Chapter 3

Sean exited the plane at the Gerald Ford International Airport. When he’d walked past the security check-in, he saw a woman holding a sign that read “Kelvin Price.” Her sharp, $100 haircut suggested class. Her graying hair told the world, “This is me; deal with it.” The phrase “seductively mature” occurred to Sean, although he wasn’t sure what that meant. He supposed it meant forty-year-old women could look thirty nowadays. This one’s smooth brown skin and curves that filled out her black jeans testified to that.

Sean held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Kelvin’s son.”

She shook his hand. “I’m Chelly Whitaker. Good to meet you. I’m the one who called you. Your name again?”

“Sorry. I’m Sean Price.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I didn’t forget, but you can’t be too careful these days.”

“I’m glad you called.” He locked his gaze on her dark brown, expertly made-up eyes, then observed her perfectly formed nose, flawless skin and wide mouth.

“Kelvin’s a sick man. I hate what he’s going through. You have luggage to pick up?” They walked toward the baggage area.

“Yes. Lung cancer?” Sean asked.

“Yep. It’s spread.”

This confirmed what he’d guessed about the cigarette smoking. “How long?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Just within the past couple of months, he’s asked me to help with doctor’s appointments and getting his medication.”

He’d meant how long did his father have to live, not how long since his diagnosis, but he didn’t correct her. “Thank you for your kindness, Chelly. You say you and he are friends?”

“Not a problem. Yeah, he’s good people. Helluva tenant and fishing buddy. I’m glad you decided to come, because if family means anything, he needs you now. What made you change your mind?”

He shrugged, pushing back the past that haunted him. “He’s the only father I’ll ever have, and I’m curious. I don’t want to regret not showing up, you know? I thought about it and I know it’s the right thing to do.”

Chelly gave an understanding nod.

After collecting Sean’s suitcase, they made their way to Chelly’s truck. She started the ignition, but instead of backing out, she wiped her hands on her shirt and pants, rapidly inhaling and exhaling through pursed, burgundy lips.

Sean looked at her profile. Her heavy breathing and the pout of her lips could have inspired an image of the two of them in a more intimate situation, but something was clearly wrong. “What’s the matter?”

“I just need a second. I have a fear of planes and flying, but it’s better than it used to be.”

“You have a fear of airplanes and you picked me up from the airport?”

“It’s therapeutic, and I had to come anyway to drop off my mother. She left for Atlanta this morning.”

“You’ve been here since morning?” Every sentence seemed more bizarre than the last.

She nodded, reaching for her bottle of water inside her purse. “Since eight.”

He checked his watch, noticing the single trickle of sweat traipsing down the side of Chelly’s face. It was going on three. He got out of the truck and opened the driver-side door. “You’ve been through enough already today. I’ll take it from here.”

“No…really…it’s okay.”

“I insist. Don’t worry. I can handle the truck.”

Chelly sighed, smiled and slid over. “Seems I’ve been rescued.” She pressed the button to roll down her window. “I need air.”

The etiology of her fear intrigued him, but since she hadn’t told him what caused it, he figured she didn’t feel the need to go that deep and he could respect that. “Eight hours is a long time to be someplace that makes you this uncomfortable.”

She had her head tilted out of the window gulping air, or rather the exhaust fumes of the parking garage. “It wasn’t so bad. The trick is to avoid the airplane viewing areas and hang out at the bar instead.”

“Oh, really?” He gave her a glance as he maneuvered out of the parking spot to see if she was serious or not. She was.

She handed him money to pay the parking lot fee. “This twenty-four dollars is the cheapest therapy session I’ve ever had.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if they were paying for popcorn at the movies.

He hesitated a second, searching her eyes again and wondering how stable this woman really was.

“I’m sorry. Am I scaring you?” She smiled. “It’s okay, Sean. You’re safe with me.”

He accepted the cash, resolved she was a regular person with her own quirks like everybody else. She was just more open with hers. “I guess you have to get the bargains where you can,” he quipped.

