Читать книгу This Tender Melody - Kianna Alexander - Страница 11
ОглавлениеHolding a glass of iced tea, Eve Franklin strolled into the family room of her childhood home. Sundays with her parents were a sacred tradition, one that she never neglected in favor of her career or social life. Some of her girlfriends complained about her refusal to go on weekend escapades with them, lamenting that she saw enough of her parents when she went to work every day. Though she did work in the family business as chief financial officer of Franklin Technologies, Incorporated, she rarely saw her parents for more than a few minutes during a typical workday.
Her best friend, Lina, and some of her book club gal pals had taken off for the beach that weekend. Living in Charlotte, North Carolina, meant the best of both worlds—half a day’s drive to the east or west delivered one to the majestic peaks of the mountains or the shimmering beauty of the Crystal Coast. Despite Lina’s whining, protesting and threats, she’d reminded the girls that Sundays were irrevocably reserved for her parents. As she settled into her early thirties, her parents’ advancing age wasn’t lost on her. She wanted to spend as much time with them as she could manage.
By now, the group was no doubt “cutting up” at Lina’s rental property on Emerald Isle. But she quickly pushed the thought aside. She was right where she was meant to be—where she most wanted to be and she knew she’d made the right decision.
Fading sunlight streamed in through the opened gold brocade drapes, illuminating the coffee table where a game of Monopoly was set up. The surround sound music system filled the large room with the sounds of instrumental jazz. The current piece featured the peppy strains of an acoustic guitar, the light airy notes of a flute and the accompaniment of a piano, while a plucked bass drove the beat.
The plush fibers of the midnight-navy carpet cushioned her bare feet as she crossed the room. She set the glass down on the short-legged mahogany coffee table, careful of the game board that already occupied the space. She used her hands to tug the hem of her yellow knee-length sundress. Reclaiming her seat on the floor, she grabbed her glass and took a sip. “Whose move is it?”
“My turn.” Her mother, Louise, grabbed the pair of dice from the center of the game board. Shaking them inside her closed fist, she tossed the dice out, and then moved her iron-shaped game piece. “Your turn, Joseph.”
Eve’s gaze landed on her father’s face, and she couldn’t help but notice how drawn he looked. His face was a mask of exhaustion, and a bit of moisture clung to the edge of his graying hairline. The brown eyes she’d looked into all her life were now lacking the sparkle she was accustomed to seeing there. Now he looked ahead, almost as if looking through her, his expression vacant. “Daddy? It’s your move.”
He blinked, then offered her a smile. “Sorry, baby. Guess I checked out for a minute.” He picked up the dice, drawing them close to his lips, and blew on them for luck.
Eve shifted her gaze to her mother, who also viewed him with concern. Joseph Franklin was a hard worker, always had been. He’d taken the reigns at a struggling software company in the early seventies, reshaped and restructured it, and made it into a powerhouse business. The years of labor he’d put in to turn FTI into a successful multinational software firm were beginning to take a toll on his health.
“Daddy, you look like you could use a nap.” She kept her tone light and casual, wanting to avoid setting off his notorious stubborn streak.
“I’m fine.” He set his car-shaped game piece on the designated spot and drew a card from one of the two piles on the board. “Looks like I won a beauty contest. Seventy-five dollars, please, Mrs. Banker.” He showed his card to Louise, who smiled as she counted out the multicolored fake bills from the plastic tray.
She could see right through her father’s attempt to change the subject. “Really, Daddy. You look tired. I don’t want you overdoing it.”
He groaned. “Baby, I appreciate your concern but I’m fine. I’m not about to quit now—not before you land on one of my properties with a hotel.” He gestured to a few spots on the game board. “Then you’re gonna owe me some serious cash.”
She knew better than to press her father, so she looked to her mother for support.
Louise handed over the rainbow-colored stack of money she’d counted out for him. “Maybe she’s right, honey. Sunday is the day of rest, after all, and we’ve got a busy day tomorrow. A little extra sleep couldn’t hurt.”
His face twisted into a frown and he lay his winnings down on the coffee table. “All right. If it’ll get you two off my case, then I’ll take a nap.” He scooted to the edge of the sofa, then used his hands to brace himself as he got into a standing position. “You girls are always sending me to bed lately. Next, you’ll be trying to goad me into retiring.”
Louise blinked, her eyes darting away from her husband’s accusing gaze.
Eve drew a deep breath. Her father was almost seventy years old, well past the age most people would have retired, especially considering the financial security he enjoyed. She knew better than to point out his age, but she didn’t think retiring was a terrible idea. It was doubtful he’d even consider it, so she chose a different approach. “We’re just trying to take good care of you, Daddy. You think about work too much.”
