“Leaving Henry” is set against the hauntingly beautiful backdrop of rural Tennessee in the 1930s, where the sun-drenched fields whisper tales of hardship and resilience. Ella Ridley, a spirited African-American girl, perceives from a tender age that the oppressive South stifles her dreams and aspirations. With every flicker of hope, Ella envisions a world beyond the dusty roads and faded dreams that surround her. Though she grapples with the harsh realities of poverty and countless setbacks, her indomitable spirit remains unshaken, propelling her toward a future where she can truly be free! This is my mother’s story. She spent the first 13 years of her life focused on leaving the South in search of a better life. Now at 98 years old, my mother is thrilled to share her story! Buy on Amazon.com by clicking on the link below.
Hello Everyone! My latest novel, Leaving Henry will be available on Amazon.com any day now. It’s been a long road writing my mother’s amazing story, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you. Below is an excerpt from chapter one! Enjoy and don’t forget to purchase your copy on Amazon next month!
CHAPTER ONE
I woke up on my fifth birthday wet and smelling like pee. Annoyed by the smell, I lay there contemplating whether to remain in my wet, toasty bed or get up and deal with the icy cold temperature in the cabin. Fall had arrived in Henry, and cold air seeped through the walls. In our family’s cramped two-room cabin, I shared the bedroom with my brothers, Clarence and Lucian, and sisters, Escelle and Irene. Being younger, my sisters made me sleep between them, and Escelle, with her leaky bladder, peed on me almost every night. My brothers slept on cots on one side of the room, and my sisters and I slept in a queen-sized bed next to a square window with droopy brown curtains.
I was the last one up, and loud laughter coming from the main room told me where everyone else was. Shivering with the urge to pee, I threw off the covers, ran to the chamber pot by the door, and sat. While relieving myself, my eyes darted to the cloudy oval mirror above the wood bench. I finished my business and shimmied out of my wet gown, leaving it on the floor.
Naked as a jaybird, I ran on my tiptoes, climbed on the wood bench, and gazed into the mirror. My fuzzy red braids hung over my shoulders. Because I had hazel eyes that sometimes turned gray when I wore blue, and long, thick red hair, Pappy called me Red-Headed Gray-Eyed Cat. I didn’t like the name and didn’t know why he called me that. After all, Escelle and Lucian had hazel eyes, and he didn’t call them names.
Chilly, I hopped off the bench, ran to the open pinewood closet in the corner, grabbed a raggedy cotton blanket, and wrapped it around me. I peeked out the bedroom door into the main room. My parents’ bed with black curtains was against the wall, which left little space to walk. Most nights while lying in bed, I heard loud squeaking, Pappy hollering, and Momma moaning. I wondered why they made so much noise, but I didn’t dare ask. Somehow, I knew better.
Past the bed I could see into the kitchen area with a counter, shelves, icebox, and potbellied stove, and the dining table in front of it. To the right of the kitchen was the fireplace with Momma’s rocking chair. On the front wall of the house under the window with orange curtains was the couch with a coffee table in front of it. On the left side of the couch was a side table with the radio on it, and to the right between the couch and the front door was the old windup Victrola record player with a box of seventy-eights underneath. On the same wall as our bedroom door was the closet and Momma’s pump organ, which she played on Sundays and special occasions.
In the middle of the room, my brothers were splashing soapy water in a big tin tub. Having already bathed and dressed, my sisters busied themselves with breakfast. The whole family took baths on Saturdays. It was the only day we all felt fresh and clean. Pappy brought water from the well in big black pots, and Momma heated it on the stove. Momma and Pappy took baths early before we all got up, then the kids took turns bathing using the same soapy water. For the rest of the week, I stunk like a skunk and took whore baths, washing my face, hands, and fanny with a pan of heated water.
I walked into the main room, wrapped in my blanket, eager to bathe as soon as the boys were finished.
“Red-Headed Gray-Eyed Cat! Put some clothes on and take out that stinky chamber pot!” Pappy’s booming, brash voice jolted me off my feet. He was already dressed in his red checkered shirt and blue overalls, ready for work. I ran into the bedroom and hopped into the wet bed, trembling like a leaf. My father followed me.
“Did you hear me?” He spotted my wet gown crumpled on the floor. “Is that yours?” he ranted, pointing at it.
“Yes, sir,” I sniffled.
“How often do I have to tell you not to leave your dirty clothes on the floor? Get that gown and put it in the hamper now!”
“Yes, sir!”
I grabbed my gown, ran to the hamper by the door, and dropped it in. Pappy’s scolding brought Momma into the room, and her almost-six-foot frame towered over him. Two inches taller than Pappy, her stiff brown hair had a brown barrette holding her bangs in place. She stared at my father with daggers in her light brown eyes.
“Earl, why are you yelling at my baby like that on her birthday? She’s only five. Stop screaming at her!”
Pappy frowned and folded his arms. Momma stretched her arms out to me and kneeled.
“Come here, baby. Let Momma give you a birthday hug.”
I ran to Momma and hugged her neck. Her wild, coarse hair tickled my nose. She held me so tight I thought I might suffocate.
“You smell like pee,” she laughed. “The birthday girl needs a bath.”
“Escelle peed on me,” I whispered in her ear.