“My thinking precisely. So, I wrote a little, drank a little wine, watched people, got inspired and wrote some more. You want to veer left here and then follow the signs for Route 6 and then 131 North.”

“Okay. What do you write, Chelly?”

“Plays that depict the human condition.”

They grinned at her summative analysis.

“Is that right? I think we all need a creative outlet. Have you had anything produced?”

“A couple of local productions that I’m very proud of, thank you for asking. Kelvin says that, by the way.”

“Says what?”

“ ‘Is that right?’ He says it with the same inflection. I can see the family resemblance in other ways as well.” Her eyes smiled as she studied him.

He took in this new information about his father, saying nothing. Nervous about what lay ahead, he thought about querying her for more, but decided he could talk to the man himself. He liked Chelly—he liked her complicated honesty. The fact that she had befriended his father meant Kelvin Price had some redeeming qualities.

“What’s your creative outlet?” Chelly asked.

“Well, I have a few.”

“Name one.”

“I play the piano, dabbled at a few songs of my own.”

“How wonderful. I’ve always wanted to play an instrument. Been at it long?”

“Actually, I didn’t pick it up until college, but I’m pretty darn good.”

She laughed. “And modest, too.”

Their getting-to-know-you conversation continued as the sprawling communities with big homes and spacious lots near the airport shriveled to inner city overcrowding, poverty and cracked concrete. Twenty minutes later, they pulled onto a white gravel driveway in front of a white, two-story house at 545 Lafayette, and were home.

“Here we are. Your dad’s in the upstairs apartment. I’ll see you guys later.”

Sean retrieved his baggage from the back of the truck. “Thanks a lot for the ride, Chelly. Appreciate it.”

* * *

He was only fifty-five, but looked seventy, this crusty old man in front of Sean. Hadn’t he been taller? Where was his baseball cap? Sean shook his hand and looked into his father’s eyes. Vestiges of the spirit he had seen in the pictures still sparkled, but illness had taken its toll.

His father pulled him close, smelling like Listerine and Old Spice. “My boy, Sean David. It’s been too long.”

“It’s real good to see you.” Sean almost added “sir” because he’d been raised to respect his elders, but how could he respect a man who had deserted his family? His father wouldn’t release him from the hug, his grip surprisingly strong for a man so frail and thin. Sean’s heart thumped like crazy. He had to pull away to keep his composure.

They slowly moved away from the door and down a short hall into the living room on the right. Sean’s eyes shifted away from his father’s and took in the threadbare beige carpet, the green couch, and two floor lamps with white pleated shades in plastic. Red curtains moved in the breeze from the open window. Next to the couch was an olive recliner, and next to it, a wooden TV tray. A TV set against one wall and a stereo system was against the one parallel to it. In the afternoon light, the room was shadowy and unwelcoming.

“Go ahead and sit. Turn on a light if you want. Trying to keep the man out my pocket.” Kelvin shuffled his way to his recliner where an oxygen hookup awaited. He attached the tubes, turned on the oxygen and inhaled several breaths.

Sean sat on the couch, leaving the lights off to help his father save on utility bills. Kelvin wore an unbuttoned red and white plaid shirt, a white T-shirt beneath it, and blue jeans. His brown skin had a dusty pallor, no doubt related to his illness and his lungs’ struggle to oxygenate his body.

“Chelly got you at the airport okay?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Got two bedrooms here. Hope you want to stay a while.” Kelvin seemed unable to get a good breath, and Sean thought he shortened his sentences because of it.

Sean nodded. “I, uh…we’ll see. I had some vacation time.”

“Got some property, boxes of papers and whatnot.” Kelvin coughed three small coughs as if to suppress a bigger one. “Don’t want nothing stuck in probate. That’s why I wanted you here.”

His father sat there acknowledging his death. Sean scratched at his temple, not expecting to delve into this only minutes after meeting him. What had he expected? A confetti parade and champagne?

