Anthia schooled her face, careful not to let him see her disappointed that his reason for coming had nothing to do with her. She handed him a slice of the coffee cake before she said, shaking her head, “I don’t know Dex. He’s still so self-conscious since the accident.” She preferred to call it an accident even though, he’d been shot during an armed robbery.
Jeff had made the horrible mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had made the near fatal mistake of taking a ride from a friend from their old neighborhood. Eddie Walker and Jeff had grown up together. Anthia and Jeff had moved away into a better area, which meant on her salary a one-bedroom flat. Jeff’s bedroom had been the sofabed in their living room.
Anthia had made a point of enrolling him in the community center. While Jeff had worked hard getting good grades in school, going to the center and being influenced by men like Dexter and Charles, Eddie had done the opposite. He had indulged himself in the street life... fast money and gangs... a brotherhood of crime and drugs.
On this particular day, Jeff had been led like a lamb to slaughter as far as Anthia was concerned. He had been left in the running car waiting for Eddie while he went inside the convenience store.
Unknown to Jeff, Eddie was using him to keep the car running while he robbed the store. Jeff had grown impatient with the delay and walked right into Eddie’s mess. Eddie had tossed the gun at Jeff before going to collect the money. Jeff had caught it without thinking, demanding to know what was going on. When Jeff turned to leave, the outraged store owner had found enough courage to shoot Jeff in the back. He had wound up in the hospital fighting for his life while Eddie had vanished, leaving Jeff to take the rap. Anthia shuddered at the hateful memory.
“Don’t you think he has hidden himself away long enough? He had friends at the center. Besides, he can help others, if he’s willing to tell his story to the new guys, the next time he’s home on break. Tell them what he has lived. He can show just by being there that guns and drugs go hand in hand. The most innocent situation can prove deadly.”
Anthia, thoughtfully sipped her drink watching as Dexter seemed to savor the coffee cake. The accident had left Jeff, first in a wheelchair for close to a year, and now finally he was able to walk with the aid of crutches. It had been a long, painful ordeal that still unfortunately wasn’t entirely over.
She could never forget that long agonizing night of the shooting. Dexter, Charles and Diane Randol and Doug Henderson, the man she was dating casually at the time, had all been there with her.
Dexter and Charles had eventually found Eddie. With the legal help of Quinn Montgomery, prominent criminal attorney, Jeff had eventually been exonerated while Eddie had been convicted for armed robbery. Their later civil suit against the store owner had paid the mountain of medical bills not covered by their insurance as well as Jeff’s college expenses.
“Jeff’s had a few difficult years, but he has bounced back.”
“I’ll give him a call and let you know what he says.”
“Thanks,” he smiled coming to his feet. “I have to be going. Thanks for the refreshments. That coffee cake was good, girl.”
Disappointed, she said, “I’ll wrap a piece for you. You don’t have to rush off, you know.”
“I’ve kept you from your work long enough.”
Anthia shook her head. “No problem. I can always use a break. I’ll get that cake.” She excused herself. In the kitchen she consoled herself that at least he had come to the house for a visit as she cut another large slice of cake.
“Anthia, you don’t have to go to any trouble,” he said, having placed the heavy tray on the counter.
“All done.” She smiled, handing him the foil-wrapped treat. As she walked him to the door, she said, “Thanks for coming by. It was good seeing you. It’s been awhile.”
She was tempted to tell him that he didn’t need a reason to visit. She enjoyed his company, but at the last minute decided against it. She did have a little pride.
“You take care of yourself,” he said, one lean brown finger caressing down her cheek ever so gently.
Anthia trembled from the brief contact, but she tried to hide it behind a generous smile. She would not let herself think of a more intimate, deeper caress. There was no point in daydreaming about a man who did not want her.
“You, too. ’Bye.” She waved, refusing to watch him walk to his car parked in the driveway. Quietly closing the door, she let out a thoughtful sigh. It was a ridiculous waste of time to find herself wondering how long it would be before she was lucky enough to see him again.
When Anthia returned to her workroom, she decided to tackle something she had some control of, such as the problem of duplicating a fifty-year-old christening dress for a baby doll. The doll would resemble a treasured old photograph. She had no doubt that it could be done. She had done it too many times to worry about the outcome. Her dolls were as unique as the likeness she painstakingly duplicated.