“It’s all right, honey.” She patted my back. “Let’s pray your sister outgrows that nasty habit one day.” She kissed my forehead, turned me around, and gently shoved me toward the door. “Go take your bath. Don’t take what your Pappy says to heart,” she added. “When it comes right down to it, he loves you.”
To me, it didn’t seem that way. His midnight eyes burned at me. I never understood why he was meaner than a snake, especially toward me.
He turned to Momma. “She has to take out that stinky night pot right now.”
“Not today she won’t.” Momma stared him down. “It’s Little Ella’s birthday, and she should be treated special. Escelle can do it. Take the boys outside so Little Ella can bathe.”
After I heard the front door slam, I tightened the blanket around myself and scooted out to the kitchen, dropped my raggedy blanket, and slowly immersed myself in the tepid water. I grabbed the soap, lathered, and scrubbed my hair, face, and body, determined to wash away the weeklong stink and dirt. I scrubbed my skin until it turned red. After I finished, I felt lighter and cleaner.
I snatched a towel from the chair by the tub and wrapped it around myself as I stepped out. I ran to the bedroom, dried myself, and slipped on my holey panties, white undershirt, blue overalls, and green sweater. Green, my favorite color, reminded me of spring. Then I slipped on my holey cotton socks and boots. The shoes were too tight and made my feet hurt, but I never complained because I knew I would get a new pair at Christmas.
By the time I went back out to the living room, Pappy had emptied and stored the tub. I sat on the floor next to Momma’s rocking chair with my dog, Old Dick, listening to the fire hiss and enjoying its warmth. I gazed at Old Dick’s hairy face, flames reflecting in his big, brown eyes, and raked my fingers through his thick golden hair. He got his name because of his gray eyebrows and his white whiskers. Pappy got him from Wildcat Fruit, the dog breeder who lived two miles up the road from us. Old Dick had been the runt of a litter and needed a home. To everyone’s surprise, he grew into a big, strong dog. I loved Old Dick. He was my buddy and protector.
Momma called me over to the couch to work on my hair, pulling and combing it.
“Ow, that hurts!” I cried out, pulling away.
Momma jerked me back and spoke in a stern voice. “Gurl, keep still so I can braid this mess.”
The back door opened and slammed, and Escelle ran by with the chamber pot. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there,” she muttered.
Momma glared at Escelle. “Young lady, what did you say?”
“Nothing, Momma.” She lowered her head and hurriedly left the room.
Momma styled my hair into two long braids and gave me a hand mirror. “Like it?” she asked.
I stared at the mirror. “Yes, mam, I do.”
“Well, good. Guess what I’m fixing for breakfast?” she smiled.
“What?”
“Fried apples and biscuits. Your favorite.”
I wiggled my legs with anticipation and gave a toothy grin. “Can I help make the biscuits?”
“You certainly can.”
I loved the smell of breakfast cooking on the potbellied stove. Momma usually cooked a big breakfast on the weekends. The thought of crispy fried bacon, scrambled eggs, fried apples, and biscuits made my mouth water. Momma carefully arranged thick slices of bacon in the iron skillet, then peeled and sliced the apples and dropped them in another skillet with butter. Soon, the smell of sizzling pork mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg burst into the air.
I stood on a stool to reach the cabinet, took out a large mixing bowl and the flour, lard, salt, baking powder, and milk, and put them on the counter. Then Momma asked me to set the table.
Pappy made our rectangular kitchen table not long ago. It was large enough to seat the entire family, with a chair at each end, a bench on each side, and Lucian’s highchair next to Momma’s seat. I set the table, making sure Pappy had his favorite tin mug. He always sat at the end of the table facing the front door, a safety habit he said he got during the war.
It wasn’t long before he strolled in from outside, propped his shotgun against the table, and flung his coat onto the back of his chair. He sat, tossing his hat on the table, and Momma poured him a cup of coffee.
Pappy was a hard-working sharecropper who worked our family’s land and Mister Johnson’s, a white farmer who lived three miles from us. Pappy kept a five percent share of the crops, and Mister Johnson got the rest. Pappy bought his tools and supplies on credit at People’s Drugstore and used his mule to till the land. After harvest, Pappy paid off his debt with half of his share, using the rest to care for the family. I looked up, and Pappy was smiling at me.
“Hey, birthday girl, what are you doing over there?” he asked.
“Helping Momma make biscuits,” I smiled, relieved he was no longer angry at me.
“That’s good. Every girl should know how to cook. One day, you’ll have a family of your own.”
I secretly disagreed. Marriage and a family would someday be in my future, but my dream was to leave Henry. I wanted a better life.
I kneaded the biscuit dough until my fingers ached, then Momma came over and shaped the dough into twenty biscuits while I arranged them on the cookie sheet. Momma slid them into the fiery oven and closed the door.
By the time the biscuits were done, everyone had gathered at the table, hungry and eager to devour the morning meal. Momma put the biscuits in a basket on the table with a bowl of fried apples. She brought out the rest of the food, Pappy recited the grace, and we all dug in. Pappy finished his meal before the rest of us, rose from the table, and put on his coat and hat.
“I have work to do. I’ll see you later,” he said.
“Bye, Pappy!” everyone shouted as he grabbed his gun, opened the door, and walked out.
