WILLOW TRIED CAREFULLY to get a grip on her emotions. She had no rights to his time, or who he spent it with, but a bottle of Opus One given to another man was kind of, well, she didn’t know. Maybe she’d read him wrong and he batted for the other team. In his eyes on the beach, she saw a flash of interest that he quickly tamped down.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, “he’s not into Black women.”
Her heart sank lower than it had when Proderick had taken her wallet, keys, and vehicle. She felt stupid for once again allowing herself to trust and getting it all wrong. At the laptop, she clicked a few keys to begin ordering things she and the girls would need once their documents came through.
They wouldn’t be staying with Mr. Hoyt.
“California sounds nice, the girls could see the country, and we could possibly do a cross country drive,” she mumbled, not knowing Raphael had overheard her words. All of her words.
HE’D BEEN A NAVY SEAL. They traveled the world and stopped in almost every port that had a dock. In his lifetime, he’d never considered what kinds of women were his type. Normally, if a woman liked him, he liked her back.
He’d fooled around with a Korean woman one year when his Crew worked out of Busan. There was a Japanese woman and an Afghani lady, but to his memory, he’d never actually been with or dated a Black woman.
“Hmm,” he mumbled, trying to maintain his focus. “It’s not that I wasn’t interested, I just assumed there wasn’t one who was interested in me.”
A slow smile crept across his lips. There was one interested now.
It was complicated.
It could get messy.
Just need to clear my head before I do a dumb thing.
She’s too young.
She’s going to want a child of her own.
I don’t know.
I really just don’t know about any of this.
Raphael left it alone. He couldn’t get any resolution tonight and wasn’t going to try. He had promised Willow they would talk when he returned. And they would.
MONDAY MORNING BROUGHT a flurry of activity. The girls were pouting that he was leaving. The pecan waffles hit his stomach like manna from Heaven, and he didn’t even know he had pecans in the house. One last time, he covered all the bases as the front door opened, ushering in a stoic face woman in her early fifties who seemed genuinely shocked to see people in the Hoyt home.
“Marla Musckovic, the housekeeper,” he said to Willow. “Marla, these are my house guests. I have no idea how long they will be staying, so in the meantime, continue to shop for me as you have been.”
“And the houveskeepin’?” she asked with a thick Slavic accent.
“My bedroom, bath, and my laundry. The rest Willow and the girls shall handle,” he told her.
“Your office, the library, the vacuuming?”
“The office you can tackle, the rest, as I said will be handled by Willow and the girls,” he said, passing her a thick envelope.
“I take care of for you,” Marla said, giving Willow and the girls a once over, and sat the bags of groceries on the counter. “I put away.”
“Or you can leave them, and I can put the items away,” Willow said, stepping forward to establish dominance as the Alpha female in the house. “Matter of fact, I have this, we will be out of your way in a moment.”
Marla almost snarled at Willow, who took it in stride. “Girls, Raphael is about to leave. Come say goodbye to Daddy,” she said, looking Marla in the face.
The girls bounded down the stairs, running straight for Raphael, who took a knee to accept hugs and kisses.
“I’ll be back Wednesday, maybe Thursday. Obey your Mom, and don’t give her any trouble,” he warned.
“Will you bring me back a small present?” Karli asked. “I mean if you have enough money. If you can’t I understand.” She handed him the 20 he had just given to her.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said hugging her tightly and waiting for the butterfly of a flutter kiss to touch his cheek, giving her back the bill.
Dusty Rose kissed the other cheek, and he hugged both girls. Releasing them, he got to his feet, looking at the Mom. He opened his arms and Willow stepped inside, holding on for dear life, inhaling his scent, and wanting him back home before he’d even left. “You be safe out there, and we will see you on Thursday,” she told him, laying her ear against his chest.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, releasing her and heading out the side door.
It was 10:00 a.m. If he pushed it, he could be in Charlotte by two in the afternoon. The fastest route was 1-95 to I-26 to I-77. This afternoon the Boss would send word of the cause of termination. He truly didn’t like to know, but five years ago he’d been sent to terminate the employment of Phillip Weston, whom he caught in the act of violating not only the trust of his employers, but the trust of being a decent human. The termination impacted him in a way he hadn’t expected.
Mr. Exit turned in his resignation.
“Oh no, you can’t do that. A man with your specialized skills is a treasure and an asset. We will up your pay to 50 an assignment,” the Boss told him.
“This is not a salary negotiation! You didn’t warn me of what I was dealing with, and honestly, it is messing with my head. The anger I’m feeling right now is not healthy. I can’t get the images out of my mind’s eye,” Raphael said honestly.
“You need to talk to someone,” the Boss replied. “Where are you?”
“Just outside of Roanoke,” he lied.
“I’m going to set you up with a counselor in Richmond, first thing in the morning. Talk to him. Stay in Richmond for a few days. Go see him every day and let him guide you from the darkness,” the Boss said.
“And if he can’t? You sending somebody to terminate me? I resigned remember,” Raphael said.
“No, I need you, Mr. Exit. We’re going to take care of you so you can continue as one of our top Technicians. See the Doctor. I’ll be in touch,” the Boss added.
Raphael saw the doctor every day for a solid week. At the end of the week he felt better knowing that such a predator was no longer on the planet and hurting children. He hated men who hurt children. He didn’t care for the ones who hurt women either.
“It’s my job,” he said to himself as he drove the four hours in silence. The further he got from home, the less he thought about them. His mind was on Wallace Grummitt. In an hour, he would know what Wallace did to make his employer want him dead versus just off the payroll.
Usually, it turned into a scandal that could ruin an organization and not permit the company any turn around. Stock prices would drop and all the hard work and reputation of said business ended. He didn’t double check; he didn’t ask questions. Normally, if time permitted, he would give the employee an opportunity to provide a statement of allocution but nine times out of 10, the blowhards would start huffing and puffing, which only hastened the arrival of a well-placed bullet.
One bullet and he could get home to his family.
“My family,” he said, almost smiling.
Chapter Eight – Transcript