But her thoughts continued to slip backward. She’d been so young when she met Jeff Johnson. She thought she was deeply in love with him. He was only a few years older than she was and very handsome. He said all the things her young romantic heart had craved to hear. She had never had a boyfriend. At five-one, she considered her hundred and twenty-seven pound frame too short and overweight to be appealing. She looked nothing like the fashion models in the Seventeen magazine she loved. Her hair was unfashionably long and her clothes plain and simple because her mother oversaw everything Anthia made on the sewing machine. She’d been fifteen at the time.
Anthia almost laughed. Jeff was no fool. He sensed her vulnerability. He said the sweet words repeatedly until she could no longer withhold her love from him. She made love with him with all the sweet yearning she possessed, certain that her feelings were returned. Once was enough for him, then he moved on to the next girl. Once was also enough to prove how foolish she had been. By the time she was sixteen, she was disillusioned, brokenhearted and pregnant.
Anthia recalled how difficult it had been to tell her mother. It had been the hardest thing in the world because she knew how much her mother believed in her. Her parents had dreams of their daughter having an easier life, a prosperous life. Her father had been killed by a stray bullet when Anthia was only a toddler, leaving her mother to raise her alone. Her mother, naturally, wanted her to be in a position to have advantages and opportunities that she as a day worker didn’t have. Anthia had been bright and was doing so well in school.
Even today, Anthia could remember her mother’s face when she broke the news to her. She had put off telling for as long as she dared. She was sick every day and she didn’t have the faintest idea how to care for herself.
Yet, as she looked back on it now, she realized that she knew deep inside that her mother would never turn her back on her child. That love and support was what had given Anthia the strength to get through the most difficult time of her young life.
That shattered look on her mother’s sweet brown face brought tears to Anthia’s eyes even now. It was a look of overwhelming hurt and disappointment. It had been painful for them both. That night, mother and daughter had cried together. Yet, there had been no question of Anthia keeping her baby.
Thank goodness, she was not alone. Her mother was there for her and supported her throughout her pregnancy. She had managed to finish school and start college while taking care of her son, only because of her mother’s love and support. Anthia and Jeff had shared a roomy two-bedroom apartment even after her mother died from a stroke. Anthia missed her still.
Unfortunately, the neighborhood had changed drastically over the years. Gang violence and crime were too common. Anthia felt that it was not the place to raise an impressionable boy. Jeff was just starting those vulnerable teenage years and she feared for his future without a father’s guidance.
She and her son moved into a small one-bedroom upper level of a two family flat in a much better low-income neighborhood. It had been crowded to say the least, but they had managed. The sofa bed in the living room became Jeff’s bedroom in the evenings. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best she could afford. She had to give up her own schooling and work full-time as a legal secretary in order to afford the new place.
The smartest thing she had done after the move was enrolling her son in the Malcolm X Community Center where he was under the influence of strong black men like Dexter and Charles determined to make a difference. And it made a world of difference to both Jeff and Anthia. They had both made endearing lifelong friendships.
It was a shame she no longer possessed the confidence with Dexter that she had when she was first attracted to Charles. She had been so sure of herself... so full of it. Her thoughts flew back to the night she first met Dexter Washington. As she prepared for the evening ahead, her thoughts had centered on one man, Charles Randol. She had been floored by him from the instant Jeff brought him home to meet her.
He was everything she thought she wanted in a man, tall, handsome and extremely wealthy. He headed the family-owned Randol Pharmaceutical. And he had shown a keen interest in her son, a huge plus as far as she was concerned. Suddenly he had become not only her son’s mentor but her black knight. She saw him as the answer to her hopes and dreams for a secure future. It didn’t register that he had shown her nothing more than his friendship.
She had no idea that Charles’ romantic interest and desires were focused on one beautiful woman... a woman from his past. So when he invited both Jeff and herself to attend a charity dinner-dance, a fundraiser sponsored by Charles’ fraternity to raise money for the community center, Anthia had been thrilled, certain that this was her chance to show him how perfect she was for him. She knew she could fit into his influential world.
She was just as pretty as those chic, well-educated women that were so much a part of his life.
She found the perfect dress, took extra care with her hair and nails. She had worked so hard, making sure that their tiny flat was spotless. She chuckled at the memory. She could afford to do so now. That evening had been a disaster. She had made a complete fool of herself. Charles had not come up to their door as she expected but had waited in the car. Her son had let her know he was there and not alone. Her feelings were crushed ... all her fanciful daydreams vanished.
Jeff held the door while she slid into the backseat. When Charles had smiled and introduced his bride, Diane, Anthia wanted to sink beneath the floorboards. If it hadn’t been for Jeff, she would have gotten out of the car and spent the evening nursing her injured pride.
