Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(53)
Nelly is the only one of us who works full-time with Aspire. Kashawn is one of Atlanta’s best lawyers at a top law firm. We all have important things that require our attention, but we’ve nurtured Aspire because it means so much to each of us.
“The only thing I want to know is what time do we leave for Colorado in Maverick Bell’s private plane?” Nelly asks, her face not giving away any of the humor that surely must lurk beneath the statement.
“You really want to go?” I ask weakly. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I was kind of hoping they’d change their minds and turn Maverick’s offer down.
“For one,” Kashawn says, “it’s exactly the kind of real-life example that will help us decide if we want to add a cannabis company to our portfolio.”
“And for two,” Nelly says, peeking out from behind her menopause fan, “building a relationship with a man of Maverick’s means is never a bad idea.”
“You’re right, of course.” I swallow the last of my reservations and realize it’s useless trying to dissuade them from this trip.
“Good,” Kashawn says. “Now, I better get. I’ll be on the lookout for details.”
“Same,” Nelly says. A baby crying in the background has her rolling her eyes. “Dammit. I thought she’d stay asleep till Beth got home. Looks like I’m up. Peace, y’all.”
“See you later,” I say and sign off.
In the quiet house, there’s nowhere to hide from the truth of my pounding heart, from the undiluted anticipation of seeing Maverick again on this trip. It’s a secret thumping behind my ribs and running through my veins. As much as I told myself I hoped my partners didn’t want to go… I knew deep down that I did.
Me: Hey. Just letting you know Kashawn and Nelly want to see the cannabis farm in Colorado.
Maverick: And you? Do you not want to see? You don’t want to come?
Me: Of course I do. Should we let Bolt and Skipper coordinate just so we can see them claw their way through the phones to hate fuck?
Maverick: Ha! Yeah, that works. You good? I think you said you were going home to visit?
Before I can respond, a shuffling sound in the living room distracts me. I leave the phone on the kitchen table to check. Mama stands at the window and holds back the curtain with one hand. Her brows are drawn together and lines bracket the tightness of her mouth.
“Mama, you okay?” I step farther into the room and walk over.
“I’m just worried.” She turns distressed eyes toward me and bites her thumbnail. “Your daddy’s still not home.”
No, please God no. I don’t want Mama to have to live this again. I don’t want to have to.
“Mama, I—”
“He should be home by now,” she insists, turning back to the window and pulling the curtain away to show sunshine and the tranquil front yard. “It’s been hours since he left.”
“No, it’s been…” I am lost and helpless, but brace myself for the tornado I have to walk headlong into. “Mama, Daddy’s gone. Remember?”
“Gone?” Confusion creeps into her gaze. “I know he’s gone, Hen. He went to get my ice cream. Butter pecan. I told him he didn’t have to, but you know how he gets.” A smile briefly softens and curves the tight line of her lips. “Always wanting to give me stuff. The desires of your heart, Bee, he always says. That’s what I live for. He try to act all hard, but he’s a softie. A romantic.”
Something cracks inside me. Not a new pain, but an old one that time was just starting to heal. The pain of losing my father and watching my mother grieve the love of a lifetime. Is there a crueler fate than being trapped in a reality where you lose the love of your life over and over again?
“Mama, Daddy’s gone,” I repeat, firming my voice. “Remember he… he passed away.”
She stares at me blankly for a few seconds before letting loose a humorless laugh.
“Girl, you better hush.” She turns back to the window, shaking her head. “That’s not funny. Don’t even joke like that, Hen.”
“I’m not joking, Mama. Daddy was in an accident,” I say haltingly, swallowing the hot lump crowding my throat. “H-he didn’t make it.”
The curtain drops from her limp fingers, and she turns to face me, searching my expression for proof.
“No!” The shrill sound of her grief makes me jump and startles a heavy stampede of heartbeats in my chest. “He can’t… don’t say that. Don’t you say that.”
“Mama, I’m so sorry.” I take a step toward her, arms extended, but she jerks away to face the window again.
“That can’t be right.” She snatches the curtain back, exposing the street with not even a pedestrian in sight. “I just… I just saw him. Just spoke to…”
She looks back at me, confusion pinching her features and she clutches the curtain in a balled fist.
“We just spoke,” she shouts, a note of hysteria entering her voice. “He said he’s bringing home the ice cream. The ice cream. He just went to get me some ice cream!”
I close my eyes against the fresh rush of pain. He did go get ice cream, but he never made it home. A drunk driver ran a light and the ice cream was a melted mess in the front seat by the time the paramedics pulled Daddy out. As far as I know, Mama’s never eaten butter pecan ice cream again.