Authors: Gwynne Forster
“And you became mother to Clark and Darlene, I presume.”
“I did with a lot of help from Maggie, who’s been with our family since I was nine. She’s a widow now, and this is her home. What time do you want to have dinner Sunday?”
“I’d like to pick you up at six-thirty. There’s a wonderful little restaurant I know in Buckeytown. It’s mainly Italian, but they serve great Maryland-style crab cakes.”
“I…look forward to Sunday.”
“Me, too,” he said without a trace of a smile. “Since you’re not avoiding me, let’s have some of that coffee I smell.”
“It’s in the living room.” When did Maggie pass them with the espresso? Surely she hadn’t let the man fluster her to the point that she didn’t see what was going on around her. She got through the evening by focusing on the music, changing
the CDs and finding music by performers that Byron and her family preferred. At the end of the evening she announced that breakfast would be served from seven to seven-thirty, said good-night and went to her room. She had some choice words for Clark and Darlene, but saying them would have to wait.
The following morning, Clark and Byron said goodbye to Tyra. She promised Clark that she would give him a call. Once she had assured herself that both her brother and sister were settled in at work, Tyra placed a three-way call to them.
“What do you two mean by setting me up with Byron Whitley? Take care of your business and stay out of mine.”
“Now look, Sis,” Clark began, “that wasn’t really my intention. If I’d thought about it…”
Darlene interrupted. “So what’s the big deal? If you looked for a year, you wouldn’t find a better prospect than Byron. He’s tall, handsome, and he’s got a brilliant legal mind. You should be thanking Clark. And Byron liked you. Anybody could see that.”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “And he’s the right age—forty. Don’t tell me you didn’t like him. I could see that the minute you opened the door and looked at him.”
“I’m warning both of you. I can find a man on my own. I don’t need help from either of you.”
If Clark was trying to be a matchmaker, she’d no doubt frustrated him. Although he may not have planned it, Clark had already warmed up to the idea. “Byron says he has a dinner date with you this coming Sunday. I hope you’re not going to disappoint him.”
“If you hadn’t meddled in my personal life, Clark, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”
“He’s a great guy.”
“Remove your halo, Clark. Let me know if you’ll be home this weekend.”
“Since you’re not interested in Byron, Sis, can I go to dinner with the two of you Sunday?” Darlene said. Tyra threw up her hands. “Oh, stop acting so innocent. I’ll show you both a thing or two. See you tonight.”
Byron sat at his desk trying to focus on a case. He seemed unable to think about his legal strategy. He’d spent the previous night at the Cunningham home, hoping to be distracted from the case. But he hadn’t counted on that much of a distraction. He wanted to see Tyra Cunningham again, and he knew himself well enough to know that if he enjoyed her company at dinner, he’d want to see more of her—much more. She’d made a strong impression on him: not even the delicious crème caramel dessert had gotten his attention.
His intercom light blinked, and he pushed the button. “Mr. Whitley, your dad’s on two,” his secretary said.
He waited until the paralegal left his office and then picked up his second line. “Hi, Dad. How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine. I was thinking how nice it would be if I took Andy fishing with me this weekend. Do you mind if he stays over with me Saturday night?”
“That much is fine, Dad, but I have something to do Sunday evening, and I have to check with Aunt Jonie to see what her plans are.”
“If he’s home by five Sunday, that should do it,” Lewis Whitley told his son. “I know you’ll have a fit if a day passes and you don’t see him. But he could spend Sunday night with me, and he’d love it.”
“Don’t tell him until Friday, otherwise, he’ll pester me about it the entire week. I’ll be in touch.”
Andy was his life, just as he and his sister had been the center of his father’s life. He tried to be both mother and father to the boy. Andy had never known his mother since she’d died a few days after his birth. He looked at the picture
of the child that he kept on his desk and smiled. The boy looked as much like him as Byron looked like his father. What would his life have been like if Lois had survived.
He flexed his left shoulder in a quick shrug, his way of reminding himself that he couldn’t undo the past and that he had to get on with life. He had already realized that he wouldn’t be over Lois completely until another woman claimed his heart. But four years was a long time to wait.
He always played it straight, and he couldn’t commit to a woman unless he thought she would be a good mother for his son. So far, he hadn’t come close to finding a woman like that. A rueful smile flashed across his face.
Wonder how long I’ll be able to say that.
The following Friday night, Tyra sat on the deck in back of her house, waiting for the hamburgers and hotdogs to grill. She almost always cooked dinner on the grill in the summer when Maggie took the night off. The housekeeper didn’t have regular days off. She took a day off whenever she needed to, provided her absence didn’t conflict with Tyra’s plans. She never worked on Sundays. Tyra hadn’t expected Clark, and when he arrived, she put more hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill along with two more ears of corn.