After everyone finished eating, Escelle cleaned off the table while Momma washed dishes at the sink. My brothers chased each other, playing hide-and-seek. I ran to my room and cleaned my teeth with Arm & Hammer’s baking soda and a twig toothbrush. Momma tore twigs off the black gum tree in the back, and we chewed on the ends until the wood softened into a brush. She kept four twig toothbrushes in a box in the bedroom for us to use in the winter. In the summertime, she kept them on the porch with a pan of fresh water so we could brush our teeth and wash our hands and faces after playing outside.
After I cleaned my teeth, I wanted to see Grandmother Ella. I snuck to the closet, slipped on my green coat and wool hat, and ran to the back door.
“Young lady, where are you going?” Momma shouted.
“I want to visit Grandmother Ella. She promised to make me cookies for my birthday.”
Momma rolled her bottom lip. “Well, since it’s your birthday, I guess it’s all right.”
“Thank you, Momma!” I blew her a kiss.
“Don’t stay too long. The animals need to be fed.”
“Yes, mam!” I opened the door, and Old Dick ran out. “Bye, Momma!”
“Bye! Hurry home, I got a surprise for you!”
“Whoopee! I can’t wait!”
I stepped outside, shut the door, and rubbed my shoulders to warm myself. The brisk, sharp smell of fall hovered in the air, stinging my nose and lips. I could see my grandparents’ white two-story house with the black door on the hill above the barren cotton patches. When he died, Grandfather Grier’s white father left him the land we all lived on. When he and Grandmother Ella married, he built their house on the hill. Her eight children were adults by then and had moved away, so only she and Grandfather lived in their house. When Pappy met and married Momma, Grandfather Grier allowed him to build our cabin and one for his mother, Grandmother Clem. I asked Momma why we lived in a small, shabby cabin instead of a lovely home like my grandparents. She told me Pappy couldn’t afford to build a bigger house, and he was never one to accept handouts from her father or anyone else. A proud man, Pappy insisted on providing for his family on his own.
Although I loved both grandmothers, I loved visiting Grandmother Ella the most. Her big white house always smelled like chocolate and lilac perfume, and she had the warmest smile and sweetest disposition. Tall, plump, and fair-skinned, she had blue eyes and snowy white hair pinned into a giant fuzzy bun. Sometimes she and I sat by the fire in her old rickety rocking chair, me in her lap. I loved to rest my head on her warm bosom and listen to old stories flowing from her ruby-red lips. Not only did I hear Bible stories, but she told me about my great-grandfather Walter Clark. Half Chickasaw, he pitched a tent under a chestnut tree, and when he needed help, he sang to the great white dog in the sky. I asked Grandmother about the great white dog, and she told me he was God in disguise. For the rest of my life, I never forgot that story.
Walking across our yard, I noticed a purple finch sitting on a branch in the weeping willow. I wondered if it was lost, because most birds had flown south for the winter. I stopped and threw my head back, admiring the pretty little red bird, then continued walking. Old Dick stopped along the way, sniffing, marking his territory, and covering his waste.
Crossing the cotton patch, the prickly, barren stems snagged my coat. Pappy and Grandfather made their living growing cotton and other crops and raising farm animals. Maple trees separated Pappy’s fields from Grandfather’s, and red and yellow leaves covered the ground. Growing cotton was hard work, but it kept food on the table.
As we arrived at my grandparents’ house, the sun’s rays bounced off the roof, and the lilac curtains my grandmother made covered all four front windows. Ivy plants hung on the wooden porch railings and along the roof. I sprinted up the porch steps and pounded on the door. The door swung open, and Grandfather’s tall figure loomed in the doorway. He had straight black hair streaked with gray, and squinty green eyes on a weather-worn square face. His rumbling baritone voice shook my insides when he spoke.
“Well, here’s the birthday girl!” He grinned, showing big teeth stained from smoking cigars and pipes over the years.
I bounced on my feet, shivering. “It’s cold out here!”
“Well, come in here, little girl, before you freeze.”
I hurried in, and he shut the door. He stooped over, and I hugged his thick, warm neck. He hugged me and kissed my forehead with a sparkle in his eye.
“How old are you, Little Ella?”
“I’m five years old.” I blushed, twisting.
“You’re growing like a weed, little girl,” he chuckled.
As expected, the house smelled delicious, and the living room was cozy and warm. Kindling crackled and popped in the rocky fireplace where two wooden rocking chairs sat. On my right was a burgundy couch on a frayed Persian rug. To my left sat a black console in front of the window. A delicious chocolate scent lured me to the kitchen. I pulled off my coat and hat and hung them on the rack near the door. Walking through the dining room, I passed the large round cherrywood table and chairs with red velvet seats. The buffet, filled with my great-grandmother’s fine white China, sat snugly against the wall.
As I moved down the hall, I stopped and gazed at the black-and-white photograph of my great-grandfather, Walter Clark. His faded picture was one of the few left in the family. Other photos had been lost over the years, and our family was too busy surviving to pose for new ones. Grandfather Clark had worn a suit the day he was photographed, and his stern, dark-brown eyes had a hint of fiery rage. His handsome chocolate face was minus a smile. One day, I asked my grandmother why he looked so angry. She told me Grandfather Clark lived a short, hard life, spending most of his time in slavery, and his stern face reflected life in the South.
I arrived in the kitchen and found Grandmother sliding fresh chocolate walnut cookies onto a large white platter. She greeted me with her warm and welcoming smile.