She told herself on the ride downtown that it was a mistake. There had to be some type of mistake. Charles could not actually be married to this drop-dead gorgeous sister. Diane Rivers Randol was everything Anthia was not. She was tall, flawlessly beautiful and was well educated. She had it all.
As the evening progressed, Anthia, seated at a large table, vaguely remembered being introduced to yet another man. He, too, was tall and attractive but unlike Charles, his eyes often move toward Anthia. He had a quiet strength that was so much a part of him that Anthia hadn’t realized it at the time. That man was Dexter, someone her son depended on for male guidance, someone who would prove to be a true friend that she could call on time and time again. He had never stepped over the line... never asked for anything from her other than her friendship.
Anthia had foolishly looked to a man for financial stability while she should have been focusing on her own natural talents and creativity. Those inner resources were eventually what had changed her life around professionally and financially.
She had not known it then, but it had been Dexter’s quiet strength that had gotten her through her son’s ordeal. He had stayed that entire endless night of the shooting.
Anthia sighed recalling how badly she behaved that next morning. Jeff had still been in critical condition. Dexter hadn’t agreed with her readily enough that her son was innocent. She had lost her temper—demanded that he leave. She had been so shaken from grief, fatigue and fear that her baby might not recover that she took it out on Dexter.
He had not said one word in his own defense. But he hadn’t walked out of their lives. He kept coming back. He had weathered that first emotional storm and many others, offering whatever she needed. He was always willing to listen when she needed to talk or provide a strong shoulder to lean on during months and months of uncertainty.
Anthia found that she had absolutely no defense against that kind of generosity and kindness. It was only after much of the long ordeal was over that she recognized that her feelings for Dexter went far deeper than friendship.
He had become her rock. All the way through, not only for her, but also for Jeff. How could she not care about him? There was no other man that she wanted to spend time with or that she cared for so deeply. There could be no other man that she could long for the way she longed for him. She ached to lie close to his heart, deep in his arms, and know his lovemaking. There was no need for her to try and impress Dexter. She didn’t have to be anyone but herself around him.
For so long she’d been caught up in the struggle to survive. She had no time or energy to worry about getting or keeping a man. It was only recently that her worries about money and Jeff had eased. Suddenly she was able to fully examine her feelings for Dexter. She loved him with her whole heart. He meant the world to her. She treasured his friendship so much that she would never do anything to risk losing it.
Dexter groaned as he reached for the telephone yet again. He’d been locked in the office most of the day and was growing impatient with the arrangement. The community center needed another full-time secretary but was forced to make due with untrained volunteers.
As director of the community center it was his job to make sure everything ran smoothly. The trouble was he didn’t have the time to recruit and devote to the teenage boys that so desperately needed the center’s assistance. More often than not, he was forced to leave the mentoring to Charles and other black men willing to volunteer not only their time but their money to the cause. He swore impatiently, his martial arts class had to be canceled yet again.
The aim of the community center was to get as many black men involved in the lives of the boys without fathers or uncles, or strong men in their lives willing to show them the right way.
The problem didn’t start or end with the Million Man March. There was no end to the lure of the streets. The longer Dexter was chained to the desk and this small office the more frustrated and useless he felt.
The center was housed in a run-down neighborhood, surrounded by boys looking to gangs for the closeness and support of the family. Dexter was extremely proud of the center’s efforts to make a difference. It had many successful young men that had gone on to make a better life for themselves. Some even came back willing to offer a helping hand to those left behind.
“Hey, Washington. You spending the night?” Guy Malone asked from the doorway of the small cramped office. Like Dexter, Guy was single. And that was where the similarity ended. Guy had a special lady in his life. Dexter had no one.
Dexter grumbled, looking up from the budget report he’d been working on. The figures were heartbreaking. They had to find a way to get two new computers for the computer lab. And a security guard to provide a reasonably safe haven for the kids. If he had to go out into the community and beg, then so be it. There were too many kids at risk for him to ease up. His job was important to him. It was all he had left.
“It’s the only way to get anything done around here. What’s your excuse?” Dexter said looking pointedly at the clock mounted on the wall. It was close to midnight.
Guy waved, good-naturedly. “All clear. The guys have all gone home. Night, man. My lady is expecting me.”
The only thing waiting for Dexter was an empty house. There would be no hot meal on the stove, more important no tender kisses to welcome him, no sweet loving to ease the long hours of the night. He lived alone, ate alone and slept alone. He told himself that was how he preferred it, it caused very few complications.
