South by Southeast (48 page)

“It's wonderful that you put a value on education,” William Forrest said. “Don't forget about Florida A&M in Tallahassee. Bet you could get a scholarship there. And Gloria and I could keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get in trouble.” He winked, but his wink wasn't entirely playful. He was a former judge who was the dean of the school's criminal justice department. The Forrests knew far too much about Chela.

Chela's phony smile faded. “Thanks, but I don't get into trouble.” She sounded as if she was ready to spring claws. To her ears, he had accused her of plans to start streetwalking.

April gave her father an impatient look. “Dad . . .”

“Chela's a good girl,” Marcela said. “She's been raised well.”

“We trust her,” I said. “But if she ends up in Florida, I'll be glad she has a place to go.”

Mrs. Forrest quickly changed the subject to movies, and everyone relaxed again. April looked relieved. Until her mother's eyes came to me. Mrs. Forrest had been sipping from a glass of sangria, maybe to work up her nerve.

“Do you intend to keep doing your investigations, Tennyson?” Mrs. Forrest said.

April's eyes were heavy on me. She wondered, too.

“No, ma'am,” I said. “But to be honest, I've said that before.”

“Do you think you mean it this time?” April's mother probed.

I glanced up at the wondering, concerned eyes around the
table. I reached over for April's hand and held it, gently stroking the ridges of her knuckles with my thumb.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “My father was a police officer, a good one, so there's a part of me that tried to be like him. Prove something to him, maybe. But ever since I was a kid, all I've ever wanted to be was an actor. I want to leave a legacy fifty years from now like Sidney Poitier. And I have a lot of work to do, so I'd better get started.”

Everyone at the table was smiling. Especially April.

MARCELA CAUGHT ME
at the wine rack while I was trying to find the South African Riesling I'd promised April's father a taste of. As it turned out, he was a bit of a connoisseur, which gave us something else to talk about. It was already hard to believe that April had been so afraid to introduce me to her parents.

“How are you feeling?” Marcela said. She cast her eyes down toward my groin. “Is the swelling very bad?”

Marcela was a nurse, but my earlobes went hot. “Fine, thanks.”

In truth, my last dose of painkillers was wearing off, and my walk had been stiffer and stiffer since the
tres leches
cake Marcela had served for dessert. I was glad April's parents were talking about calling a cab to go back to their hotel soon.

“Are you sure?” Marcela said. “I could take a look—”

I angled myself away from her, covering myself with my palm as if I were nude. “Don't get carried away with the stepmother thing.”

“All right, but that's silly. I'm an RN. You don't have anything I haven't seen.”

I was quiet, waiting for her to change the subject or move on. In the silence, I heard April, Chela, and April's mother laughing loudly from the living room. Maybe I had survived the party.

“I'm moving back to my old apartment,” Marcela said. “Next week, I think.”

“You don't have to do that.”

Sadness shadowed her face. “Yes, I want to. I can't heal here. It's your house. Don't get me wrong: I'll still come see you. But now I have to see what's next for me.”

I couldn't say I didn't understand. I gave Marcela a hug. “We'll miss you.”

Marcela patted my shoulder to end the hug quickly, probably to keep her emotions at bay. “And I have a surprise for you,” she said. “I was going to wait to give this to you, but then I thought maybe this was the perfect time. I was going through your father's things . . .”

“A will?” I didn't need money from my father, but I wished he'd left me something he had given thought to.

Marcela smiled. “No, but better, I think.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small silver-colored jewelry case. The finish was cracked from time, no longer shiny.
I've seen that before,
I thought, just before Marcela opened the case for me.

The ring appeared like déjà vu. It still had its luster—a gold band ringed by tiny diamonds, with one larger diamond glistening at the center, a bright sun.

“My mother's wedding ring?” I said, remembering.

Marcela grinned. “Yes. This was Eva's ring. And now it goes to you.”

“Shouldn't it be yours?”

“No, Tennyson. Didn't Richard tell you? She wanted her new baby boy to have it. She told him to give it to you when it was time. He was saving it for you.”

