Lesson in Romance, page 3
“It’s an independent newspaper that’s been around for over fifty years and one of the first black-owned newspapers in the country,” she added. “I also read the New York Times and the New York Post.”
His heart sank, for he knew those papers all too well. The reviews of his music hadn’t been so glowing lately, but the tabloids were more than willing to publish his picture with a woman hanging off his arm claiming him as her “man.”
None of those women understood that he wasn’t interested in a serious relationship. He was married to his music and his career. No one got in the way. Until now.
He gripped his beer tighter. “I recognized the word Harlem but that’s about it.”
She clapped her hands together. “Good!” Her face lit up like a thousand stars and she leaned toward him. “What other words do you know?”
He opened his mouth to run down the short list, but for some reason didn’t want to risk offending her. She seemed so straitlaced, but not in a nerdy way. On the contrary, the conservative getup was appealing. He wondered if it was real or just for show.
That hair. Those legs. All wrapped up in a very pretty package he didn’t dare touch.
He hedged an innocent smile. “Not too many. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”
“I see. That’s perfectly normal. It’s not uncommon for adult non-readers to be able to recognize some words.”
“Adult non-reader? Is that what I’m called now?”
“It’s a little awkward-sounding, I know,” she acknowledged with a wan smile.
“It’s better than some of the things I’ve been called.” With a grimace, he faced her and memories flowed into words.
“You know, I used to ride the subway to school and I’d see men and women in suits reading the newspaper. They all looked so smart and so important.”
He swallowed hard, looked past her at the countryside rolling by. Suddenly aware of what he was about to say, he hoped she would stop him from making a fool of himself. But Cara remained silent, patient, waiting for him to continue.
He met her eyes. “Sometimes I’d sneak a peek at what they were reading, and even though the words always looked jumbled up, I couldn’t keep my eyes away. Those letters were like a drug.”
A band of dread, mixed with anger, tightened around his chest as he thought about all the times in his life when he tried to make sense of a word, or a group of words, and failed miserably.
“One morning, I was standing next to this man reading the sports section and I couldn’t stand it anymore. Before I knew what I was doing, I pointed to the caption underneath the picture and asked him what it said.”
Alex felt his spine go rigid and he downed the rest of his beer before continuing.
“He gave me a funny look and said real loud, ‘That’s the guy from the Yanks who struck out last night and lost the game, bottom of the ninth, you can’t read that?’”
Shame hooked its claws and dug into him like it had happened yesterday, and he bowed his head and traced his finger along the top of the beer bottle.
Her voice snuck past the pain. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen,” he replied. “A short time later I stopped going to school.”
It was the only time he’d ever given up on something.
When she didn’t say anything, a knot of embarrassment sank low into his stomach. Avoiding her eyes, he curved his hand around the back of his neck and leaned his elbow against the door.
He felt stupid for confiding in her, a perfect stranger. Yet it was her eyes, caring and warm, that drew him in and caused him to talk about a story he’d never shared with anyone.
Why her? Why now?
He felt a tap on his knee, turned and found Cara sitting right beside him, so close he could smell her perfume, a faint scent of vanilla tinged with rose.
“I want to show you something. May I?”
Before he could respond, she took the empty beer bottle and placed it in a cup holder.
She grabbed his right hand, squeezed it gently. The simple gesture startled him into immediate attention.
“There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet.”
He tried to break contact with her before she noticed that his palms were beginning to sweat, but she held firm.
“I know,” he said, distracted because he really liked the feel of her hand on his. “Even I watched Sesame Street. What’s your point?”
At that moment, she tightened her grasp and leaned in close to him, as if she was about to reveal a dark secret.
“Be patient, I’m getting to it.”
Drawing back, she turned his hand to reveal his palm. He looked down, relieved to see it didn’t look as moist as it felt.
“To start to learn how to read, all you have to remember is that there are five vowels.” Slowly she traced each vowel on his palm with her fingertips.
“A-E-I-O-U.”
He hitched in a breath as each letter became an invisible imprint, fingernail upon flesh, leaving a trail of indescribable sensations radiating from his palm to his fingertips.
“The rest of the letters are called consonants.” She circled her finger in the dip of his palm. “Consonants and vowels work together to form words.”
Alex held his breath as she tugged each fingertip down to his palm until his hand was enclosed inside both of hers, warm and gentle.
“The ability to sound each one out individually, then as a whole, is the basis for learning how to read.”
Their eyes met and he thought he saw a flicker of desire in hers. But when she dropped his hand right away, he dismissed the notion. Cara had a lust for letters, not him.
“That’s it?” his voice doubtful.
“Yes, that’s it!”
He pressed a button on the console in front of him and spoke to his driver. “Hey, Frank! Turn this beast around. It’s back to Harlem, my man, we’re done back here.”
