Chapter Five

"I go by Vance now," he said, his gaze not leaving Greta's face.

Rita just grinned. "Sure you do, honey."

Greta shook her head, feeling stupid as everything clicked into place. "You were there to attend the reunion. You were heading in the right direction, until you got a flat tire."

"Yes."

"Sorry you missed it." She turned and went to the door. What foolish feelings she'd felt didn't matter now. He was leaving soon and she'd never see him again. There would be no friendship between them; he’d just needed a place to crash. He had a fine, hot, girlfriend at home. She remembered he'd juggled a few while in high school. "Brenda was there, looking great as always and--"

"I don't feel like I missed anything." Vance took a step forward, but halted when Greta took a step back. "Listen, I don't regret--"

Greta could no longer hold his gaze and glanced out at the street. "Taxis don't usually take this long." She turned to the house. "I'll give them another call."

"Tera--"

She spun around and blinked back tears, saddened that even the nickname he'd given her now felt like a mockery. "My name is Greta." She went inside and closed the door, wanting to slam it, but knowing that a petty action like that would only please Rita.

Greta went into her bedroom and sat on the bed. She was an idiot. How did her mother remember him and she didn't? ‘Van the Man’. The hotshot basketball star. How could she have not recognized or remembered him? Back then he went by Van Lamine. She'd spent the evening with one of her worse tormentors. No, he didn't torment her directly, his friends did. He just stood by and watched with enjoyment.

She wondered if he'd secretly been laughing at her the whole night, as she invited him in for coffee, then later when she held his hand and tried to comfort him about the terrible time, she imagined, he'd had in high school. What a laugh! She heard the taxi drive up and gripped her hands into fists. "Goodbye you bastard," she muttered. She'd let her grandmother's silly dream lead her astray, again. But now she was back to her senses.

Greta gathered herself and went into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Her mother was finishing off a slice of toast, leaving a trail of crumbs on the counter.

"So you really didn't know who he was?" she asked, with a superior smirk.

Greta wiped the crumbs away with a wet dish towel, then reached up and took a box of cereal out of one of the cabinets. She poured the cereal into a bowl, ignoring the question. "Who are you seeing?"

"Why?"

"Because there's word on the street he's bad news."

"Word from who? People been talking trash in your ivory tower?"

Greta poured some milk on her cereal then grabbed a spoon and sat down. Her mother liked to make fun of her job, although it was the very thing that kept them fed and a roof over their head. "I heard it from somewhere."

"You think I'd take advice about men from a woman like you? You wouldn't know what to do with one if you had a chance. You don't know anything about men."

Little did her mother know, she’d learned a lot from Eric, although she hadn't had the chance to use her knowledge on anyone else. Greta ate a spoonful of cereal then mumbled under her breath, "Looking at your record I don't think you do either."

Her mother lifted her hand, as if to strike her.

Greta met her gaze in a silent challenge. "Just try."

Rita lowered her hand. "I don't know why you like pissing me off."

"I'm just trying to help you."

"My private life is none of your business."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"You're going to pretend to care about me now?"

Greta slammed her spoon down. "Why do you always act this way?"

"Act what way?" Rita shot back.

"Like I'm some kind of jailor. I made rules to keep us all safe. When I moved us out here, I didn't expect you to stay. You could have gone at anytime."

"I don't mind living here, I just don't want you all up in my business. Besides, you know finding work is hard for me and with my credit getting a place is hard, too."

"Then why don't you move in with one of those guys you hang with then, huh? Probably because most of them live with their mothers or the mother of their children."

"This one’s different," Rita said in a low voice. "He treats me good. I haven't had a man treat me like this in a long time."

"Who is he?"

"You met him a few times."

"Terrell? You're still seeing him?" Greta said surprised. She remembered a soft spoken man who liked wearing black jeans and smoked cigars. He'd lasted the longest. Nearly a year.

"Yes."

He was a little younger than her mother, but one of the most polite. He didn't say much but most of her mother's friends rarely did. He didn't look like trouble, but Greta had learned early that looks could be deceiving.

"Just be careful."

"I always am."

Greta forced a smile, knowing that wasn't true.

***

The moment Vance opened the door to Sylvie's apartment she threw her arms around him. "I was so worried."