No, there’d be no celebration. He had a great deal of anger to unload and he planned to find the perfect moment to do it. In the meantime, he’d go along with the script. “There’s nothing the doctors can do?”

“Nope. Too late for surgery. You hungry? I got stuff in there.” Kelvin gestured toward the small kitchen beyond the TV wall. “Help yourself.”

Sean stood, more abruptly than he intended. “Maybe I should put my own things away now?” There was no urgency to do this, he just needed a moment to orient his thoughts.

“Wait, Sean. Your mother. Did she go peaceful?”

Sadness and anger had never left his mother after the mastectomy, but at least her death had been physically pain free. Sean had seen to that.

“Well…I think near the very end she’d found some peace, but it was difficult.”

Kelvin shook his head. “Umph. Nettie. I sat behind her in fifth grade. Pulled her ponytail. She helped me with long division. Fell in love with that girl on the spot.”

“And what about the moment you fell out of love and left us? Is that a moment of crystal clarity, too?”

Hurt, then anger, splashed across Kelvin’s face. Just as quickly both reactions disappeared as he silently clicked on the TV.

* * *

Clean sheets and towels rested on a double bed that took up most of the space in Sean’s room. He flicked on the overhead light and watched the walls that had appeared gray brighten into a pale green. He walked past the bed to the curtainless window, pulled up the blinds and then struggled with the painted-shut window until it opened. Breathing deeply, he noticed that somebody maintained the grass and the box bushes that formed the perimeter of the backyard.

Turning to the bed, he put on the fresh sheets. There wasn’t a hard surface for him to use his laptop on, so he placed it in the closet, along with his clothes and the suitcase, which would serve as a dresser, since there wasn’t one in the room.

He closed the closet door, but held onto the knob for a second. The sound of kids playing outside couldn’t drown out his father’s coughing. Now what? How was he supposed to go back out there and erase twenty years?

Outside his room, he turned right and entered the bathroom at the end of the entrance hall. The conditions there made him decide that as long as he was here, his father’s home would be clean and as bright as possible. Anything less would be depressing, and their state of affairs was already depressing enough.

Back in the living room, Sean stood, hands in his Dockers, looking at the baseball game Kelvin had turned on.

“What you need?” Kelvin asked.

“Nothing. I’m just pinching myself to make sure all this is real. What I said before—I don’t mean to snipe, but you can understand why I would. Twenty years is a long time. They way you left, never bothering to let us hear from you, I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m both.”

Sean stared in awe at the lack of self-pity his father exuded. “What do I call you?”

His father gave him a blank look. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Daddy is from another place and time. We’re not there anymore.”

“You can’t call me Kelvin. That’s disrespectful. If I had called my daddy by his first name, he woulda knocked me into next week.”

“What about Pop?”

“Pop? Guess that could work.”

“So, Pop, I’m not hungry, but what time do you usually eat? I can make dinner.”

“Don’t have much appetite. Chelly usually brings something up, the nights she’s home early.”

Chelly was an enticing topic. Sean sat down again. “She seems nice.”

“Yeah. She is.”

“Is this her early night?”

“I never know. Keep some frozen dinners in there for when she doesn’t show. Can call for pizza if I’m starving.”

“I see. Is Chelly a good cook?”

Kelvin smiled. “Did I say she cooked? I said she usually brings me something.”

“Oh.” How old was Chelly exactly, he wondered. Hard to tell. She could have grayed early. “After I go shopping, we’ll have home-cooked meals and invite her up.”

“Is that what you do? Like a chef?”

“No, not anymore. I used to be a chef at a soul food restaurant called Cornbread, Hog Mauls, and Chicken, but it went out of business. I plan slightly healthier menus now for a group of nursing homes.”

“Is that right? And I heard hog stomachs were fat-free.”

They shared a smile. It was nice to see he’d kept his sense of humor.

“So…you get out much?” Sean grimaced, aware he was reaching for topics.

