Stepping to a New Day by Beverly Jenkins
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked quietly.
He grabbed his courage. “I want to learn to read.” He let the words settle before turning to gauge her reaction. “Surprised?”
There was wonder in her eyes and then kindness. “I am. I’m pleased too, though. This couldn’t have been easy.”
He turned back to the creek. “No.”
“Of course I’ll help.”
“Thank you.”
Gen viewed the rigid set of his shoulders and back and wanted to smooth the tension somehow. His request could’ve knocked her over with a feather. Having worked with others with the same deficiency she sensed something else. “I don’t think less of you, Terence.”
He smiled. “Worried about that.”
“No need to. I’ve been enjoying your company. This doesn’t change that or who I perceive you to be.”
He appeared more relaxed. “Good to know.”
“When would you like to start?”
“Whenever you can fit me in.”
“If you can give me a day or so to get my new place set up we can begin the lessons as soon as you’d like.”
“That would be fine.”
“And if you prefer to keep this just between the two of us, we can. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
He nodded his thanks.
So for the next few minutes he talked about living with his lifelong problem, all the jobs he’d held and ultimately lost because of it, and the pledge he’d made to his wife.
“Do your children know?”
“Only Bethany. The boys don’t.”
Gen’s heart went out to him in much the same way it had with Mrs. Rivard, but there was an added component—the connection being with him had created. She wanted him to succeed. That he would trust her with his secret and have the courage to ask for her help only increased his standing in her eyes.
“Brought you something.” He reached into his coat and took out a small zip-locked bag and handed it to her.
“Cookies?” she asked, puzzled.
“Made them this morning. Thought you might like a couple.”
She laughed softly, “Never had a man bring me cookies before.” She opened the bag and took a bite of one. “Oh, these are good! Are you trying to butter up the tutor?”
“Figured a bribe might help me pass.”
“You are something, Mr. Terence Barbour.”
“You’re pretty fabulous yourself, Ms. Genevieve Gibbs.”
Genevieve went all sparkly inside. “How about you call me Genevieve.”
“And you can call me TC or Terence.”
“I think I prefer Terence.”
“Then for you I’ll be Terence.”
A voice rang out. “Getting dark, Mr. Barbour. Time to take her home.”
He froze and looked around.
Gen chuckled. “That’s Tamar. She’s probably been watching us since we got out of your truck.”
“I didn’t know we had a chaperone.”
“She comes in handy now and again.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.” He paused and said in a serious tone, “I want to thank you for making this easy.”
“You’re welcome. And thanks for the cookies.”
“Anytime.”
“We should probably get moving before she fires a warning shot over our heads.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Genevieve got up from the table. “She loves that shotgun almost as much as she loves Olivia.”
“Who’s that?”
“Her truck.”
His laughter rang out against the quiet. “Lord have mercy, this town.”
“No place like Henry Adams.”
They walked back. He handed her into the truck and drove her home.
When they got to Marie’s he came around and helped her down. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What’s on your plate for tomorrow?”
“Taking Doc Reg to the airport in the morning. You?”
“Going to spend the day waiting on my furniture to arrive and putting away all the housewarming gifts my friends got for me.”
“Sounds like fun. Okay. I’ll walk you up.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe if we were under twenty-five, but since we’re not . . .”
Pleased by the show of chivalry, Gen surrendered and let him escort her to the door. When they reached it, she met his eyes. “Good night, Terence.”
“’Night, Teach.”
Chuckling at that, she went inside. She was hanging up her jacket when Marie came out of the kitchen.
“Well? What did he want?”
“It was personal.”
“Oh come on, Genevieve.”
“Would you want me spreading your business?”
“There aren’t any secrets in this town. Please.”
Gen laughed. “True, but I’m not telling you.”
“He didn’t ask you to marry him, did he?”
Gen rolled her eyes. “No, Marie. Not walking down the aisle.”
“He is kind of cute, though.”
“And he makes fabulous cookies. Want one?” Gen tossed her one.
Marie caught it deftly and took a bite. “Oh, these are good. Cute and can cook? If you don’t want him, I’ll take him off your hands.”
Genevieve laughed. “Going to my room now, Marie.” She started up the steps.
Marie called after her, “I’m just saying.”
Upstairs, Gen plopped down on the bed. She was still bowled over by both his request and courage. She’d do her best to honor the faith he’d placed in her. By the time they were done, he’d be able to conquer War and Peace if he wanted to. She helped herself to another of his cookies. And yes, he was very cute.
TC walked back into the Clark house feeling pretty good. Genevieve had been incredibly kind. He wanted to do something nice for her and he knew just the ticket. Gary was working late so he climbed the stairs and knocked lightly on Leah’s door.
