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  Her interest in what actions transpired across the fence had her in suspended animation. She was still in the same spot when he emerged fifteen minutes later wearing blue jeans, the cut of which emphasized the long, solid trunk of his body without appearing spray painted on and a sea blue T-shirt complimenting his coloring. He didn’t come out empty-handed for he hoisted a large bag of charcoal on his trip to the barrel grill stored beneath the covered patio. Watching as he continued with his preparations cast doubts on her unprovoked attack of him the other day. He became her target merely because of the color of his skin. If she thought about it, that put her in the same category as some others she encountered throughout her life.

  He hadn’t deserved it. Her ex-husband had.

  Angela startled, brought back by a noise beside her. Her mother peered at the same sight as she.

  “I’ve been calling you,” Connie advised. “Several minutes, to be precise.” She looked directly into her daughter’s sad eyes afraid to broach the subject they both avoided.

  “I didn’t hear you. Sorry.”

  “Does he stay there?”

  “He’s just visiting.” Angela answered with an inquisitive lift to her brow. “Why?”

  Her mother hesitated. “Just curious how congenial you were towards him.”

  “Yes, Mama. I’ve already flogged him with my forked tongue.”

  “You’ve got to get over that, Cookie.”

  “Maybe, I don’t want to. It reminds me to be on my guard. If I’m on guard there’s less chance of that ever happening to me again.”

  She was angry, now.

  Connie perceiving the shift in topics simply by the rise and fall of Angela’s chest, courageously jumped in, feet first. “Don’t continue to punish your father for my mistake.”

  “You both were in cahoots…co-conspirators…perpetrators of this great hoax.” Facing the window once more, she unknowingly took stock of every move made by Chance.

  “He’s the best daddy you could ever have.”

  “I’m a bastard child,” she practically shouted, turning in time to witness her mother recoil like she’d slapped her straight across the mouth.

  Outside, Chance’s head cocked.

  Connie fought to maintain her composure. “Your father’s downstairs probably listening to you whine right now.”

  “Whine?” Angela asked, beleaguered.

  “Whine. Lee may not be your biological father, Angela. Nevertheless, he loves you like he is. Do you doubt that?” Connie’s temper manifested in the twisting of the wedding band on her left hand. “Well?” she pushed, her voice louder than she realized.

  “I had to find out, not from you as I should have, but from someone representing the man from whose loins I sprang. And not because of any interest in me or how I’ve faired over the years in his absence, but, in a solicitation for medical help.”

  “Answer the question, Angela. Is there any doubt in your mind that Lee Munso cares for you as if you were his biological offspring?”

  “That’s beside the point, Mama,” she cried.

  “No, darling girl. That’s exactly the point.” Connie reached to take Angela’s hands, fearful of rejection. Angela let her lead her to the bed where they sat side by side. “You and I were a family all to ourselves until I met and fell in love with Lee. He was a little older and lots wiser than I committing to have the patience of Job as I learned how serious he was about loving me. I’d trusted before and received burns for my trouble, promising never to let anyone have free access to my heart ever again. No one but you, that is.”

  Their surroundings were quiet enough for them to hear the chimes jingling and Angela to recognize the different musical notes as they rang.

  “You were almost two when we got married. I had my reservations when Lee started talking about adopting you. I couldn’t believe this man, whom I sincerely loved, but reserved a portion of myself just in case things didn’t work out, wanted to take on another responsibility of being your legal father.”

  Angela sat in silence, her heart getting full on the details.

  “He was serious.” She stroked the hand that grew from a child to the beautiful, intelligent, hardworking woman Angela became. “You deserved a mother and father similar to other children in two-parent households. I loved you. Lee loved you. I did what was best for you.”

  “I love both of you, too,” Angela admitted. “Only…why not tell me I was adopted? Why let me get blindsided by a stranger, Mama?”

  Both women held their tears in check. Connie went on with her story.

  “That should never have happened. I do apologize, Angela. Never in a million years did I expect that to happen. Your biological father and I were students at the university on the verge of graduation when I realized I was pregnant.” Her eyes sought forgiveness for what she was about to reveal. “I never told him about you although I believe he suspected. Our careers sent us on separate paths and the journeys of life kept us from reconnecting. Until we ran upon each other a few years ago where we had a cordial exchange and parted like the strangers we were.”

  “You still didn’t tell him about me?”

  “Why would I do that after all these years?”

  Angela’s resentment sieved through the pores of her body. “Because he was my father, maybe?” She broke from her mother. “I’m blaming him and his color for denying me. When really it was you!”

  Her rant pulled Lee up the stairs and he burst into the room without knocking. A frown creased the brown skin of his forehead only to disappear as his look changed to one of fleeting pain and unconditional love. “Time out. I have coffee waiting. Take off the gloves for a while.” He walked over to kiss his wife’s lips and his daughter’s brow. “You two get dressed and meet me downstairs. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going next door to see if I can be of any help.”

  “Daddy?” Angela called. The lip under his moustache trembled. She couldn’t let the man she called daddy all of her life walk out without letting him know what was in her heart. Although a woman grown, a part of her heart would always belong to her daddy. She rushed into his open arms. “I love you so much.”

