CHAPTER 6
Zoie leaned over the gears and gave Jackson a light kiss. “Hey,” she said against his lips.
“Hey yourself. Looking good woman,” he said, taking a long drink of water look at her.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” she said in an exaggerated drawl. “You’re not too bad yourself.” She tweaked his tie.
Jackson winked. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
“I should have come in and said hello to everyone.” He put the gear in drive.
“They’re all settled in for the night.”
He pulled to the intersection. “Seven? Early even for them. Your mom is not up reading?” he asked off hand.
“Didn’t see her when I walked out.” She folded her hands on top of her purse.
Jackson snatched a quick look at Zoie. “Something wrong?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
“Because I know you and I know that tone.”
She pressed her lips together. “Maybe we can talk about it later.” She looked at him. “After dinner. Don’t really want to get into it now.” She turned her face toward the window.
Jackson’s jaw clenched. He was not going to let it be one of those nights. He knew from the tightness around her eyes, the flat edge to her voice that something was simmering beneath the surface ready to overflow and scorch them both. When Zoie sunk into that place where she would retreat, she’d gather her weapons of words and research and attack the adversary. Sometimes the victim of her tenacity was truly worth investigating, much as she’d done when writing the series on the 9/11 attacks that uncovered the vulnerabilities of the buildings, and the money that was made by hedge funds. But he’d seen that same tunnel-vision determination unleashed on her own family. She didn’t speak on it much but he knew she continued to struggle with what she’d done to Kimberly. She’d been relentless, turning over every rock, peeking between every crevice, hurt feelings and reputations be damned. Now she had to live with it, and make amends, yet here was that look again and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why.
He reached toward the dash and turned on the radio.
“You didn’t say where we were going, just someplace fancy,” Zoie finally said, breaking the ice with a teasing tone.
“Can’t surprise you,” he tossed back and winked. “Emeril’s. We haven’t been there since you’ve been back, and I know how much you love the food.”
She squeezed his thigh. “Now that’s a pleasant surprise.”
He cleared his throat. “I should have said something sooner.”
“About Emeril’s?” She scrunched her face and waved her hand in dismissal. “Please. Don’t even think about it.”
“Not Emeril’s.”
Her right brow flicked upward. “Oh. You’re losing me.”
“Two of my business connections that want to invest in the development will be joining us—for after dinner drinks. Other than that, the evening will be just me and you. Promise.”
“Oh. Okay. I mean I would have loved that it was just us—all evening—but dinner at Emeril’s takes the sting out.” She smiled.
He released a breath of relief. “I was hoping you’d say that. Miles Cyrus and Victor Branch are from one of only two black financial investment firms in all of Louisiana. Can you believe it, in this day and age?” He huffed in frustration, made the turn onto Tchoupitoulas Street, pulled in front of Emeril’s and was met by the Valet. He handed over his keys, helped Zoie out of the car and gave her another hungry look before walking into the famed flagship establishment.
Emeril Lagasse launched Emeril’s New Orleans in 1990 in a renovated pharmacy warehouse that was transformed into one of the most famous restaurants in the country. Beyond it being a tourist attraction, due to the exquisite cuisine and stellar service, not to mention the larger-than-life personality of its owner and founder, getting a reservation was akin to striking gold.
A hostess greeted them at the door. “Good evening. Welcome to Emeril’s.”
“Good evening. Reservation for Fuller.”
She scanned the register, located his name then tapped some keys on the computer. She looked up and smiled. “Yes. Your table is ready.” She signaled for a waitress. Another young woman approached. “Rachel will show you to your table. Enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you. There are two others that are meeting us.”
“When they arrive, we’ll escort them to your table,” the hostess assured.
“Thanks,” Jackson said.
The restaurant’s circular tables were covered in white linen, topped with candle centerpieces in glass bowls and gleaming silver flatware. Yet even for its understated elegance there was a down-home feel to the space that said it was okay to laugh loud and long, have more than a glass of wine and ask for seconds, and if it was a lucky night Emeril himself may drop in.