“See you,” Dexter called. He stared down at the notes he’d been making on a legal pad. His life came down to the community center and nothing more. It was all he needed.
All too soon, the late night sounds settled around him. Eventually, he began his nightly tour of the building, double-checking all the locks. There were plans in the works to expand the facilities into the east, north and south side of town. The need was there, there was no doubt about that. The trouble once again was money. And there was also the problem of staff. Dexter was the only paid director and they had no funds to hire others. Was the board of directors expecting him to be in four different locations at once?
The building had been provided by the Poindexter Foundation. The late John E. Poindexter had set aside money, upon death, to help the poor and downtrodden. He had amassed his wealth in the stock market and in real estate. The prominent black man had been a self-made man. He had no one to help him as he was growing up. He had lost both parents at such an early age. Although, he had prospered, he had never forgotten his humbled beginnings. Poindexter’s story was not an unusual one. It happened over and over. It was Jeff Jenkins’ story.
Thinking of Jeff brought Anthia to mind. Who was he trying to kid? Anthia was never far from his thoughts. He had gone to her home this morning because he could not wait an instant longer to see her again. Months without even a glimpse of her had taken their toll on him.
He was beyond alone... he was emotionally stranded on a deserted island without any means of escape. Anthia represented the glimmer and beauty of the moonlit sky. She had the most wonderful smile and a warm, loving spirit. And she had been very generous with her sweetness and her smiles. For a time, she had lost that smile because of worry over Jeff and his extensive recovery and later during the trial. Thank goodness that was behind them now. The trouble was Dexter didn’t see nearly enough of her.
He had fought his hunger as long as he could bear it, then he had started driving by her house at night, unable to sleep until he knew she was safe. This morning had been different. This time he had stopped and rang the bell. Although he’d been annoyed with himself because of his display of weakness, he had a reason for being there. That knowledge soothed his wounded ego.
When Dexter finished his rounds, he collected his things, set the burglar alarm and locked up. The parking lot was empty except for his somewhat battered old Buick. The Rivera had certainly seen better days, but then again, so had he. He and the car had been worn down and beat up by the ravishment of time and life.
He was almost out of the parking lot when he realized it would be days, maybe even weeks, until emotionally he had moved beyond seeing Anthia, again. It brought back sweet memories of the taste and feel of her. Her petite form had fit perfectly against him and left him hungry for her.
Only once had he pushed the boundary of their friendship. He had lost his head and kissed her. That kiss had been a huge mistake that could never be repeated. He had risked what he valued, in that careless moment. And he’d been lucky she had not pushed him out of her life for good.
Thank goodness, that mistake was behind them. Sexual involvement was no longer a part of his life. He had nothing left to offer a woman, nothing for her to believe in or trust in, nothing to build a relationship on.
He had failed at love. His marriage had been a dismal mistake. Even if by some miracle Anthia decided to trust him with her tender emotions, he didn’t have anything to offer her in return... not love, not a commitment, not even the truth about his background. He had considered telling her, then had lost his nerve, convincing himself that his past had no bearing on their friendship.
As long as it remained a friendship he could live with his secrets. He had closed and firmly locked the door on his past.
It was over. Not for anyone, including Anthia, would he open that wasteland of disillusionment and despair.
There were very few people here in Detroit who knew about him. So few he could count them on one hand. When he had left prison, he had put all of that behind him. He had no intention of ever looking back. He had to be honest with himself if he were to survive heart whole. No woman in her right mind would willingly accept him and the baggage he carried with him.
“Enough!” It was close to one in the morning when he pulled his car to a stop in front of the all-night diner a few blocks from the center.
“Hey, Dex,” Jan was the only waitress on at this time of night. She waved him toward the rear booth he preferred. “What will you have?” she asked, filling his cup with coffee.
“What’s on special?”
“It’s Tuesday. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas.”
“Give me the special,” he said, barely aware of her leaving, his gaze on the steam rising from his cup. The diner was as familiar to him as his own place. Today had been no different from the day before or the week before except for one detail: He’d seen Anthia.
Refusing to dwell on what could not be changed, he opened the newspaper and began reading. It was not until he had finished both his meal and the paper that he looked around the diner. It was littered with people that looked as lonely and empty as he felt. Coming to his feet, he mumbled his thanks to the waitress, paid, giving her a generous tip then quietly leaving as seamlessly as he’d entered. No one really noticed, no one cared.