“This is a surprise,” she told him. “Darlene and I thought we’d be eating without you.”
“I wanted to talk to you and saying anything important to you over the phone is never a good idea.” He straddled a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie. “Byron Whitley is an exceptional man, and I don’t want you to treat him as if he’s an also-ran, an ordinary Joe. He’s not. There are seven lawyers in his firm, and he hasn’t lost a case in the fourteen years he’s been practicing.”
“Okay. He’s a great guy. But I won’t have my brother choosing a man for me. I can do that myself.”
“Yeah?” Darlene said. “Not according to Maggie. She said you wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to look for in a man.”
Tyra rolled her eyes skyward. “I know Maggie’s smart, but her words are not gospel. From now on, leave it to me to get my own man. So lay off, please. I know you mean well, but it is humiliating.”
“Are you keeping your date with Byron?” Clark asked.
“I told you I was, but if you ask me one more time, I’m going to phone him and cancel it. I know you both love me, but I want you to let me take care of this part of my life myself.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll lay off, but if you need me…” Unwilling to risk aggravating her more, he let it hang.
Ordinarily, Tyra would have asked Darlene’s opinion about which of two dresses she should wear to dinner with Byron. But since she had asked her siblings to back off, that meant not consulting them about anything to do with Byron or any other man. She chose a pale yellow sleeveless silk-chiffon dress that flared below the hips, black patent-leather shoes with three inch heels and a small black purse. She selected a black wrap in case the air conditioning in the restaurant was too much.
The doorbell rang precisely at six-thirty, and Darlene rushed to open it. Tyra took her time walking down the stairs and, at about halfway, she heard Byron say to Darlene, “What happened to your pony tail? I hardly recognize you.”
“That was then. This is now,” Darlene said. “Next time you see me, I may have a completely different look.”
“I doubt it,” he said.
“Hi, Byron. I meant to answer the door, but Darlene beat me to it.” She took the bouquet of pink, red and white peonies that he handed her and smiled. “How did you know that I love peonies.”
“Just luck, I guess. I’m fond of them, and those were so beautiful. I was wavering between the peonies and roses.”
Tyra looked over her shoulder at Darlene. “I’m thirty, Darlene, so I think I can go on a date without a chaperone.”
“Oh, sorry. I just thought you might want coffee or something.”
“Thanks, but we have to leave now,” Byron said. “Maybe next time. Goodbye.”
He helped Tyra into the front passenger’s seat of his Cadillac. Once she had fastened her seat belt, he closed the door, walked around the car and got in.
Not bad,
Tyra thought.
“I like the way you look. You’re…well…very special. You’re beautiful and elegant.”
A grin formed around her lips, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt like teasing him. “I wouldn’t call you beautiful, Byron. There are other words that describe you. But you’re elegant, and thank God, you’re tall. Oh, and I like the way you look.”
Laughter rolled out of him. “I noticed that you Cunninghams like to pull a guy’s leg. Clark’s good at it, and Darlene’s a prankster. I hope you’re more sober-minded.”
“You don’t like jokesters?”
“I didn’t say that. And I warn you I can give as good as I get.”
She settled back in the comfort of the Cadillac’s soft leather seat and crossed her legs. “I’m no slouch, either.”
They arrived at the restaurant, a rustic setting that she thought would probably be cozy and even more romantic in the winter when the stone fireplace sparkled with a roaring fire. White lace curtains with red tiebacks graced the windows, and offered relief to the red-brick walls. White linen tablecloths and napkins, white candles and long-stem goblets adorned the round tables that were designed to seat two or four. A bowl of white and pink lisianthus sat in the center of each table.
“Byron, this is so…beautiful. Thank you for choosing this restaurant. I imagine it’s even more idyllic in winter when it’s cold.”
He sat across from her and smiled as if trying to put her at ease. But, his smile had the opposite effect. It rattled her composure. He spoke softly. “What a lovely picture you painted. You wouldn’t happen to be an artist, would you?”
Her gaze drifted from his remarkable eyes to his wrist and hands. His fingers were long and appeared strong. How would they feel on her body?
“Do you paint?” he asked again.
Get a hold of yourself, girl.
“Yes, I suppose I do. I make stained-glass art. I would love to make stained-glass windows for a modern-design church. I have all kinds of ideas, but I’m not good enough yet to carry them out.”
“I paint with watercolors. I’ve used oils, but I prefer water colors, because I think they’re best for the landscapes and seascapes that I do. I also play the piano. I’m pretty good at that.”