“Not so much anymore. Where am I gonna go? Plus, I have to lug this with me.” He indicated the oxygen tank, which was relatively small and not all that cumbersome. Still, Sean knew it would be considered a burden to a man like his father.

“Yeah, and getting up and down those stairs can’t be fun.”

“You got that right. Say, listen.”

“Yes?”

“It wasn’t like your mom and I were happy. We could barely stand to be in the same room, let alone the same bed.” Kelvin’s coughing up phlegm crescendoed until it matched the roar Sean had heard on the phone a couple of days ago. Sean watched him use a paper towel to remove what his efforts yielded. “Loretta was another chance. I took it. I couldn’t stay.”

“Yeah. So I remember you saying.”

He coughed again. “Your mother used you for payback. Didn’t you wonder why she kept changing your phone number?”

Sean shook his head. “I don’t remember that. All I remember is me thinking you’d come back; if not to live with us again, then to see me. You never came. Nothing ever came for my birthdays or graduations.”

“I sent you cards and money. Annette sent them back. I meant to come. I swear I did, but the longer I stayed away, the harder it was to just show up.”

Brave admission, Sean thought. Then he realized his father had come short of an apology. It dawned on him for the first time that what he needed, and possibly the reason he’d come, was to hear his father finally apologize and ask for his forgiveness. He’d been wronged. His mother had been wronged, and he wanted Kelvin to acknowledge this.

If he didn’t get that, at least he’d know his father’s poor choices had taught him how to be a man by setting an example of what not to do. Men honor their commitments. Men make the hard choices and do what’s right, not what feels good. Men don’t abandon their families. “What happened with your second chance? Was it worth it?”

“Loretta took off with somebody else. Moved to Vegas.” He held up a cautionary hand. “Don’t say it. What goes around comes around.”

The doorbell rang, followed by a knock and the sound of someone entering.

“Is that Chelly?” Sean asked his father.

“What?”

Confused, Sean went into the hall, expecting to see someone there, but all he found was a drafty chill. He stood mystified, certain that he’d heard the door open. “Didn’t somebody come in?” He checked the kitchen immediately to the right of the front door. Empty. He walked outside. Nobody was on the landing or the steps.

Sean came back inside scratching his head. “Didn’t you hear the door open?”

“Maybe it was the TV,” Kelvin answered.

A thumping sound made Sean jerk around and pull hard on the doorknob.

Chelly smiled at him. Her oven-mitted hands held a Crock-Pot. “Who’s ready to eat?” She entered the kitchen.

“Hi, Chelly. Did you have to go back down for something?”

“What?”

“Weren’t you here a minute ago?”

“No.” She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you just…never mind.”

* * *

Sean followed Chelly as she placed the pot in a kitchen awash in yellow counters and gold appliances reminiscent of the 1950s. He removed the Crock-Pot top and did an exaggerated inhale. “The beef stew smells great. Pop just told me you couldn’t cook. If this came out of a can, I may have to hang up my apron.”

“I don’t cook a lot, Kelvin Price, but I can follow a recipe, you know.” She talked louder to make sure Kelvin heard her in the living room. He grunted in response.

“So you made this?” Sean asked, ladling the stew.

“No, my mother made it. When she visits, she cooks every day to make sure I don’t have to eat out. You must love to cook, given your job.” Chelly poured the drinks and then gathered napkins.

“Cooking is another one of my passions. I’ll rent a car tomorrow, stock up on groceries and cook while I’m here. Any day you want to join us, come on up. Right, Pop?”

“Right,” Kelvin said.

“Sean, I knew there was something l liked about you the moment I laid eyes on you.” She winked. “Eating out does run its course after a while. Funny how when you suggest home cooked meals, I’m thrilled. When my mother does it, it irritates the heck out of me. Can you explain that?”

“I’ll consult the parent-child relationship section in the psych manual I was careful to pack. I’ll let you know what I find out.” He winked back at her.

