I told a shortened version of the events at the restaurant last night. When I was finished, she took her glasses off, tsked, and patted my hand.
“Just goes to show that money is no substitute for class, chère. The true measure of a man is how he treats those less fortunate than him, make no mistake.”
That was a reference to my late father, a Harvard-educated attorney who disappointed his wealthy parents when he decided to dedicate his life to helping minorities in the poorest communities of Louisiana instead of following in his father’s footsteps and pursuing corporate law, and then a spot on the judicial bench. His parents’ disappointment turned to outrage when he married my mother. Marrying “down” simply wasn’t done by a Hardwick, especially when “down” included brown.
My mother was the first woman of color to marry into the Hardwick family tree.
Soon after I was born, my father was cut from his parents’ wills. I’d never met my paternal grandparents, and God help them if I ever did. The tongue-lashing I gave Jackson Boudreaux would sound like a love song in comparison.
“Anyway it doesn’t matter because I’ll never see him again,” I said, finishing my food. “Now I really need to get a move on or I’ll be late for the produce shipment—”
Mama started to cough. Violent, dry, hacking coughs that racked her body and made her eyes water and her face turn scarlet.
“Mama!” I jumped to my feet and went to her. Gripping her shoulder, I was surprised by how frail the bones felt under my hand.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, waving me away. “I’m just a little dry, chère, I need a glass of—”
A second round of coughing stole her words and bent her in half at the waist.
As I started to panic, the Colonel went to her other side and gently rubbed her back. “Easy, now, Davina, just take it easy, girl,” he said softly. He glanced up and met my gaze.
I knew from his look that this coughing fit wasn’t the first she’d had today. My body went cold. What was she hiding from me?
I rushed to the sink and poured water from the tap into a glass. My hand shook when I offered it to her.
“Thank you, baby,” she said weakly after she’d swallowed it. “That’s better.”
I sat across from her again. Her skin had taken on an unhealthy ashen hue, and little beads of perspiration glistened at her hairline. Like mine, her hands were trembling.
I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but something about this smelled bad enough to gag a maggot.
I looked my mother straight in the eye and said firmly, “Mama. You better spit out the truth right now or I’m gonna cream your corn, as Daddy used to say. What did Doc Halloran really tell you about that cough?”
Something crossed her face. It was an expression I’d never seen my vibrant, carefree, and confident mother wear—an awful mix of resignation, sadness, and, worst of all, fear.
When she said quietly, “Owen, would you please give us a moment?” all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
The Colonel gently kissed my mother’s head. “Of course, Davina.” He squeezed her shoulders, shot me a worried look, and left, quiet as a kitchen mouse.
Then my mother gathered my hands in hers and started to talk, but I only heard a single word. A word that made my heart stop beating and my soul bleed.
Cancer.
CREOLE SHRIMP AND GRITS
Makes 4 servings
4 cups water
1 cup stone-ground grits
3 tablespoons butter
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1 pound raw shrimp, peeled and deveined
6 slices bacon, chopped
4 teaspoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
1 cup scallions, sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
kosher salt
freshly ground pepper
Preparation
In stockpot, bring water to a boil. Reduce heat to simmer, add grits, salt, and pepper, and cook until water is absorbed, about 20 minutes.
Remove from heat and stir in butter and cheese.
Fry the bacon in a large skillet until browned. Remove to paper towels, drain well, and chop.
Rinse shrimp and pat dry. Add into bacon grease and cook until shrimp turn pink. Do not overcook.
Add lemon juice, chopped bacon, parsley, scallions, and garlic, and sauté for 3 minutes.
Spoon cooked grits into serving bowls. Add shrimp mixture on top. Serve immediately.
FIVE
JACKSON
The feel of her warm, full lips around the head of my cock made me moan.
“Fuck yes,” I whispered, looking down at her. “Don’t stop.”
Beautiful, dark eyes stared up at me as she opened her lips wider and took me down her throat. My pelvis flexed of its own will, sending my hard cock even deeper into the wet heat of her mouth.