The night felt as dark and endless as always. His mind was not on the traffic as he drove through the silent streets. He didn’t bother to question his behavior as he drove to her house. Once he was satisfied that everything looked secure, he felt free to go home.
He didn’t even glance around the darkened living room of the small two-bedroom house he rented near the community center. He did not own it. He did not care enough to consider buying it. He bypassed the easy chair placed in front of the television and continued on to his bedroom. He turned on the light, uninterested in his drab surroundings as he stripped down before heading for the soothing warmth of the shower.
He let the hot water ease the tightness from his tired muscles while massaging the tautness from his neck and shoulders. He did his utmost not to think, not to remember. There was nothing to question... nothing to examine. He had already filled enough years with regret.
Anthia’s amber features were as pretty as he remembered, her smile just as welcoming. He could have easily lost himself inside of her warmth. Her smiles were dangerously seductive. There were no two ways about it, he wanted her, badly.
He swore beneath his breath, then impatiently turned off the spray before stepping over the rim of the bathtub. This room was like the rest of the place, done in shades of beige and brown. It was a place to sleep. The place where he hid his anguish from the world.
Dexter paused long enough to brush his teeth and empty his bladder before he settled his long, lean body in the center of the king-size bed. No reason to even consider taking either side. No reason at all. It had been more years than he cared to count since he’d shared a bed with a woman, held her through the night.
Over time a man could grow used to just about anything, even empty arms and a pulsating erection. Why had he done it? He groaned impatiently, knowing a hard penis was just what he deserved. He should not have gone near Anthia, at least not until he knew for certain that he had himself under control.
It had been so much easier to be near her while Jeff had been recovering. Dexter had often gone by her place before coming home. They were friends. Friends were allowed to do for each other, see each other, share the good and the bad.
Now that Jeff was away at college Dexter had no reasons to stop by her place. He had racked his brain for weeks before he came up with a valid reason to see her. That reason could not be remotely personal.
He was like a man on the edge. He better not look down. He couldn’t harness his natural male attraction or hunger for Anthia. But he would allow nothing, not even his sexual desires to interfere with their friendship. That friendship was far too important to him... necessary to his well-being. Quite frankly, he needed her. Yet, Anthia was the one person he didn’t want to know how susceptible he was to her. Or how vulnerable he was to her soft, petite frame or how much in need he was of her generosity or how badly he craved her feminine heat. Even though he knew he would never make love to her, his male instinct warned him that she alone would fit him like a hot, wet glove... perfection.
Dexter swore harshly, furious with his lusty thoughts. He grumbled, punching his pillow. He’d never get any sleep at the rate he was going. Anthia could never be more than what she’d been these last couple of years to him: a dear friend. Lately, he had to constantly remind himself of that fact.
Rather than the peaceful sleep he craved, Dexter thrashed on the bed, twisting the sheets into tangled heap at the foot of the bed.
“Stop it! Damn it! Christine! Stop...” he muttered, then issued a painfully shouted, "No!!!” as the gun shot roared. He was so shaken that he instantly awakened.
Dexter was drenched in sweat, his breathing fast and uneven. He switched on the bedside light, running his hand over his damp, close-cut natural. His long bronze feet hit the floor as he fought the encumbering tendons of the dream. His legs were unsteady as he slowly made his way into the bathroom. He splashed cold water over his tear-streaked face and sweaty chest in a meager attempt to clear his head.
No amount of water could ease the pain of the past nor could it change the harshness of his reality. His wife, Christine, was gone as was their baby she carried inside of her. She had died, killed by his gun and, according to the judge who sentenced him, by his hand. There had been no way to prove his innocence. No way because he didn’t even know the truth himself.
All he knew was that he felt responsible... he felt guilty. And he had served five years of a ten-year sentence on a manslaughter charge. Dexter was still shivering by the time he returned to the bedroom. The pain, the grief eating at him never went away. During the long hours of the night, he remembered... relived the shooting over and over.
It was only during the day he could put it aside. He lost himself in the work that had become his reason for living. He had worked hard to control his thoughts, not to look back. He had years to think about it. Years to do nothing but remember. He had been locked away like an animal... a wounded beaten- down animal. Yet, somehow he had survived.
That night had changed the course of his life. He was no longer an expectant father, a husband, a man. He had lost everything that night... everything that held any meaning for him. Nothing he’d done since could make up for that disastrous ending.
He had no memory of pulling that trigger... only of trying to stop a suicide that was happening right in front of him. Yet, as her life’s blood surrounded them, as it poured from the fatal wound, he could do nothing but hold her and cry... cry for them all.