Playing the Hand You're Dealt Page 7

  “Ugghh,” Brenda grunted, shaking her head. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why a man who was as well connected and as socially sought after as Ed didn’t have a clue or desire about the details of important happenings. She knew that it was up to her to keep him on his toes. She tried to control her tone as she spoke. “Other than Samantha and Emily’s birthday celebration next month, Joe and Juanita Presley’s party will be the event to attend this summer. All anyone could talk about this evening at the sorority meeting was Juanita’s party tomorrow night, especially Juanita herself,” she huffed. “It starts at seven, so be home by six.”

  “Fine,” Ed agreed in a tone that let Brenda know he was shutting down.

  She wanted to reiterate to Ed how important this party was, but she knew he wasn’t in the mood to continue another word of the conversation. Although she would rather bathe in ice water than show up at an important social affair unescorted, she was determined to go to this party with or without her husband.This was an event she had to attend.

  Juanita Presley was Brenda’s archnemesis. Her sister, Dorothy, and Juanita were peers, and it stood to reason that the two of them would be natural rivals, but that wasn’t the case. Juanita and Dorothy were actually the best of friends, and at one time they had hoped their children would marry and make them in-laws. To Brenda’s relief, but to Dorothy’s disappointment, that hadn’t happened, yet.

  To say that Brenda and Juanita didn’t care for each other was a grand understatement. They’d been in competition with each other for years. They were both married to wealthy, successful men. They each possessed elegant good looks, exceptional taste, and membership in the right social organizations and clubs. The two competed on every level, even where their children were concerned—and that was the one area where Brenda felt woefully inadequate.

  Juanita’s son, Joe Jr., was a dentist with a lucrative suburban practice. He was married to a former beauty queen who’d given him three adorable children. Her daughter, Pamela, was general counsel for one of the most powerful lobbying firms in Atlanta. Several years ago, Brenda thought she’d finally get a chance to throw venom at Juanita when Pamela had a child out of wedlock. But her temporary gloating was spoiled when she learned that the father of Pamela’s baby was not only a prominent heart surgeon, he was her sister Dorothy’s most beloved son, Parker.

  Brenda, on the other hand, didn’t boast about her children the way Juanita did. Even though she wanted to brag about the fact that Jeffery was a successful physician living in Paris, she refused to breathe a word because she’d have to explain why such a handsome, intelligent young man as Jeffery wasn’t married—and she wasn’t about to reveal that it was because same-sex marriage wasn’t legal in Paris. She’d had high hopes for her firstborn, but he had turned out to be one of her most upsetting disappointments.

  And then there was Samantha. Although she thought her daughter was witty and mildly charming when she wanted to be, Brenda had so many issues with Samantha that she didn’t know where to begin. She was heartbroken that despite all the piano, ballet, and etiquette lessons she’d lavished on her, Samantha had always chosen to stray to the wrong side of the tracks, preferring the seamier side of life.

  Over the years, Samantha had run the gamut in men from would-be thugs to outright criminals, giving Brenda mild heart attacks along the way. It greatly disappointed her that Samantha had blown her one chance for happiness when she ruined her relationship with Tyler Jacobs. Samantha had purposely sabotaged their six-month courtship, and Brenda knew that her daughter had done it just to spite her. And for that reason she was determined to make Samantha’s upcoming birthday party a success.

  Samantha would turn thirty next month, and Brenda vowed to get her daughter married off before she became an old maid, as if she weren’t already dangerously close. A lavish summer garden party was the perfect way to invite a host of eligible bachelors into Samantha’s life and properly announce that she was in the market for a husband.

  Brenda thought it was high time that Samantha started acting like an adult and get her life together, if not for her sake, then for the reputation of the Baldwin name. She was embarrassed no end that Samantha had a child but no husband to round out a traditional family. Come hell or high water, she was going to make sure that she remedied the situation. And as an added bonus, she would be able to throw a party that would have people talking.

