More Than He Can Handle (24 page)

“I was wrong. I keep thinking that if I had been there, I could've made a difference or I could've saved him.”

“Do you blame me?” she asked and grimaced as she waited for the answer.

“No,” Cleveland said. “Freddie, I was blaming myself. But when Darren told me what happened, I realized that whether I'd been there or not, Roland would've died. It was one of those things that happen.”

“Still, it's not any easier to deal with, huh?” she said quietly.

“No, especially when in a few months, I'm going to be the guy that has to keep it together and help others get through losing a brother,” he said.

Freddie bent over and picked up the produce that she'd dropped. Cleveland stepped back and watched her as she moved. “You know,” she said as she felt his eyes watching her every move, “you could help me clean up the mess you made me make.”

“I want you to get to know my mother,” he blurted out.

“What?” she said as she scooped up the busted tomato.

“I don't usually bring a lot of women around my mother and I normally wouldn't want my mother to get to know a woman, because she can be brutal. Let me tell you right now, she's going to grill you relentlessly.”

“Okay,” Freddie said.

“Tomorrow night, dinner, right here.”

“Just the three of us?” Freddie asked.

Cleveland laughed. “I wouldn't do that to you. I'm going to invite Jill and Darren too.”

“What's with this change in attitude?” Freddie questioned with her eyebrow raised.

“I spoke to a grief counselor and she told me that I can't live my life waiting for bad things to happen when I have so much to live for,” Cleveland admitted.

Freddie's smile belied the fiery nervousness in her stomach. What if his mother didn't like her? This was one time when she wished that she could take a page from Lillian's book and put on a charming front. Then again, that's not who she was and she knew that people, especially a mother, would see right through that.

“What's going to be on the menu?” Freddie asked.

“I'm going to order something Cajun,” he said. “And you're not going to lift a finger.” Cleveland leaned in and kissed Freddie's cheek.

“I appreciate that, but I want to cook,” she said. “Remember, I'm a New Orleans chick. I love to cook.”

“No, I don't want that kind of pressure on you,” he said.

“This is just a relaxing inquisition.”

The fiery nervousness had turned into a raging inferno as she dumped the mess in the trash can.

The next day, Cleveland felt as if he were a renewed man. His talk with the grief counselor had put a lot of things into perspective. Though he was good at his job, because of the death of his father, he had a hard time processing death. He wanted to save everybody because he couldn't save his father. The counselor told him that he needed to live his life and not think about losing it and the people he loved so much.

When he told her about Freddie and their romance, she told him the way he went after her was the way he should look at other things in his life. And, she told him that he shouldn't blame himself for Roland's death. Had he been there, what could he have done differently?

Cleveland was still sad that Roland was gone, but life had to go on and if he was going to be the new battalion chief, he was going to have to figure out how to help others deal with grief if they lost a man in the future.

“What's with that smile on your face?” Freddie asked when she walked out of the bathroom.

“Well, I was thinking about what's underneath that towel,” he said as he rose from the bed and crossed over to her.

She opened the towel and let it fall to the floor. “Here you go,” she said.

Cleveland pulled her damp body against his chest. “Well, anything that I was thinking doesn't match up to the real thing.” He gently kissed her neck, inhaling the peach scent of her body wash. “Umm, do you taste as good as you smell?”

“You tell me,” she moaned as Cleveland slipped his hand between her bare thighs. His fingers found their way to the moist folds of flesh that hid her throbbing bud of desire. Her breathing was staccato as his finger explored her womanhood and her knees shook when he touched her bud. “Cleveland,” she called out when his hot mouth covered her breast, suckling at her erect nipple.

He removed his hand because he needed both of them to scoop Freddie up into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his full manhood against her middle. Nibbling at his ear, Freddie heated Cleveland's body like a match. He fell back on the bed with Freddie on top of him. She took control of his body, kissing his neck as she roamed her hands across his broad chest. His ripped body was like a topography map underneath her fingers and though she knew every nook and crevice of it, she reveled in the feel of him. He throbbed against her thighs as she spread her legs and teased him with the heat from her core. With her tongue, Freddie made a path down the center of his chest. Cleveland buried his hands in her hair as her mouth covered his manhood. Cleveland closed his eyes as intense waves of pleasure flowed through his body as she bobbed up and down, taking him deeper into her mouth. He writhed underneath Freddie's touch and when her tongue crawled up the length of him, it was all he could do to keep from exploding. He reached down and grabbed her around the waist. “Umm,” he moaned as he pulled her to the center of his chest and assailed her breasts with kisses. Freddie arched her back as her nipples hardened like precious diamonds. With his free hand, Cleveland reached over to his nightstand and grabbed a condom. Gently, he flipped Freddie on her back and continued stroking her breasts. He made short work of opening the latex sheath and slipping it on his rigid desire. Licking his lips, he rolled over on his side and looked at Freddie. Lying against his white cotton sheets, she looked like a goddess. Cleveland spread her legs apart, exploring her creamy core with his finger.

