Playing the Hand You're Dealt Page 8

  After a few more minutes of nice chitchat, I looked in the direction of my first-floor window and could see the partially completed drywall. “Want to come inside with me and take a look?” I asked, knowing this would make Ruben’s day.

  “I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been dying for a look around, but Emmanuel hasn’t let me have a peek inside in over a month.”

  I made a mental note—I needed to find out what Ruben’s relationship was to Emmanuel because this was the second time he’d mentioned my contractor.

  When I inserted my key into the door and we walked inside, I had to catch my breath. I’d fallen in love with this old house when I first saw it, but I had no idea it would look this beautiful once the renovation was under way. Ruben hooked his arm around mine and pulled me close to him. “I’m soooo jealous,” he gushed. “Sweetie, this place is in-cre-di-ble!”

  “I know!” I beamed with excitement.

  As Ruben and I walked arm-in-arm through the first floor, we oohed and aahed over the fine work that had been done. Although my house wasn’t in move-in condition, it was coming together nicely. The kitchen and powder room still needed the finishing touches of paint, fixtures, and lighting, and the spacious basement still needed quite a bit of work. But I could see that it was all going to be beautiful once it was completed.

  Moving on to the upstairs, we discovered that it was just as lovely as the first floor and that mostly everything was finished, save for the two bathrooms. Even in its present state it was clear that my house was shaping up into something out of a magazine. I planned to send Bradley some pictures and a big fruit basket this week. His design turned out better than I could ever have imagined.

  Ruben and I headed back downstairs, dodging piles of discarded wood, nails, and sawdust. “I hope it won’t be too long before I can move in. It should’ve been finished a month ago.”

  “Was that in your contract?”

  “Sure was.”

  “Since Emmanuel hasn’t delivered on his end, you should try to get something out of it.” He winked conspiratorially.

  I noticed that winking was like breathing to Ruben. He was hilarious without even trying to be. “You seem to know Emmanuel pretty well. Are you two friends?” I ventured to ask.

  Ruben let out a small laugh and shook his head. “No, honey. When Emmanuel started work on your house, I introduced myself and became the dreaded pain-in-the-ass, nosy next-door neighbor from hell, so now he knows who I am. Plus, we have the Latino thing in common, ya know?” He winked with a flip of his hand and a toss of his perfect hair.

  “Oh.” I nodded. “Well, I’m going to contact him because he needs to get his crew back to work. I’ve got to move in soon,” I said, looking at my empty living room. “I have so many things to do this week, I’ll see if Emmanuel can meet me this Friday.” After only one weekend, I knew that I couldn’t last much longer under Ed’s roof.

  “If I see any activity between now and then I’ll let you know,” Ruben said, placing his hand on his hip. “And I’ll meet with you this Friday, too, if you like. No need in you having to go through this process alone, there’s power in numbers. Besides, I can act as your interpreter in case Emmanuel feeds you the old no hablo Inglés routine.”

  I smiled wide. “Thanks, Ruben. I really appreciate that.”

  After Ruben and I walked outside we exchanged cell phone numbers and agreed to meet here at noon this Friday.

  “Auntie Emee!” CJ squealed when he saw me enter the playground area.

  He abandoned his playmates and ran up to me, giving me a big hug. I loved this little boy with all my heart. “Hey, Sweet Pea. Did you have fun today?” I asked.

  “Yes. I played with my friends and we had Popsicles!” He grinned.

  “Oh, boy, you did have a good day.”

  “And I drew pictures and I learned a new song!”

  Later that evening, CJ rummaged through his toy box for his favorite dinosaur magnet and affixed the picture of me that he’d drawn today onto the refrigerator. Although I got the feeling that Brenda didn’t want her stainless steel Sub-Zero cluttered with elementary school art, she held her breath and allowed it.

  She appeared to be in a particularly good mood tonight. I’d never seen her so relaxed, and it seemed a little odd. She was usually very high-strung. I think it came from her insatiable drive to do all things well. She wanted everything to be just so, and at times she could develop a bit of tunnel vision, causing her to lose perspective of other people’s feelings. She didn’t mean any harm, that was just who she was.

