Chapter 11 #2
Seconds later, a woman appeared, and it was Frank’s turn for his jaw to drop.
He suddenly felt as if he’d been punched in the gut when he stared at Kenny’s mother.
She looked much too young to have a teenage boy.
Not only was she incredibly slender, but it was her face that held him enthralled.
She was beautiful. She styled her straightened hair in a ponytail that made her look like a high school student.
She smiled and extended her hand, shattering his entrancement. “I’m Justine Russell. And thank you for seeing my son home safely.”
Frank took her hand, holding it longer than necessary before releasing it, but not before he spied the gold band on her left hand. His nephew had mentioned that Kenny’s father was dead and his mother a widow, and he wondered why she continued to wear a wedding ring.
“I’m Francis, and the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Russell.”
“I believe we can be less formal with each other if my son is best friends with your nephew.”
“Mom, I have leftovers I’m going to put in the fridge,” Kenny said, interrupting the interaction between his mother and Frankie’s uncle.
“Okay, Kenny,” Justine said. “I’m sorry, but I’m forgetting my manners. Can I get you something to drink?” she asked Frank.
He wanted to ask if she was kidding because he’d eaten and drank his fill, but there was something about Justine that made him want to spend time with her.
Frank didn’t know why he’d always found himself attracted to Black women.
There had been only one time when he’d acted on it—but with disastrous results.
Her parents had discovered them together, and her father had sent her miles away to keep her away from him.
It had been his first and last time he’d attempted to form a relationship with a woman who wasn’t Italian.
Frank did not think of what he shared with women as relationships but liaisons.
They were women he saw, slept with, and then walked away until the next time.
He’d told them if they wanted marriage, then he wasn’t the marrying kind.
Those who did want marriage rejected him, and those who didn’t were resigned to share a bed and enjoy the occasional gifts he gave them for Christmas and their birthdays.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll have coffee,” he said, smiling.
Justine smiled, bringing his gaze to linger on her lush mouth. “Please come into the kitchen and rest yourself.”
Frank stared at her hips in a pair of white capri pants.
Justine Russell, although slender, wasn’t what he thought of as skinny.
He smiled when noticing she’d tied the hem of a sleeveless white blouse at her waist, one he’d be able to span with both hands, leaving a display of skin at the small of her back.
He felt a stirring in his groin, and he knew he had to sit before Justine noticed what would become an erection.
He sat down at the kitchen table and swallowed a groan. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not some randy teenage boy who can’t control his body. And it couldn’t be Kenny’s mother, because it was just last week that I’d spent the entire weekend with a woman who was insatiable.
Frank didn’t know what it was about Kenny’s mother that had turned him on so much, and he was curious enough to find out why.
He glanced around the kitchen as she filled a coffee pot with water, filled the basket with coffee grounds, and put it on the stove to brew.
Everything was immaculate, from the kitchen table to the floor.
Even the windows were sparkling behind a pair of white ruffled curtains.
“You don’t look old enough to have a teenage boy.” He’d spoken his thoughts aloud.
Justine gave him a sidelong glance as she reached into an overhead cabinet to take down cups and saucers. “I had Kenny at eighteen. And before you ask, I did graduate high school.”
Lines fanned out around Frank’s eyes when he smiled. “Why do you think I would ask you that?”
Justine gave Francis a direct stare. “Because that’s something I hear every time I tell folks when they ask how old I was when I became a mother.”
“Did I ask you, Justine?” he questioned, saying her name for the first time.
She shook her head at the same time she lowered her eyes. “No, you didn’t. Please forgive me for being presumptuous.”
Frank laughed, and it came out more like a chuckle. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“How do you like your coffee?”
“Black.”
Justine nodded. “Black it is. I only drink black coffee when I need to stay awake.”
“Do you work at night?” Frank asked.
“No. I have a day job, but I have a second one typing papers. And I do those at night after I make dinner and prepare what I need for the next day.”
Pushing back his chair, Frank crossed one knee over the over. “Tell me about it.”
Justine didn’t know what it was, but she felt comfortable telling him about how she’d taken on a part-time job as a typist for college students and their professors. “The extra money comes in handy, because I’m able to buy things I wouldn’t have if I depend on my regular paycheck.”
