Taking Chances (Sharing Space #4) Read online

  “Don’t start. We have so much to do before she gets here.”

  “Like what?” I asked, going back to my potato slicing duties. “We’ve already cleaned this place within an inch of its life. The cooking won’t be too bad since your uncle and Crystal are bringing some stuff, as is Paul. What else is there?”

  Chloe turned off the water and sighed. “You’re right. It’s just that I get this way before every visit with my Mom. I always feel the need to show her just how in control I am. I want everything to be perfect.”

  “It will be.”

  Chloe’s mother had refused our offer to meet her at the airport with a taxi. She said it would be a waste of time and our money, and insisted on taking a taxi on her own. This actually worked out for the best because it gave us more time to get things ready.

  After I sliced the yams into circular pieces Chloe seasoned them with cinnamon and nutmeg, then placed them in a casserole dish before layering them with sugar, butter, and vanilla and putting them in the oven to bake.

  “My teeth hurt just looking at that.”

  “Oh, hush. Doesn’t your Mom make them like this?”

  “Kind of. She serves them with marshmallows on top.”

  “Really? That’s weird.” Chloe said as she shrugged her shoulders.

  “I’m sure she’ll have some made tomorrow. You can try it. I bet you’ll like it.” I noticed Chloe scrunched up her nose. “Listen,” I continued, “If I can try the collar greens, you can try the marshmallow yams.”

  “Collard,” Chloe laughed. “Collard greens. With a dee on the end.”

  I didn’t care if she laughed at my mistake, as long as it kept her mind off all the worrying she’d been doing.

  By noontime the apartment was overcome with the aroma of delicious food. Chloe’s collard greens were in a pot on the stove alongside the candied yams, garlic mashed potatoes, and a large pot roast. I’d already asked Chloe the week before if we’d be making a turkey and she shook her head emphatically: no. Uncle Troy would be bringing the turkey, his award-winning baked macaroni and cheese, and pumpkin pie. While I wiped down the countertops Chloe did one last peek at the completed dishes on the stove.

  “Between this, what everyone else is bringing, and tomorrow, I’m going to gain like fifteen pounds by Friday.”

  “And you’ll still be sexy as hell,” I replied. I tossed the dishtowel in the sink and pulled Chloe close for a kiss. She had the softest lips I’d ever felt. She hooked her fingers into the belt loops of my jeans and pulled me even closer. She let out a soft moan of pleasure that gave way to one of frustration. “We can’t. We don’t have time. She should be here soon and I still have to shower and change.”

  “You never heard of multitasking?” I asked, gently leading her to the bathroom and closing the door behind us. While I reached to turn on the shower, Chloe ran her hands under my shirt, lifted it, and began kissing my back. I groaned, turned, and put one hand on the back of her neck. I pulled her to me and our lips met—softly at first, but the kiss soon turned rough. That’s how it was whenever we started. It was as if we couldn’t get connected fast enough, hard enough. I was sure I’d memorized every inch of her body, every curve, yet every time we touched my hands and tongue probed like it was the first time.

  I stepped into the shower and held out my hand for Chloe to follow. She slipped her hand into mine and stepped inside. Placing my hands on her waist, I gently steered her backwards until she was underneath the shower’s spray. Chloe gasped.

  “Patrick!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My hair!”

  Now wet, her hair was a tangle of slick curls resting on the side of her face, neck and shoulders. “That’s what happens when you stand under the shower, your hair gets wet,” I said.

  Chloe smiled. “You have a lot to learn about black girls.”

  “Mmmm. Maybe so. I should probably get on that.”

  I knelt in front of her, kissing the inside of her thighs before making my way to her center. Chloe sighed as I lifted her right leg, raised it, and rested it on my shoulder. I could feel the warm water washing over us both as I teased with my tongue. In between her moans, Chloe murmured by name over and over again, which only made me work my tongue slower. She removed her leg from my shoulder and placed her foot on the edge of the tub, opening herself wider to me.

  “Patrick,” she said, her voice deeper and pleading. “If I don’t feel you inside me soon, I’m going to scream.”

  “If you insist.”

  ***

  An hour later we were both dressed, but Chloe was only slightly more relaxed.

  “I can’t believe we did that. She’s going to be here any minute.”

  I laughed. “You’re cute when you’re neurotic. You think she’s going to be able to tell we had sex in the shower just by looking at us?”

  The intercom buzzed. Chloe gave a small squeal. “Well, we’re about to find out.”

  The first thing I noticed about Adrian Brooks was how tall she was. She was six feet tall with perfect posture and high cheekbones. She looked more like a retired supermodel than police detective. Chloe and I had gone downstairs to meet her in the foyer and carry up the luggage. She was wearing blue jeans, high brown boots, and a flowing brown poncho. The color complemented her light brown hair, which was slightly streaked with gray.