“Happy birthday! How’s my Little Ella?” she asked in her honeyed voice.
“Fine. May I have a cookie?”
Grandmother laughed. “Child, didn’t your momma feed you this morning?”
“Yes, mam, but those cookies smell so good.” I blinked my long lashes. “Besides, it’s my birthday!”
“All right,” she laughed. “Just one. Please, don’t tell your Momma.”
“I won’t.” I grabbed a cookie and gobbled it down.
Thank you for reading. Look for Leaving Henry on Amazon after Labor Day!
Rachel didn’t get much sleep, so she called out sick to take time to get herself together. She wasn’t in any emotional shape to see patients, especially mentally ill ones. Rachel showered and threw on her red sweats. She went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. With her back against the counter, Rachel contemplated how to spend her day honoring Jamie. She wasn’t the least bit interested in sitting around moping and crying. Her desire was to do something worthwhile.
Antsy, with no ideas in mind at first, Rachel finished her coffee, grabbed her purse, and strutted out the door. She had no idea where she was headed, but she hopped in her Toyota and took off down the road. To her surprise, Rachel found herself turning on the street where Jamie lived, and she decided she would stop by to see if Peepers was there,
Rachel pulled up in front of Jamie’s townhouse and parked. She was surprised to see a green Oldsmobile sitting in the driveway, Rachel wondered who it belonged too. Maybe it’s one of Jamie’s family members,
Determined to find out, Rachel grabbed her purse and got out of the car. She stepped briskly to the door, and boldly rang the doorbell. Swift and heavy footsteps approached from the other side and abruptly stopped. The door swung open, and a man about five foot and seven inches tall stared back at her with deep-set ocean-blue eyes. He had blond hair, which was thick and lustrous, but greying around the temples, and his suntanned face was sharp and well-defined, giving the impression he had weathered many storms. He wore wrinkled black overalls with Nike tennis shoes.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“I’m sorry…I…I don’t mean to pry,” Rachel stuttered, terrified. “My name is Rachel Thomas. I’m a friend of Jamie’s, and I also worked with her at Salter’s Point Regional Hospital.”
The man’s face brightened a little. “I’m John Lee, Jamie’s husband.”
Rachel jerked her head back and bucked her eyes, floored. “Oh, glad to meet you. Jamie didn’t tell me she was married!”
“Yep, for ten long years.” For a minute, he seemed to blank out, staring into space as if he was reminiscing, living in another time. When Rachel cleared her throat, he came to his senses. John took a step back and opened the door wide.
“Would you like to come in? I’m packing some of Jamie’s things.”
“Love to,” Rachel said as she walked inside, and he closed the door behind her. She stood in the living room, inspecting the place. Clothes and shoes were sprawled everywhere on the couch and chairs. Cardboard boxes were scattered on the floor, some filled to the top with clothes and others half filled with Jamie’s shoes. John carefully folded Jamie’s sweaters and packed them in a box.
“I see you’re packing up Jamie’s clothes. Are you taking them somewhere?”
“I thought I’d take them to the women’s shelter in town. I certainly don’t have any use for them,” he gruffly answered.
“Sounds like a plan,” Rachel smiled, pleased Jamie’s clothing would be put to good use.
John stopped packing and walked swiftly toward the kitchen.
“Can I offer you anything? Coffee, juice, water? Anything?” Rachel took the liberty and followed him. The color drained from her face, unable to answer when she entered the kitchen. Cardboard boxes were everywhere, and Jamie’s dishes and pots were out on the counter and table. Rage pulsated through her veins, and her cheeks burned. Why is he packing everything up so soon? Jamie hasn’t been dead for a good forty-eight hours, and he’s already getting rid of her belongings! What’s the rush?
“I didn’t hear your answer,” John said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel replied. “I guess I was taken aback by all of the packing. Why the rush?” Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to say that. Oh, well.
“I realize this looks quick, but I don’t have a lot of time. I pastor a church in Colorado and I’m leaving on a mission trip next week. Although we were separated, Jamie considered me her family. It was her desire that if something happened to her, I would take care of things.”
“I know it’s early, but a shot of whiskey would be fine.”
John’s eyebrows went up, hesitating, and he cracked up laughing. “A shot of whiskey? So, you’re a whiskey drinker like my wife.”
“No, not really. I prefer wine, if you must know.” Rachel chuckled, batting her eyes.
“Then why the whiskey?”
Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe it’s my way of honoring Jamie somehow.”
“Perverse, but I love it!” John laughed. “Let’s see if I can find some for you.”
He went to the pantry, opened the door, and shoved some canned goods around. “I know Jamie must have some stashed away in here somewhere,” he muttered to himself. Rachel checked John out. She had to admit Jamie had good taste. Handsome, despite his rugged, weathered looks and short stature, John wasn’t her kind of guy. She preferred a taller man, much like the suave, mysterious Doctor Everett James.
“You’re in luck! Look what I found behind a big can of Crisco.” John held the bottle up so Rachel could see it.
“Great,” Rachel smiled as she pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “I just want a little bit. I’m not used to drinking whiskey.”
“At your service.” John went to the counter and twisted the cap open on the whiskey bottle. He found two shot glasses in the dish rack and poured the whiskey, filling both glasses to the rim. He brought the drinks to the table and sat, shoving one over to Rachel.