Jackson held the chair for Zoie as she sat. The waitress placed a menu in front of each of them.
“Can I start you with a drink?”
Jackson deferred to Zoie.
She scanned the drink list. “Hmm, I’ll have the Moonshine Margarita.”
“And for you sir?”
“Bulleit Buzz.”
“Great choices. I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.”
Jackson linked his long fingers together. “Did I tell you how fabulous you look?”
Zoie’s cheeks got hot. “Yep. But you can tell me again.”
“You look fabulous.”
They laughed.
“So, you never got a chance to tell me what happened with the attorney,” he said as a way of leading up to their little exchange in the car.
“Apparently there was a clause to the will . . .”
Zoie explained to him what she had learned from her meeting with the lawyer.
“Wow.” He sipped his drink then put down the glass. “I don’t understand why you weren’t told this at the reading.”
“Same thing I wanted to know. Those were my Nana’s instructions.”
Jackson gave a slight shrug. “Well, it may be annoying that you didn’t know, but it still works out. You were planning to stay anyway.”
The waitress arrived with the dinner they’d ordered while they’d talked.
Zoie turned her full focus on her grilled Gulf swordfish and pasta. “This looks delicious.” She cut into the fish.
Jackson took a mouthful of andouille hash while thoughtfully watching Zoie. Another one of Zoie’s ‘tell’ signs was that when she was ducking a subject she either changed the topic or totally avoided looking you in the eye.
“How is it?” Jackson asked, testing his theory.
“Hmm, amazing,” she said without looking up. “You?”
“Great. Have you thought about hiring more help?”
She reached for her drink. Her lashes shielded her eyes. “Not at the moment. The two assistants I have now are fine.”
“Is something else going on, Z?”
Finally she looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“You’re doing that thing you do when you don’t want to talk about something.”
She put down her fork, wiped her mouth with the linen napkin then placed it next to her plate. “That thing I do?”
“Yeah. You either avoid the question or avoid looking at me.”
“Seriously, Jax. You’re going to do this here?”
He wagged a finger at her. “And that. You go on the attack.”
She pushed back from her chair and stood. “Need to use the restroom.”
He watched her walk away and shook his head in frustration. He’d been down this road with her over and again; the hot, cold, off, on, accuse, defend scenarios. Zoie was amazing in so many ways that all too often he was blind to her faults, those things that drove him crazy. Most of her behaviors stemmed from the broken relationship with her family. He knew that, and so he made excuses for her to appease himself so he could justify staying. He loved her, always had, but she was making it so hard. It didn’t have to be this hard.
The waitress was walking toward the table with Jackson’s two business associates.
Jackson stood, extended his hand. “Miles, Victor. Thanks for coming.”
They exchanged greetings and settled in their seats.
“Can I get you gentlemen a drink?” the waitress asked.
“Bourbon straight up,” Miles said.
“Make that two,” Victor added.
“I thought Ms. Crawford would be joining us,” Victor said.
“She just stepped away.”
“We made a quick site visit again today. Real progress being made,” Miles said.
“I’m very pleased. We’re pretty much on target and on budget.” He glanced up. Zoie walked toward the table. “Here she is now.” He put on a smile. The three men stood. “Zoie Crawford. This is Miles Cyrus and Victor Branch. The two men I told you about.”
“Nice to meet you both.” She sat. “What did I miss?”
“Not a thing, just ordering drinks,” Jackson said. He checked her demeanor. Her body language was fluid, but her facial expression was unreadable.
“I understand from Jackson that you would be the one overseeing the community garden and the market,” Miles said.
Jackson’s gaze slid toward Zoie hoping that she would take the conversation in stride. True, they’d talked about it, but she had not fully committed and her no response to his earlier statement about her staying in NOLA gave him real pause.