He folded his arms across his chest, rumpling the striped fabric of his button-down shirt. “And you’d better be glad I do, otherwise we wouldn’t be enjoying this lifestyle.” He gestured around the room as if to draw her attention toward the expensive oil paintings, brass fixtures and other material possessions around the space.
While all the things they owned were very nice, and she did enjoy having a measure of financial security and freedom, none of that mattered to her nearly as much as her father’s well-being. “You know we appreciate all your hard work. I just don’t want you to worry. When the time comes, I’ll be ready to take over at FTI.”
Silence fell in the room. She knew she’d taken a risk by bringing up her eventual assumption of the CEO position, but she hadn’t expected this. Studying her father’s face, she found it unreadable. Was he confused or feeling out of sorts due to whatever was ailing him? Or did he doubt her ability to lead the company? She couldn’t tell, but she didn’t dare ask.
“I don’t want to talk about this now. I’m going to bed.” He turned around and stalked down the hallway, his hands formed into fists at his sides.
Once he was gone, she helped her mother tidy up. When the board game had been put away, she followed her mother into the kitchen and asked the question that was burning in her mind.
“Mama, what’s wrong with Daddy?”
She shrugged. “I wish I knew. I’ve been trying to get him to go to the doctor for two solid weeks now.” She rolled up the sleeves of her blue shirtdress, and turned on the tap to wash out the glasses they’d used.
Her mother’s words made her nervous. If her mother couldn’t get him to go see a doctor, she knew her own chances were pretty slim. Still, there was no way around the worry she felt regarding him. Maybe she was being overly cautious, but where her father’s health was concerned, she’d much rather be persistent with her requests for him to see a doctor than find out too late that something was wrong.
With the three glasses set upside down to dry, Eve followed Louise back into the family room. Every inch of the house was filled with sweet memories of her childhood. As an only child of a well-off family, it was pretty likely she’d been overindulged. What mattered most to her, though, was the love her parents had showered her with at every given opportunity. They’d always made time for her, and that was the best gift she could have received, more precious to her than a boatload of jewels. “We have to make him go in for a physical. Something is wrong, I just know it.”
Louise sat down on the sofa and sighed. “I know it, too. I’ve been with that man almost fifty years, and I can tell he’s not himself. He’s just so damn stubborn.” She ran a hand through her glossy short salt-and-pepper locks. Her brown eyes, shaped the same as Eve’s, held all the affection and concern she felt for her husband of forty-six years.
“So what are we going to do about him?” She took a seat next to her mother, looking across at the family photograph on the wall above the console table. The picture had been taken when she was about ten, around Christmastime. While part of her cringed at the wayward pigtail standing straight up on one side of her head, her heart smiled as she looked upon her father’s face. In the photograph, he looked young, strong and steadfast—a broad-shouldered, sharp-dressed man lovingly embracing his wife and daughter. That was the man she knew and loved—not the tired, bent man she’d been seeing lately.
“I’m gonna keep after him. I intend to nag him until he gets himself checked out, no matter how long it takes. I’ve been putting up with him all these years, and I’m not giving him up now.”
“Thanks, Mama. I think this software launch has put a lot of extra stress on Daddy’s shoulders.” She knew how excited her father was about the upcoming MyBusiness Sapphire product, an enthusiasm she shared. This would be the most comprehensive software suite they’d offered in years, and even though the launch was still a few months away, the product would be officially announced this week. After that, they’d have to contend with media attention and any possible competition from other firms, in addition to their already-packed launch preparation to-do list. “Everybody’s been working so hard on it.”
“I know. Times like this, I really enjoy my position as a silent board member. When y’all get to scrambling around, I don’t have to take part in any of it.”
She was familiar with her mother’s point of view. For Louise, it was enough to be a part of Joseph’s dream. She’d never had any interest in the intricate inner workings of the business, or in keeping up with ever-changing technological trends. When it came time to plan a party, though, Louise could be counted on to have everything in place. Celebrations were her forte.
“I guess I’ll get on home, and get myself together for this week.” She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and stood. “Need help with anything before I go?”
Louise shook her head. “Maid will be in tomorrow, so go on home. I’ll see you at the offices tomorrow.”
She kissed her mother on the cheek again, then left, closing the front door behind her.
Outside, she climbed into her midsized SUV and started the engine. Alone in her car, she thought about the look that had come over her father’s face when she mentioned taking over at FTI. She was the only heir to the business, and she’d worked hard alongside her parents to make it a success. Could he really doubt her abilities now, after everything she’d put into her work?
The city lights twinkled in the darkness, dotting the I-77 corridor like gems. Easing into the turn lane, she took a moment to take in the sight of the city. For a few seconds she admired the skyline. Then the light changed, and she turned her truck in the direction of her house.