  Samantha said I gave her mother too much credit and that Brenda was simply selfish. They had a strained relationship at best, so I remained largely silent on topics that concerned her. On the other hand, she loved her father and was always singing Ed’s praises. Samantha was the ultimate daddy’s girl if there ever was one, and for obvious reasons I remained largely silent on my thoughts about him, too.

  An hour later, we sat at the dining room table, eating as a family. I knew this kind of gathering was rare in the Baldwin house because CJ loudly announced, “Papa and Nana are eating with us tonight!” as if it only happened on rare occasions, like the holidays.

  This was supposed to be my official welcome-to-town dinner, and after seeing that my house still needed lots of work and not hearing from my contractor all day, Ms. Gerti’s cooking was a much appreciated treat. After a fantastic meal of herb roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and sautéed vegetables, I was devouring Ms. Gerti’s pineapple upside-down cake when Brenda hit me with something that made me lose my appetite.

  “Emily, dear, I have delightful news.” She smiled as she pushed her dessert aside. “You’re going to love what I have planned for you.”

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Please don’t go through any additional trouble for me. I appreciate that you’re letting me stay here, and I promise I’ll be out of your hair as soon as my contractor gives me the word.”

  Brenda shook her head. “You must stop with that nonsense, my dear, you’re a joy to have.”

  “Amen to that,” Ms. Gerti chimed in.

  “Auntie Emee, I want you to stay with us forever!” CJ cheered, cake spilling from his mouth.

  I noticed that Ed seemed uncomfortable. He hadn’t said a word throughout the entire meal.

  “So, back to my good news,” Brenda said, handing me a greeting card size envelope. “The invitations just arrived from the printer today.”

  Brenda smiled like she had just announced that I’d won the lottery. When I pulled out the invitation, it read like wedding script: Mr. and Mrs. Edward Curtis Baldwin, Esquire, Cordially Invite You to Share in the Thirtieth Birthday Celebration of . . .

  I tried to act like I was happy about the party they were throwing for Samantha and me because I could see how much it meant to Brenda. She had obviously put a lot of time into planning it. “Wow, this is, um, really nice of you Brenda . . . but you shouldn’t have.”

  “Wait until you see the birthday cake the caterer has designed. It’s simply gorgeous,” Brenda said with excitement.

  Samantha and I always celebrated our birthday together, it was our ritual.When we turned twenty we made a pact that we would celebrate our thirtieth in grand style, maybe even go to the motherland, Africa, the birthplace of all civilization. Thirty was supposed to be momentous, or at least we thought so back then. But now, after all we’d both been through, we agreed that we felt like we hit the thirty mark a few years ago.

  With our birthday only one month away, Samantha and I knew we’d be right in the middle of moving into our new homes and adjusting to our new jobs, so we decided to keep things simple. We planned to celebrate by going to a nice restaurant, eating a good meal, drinking lots of wine, and laughing our way into the big 3-0, just the two of us.

  I suspected that Samantha didn’t have a clue about this party. For one, she would’ve mentioned it to me before now; and two, she tried to stay as far away as possible from anything th
at involved her mother. “I guess Samantha’s just as surprised as I am.” I smiled. I looked around the table for a reaction. CJ was excited; Ms. Gerti looked irritated; and for the first time since he sat down, Ed looked engaged in what was happening.

  Brenda cleared her throat. “Well, you could say that. But I know once she sees how excited you are about the party, she’ll be excited, too.”

  CJ clapped his hands together. “Yeaaaaah, we’re gonna have a party!”

  Ed narrowed his eyes at Brenda while Ms. Gerti rolled hers. I knew that something was up, but there were too many dynamics going on for me to accurately discern what had caused the sudden shift in the room. Still, one thing was for sure, the only people happy about the party were an unknowing five-year-old, and Brenda.

