Читать книгу When I'm With You - Donna Hill, Donna Hill - Страница 13

Chapter 3

Avery slipped on the pale peach satin robe, which Rafe purchased for her on one of their spontaneous vacations, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

“Good morning!” Alice greeted her with a broad smile. “You look rested.”

“Good morning. Yes, I am. Hmm, something smells delicious.”

“Cheese grits, maple-dipped bacon and light-as-a-feather eggs. I wasn’t sure when you would be getting up. But everything is in the warmer. Fresh coffee and juice. Take as much as you want. I need to run some errands in a bit, but I should be back in an hour or two.”

“Sure. Go.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No. I’m fine. Thanks.” She pulled out a chair from the breakfast nook and sat down, while Alice slipped out of the kitchen and took care of all the magic she created in the house. The silver warming tray, and a glass bowl of chopped fresh fruit was in the center of the table. Avery lifted the oblong cover of the warming tray and smiled. She had to admit, it would be really easy to get used to this kind of life. She scooped eggs, bacon and grits onto her plate and added fresh fruit.

A copy of The Washington Post lay neatly folded at the end of the table. She pulled it closer and then poured herself a mug of coffee.

The front page was plastered with raw images of the devastation across the Caribbean islands and Puerto Rico that were still recovering, months later, from a series of catastrophic hurricanes that ravished the areas. A wave of sadness swept through her. She could not begin to imagine what the people continued to go through. Meanwhile, here at home, the country was not being torn apart by outside forces, but from those within.

She slowly chewed her food and flipped the pages, scanning the headlines, from international news to arts and entertainment. She choked at the shock of seeing her face staring back at her from the paper and then grabbed a glass of juice to wash down the bacon.

Avery’s pulse quickened. It was a picture of her and Rafe at that outdoor café they loved in DC. Beneath it was a caption and a short paragraph, announcing their engagement and pending summer wedding. They were at that café shortly before she went off on detail to Paris, before the engagement. Her thoughts turned in circles. She certainly wasn’t anyone a journalist would be interested in. If anything, because of her work she remained as low-key and inconspicuous as possible. She dropped the paper down on the table. It wasn’t her they were photographing; it was Rafe, and she was swept up in the tide of his notoriety even outside of Louisiana. Collateral damage.

Having his sisters orchestrate her wedding was difficult enough to navigate, but this kind of publicity could jeopardize her job, more important, put at risk the people she was sworn to protect.

“Dammit!” She pushed away from the table. This was going to turn into a nightmare. She felt it in the pit of her stomach and she had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

“I just saw it,” Kerry said into the phone. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, girl. I’m stuck between stunned that the rest of the world gives a damn who I marry, to furious that the rest of the world gives a damn.” She pushed out a breath of frustration. “It was bad enough when my own father had me followed when me and Rafe first started dating. At least I could get him to stop with his craziness. This is a whole other story and I have no idea how this is going to play out at work.”

“Hmmm, yeah, there’s that. But, hey, no way is the Secret Service going to allow photographers to trail around, taking pictures.”

Avery let her head flop back against the cushion of the couch. “I guess,” she muttered.

“If it helps any I haven’t heard any whisperings or gossip here at work.”

“That’s good, and I want it to stay that way.”

“Listen... I know how you are about privacy. It’s part of our job, but it’s also part of who you are. I know you. If you could move through the day without having to give over anything of yourself, you would. I get that your self-imposed isolation is a defense mechanism. If no one can get close, no one can hurt you. But now there’s Rafe.”

Even the sound of his name made her heart tumble in her chest.

“What you have going with Rafe is a whole new world for you. You’re going to have to find a way to deal with it, sis, if you want to marry him.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I just wish...it was the two of us, ya know. He has this big-ass family...”

“Try to look at it this way, you’ll finally have not only a husband but a real family, Avery, with sisters and brothers and cousins. You won’t be that motherless, only child anymore. Embrace it, instead of trying to keep it like a side chick.” They both laughed at her comparison. “You deserve a family,” she added softly.

It was true. She did deserve a family, although she had no idea what being part of one even meant. After her mother died, with no siblings or extended family, it was her and her father, Horace. Rather it was her. Horace Richards turned his entire life toward building his career in politics. She was on her own. Kerry was the closest thing to family that she had...until Rafe.

“I’ll try,” she conceded. “Anyway, stop by when you get off.”

“His place is out in Arlington, right?”

“On second thought, I need to get out of the house. Why don’t we meet for dinner? I can drive in.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Seven?”

“Works for me.”

“Let’s meet up at Baldwin’s. We haven’t been there in a minute.” Baldwin’s, named in honor of literary icon James Baldwin, was renowned for its excellent cuisine, but especially for the literati who frequented the establishment, often reading from their new works, performing spoken word or just chilling. The vibe was stimulating while simultaneously relaxing.

“Perfect. See you there.”

“Bye.” Avery disconnected the call and set the phone down on the table. She glanced around. What was she going to do with herself for the rest of the day? Maybe she’d go for a run, burn off some of her pent-up energy, clear her head.

She pushed up from the couch and went into the bedroom to change clothes.

