A Hire Love (18 page)

A
s I held her in my arms, I had so many things that I wanted to tell her and needed to tell her. I thought about telling the whole story, but decided it made better sense to explain it all when I no longer needed her income.

After I turned the fireplace off in the already warm room, I grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry and fed it to her. I tasted the sweetness on her lips. She smiled.

“Are we going to eat?”

“Yes.”

“I’m hungry.”

She grabbed another strawberry and I poured wine into our glasses. I said, “To our future.”

She sipped and added, “Together or apart.”

A dart stabbed me in the heart. Afraid of what she meant, I didn’t ask if it was a question or a statement. Instead, I stood up and asked if she was ready to have dinner. She popped up. “Yep.”

We strolled out into the peaceful Vermont night. The air was clean and crisp. Bright stars shone down on us. They appeared close enough to touch. Our clasped hands swung back and forth. When we walked into the Main Street Grill, she kidded, “I wonder if we’re the only black people here.”

As I shrugged my shoulders, the black host walked up and said, “Ay, mon! What’s good mon?”

Her eyes danced around. I smiled at him. “Hey, it’s just the two of us.”

“Right this way.”

We followed and Fatima squeezed my hand. I tried to suppress my laughter. Her eyes bulged as she attempted to communicate with me.

The second he walked away, we burst into laughter. She said. “I didn’t know black people lived in Vermont. Not to mention Jamaicans.”

I put my finger over my mouth. She curled her lips. “He must be in protective custody.”

“Fatima, stop being prejudiced.”

He stepped back up to the table with a basket. “This is our signature bread, honey oatmeal.”

We nodded. Before he finished talking about the specials, Fatima had broken a piece of the bread. Her expression told me it was good. I smiled at her. She nodded. “This is the best bread I’ve ever had.”

“’Tis good, mon.”

She chuckled, but I knew she was laughing at him and not about the bread. She nodded. “’Tis good.”

When he walked away, she sucked her teeth. “He can cut it out with that Jamaican accent.”

“Fatima, that’s that man’s culture.”

“But he’s in Vermont. He better assimilate. If they come looking for him, they will find his Jamaican butt in no time.”

“What makes you think someone is looking for him?”

She giggled. “Because I know.”

I sat there admiring the crazy thoughts that her mind conjured up. She was even funnier than I think she could ever imagine. I grabbed a piece of the bread and it melted in my mouth. By the time our dinner arrived, we’d devoured three baskets of honey oatmeal bread.

The food seemed wonderfully fresh as we barely talked during dinner, aside from Fatima kidding that they probably killed the cows out back.

When dinner was done, we decided to unwind with dessert and wine. After two bottles, Fatima was the loudest one in the restaurant. I kept hushing her, but her comedy made me laugh just as loud as she spoke. We literally closed the restaurant down.

W
hen we got back to the room, we danced to silence. He massaged my shoulders and kissed my forehead. We undressed each other and the relit fire crackled as we tiptoed to the bed. Momentarily, he held me and stared into my eyes. I wondered about his hesitation. What was distracting him? He brushed my hair from my face and appeared like he wanted to talk. Instead, we kissed. Gently, he touched me almost as if he was afraid. Did he not have the courage to tell me this would be our last time together? Finally, he loved me sensually and I lay in the bed full of emotions. My eyes watered and I turned so he could hold me in the spoon position. Knowing he couldn’t see, I let the tears fall as he rested his chin on my shoulder. I inconspicuously wiped my eyes and said, “Rashad.”

He rose up. “Yeah, baby.”

“Never mind.”

He didn’t pry for more as usual. Instead, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Hoping that his thoughts would somehow transfer from his fingertips, I reached for his hand. He willingly offered. He raised our clasped hands up to his mouth and kissed my hand.

On my side, I turned to face him, scrutinizing his breathing. Then, I leaned over and lay my head on his chest. He stroked my back and we feel asleep.

The bright sun alarmed us at seven in the morning. I rubbed his chest. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. We forgot to close the blinds last night.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to try and get some rest or do you want to go for breakfast? We’re going kayaking at ten.”

“Ten?” I huffed. “Well, I guess we have no choice.”