“What did you buy with your extra money?” Frank questioned.
“A television. Now, I’m saving up for an electric typewriter. I’ve been typing on an old manual that has seen its better days. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it has done what I need it to do to get the job done, but I would type a lot faster on an electric model.”
“You really deserve a medal for what you’ve had to sacrifice to raise your son alone. He really impressed my mother, who wants to teach him how to cook Italian food. But that means he would have to come to her home at least once a week.”
Justine shook her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want him going across town by himself, and Kenny knows he must keep up with schoolwork.”
“What about the summer? Do you have anything planned for him during the summer recess? I could pick him up and drop him off if you don’t feel comfortable with him taking public transportation.”
Justine gave Francis a long, lingering stare.
It was the first time she’d invited a man into her home, other than the building superintendent to make repairs, and never a White man.
She had made it a practice not to get involved with any of the tenants in the building.
She’d nod and smile, but that was it. If they thought her stuck up, then so be it.
However, there was something about her son’s friend’s uncle that had put her at ease with him.
If his mother wanted to teach her son to cook, then it was a skill he could possibly use in the future.
Much like her typing and shorthand skills that afforded her the ability to make money off the books.
“Are you certain that won’t put you out?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t volunteer if it would put me out.”
Justine smiled. “Okay.”
Frank also smiled. “I’ll tell my mother to expect him once the school term is over.”
The smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen, and Justine turned off the stove.
She opened the refrigerator and took out a container of cream for herself.
“I don’t know what you gave me for leftovers, but I’d like to return the favor and offer you several slices of a praline-pecan sweet potato pie to take to your mother. ”
“Would you mind if I sample a slice here?”
Justine had baked the pie earlier that morning, because it was Kenny’s favorite. She poured coffee into two cups, then cut a generous slice of pie for Francis. After adding cream to her coffee, she sat down at the table watching Francis eat.
“Damn, woman! This is delicious,” he said, then clapped his hand over his mouth once he realized the curse had slipped out. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I’ve heard and said worse.”
“This is the best sweet potato pie I’ve ever eaten.”
Justine inclined her head. “Thank you. I usually make it when your nephew and Ray come to study with Kenny.”
“You feed them, too?”
“Of course. There’s no way you can concentrate when your belly is rumbling because you need to eat.”
Frank slowly nodded. “Teenage boys can eat you out of house and home. I remember when me and my brother would come home after playing baseball or basketball and clean out the refrigerator. And forget about juice or soda. My mother would punish us because we would drink out of the bottle or container rather than pour it into a glass.”
“That’s so nasty,” Justine said, scrunching up her nose.
“We didn’t think so at the time.” Frank finished eating and drank the coffee. “Thank you so much for the pie and coffee.”
Pushing back her chair, Justine stood. “Don’t leave yet. I’m going to pack up some pie for your mother.” She cut half the pie and placed it in a glass dish with a cover, then slipped it into a brown paper bag.
He stood up and took the bag, smiling. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”
Justine smiled up at him. “Thank you for bringing my boy home safe.”
Frank nodded, then turned. Justine followed him to the door. She closed and locked it behind him.
“What did you say, Mom?”
She turned to find Kenny standing several feet away. It was apparent he’d waited in his room until Frankie’s uncle left. “I told him you could take cooking lessons once the school term ends.”
“Yes!” he shouted at the top of his voice; then he pumped his fists.
Justine smiled. It wasn’t often that she’d witnessed her son this excited. The only other time was when he discovered she had purchased a television. She’d limited his TV viewing during the week when he had school but allowed him more time on weekends and holidays.
“After you learn to cook, I’m going to expect you to cook for your mama every once in a while.”
“That’s for sure.”
“I know you’re probably full, but there’s sweet potato pie if you want some.”
Kenny shook his head. “I’m past full. I’m going into my room to read over a chapter in my science book. Then, I’m going to bed.”
Justine watched his retreat, her chest filling with pride.
Not only was her son growing up, but he was also becoming the young man she’d wanted him to be.
He was studious, polite, and obedient. She hadn’t known when he’d drawn his first breath that he would make her proud to be his mother.
She loved him with all of her heart and would willingly sacrifice everything, whatever it would take to raise him to adulthood.