“Actually, after Jackson talked you up and what you were able to accomplish in just a year, that was the dangling carrot that got us on board,” Victor said.
Jackson saw the brief line that pulled her brows close and the forced smile that followed.
“Jackson is the great negotiator,” she said throwing a look in his direction.
“We’d love to hear how you envision the two projects,” Miles said.
Zoie cleared her throat. “I really was not expecting an impromptu presentation.”
Jackson reached across the table and covered her hand. She balled her fingers into a fist. “No presentation. I thought it would be good for Miles and Victor to meet you since I pretty much sold them on the idea because you were going to be a part of it.”
She slid her hand away, turned a warm smile on the duo. “What would you like to know?”
“I—we were really impressed with the fantastic growth of your business. It’s only been a year, correct?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your secret? Because to be honest, the concept for the community garden and the market is a great one, but it is self-contained within the complex. How would it grow?”
“If you are getting into this to see phenomenal growth and franchises all over NOLA then this is not the project for you.” She linked her fingers together, looked at Miles then Victor. “This is about doing right by a community that has seen nothing but dismissal. It’s about providing a life and a lifestyle that they deserve. I’m sure you are aware of the history of disparity in the Ninth Ward. The goal of the community garden and market is a way of trying to level the playing field. If you’re looking for this concept to grow,” she looked at Jackson, “then you should consider partnering with Jackson to develop more affordable housing projects with the Healthy Choice Initiative.”
Victor smiled. “Healthy Choice Initiative? Hmm.” He turned to Miles. “We’re just hearing the slogan, but I like it.”
Jackson smothered his surprise. It was the first time he was hearing it as well, and it was damned good. For someone that didn’t want to make a presentation, not only did Zoie knock it out of the park, she articulated a concept that was just what he’d need to get more financing to replicate the concept. With the right branding, the Healthy Choice Initiative would become a national movement. Damn, she was amazing; poised, controlled, clear. She exhibited a feeling of reassurance that rolled off her as easy as breathing. When she was in her element, her ability to pretty much seduce listeners into believing what she said was a skill that should be packaged.
“I told you Ms. Crawford was special.” He slid a glance at Zoie and smiled. She lifted her glass to her lips.
Miles finished off his drink. “I like what I’ve heard.”
“Absolutely,” Victor added. “I can see the concept taking off, and whatever we can do to make that happen, I’m in.”
Jackson nodded in appreciation of their support. He’d been confident that Miles and Victor would be on board. They were already impressed with the work that Jackson had been doing in the 9th Ward and across Louisiana’s depressed areas. Bringing Zoie into the mix, and now with her Healthy Choice Initiative tag, the deal was solid.
“We’ll let you two get back to your dinner.” Victor stood, extended his hand to Jackson, then turned to Zoie. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He held her hand for a moment longer that Jackson would have liked. “Hope to see you again.”
Zoie offered a tight-lipped smile.
“We’ll be in touch,” Miles said to Jackson, gave Zoie a nod of acknowledgment and headed off.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Victor said.
“You were brilliant, babe. Was the Healthy Choice Initiative something you’d been thinking about?”
“Not consciously.” She frowned, bemused, as if just realizing what she’d done. “It just came out.”
“Well it was genius. It says everything about what we’re trying to do. That’s why you’re so important to this whole thing.”
She focused on the remnants of her drink. “Look, I’m not committing to anything and to be honest, no matter how brilliant the idea may have been, you shouldn’t have sprung that on me.” A simmering swirl of agitation that she’d tamped down began to gain in strength. “I felt like my back was up against the wall. I want to support you. I think your project is amazing, but I don’t want to be blindsided like that. It’s not cool.” She reached for her glass, saw that it was empty and that annoyed her even more.
“You’re right. I was out of pocket to toss you in the mix like that without talking to you first. I’m sorry. I really am. It won’t happen again.” Jackson heaved a breath, anticipated her response, but got nothing but a distant look.