“We can eat more of the honey oatmeal bread that you begged Peter for last night.”

“I didn’t beg him.”

“Yeah, okay.”

We got up and I pulled my clothes from the luggage. I selected an outfit. “Is this for today?”

He chuckled. “Baby, I just packed. You can wear whatever you want.”

After we got ready, we headed to the Main Street Grill again. The smell of fresh biscuits and bacon filled the air. I looked at Rashad. He laughed. “I know. You can’t wait to eat.”

I pushed him. “Shut up.”

We were greeted by Peter again. I kidded, “Did you stay the night here?”

He laughed. “I have a room at the hotel.”

I nudged Rashad and nodded at Peter. “Oh, you live here?”

“Yeah, I come here six months and go back to my country for six months.”

“Really? You go back to Jamaica?”

“Yah, mon.”

“So, how did you arrange that?”

“I have an agent that gets me hospitality work at hotels in the states.”

“Oh, wow. That’s interesting. So you work for only six months?”

When we sat, Rashad tapped his knee against mine under the table, but Peter didn’t seem to mind my interrogation.

He said, “Yeah, I work hard while I’m here and go home and relax.”

“Must be nice. Do you have a family in Jamaica?”

Rashad’s eyes cursed me. Peter said, “Yes, my wife is there.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a couple waiting to be seated. Peter raised his finger. “I’ll be back.”

Rashad smirked at me. I giggled. “What?”

“You are a trip.”

“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t want to know how he got here?”

“No, Teem. I really don’t care.”

“You know, we’ve only seen like ten people that work here. We could be on the set of a murder mystery.”

His eyes squinted as he laughed hysterically. “You are crazy. You have a thing for movie sets, huh?”

He stood and headed for the buffet. I sat stunned waiting for a fly to land on my tongue. Peter came back to the table. “Are you okay?” He poured my coffee. “You leaving tomorrow?”

I nodded suspiciously. It was okay to find out his story, but surely I didn’t want him keeping track of me. “How did you know?”

“Breakfast is all-included. I have to check your room number.”

My neck inched back. He laughed. “Your husband gave it to me last night.”

“Oh, that’s not my husband. He’s just my—”

The proximity of the sound of Rashad’s footsteps startled me.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that
. He chuckled. “I’m just her assistant.”

My head jerked in his direction. His smile masked his discomfort. The muscle in his jawline pulsed, as he dropped his plate on the table. My shoulders slumped and I grimaced.

As my apologetic gestures tried to rewind the actions of my compulsive tongue, he tilted his head toward the buffet. “Get something to eat before there’s nothing left.”

Peter vanished during our silent altercation. Before I stood, I reached over to touch his arm. “Are you going to wait for me?”

“Of course I’ll wait for you, Fatima.”

I pouted my way to the buffet.
Fatima, you really don’t know what the hell to say
. Why didn’t I just say, you mean my boyfriend? It seems that the perfect words are always two steps behind. I stood in front of the most amazing breakfast spread that I’ve ever seen. Pastries, muffins, biscuits. My eyes popped out when I saw a fresh loaf of honey oatmeal bread. After piling three slices on my plate along with eggs and bacon and a cheese Danish, I bounced back to the table.

When I was greeted with a smile, I appreciated that he accepted that I never knew what to say and that he didn’t take it personally.

I
t’s times like this when I wonder. The way her head shook back and forth made it appear that she wanted to say, “Oh, hell no, that’s not my husband.”

It took every nerve in my body not to tell her to go dig her damn husband up from the grave. Instead, I squashed her comment with my compassion for her and her pain. She stared into my eyes and pouted. That look always triggered amnesia in me as she transformed back into the lady I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

She tasted her food and squirmed. “Mmmm. This is so good.”

I chuckled as I enjoyed her appreciation for new things. When we finished breakfast, we walked into the tea lounge. She tugged at my hand. I leaned in closer and she whispered, “Let’s act like we’re rich.”

“What?”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re the only black folks here.”

“So.”

Her pupils swirled. “So, we’ll be a famous R&B couple, if they ask.”

“You love to play games.”

“We’ll be Kindred.”

I laughed. “Girl, you are funny.”