He held her close, inhaling her sweet perfume and sinking into her soft embrace. He tightened his hold, a part of him, the part of him he wanted to ignore, wishing he'd been able to do the same with Greta. He wished he could have hugged her and told her how sorry he was for the past. He wanted to tell her how much he'd enjoyed being with her last night. He squeezed his eyes closed wanting to erase the look of shock and hurt that had crossed her face before it turned to anger and indifference. He should have expected it. She would have put things together eventually. He just hadn't wanted to be there when she did. Damn. He liked her and she hated his guts.

She wasn't the only one. His mother was furious with him for missing the luncheon. He'd taken the taxi to the hospital to pick up his car and then driven around for awhile before going to Sylvie's place.

Sylvie drew away and looked up at him concerned. "What happened?"

He forced a smile. "I'm on Mom's bad son list."

She stroked his cheek. "You can't blame her for being upset. She hosts that luncheon only once a year and she expects her family to be there."

"I know. I feel bad enough. Fortunately she has my brother to turn to."

"I'll make it up to her for you."

Vance drew back, feeling annoyed. Sometimes he felt that Sylvie cared more about his mother's feelings than she did his. "I don't want to talk about the luncheon right now."

Her gaze grew serious. "Are you okay? How about that girl?"

Vance swallowed a lump in his throat and tried to make his voice sound casual. "She's fine. She was mugged. I stayed at the hospital longer than expected."

"Then you took her home," Sylvie finished. "I know, you told me." She grinned. "She must consider you her hero."

No, anything but. Vance pulled Sylvie close and kissed her, while unbuttoning her blouse. He wanted her. He didn't want to think. He just wanted to feel her soft body next to his. He wanted to feel her legs around him.

"Isn't it early for this?" she asked.

"It's never too early," he breathed against her neck.

She pulled off his shirt. "I'm glad you're all right."

"Never better," he lied.

***

Greta stared listlessly at the walls of the Red Hut and sighed. She didn't even know why she was there. It was one of Drake's restaurants. She didn't want to be home and didn't know where else to go, then the thought came to her to come there and bury her past for good. She'd have a great meal and then forget men for good. It was the evening rush, so the restaurant was buzzing with the wait staff coming in and out of the kitchen carrying trays loaded with savory Island dishes. Greta looked around. The other tables were filled with happy looking families and couples. Some people were meant to be in pairs, she was meant to stay single. She didn't mind being alone. She was used to it. Maybe, the next time she'd take her grandmother out, but for now, she wanted to deal with the thoughts that still haunted her. She wanted to remind herself of how foolish she'd been. She didn’t want any more ghosts.

Greta sipped her drink then glanced up and her breath caught when she spotted another face from the past. A tall, dark, handsome man wearing gold rimmed glasses and a smile that could be a little wicked: Eric Henson. He walked past her table with a courteous nod and nothing more. She wasn't surprised. What man, or boy for that matter, remembered his first time, much less who he did it with? Greta set her glass down at the same time she heard his footsteps stop. He backed up and stared down at her. He then slid into the booth in front of her, rested his chin in his hands and a slow sexy grin spread on his face. It was the grin that did it. He remembered and as he stared at her a similar grin spread on her face and her cheeks grew warm. Now she remembered why she'd slept with him. He was very charming, and he had eyes that saw a lot more than expected.

"Greta Rodgers," he said, as if remembering a favorite meal.

"Eric Henson."

They both laughed, then he jumped to his feet and opened his arms. She hugged him, feeling as if she'd met an old friend, even though they'd hardly been that. It had been awkward but fun. She'd felt guilty for using him to get close to his brother. No doubt he'd seduced her. He was the type to do so. Seeing the man he'd become she guessed he was clever and unassuming.

"How are you doing?" he asked with a warmth that surprised her. His island lilt wasn't as strong as Drake's, but it was just as sexy.

"I'm fine."

Eric glanced at the bruise on her face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I was mugged last night."

His face changed. "Have you gone to the police?"

"I didn't need to, he didn't get anything."

His brows shot up. "You fought him off?"

"No, someone else helped me," Greta said not wanting to elaborate. "So how are you? What have you been up to? Do you work with your brother?"

"Yes, but I also have my own business. I'm a financial advisor."

"I'll remember that when I make more money."

"You don't need a lot. It pains me to see how many people just depend on their 401k and savings, not understanding the importance of investments, and being able to differentiate between net and gross. Financial literacy is essential. Too many people don't understand the logistics of how to make money work for them."

Greta held up her hands, as if in surrender. "Okay I'm convinced."