Freddie moaned as he found her blossoming bud of desire. She pressed his hand deeper, pleading with him for more. Cleveland knew she was primed and ready to take him inside, so he removed his finger and buried himself inside her wetness. Freddie cried out in bliss.

They matched each other stroke for stroke. Freddie's nails bit into Cleveland's shoulder as he pressed deeper, faster and harder into her awaiting body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and ground against him until she exploded from the inside out. But Cleveland wasn't done with her as he pulled her on top of him, gripping her hips as she rode him like he was a mechanical bull. She went slow, then fast, slow again and faster. Now it was Cleveland's turn to explode. Holding her against his chest, Cleveland climaxed and released a satisfied moan. Freddie kissed his shoulder and glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

“My God,” she exclaimed. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Um, I don't care,” he said as he snuggled against her.

“Dinner, Cleveland, we have to get the food for dinner. What's your family going to think if they come here and there's no food?”

He smiled wickedly. “That we spend the morning and the afternoon in bed.”

She swatted his hands away from her waist. “Like that's the image I want your mother to have of me.”

Cleveland tweaked her nipple. “Come on, they know what's going on already.”

Freddie hopped off the bed. “I'm going to take another shower and go to the grocery store and you're coming with me.”

“To the shower, all right,” he said, following her into the bathroom. When Cleveland reached the door, she pressed her hand against his chest.

“Uh-uh, Mr. Man. You're not coming in here with me.” Before he could respond, Freddie slammed the door in his face and locked it.

“Oooh, you're not fair,” he said. “I'm going downstairs to take a shower myself and I'm going to use all the hot water.”

“Not if I use it first,” she shot back.

About thirty minutes later, Cleveland and Freddie were dressed and on their way out the door heading to Kroger's. When they arrived at the grocery store, Freddie and Cleveland behaved like two schoolchildren, skipping down the aisle as they picked up ingredients for blackened catfish, jambalaya and smothered okra and tomatoes. They also stuck in their cart a Mrs. Smith Apple Pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert. When they passed the produce department, Freddie grabbed a container of strawberries. “This is for when your mother leaves,” she said wickedly.

“Keep this up and I'm cancelling dinner,” he replied with a gleam in his eye.

“And have your mother thinking that I'm some harlot. I don't think so,” she said as she placed the berries in the loaded shopping cart.

“Let me get some wine and whipped cream and we can go,” Cleveland said as he glanced at his watch. “Because it looks like you have a lot of work to do.”

“Oh, I have a lot of work to do?” she teased. “And what do you plan on doing while I'm cooking?”

“Watching.”

Freddie rolled her eyes as Cleveland dashed off to the wine aisle. Though she and Cleveland were laughing and joking, she was extremely nervous about officially meeting Cleveland's mother and cooking for her.

I should've just let him order takeout, but no, I had to open my mouth and insert my entire foot. What if this woman doesn't like my cooking or God forbid something goes wrong,
she thought as she made her way to the register. Cleveland walked up behind her and placed the wine and whipped cream on the counter. Then he kissed Freddie on the cheek. “Are you sure you can handle all of this?” he asked.

“Well, I'm certainly going to try,” Freddie replied as the cashier began to ring up the groceries.

“I was joking before, I'll help you cook,” he said.

“There was never a doubt.”

After paying for the groceries, Cleveland and Freddie headed back to his place to begin preparing the feast.

 

 

By six o'clock, Freddie had prepared a perfect meal. The catfish was cooked to perfection and the rice in the jambalaya was fluffy and tender. She'd even cooked the okra and tomatoes so that they weren't too soupy. Cleveland was impressed.

“Ever considered a career as a chef?” he asked as she set the table in the dining room.

“No, but do you think we should've gotten some flowers for the table?” she asked, her voice peppered with nervousness.

“Calm down, Martha Stewart isn't going to be grading the table,” he said with a chuckle.

“But your mother might,” she mumbled.

“Babe, calm down. She's going to love you and if she doesn't, I love you enough for both of us.”