“Tired of people telling me what they feel like telling me when they get ready,” she muttered loud enough for Jackson to hear.
“What is it? What is wrong? It’s not all about this meeting. Talk to me.”
She clicked her fork mindlessly against her plate. She wiped her mouth with the napkin, pushed out a breath. “Tonight only added onto the crappy day I had.” Her lips pinched. “Got into it with my mom this afternoon.”
His brows lifted. “Oh. I thought things were better between you two.”
“They were.”
“So, what happened?” Before she even explained it, his gut told him that the reason for the latest blow up was due to something Zoie did or said. There was a part of her that he never fully understood: her relentlessness that often pushed people beyond their breaking point when she wanted something. She would become blinded by her own need to know. A great attribute to have as a journalist, but in day-to-day living it was definitely a flaw.
Zoie sucked in her cheeks. “I’m sure you think it was my fault.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. It’s all over your face, in your tone.”
“Z. Don’t do this. I’m asking because I want to know, because I want to understand what’s bothering you so that maybe I can help. But you make it so fucking hard, Z.”
Her nostrils flared. Her bottom lip trembled.
“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone softening.
Her lashes fluttered. “It was about my dad.”
That gave him pause. The name Hank Crawford was persona non grata in the Bennett household. It was never quite clear to him what happened all those years ago and no one would talk about it. He could understand Zoie’s desire to find out why her dad walked out the door one day and never came back. In her shoes, he’d want to know the same thing. What was generally a problem was not that Zoie wanted answers, but the way she went about trying to get them.
“What happened?”
In alternating levels of anger, sadness, and frustration she relayed what had transpired between her and her mother. She knuckled aside a wayward tear, sniffed hard.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He covered her hand with his. “I know it’s hard for you to understand why your mother won’t talk about your dad. But think about how hard it was and probably still is for her,” he gently said. “It’s a time in her life that changed her and everyone around her. The hurt of it is probably more than she wants to deal with.”
Zoie leaned in. “What about me?” she asked through clenched teeth. “Don’t I have a right to know?” A tear dripped from her left eye.
He squeezed her hand. “Z, sometimes, just sometimes, knowing isn’t everything. Sometimes we have to let things go and move on. Sometimes we have to put aside our personal wants for the benefit of others.”
She pursed her lips, took a shuddering breath. Her voice wobbled. “It’s not right.” She lowered her head. Her shoulders shook.
Jackson slid over into the seat closest to her and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest.
“If . . . if I knew,” she cried, “maybe I would be different. Not so angry and vindictive . . . unlovable.”
Jackson stroked her back. “You may be all those other things, but you are definitely loveable. Haven’t I shown you that?”
She lifted her head from his chest and looked into his eyes that held the light of mirth in them.
“Did you just say that I was angry and vindictive?”
He gave her his best puppy dog look. “But I did say you were loveable.”
She swatted his arm and sat upright then took the napkin and dabbed at her eyes. He kissed her forehead.
“I’ve really been working on being . . . better,” she said.
He smiled, lifted a wiry tendril of hair away from her face. “I know, Z. You are a work in progress.”
She smothered a laugh. “That is definitely true.” She tugged in a settling breath and quickly scanned the room. She cupped his chin in her palm and moved in to kiss him.
“Let’s go home,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Ahhh, dessert,” he teased.
“You catch on quick, handsome.”
“One of my hidden talents.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, the card was declined.”
“That can’t be right. Please try it again,” Kimberly said to the hotel clerk.
The woman swiped the card again. “Sorry.” She handed the card back. “Maybe you can try another card?”
Her heart pounded so violently she began to sweat. Her hand shook as she went through her wallet. She pulled out her Visa. “Try this one.”
The woman forced a smile and swiped the card. Kimberly held her breath. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Her thoughts raced in every direction.
“I’m sorry Ms. Maitland.” She handed back the card.