I remembered Dad showing me the ring once and telling me my mother's wishes, but I had been a very young man then, more of a boy, and I'd barely heard a word my father said in those days.
When Marcela slipped the ring case into my hand, I pursed my lips to ward off stinging eyes. Maybe it was the tear gas, maybe not.

“
Gracias,
Marcela,” I said. “This is the perfect night.”

The sky wasn't usually clear enough for me to see the Hollywood sign from my back deck, but that night, I could see it without Alice's telescope. I both loved and hated my town. Would I really have the chance to build a lasting legacy, or would I always be a trivia question associated with a kidnapped child or a serial killer? I didn't know. But I had to try.

April huddled beside me, finishing the last of her wine while we listened to Stevie Wonder's love songs drifting through my half-open glass sliding door. Chela and Bernard had gone to a late movie, April's parents were back at their hotel, and Marcela was in bed. For the first time since the tar pits, it seemed, April and I were alone.

Suddenly, my heart drilled my chest. It was as real a terror as any I'd ever felt.
You're on medication,
I reminded myself.
Maybe you should wait.
But I had already kept April waiting for years. Kept myself waiting. As April's mother had said at dinner, tomorrow was not promised.

And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted.

“April?” I said. “It's time.”

“Time for what?”

But I didn't have to answer. She knew from my eyes. The look on her face reminded me of Marcela's at her birthday party in Miami, blank with disbelief. “What?”

“I can't get down on one knee, but . . .” I opened the ring case for her. “This was my mother's ring. My father gave it to me. I'd like it to be yours.”

April gazed at the sunshine in the ring case, then back up to me. My mother's diamond was gorgeous, but the sparkle in April's eyes dimmed it by comparison.

“Ten, you know I want to have kids,” she said.

“One or two kids?” I said. “After Chela, how hard can that be?”

“And I'm a slob.”

“And a pretty lousy cook,” I said. “But we can work around that.”

April studied my face for lies or uncertainty, shivering against me. She hushed her voice. “I saw you die that night, Ten,” she said. “When you weren't breathing . . .”

I had made my first appointment to see the therapist April recommended the following week, but April behaved as if Escobar had not damaged her, too. Whenever I asked how afraid she'd been, she said she'd mostly been afraid for me. She couldn't stare it in the face yet. Gustavo Escobar would be with us for a long time, whether or not we were together.

But I hoped we would be. We would fight all of our demons better as a team.

“I thought I saw you die, too, April,” I said, pulling her closer to me, absorbing her tremors. “And I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make sure you never go through anything like that again. Not even close. I can't promise you I'll be perfect—but I can promise to try to be the perfect man for you.”

“Tennyson Hardwick,” she said. “That's quite a proposition.”

“It's not a proposition, sweetie,” I said. “It's a proposal.”

We kissed as if it were our last chance.

WE WOULD LIKE
to thank all of the friends and family who have supported us through this special journey. Special thanks to our police source for helping us navigate the world of prostitution. Also, many thanks to our longtime editor, Atria Books Vice President and Senior Editor Malaika Adero, for her dedication, vision, and faith. Many thanks to Todd Hunter at Atria Books, as well as Atria publisher Judith Curr and publicist Yona Deshommes.

For Tennyson Hardwick series news and updates, “like” Tennyson's Facebook page at
www.facebook.com/pages/Tennyson-Hardwick/35660298310
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You can also keep up with the coauthors on Twitter and Facebook.

Follow Blair Underwood on Twitter at
www.twitter.com/blairunderwood
(@BlairUnderwood), or “like” his Facebook page at
www.facebook.com/BlairUnderwood
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Follow Tananarive Due on Twitter at
www.twitter.com/tananarivedue
(@TananariveDue), or “like” her Facebook page at
www.facebook.com/pages/Tananarive-Due/15737779284
. She also writes two blogs:
Tananarive Due's Reading Circle
at
www.tananarivedue.blogspot.com
and
Tananarive Due Writes,
a blog for writers and screenwriters at
www.tananarivedue.blogspot.com
. Her website is
www.tananarivedue.com
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Visit Steven Barnes's website at
www.diamondhour.com
. Follow him on Twitter at
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. You can also send him a friend request on Facebook:
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