She sat forward. “You are? Gosh, I envy you. I’d give anything to play the piano. I’d settle for any instrument. I just want to play music. I love music. You’re…why are you looking at me that way?”
“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’d never want to do that. So many things were flying around in my mind just then. It’s amazing that we have so many interests in common.”
“Would you care for drinks, sir?” the waiter said, interrupting the conversation.
Byron looked at her. “What would you like?”
“Something light…and safe.”
“I’m glad to know that you trust me.” He turned to the waiter. “Please bring her a Chardonnay spritzer, and bring me the wine list.”
They ordered their meals. Tyra was sure that she enjoyed the dinner but she hardly remembered tasting it.
“I take it you don’t eat much?”
“I do, I’m just a little overwhelmed. If I took a doggie bag, it would be gone in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m not sure I should ask what overwhelms you, but I’d certainly like to know.”
“The ambiance got me when we walked in. And of course, there’s you.”
He swallowed heavily, and his face darkened in a frown. “I guess it wouldn’t be nice of me to ask what you meant by that last part.”
“Thanks, because I’m not sure I could explain it. The food was wonderful. I’m glad you brought me here.”
“It’s a beautiful evening,” he said. “The sun sets late in mid-June. Would you like to drive through Sugarloaf?”
Tyra would say yes to most anything that would prolong her time with him. The man exuded charm. But in her experience, anything presented on a silver platter should be carefully examined. She’d do that. But in the meantime, she’d find a man without anyone’s assistance or intervention.
T
he next morning, Tyra arose at sunup. She went into her flower garden and sat on the little stone bench beneath the rose trellis. Her parents had put the trellis and bench there a few weeks after they bought the house, and some of her fondest memories were of them sitting there on a summer evening, laughing, holding hands and sipping ice tea. Over the years, Tyra had gone there to find solace and direction. But as time passed, she needed the comfort she found in that little spot less and less. Tyra wondered why she’d gone there at this particular time.
“What are you doing out there so early?” Maggie called from her bedroom window. “You all right?”
“I’m fine, Maggie. Just musing.”
“I’ll start the coffee, and we can muse together. I’ll be down in a minute.
“So what’s up?” Maggie asked Tyra a few minutes later when they sat together drinking coffee.
“I need to get a job. I haven’t had a response to any of the jobs I applied for, so I think I’ll do better if I try something else.”
“I expect you’re right. If it’s money that’s bothering you, I can live on less than you pay me. All I need is a home.”
“This is your home, Maggie. I’m happy to say that we don’t have a financial problem. I’ve invested what my parents left us. I’ve paid off the mortgage, and we don’t have any debts.” Indeed, the value of the trust funds had nearly doubled in the twelve years since the family had received their inheritance. Nevertheless, Tyra remained vigilant and had become as good a money manager as the man she hired to keep a check on their resources. “I’ll get busy with my job search as soon as I’ve eaten.”
True to her word, Tyra sat at her computer investigating online job listings. She thought she saw a good job prospect and telephoned the number on the screen.
“You’re definitely overqualified for this job, ma’am. Anybody who’s finished sixth grade can do what we want.” Tyra opened her mouth to say, “You should have put that in the ad,” but thought better of it, thanked the woman and continued her search. She doubted that she would have enjoyed a job that didn’t challenge her mentally. After applying for more jobs online, someone from the Legal Aid Center that she had spoken to earlier called her back.
“Miss Cunningham, this is Barbara Johnson. We have a position for a counselor that I overlooked when we spoke before. Would you come in tomorrow at nine for an interview?”
“Yes, I’ll be glad to. Thank you.”
The next morning at nine, Tyra stepped into the Legal Aid Center wearing a white linen suit and tank top, white sandals and bag.
The sisters liked to pull rank, but regardless of status, they appreciated class when they saw it.
Two hours later, she’d been interviewed by a supervisor, examined by a medical doctor and fingerprinted. She had also filled out a questionnaire that contained at least two dozen questions, and she was ready to say, “No more.”
“This will be your office,” Barbara Johnson said, “and your secretary sits next door. After two weeks, you’ll be asked whether you want to keep her or hire one whose skills and personality better suit you. We’d like you to begin tomorrow, but if you prefer you can wait until Monday.”
Nothing needed her urgent attention. Indeed, if she didn’t start work the next day, she’d spend the rest of the week waiting for Monday. “I can begin tomorrow, Ms. Johnson. Would you tell me who I report directly to?”
“Mr. Riddick is in charge of counseling. He’ll introduce you to your associates when you come tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Ms. Johnson. You’ve been so helpful.”