  A few uncomfortable minutes passed in silence, so I felt obligated to try to lighten the mood. I made small talk until everyone started to feel a bit more at ease. After dinner I went up to my room and gobbled four extra-strength Tylenol. I had a headache just thinking about the party. I was grateful that Brenda thought enough of me to want to include me in a party that she was throwing for her daughter, but elaborate affairs weren’t my cup of tea. After a quick shower, I crawled into bed and called Samantha.

  “The party’s just a ruse,” she said. “Mother’s planning this shit just so she can show off and get me hooked up with some straitlaced, weak-ass brother who she thinks is appropriate,” she ranted. “And I know for a fact that she wants to throw a party that will top the one Mrs. Presley had last weekend.”

  “Couldn’t it just be that your mother wants to do something nice for you, for both of us?”

  “Hell, no! This party has nothing to do with us. It’s all about her, you’ll see.”

  Brenda may have a heavy-handed way of doing things, but I wanted to believe that her intentions were good. I had to. Acknowledging her redeeming qualities and believing that she was essentially a good person was one of the things that kept me from making a big mistake—after all, how could I justify not only lusting after my best friend’s father, but also a good woman’s husband?

  I couldn’t believe today was Friday.The week had flown by in a whirlwind of activities, and luckily I’d managed to accomplish a lot. From standing in a ridiculously long line at the DMV to register my car and secure a DC driver’s license, to dropping off and picking up CJ from summer camp each day, to taking care of utility connections, I’d been on the go. I was glad to have a list of things to occupy my time because it served to keep my mind busy.

  Ever since my intense eye contact with Ed on Monday morning, and the news about my birthday party later that evening, I’d been on edge. I had kept my distance from him all week. I would leave my room only when I was sure he had already left for the day, and I made certain that I was out of sight when he returned in the evening.

  But this morning as I sat at the kitchen table waiting for him, I had to push my uneasiness aside because I needed his help. Emmanuel hadn’t returned any of my phone calls or responded to my texts or e-mails all week. I planned to meet Ruben at my house at noon. And in the last message I’d left for Emmanuel, I told him as forcefully as I could that he’d better be there, too. I hoped that Ed could pressure him into showing up. Samantha was right, having Esquire at the end of your name could make people change their tune.

  I pressed my back against the soft fabric of the chair, listening, as I heard the soles of Ed’s expensive leather shoes click against the hardwood floors down the hall. He was surprised to see me when he entered the kitchen. “Ah, the early riser is back.” He smiled, placing the newspaper on the table. He walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning,” I said. I watched him as he reached over and pushed the button on the toaster, allowing the bagel to slide into place. He leaned against the counter and adjusted his silver cuff links, but he didn’t move when the two round discs popped up. By that time he could see that I was staring at him . . . intently. Before I could stop myself, the question that had been on my mind since Monday suddenly slipped out. “Do you eat the same thing every morning? Coffee and a bagel?”

  “Yes, I do.” Ed smiled, sliding into the chair across from me.

  “Every morning?”

  He raised his brow as he spread a generous amount of cream cheese over the warmly toasted dough. “Every morning.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “Why? Is there something wrong with what I eat?” he asked, taking a bite of his bagel.

  “No, I was just curious. I mean, why have a bagel when Ms. Gerti’s around? Obviously you haven’t had her omelets or Belgian waffles.” It was an attempt to make a joke.

  Why had I opened my big mouth? If I noticed things about him, I was supposed to keep them to myself. Asking questions would only lead to awkward moments like this, revealing my desire to know all I could about the man I loved.This was exhausting and frustrating, which brought me to the reason why I needed to talk to him this morning. I had to get out of this house. So before Ed could ask the question that was poised on the tip of his tongue, I interrupted him. “I have a favor to ask you.”

  He paused and leaned forward in his chair. “Sure, what is it?”

  I explained that Emmanuel had been MIA and that Ruben and I were supposed to meet at my house at noon to see if any new work had been done. “I’ve asked Emmanuel to be there, too, but it’s very doubtful that he’ll show. However, I think a call from an attorney might spur him into action.”

  “No problem. Just give me his number and I’ll be happy to contact him. Do you have a copy of your contract handy?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Fax it to my office.You can use the machine in my study.”

