Chances Are (14 page)

By the end of the second week, Dione was one jumble of frayed nerves and Garrett felt as if he would spontaneously combust if she touched him one more time.

He was just finishing up a brief interview with Kisha, who was being dutifully monitored by Brenda, when he caught a glimpse of Dione walking by the open door of the visitors' room.

“Excuse me a minute, ladies.” He shut the camera off. “Just relax for a second. I'll be right back.” He hurried out into the corridor, but not too fast.

“Dione,” he rasped in a voice two notches above a whisper.

She stopped and turned, working really hard to keep her expression expressionless.

“We need to talk. I'll be finished in about ten minutes.”

“About what?”

“I think you know, Dione.” His tone softened. “I'd appreciate it if you could make some time.”

“I'll be in my office.”

He nodded and strode away.

 

By the time Garrett knocked on her partially opened office door, she was ready to jump out of the basement window. She had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to talk with her about. It had been on her mind to settle the rocky waters between them herself. He simply beat her to the punch.

“Come in,” she said.

Garrett stepped into the room and it seemed as if all the air had been sucked out.

Her heart started thudding harder by the second, the closer he came.

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Please do. What's on your mind?”

“Us.”

She swallowed. “I wasn't aware there was an us.”

“That's the problem. To me it seemed that's the way it was going. Then all of a sudden you pull a three-sixty on me and I'd like to know why.”

She shuffled some folders on her desk, trying to collect her thoughts. “I have my reasons.”

“Then tell me what they are and I'll leave you alone—if that's really what you want.”

“I…I just think we need to keep things—professional.”

“What if I don't feel the same way? What if I want to take a chance and see where things can go with us?”

“Garrett, I—”

“Tell me you don't have some feelings for me, Dee. Tell me that and I swear I'll walk out of here and we'll never have this conversation again.” He waited a beat. “I don't think you can. You feel it, too. Every time we're in the same airspace something happens. Tell me it's not true.”

“I—can't,” she finally said and felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off her spirit. A slow smile eased across her mouth. “I can't.” She floated free.

Languidly Garrett rose and came around the desk. Her gaze followed him until he stopped in front of her, took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet.

“I don't remember ever feeling this strongly about any woman this quickly,” he confessed, his voice low and penetrating. His eyes flickered over her face, followed by the soft caress of his fingers across her cheek.

A shudder rippled through her and she involuntarily shut her eyes as he drew closer.

“I'm going to kiss you,” he murmured. It wasn't a question.

And when his lips touched hers, softly at first then with all the pent-up emotion he'd kept inside, she knew she'd been a fool to deny herself this pleasure.

After what seemed like forever and not at all, he eased away and they clung to each other, both unwilling to totally sever the tenuous connection they'd made.

“I have to pack up,” he said, his voice thick and a bit shaky. “Do you have plans for later on this evening?”

She shook her head, afraid to speak, not sure what her voice would sound like especially with her heart lodged in her throat.

“How 'bout if I pick you up at your house about eight. We could go for a drive, have some dinner. Talk.”

“I'd like that.”

He grinned, feeling better than he had in too many weeks. “I'll even let you drive.”

 

Dione and Garrett began to spend all their free time together and even that wasn't enough.

Dione, by degrees, began to feel that maybe this ray of happiness that she shared with Garrett would last—wouldn't be taken away—that she wouldn't be hurt because she allowed herself to feel again. That for once, she could receive joy and not feel guilty.

Just maybe.

“My daughter will be coming home tomorrow for Thanksgiving,” she said as they sat curled in each others arms on her couch, watching a cable rerun of
The Godfather.

His insides knotted.
Holidays. Children.
Both were sore topics for him. “Hmm,” was all he said, stroking her hair.

She angled her head and looked at him. “What is it?”

He blew out a breath. “I'm not a holiday person, Dee. I hope you don't expect me to be around.”

“Not even if it's important to me?”

“I don't ask you to do things you don't believe in.”

She sat up and moved slightly away. “Things like what?”

“Like waste yourself trying to rehabilitate a bunch of people who can't be changed.”

“Waste myself! Is that what you
still
think? You've been there, seen what goes on. You've talked to the girls, asked them all kinds of questions and that's still what you think?”

“Yes. That's still what I think. I admire what you do, but—”

Her entire body heated as the anger mixed with disappointment blended together into a potent liquid that rushed out like a geyser. “I don't give a damn about your admiration.” She stood. “I should have followed my instincts from the beginning. I—can't be with someone who thinks so little of what I do. That equates to thinking so little of me in my book.”

“One thing doesn't have anything to do with the other.”

“It has everything to do with it. This was a mistake. Let's not multiply it by taking it any further.”

“What are you saying?”

“Read my lips. I'm saying I think you should leave before something gets said that can't be taken back.”

“Dee—”

“Please go.”

S
eeing her daughter after months of separation was just what she needed to lift her sagging spirits. She couldn't remember if she'd actually slept. It seemed as if she'd laid awake watching the shadows from the street play games of tag across her wall, until the light broke through the night sky and scared the shadows away.

Her body ached. Her eyes burned.