A box of photos caught his attention, and he pulled it in front of him. John grabbed the first picture he saw on the pile, that was all it took for his eyes to water. He clutched the solid wooden frame tight in his hand, reminiscing over a perfect moment in his past.
“This is Jamie and I when we first got married. The happiest memories hurt the most,” he said in a low voice as he managed to restrain the flood of tears from within.
“You say you guys were married ten years?”
“Yes. Jamie and I grew up together. We both were from a religious family, grew up Catholic. We talked about having our own church one day.” He handed Rachel the photograph, and she looked at it. Rachel marveled at how Jamie’s style had changed over the years, from dressing feminine to more manly. Thinner and looking happy, Jamie looked cute, holding her bouquet of flowers in her little white dress. She had a big smile on her face as she gazed into her husband’s eyes. John looked like a movie star in his double-breasted pinstriped suit. His hair was longer but still swept back away from his handsome face.
“You know, Jamie never talked about her marriage much. What happened between you two? If you don’t mind me asking.” The photograph reflected happier times, and they were such an attractive couple.
“Anne Cleveland happened,” John quipped in a sour tone, frowning. He almost looked wolfish as he briefly recalled his wife’s betrayal. “Jamie met her at an aerobics class, and the rest is history. It took me a while to get over it,” he said in a low, cracking voice.
“I bet.” Rachel could see it was painful for John to talk about it and decided not to press him for more details, but John apparently needed to talk.
“Every time I called her and learned she was still with Anne it would break my heart. I knew I couldn’t live anywhere near the two of them. My ego couldn’t take it.”
“So, you and Jamie never divorced?”
“No, we never did.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, Jamie and Anne broke up a month ago.”
John’s eyes widened as he fell back in his chair. “Really? What happened?”
“Anne will tell you they broke up because of her drinking, but the real story is, she fell in love with a man who happens to be my ex,” Rachel answered with sourness in her voice.
“Damn!” John shook his head in disbelief.
“Damn is right,” Rachel said, half smiling.
John looked down for a moment at his glass of whiskey. He brought the alcohol to his lips and threw his head back. The bitter sensation of the liquor made his eyes water. John coughed, blowing out his cheeks as he swallowed, and grunted. “Well, I guess we both got burned!” He looked over at Rachel and noticed she hadn’t touched her glass. “What are you waiting for? Drink up! It’s in Jamie’s honor.”
“I know.” Rachel sighed, taking a deep breath. She laid John’s wedding photo back in the box and picked up her glass. Rachel took one sip, almost spitting the bitter-tasting liquor straight out of her mouth. She managed to hold it in, getting it down, screwing up her face as she swallowed. Rachel coughed repeatedly. “Damn, that’s nasty!” she said in a dry, hoarse voice.
John’s eyes gleamed with amusement as his mouth curved into a smile. “You weren’t kidding. Whiskey is definitely not your drink.”
“No, it’s not.” Rachel looked John dead in the face, scrutinizing him. “I don’t believe I ever witnessed a pastor drinking alcohol.” Rachel wanted him to know she disapproved of his behavior.
“They generally don’t, but this one does,” he smirked, winking at her. “Besides, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Well, alcohol isn’t the solution.”
“I’m well aware.” John’s smile slipped into a questioning frown. “So, is there a reason why you stopped by? You knew Jamie is no longer here.”
Rachel’s eyes watered. “I know. I guess I wanted to see if she was really gone, besides I was hoping Peepers would be here.”
“Peepers and Jamie are gone, I’m afraid.” His face darkening a little. They sat quietly for a while each soul a million miles away stuck in their own thoughts. Rachel flinched when John tapped his fingers hard on the table.
“Where are you with the funeral arrangements?” she asked.
“I’m almost done with the arrangements. Jamie is Catholic, so her funeral will be at Saint Mary’s Church.” A muscle in John’s jaw twitched as he gazed down at the table misty-eyed.
Recognizing his vulnerability, Rachel felt empathy for the pastor. “Do you need any additional help with the planning? I don’t mind helping,” she softly offered.
“I’m fine. Jamie and I have talked about this many times. She has a will. I’m following her wishes.”
“When is the funeral?”
“This Saturday.”
Rachel stood on her feet. “Okay. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“You’re so kind. Thank you,” John smiled as he stood up. He escorted Rachel out of the kitchen and into the living room. Rachel walked to the door and she abruptly turned around to face him. “I enjoyed meeting you, John. I wish it was under better circumstances,” she said with a warm smile.
“I do, too. It was nice meeting you, too, Miss Thomas, my wife’s friend.”
She laughed, and John opened the door for her. Rachel waved as she walked out.
“See you soon,” she hollered as she hurried to her car.
On her way home, Rachel stopped by the grocery store and bought a pint of chocolate ice cream. She thought about John and his heartbreak over Jamie. For a brief moment, she scolded Jamie for giving up on her marriage, but her scolding turned to sorrow, when reality hit her again. Damn, I’m going to miss that girl!
Once she arrived home, Rachel went to the kitchen, opened her chocolate ice cream and put two scoops of the dessert in a plastic bowl. She put the rest in the refrigerator, then she went to the living room and plopped on the couch. Exhausted from grieving, Rachel turned on the TV, inserted a movie in the VCR, and ate her bowl of ice cream. For the rest of the afternoon, she watched funny movies, and at dusk, she put on her pajamas and climbed into bed.