The small kitchen only held a table for two, so a few minutes later, everyone sat behind his or her own TV tray enjoying the meal in the living room. Sprite washed down the white bread used to sop up the juicy goodness at the bottom of their bowls. Chelly said the preferred cornbread tickled Kelvin’s throat and made him cough.

The baseball game was over and the usual grim TV news drew their attention: one shooting, one fatal car crash, one house fire, and one public official suspected of graft.

“Same news, different city,” Sean commented.

“Sad but true,” Chelly said as she began to clear the dishes.

Sean reached for his father’s bowl and noticed Kelvin’s eyes were closed. “He’s asleep,” he whispered.

“Yeah, he gets some of his best rest in that chair because it’s easier for him to breathe sitting up.”

Sean eyed the beat-up green leather recliner, thinking Kelvin didn’t have the strength to push the leg-lift part up.

“What y’all looking at? I ain’t ’sleep. Just resting my eyes. Thank you, Chelly. That stew was saying something.”

“Yes, thank you, Chelly. Thank your mom for us.”

Minutes later in the kitchen, Sean handed the washed bowl to Chelly for her to dry, since she’d insisted on helping.

“You want to get out for a few minutes? Take a walk?” Sean asked. The weight of what he’d taken on with Kelvin was becoming clearer by the second. Before, some of his anger and resentment may have fueled his adrenalin, but they weren’t enough to make him immune to the pain of how hard this was going to be. He felt like running away, but would settle for some fresh air.

“Unfortunately, this is not the neighborhood for a late-night stroll. We’ll take a walk along the lake before you go.” She hung the dish towel across the oven handle. “We have a little time, right?”

“Don’t know for sure how long I’ll stay.” But part of Sean knew he was here for the long haul. “You and my father fish in Lake Michigan?”

“No, the river, the Grand. We can go there, too.”

Their gazes held for several seconds and he felt something that was the opposite of pain and smiled. More importantly, Chelly smiled back. Maybe she would make this trip bearable. Maybe he could find more than he would lose in Grand Rapids.

Chelly peeked in on Kelvin, who still sat in his chair. “Night, Kelvin.”

“Night, Chell.”

“May I escort you home?” Sean asked.

She grinned. “Why, aren’t you the gentlemen? You certainly may.” Halfway down the steps she asked, “Are you okay? How’s it going with you two?”

“We got off to a pretty good start, all things considered, but I know we’re looking at the tip of the iceberg.”

“A lot of stuff buried.” Chelly nodded sympathetically.

“A lot of buried stuff, and we can’t get around it. We’re going to have to plow through it.”

“Emotional collision dead ahead.”

“Big time. But that’s not a bad thing. I’m grateful for the opportunity. Figure this will save me on my therapy bills one day.” He smiled, resisting the urge to touch her cheek, flushed and glowing from the brisk night air.

“That’s a good way to look at it. Listen, I’ll be home by 4:00 tomorrow. My numbers are near the phone by Kelvin’s chair and by his bed. Call me if you need me.”

“Thank you, and thanks for everything today.”

“Nite, Sean.”

* * *

Alone in his bedroom, Sean checked his cell phone messages. There was nothing from Elizabeth, as he’d hoped. They’d talked after a church affair and had gone to the movies once. She was the kind of person he’d like to get to know better: smart, capable, independent—like Chelly.

There were messages from two of his other friends. One from Simon, who thought nothing of driving two hours to a jazz club in Richmond, if need be. That was his kind of fun. And one from Alyssa, who was the main reason he’d thought of buying stock in the Carter-Wallace Corporation—the manufacturer of Trojans. But, that was before he’d started thinking about a life partner—dare he say it, wife—and the stability that offered.

When he’d worked as a chef, the hours interfered with dating and for the first time he’d been lonely, wishing he could come home to someone. Then, dealing with his mother’s illness had extended his time outside the dating circuit. Since then, the game playing in the name of sex wasn’t worth it. Life was about more than that. Club hopping and online opportunities to meet women in order to get laid had lost its thrill.