  Just as she was thinking over the details for the lavish event, Ed turned to her with a quizzical look stretched across his face. “What’s this about Sam and Emily having a birthday party next month? This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

  Brenda pursed her lips. “I’m throwing a thirtieth celebration party for the girls,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Ed removed his reading glasses, giving his wife a questioning stare. “Do they know you’re throwing them a party? Sam hasn’t mentioned it.”

  “It’s going to be, um . . . sort of a surprise,” Brenda replied.

  “You better check with Sam, and Emily, too, before you start planning one of your extravagant parties,” Ed cautioned. “They’ve spent every birthday together since they were nineteen, and they probably have big plans for this one.”

  “And that’s exactly why I’m going to help them celebrate this milestone.Turning thirty, being in the same city again, and starting fresh new lives . . . they will appreciate this, you’ll see.”

  Ed stared at Brenda with skeptical eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t play innocent. Everything you do has a motive that’s usually tied to a self-serving gain, just like having Emily as our houseguest. It works out nicely that you’ll have someone around to pick up the slack with CJ.”

  Brenda wanted to feign outrage, but she remained silent because Ed was exactly right—she had her motives. In addition to helping with CJ, and her quest to make a respectable woman of Samantha, Brenda had her sites set on another mission that would yield her the treasure she’d been coveting for over a year, and she needed Emily’s help to get it. Yes, she was going to remain silent and she was going to make sure that she accomplished her goal. “Good night, Ed.” Brenda smiled, then turned out the light, thinking about her strategy.

  Chapter 7

  Emily . . .

  I Need to Move Now!

  I loved Mondays. It was my favorite day of the week because it represented a new beginning. My mother used to say that everyone needed a fresh start because you never knew what was waiting around the corner. As I began my day, I hoped that her truism would stand as my moniker for the weeks to come.

  I was an early riser, a trait I inherited from both my parents. I was up before the sun rose this morning so I could drive Samantha to Union Station. She had decided to leave her car here until she moved in a few weeks, relieving her of the tremendous hassle of parking it in New York City. On our way to the train station we talked about her lunch date yesterday with the new man she’d met last Friday night. He sounded like a great guy, but Samantha seemed hesitant about him. He was opposite from the type of man she usually went for, which was probably a good thing. Even though Samantha made poor choices, she was a good person, and she deserved good things in her life. I hoped she would realize that before it was too late. She had so much to offer and didn’t even know it.

  After I dropped Samantha off, I miraculously found my way back to the house without getting lost. I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking hibiscus tea when Ed walked into the room.

  “Good morning. I see that I’m not the only early bird around here.” He smiled as he dropped the morning paper on the breakfast table.

  “Good morning.” I smiled back, but couldn’t look him in the eye. I still felt embarrassed by the way I practically ran out of the room last Friday night. I had every intention of apologizing, but we kept missing each other over the last two days. Now that we were alone and finally had a chance to talk, I couldn’t seem to push out the words.


  I discreetly scanned Ed as he walked over to the coffeemaker and poured himself a freshly brewed cup. He reached over and pushed a button to warm the bagel that had already been split the night before and was waiting for him to toast. It amazed me how Ms. Gerti attended to the smallest of details that kept this family running.

  When Ed slid down into his seat, my breathing became shallow. Sitting across from him, I felt more nervous than Rush Limbaugh at an NAACP convention. “May I see the Metro section, please?” I asked. I needed something to do, a distraction to take my mind off the seductive scent of his cologne.

  He looked at me for what seemed like a long time before handing me the paper. He opened the Business section and read it as he ate his bagel.We exchanged sections as we finished them, like it was a morning routine we shared every day.We read through the entire Washington Post together, and I was surprised by how comfortable it felt.

  “Do you have a busy day ahead?” he asked, rising from the table to place his empty cup and crumb-splattered plate in the sink.

  “After I drop off CJ at camp later this morning I’m going to swing by my house and check on the progress.”