Eric laughed, then hung his head, embarrassed. "Sorry, it's a passion of mine."

"Passion is good. So, are you still breaking hearts?"

Eric adjusted his glasses then rested his arms on the table and lowered his voice. "That's Drake's territory, remember?"

"Is that still your MO, Mr. Five Seconds?" She'd called him that after their first time. He'd been overeager and quick. At least he'd been gentle and they'd learned together. She'd taught him to slow down.

Color stained his cheeks. "Twenty seconds at least."

Greta bit back a smile. "Not as I remember."

"I've improved."

"I'm sure you have."

Eric glanced to the door. "Drake's not here."

"That's okay, I'm not here to see him. I met him at the reunion and his wife."

Eric frowned. "His wife?"

"Cassie."

"Oh right, Cassie," he said, as if suddenly remembering.

Greta laughed. "Does he have another wife?"

Eric leaned back and folded his arms. "Sometimes I forget he has a wife at all."

"She seems nice."

"She's great."

Greta picked up her drink. She didn't want to discuss Drake's wife.

"So, are you expecting someone?"

"No, I just decided to check out this place on my own. I've heard good things about it. But I wouldn't mind the company."

He glanced up. "Sorry, I wish I could but my date's here."

Greta’s heart sank, but she kept a smile on her face. "Oh, right. Enjoy yourself."

She didn't know whether it was her smile or her voice, but something made Eric stop and really look at her with an intensity that was unnerving. "Would you like to meet her? We could all--"

"No," Greta said quickly. Damn his eyes. Eric could read women better than any man should. "Three's a crowd as they say," she said with a forced chuckle. "It was just a thought."

He didn't smile, his brown eyes searching her face with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. "It's a nice thought," he said. "We'll do it another time."

Greta dropped her gaze to her drink. "Yes, sure," she said not wanting to see him again.

Eric turned to the waiter who'd approached Greta’s table to take her order. "Everything is on me."

Her head shot up. "You don't have to."

He bent down and whispered in her ear. "I know." He straightened, then winked and left. She turned and saw him greet a young woman then leave the restaurant. The Henson brothers could shatter a woman's heart. How could men be so delicious and kind at the same time? No wonder they were both spoken for.

"Are you ready to order?" the waiter asked.

"Give me a few more minutes please."

"Sure."

Greta sank back in her seat feeling deflated. Strike three. Drake was married. Eric was involved and Vance. She didn't even want to think about Vance. Even if he didn't have a girlfriend, she couldn't imagine him being interested in her or she him. Her grandmother was definitely wrong. There was to be no man from her past. Her life was going to remain exactly the same.

***

"What's this? Who's Vance Minton?" Her grandmother asked a month later. She'd come over to help Greta with spring cleaning. It was an activity she enjoyed, although Greta found it more of a drudgery. All the windows were open to air out the house and allow the aromatic scent of flowers to seep through, as well as sunlight which brightened each room. They'd been dusting and polishing the living room when her grandmother had spotted a card underneath the couch.

Greta looked at the card, surprised by the sight of it. "Nothing. I thought I'd thrown it away."

"But there's a note on the back."

Greta reached for the card. She didn't remember seeing a note on it.

Her grandmother moved it out of reach and narrowed her eyes. "There's a story here."

"Not really."

"Stop lying," Rita said flopping down on the couch and switching on the TV. "You were salivating."

"No, I wasn't," Greta snapped.

Rita shook her head. "Mom, you should have seen her with this guy. He even called her Tera."

Her grandmother frowned at Greta. "What is she going on about?"

Rita rested her feet on the coffee table. "Some guy she picked up at the reunion."

Greta pushed her mother’s feet off the table and bent down and scrubbed the marks with a rag.

"You didn't tell me about that," her grandmother said. "You said nothing happened."

"See Mom?" Rita said with a smirk. "I'm not the only one who lies around here."

"I wasn't lying," Greta said. "I didn't meet him at the reunion."

"Who is he?"

"Van the Man," Rita said in a sing songy voice. "And he used to go to her school."

"But you didn't meet him at the reunion?" her grandmother asked.

"No." Greta sighed, knowing she was trapped. Now she had to tell her grandmother the full story or her mother would invent her own version. Greta sat down on the love seat and patted a seat next to her for Minnie. She sat and listened while Greta told her about the incident with the flat tire, then the mugger, and how Vance had driven her home. "And then I invited him in for coffee and found out he has a girlfriend and that was it."

