Finding Mr. Right (20 page)

“Oh. Is my granddaddy going to be there? He loves turkey, too.”

“Andy, that’s a good idea. Do you have his phone number?” He recited it from memory. “Thanks. I’ll see if he’s free.”

“He’s free, Miss Tyra, because he always eats with me and my daddy.”

“My daddy and me. I’m going to call him.”

“You are? I love you, Miss Tyra. Bye.”

“Andy, darling. I love you, too. See you this weekend.” She hung up and dialed Lewis Whitley’s number.

“Whitley speaking. Good evening.”

“Mr. Whitley, this is Tyra Cunningham. How are you… I know you’re surprised to hear from me, but Jonie will be in Virginia Thanksgiving Day, and Byron and Andy are having dinner with me and my family. I’d love for you to join us.”

“Well, it’s wonderful to hear from you, Tyra, and I’ll be absolutely delighted to join you for Thanksgiving Day dinner. I hope we’ll spend many Thanksgiving Days together.”

She gave him her address. “We eat around two in the afternoon, and at seven-thirty, we’re ready for a light supper. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I should tell you that Andy called to say you were going to invite me and asked me to be sure and accept. He’s a kid who dots every i and crosses every t, Byron incarnate. I’ll see you Thursday around noon. Thank you again.”

She went to the lounge where she knew she’d find Maggie watching television. “Maggie, I’ve invited Byron, Andy and Byron’s father for Thanksgiving, along with Clark’s and
Darlene’s dates, we’ll be ten for dinner. So I think I’ll hire a caterer, because that’s too much work.”

“It’s just three more than we’ve usually had in recent years. We’ll just cook more of everything, but you can get someone to serve the meal and clean up, if you want to”

“That’s a fair compromise. Would you please make out the grocery list? I’ll take Wednesday off and help with the cooking.”

Byron telephoned her several times a day and every night just before he went to sleep. “Can’t you and Andy spend the weekend with us?” she asked Byron when he called her that Tuesday evening. “Andy can sleep in Clark’s room and you can have the guest room. Take Friday off, and we can have a mini-vacation right here.”

“Won’t Clark need his room?”

“He’s taking his friend to Bermuda Friday morning and returning to Baltimore Sunday evening.”

“All right. I’ll let you know about that tomorrow. I like the idea. Kiss me.”

She made the sound of a kiss. “This tease is getting to me.”

“I consider it my nightly punishment,” he said. “I love you, woman. Good night.”

“And I love you. Good night, sweetheart.”

Thanksgiving Eve finally arrived, and Byron would discover what it was like to live in Tyra’s world. He could hardly wait to experience her home, her family and the aura she would create. “Can we go now, Daddy? I’m taking Nassau. Can I call Miss Tyra and ask if we can go fishing?”

Byron looked at his child, so eager to attach himself to this woman. He couldn’t understand it, accustomed as he was to Andy’s standoffishness with everyone except Jonie and him. He sat down, pulled the boy between his knees and said, “I’ll take the fishing rods and tackle, but if she has other plans, we’ll do as she likes, because we’ll be her guests.”

“Yes, sir. But she’ll do what I ask her to do. Let’s go, Daddy.”

Tyra opened the door, and he looked down at her, hoping to see in her eyes the love that he needed, but Andy dashed past him and into her arms.

“Gee, Miss Tyra, I thought Daddy would never get us here. I could hardly wait.”

She hugged the boy and then, as if she feared what she’d do next, she brushed his cheek with her lips. To Byron’s delight, the boy took the initiative and kissed her, looked her in the eye and said, “You always smell so good.”

She thanked Andy, then she stood, opened her arms to him and he walked into them. “It’s like coming home,” he told her and he meant it.

He and Andy followed Tyra to their rooms. He hadn’t realized that the house was so big. Andy would get lost or worse, get into something he shouldn’t. He asked her, “Could you give Andy a tour, tell him where he can go and where he can’t go?”

She walked them through the house and out to the back porch and deck. “We’re having a cookout, a barbecue supper. I thought Andy would like that. Tomorrow, there’ll be ten of us for Thanksgiving dinner. Clark and Darlene will have their significant others with them and—”

“And Granddaddy’s coming, isn’t he, Miss Tyra?”

Byron stared at her. “Since when?”