As Always Thank-You For Reading, Comments Welcome!
The town residents packed in the courthouse early Monday morning. It was the last day in November, and Christmas was around the corner. Elderly women dressed like elves busily decorated the courthouse lobby. Bright red poinsettias were placed in every corner of the hall. Black and white angels and snowmen figurines were set on tables. A nativity scene of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus was constructed on the stage. Men with bulging muscles carried an twenty-foot evergreen tree into the lobby. After they strung it up and stabilized it in the center of the floor, men with ladders ran over to the massive tree. They carefully erected the ladders on the tree, and with Christmas lights in hand, they climbed up the ladders and strung them around the tree’s thick branches.
Loudspeakers belted out an orchestra playing Joy To The World in the background. People bundled up in wool scarfs, coats, and hats continued to pack the courthouse. They scurried around in various directions like big mice, looking for their assigned destinations. A frantic woman wearing a tiara on her long, curly brown hair, sprinted across the lobby in her wedding dress. Crying and throwing a fit in a nearby corner, a little boy about the age of four screamed like a hyena. Calm, his mother stooped down to his level, hugging on him. She covered his cheeks with kisses, and the little boy stopped crying. He giggled as his mother tickled his stomach. Then she picked him up and went on her way.
Sitting on the second floor in front of courthouse numbered five, Doctor Beebe and James Cole waited for the judge to approve and sign the warrant. At first, Doctor Beebe was reluctant to file kidnapping charges against his old friend and colleague, Doctor Benny. After an intense discussion with James Cole, he became convinced it was the right decision. Looking haggard with dark circles around his eyes, Doctor Beebe stayed awake all night, unable to sleep, anxious about his visit to the courthouse. With his mind made up, but still deeply troubled, he pondered when it would be the best time to fire Doctor Benny. The medical director knew his timing was everything. He needed to be as strategic as possible.
Finally, around noon, the clerk emerged from the courtroom. Short and dumpy, the woman’s straight, stringy hair was parted in the middle, and her bright light blue eyes were intense. Wearing an outdated black pantsuit with spiked red heels, the clerk strutted over to the two men carrying a sheet of paper. Her lips parted into a sardonic grin. “The arrest warrant has been signed.” She gave Doctor Beebe his copy, and she lingered for a moment, waiting for questions. Doctor Beebe found her frozen smile off-putting. He shifted in his chair, straightening up.
“Do you know when he will be arrested?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” she answered.
“Why not now? He could leave town by this time tomorrow morning,” he told her. Doctor Beebe looked annoyed.
“I’m sorry,” said the clerk. “But that’s the best the court can do.” She turned her short, dumpy self around and slipped into the courtroom. Doctor Beebe rolled up his copy of the arrest warrant and stuck it in his coat pocket. “I’ll be glad when this is over. This whole situation has been quite taxing!”
“I know, old buddy. It will be over soon.” James slapped his hat on his head and rose to his feet. “How you plan to break the news to your staff?”
“Slowly but carefully,” Doctor Beebe half-heartedly joked.
James laughed. Then he turned serious. “But really, have you thought about it?”
“Yep, it’s been on my mind constantly. It’s such a delicate situation.”
“My friend, you don’t have a lot of time left. Once the media gets a hold of this, you’re going be peppered with tons of questions.”
Doctor Beebe let out a harsh sigh. “I know, man, I know. You can’t go to a gun fight with a hammer! I will tell the staff when it’s appropriate.”
Feeling sorry for his old friend, James offered a suggestion. “Let’s head to Sully’s for a drink. You could use a break.”
“Good idea,” Doctor Beebe grinned. “I’ll meet you there.”
James waved and headed down the hall. “See you in a few.”
Update: One evening while working at TLC Radio Station, Isabelle is surprised when Jinx shows up.
***
Sometime later, Jinx and Jo Summers walked in. Isabelle’s mouth dropped open and she gasped. Jinx is here! Hell-bent on meeting Lincoln! Damn! Isabelle watched with amusement while Jinx pretended to be interested in Jo’s orientation. After Jo finished her introductions and left the room, Jinx snuck over to Isabelle’s cubicle.
“Where’s the man?” she whispered, bucking her eyes.
“He’s sitting in the back,” Isabelle whispered back.
Jinx craned her neck to see over the cubicle. A small squeal escaped from her lips when her eyes fell on Lincoln. “Damn, that’s one fine ass motherfucker!”
Isabelle patted her chest. Her heart was flipping somersaults. She withered down in her padded seat, wishing she could disappear. “Jinx! He might hear you!”
“Girl, he’s on the phone! He doesn’t hear or see me!” she said, still checking him out. She pulled up a chair and sat. “Are you sure you don’t want…”
Isabelle cut her off. “Hell no! Now stop it!” she fumed.
“Okay, okay,” Jinx said, batting her eyes. “But if you decide to get some at a later date, I sure as hell don’t blame you!”
Isabelle shook her head in sheer exasperation. “Girl, you are a trip,” she groaned with angst in her voice.
Jinx scooted her chair into the aisle. She stretched her neck to get a better view of Lincoln with her eyes popping out of her head. “Here he comes! He’s a tall ass mother…”
“Shush!” Isabelle scowled. “Don’t you say anything crazy! You hear?”