Rita shook her head. "No, you're leaving out the best part."

Greta gritted her teeth. "Mom, let it go."

"Don't you think your grandmother should know that you spent the night with him?"

"I didn't. I had taken some pain medicine they gave me at the hospital. It made me sleepy." Greta turned to her grandmother hoping she would believe her. "We both fell asleep on the couch."

"In each others' arms," Rita added.

"I somehow ended up with my head on his chest."

"And he had his arms around you."

Greta sent Rita a fierce glare. "It wasn't like that. But of course when it comes to men, everything is about sex."

Rita crossed her legs and licked her lips. "The best part."

Minnie turned to her daughter. “She isn't gutter like you, Rita.”

Rita got up and went into the kitchen.

Greta rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her grandmother. "Anyway we woke up and he went back to his girlfriend."

Her grandmother stared down at the card in her hand. "And he gave you his card?"

"He was just being polite."

Rita shouted from the kitchen. "Don't be fooled by her Mom. Greta liked him until she remembered who he was. I knew who he was right away."

"No, you didn't."

"I almost did. I had a boyfriend back then who had a cousin or something on the boy’s varsity basketball team, so I remembered him. Greta didn’t. You should have seen her face."

Her grandmother looked at Greta. "Who was he?"

Greta stood and began to rub down a bookshelf. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Did he call you names or something?"

"Who didn't?" Rita scoffed returning to the living room eating a biscuit.

Minnie looked at her daughter. "Shut. Your. Mouth."

"This is my house too."

"Right, your name's written all over the deed," she said every word laced with sarcasm.

Rita kissed her teeth in annoyance. "I'm gone." She grabbed her purse and keys then left.

"Who is this man?" Minnie asked.

"Nobody. I thought at first maybe...but then...he has a girlfriend anyway so--"

"You're not making sense."

Greta slapped her cleaning rag against her thigh, desperate to change the subject. "There's nothing to make sense of."

"You liked him."

"Before I knew who he really was, yes, I did. I admit that."

"And he liked you." Her grandmother held up her hand when Greta opened her mouth to protest. "He wouldn't have come in for coffee and given you his number if he hadn't."

"You don't know this man. He had me call him Vance the whole time, just to deceive me, and I bet if I hadn't hit my head I would have put two and two together earlier. He probably just wanted a place to crash to get away for a while. It was nothing personal. ‘Van the Man’ is not a guy you can trust."

"Maybe he's no longer ‘Van the Man’. Maybe he is just Vance now. We can all change."

"True," Greta said with a shrug. She waved her rag in the air as if offering him a royal pardon. "I wish him the best and that's the end of the story."

"Not quite," her grandmother said in a thoughtful tone.

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to see him again."

"Absolutely not!"

"Why not?"

Greta threw up her hands. "Because he's a jerk."

"That's not the man you described. I like the sound of him. He was considerate and fun and--"

"What happened that night was an anomaly. Trust me, he doesn't want to see me, and I don't want to see him. I went to the class reunion just as you asked me to, and it was a disaster. I'm not setting myself up again."

"I told you to keep your heart open."

"Presently my heart is battered and bruised and needs a rest."

"He likes you and he may know somebody."
"He won't."

"Humor me. Do this one last thing for me and I won't ask anything of you again."

Greta sighed. "How am I supposed to see him again without looking completely pathetic?"

"This is what I want you to do. You are to go by his office with a gift of thanks. If he is rude, then you know you are right about him. But if he's not, the possibilities are endless. I just don't want you to paint a picture of a man you hardly know."

"But I do know him."

"You know who he used to be. This ‘Van the ban—'"

"Man."

"Person. Your sister has changed. Is it fair for someone to use her past to judge her now?"

Greta stiffened, irritated by the comparison. "She's different."

"Because she's female?"

"I don't have a thing against guys."

"Then see him again. Prove me wrong. Show me how horrible he is. If it was all just an act then you'll know for sure, and you'll be able to throw this card away."

Her grandmother was right. She had been hanging onto the card for some strange reason. At first she'd had it resting on her counter, then she tossed it on the bookshelf then on the table, but she hadn't thrown it away. She'd held onto it, as if it meant something. Greta took the card and flipped it over. "There's no note here."

Her grandmother grinned. "But you thought there was."

"Okay," Greta said, ready to take on the challenge. "You want me to find out who he really is? You're on."