“Alice,” she called out from the front door. “I’m going for a short run. Be back soon.”

“Sure.” She peeked her head out from the kitchen. “Should I fix lunch?”

Avery opened the front door. “Only if you promise to eat with me.”

Alice smiled. “Okay.”

“Great. Be back soon—in about an hour or so.”

Avery stepped out into the bright afternoon. A light breeze blew, perfect for running. She did a few light stretches, started off and never noticed the car parked across the street.

* * *

Baldwin’s, as always for a Saturday night, sizzled with energy. Music from the house’s jazz band played their rendition of “’Round Midnight,” beckoning every customer who walked through the door to bob his or her head to the rhythm.

Avery could see from peeking around the tinted windows that separated the seated guests from the hostess station, that there were barely any empty tables. There were two sets of customers ahead of her and Kerry waiting to be seated: a couple and a party of four. Hopefully the wait wouldn’t be too long.

Baldwin’s, beyond the cultural significance of honoring the author, activist and icon James Baldwin, held a special place in her heart. On one of several visits when Rafe visited her in DC, Baldwin’s was one of the venues where she heard him play. Was it that night that she fell irrevocably in love with him when he played Coltrane’s “Love Supreme” to a standing ovation?

Kerry nudged her.

Avery blinked. “What?”

“What are you grinning about?”

“Oh,” she laughed lightly, amused that she was caught in her daydream. “Just thinking about one of the nights I was here with Rafe.”

“Table for two?” the hostess asked.

“Yes. Thank you,” Kerry answered.

She took two menus from the holder on the podium and handed them off to a waitress. “Mia will show you to your seats.”

Avery and Kerry walked several steps behind Mia as they wound their way around the dark circular tables, which were topped with white linen and illuminated by votive-candle centerpieces. The space, which was reputed to be one of the Underground Railroad passages, was rife with alcoves, thick cedar-wood rafters, plank floors and carvings in the wood walls, which urban legend claimed are the names and dates of slaves who had escaped—a testament to their passage. Each area of the two-story restaurant was designated as music, art, science, law, literature and named after a noted black figure, like Sojourner Truth, Nat Turner, Thurgood Marshall, Toni Morrison, Dr. King, Malcolm, Ida B. Wells, Gil Scott Heron, Sonia Sanchez, of course Baldwin and many others. Periodically, the management would switch out a namesake and replace it with another noted figure. On the tabletops, along with the candles, were tent cards with writings from the icons. Coming to Baldwin’s was always an experience, as well as a mini lesson on the wealth of black history.

Tonight, Avery and Kerry were seated in the Thurgood Marshall section, which was off to the right of the stage, but still with great views of the comings and goings of the space.

Avery and Kerry settled in their seats and Mia took their drink orders, promising to be back shortly.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” Avery admitted. She flipped open the menu. “Yes, crab cakes!”

Kerry chuckled but then suddenly stopped.

Avery glanced up from the menu and landed on Mike, who was walking toward their table. She laid the menu flat.

“Avery...my God.” His dark brown eyes widened in genuine surprise, followed by a smile that was actually warm. He took it upon himself, pulled out the extra chair and sat. He leaned in toward Avery. “How are you?” he asked, his voice low and insistent.

Tonight, Avery desperately wanted to get away from everything that reminded her of Paris and what happened. Mike was a big reminder. They were both on duty the day of the explosion. When she came to, debris and bodies were everywhere. Mike was hurt during the blast. Her training kicked in and she began aiding the injured, one of them being Rafe’s father, another was Mike, among the dozen or so others. She and Mike had their standoffs during their time at the Secret Service, both personal and professional, and were both up for the same promotion. Ironic that Mike should be right as rain and she was...

“Good to see you, too, Mike,” Avery finally said.

“Word on the street is that you’ll be back this week. True?”

“True.”

He nodded. “It’ll be good to have you back, Avery. Really.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

“Well, good to see you. You, too, Kerry.”

Kerry umm-hmmed in her throat.

“Enjoy your evening.” He got up and walked away.

Kerry reached across the table and covered Avery’s fisted hand with her own. “You okay?”

Avery nodded. “Fine.” She pushed out a breath. “Going to have to get back to dealing with Mike sooner or later.”

“I still can’t believe that with all you went through, the heroics not to mention the injuries that you sustained, that Mike is even in the running for the promotion.” Kerry shook her head in disbelief.

“You know as well as I do that this is an old-boys’ club. The fact that women are part of the club at all, and rising up the ranks, still ticks off a lot of the establishment. If they can find anything to disqualify me, they will.”

Mia returned with their drinks and took their dinner order.

Kerry raised her glass. “To kicking butt and taking names.”

Avery tapped her glass against Kerry’s. “All day.” She took a long sip of her frozen strawberry margarita. She would not let anything or anyone stand in the way of getting what she rightly deserved, even if that meant lying to the doctors. No way would she stand down and let Mike walk in the shoes that should be hers. She picked up the tent card and read the inscription. It was a quote from Thurgood Marshall. “A man can make what he wants of himself if he truly believes that he must be ready for hard work and many heartbreaks.” Exactly, and she was ready.