Isabelle knew her words fell on deaf ears, so she braced herself. Jinx, grinning like a naughty little girl, kept gawking at Lincoln as he glided toward her. “I mean it!” Isabelle hissed again, fully aware she was wasting her time.
“Well, hello handsome!” Jinx said batting her short eyelashes as Lincoln stopped in front of her.
His mocha brown eyes crinkled at the corners, and his shoulders started to bounce. “Lincoln Davis,” he said extending his large manicured hand.
Jinx held his hand. “Are you looking for Isabelle?” she asked in her sweetest voice.
“What is your name ma’am?” he said, ignoring her question.
“Oh, I’m Jinx Collins,” she cheerfully replied as she caressed and patted his large, smooth hand. “So nice and warm. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Isabelle almost threw up.
“Warm hands make a warm heart,” Lincoln teased with nervous laughter.
“I’ll say,” Jinx said, winking at Isabelle as she gingerly dropped Lincoln’s hand. She scooted her chair out of the aisle so Lincoln could step into Isabelle’s cubicle.
Isabelle gouged the bottom half of her face with her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut. Lincoln noticed her discomfort. “Are you all right over there?”
“I’m fine,” Isabelle said, opening her eyes. He shot her a knowing grin, and she returned the favor with a weak smile.
“Jinx, do you plan to take the job?” he asked.
“I’m thinking about it,” she crooned in a low throaty voice. Her hazel green eyes roved up and down his physique, checking out every detail.
Seething inside, Isabelle fought the urge to slap the mess out of her. “Jinx and I work together at Emory Hospital. She needed a part-time job, so I told her to apply,” she hurriedly explained.
“Nothing wrong with a little extra money,” Jinx chimed in, still eyeballing him.
“I heard that,” he said looking amused. “We’re all in the same boat these days.”
Jinx bristled up. “Honey, speak for yourself. I’m rowing my own damn boat, thank you very much!”
His eyebrows went up, perplexed by her outburst. “Interesting,” he said.
Jo intervened just in time, and Isabelle was grateful. “Miss Collins, come with me. I need you to watch a video before you leave for the evening.”
“Sure,” Jinx said, pulling erect. She stood almost as tall as Lincoln, looking him squarely in the eye as she flashed him a naughty grin. “See you around, handsome, you hear?”
His face brightened as if he was embarrassed. “Likewise,” he smiled.
She sauntered off, leaving Isabelle to explain away her flirtatious behavior, however she didn’t have to. Lincoln had another agenda. To find out Lincoln’s agenda for Isabelle, be sure to purchase your copy of Whiskey And Merlot A Love Story on Amazon by clicking on the link below! Thank You For Reading.
Weeks before her first date with Lincoln Davis, Jinx Collins, Isabelle’s best friend and work colleague Kandy Crane, met in Jinx’s office one morning for one of their many chats. Not only was Isabelle surprised to learn about Jinx’s past descretions, but she was equally stunned by Kandy’s revelation about Lincoln. Jinx Collins, ared boned, slender woman with hazel-green eyes and auburn red hair styled into a short pixie stood six feet tall. She walked with a swanky strut, cursed like a sailor, and she loved teasing and playing devil’s advocate. The setting in this excerpt occurred at Atlanta’s Emory University Hospital where all three women worked as clincial social workers. Enjoy.
Two days later, Isabelle and Jinx were having their usual morning chat when Kandy Crane barged into Jinx’s office. She had been off work for several days visiting her married boyfriend in Miami. Petite and skinny, Kandy had short, thinning blond hair. Although she was African-American, her complexion was light, almost pale.
Isabelle couldn’t stand her. She tolerated her. Kandy thought herself better than others, and this irritated both Jinx and Isabelle. She was snooty and self-absorbed, a woman with no emotional boundaries, always telling her business to anyone who would listen. Isabelle made sure she kept her distance.
Kandy stood in the middle of the floor in her white lab coat, her pockets crammed with notes and pens. She monopolized the conversation, chatting away like an old hen. Isabelle sat back in her chair with her legs crossed, bored to death.
“I had the best time with Darryl this weekend,” she beamed, shifting from one foot to the next.
Jinx rolled her lips inward as she struggled to keep a straight face. “Well, tell us about it,” she encouraged with sarcasm in her voice.
“We stayed at the Sheraton Hotel on the beach and sunbathed all day,” Kandy boasted. “The food we ate was delicious, and we even talked about getting married!”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow and Jinx bucked her eyes, turning ornery. “And his wife? Where was she?” she asked in a salty tone.
Kandy frowned, shrugging her shoulders. “Who cares?”
“How was he able to pull this off?”
“It’s not my concern,” she haughtily said, pointing her nose in the air.
Jinx bucked her eyes again. “Well, if she finds out you were sleeping with her husband and whips your little ass…I bet you’ll care.”
Isabelle burst into laughter. Thrilled Jinx jack her up.
With a clenched jaw, Kandy hissed. “You two get on my nerves!”
“Get a grip! I’m speaking truth to you, girl!” Jinx said.
Kandy snapped her mouth shut and glared at Jinx. A hush fell over the room. For five long minutes, no one spoke a word. Angry as hell, Kandy mustered up some courage and spewed venom Jinx’s way. “You used to date a married man! You got nerve!”