What made her think, even for a minute, that Garrett was the one who could make a difference in her life? She was a fool to think she had the power to change his warped way of thinking. Even though she prided herself on the success of many of the girls, there were those whom she couldn't save, couldn't change. Garrett Lawrence fell into that category.

The stop-and-go traffic into Manhattan did little to soothe her raw nerves. Everybody and their mother seemed to be on the road and all going to the same place.

After an hour-and-a-half trip that should have been forty-five minutes, she finally saw Pennsylvania Station looming ahead. The one miracle of the grueling trip was that there was a lot across the street that actually had space.

Pushing through the crowds, and around huge and awkward pieces of luggage, she finally plowed her way through to the arrival area.

Peering over heads and trying to keep her balance from being jostled, she spotted Niyah coming up the escalator, and the weariness that had possessed her like an evil spirit was exorcised.

Niyah's face lit up with excitement when she saw her mother waiting, then just as quickly the light dimmed.

Something was wrong.

Dione stretched out her arms and Niyah stepped in, absorbing the long overdue comfort of her mother's embrace, then pulled back and looked into her mother's eyes.

“What's wrong, Ma?”

“Nothing's wrong.” She pushed a smile across her mouth, and took Niyah's hand as they began to walk toward the exit.

“Who knows you better than me? Nobody,” she said, answering her own question. “And I know when something's wrong. You look unhappy.”

“No, sweetheart, really. I'm just tired. This whole business with the documentary, worrying about the status of Chances Are, has been a bit much lately.”

Niyah tugged her rolling cart with her suitcase over the slight bump of the escalator leading to the street. “You're sure?” She glanced sideways at her mother.

“Absolutely. And I want to put all of that on the back burner and focus all of my attention on my child.” Dione squeezed Niyah's hand as they emerged from underground. “I'm parked in the lot across the street.”

Niyah listened but wasn't totally convinced. Neither of them had ever been good at hiding their feelings from each other. For years, Niyah and her mother were closer than sisters. Now that she was an adult, she felt they were truly friends. And with that type of closeness comes a sixth sense, a vibe that could be read as easily as A, B, C.

The vibe was off. But Niyah felt confident that whatever was bothering her mother she would get it out of her in the days ahead.

 

As they drove through Manhattan en route to Brooklyn, Niyah took in the sights, the rush of people, the unbelievable traffic, towering bridges and the unmistakable charge that was unique to New York.

She sat back and smiled. It felt good to be home as much as she enjoyed being on her own, proving to herself and to her mother that she could take care of herself. She knew all to well her mother's struggle in raising her alone, the sacrifices she made to ensure that she had a good life. She knew much more than her mother thought she did.

Now it was time to take some of the burden off her mother. She wanted Dione to finally have a life of her own, to find some happiness outside of her job, to receive just a little bit of what she gave.

The idea that her mother had possibly found someone to care about and who cared about her made her happy.

“So how are things going with you and that guy, Garrett? When will I get to meet him?”

“You'll probably see him at Chances Are. He's still filming and interviewing,” she said, and Niyah realized she'd totally avoided the first part of her question.

“Things are going okay?” she pressed, glancing at Dione.

“Aren't you the inquisitive one.”

“You're not answering me.”

“There's nothing to tell. I told you that before.”

She knew that hoping Niyah wouldn't touch on the subject of her and Garrett had been futile. They'd always maintained an open relationship and Dione had encouraged Niyah to be open and direct. It was times like this that she regretted it.

“Things didn't work out,” she said quietly.

“Any reason?”

“Differences in philosophy. Big differences.”

“Like what? Chances Are, I'm sure.”

Dione snatched a glance at her daughter. “Why do you say it like that?”

“What other reason could there be? It's always come between you and anyone who tried to get close to you. And before Chances, it was school, and before that, me. It's always something, Ma.”

“My work is important to me. You know that.”

“I know. But—have you tried to talk with him, explain things to him?”

“I thought we were making some headway. He's there every day. He sees what's going on and it didn't matter in the long run. He still has the same off-centered feelings about teen mothers.”

Niyah frowned. The few men who had made very brief pit stops in her mother's life, never came that close to her work, which, Niyah believed was part of the problem why they didn't understand or could accept what she did and why. They simply held on to their prejudiced ideas.

But she hadn't met anyone who'd ever come through those doors who wasn't changed. Something more than just society's views was the problem with Garrett Lawrence.

Niyah sighed. Maybe it was for the best, she concluded. She knew how important her mother's work was to her and anyone who came into her life had to understand that and accept it. But when she looked at her mother's sad, drawn expression, she didn't really think that whatever had happened between her mother and Garrett Lawrence was for the best. She'd just have to meet this guy and see for herself.

 

“Niyah!” Betsy squeezed her as tightly as she could, marveling at the beautiful young woman who had blossomed from the tiny baby she once bounced on her knees.

Betsy held Niyah at arm's length. “Just look at you,” she beamed. Then she ruffled her cropped hair. “What did you do to that head full of hair, chile?”

Niyah patted down her Halle Berry haircut, and grinned. “This is the style, Ms. Betsy.”