“I just want to know if they—” Her nose wrinkled like she’d been confronted with a foul smell—“would even know.”

Just when I thought she was crazy, it was validated without a shadow of a doubt. We sat near an older white couple. The guy looked like a lumberjack, just like all the other men in town, and the lady looked like she was pulled straight from the pages of
The Happy Homemaker.
Fatima smiled at the couple and I followed her lead.

“It’s so nice here.”

Initially, the lady didn’t seem receptive and I was surprised when the man chimed in, “Yeah, we love it here.”

Fatima asked, “You come here often?”

He nodded. “Yep, ’bout five times a year.”

“This is our first.” She reached over and rested her hand atop mine. “We like it. Don’t we, honey?”

I nodded. “Yeah, we like it.”

The lady asked, “What brings you here?”

Fatima sighed. “Well, we just finished touring. So we’re here to regroup and get some writing done for our third album.”

Did she really just say that?
The couple’s jaws dropped. I wanted to burst out laughing, but I nodded in support of her fabricated plot.

“Singers?”

Fatima nodded. “Yeah, singers and songwriters.”

After I got over the shock, I added, “She’s the singer and songwriter. I just sing her songs.”

The man laughed. “Well, you’ve got the answer to a happy marriage.” He coughed. “Sing her song. I like that.”

His wife rolled her eyes at him. “Can we buy your music from the store?”

Fatima smiled. “Yep, we’re Kindred. Our first album is ‘Surrender to Love’ and the second is ‘In This Life Together.’”

As they inquired further about our break into the industry, I was amazed at how well we fed off of one another and evaded having our cover blown. When we left the tea lounge, we had an adrenaline rush like we’d gotten away with a crime.

We laughed hysterically and she looked at me. “Why did we do that?”

“Why did
you
do it?”

We laughed harder. For the entire ride to Lake Elmore, we replayed what we said, what we should have said, what we planned to do if they wanted autographs.

When I opened the car door, she spilled out of the car still amused by our little skit. I caught her stumbling and wrapped my arms around her. The light fall breeze whirled around us, drawing us closer. I kissed her. “You make everything an adventure.”

“We’ll see how adventurous you think I am when I flip the kayak over.”

Her hair fell through my fingers as I cupped her head in my hands. “Don’t worry. I can handle it for the both of us.”

She referenced the kayak and I referenced life. One day soon, she would have nothing to worry about. When we walked over to the trailer to get the equipment, she twiddled her thumbs. I asked, “Are you nervous?”

She shuddered. I laughed. “Don’t be. I got you.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Her eyes doubted me and I stepped up to the counter. After the boat keeper gave basic instructions and handed us life jackets, he walked with us to the kayaks. Fatima staggered behind.

I sat in the front of the kayak and Fatima reluctantly sat behind me. When the guys pushed us onto the lake, I explained the technique to Fatima. “It’s best if we paddle in unison. If I’m moving too fast, let me know. To turn right, we paddle hard on the left and vice versa.”

I looked back and she squinted like she really wanted to follow my instructions. Her bottom lip trembled. I rested the paddle on my lap and reached back and rubbed her leg. “Are you cold?”

She nodded.

“Once we start moving, you’ll warm up.”

She dipped her paddle in the water. I followed suit. “Now, left…and right.”

When I turned to make sure we stroked at the same pace, she smiled.

“You like this, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s really peaceful.”

The sun beamed down on us, casting an orange shadow to the calm water. We coasted alongside a mountain and the leaves on the trees graced us with a multitude of fall color combinations. Neither of us spoke as we absorbed the great outdoors.

This sport can make or break a relationship. As we rowed in sync and she humbly followed my lead, I presumed it made us. These were the defining moments that made her. About a half mile away from the dock, Fatima complained about her arms tiring, but she didn’t stop moving until I stopped.

When we positioned the kayak so that we wouldn’t drift too far out, I grabbed her paddle and lay both on my lap and I leaned back to rest my head in between her legs. She ran her hands over my face and said, “I love it here.”

“I know.”

“What’s this trip about?”

“Just a weekend getaway from all the drama in the city.”

She inhaled the crisp air. “I just don’t…I mean…Are you?”