As Tyra left the center, she encountered a young good-looking brother. “Things are definitely looking up around here,” he said as he held the door for her. “I’m Christopher Fuller, and I hope you’re going to be working here.”
“I’m Tyra Cunningham. Glad to meet you.” She extended her hand, smiled and kept walking. She liked his looks, but she suspected that he could be full of himself. He didn’t seem to doubt his attractiveness, and that type had always bored her.
There I go prejudging men. I’m supposed to be looking for a guy, not necessarily to marry, but to get Clark and Darlene off my back
. She thought for a second.
Maggie, too. If they saw me with that guy, they’d mind their own business. He’s a looker. But something tells me he won’t measure up to Byron. Still…
Tyra plotted to find a man, who might make her reaction to Byron Whitley seem like a child’s delight with a new toy.
Meanwhile Byron was arriving at the conclusion that Tyra could be important to him and that he wanted to see more of her. He rarely made a mistake when it came to women, and he didn’t think he’d made one with her. He’d gotten a wallop when he first met her. He knew he could lose interest in Tyra simply by staying away from her and by seeing other women. But to his astonishment, he didn’t want to do that. She intrigued him, and he wanted
her.
“I’m wasting time,” he said to himself, recognizing something that was out of character for him, and lifted the telephone receiver.
“Ms. Cunningham’s not home, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said when he asked for Tyra. “She ought to be back anytime now. I’ll tell her you called. You want her to call you?”
“Thanks, but I’ll try reaching her again later. Goodbye.”
He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his desk. “Now what?”
He phoned his aunt, his mother’s sister, who lived with him and took care of four-year-old Andy when he wasn’t at home. “My dad and Andy caught some striped bass this past weekend. Dad cleaned them, and I put them in the freezer. Would you mind cooking them for dinner? Andy is proud of them, and the sooner we eat them, the happier he’ll be.”
“I’ll be glad to cook them. You know I love fish. Why don’t you call your dad and ask him to have dinner with us tonight?” Jonie said.
“Good idea. Would you mind calling him? I’ll be busy for the next few hours.”
“I’ll call him. If you bring home some vanilla or strawberry ice cream for desert.”
“Will do. Andy will be ecstatic.”
He hung up and buzzed his secretary. “Ask Mrs. Foxx to come in, please.” For nearly a month, he’d been trying to figure out why the woman wanted him to be her lawyer. Rich
as she was, she could have any lawyer she chose. He decided to stop guessing her reasons and ask her.
“Before we go further with this case, Mrs. Foxx, would you tell me why you want me to take your case? I’m a criminal lawyer. Yours is a civil suit and you’re not asking for money. Why?”
“I want an apology in
The New York Times,
and you can get that for me.” That wasn’t reason enough for her insistence that he take her case. She had met him at a reception in the mayor’s office and asked for his card. He remembered her. Any man would remember a woman who looked like her. But blond hair and blue eyes didn’t turn him on. The opportunity arose earlier than he’d expected.
“I shouldn’t take up so much of your time, Mr. Whitley. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner and drinks. We’d both be…more relaxed, and we’d get more done.”
He forced a half smile. “I don’t discuss business after my working hours, Mrs. Foxx. No, thanks. In fact, I advise you to get another lawyer. This case is not for me.”
He stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for considering me.”
She took his hand and held it. “It would have been nice. Very nice.” Head held high and shoulders back, she walked out of his office as if her brazen suggestion had not been thwarted. He buzzed his assistant. “Get me some information on Mrs. Foxx’s husband, please.”
“I have a file on them, sir. I’ll bring it right in.”
He flipped through the file.
Hmm.
Just as he’d thought. She’d married a rich man many years her senior and she was paying the price. He put the file in his out-box and buzzed his secretary. “Whenever Mrs. Foxx calls, I’m unavailable.”
A glance at his watch told him that if he wanted to speak with Tyra, he’d better call right then. He dialed her number.
“Hello, Tyra, this is Byron. How are you?”
“I feel as if I could jump across the Potomac. I just got a job, and I think it’s perfect for me, that is, if I get some interesting clients.”
“Congratulations. That’s good news, indeed. What will you be doing?”
“I’ll be counseling at the Legal Aid Center, and they want me to start tomorrow.”
“This is wonderful. I marvel at how much you and I have in common. When you get down to it, a lawyer is a counselor.”
“I hadn’t thought of the similarity, and I definitely wouldn’t compare what I’ll be doing with what you do.”
“Yes, but if you’re successful, a lot of people won’t need me. I called because I want to see you. We could go to the Kennedy Center or hear Kiri Te Kanawa at Wolf Trap. If that doesn’t suit you, I could pack us a picnic basket and we could go to Meridian Hill or the Tidal Basin and just be together. The sun doesn’t set before nine-thirty.”