  I finally found the courage to look directly into Ed’s beautiful brown eyes. “Thank you, I really appreciate this.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.” He leaned back in his chair, and with the lightning-quick memory that was his nature, he asked the question that I’d interrupted. “Do you think it’s odd that I eat the same thing every morning?”

  Just as I was about to try to explain my way out of the situation I’d created, Ms. Gerti came through the back door. She managed to always save the day.

  “Morning.” She smiled, scooping up Ed’s coffee cup and empty plate. “What’s got you looking so puzzled?” she asked, staring at him with curious eyes.

  “Well, Emily thinks I’m a boring old man who’s stuck in his ways.”

  “She catches on quick.” Ms. Gerti chuckled.

  Ed laughed, too, but I didn’t. I wanted to correct my error. “I didn’t mean it that way,” I spoke up.

  He smiled. “She’s referring to my obligatory coffee and bagel.”

  Ms. Gerti thought for a moment. “Shoot, that’s been the routine for what, thirty years now?” She placed the dishes in the sink, then turned around and faced us. “I guess when you get used to certain things over the years it’s hard to break away from them,” she said, peering at Ed. “Even if you do want to try something new,” she added, this time looking directly at me.

  I felt hot and nervous, like I’d been exposed. I wanted to leave the room. Ed looked away from Ms. Gerti and down to the unread newspaper in front of him. He stood, reached for his briefcase and gym bag, and headed toward the door. “Emily, don’t forget to fax over your contract this morning. The office fax number is on the business card at the edge of my desk.” He opened the door, then smiled at Ms. Gerti before saying good-bye.

  After Ruben and I finished our inspection, it was apparent that no work had been done since we’d been here last Monday. I was so upset I wanted to scream. I needed to move in as quickly as possible. This morning’s breakfast conversation was proof of that. I sighed and looked around my living room at the dried putty on the Sheetrock. “Ruben, I can’t believe this.”

  “I know you’re frustrated, but just think, things could be worse.”

  “I need to move in now. I’m tempted to get a hammer and start workin
g myself.”

  “Sweetie,” Ruben said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You’re much too beautiful to be covered in paint and sawdust. Let’s just wait for Emmanuel to get here.”

  “That’s just it, I don’t think he’s going to show up.”

  No sooner had I spoken than the doorbell rang. When I opened it, I was shocked to see Ed standing in front of me. He was talking on his BlackBerry and holding a large folder under his arm. “Very good, I’ll see you shortly,” he said to the person on the other end before disconnecting the call. “May I come in?” he asked with a smile.

  I moved aside to let him enter, taking secret pleasure in the feel of his suit coat as he brushed against my bare arm. He looked around and I could see that he was impressed with the work that had been done. When he spotted Ruben he walked over and introduced himself, extending his hand. “I’m Ed Baldwin.You must be Ruben. Emily has spoken very highly of you.”

  “Thank you, and I’ve heard wonderful things about your family.”

  Ruben glanced at me and raised a perfectly arched brow. I had told him about Samantha and her parents, and that I was staying with the Baldwins until my place was ready. He was obviously taken by Ed’s good looks, evidenced in his broad smile.

  “What brings you by?” I asked Ed.

  “I’m here to serve as your legal counsel for your meeting with Mr. Santiago. I just got off the phone with him. He should be here any minute.”

  As if on cue, Emmanuel rang the doorbell. After I ushered him inside, the four of us stood in the middle of my living room. Emmanuel started with a sob story about why the work had not been completed. As he continued with a litany of lame excuses, Ed opened his folder and handed him a document.

  “Noted are the portions of the contract under which you are legally obligated, and because Ms. Snow,” Ed nodded toward me, “has honored her obligations under the contract by meeting the financial responsibilities as stated, you, Mr. Santiago, are in breach of said contract.” He went on to tell Emmanuel that because of the hardship he’d caused me by not being able to move into my house on time, he had one of two options. He could work out an appropriate form of compensation with me that included home improvement upgrades, or he could see me in court. “If you choose the latter, I’ll make sure a processor serves you with the appropriate papers before the close of business,” Ed spoke with finality.