  “I never doubted that for a second. I love you, too, Cookie.” Then he was gone.

  Told so many times how much she resembled her mother with little likeness to her father took on a different meaning after that conversation. Resuming, “Do you know how he learned of my existence?”

  “I really believe it was something I said. We discussed our children and their ages.”

  Understanding the implication, “He did the math.”

  “I believe so.” Connie cupped Angela’s face in her palms. “I love you and am truly sorry for the way this turned out. What are you going to do about his request for your assistance?”

  “I don’t know. I feel guilty for not being sympathetic.” She permitted her mother’s embrace, reciprocating, deciding not to hold a grudge. “I’ve got to think.”

  “I’ll let you dress. See you downstairs.”

  Pressing the corners of her eyes did not stem the tears tracing paths down her cheeks. She needed air—plenty of it.

  A cloudy mist saturated the mid-day air as Angela wandered the downtown streets of New Orleans without a destination. Her intent was a brief stroll around the block and back. When she realized it, she roamed the CBD in a fog of distress. The lackadaisical stride did little to alleviate the internal turmoil roiling and nearly exploding her brain. Although penniless, she walked to the River Walk, browsed the stores and meandered the aisles of the food court. In her haste to escape, she left without bringing her purse, which also meant she was minus identification.

  The double doors pushed outward onto the balcony as she sought solace at the river’s edge. The mighty Mississippi River barely had any traffic floating with the exception of the ferries crisscrossing their human cargo from one levee to the other. In the days before Hurricane Katrina, you would be lucky to get a table to eat your meal al fresco, the po
pulous in that time jockeyed for a place. No such problem today. She was one of about six people outside. It was easy to tell the others were tourist as their interests had them glued to the upright binoculars anchored to the flagstone flooring. Today even the pigeons stayed away.

  Angela followed the balcony’s length until it ended back at double doors on the far end of the River Walk. Entering, she flowed through the concourse, down the escalators and back out into the damp air. She walked past the courtyard, paying no attention to the Aquarium of the Americas or the beginning drizzle and stumbled over the name-engraved, donated brick walkway on her way down to the levee promenade. Raindrops fell like silvered baubles, hitting here and there until they increased exponentially in size and numbers. There wasn’t a need to rush for she had nowhere to go. Roaming aimlessly in the steady downpour put her just in reach of the benches strategically arranged to view the river. Angela didn’t quite make it, as her sandal hung up on a protruding paver, sending her hurtling towards the ground.

  The pain in her knees hardly registered as the force of the fall propelled her forward to land on her chest, narrowly escaping a crushing blow to her face. She lay inert, stunned, wallowing more in self-pity than rainwater. Slowly and with great deliberation, she rose to a sitting position inspecting the damage done to her body, finding a gaping hole in her pant leg and a bloody gash on her knee. The scrapes on the heels of both hands, earned in her attempt at breaking her fall, burned and tinged the surrounding skin blood-red. All in all, she hadn’t hit her head and that was a blessing. For if she had, and sustained complications hindering her recovery from the concussion, not only would the pain have impacted her body, but her livelihood as well.

  Angela’s state of mind dictated she throw caution to the wind. Her current predicament consumed her where she sat. She was no more cognizant of the need for a rapid recovery than she was of Chance’s approach or his signaling wave. Slowly, she lifted herself to a bench, eyes glued to the broken strap dangling in her hand. She startled when he dropped to the seat beside her, surprised to see anyone there in that weather, especially him.

  Her eyes focused on the wood sliver he twirled around with his tongue before he obediently…and with enormous fanfare… withdrew it from his mouth to flip it away.

  “Your parents are worried out of their minds.” He tried to keep the accusatory tone to a minimum. The strap that fit between the toes flapped as she examined the sandal in an attempt to make the repair. Her big-eyed look was so pitiful it became incumbent on him to give it a try.

  “I tripped.” She let him take her shoe.

  “Come on. I’ll take you home.” He was an inept cobbler. Chance folded his big hand around the sandal and rose with his other hand on her elbow.

  “I’ll take a taxi when I’m ready to go home.”

  Scrutinizing her, he strenuously disagreed. “You might be offered a ride, all right, but not from anyone with your best interest at heart. Look at yourself, Angela.” Her soaked clothing left nothing to the imagination as every stitch in her lacy bra showed through the material of her blouse and her breasts proudly saluted him.

  He was sadly mistaken if he thought she would succumb and go running for cover. “How did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” was all he would say. After Lee and Connie came over for lunch and discovered her a no-show, they asked him for help, omitting the details of why she would slip off. But he knew, somewhat, for the reasons floated down to him on the wind. Combing her neighborhood brought him no closer to finding her. Finally, he called in a favor and had a personal APB put out on her description.

  “As you can see I’m fine. I just need quiet time to think and I won’t find that at home with them there.”

  “You don’t look fine to me. You’re soaked to the bone, bleeding at the knee and risking your future if your hands aren’t cared for immediately.” He knew that last part got her attention. “I live nearby. You can change and get the first-aid required for those scrapes.”