“Style!” Betsy clucked her tongue. “Young people,” she mumbled.

“You have your hands full as usual,” Niyah said, scanning the day-care room and the five children under her care. “I don't know how you manage. Why don't you get some help?”

Betsy waved away the question. “I can handle it. Besides, I know your mama can't afford to hire no more help. 'Cause if she could, she would have done it,” she added, with a sharp nod of her head.

Niyah sighed. She'd told her mother on more than one occasion that she'd take a semester off from school and come home to help out. Of course her mother wouldn't hear of it. Somehow she managed between the full-time help of Brenda and Betsy and a social work intern who conducted a lot of the mandatory workshops and prepared the girls for permanent housing—one of the major goals of the facility.

But for the most part, her mother carried the load, and Niyah knew deep in her heart that Dione needed someone with whom she could share her burden.

“So what do you think about the filming?” Niyah asked, knowing that if anybody had the real story it was Ms. Betsy. She knew her mother inside out.

“Them girls gave your mama a hard time about it at first. But Brenda set them straight right quick.” She chuckled. “I think it's a good thing for the house. If it works like they hope it'll take some pressure off your mother.”

“Hmm. What about the guy, um, what's his name, Garrett something?”

“Chile—” Betsy cut her eyes at Niyah. “How many times did I have to spank your behind for trying to get slick with me?”

Niyah fought down a smile. Next to her mother, Betsy was the closest adult female in her life. She was family. The grandmother she'd never known. They had their own special relationship and shared secrets that even Dione knew nothing about.

“Ask me what it is you wanna know. And I'll tell you.”

“Still can't pull anything over on you, Ms. Betsy.” She pulled out a chair near one of the changing tables and sat down. “What's going on with my mother and Mr. Lawrence?”

“Haven't met him yet, huh? He should be pulling in soon.” Betsy shook her head in annoyance. “Your mother is stubborn and too full of pride for one thing. And so is he.” She wagged her finger. “I can tell these things, you know.” She bent down to pick up Denise's son, who was tugging on the hem of her dress. He lay his head against her shoulder, sucking his thumb as she cradled him on her hip.

“Things seemed like they were working out. Haven't seen you mother that happy since you graduated high school a year early. But something happened and she's been miserable ever since.”

“How do you feel about him?”

“He's one handsome devil.” She grinned. “But there's a sadness there that he buries beneath his work, just like your mother does. Both of them seem to figure if they can make things right everywhere else it'll make up for whatever's missing inside. I think they'd be good for each other if they gave each other a chance.”

“Hmm,” Niyah mumbled absently. “I guess I need to meet this man and see for myself.”

Betsy grinned. “I see the look in your eyes, young lady. Stay out of grown folks' business. Been telling you that from the time you could walk.”

“But, Ms. Betsy,” she said as she stood, “I
am
one of the grown folks.”

“Heaven help us,” she muttered.

 

Niyah went back upstairs and was walking along the corridor to the main office just as Garrett's Ford Explorer pulled up in front of the building.

“When I make some money, that's what I'm getting,” she said, folding her arms as she watched the vehicle ease into a parking space.

“Going to get what?” her mother asked from inside the office.

“A black Ford Explorer, like the one outside.”

She stepped into the office and caught the momentary stutter in her mother's eyes.

Dione looked away and picked up the pile of correspondence left for her on Brenda's desk. “Oh, that's probably the video team,” she said in an offhand manner.

“Great. I'll get to meet him—them.” Niyah went to the front door just as Garrett and Jason were coming up the steps. She pulled open the door.

“Hi. I'm Niyah Williams.” She smiled brightly.

“You've got to be Dione's daughter. You look just like her,” Garrett replied, amazed at the striking resemblance. She was a younger version of Dione with short hair. This had to be the perfect picture of what Dione looked like at eighteen.

“That's what everybody says. Can I help with anything?”

“I think we can manage.” He stepped into the corridor. “I'm Garrett Lawrence and this is my partner Jason Burrell.”

“Nice to meet you both. My mom is in the office.”

“Thanks.”

 

Two full sentences hadn't passed between them since the fiasco at her apartment. He didn't know what to say to her, or how she was going to respond.

“Good morning, Dione.” He walked into the office and put one of the cameras on top of the desk.

Dione glanced up from trying to look busy. She gave him a tight, windowless smile. “Morning. I hope you won't be too long today. We want to prepare for the holiday,” she said with more emphasis than he thought was necessary.

“I should be out of here by noon.”

“Good.” She looked away, afraid that if she kept looking at him, kept talking, she'd tiptoe back over that line again and he'd already proven to her that wasn't someplace she wanted to be.

He snatched up the camera. “I'll let you know when we're done.”

“Hmm.” She didn't bother to look up.

Garrett strode out of the room, nearly knocking Niyah and Jason over.

“Slow down, partner. Where's the fire?”

“I'll be downstairs setting up.”

Niyah watched him practically stomp down the stairs. Although she had been chatting with Jason and asking him all sorts of questions about the equipment, her ears were glued to the conversation between her mother and Garrett. If you wanted to call what transpired between them a conversation.