Cara giggled. “No! That’s not what I meant. Of course there’s a lot more to it than that. But at its roots, language is made up of consonants and vowels, kind of like the basic building blocks of music are notes and rhythm.”
Leaning forward, he pressed the button again. “False alarm, keep going.”
He settled back in the seat, eyed her skeptically. “How do you know so much about music? Are you a musician?”
“No.” A shy smile crept across her lips. “Well, maybe. But, I’m just an amateur.”
He formed a square with his fingers and looked through them like a camera, appraising her. “Hmm…let me guess. You’re a singer.”
When she blushed and nodded, he swore. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
He reached for the intercom, but Cara swatted his hand away.
“Do you have a problem with singers?”
He crossed his arms. “Yeah. Too much drama.”
She drew an imaginary halo around her head and batted her lashes like a movie star. “Me? Drama?”
Enchanted, his lips curved. It seemed there might be a playful little devil ready to bust out of all that innocence.
“So you can smile,” she teased. “Was that so bad?”
His smile faded, although it struck him funny how a word or two from Cara could turn his mood from happy to sad and everything in between. He moved away and watched the river flow, as wide and vast as the emptiness in his heart.
Sure he had a great career, plenty of money and had dated some of the most desirable women in the world.
But at what cost?
So far, nothing he’d achieved had erased the guilt he lived with every day. Deep down, he feared learning to read would only make it worse.
* * *
An hour later, Cara woke with a start to discover she’d fallen asleep on Alex’s shoulder. She sat up, her face burning with embarrassment. The driver swerved to avoid a pothole and she yelped in surprise when she crashed back into Alex’s side.
“I guess I should get the driveway paved.” He grabbed hold of the seat. “But I’m not up here too often and I always forget how bad it is until I come back.”
Cara gripped the armrest and righted herself. “I just hope we make it there without cracking our skulls open.”
“Don’t worry.” His thumb jerked up to the ceiling. “It’s padded.”
Her lips twisted. “But my head isn’t.”
The limo bucked and Alex caught her in his arms. “Whoops!”
They laughed uncontrollably as the vehicle continued its wild ride up to his house.
By the time they arrived, her stomach hurt. It had been such a long time since she laughed so hard, she’d forgotten how good it felt.
Alex cleared his throat. “We’re home.”
Her heart did a slow somersault as he held her, the heat from his body enveloping her own. Although his embrace was accidental, it felt purposeful, as if she belonged in his arms.
Her chin tilted up and she saw eyes sparked with interest that went beyond a hearty laugh. He ran a finger down her cheek, dislodging a strand of hair stuck there, stroked it briefly, let it fall against her.
She broke away, trembling, and slid to other side of the limo. Warning bells went off in her head, and she had no one but herself to blame.
What had she been thinking, tracing letters on his palm and fingertips in a way that would have made Big Bird blush?
Excitement darted up her spine remembering the feel of his hand in hers. His palm, slightly rough around the edges but soft in the middle, the fingertips callused from years of playing the saxophone.
She’d never done anything like that before. But the grace of her touch hadn’t lasted long. Almost as quickly as he opened up, he shut her out again. Yet just then he didn’t seem to mind having her in his arms.
What was happening between them?
The driver opened up the door and she stepped out, wide-eyed. With its rough-hewn logs, wraparound porch and gabled roof, the quaint little cottage was the perfect mountain hideaway. She fell in love with it at first sight, but her heart raced again at being in such close quarters with Alex.
The air was cooler here than in Harlem. Smelled better, too. Rubbing her arms, her nose twitched as she inhaled the heady evergreen scent of giant fir trees that surrounded the cottage. Somewhere nearby a stream gurgled, completing the Zenlike setting.
Alex appeared at her side, instrument case in hand. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.”
His hazel eyes brightened. “Thanks. C’mon. I’ll show you around.”
He guided her by the elbow as they walked. Her heels teetered over the pebbled walkway. Her heart raced anew at his touch.
Was it her imagination or did his hand linger before he released her elbow to unlock and open the front door?
He showed her the gourmet kitchen, the powder room and the laundry room. With an inner frown, she realized there were no pictures of family or friends here, either. Although everything was model-home neat with modern furniture and artwork, it still felt empty. Did Alex feel it, too?
He picked up their bags and they ascended the stairway to the second floor. “This is the guest room.” He set her belongings down and pointed down the hallway. “My bedroom is down there and the bathroom is in the middle. There’s a linen closet halfway with plenty of towels and soap. I’ll leave you to unpack.”
Cara nodded and stepped inside the tiny room. Jets of sunlight poured through curtained windows. Besides a dresser and a small nightstand, the bed took up the most space.
It’s big enough for two.
Closing her eyes, she indulged in an intimate fantasy of her and Alex on it, doing everything but sleeping.
“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to fall asleep standing up.”