“Since she asked him, Daddy.”

“You two, go put on something casual,” she said. “I’ll start the fire in the barbecue pit, and then I’ll wake up Maggie.”

Andy reached for Tyra’s hand. “Don’t you have a mommy either?” She shook her head. “Do you have a daddy?”

“Both of them are in heaven,” she told him.

He hugged her thigh. “My mommy’s up there, too.” How had his child developed an affection for Tyra? He didn’t know when it happened, but it was there, and it was solid.

“We’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told her.

She grabbed his hand, detaining him. “Whenever you get tired of people, you’re welcome to go to your room and close the door. I want you to feel at home, and that means having privacy whenever you want it. Okay?”

“Thanks. It’s something that I need from time to time, but I doubt I’ll need privacy from you.”

She started the fire in the big, aluminum barbecue grill and covered it with charcoal briquettes. “Tyra, what are you doing?” Byron asked her. “Don’t you have any wood chips?”

She stopped, looked up at him, dressed in a red turtle-neck sweater and dark-navy jeans, and resisted licking her lips. “I wanted to get it started in a hurry,” she said, explaining her reason for not using wood chips.

“Sweetheart, the wood burns just as fast and releases less impurities. Let me help you.”

“What y’all doing down there? All you have to do is grill the meat and shrimp and roast some potatoes. Everything else is in the fridge,” said Maggie.

“I know, Maggie, but do you know it’s already five minutes to seven. You slept forever.”

“Five minutes to seven? Lord, I slept away the day. I’m coming down.”

Tyra lighted the garden with lanterns and built a fire in the pit to keep them warm. Maggie had hotdogs and marshmallows for Andy, steaks and shrimp for the adults and assorted vegetables and potatoes that they grilled along with the meat and shrimp.

“Gosh, this is fun,” Andy said, and she made a note to invite other children for a picnic with Andy when he visited her again. She answered the house phone and heard her sister’s voice.

“I…er… Okay, you’re grown, Sis, so this shouldn’t shock you. I’m going to spend the night with Edward. Be home tomorrow around twelve.”

“I hope you at least prepared yourself for it.”

“I did. See you tomorrow.” Well, that was a surprise.

After the barbecue supper, they sat in the living room, and she nestled herself in Byron’s arms. To her amazement, Andy stopped reading his book, came over to her and sat on her lap. She eased an arm around his waist and held him close to her. She’d been leaning against Byron’s chest, and she felt his breathing change. Since she wasn’t sure whether that was a positive or a negative sign, she twisted enough to see his face.

He bent over and kissed her mouth, but his lips trembled against hers. “It’s Andy’s bedtime. I’m going to put him to bed, but you stay here. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“I want Miss Tyra to tuck me in and kiss me good night.”

“In that case, ask her nicely.” He did, and she climbed the stairs with them, feeling like a character in a real-life drama. Game playing. Yet she knew that what they did then could well be a preview of their lives in the near future.

The child changed into pajamas and crawled into bed. He asked her to tell him a story, and she told him the story of
The Little Engine That Could
, dramatizing the sound as the engine plodded up the hill. He raised his arms for a kiss and was soon fast asleep.

She could see that the scene undermined Byron’s composure, for he blinked rapidly and turned his back to her. “I’ll be downstairs,” she whispered, leaving so that he could have privacy.

“Please don’t go, Tyra. Maggie’s asleep on the other side of the house. Is there a reason why we can’t be together for a few hours? I’m about to boil over.”

She walked back to him. “You stay up here. I’m going downstairs to lock the doors and turn out the lights. I’ll find you.”

Perspiration soaked his shirt and rolled down the side of his face. He walked to his room, thankful that it had a private bath, stripped and stepped into the shower. In spite of the
chasm they’d had to bridge and the reservations it provoked, he didn’t want to live without her. He still wanted her as he wanted air to breathe, and he loved her as he’d never loved any other woman. The moment he gave in to his feelings and made up his mind to ask her to marry him, he’d burned with passion and his love for her had almost overwhelmed him. He laughed at himself. Why should deciding to ask the woman he loved to marry him make him sweat? He dried off, found a pair of shorts that would pass for pajamas, got into bed and waited.