  “When did your contractor say they’ll be finished?”

  “Last month,” I half joked.

  “If you need any help, I’ll be happy to make a phone call because—”

  “Thanks,” I said, cutting him off, “but that’s okay. I know you’re busy. I don’t want to impose on your time.”

  “Helping you isn’t an imposition at all.”

  His offer made me smile. “Thank you. I’ll let you know.”

  I watched as Ed pulled on his dark blue jacket and grabbed his briefcase and gym bag from the floor. He was off to start his day, and a part of me wished I could join him. He walked toward the back door and stopped. This was my chance. I took a deep breath. “Ed, I want to apologize for leaving so abruptly the other night. I had a long day on the road and I was tired. It had nothing to do with you,” I lied.

  I hated this—making up excuses and telling him things that weren’t true. Lying to someone you love really sucks, but the truth wasn’t a proposition I could afford to exercise with him. As paradoxical as it was, my truth could cause more problems and pain than any lie I could ever choose to tell.

  Ed squinted his eyes. “Emily?”

  “Yes?”

  I watched as he hesitated. Ed was a very decisive man who didn’t second-guess himself, let alone hesitate about any action he was about to take. I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. I prayed that he wasn’t going to revisit his suggestion that I seek psychiatric help. But as I studied him more closely, I realized that he was looking at me in a way that made me feel warm inside. My hands began to tremble and I wondered if he could sense my inner thoughts. Our eyes locked, and for a split second I felt something intense.

  Just then, Ms. Gerti came through the door. “Good morning,” she said, walking slowly toward the kitchen sink. She apparently picked up on the vibe surging through the room because she stared back and forth from Ed to me as if to say, Let me in on your secret. I was inclined to ask the same thing . . . of him.

  “Have a good one, Gerti.” Ed smiled and then nodded toward me. He closed the door behind him so fast it made Ms. Gerti’s skirt whip around her legs.

  After I got CJ up and dressed—something for which Ms. Gerti was truly grateful because like his mother, our little CJ was not a morning person—she made us a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, homemade waffles, and freshly squeezed orange juice. Brenda was still asleep as we began our day. According to Ms. Gerti, she didn’t stir until well after eleven most mornings.

  “Auntie Emee’s gonna take me to camp,” CJ announced to Ms. Gerti with a big grin, biting into his syrup-drenched waffle.

  “Well, I know you’re gonna love that.” She smiled.

  After we finished breakfast, CJ threw his Transformers backpack over his small shoulders and we headed out the door. We laughed and talked on the drive to his summer camp out in Bethesda, a Maryland suburb right outside the District line. The directions that Ms. Gerti gave me were excellent, and I only got turned around once. I smothered CJ with a hug and a kiss and told him I’d be back to pick him up this afternoon.

  DC wasn’t a particularly driver-friendly city, and I discovered that when I ventured out to find my new home. I had only been there a few times several months ago, so it was difficult for me to gather my bearings. After getting turned around four times and nearly rear-ended twice, I finally found it.

  My block was beautiful with its lovely old Victorians and begonia-covered tree boxes. But it was also crowded. Cars were lined up on both sides of the street. If it was like this during the day when everyone was supposed to be at work, I could only imagine what it was like in the evenings and on weekends. Yet another thing about city living I would have to get used to. Thankfully, I loved this neighborhood! It wasn’t far from the U Street Corridor, where everything was happening. There were lots of neat shops, cool restaurants, trendy cafés, hip lofts and condos, eclectic young urbanites, and access to the citywide Metro train system, which was priceless.

  My Victorian row house was originally built in 1910, and had been in the same family for four generations. Luckily, they’d taken meticulous care of the place over the years. However, it hadn’t been updated since the 1970s. Needless to say, a major renovation was necessary.

