waited until she was thirty to give birth to twin boys, and whenever we ask who our fathers are, she turns deaf and mute. And what I find amazing is that no one has ever seen her with a man, so she had to be sleeping with someone in another town or city.”
“Do you suspect you and your siblings have the same father?”
“No, because none of us look alike.”
“Do you keep in touch with your mother?”
“Not in person. She’ll call me and ask for money, and I usually send it to her. A couple of months ago, I sent her half of what she wanted because I knew I was going on leave without pay, and she cussed like I was a stranger in the street. I let her have her say, and then told her if she needed money, she should go and look for her baby daddies and hit them up. I hung up, and that was the last time we spoke to each other. Don’t get me wrong, Kayana, I love my mother, but I refuse to support her when she refuses to help herself. My mother has a GED, is very articulate, but she’s not motivated to improve herself. I’ve tried to get her to move out of the projects, but she claims she doesn’t want to leave her friends.”
“Change can be traumatic for some people, Cherie, because they fear the unknown.”
“I know that firsthand from when I left the projects to enroll in prep school. It took months before I felt confident enough to speak up in class. I didn’t have the pedigree of the other students, but I was able to hold my own academically.”
“One of these days you’ll learn that having money will not necessarily solve your problems.”
Cherie laughed. “Now you sound like Biggie Smalls when he sang about ‘Mo Money, Mo Problems.’ ”
“I’m a . . .” Kayana’s words trailed off when Leah returned with a tray with glasses and a pitcher of ice-cold water.
“What did I miss?”
“Not much,” Cherie said. “I managed to get over my laughing fit. Whether you know it or not, sometimes you’re funny as hell.”
Leah set the tray on the table and filled three goblets with water. “I’ve learned if I don’t laugh, then I’ll end up crying. And let me tell you that I cry really ugly. My face gets all red and blotchy, while my eyes swell and look like slits. Believe you me, it’s not a good look.”
Because this meeting was different from their first, when they’d discussed Kindred, Kayana was beginning to bond with Cherie and Leah beyond their love of books; now she realized they were more similar than dissimilar. And because they were willing to openly talk about any and everything without fear of being censored, they were confident about making their opinions known. The meeting concluded an hour early with a promise to meet the following Sunday, and Pride and Prejudice was still on the agenda for discussion.
Kayana dropped Cherie at the boardinghouse and then returned to the restaurant, where she put up a load of laundry before turning in for the night.
* * *
Blurry-eyed, Graeme walked out of his study on shaking legs to his bedroom and fell facedown across the bed. He couldn’t believe he’d spent the past two days writing nonstop, though he had been forced to take a break to shower, change his clothes, let Barley out, and drink copious cups of black coffee to stay alert.
He was at least six weeks ahead of the contractual deadline, and if he stayed the course, he could expect to submit the manuscript in late August. He knew he’d pushed himself to keep from thinking about Kayana. He’d tried to convince himself that he didn’t want to sleep with her, but that was a lie. Graeme had asked himself over and over what was there about Kayana that drew him to her, and he still hadn’t come up with an answer.
Cooking with her was an experience he wanted to repeat again and again. Kayana was patient, and her tone never changed when she’d corrected him for failing to follow her instructions. Even when he’d attempted to apologize, she reassured him that he’d exceeded her expectations. Not only was she easy to work with; she was also easy to talk to. However, he’d found her to be an anomaly because of her directness. She was the first woman with whom he’d interacted who’d made it known she wasn’t looking for a man to take care of her; she did not want to remarry; and she had relegated her past to the past.
Kayana had put her past behind her, while he was still struggling to come to terms with his. Discovering and reading his mother’s diaries had dramatically changed his impression of her. He still loved Lauren Norris Ogden, but her entries allowed him to understand why she’d done or not done things that hadn’t made sense to him. She’d grown up spoiled, privileged, and doted upon by her adoring father, and was used to getting whatever she desired.
Memories of his unconventional marriage continued to haunt him because he’d been willing to do anything and everything to save his marriage, despite the power struggle between him and his mother-in-law.
Groaning, he managed to get out of bed and undress. Every bone in his body ached as if he’d run a marathon. Graeme had lost track of time when he crawled into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep after showering and brushing his teeth.
A buzzing sound penetrated his foggy brain, and he’d believed an insect had gotten into the room when he’d opened the sliding doors leading to the second-story veranda. But the sound continued until he realized he’d programmed his cellphone to vibrate. He reached over and picked up the phone without looking at the screen.
“Yes.” His greeting came out in a croaking sound.
“Graeme?”
Pushing himself into a sitting position, he pressed his back against the mound of pillows cradling his shoulders. He swallowed a groan. Every bone in his body ached, probably from sitting in the same position for hours hunched over a keyboard.
“Kay.”
“Are you all right?”
He registered a thread of concern in her voice. “I think so.”
“You think so. You sound terrible.”
He ran a hand over his mussed hair. “My throat feels a little raw.”
“Who were you yelling at?”
Graeme smiled. “No one. Right now, I feel as if I’ve gone a couple of rounds with an MMA fighter.”
“Are you certain you’re not coming down with something?”
“I never get sick.”
“There’s always the first time, Graeme.”
Closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly, and suddenly experienced a wave of light-headedness. “You’re right.”
“What am I right about, Graeme?”
“That I’m coming down with something.”
“Do have anything in the house for a cold or the flu?”
“No. I’ll have to go out and buy something.”
“Don’t bother. I have some here. I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes. Unlock your door and then get into bed.”
“You don’t have to do that, Kay.”
“Don’t argue with me, Graeme. I don’t want you sick so you’ll have an excuse not to take me to the movies.”
He smiled. “Is that all you need me for?” Graeme teased. “To take you to the movies?”
“If not you, then I’ll find another man.”
His smile faded, his expression becoming a mask of stone. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Hang up, and unlock the door.”
The phone went dead, and Graeme realized Kayana had abruptly hung up on him. Moving slowly, he managed to get out of bed, slip into a pair of briefs and shorts and make his way down the staircase. Barley met him as he walked to the front door. He disarmed the alarm, unlocked the door, and then opened the rear door to let the dog out. A light rain was beginning to fall, which prompted Barley not to linger, and he quickly raced back inside.
Holding onto the railing, Graeme pulled himself up the staircase to the second story. He’d just brushed his teeth and washed his face when he heard Barley’s excited barking and assumed Kayana had arrived. An expletive slipped out when his knees nearly buckled as he returned to the bedroom, stepped out of the shorts, fell across the bed, and closed his eyes. What the hell had he contracted that made him as helpless as a newborn?
“You look like shit!”
Graeme opened his eyes to find Kayana looming over him. “Good morning, beautiful.”