* * *
Darius Winstead lifted the lid of his grill and turned over the four steaks on the grate. As he closed the lid, he took in the magnificent view from the patio of his vacation condo. Only a few hundred yards away, the Atlantic Ocean ebbed and flowed beneath a beautiful crystal-blue sky. The view was part of the reason he had bought his little Emerald Isle retreat, and he had plans to spend many more days here during his awesome retirement.
Just beyond the patio steps, his boys were competing in an epic game of volleyball, using the net he’d perched in the sand the day he’d bought the place. The three of them were his closest friends in the world; they all shared the same passion for sports and music—jazz in particular. They were grunting and shouting, and making serves and volleys as if they were professional athletes and the championship hung in the balance. The sight of it tickled him. If he weren’t busy tending the grill, he’d be out there with them.
At twenty-eight, Darius had been a hot commodity in the tech world. Having graduated at the top of his class from North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University with his master of science in information technology, he’d earned the opportunity to intern for his mentor, Joseph Franklin, at his software company. In a little less than four years, Darius had created the first smartphone operating system and sold it for $300 million. He then happily left the office politics and stuffy meetings behind. Even Rashad, Darius’s closest friend, had called him a dumb ass for getting out of the software game when he did, but he had no regrets. He’d loved the creative side of software development, but the business side of things had pushed him far away. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life sitting in board meetings, going over expense reports and kowtowing to stockholders.
Now, at thirty-six, Darius spent his days doing the things he loved, and felt incredibly blessed to be able to do so. His time was his own, and that was just the way he wanted it. Just a few days after his official retirement party, he’d done the one thing he’d always wanted to do, the thing he’d been planning for months—form a band. He’d given up playing his bass during his early days in the tech business, but the day he’d picked it up again was as if he’d never put it down. His boys had been happy to join him in practicing, and once they’d felt comfortable with their skills, he’d started marketing the group. He and his friends were now the Queen City Gents, a jazz quartet that played regular local gigs and enjoyed an enthusiastic, mostly female following.
He watched Rashad McRae, his buddy since undergrad, take a flying leap that would have made any professional basketball player jealous as he returned the ball to Ken Yamada and Marco Alvarez on the other side. Rashad, who was the band’s pianist and vocalist, had always imagined himself as the world’s most powerful athlete. Darius wasn’t a bit surprised that he’d chosen to play alone against their bandmates.
The grill’s timer buzzed, and he opened the lid once again. He punctured the steaks with a fork to be sure they’d reached medium-well perfection. Satisfied, he grabbed his tongs and began moving the steaks to a ceramic platter. “Yo! Steaks are done!”
What had just moments ago been the most serious volleyball game ever played immediately came to a halt. The saxophonist, Marco Alvarez, captured the ball between his hands instead of returning it. All eyes turned toward Darius standing by the grill.
He made a gesture with his tongs, and the three men jogged up the sandy slope.
Rashad got there first, and leaned over the platter, inhaling deeply. “Smells good, man.”
Darius jabbed him in the shoulder with the nonbusiness end of the tongs. “I know, but if you don’t go wash your hands and quit breathing on my steaks, me and you are gonna fight.”
Ken, toweling the sweat from his brow, chuckled. “He’s right, Rashad. Don’t let your hot breath overcook them.” The laid-back drummer rarely spoke, but when he did, no one could predict what would come out of his mouth.
“Hardy har har.” Rashad gave Darius a slap on the back before disappearing into the condo through the open French doors.
Darius shook his head. They were a crazy bunch, but that was part of their charm. “That goes for all of you. Go wash them funky, sweaty hands before you come near my food. And put on some damn shirts while you’re at it.” The last thing he wanted was a bunch of sweaty shirtless dudes hanging around his culinary masterpiece.
While they went inside to do as they’d been told, he moved to the round table a few feet away from the grill. There, he’d set up the side items: grilled corn on the cob, baked beans and a Caesar salad. He placed the platter of steaks in the middle and set out the matching plates and the silverware. Then he lifted the lid of the cooler on the patio floor near the railing and pulled out four ice-cold beers.
By the time the guys returned, hands clean and chests covered, he was already sitting down, looking out over the water. They joined him around the table, loaded their plates and dug in.
Later, they were still reclining in their seats as the sun began to dip on the horizon. The bands of color seemed to go on forever, until they met with the rising waves. The sound of lapping water could be heard in the silence, along with the calls of a few seagulls.
Ken drained the last of his beer. “That’s a beautiful sight, man.”
Marco nodded, tossing his own empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Sure is.”
“Yep. Wish I could stay longer, but I gotta go to work in the morning.” Rashad stood up from the table, dragging his long dreadlocks into a ponytail at the base of his neck.