  After my offer was accepted back in February, Bradley flew down with me the following weekend to sketch the schematic drawings for the interior redesign. It had been a kind gesture on his part. And even though I had reiterated that his visit wouldn’t change the direction of our relationship, he still insisted on making the trip. “I want to help you,” he’d told me. He was a really great guy, and he was going to make someone a good husband. But as I said before, he just wasn’t the one for me.

  With drawings in hand, the following week my Realtor put me in touch with a contractor who promised that he and his crew could complete the scope of work in four months, permits and all. The time line sounded perfect because my house would have been finished a full month before I planned to move. I closed on my new home in record time and two weeks later, Emmanuel Santiago and his crew began their work. I had been tracking their progress by phone and e-mail since they started, but for the last few weeks Emmanuel hadn’t responded to any of my messages.

  Because the parking pad for the garage out back hadn’t been poured, I found an empty space on the street and parked Hazel as close to my house as I could get. When I turned off the engine she coughed and hiccuped like she was fighting for air. I was going to have to find a reliable mechanic in the area.

  I was walking up the steps to my house when I spied someone two doors down.

  “Good morning! How are you!” the flamboyant man called out as he watered an array of colorful potted plants gracing his stoop. He was dressed in a pair of linen capri pants and a white cotton shirt that was tied in a knot at the waist. He adjusted his stylish sunglasses and peered at me, resting his weight on his right foot, which was adorned with a pair of cute hot pink flip-flops.

  “I’m well, how are you?” I smiled. I instantly liked him.

  “I’m fab-u-lous.” He smiled back, waving his hand for emphasis. “You must be our new neighbor!”

  “Yes, I guess I am.”

  He put down his green watering can, clapped his hands together, and then crossed them over his heart. “Oh, it’s so good to finally meet you,” he beamed, revealing a beautiful set of glow-in-the-dark teeth, so white they couldn’t have been natural. He walked past the small wrought-iron railings that separated our tiny front yards. “My name is Ruben Rodriguez.” He extended his hand, shaking mine with gentle pressure.

  “Hi, Ruben, I’m Emily Snow. It’s nice to meet you, too.” A strange sensation went through me as his palm rested in mine. There was something familiar in his touch. I think he felt it, too, because he paused for a second before regaining his composure.


  “E-mi-leee, you’re a doll!” he sang. Ruben looked me up and down like he was sizing me up, but not in a nasty way. It was more like he was eyeing me with approval.

  “Looks like I won’t be the only beauty on the block anymore.” He smiled as he toyed with his long, glossy black hair. “I love the look you’ve got goin’ on.The whole bohemian meets chic thing is very hot!”

  I giggled, looking down at my ankle-length gauze skirt. The three large bangles I wore on my right arm clanked together as I tugged slightly at my brown Lycra tank top. “Thanks.” I blushed.

  “And the hair is fierce,” he appraised. “Have you found a stylist in the area yet?”

  “No, I haven’t. Can you recommend someone? Whoever does your hair really knows what they’re doing,” I said. Ruben’s hair looked like he could shoot a Pantene commercial right here on the street.

  “That would be moi.” He smiled from ear to ear. “Honey, I’m a master stylist with one of the top salons in the city, and I can hook you up.” He leaned over, taking the liberty to run his fingers through my hair. “Nice, healthy texture and great condition,” he said. “Oh, yes. I can definitely work with this.”

  “I think I’ll need a trim in another month or so.”

  “Lovely! I’ll put you down in my book. And by the way . . . love those slingbacks.” He winked, glancing down at my canvas covered shoes.

  I could see that Ruben and I were going to be good friends.

  “We were wondering when our new neighbor would appear. Last night I was telling Roger, he’s my partner,” Ruben winked again, “that I couldn’t wait to meet you. When Emmanuel told us that our new neighbor was from Atlanta, I was so excited to hear that another Southern belle would be living on the block.”

  I chuckled. Ruben was a mess. “Where’re you from?”

  “The beautiful state of North Carolina.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely down there.” I nodded.