  Once we were in the apartment, Chloe and her mother shared a long hug. They had the same mouth and eyes. Their hair was the same length—a little longer than shoulder length, but styled differently. Chloe’s always hung in soft waves around her face and shoulders and looked as if it were windswept. Her mother’s was curled tighter with not a hair out of place. They looked more like sisters than mother and daughter and I almost remarked on it, but knew it would sound cheesy.

  Mrs. Brooks held Chloe at arm’s length and remarked, “You look different.”

  “Good different or bad different?” Chloe asked.

  “Good. I think.” She raised an eyebrow then turned her attention to me. I knew at once what Chloe had meant. I didn’t have secrets, but the way Chloe’s mother was looking at me made me feel as though I did. I felt guilty about what had just occurred in the bathroom, though she had no way of knowing about it.

  “Hello, Patrick.” She walked towards me, extending her hand. Several silver bracelets trickled down towards her wrist as she did. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was sizing me up. I could feel it.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Brooks.”

  “Are you a good guy?”

  Her question took me by surprise.

  “Mother,” Chloe said sharply.

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Mrs. Brooks crossed her arms over her chest and rested her weight on one hip. She made eye contact and I was afraid to even blink. “Chloe tells me you’re a good guy. I just want to know if that’s true.”

  “I, uh, try to be?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No, I am. A good guy.”

  “For your sake, you better be.”

  “Okay, that’s it!” Chloe came over and slipped her arm around my waist. “You’re scaring the hell out of him.”

  “Oh calm down, Chloe. I’m just messing with him.” Her stern face dissolved into a smile followed by deep laughter, but I wasn’t so sure she had been. She pulled her poncho over her head to reveal a brown flowing tunic, and tossed the poncho on the sofa. Rolling up her sleeves she asked, “So, what’s cooking in the kitchen?”

  ***

  Paul arrived first, bringing with him fresh cranberry sauce, a large garden salad, and two bottles of wine. Chloe and I insisted that he sit back and allow us to set the table Mr. Tucci had lent us to accommodate all of our guests. Just as Chloe placed the last setting the intercom buzzed, announcing the arrival of Uncle Troy, Crystal, and Brianna. Uncle Troy was thrilled to see Chloe’s mom. It was nice to witness the reunion between brother and sister. Chloe’s uncle looked frailer th
an he had the week before at the hospital, but brushed off any concerns or questions about his health.

  “Letting me go home was the smartest thing those docs ever did. Now, everyone stop fussing over me and let’s eat!”

  Dinner was delicious. Brianna, seated to my right, seemed fascinated by me and kept asking various questions. I was expecting that kind of third degree from Chloe’s mother, but she seemed considerably less concerned with grilling me. I hadn’t completely dodged the bullet, though; I was sure there’d be time for an interrogation later. I leaned to my left and whispered to Chloe, “I think maybe your mother paid off Brianna.”

  Chloe smiled. “No, she just has a crush is all. It’s understandable.” She rested her head on my shoulder and I caught the raised eyebrow from her mother from across the table.

  Yeah, there would be questions later.

  Uncle Troy noticed and thankfully took the attention away from me. He looked at his sister with a wide smile on his face. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. Girl, you look all of thirty-five.”

  From the other end of the table Crystal laughed and said, “Well you know, black don’t crack.”

  “But we sure do spread,” offered Mrs. Brooks.

  With a spoonful of mashed potatoes halfway to my mouth I paused to look around the table. Everyone had found Crystal’s statement extremely funny. Apparently, the only people who hadn’t gotten the joke were Brianna and me.

  “What—” I started to ask, but Chloe placed a hand on my arm and explained.

  “It just means that black women tend to not wrinkle very much as we get older.”

  “Oh. And spread?”

  “Like junk in the trunk,” replied Paul.

  Chloe, Crystal, and Brianna laughed out loud. Chloe’s mother, who was seated next to Paul, gave him an amused look.

  “I like this one,” she said, and I felt a bit foolish and jealous.

  We were clearing the table for dessert when I found myself alone in the kitchen with Paul.

  “What the hell do you know about junk in the trunk?”

  He laughed loudly while placing dishes in the sink. I heard the intercom buzz, and a few moments later Chloe came into the kitchen.

  “Patrick, Charlotte’s here.”

  Even though I’d invited her I was still surprised that Charlotte had shown up. I hurried to the door in case she’d suddenly change her mind and leave. Chloe and Paul stayed behind to finish up in the kitchen. Everyone else was in the living room; Uncle Troy was opening up a deck of cards, challenging everyone within earshot to a game of Spades. I opened the apartment door and saw Charlotte just approaching the top landing. I barely recognized her.