Isabelle whipped her head back, stunned with Kandy’s revelation. Jinx with a married man? No, not Jinx! Isabelle kept her mouth shut and cast her eyes on her lap.
Jinx, looking wolfish, stood up. “Girl, you don’t know who you’re messing with,” she snarled.
Terrified, Kandy made a beeline to the door. She stood in the doorway with her mouth gaped open, hyperventilating.
Jinx pretended to lunge at her. “You got something to say? Say it!”
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I don’t want to fight!” she squealed in a soprano voice, jumping back.
Isabelle howled with laughter, and Jinx joined in.
“Not funny,” Kandy whined after she realized Jinx was joking.
“Girl, you are in a relationship going nowhere!” Jinx chuckled as she returned to her seat.
“Not so,” Kandy insisted, still determined to think otherwise. “He loves me, and I love him. It will all work out. You’ll see.”
Isabelle snickered out loud again, and Kandy flashed her a dirty look. Jinx continued with her tongue lashing, refusing to let up. “He may love you, dear heart, but he’s never going to leave his precious wife. They never do.”
“I second that,” Isabelle piped in.
Kandy was defiant. “The man loves me! Aren’t you two listening to me?”
“Yes, we are, but it’s hard to process so much stupid at once,” Isabelle said.
“Smart Ass,” Kandy sneered with her nostrils flaring.
“It takes one to know one,” Isabelle snarled back.
Jinx rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed. “Okay, ladies, let’s calm down.” She gave Kandy a wary look. “I hope it works out for you, girl.”
“It will! You’ll see,” Kandy insisted.
Jinx changed the subject, breaking out in song. “Isabelle has an admirer! Isabelle has an admirer!” she sang with melodious glee. Isabelle flipped her the middle finger, and Jinx ignored it. She kept up the teasing and blood rushed into Isabelle’s cheeks.
Furious and embarrassed, Isabelle hissed at her like a snake. “Jinx! Stop it!”
“What happened?” Kandy asked.
“Not a damn thing!” Isabelle huffed.
“Tell her,” Jinx demanded. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Tell me what?”
Isabelle slid down in her seat and folded her arms on her chest. Jinx loved kicking up controversy, even when there wasn’t one.
“Hurry up! Tell me!” Kandy said as she grabbed a chair and sat.
Isabelle pursed her lips and hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I met a man at the radio station two days ago. His name is Lincoln Davis.”
Kandy’s face lit up. “So, you took the job?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did he tell you his wife is expecting a baby?”
Isabelle was inwardly surprised. “No, he didn’t. He left that major detail out. When is the baby due?”
“This summer.”
“When I see him this evening, I’ll congratulate him,” Isabelle said. She was pissed. How dare he try to get in her panties, and he’s an expectant father! Damn! She couldn’t wait to get to the radio station to give him a piece of her mind.
“He’s a ladies’ man,” Kandy further explained. “Don’t let him get too close. He likes pretty women like you.”
Isabelle gave Kandy a funny look. “A compliment from you? Now that’s a first!”
Kandy smiled wide, revealing big chunky teeth. “I don’t mind giving you props!”
Jinx threw in her two cents. “So, what are you going to do girl? The man is coming after you.”
“No, he’s not!”
“Yes, he is!” Jinx said. Then her expression turned naughty. “I want to see this man. Maybe I’ll go to the radio station this week and fill out an application.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to apply for a job so you can check out Lincoln?”
Jinx grinned. “Yep! I got to see this fine ass chocolate man.”
Isabelle shook her head in amazement. “Unbelievable!”
She elected not to tell them about her latest encounter with Lincoln. She wasn’t in the mood for Jinx’s teasing. Kandy continued to chatter away about anything and everything under the sun until a loud knock on the door interrupted the conversation.
The door flew opened and in walked Lisa Cooper, the social work supervisor. She was a tall, attractive blond, with a Farah Fawcett haircut. Her work ethic was meticulous, and Lisa expected others to follow her lead. Now she was on the warpath looking for fault in anybody she could find. With her piercing baby blues, she sized up everyone in the room.
“Are you ladies working or goofing off?” she sweetly asked in a baby voice.
Isabelle bolted from her seat so fast she almost lost her balance and fell. She regained her footing and smoothed out her dress. She hustled to the door. “I have to see patients,” she declared.
“Me too,” said Kandy, jumping to her feet and following Isabelle. They both ran out before Lisa had a chance to address them, leaving Jinx alone to deal with her wrath. “That was cold,” said Kandy, laughing her head off.
“She can handle it,” Isabelle giggled.
They hurried through the hall, splitting in different directions, Kandy going for the elevator and Isabelle to the stairs. “See you later,” Isabelle hollered as she exited through the stairwell. She ran up seven flights of stairs and stopped on the seventh floor.
Red in the face, Isabelle grunted, taking deep breaths. She rested on the couch in the waiting room. Breathing normally again, Isabelle hurled herself up and hustled to the oncology unit. While there, Lincoln’s baby news crossed her mind.
A wife? A baby? So very disappointing! Despite, her disappointment, the baby was a welcome gift. In her mind, Lincoln had no business asking her out, no business at all. Fatherhood would keep him busy. The perfect plan. Until Next Time. Thank you For Reading. Purchase Your Copy of this steamy Entertaining Novel by clicking on the link below.
You must be logged in to post a comment.