Kimberly’s cheeks were on fire. She felt sick. “Is there an ATM or a bank nearby?”
“There’s an ATM right down the corridor near the business office.”
“Thank you.” She shoved her wallet back in her purse. With as much dignity as she could summon, she walked away and out. She wouldn’t bear the humiliation of this woman seeing her card declined in the ATM as well.
Once outside she reached out and grabbed the pillar to keep from collapsing. She ran her hands through her hair, looked wildly around. Rowan had always made her feel safe and protected, provided for. That cloak of protection had been torn away. She may as well be naked. He was the finance person. He paid the bills, managed their investments while she built her law business. She couldn’t think. There had to be some reason, beyond the one that was playing with her head, as to why her credit cards were declined.
“Welcome to the Hilton, Ms. Maitland.” The clerk beamed.
Kimberly blinked. Her heart pounded. When she focused, she was looking into the face of the young woman who moments ago had turned her away—or so she’d imagined. But it was all in her head, the horrible ordeal of what could have been. She slid her card back in her wallet.
“How many keys would you like?”
Kimberly tucked her hair behind her ears. “Just one. Thank you,” she said softly.
The clerk processed the room key and handed it to Kimberly. “1601. Do you have luggage?”
“Just one bag.”
She signaled the bellhop. “Ms. Maitland is in 1601.”
The young, red-jacketed man picked up Kimberly’s bag and put it on a rolling cart. “Right this way.” He started off toward the elevators.
“Enjoy your stay, Ms. Maitland,” the clerk said.
Still shaken by the scenario that whirred in her head, she merely nodded and followed the bellhop.
She registered the click of the door closing behind the bellhop. She should have given him a tip or something. He seemed nice. Maybe he wasn’t really. Maybe he hadn’t closed the door behind him and he would come back and attack her in her sleep. She hurried from the bedroom to the front door. She slapped the security lock in place, spun around and rested her back against the door, breathing hard. She pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead.
What was wrong with her? Thinking crazy. Imagining things. She pushed away from the door and shuffled over to the sitting room, slid open the doors to the terrace and stepped out in the humid night air. She dragged in a long deep breath in the hopes of clearing her head.
Downtown New Orleans spread out below, dotted with multicolored lights and waves of people flowing along the avenues. Trails of laughter and the strains of music floated up to her, drawing her into the city’s seductive embrace. There was a magic to Nawlins, a mystery that she never quite experienced in all her years in New York. The vitality of the city was palpable. Whole neighborhoods, the above ground cemetery crypts, the cobblestone streets, all paid homage to a bygone era that continued to thrive like no other city, bubbling over like a pot of spicy gumbo. A city that pulsed with drama, romance, and of course Mardi Gras. It was in her blood—this place, from the heat that floated in waves from the street and curled your hair into ringlets, to the aromas of jambalaya and red beans and rice that traveled along the Mississippi River breeze.
She’d shed this skin when she’d moved to New York to build a life away from the influences of her parents. She’d transformed herself into a slick Big Apple attorney, smothered the heaviness of her Nawlins twang, lived in a penthouse with a wealthy husband, and associated with a gaggle of so-called friends whose greatest ambition was to spend the summer in Fiji. That is who she became, but never who she was. Now she was in a kind of limbo, a purgatory of otherness, not belonging in either world. She gripped the rail of the balcony. A tear dripped onto her lip. She licked away the salty taste. Who was she now?
She looked down the sixteen floors. What would they put on her stone? How would she be remembered—the woman who never was.
Zoie stared up at the ceiling while she listened to Jackson’s soft breathing. Funny, he didn’t snore, but he swore she did which she heartedly denied—not that she would know. He’d always threatened to record her just to prove his point. He never did.
She turned onto her side, away from him. She was at a crossroads—torn. Her blind drive—that character flaw—had wreaked havoc with Kimberly’s life and her mother’s. And now her persistence had frayed the already tenuous thread that held her and Rose together.