Tyra locked the front and back doors, opened a bottle of Chablis, got two stem glasses and tripped up the stairs. She put the bottle and glasses on the floor by Byron’s bedroom door, and went to her own room. After showering and pampering herself, she put on a red teddy, covered it with a white caftan and walked barefooted to Byron. One light tap, and the door opened. He reached for her but, with a grin spread over her face, she pushed the bottle and glasses to him. She didn’t know where he put them, but it seemed that not a second had passed before he had her tight in his arms.

“Are you sure that everything is all right between us?” he asked her.

She put her palms on his bare chest, keeping him away from her. “I’m positive, but are you?”

“Yes. Yes,” seemed to rush out on his breath. “I know you love me and that you believe in me. If I didn’t know it, I wouldn’t be here with my child in your house.”

She wished she knew how to seduce him. “Shall we drink to it?” she asked him.

“Baby, drink is the farthest thought from my mind. This thing is beautiful, but I want to take it off you.”

She traced her fingers over his taunt abdomen and across his prominent pectorals. “Who’s stopping you?”

He wanted her badly. Looking him in the eye to see the
effect, she cupped his genitals, squeezed and gloried in his shout as he picked her up, and pressed her to his full arousal. She put his left hand into the bodice of her caftan, and he released her breast, pulled the nipple into his mouth and sucked it. She locked her legs around his hips and rocked against his arousal, anticipating her pleasure in it.

“Sweetheart, be still unless you want this to be over before it starts.” Easing her to her feet, he unzipped the caftan and dropped it to the floor. She fell across the bed and after staring at the treasure spread before him, he dropped to his knees, pulled her body to the edge of the bed, hooked her knees over his shoulder, and bent his head to feast on the honey that was for him alone. She raised her hips to him and he plunged his tongue into her. She thought she’d go mad from the fire that he sent streaking to her belly, her womb and every one of her limbs.

When she could stand it no longer, he kissed his way up her body, entered her slowly and took her on a lightning-fast ride to oblivion. An hour later, sitting up in bed sipping wine, she said, “I’d give anything if I could put this glass down, snuggle up in your arms and go to sleep. These little crumbs are getting to me.”

“Tell me about it. No one wants that more than I do.”

But even though she knew that no one would know if she spent the night in his room, she was playing for high stakes, and if he wanted her to spend the night in his arms badly enough, he knew the solution. She drained her glass, pulled on the caftan and got up. “What time do you want breakfast?”

“Andy will be hungry by eight,” he said, “so whenever you like.” She kissed him, went to her room, got into bed, slept soundly and dreamed beautiful and erotic dreams.

Byron had never been so nonplussed. Andy ignored him all morning, trailed behind Tyra, claiming that he was helping
her, and managed to develop a relationship with Maggie. After much difficulty, he held the boy’s attention for about ten minutes and then the doorbell rang. Andy dashed to it.

“Well now, who are you, young man?” Byron heard a male voice ask.

“I’m Andrew Whitley, and I’m having Thanksgiving Day dinner with Miss Tyra and Miss Maggie.” Not a word about his father who, until he found a mother substitute, had been his whole world.

“My goodness, Andy, you must grow like wildfire. You’re supposed to be four,” he heard Darlene say.

“That’s what my Aunt Jonie says. And I am four. How do you know my name?”

“I’m Darlene, Tyra’s sister, and she talks about you all the time.”

“She does? Gee.”

Byron headed toward the conversation and greeted Darlene and Edward, whom he’d met at the trial. “Hmm,” he said. “This is nice. I hadn’t realized that you two are an item.”

“When you met me, we weren’t,” Edward said, shaking Byron’s hand, “but I figured out that something was going on between you and Tyra. Great to see you again.”

“You, too, man. Something was
indeed
going on.” The group walked toward the living room, with Andy holding Tyra’s hand and chattering as if he’d known everyone all of his life. When the doorbell rang again, Andy pulled Tyra along with him to the door and squealed in delight when he saw his grandfather, who came in along with Clark and his date.

After the introductions were made, Byron joined the group in the family room. He loved the hominess of the fire in the big marble-faced fireplace and the colorful glow that seemed so appropriate to that gathering. When he would have enjoyed relaxing there with his son on his knee, he looked around for him and didn’t see Andy.

After searching upstairs, he went into the kitchen and asked Maggie, “Have you seen Andy?”