Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(127)

“I want you to do the show, Chapel.” I kick off my shoes and wiggle my toes under the desk. “And I’m fine with this change since it’s what Zere needs to feel comfortable moving forward.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” I sigh, ready to shift gears. “Now aren’t you going live with that beauty brand in like ten minutes?”

“S’posed to be.”

“Well, get on then.”

“Okay. I’ll get on then.” She laughs. “Love you, Hen.”

“Love you, too, Chap.”

I disconnect and flop back into Daddy’s chair.

“Tired?” Aunt Geneva asks from the office door.

I sigh and kick my feet up onto the desk with its chipped wood and wobbly leg that has somehow become beloved over the last few weeks.

“It’s been a long one.” I loosen the band securing my braids and let them fall down my back. “Feels like I’ve been on the phone with clients all day and I’ve had three interviews with news outlets about the lawsuit. I’m just… yeah. Tired.”

“Dinner’ll be ready in a bit. Just waiting for the fish to finish cooking.”

“Why are you making dinner? What about the church meal train?”

“Girl, I told them to stop bringing food. I can cook for us. I’ll be officially cleared soon to resume all normal activities, but I’m getting around so good now. Doctor says I have the body of a seventy-year-old,” she says, tongue in cheek. “Considering I’m seventy-seven, I’ll take it.”

I laugh and rise, crossing over to squeeze my aunt tight.

“We need to talk about next steps for Mama,” I whisper, squeezing harder when she stiffens. “Now don’t go all rigid on me.”

“We’re fine, Hen.” She pulls back to look at me. “I’ve got this.”

“You shouldn’t have to have all of it. Like you said, you’re seventy-seven years old. I know you’re in excellent shape and appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made, but it’s going to be too much. In some ways, I think it might already be.”

Her nod and the look on her face scream reluctant compliance.

“My name needs to be on everything, Aunt G, right along with yours. That’s medically, legally, custodially—whatever.”

“That makes sense.” She leans heavily into me, and I’m not sure if it’s how taxing the surgery has been on her body, or the emotional weight managing everything has become, maybe even if she didn’t recognize it. Aunt Geneva sniffs and grips me tighter. We stay that way for a few seconds while her tears soak my shirt.

“She’s my baby sister,” Aunt Geneva cries. “I’ve been so mad at God for letting this happen. You think I’m in my devotional every day praising Him, and yeah. There’s some of that, but we been in that room wrestling, me and God. I been asking Him hard questions and not always sure I can live with the answers.”

She pulls back and cups my face, now wet with tears to match hers. “But we have no choice, do we?”

“How do you do it day in and day out, Aunt G?” I ask. “I feel so unsure and inadequate most of the time.”

“He’s my very present help,” she says, and it sounds like a script she learned and continues to recite.

Faith has always seemed to come easily to Mama and Aunt Geneva, and to their mother before them. They passed it onto me like a wedding dress every woman in our family eventually wore. Once it got to me, though, it needed to be let out or taken in. Something about the way it lay against my beliefs and rationales never quite fit. I’ve often wondered how I can make this garment that has always brought them so much peace, mine. When I’m more helpless and confused than I’ve ever felt, could it ever suit me? Could it help me?

“Tell me the real answer,” I press. “How do you trust God when this kind of shit happens?”

Aunt Geneva doesn’t even blink at the imprecation in what has been, for all intents and purposes, a cuss-free zone my entire life.

“I love Him,” she says simply. “And I believe that He loves me and is working all things out for my good. That’s not always what’s easiest. Can you truly love someone you don’t trust? I don’t think so.”

Do I love Maverick? It’s the first time I’ve asked the question this directly of myself. Attraction. Companionship. Commitment, even. But love? That is a word reserved for people who prove they deserve it, and no man has proven it adequately to get that word from me.

But if anyone’s ever stood a chance, it’s Maverick Bell.

My phone vibrates on the desk with a text message, and I crane my neck to see it’s in my thread with Kashawn and Nelly. I kiss the top of Aunt Geneva’s head and release her.

“Let me see what these girls want, Aunt G.”

“I’mma go finish dinner,” she says.

I flop into the office chair and grab the phone.

Nelly: Looks like your boy showed us whose side he’s on.

Kashawn: It doesn’t make all our problems go away, but it’s nice to see he’s got your back, Hen.

Me: What are you talking about???



Nelly sends a link and I click it, eager, but also apprehensive to see.

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