“Come on in.” When she looked up from her computer screen and saw him, she said, “Hey Unc, did you talk to Ms. Gen?”
“I did.” After dinner, he’d told her and Tiff where he was going but not why.
“You look pretty happy,” Leah pointed out.
“I am. She’s going to help me with something so I want to get her a housewarming gift.”
“Like what?”
“Not sure, but she likes music.”
“You could get her an iTunes gift card.”
He thought about that but decided no. “I’d like it to be more personal—maybe a CD.”
“Then you should try Amazon. Do you have an account?”
“No.”
“I do. I can order it and you can pay Dad. My account is tied to his.”
“Okay.”
He watched her close out whatever she was working on and begin typing and clicking. He walked over to get a closer look. He couldn’t read a word but was confident that in a few months he’d be able to type and click to his heart’s content.
Tiff walked in. “What are you doing?”
“Unc wants to get Ms. Gen a housewarming gift. Maybe a CD.”
Tiff came over and stood next to him.
“Did you get your laundry done, Lil Bit?” He’d introduced them to the washer and dryer a few days ago.
She nodded. “It’s in the dryer. It’s kind of nice not having to wait for Daddy to wash my stuff. Now I can wear my favorite jeans whenever I want. Thanks for teaching me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Leah said, “Okay, we’re at Amazon. Who are we looking for?”
“Wes Montgomery.”
“Who?”
He rolled his eyes. “Greatest jazz guitarist to ever pick up an ax.”
“If you say so.”
He told her, “I still haven’t had a chance to get my reading glasses replaced so help your old uncle out and r
In the end, with the girls’ help he found the CD he wanted and Leah closed out the purchase. “It’ll be here maybe tomorrow. For sure the day after.”
“Good.”
Tiff said, “And you need gold paper to wrap it in.”
TC was confused. “Why?”
“That’s Ms. Gen’s favorite color.”
TC couldn’t believe he was in a place where the people were so connected they knew each other’s favorite colors. “Then gold it is. Thanks, ladies.”
Later, TC was seated on the couch in the living room and watching the NBA when Gary came home from work. “Hey, Gary.”
“Hey there, TC,” he replied. He set down the soft-sided case that held his laptop and papers and tossed his coat over the chair. “Who’s playing?”
“Golden State and Cleveland.”
“Ah. Curry versus King James.”
“Yeah, and Curry is lighting it up already. How’d your day go?” He pumped a fist as Curry sank another three.
“No complaints. Busted a couple of shoplifters. Argued with a supplier who tried to palm off a truckload of dead lettuce as fresh—the usual.” He sat and eyed the game. “How was your day?”
“No complaints here, either. Took Trent to the airport. Asked Genevieve to teach me to read.”
Gary sat up. “Wait. What did you say?”
TC smiled. “I asked Genevieve to teach me to read.”
“What do you mean you asked her to teach you to read?”
“I can’t read.”
Gary seemed to finally get it. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You can’t read? Since when?”
“Since forever.”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded.
Gary fell back against the chair. “Wow.”
“I’m what you call a functional illiterate. Have been all my life but being around Genevieve finally gave me the courage to do something about it.”
Gary still looked stunned and appeared to have questions but didn’t quite know what to ask, so TC helped him. “Hard to wrap your brain around it, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. You’re over sixty. How have you been able to get by?”
So TC took a few minutes to explain some of the techniques and strategies people like him used to make a way out of no way.
When he was done, Gary better understood and asked, “How can I help?”
“Not sure yet. I’ll start lessons soon. Genevieve wants to wait until she gets settled into her new place.”
“Are you going to tell the girls? I know they’d be supportive.”
“Pretty sure I’ll tell them at some point but not sure when. Wanted to let you know first.”
“Okay. We’re here for you.”
“Thanks.” It felt good having let Gary in on his plans and to have his support.
“And speaking of thanks, you’ve been a huge help to us. My stress level is way down. The girls are thriving. Tiff seems more sure of herself and I attribute that to you. Thanks,” he said sincerely.
“You’re welcome. I’m having fun.”
“I’m glad you and Ms. Gen are hooking up. She’s a great lady.”
“Yes, she is.”
Gary must have heard something in his tone because he leaned forward and peered into TC’s face. “Something else I need to know?”
“Nope.”
Gary smiled. “Okay, Uncle Terence, be that way.”
“Chili’s in the Crock-Pot. Get yourself something to eat.”
Gary shot him a grin. “Let me go up and see the girls first.”
He climbed the stairs and a pleased TC went back to the game.