  “Hey, bro.” She reached for a hug and, as we did, I could feel each of her ribs through the flimsy, over-sized sweater she wore. She smelled of stale cigarettes and another odor I couldn’t place. Her hair looked unwashed and flat, she wore jeans that were two sizes too big, and her feet were clad in flip-flops despite the cold November weather.

  “Where are your shoes?” I asked. I wanted to ask more, but was at a loss for anything more substantial. My sister was hooked on something, and whatever it was it had her bad.

  My heart broke as she responded. “These are my shoes. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” We were still standing in the hallway; the front door was only slightly ajar. Despite the sounds of laughter and family pouring through the small opening, I felt sad.

  “Charlotte, what’s happened to you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Jesus. I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “Uh, because I was invited. You’re my brother, it’s the holidays, I was hungry? Pick one.”

  “Are you two coming inside?”

  Chloe’s mom had poked her head out into the hall. I was embarrassed to introduce her to my sister and then immediately felt guilty for being ashamed of her. I resisted the urge to offer up some kind of disclaimer.

  She never used to look like this. This wasn’t always my sister, this shell of her former self you’re meeting now.

  “Yes, we are.” Charlotte smiled and I noticed her teeth were stained. “I’m Charlotte, Patrick’s little sister.”

  Mrs. Brooks took one long look at Charlotte from head to toe before returning the smile and introducing herself. I thought I could detect a bit of sadness in that smile. She stepped back to open the door wider, an indication that we should come inside.

  Paul’s reaction to Charlotte’s appearance was not unlike my own. It didn’t escape anyone in the apartment that my sister was a drug addict. She claimed to be hungry, yet barely touched the food on the plate Chloe served her. Charlotte would disappear into the bathroom for long periods of time. Once, Brianna came into the living and reported, “I think she’s throwing up. I had to go, but I think I’ll hold it.”

  The changes in Charlotte were not just physical. Along with the tangled hair, vacant eyes that looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, bony frame, and disheveled clothes, she was also loud, abrasive, and defensive.

  We were seated around the table, having pie and coffee, when Mrs. Brooks asked Charlotte about school. “What are you studying, Charlotte?”

  “Are you going to start on me, too?” Charlotte snapped. The other conversations around the table came to an abrupt stop. I’d had enough.

  “Will you excuse us, please?” I guided Charlotte to the back of the apartment by her elbow. I pushed her into my bedroom and closed the door.

  “What the hell are you on?”

  “First of all, don’t grab me like that, and second of all I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not on anything.”

  The audacity was too much to handle. I no longer felt ashamed or scared. The shock of the situation had long since worn off—somewhere between the constant twitching and loud comments. I was pissed.

  “Don’t lie to me. Do I look stupid? What are you taking? How long? Did Orbit do this to you?”

  “Gee, what question should I answer first?”

  “You think this is funny?”

  “I think you need to relax. I know what I’m doing. I’m not a junkie or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  She couldn’t even meet my eyes. Instead she looked all around my bedroom as she crossed her arms over her chest. I reached out and grabbed them, extending her arms towards me. I pulled up the arms of the sweater and inspected each arm, starting at the wrists and worked my way up.

  “Give me some credit.” She snorted as she snatched her arms away. “I don’t shoot up.”

  “Then what do you do?”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. Still not able to look me in mine she replied, “I smoke a little something to help me stay awake. It helps me focus.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “Don’t even start!” She stomped her foot on the floor, hard. “I’m an adult! I can do what I want, when I want, and with anybody I want! It’s not that big of a deal! See, this is why I didn’t want to come ‘cause I knew you’d act like this, like the Little Sister Police and shit.”

  “Not that big of a deal? You look like shit! Have you seen yourself lately?”

  I grabbed her arm, afraid I’d break it, and steered her towards the dresser mirror. We stood facing it together, but Charlotte refused to look in it.

  “Look at yourself! Look! Your skin is horrible, your hair is a mess, your eyes are red, and you smell like garbage. That’s no big deal?”

  “Screw you.” She pushed into my chest using both hands and with considerably more strength than I expected. I took two steps back and watched her leave the room. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she called over her shoulder.

  I sat down on the edge of my bed and rested my head in my hands. I wondered how I’d ever be able to tell my parents. Our mother would be devastated. I tried to think back to the last time we were all together—when things were good, when they were normal—and I couldn’t. The Charlotte before me that day was nothi
ng like the girl I’d grown up with.

  There was a knock at the door and I looked up, expecting to find Chloe or Paul, but instead it was Mrs. Brooks. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying until I saw her there with a concerned look on her face. Embarrassed, I tried wiping the tears away with the back of my sleeve.

  “Oh, please, child. I’ve seen bigger and badder men than you cry.”

  She walked into the room without waiting to be asked and closed the door behind her. She took a seat next to me on the edge of the bed.

  “Did you know your sister was a drug addict?”