Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(51)

“What investment?” I repeat.

“There’s a few pieces of property here I’m interested in buying,” Tamia says. “Just some housing projects that—”

“Shit, Tam.” I huff out a breath. “Are you kidding me? You’re only eighteen.”

“You were only twenty-two when you launched True Playahs,” she points out.

“She’s right.” LaTanya smirks. “I was there.”

“The two of you are ganging up on me.” I shake my head. “I knew it was a mistake to let you spend the summer with your mother. She’s a bad influence.”

“Let?” Tamia asks. “I’m eighteen, Dad. The days of letting are done.”

“At least send the specs over,” I sigh. “Let me get Bolt on it. I want to know this is a good venture before you sink money into it.”

“Already have the figures pulled,” Tamia says. “Mom said you’d ask for that.”

“I’m that predictable, huh?” I ask, yielding a small crease of a smile.

They both laugh and I give up trying to dissuade Tamia from the course she’s set. She is like me. Once we have something in our sights that we want, good luck convincing us we can’t have it.

For some reason, Hendrix Barry invades my thoughts, like she has so often since the night we met. The pull between us was even stronger at the Vipers game. With my rational mind, I know pursuing something with Hendrix would be awkward, but that same obstinate glint I see in my daughter’s eyes, I know it’s always in mine.

I’ve built my fortune on risks everyone told me weren’t worth taking. It’s honed my instincts so I know a good thing when I see it.

And Hendrix Barry is a good thing.





CHAPTER 18





HENDRIX


Girl, I know that’s right,” Aunt Geneva says, her voice booming all over the house.

Is there a certain age when talking on speaker phone is the default? Because every call my mother and Aunt Geneva take seems to require them to use speaker so the whole house is subjected to both sides of their conversation.

“Goodness gracious!” her friend cackles loudly from the other end. “I might have to run around the church on that one.”

“God is good,” Aunt Geneva says.

“All the time,” her friend replies.

“And all the time,” Aunt Geneva says.

“God is good,” they finish together.

Though I’m not in church regularly anymore, it’s a call-and-response script so familiar and somehow comforting, that I’m smiling as I review my schedule for the day on my iPad.

“All right, Hen,” Aunt Geneva says, walking into the kitchen wearing leggings and a long T-shirt declaring Virginia Beach Is for Lovers. “I’m gonna head out to the store. Pick up some fish for dinner. You sure you’ll be all right till I come back?”

“Aunt G, she’s my mother,” I say. “We’ll be fine long enough for you to run to the store.”

“Yeah, but a lot has changed. Make sure the locks are done up while you’re on your calls. You know the code. Even with the doors locked, just to be safe, don’t leave your keys out. Once the code wasn’t set and she got out. Tried to drive. Got all the way to South Carolina.”

“When? You didn’t tell me that.” I hear the accusation in my own voice and regret it immediately.

“Hendrix, now listen. I know you gotta be in Atlanta and your mama refuses to leave this house, so this is where we are for now.” Aunt Geneva bends one of those looks on me that, when I was a kid, seemed to see down to my very soul. Still does. “But I can’t waste time and energy I need to deal with all this making sure you know everything all the time.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just hard not being here.”

“And it’s hard being here. Baby, it’s just hard.”

This constant state of vigilance is a lot for my aunt, and not for the first time, I wonder how sustainable this setup is, how long before we have to change things. Change is rarely easy. Now for Mama, it can be her worst nightmare, which also makes it mine.

“It’s gon’ be all right, though, Hen. God got us,” Aunt Geneva says with the ease of someone whose faith stands strong like the Rock of Gibraltar. She rifles through her purse. “You seen my keys?”

“I saw ’em on the bathroom sink,” Mama says from the kitchen doorway. “You going somewhere?”

How long has she been standing there and what did she hear?

“Just to make grocery,” Aunt Geneva says evenly, as if we weren’t just discussing Mama before she appeared. “I’ll be back. You need anything?”

“Salt-and-vinegar potato chips,” Mama replies and takes a seat at the kitchen table beside me.

“Now you know that ain’t good for you,” Aunt Geneva says. “How about some rice cakes?”

“Soon I won’t even know who I am,” Mama snaps with a rare flash of bitterness. “At least let me eat these potato chips while I still remember that I like them.”

It’s quiet in the small kitchen, save the whir of the refrigerator motor. My aunt seems at a loss for words, and I certainly don’t know what to say to that.