“Was that supposed to be reassuring?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Was it?”

“No.” She smacked him on the shoulder just as the doorbell rang.

Cleveland opened the door, leaving Freddie to fidget with the place settings some more.

“Well, what's the occasion?” Margaret asked as she embraced her younger son.

“I can't invite my mother over for dinner?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrow at Cleveland. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“The woman who's brought this change in you. She is the same one who came to Darren's house after the baby was born, right?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Margaret walked into the foyer and smiled. “I never can tell with you,” she said. “You change them like most people change socks. Are Darren and Jill bringing Kayla?”

Cleveland shrugged his shoulders. “Freddie is in the dining room,” he said.

“Freddie? What kind of name is that for a woman?” she asked as they headed into the dining room.

“Be nice,” he cautioned respectfully.

“Um,” Margaret said.

They entered the dining room, catching Freddie changing a place setting.

“Winfred Barker,” Cleveland said. “This is my mother, Margaret Alexander.”

Freddie walked over to the older woman and extended her hand. “It's nice to see you again,” she said demurely.

“Winfred, you're very pretty,” Margaret said as she shook hands with Freddie. “Did you cook all of this?”

“Yes, ma'am. I hope you like it.”

“Me too. I don't know why my son didn't just order takeout from Houston's like he usually does, instead of chaining you to the stove all day.”

Freddie opened her mouth to tell her that she wanted to cook, but they were interrupted by the doorbell.

“That must be Darren and Jill,” Cleveland said, then headed for the front door. Seconds later, Jill, Darren and Cleveland entered the dining room.

“Hey Freddie,” Darren said. “Ma.” He kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Wow,” Jill said as she surveyed the spread on the table.

“No Houston's takeout tonight. I'm already impressed.” She then hugged her mother-in-law. “You look nice tonight.”

“Thank you, Jill,” Margaret said as she smoothed her purple pants.

“Well,” Freddie said. “Let's eat.”

The group sat down at the table and Freddie smiled as Margaret said, “Let's bless the table.”

Freddie couldn't remember the last time she'd sat down for a family meal that didn't end in an argument between her and her mother. Hell, she couldn't remember the last time that she'd sat down and ate with her family.

As they said, “Amen,” Cleveland got up to get the wine from the fridge and Margaret turned to Freddie.

“So, Winfred, where are you from?” she asked as Jill passed her the platter with the catfish.

“New Orleans.”

“You and Lillian grew up together, right?” Darren said.

Freddie took the platter from Margaret's hands and placed fish on her plate and Cleveland's. “We did, until her family moved to Georgia. My mother and I had a hotel to run and . . .”

“Hey,” Cleveland said when he reappeared in the dining room with an open bottle of wine, “can we hold off the interrogation until after dessert?”

His mother shot him a look that said, “Shut up, boy.”

Jill cleared her throat and reached for the okra and tomatoes. “Freddie, everything looks great.”

“Thank you,” she replied, grateful that Cleveland's mother hadn't continued her inquiry. She didn't want to have to get into everything about her father and her mother and how if they were in New Orleans right now, none of them would want to be seen in public with her. “I love to cook.”

“Is that what you did in New Orleans?” Margaret asked as she sliced into her catfish.

“No, I ran a hotel with my mother,” Freddie said. “It was the family business.”

“Katrina destroyed it? That was such a sad time,” Margaret said. “You know, Jill and her company got there before the government. What kind of sense does that make?”

“None,” Darren said. “And after all this time you still have neighborhoods that haven't been rebuilt.”

Freddie shook her head. “I know. Everyone down there wants to pass the blame, but that doesn't help people rebuild. I was lucky to have someplace else to go. But not everyone was.”

Cleveland reached out and grabbed Freddie's hand. Margaret looked at the two of them and smiled. “So, are you relocating to Atlanta and into my son's home?” she asked, still smiling sweetly.

Darren nearly choked on a fork full of jambalaya and Jill, who was in mid-sip of a glass of wine, almost spit back into her glass. Cleveland sat in his chair mortified.

“I, uh, do plan to start over in Atlanta,” Freddie said, her hand trembling a bit.

“Here with my son or are you going to find your own place?”

“Ma,” Darren and Cleveland said in unison.

“What? Don't you two sit there and pretend that I'm acting out of character,” she said. “I'm only asking because I'm concerned about what's going on here.” Margaret turned to Freddie. “Well? What are your intentions with my son?”

Freddie dropped her fork and stared at Margaret. “Is this really the time to . . . Um, I love-love your son.”