Her silence told him that he had either surprised her or that she didn’t care for his plans. Well, he had patience. Finally she said, “I love the picnic idea, but I haven’t heard Kiri Te Kanawa sing in a long time, so—”
“There’s no reason why we can’t do both, and I’d be much happier. The concert is Saturday evening. We could have our picnic Friday evening in Meridian Hill and at the same time listen to a baroque ensemble. Would you like that?”
“Byron, you’ve discovered my weaknesses. I think it’s a great idea.”
“Then I’ll be at your house Friday afternoon at five-thirty so we can pick a good spot.”
“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”
He hung up. She’d hesitated, and he wondered why. She was attracted to him, and they both knew it, so what held her back? If she was in a dilemma about him, he’d make up her
mind for her the first chance he got. And if an opportunity didn’t come along naturally, he’d make one.
Byron Whitley was rushing her, and although she wanted to see him, she also wanted the experience of finding the kind of man she liked for herself. She didn’t need a matchmaker to fix up her life. She closed her eyes and imagined him kissing her. Her annoyance at Clark and Darlene had all but disappeared, but she still intended to show them that she was capable of managing her own love life. She was attracted to Byron…at least so far, but they didn’t have to know it.
“You going in for a swim?” Barbara asked her the next day at lunch. “The pool’s right behind us. It belongs to the Parks Department, but it’s never crowded. A lunchtime swim can relax you for the rest of the day.”
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit, but I’ll have a look at the swimming pool.” She took the elevator to the ground floor and followed the signs. At a door marked POOL, she read a plaque: “Gift from Morris Hilliard to the Legal Aid Center workers with gratitude.” Very interesting, she thought, wondering what the center had done for Morris Hilliard. Streams of water cascaded from a single, fifty-foot wall, in a waterfall of rainbow colors. Blue and white tiles paved the entrance to the pool and the area surrounding it.
She glanced at the man sprawled out in a red chaise longue. She couldn’t see his face, but his swim trunks advertised his seemingly more than ample equipment. She walked in the opposite direction in hopes of seeing his face without him noticing. The dark glasses did little to camouflage him, because they hardly covered his eyes. Christopher Fuller. She should have known.
Pool or no pool, it doesn’t seem appropriate for the office. But oh, the tantalizing picture he made lying in that chaise
.
She shrugged, and admitted to herself that she had no right to judge Christopher Fuller.
In the staff cafeteria, she bought a quiche, a bottle of lemonade and an apple, went back to the pool, and took a table in a shaded area to eat her lunch. Several people went for a swim, but she focused on her meal.
“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” the male voice drawled.
She looked up into the face of a man she didn’t know. Seeing that he was tall and easy on the eyes, she let herself smile. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said after dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“And what a pity that is,” he replied. “I’m Matt Cowan. Are you going to tell me who you are?”
“I’m Tyra Cunningham.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Don’t let me interfere with your lunch. What do you do here?”
Very direct
she thought. “I’m a counselor. Some people would call me a psychoanalyst, but they’d be wrong.” He crossed his legs and appeared to get comfortable, so she continued eating.
“What is your field?”
She stopped eating and stared at him. Curiosity was one thing, but rudeness was something she wouldn’t tolerate. “Psychology,” she said. “And that’s the last question I’ll answer.”
He stood and wiped the front of his left trouser leg with his handkerchief. “Sorry if I annoyed you. I tend to do that to people.”
“You didn’t annoy me, Mr. Cowan. I stopped you before you got that far.”
He smiled. “I’d like to know you better. But right now, I have to meet a client. We’ll pick this up again later.”
“Mr. Cowan, I had a cat who ignored me until he wanted something. He didn’t let me pet him or even touch him. One day I decided to let him know who held the power.”
Matt walked back and stared down at her. “What happened to him?”
“He loved milk and liver. When he didn’t get either for three days, he began following me around the house, rubbing against my leg and looking up at me and meowing. He got plenty to eat, but not what he craved. After a week, I relented, and he no longer treated me as if I were his servant. He was at my heels all the time.”
“And the moral of this story?”
“I don’t appreciate arrogance.”
“Okay. I stand corrected. Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know.”
He looked at her for a minute. “I’m about to be late. See you.”
She didn’t think she could get along with him. He was an alpha male type, and he probably went to the gym every morning before getting to work.
She saw Barbara Johnson as she left the pool area and went back inside the building. She wasn’t sure of Barbara’s title or of her precise responsibilities, but she was certain that Barbara knew everything about everybody who worked for LAC, as the employees called the center.