CHAPTER
12
Wednesday afternoon as her plane began its descent and the land below came into view, Paula thought back on the very first time she’d come to Oklahoma. It had been right after her mother’s death and because her then fourteen-year-old self had no other family, her grandfather had agreed to take her in. Her mother Pat rarely mentioned the relatives she’d left behind in Blackbird, Oklahoma, so Paula knew next to nothing about them. Upon being met at the airport by her grandfather Tyree and her mother’s younger sister, Della, Paula began to understand why her mother had been so closemouthed. The distaste her grandfather displayed as his dark eyes raked her up and down was mirrored by Della. Instead of being met with the comforting open arms she’d imagined, there was a bristling hostility so chilling she wanted to run back to the plane. However, she had no choice but to follow them to his aging gray Buick in the parking lot. Too afraid to speak, she climbed into the backseat and rode the two hours to Blackbird without uttering a sound. Neither adult asked her about her flight, how she felt about her mother’s passing or if she was hungry. Both adults stared ahead as if she weren’t there. When the car left the interstate, the dirt roads they turned onto were foreign to a girl born and raised in Sacramento, as were the vast, undeveloped stretches of open land. The weathered houses they passed looked as tired and worn as the people she spied on the dilapidated porches, and the stillness and quiet made her feel as if she were entering a stagnant, lost-in-time world. Little did she know how correct that first impression would turn out to be.
The jolt of the plane’s wheels making contact with the runway brought Paula back to the present. Knowing no one would be meeting her, she’d made arrangements for a rental car just as she’d done for last winter’s visit. To his credit, her then dying grandfather tried to make amends for the painful years she’d spent under his care by asking for forgiveness and of course she’d granted him that, but she wondered if anything would ever totally eradicate the still open scars on her soul.
As she left the interstate and drove up the dirt road leading to her grandfather’s place, nothing had changed. Houses were still in disrepair. Generations of men loitered outside the small concrete building that served as the general store. Teens who should have been in school walked down the edge of the road heading who knew where. Two of the girls had babies riding their hips and they all stared suspiciously as she drove by. As in many rural areas of the country the dropout rate and incidence of unwed teen pregnancy was high. Yet one more reason to be concerned about her young cousin, Robyn. Paula didn’t want her searching for the love and validity she should be getting at home in a relationship that would leave her behind with a child of her own.
When Paula visited her grandfather in the hospital last winter he’d given her a key to his house so she’d have somewhere to stay when it came time for his funeral, or home going as it was sometimes called, because he knew he wouldn’t see her again in this life. Inside, the shades were drawn and the space was filled with shadows and silence. The small front room still held the plastic-covered gold sofa and two matching chairs she’d never been allowed to sit on. Between the chairs stood a single end table that held his collection of decades-old issues of Ebony and Jet magazines. Both table and magazines lay beneath a thin layer of dust. Her attention moved to the wooden mantel above the old whitewashed brick fireplace often used for heating in the winter. On it stood Della’s graduation picture. The sparkle in her aunt’s young eyes and the smile on her face bore little resemblance to the bitter, tart-tongued woman she’d become. Beside it lay another picture turned facedown. With shaking hands and tears clogging her throat Paula picked it up and took in the portrait of her mother. The glass was dusty and dirty, but the smiling face resembled Della’s so much they could’ve been twins even though Patricia was five years older. According to the story, the day her mother left Blackbird, Tyree placed the picture facedown. For all intents and purposes she became dead to him, and no one, not even Paula when she came to live with him, was allowed to look at it. The one time he caught her with the picture in her hands, he’d snatched his belt free of his pants and whipped her until
“What the hell you doing in here!”
Paula didn’t so much as flinch in response to her aunt’s harshly voiced demand. While growing up, she’d learned to imagine being encased in battle armor to shield herself and her feelings from the verbal and sometimes physical attacks Della meted out with such twisted glee. That same armor enveloped her as she placed the picture upright on the mantel and replied evenly, “Papa gave me a key when he was in the hospital. He said I was to stay here when I came back for the funeral.”
“He didn’t say anything to me about you having a key.” She was in her seventies now, average height and thin. The gray hair was severely pulled back and framed a dark face whose default expression had always been a mix of anger and disdain. Eyes gleaming with suspicion scanned the room as if to make sure everything was in its place. “Don’t be bothering his stuff or thinking you’re taking anything back when you leave.”
“I’m not here for that. Just to pay my respects.” She would be returning home with her mother’s picture, whether Della pitched a fit or not. She also planned to clean up the place. Tyree Grant had been snake mean but he’d kept the house spotless and would be appalled by its present condition.
The sound of a car door closing caught Paula’s attention. Della walked to the door and sneered through the screen at the unseen person. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
Seconds later, Calvin Tyree Spivey, her grandfather’s out-of-wedlock son, entered. “Had the morning shift,” he responded easily, his eyes shifting momentarily to Paula. “Saw the rental car, figured it must be Paula. Came by to see if she needed anything.” He moved his attention her way. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
“How was the flight?”