  She weighed the pros and cons of his suggestion.

  Chance dashed water from his face since the rain continued to fall. “What do you say?”

  “I don’t want to put you out…after the way I’ve treated you.”

  Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t hold grudges. She said she was sorry for her insulting behavior and he’d accepted. “Bygones are bygones,” is all he said as he led her away.

  Angela straddled Chance’s Harley after he fastened his helmet under her neck, her whole body trembling and not necessarily from the chill as the closeness of his virile body. Her arms circled his waist causing her to lean heavily against his back. That was a two-fold act serving to secure her seat on the bike and block the wind lashing her body. The ride through the French Market was exhilarating as proven by the grip she had on him. He comforted her with a pat to her hands.

  Chance forced himself to keep his attention on the wet roadway and not the peaks punching holes in his back. A rush of desire settled in his loins making him glad for the wind slapping his face. Maybe the sting against his cheeks would draw blood to that area of his body and lessen the throbbing he had no right to entertain at her expense. Too bad his home was in the general vicinity and merely moments away.

  It had been a while since he had a rider at his back and even longer since a rider instigated the urges worming through him, threatening to reduce his insides to jelly. Her breath on his back seared his skin, burning her femininity into his brain where even a surgeon’s scalpel couldn’t remove the residue. Her invisible brand had him corralled on their initial meeting. He just didn’t realize to what extent until that moment.

  Chance slowed, revving the motor as he passed a car partially blocking the street. He rolled to the warehouse door, warily keeping an eye out, shoved down the kickstand and cut the motor. “Cra-ap!” He helped Angela alight and gave her his keys. “Go inside and make yourself at home. My sweats and t-shirts are in the armoire. Help yourself.”

  He was giving instructions, again, in the same tone that enticed her to disobey the last time. It was his natural attitude. “Lock the door behind you.”

  “Is…is everything okay?” His thunderous black mood shook her up.

  “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting company. That’s all.” He turned her towards the door, watched her enter and listened for the bolts, happy she did like he said when the long iron arm, a battering deterrent, slammed into place.

  A not-so-trusting-look projected from his hooded eyes at the hellishly red Chrysler 300, splendidly customized with black tinted windows, chrome spinners and extra wide twenty-fours. The sinister looking automobile harbored its passenger from the outside world and any curious eyes seeking entrance. Chance knew who played the cat and mouse game with him.

  “I don’t have all day, Darrell.” He wasn’t surprised as the driver’s side door crept open, pushed by bejeweled fingers—clay-dirt red, freeing booming bass to scatter on the wind.

  “Big Brock. Is that any way to treat your best friend?” The grin accompanying those words held to his lips never quite reaching his malevolent eyes.

  “Too many years and not enough water under the bridge, Darrell.” Chance walked to the front fender focusing on the apparition in the passenger seat. “Should I worry about my health?”

  “Only if you insist on scratching the scab off the wound, Brock. We’ve known each other a long time. I know your operation. You only think you know mine.”

  “I don’t play favorites. You know that, Darrell.”

  “I see after all these years you’ve finally acquired a taste for the choc-o-lat.” His leering eyes lifted to the second floor of the warehouse coercing Chance to track his gaze.

  “Don’t go there, Darrell.” Chance willed Angela away from the mirrored windows. The overhead lighting made her a tempting, although hazy, target. “She’s innocent. Leave her out of this.”

  “We were all innocent at one time or another, Brock. That’s why I’m here, now, talking
as a friend. I’m a legal,” he stressed the word, “businessman. I protect what’s mine. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  A quiet rumble filtered into the conversation as a black on black Dodge Charger took up residence abreast of Darrell’s car, coming awfully close to chipping the expensive paint job from the rear door.

  “Called in backup, huh, Brock?” Darrell split his attention between Chance and the vehicle whose passenger side glass slowly slid down goading the driver to stretch across the front seat. “Well, well, well. Quantrell Robinson. What…a…surprise.”

  “Heard you were back in town, Clik.” The newcomer to the unplanned meeting reported. “Funny finding you here bothering Brock.”

  “Yep. Heard the big N.O. was ripe for picking.”

  As the other two men bantered, Chance pondered the perceived threat against Angela, fuming for a reason to lawfully retaliate. He’d brought her there for a little R&R, inadvertently casting her into a situation that reminded him why he was divorced and single going on five years. He tuned back to the sly words, with their complex hidden meanings that the others spouted.

  “Contributing to the delinquency of minors, now, Clik?” Quantrell’s jab sliced deep. “Who’s your sidekick?”

  “That smarts, Truant Officer Robinson.” He leaned against his car, his clean-cut boyish features deceptively masking his true ire. “This is my sister’s boy.”

  “Tell your sister she should watch the company her child keeps. About thirteen, isn’t he?”

  Chance reminded them of his company. “You’ve seen what you came for, Darrell. I’m still here and doing my darndest to help the Crescent City recover.” His meaning was more transparent than glass to Darrell. “When are you leaving?”