Her commitment to her grandmother was complete, but her stubborn pride urged her to stay and keep control over what she’d built. She wished she could say the sole reason she would stay was for love. She sniffed. But it was like Miranda said, Jackson was number three on her list. Was that even enough to build a life with someone? Not to mention that he was having a child with another woman—the woman who may be stalking her and her family. And now she was entwined in his development project, whether she wanted to be or not. At the very least she owed it to him to stay and get the project off the ground. But what about what she wanted? She curled her knees toward her chest. There was a time she knew what she wanted. Truth. Justice. Look how that turned out. Now she was no longer sure.
Jackson moaned softly, turned and draped an arm across her middle, spooned his body with hers. “Why are you awake?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep.
“How do you know I’m awake?”
“One, because you answered me, and two because I know you. You always curl up like that when you’re thinking, troubled, can’t sleep.” He pulled in a breath, urged her onto her back. “Talk to me. What’s keeping you awake?” He propped his head up on his palm.
“I don’t know. A bunch of stuff and nothing.” She sputtered a laugh. “My mom, Kimberly, the will, you and Lena, partnering with you on the development . . .” She hesitated to tell him of her suspicions about Lena.
Jackson stroked her hip, placed a light kiss on her shoulder. “You can’t tackle it all on your own,” he said softly. “I can take some of the pressure off. If you have doubts or issues about overseeing the garden and market, I get it. I put that on you and then dragged you in almost like a bargaining chip with Miles and Victor. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I can’t apologize enough for putting you in that position.”
“Jax, you didn’t do anything wrong. Really,” she said with a light chuckle. “We talked about it . . . maybe not as fully as we should have, but—we did toss the idea around.”
“You’re being generous.” He traced the outline of her ear. She wiggled against him. “As for me and Lena. It’s a big ask. Hell, it’s more than any woman should have to deal with. I know we’ve been down this road. I tried to be as plain as I could about where I stand and what the agreement is between me and Lena. On that score, I don’t know what else I can do.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He kissed the lobe of her ear. “You and your mom . . .” He blew out a breath. “At some point, you’re going to have to let some stuff go, Z. I know it’s hard as hell for you not to dig a tunnel to China every time you don’t get the answers you want, but it may be more than your mom can handle to have to resurrect what happened between her and your dad.”
“After my father left, my entire family changed. There was always a weird tension between my mom and my aunts. Now I know why of course. My mother had her reasons for clinging onto me, demanding so much. I get it.” She turned her head so that she faced him. “It doesn’t change the fact that I want to know why my dad left and why no one will tell me the reason.” She looked upward and watched the shadows change shape across the ceiling. “There’s something else. I wasn’t going to say anything because it sounds crazy and it’s probably nothing.”
“What’s probably nothing?”
She clasped his hand and told him about her aunt Hyacinth’s insistence that she saw someone in a car outside the house, her own spotting of the car and then running into Lena.
“Wait.” He sat up. “Are you trying to say that you think Lena is sitting outside of your house?” His voice kicked up in pitch. “Are you serious?”
She sat up, pulled the sheet up to her chin. “I know it sounds crazy but yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
Jackson tossed the sheets aside and swung his feet to the floor. He rested his elbows on his thighs, placed his head on his palms. “Zoie, I’ve tried. I really have. I’ve pushed things aside that maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did it because all I was concerned about was keeping you happy, making things easier for you. But this,” he glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t get with this Zoie. Lena wouldn’t do something like that. And for what?”
“I don’t know for what,” she snapped. “Forget it. Just forget it. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Yeah maybe you shouldn’t have.” He got to his feet. “I’m going to the kitchen.” He stalked out.
Why should she have expected any other kind of reaction? It did sound crazy. But a part of her expected Jackson to accept the craziness that ran through her head, because to not accept it was to not accept her. What stung was that this was the very first time that he hadn’t, and it was because of Lena.
