After the Storm (All I've Ever Needed)(11)

Did the announcer just say…?

Hastily, she reached over and turned up the radio.

The words the man was saying made no sense!

Whitney was too young. The same age almost as Natalie’s mother.

Throwing back the covers, she scrambled out of bed. Whitney was her mother’s favorite singer. The news would be a huge shock.

***

Taking a deep breath, Natalie opened her car door and got of the car on arriving at her parents’ three-bedroom house in Raynes Park. Whitney’s death was sobering. She’d never given a thought to her parents dying. Her mother was forty-seven and her father fifty-three. They were both healthy and she naturally assumed that they would live to ripe old ages as both sets of her grandparents did in Trinidad. Her parents had joint gym membership of the nearby private club and went there weekdays for an hour on the treadmill each morning at six. On weekends they went for a walk in the park instead.

“Hi, Daddy,” she greeted as she slipped off her shoes at the front door. He was sitting in his favorite recliner reading The Independent, which he would read from cover to cover before the end of the day. Sometimes she missed being a child, snuggled into his side as he read her stories from the newspaper. Most of it hadn’t made sense to her at the time but she’d loved the sound of his deep voice and the fact that his Trinidadian accent was more pronounced than normal when he read aloud.

“How’s my sugarplum?” He took off his reading glasses and raised his cheek for her kiss.

“I’m fine, Daddy. And you?” She laid her cheek against his and hugged him.

“I can’t complain,” he replied. By which he meant life was generally good and he had little to complain about.

“Is Mummy in the kitchen?”

“No, she’s upstairs somewhere.” Her father waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the stairs and went back to reading as Natalie turned to head up the stairs.

Her mother was lying on the covers, looking composed but Natalie could tell that she had been crying. Whitney’s My Love is Your Love was playing softly in the background. She turned her head as Natalie tapped on the open door and entered the bedroom.

“Did you hear?” The fact that her mother didn’t elaborate spoke volumes. Natalie suspected that she would break down if she said the words.

“Yes. That’s why I came over so early.”

Usually Natalie came over for lunch on Sunday. Her mother liked cooking a proper Sunday roast and complained that it was no fun just cooking for her and her husband. Nathan and his fiancée Folasade often joined them. When they did, her mother referred to it as a ‘Soul Food’ Sunday. The movie was another of her favorites and she complained bitterly that it didn’t get the recognition it deserved.

“This is why I always tell you to live your life to the full.” Her mother patted the covers and Natalie obediently lay on the bed next to her. It had been a long time since she’d been wrapped in her mother’s arms Natalie realized as they came around her and held her tight. With them lying down instead of standing, her five-inch height advantage over her mother disappeared. Feeling like a little girl again, she closed her eyes, she luxuriated in the feeling and let go of her cares for a few precious seconds. “You never know which day will be your last.”

“I do enjoy my life, Mum.” She may not be partying every Saturday night, but she loved having the time to read at leisure.

“You don’t have a man. You don’t go anywhere. All you do is work and read those silly romance novels,” her mother chastised. “How are you going to find yourself a man if you don’t go out? And you can’t even find a man at work because they’re all white.”

“Actually, Mummy…” Natalie hadn’t come over with that intention of talking about Stephano, but as her mother had raised the subject, she decided to seek some advice. Her mother had lived on the island for the first twenty years of her life and though the population was predominantly African and Indian, the island was an eclectic mixture of races. “Did you ever date a man of another race when you lived in Trinidad?”

“No.” Her mother’s answer was immediate and not very encouraging. She turned to Natalie with a suspicious glint in her eye. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Natalie could have evaded the question. What she and Stephano shared could still be chalked up to an indiscretion and brushed under the carpet.

“There is a guy at the office—”

“You said that you’re the only black person working there…so he’s white?”

“Yes, he’s white. His name’s Stephano. His parents are Italian, but he was born here.”