Darius groaned. “Aw, come on, y’all. You just gonna abandon a brother like that? How can you walk away from a sunset this magnificent?”
Marco snickered. “Easy. I just think about my mortgage.”
“I work for the county, dude. I can’t just not show up—my assistant will be happy to take my job in my absence.” Rashad worked as register of deeds for Mecklenburg County.
Darius turned to Ken. “What about you? You work for yourself. Don’t you wanna hang out here for a few more days, and enjoy the place with me?”
“I would, man, but I didn’t bring my computer.” Ken offered a shrug. “No laptop, no work.”
Marco leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “I could be convinced to stay if you pay my mortgage.”
“I’m with Marco. Pay my bills and I’ll hang out with you as long as you want, D.” Rashad cocked a thick eyebrow, waiting for his response.
Darius looked at his watch. “Um, never mind. Y’all better get out of here.”
Chuckling, Marco got up. “Yeah, I thought so. We’ll see you when you get back to Charlotte.”
“Bye.” Darius watched his buddies file into the condo to get their things. A short time later, he waved to them as their vehicles pulled out of the small lot in front of his condo.
Back inside his condo, he stripped out of his T-shirt and athletic shorts to climb into a hot shower. He stood there, enjoying the multiple jets of steamy water hitting his body from all angles. Once he’d dried off, he slipped into a pair of black boxers and stretched across his bed.
He mused on when he’d go back to Charlotte and decided he’d head back in a few days. He had a pet-sitter who looked after his golden retriever, Chance, so he’d just let her know when he was coming back. He would have loved to bring Chance along on the trip, but for some reason the dog hated Marco. Every time the dog got within ten feet of Mr. Costa Rico Suave, he growled and bared his teeth. What made it particularly weird was that Chance loved Ken and Rashad, the maid, the mailman and just about any other person who came by the house. Knowing Chance would’ve freaked the hell out if he had to be near Marco over the weekend, he’d decided to leave the dog with the sitter. But when he traveled alone to his vacation place, Chance was always by his side.
The faint sounds of the water splashing against the shore reminded him that he’d left the patio doors open. He got up to close and lock them, and to crack the kitchen windows to allow the breeze to flow in, before sprawling across the bed once again. He reached behind him and grabbed the remote from the niche in his headboard.
He turned on the fifty-inch flat-screen television occupying a wall of the bedroom and flipped through the channels. He paused at one of those dating reality shows, where some guy in a suit was offering a flower to a squealing girl in a too-tight dress, and scoffed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in true love, but he damn sure didn’t believe it could be found on some corny, scripted show. He couldn’t figure out why those shows were so popular, but he guessed there had to be someone, somewhere, who really thought you could find love that way.
But he’d witnessed true love as a kid, so he knew it existed. He’d also seen what losing a true love could do to a man, when his mother had waltzed out the door, proclaiming her urge to sing was stronger than her maternal instincts. The day she’d left him and his father to fend for themselves was a day he couldn’t forget, no matter how he tried. He’d seen his father, the man he looked up to and respected more than anyone in the world, reduced to tears that day. And even at a young age, he understood that his father was in pain, and that he never wanted to suffer that way.
Still, as he stretched out in the king-sized bed, he had to admit that it might be nice to have a beautiful woman pressed up against him. He wrapped himself up in the crisp white sheets, which was as close as he was going to get to being held tonight. Sure, there were one or two ladies he could call on to warm his bed, but they didn’t really meet his requirements. A woman he would fully let into his life would have to be intelligent, independent and graceful, but most of all, she’d have to be loyal. He required nothing less than total devotion from a woman, because he had no plans of ending up like his father; disrespected, disgraced and deserted.4
She would also have to accept the fact that he didn’t have any desire to get married. To him, marriage represented nothing more than a legal contract, a piece of paper for the paperwork jockeys who worked down at the county courthouse with Rashad to sign off on. His parents had been married, but that hadn’t stopped his mother from dishonoring her vows and basically spitting in his father’s face when she left him. Why bother going through all the trouble of signing something, having a ceremony and putting on airs? None of that meant anything without a true commitment, and as far as he was concerned, there were already enough pretenses in the world.
The buzzing of his cell phone drew him back to reality. Reaching over to where it lay on the nightstand, he picked it up and looked at the display. The caller ID said Unknown, and he wondered who would be calling him on a Sunday night. Curious, he lightly touched the screen twice, answering the call and engaging the speakerphone.
“Hello?”
“Darius, is that you?” The female voice on the line sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Since he’d had the same cell phone number since grad school, there was really no telling who it was.
“Yes, who’s this?” He stared at the phone’s screen.
A few moments passed in silence, as if the woman were hesitant to reveal her identity. Finally, she took a deep breath. “This is Louise Franklin.”