She whirled around, her left breast grazing his bare arm, and nodded.
“I—I guess I’m still a little tired from the drive.”
Stepping back, she crossed her arms, trying to ignore the exquisite tingling radiating through her chest. Time stopped while his eyes scooped and swept over her body like a pleasure bandit, leaving a trail of tight nipples and heat smoldering in her belly. The room seemed to shrink into nothing but unmet need.
Alex cleared his throat. “Ready for lunch? Frank drove up yesterday and stocked the kitchen for the weekend.”
“Sounds great,” she replied, relieved he broke the silence. “After we eat, we must get started. There’s a lot of ground we have to cover.”
Alex grunted low and frowned as if to say, “Not that again!” and left the room, closing the door behind him.
She changed into jeans and a scoop-necked blouse, then flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling, shaken and frustrated by the encounter.
What was his deal? He’d start to relax, but when she brought up the reason why they were here, he clammed up. She wanted to believe it was only fear. But what if it wasn’t?
She didn’t understand him at all, nor did she understand her physical reaction to him. And at this point, she wasn’t sure which was worse.
While it was normal for her to care about her students, her feelings for Alex had begun to brew a long time ago. With him, her concern didn’t start with paperwork. It started with a plea for justice.
Thirteen years had passed since her father, Crawford Williams, a powerful New York City judge known for his tough rule, had sent Alex’s brother Michael to prison.
As always, tears sprang to her eyes whenever she recalled the day she learned her father was responsible for breaking up families across the city.
She had been flipping through the channels, doing her homework and eating dinner, alone as usual, when she caught the tail end of a television news story.
In it, a mother was giving a statement to a reporter on the courthouse steps. Through her tears, the woman told him that she’d written a letter to her father requesting leniency for her son.
“Did the judge even read it?” she said with a shriek that tore at Cara’s heart. “I asked him at my son’s sentencing. He wouldn’t answer and threatened me with contempt of court. If he’d read it, he’d know Michael is innocent!”
She started weeping harder, and a sullen young man Cara learned later on was her son Alex put his arm around her and led her down the steps.
She remembered the reporter turning to the camera, his voice grim. “There goes another casualty of Judge Williams’s notorious crackdown on gangs.”
She sat riveted in front of the screen as he continued. “Neighborhoods are safer, but at what price? With sons and daughters, brothers and sisters behind bars, New York families are suffering through harsh jail sentences handed down by Williams that apparently no amount of letter writing or phone calls can take away.”
Cara remembered racing up the stairs to her father’s office in disbelief, praying that what she heard was all a mistake.
Although aware of her father’s stance against gang-related activity, she didn’t dwell on it or anything having to do with his job. Whenever he was home and talked about his cases, she feigned interest just to please him. He was under the impression she wanted to be an attorney, when all she really wanted him to do was love her.
She found the letter on his desk and was horrified to see more stacked in a box, some opened, some not.
In it, Alex’s mom described how she and her son were devastated by his brother Michael’s incarceration. Although no details of the case were given, the purpose of the letter was clear: a desperate plea for leniency that was ultimately ignored.
The anger and pain of Alex’s mother so mirrored her own feelings about her father that the next day she told him she wanted to be a teacher. By sharing her love of learning with young people, perhaps she could make a difference. Heal people’s hearts, not hurt them, like her dad did so well.
He never forgave her.
Even now, the hollowness she’d felt that day hit her full force, leaving her sick to her stomach.
She wrapped her arms around her pillow and thought about the special bond she’d felt with Alex ever since. In the letter, his mom had mentioned that both Alex and Michael were musicians. For years, she had watched Alex’s career blossom, listened to his music and followed his love life, while he didn’t even know she existed.
A lump welled in her throat at the irony of it all. A tragedy in his life had prompted her to make a positive change in her own that had eventually benefited hundreds of people.
She thought of the challenges many of her students faced. Heart-wrenching, gut-twisting situations most people couldn’t imagine were an everyday part of their lives. Homelessness, domestic violence, alcohol and drug abuse, joblessness, not to mention low self-esteem and feelings of inadequacy. Whatever their plight, it was often related to their illiteracy.
Her students came to Beacon House with the hope and desire to change their lives. It was her mission to help them get there. She wanted to do more, needed to do more, but without the necessary funding she was strapped.
Hot tears streamed down her face and she swiped them away, feeling helpless and overwhelmed. Lately her emotions were running higher than ever. But at least now she had a chance to make things right again.
She hugged the pillow and turned toward the window.
Teaching Alex to read was critical to the future of Beacon House, and he wasn’t going to make it easy. She had to figure out some way to get past his fear and reach him.
She thought for a moment. He had a job he loved, money and worldwide acclaim. But there had to something he was unable to do. Some dream he’d never achieved because of his illiteracy. She just needed to find out what it was…and fast.