It wasn’t quite eight, but with nothing else to do, since he preferred to start fresh with his dad’s boxes the next day, he started his bathwater. Taking a shower wasn’t an option because the plumbing for it had never been installed.

“Sean?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let that tub get too full.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Sean chuckled. That’s what his father had said every night when he still lived with him and his mother. No matter how old he was, it seemed he needed tub-overflow reminders. Actually, it was kind of nice to hear.

* * *

As soon as she’d entered her apartment, Chelly scanned the living room and kitchen for Maya. She’d felt her daughter’s presence every day since the last visit, but Maya wouldn’t show herself. “Are you here?” She could count the times on one hand Maya had responded when called, but it was always worth a shot. She walked toward a kitchen cabinet to replace the Crock-Pot.

“I’m here.”

She juggled the pot to keep from dropping it. It wasn’t Maya, it was Jaden, her live, in-the-flesh lover. A toilet flushed, then she heard water running.

Jaden emerged from the bathroom giving her a puzzled look as he took the pot. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I guess I didn’t expect you tonight.” They shared keys, but also an understanding that respected each other’s space.

He pulled her into his arms, relishing her with sparkling dark eyes. “I finished dinner with some supporters and thought I’d swing by.”

She pushed a wisp of his black hair away from his forehead. His nose was as straight as his hair, and his full lips could transcend many cultures. He looked Latino, but his ancestry was Native American.

“So, how about some wine?” he asked, taking the Riesling they both liked from the fridge.

Chelly stared at his back. “Oh…well, it’s been a full day. I took my mom to the airport and then I picked up Kelvin’s son and brought him back.”

He set the bottle on the counter, then got two glasses from the wineglass rack. “Poor baby. This whole weekend must have been pretty hard on you. Seems I’m right on time. How about I start with a foot massage and work my way up?” Jaden loosened the cork and poured wine for both of them.

Chelly smiled and hesitantly accepted a glass. If Jaden’s hands were insured for their stress-reducing, pleasure-giving quotient, the premiums would be off the chart. “I’m very tempted, Jaden, but I’m going to turn in early tonight.”

“You’re sure?”

Chelly spotted the surprise that flickered for a quick second in his eyes before he recovered, reverting to his standard nonchalance. Jaden had a hard time accepting the word no, but he didn’t like to show it.

“I could guarantee you an excellent night’s sleep.” He slowly caressed her cheek with his hands, voice and eyes. “Make sure you wake up happy.”

“I know.” She clasped his hand and brought it down. “Not tonight.” He was running for commissioner in this ward, so in addition to being able to play her body like a violin, he was bright and his life was about something. Yet, she didn’t want to sleep with him tonight. Why not?

He set his wineglass on the counter. “Okay, baby. If you’re sure.” He kissed her full on, no doubt in an attempt to change her mind, but she kept her eyes open and glanced at the ceiling. Sleeping with Jaden, with Sean within feet of them, would be strangely unnerving and she wasn’t sure why.

She patted his back. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Be safe going home.”

He left and Chelly clicked on the radio to a news talk show—none of those sappy love songs for her. As it was, the constant chatter echoed in the near-empty living room, but because it was on for background noise, it didn’t matter. Holding her wine, she sat on the white sofa with her legs tucked underneath her.

She barely knew Sean, and she and Jaden had been seeing each other for almost a year. When it was mutually convenient, they were each other’s escort to events, a friend to run ideas by, and, last but not least, a bed partner. She liked being with Jaden because their relationship had no unmet expectations; neither bandied the word love about, and that’s the way it had to be.

She sipped her Riesling. How old was Sean, anyway? Her ego puffed up, thinking she could attract a man who had to be at least ten years her junior. Not only was he cute, Sean was also kind. Kindness, she’d learned through the years, couldn’t be overrated. Jaden had many wonderful qualities—ambitious and determined were a couple of attributes he claimed—but she’d never, even in her most generous moments, described Jaden as kind.