Jackson slammed a cabinet door shut. She flinched. Bang. Another one. Her body tensed. After her father left them, Rose slammed cabinet doors, room doors, closet doors, anything that she could shove to generate the sound of impact. Zoie saw herself crouched in the corner of her bed, with her knees pressed to her chest and her hands covering her ears, like she was now. Slamming doors equaled unhappiness, and men that you loved left.
Jackson returned to the bedroom. He sat on the side of the bed. “Made some tea,” he said, his voice flat. “Want some?”
“No. Thanks.” She unfolded her body and sat up. She placed her hand on his back. “Jax. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s what you think and how you feel. I just don’t happen to agree.”
She dropped her hand to the bed. “So we can agree to disagree?”
“Seems that way.” He pushed to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. Have a full day.”
“I can take a taxi home.”
“If that’s what you want to do.” He walked away without a backward glance. “I’ll call you.”
Zoie turned the key in the lock of the front door. The murmur of voices coming from the kitchen greeted her, that and the tempting aroma of fresh-baked biscuits that teased the air. The scent of baking bread with a hint of cinnamon evoked a sense of comfort, warmth, home. Yet, she felt none of those things at the moment, even as her mouth watered. She turned toward the stairs and started up.
“That you, Zoie?” her aunt Sage called out.
“Yes, Auntie.”
“Gon’ come in all times of the mornin’ and not speak?” She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her near waist-length, almost all gray hair was plaited in two long braids and pinned on top of her head.
“I’m sorry, Auntie.” She stepped back down, walked over and pecked Sage’s cheek.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” she said while looking Zoie up and down. “For someone that spent the night in a man’s bed you look pretty weak around the eyes.”
Zoie felt her cheeks heat. She bit on her bottom lip, feeling like the teen she’d once been under this roof rather than the grown woman she’d become.
“You go on in there and speak to your mother,” Sage advised, shooting Zoie a no nonsense, all-knowing look.
She started to protest but knew it was useless. She hoisted the straps of her purse higher up on her shoulder and walked into the kitchen.
Rose was pouring a cup of tea for Hyacinth. She glanced up when Zoie walked in.
“Good morning,” Zoie murmured. She walked over, leaned down and kissed Hyacinth’s cheek. “How are you this morning, Auntie?”
Hyacinth angled her long neck to look Zoie in the eye. “I’m doing just fine,” she said in a voice that hinted at a secret. “Been with that cute fella Jackson?” she said with a wink and a chuckle.
Zoie patted Hyacinth’s shoulder, rounded the table and approached her mother. “Good morning, Mom.”
Rose sat down and dragged the spindle-back chair along the tile floor bringing it closer to the table. “ ’Mornin’ ” she said without looking at Zoie. “Coffee is ready if you want some.” She lifted her mug to her lips.
Zoie took a step back. “Maybe later.”
Sage brought the basket of fresh biscuits to the table and placed it next to the platter of scrambled eggs and sliced ham. “You should eat something,” Sage said before lowering her wide hips onto the chair.
Zoie’s stomach reached for the spread on the table even as her hips warned her to step away. She’d put on at least ten pounds since she’d been back and it was all due to not being able to push away from the table of temptation.
“Not really hungry. Thanks.” She walked over to the sink and took an apple from the bowl. “Enjoy, ladies. I’m going to get ready to work.”
“Saw that car out there again,” Hyacinth mumbled.
Zoie stopped short. She turned toward her aunt. “What did you say, Auntie?”
“Car was out there all night.”
“How would you know, Hy?” Sage taunted. “You were fast asleep.”
Hyacinth stabbed a piece of ham with her fork. “That’s what you think.” She hee-hee’d and brought the ham to her lips.
Sage waved her hand in dismissal. “Talkin’ crazy.”
Zoie wanted to believe that it was all in her aunt’s head, but she was beginning to think that was no longer true.