Chapter 13 #2
“Excuse me, but I need to answer the phone.” Justine scooted over on the sofa and picked up the phone off an end table.
“Russell residence.” She went still when she heard Norman’s voice again.
“Can’t you take a hint that I don’t want to talk to you?
And I want you to stop calling me.” She started to hang up but then found her wrist trapped between Francis’s fingers.
“Give me the phone,” he whispered.
Justine complied and released the receiver.
“Is there something wrong with your hearing?” he asked Norman.
“She told you to stop calling her. If you don’t, then maybe I’ll have to convince you that she means what she says.
Yes, man, I’m threatening you. Stop or you’ll find yourself in more trouble than you can get out of.
Now fuck off!” He slammed down the receiver.
“Who the hell is this creep who believes he has the right to annoy a woman who wants nothing to do with him?”
“Norman Robinson, an orderly, and we work at the same hospital.”
“Has he ever bothered you at work?”
Justine shook her head. “Never. He will stop by my office and wave, but nothing beyond that.”
“If he bothers you again, then let me know. Maybe he needs a face-to-face to convince him I mean business.”
Justine couldn’t ignore the rush of panic making it impossible for her to draw a normal breath.
Francis’s voice was low, his words lethal.
“Because he’s never made a pass at me at work, I don’t think he’s going to call me again.
” What she didn’t tell Francis was that she prayed Norman wouldn’t call her again, because she didn’t intend to spend her life monitoring annoying telephone calls.
She’d allowed two women to manipulate her in the past, but that was when she was a frightened seventeen-year-old girl.
Fast-forward almost twelve years, and now that she was thirty, she had no intention of repeating that phase of her life.
It had been the reason why she didn’t want to marry.
She didn’t want a man telling her what she could or could not do.
There were occasions when she realized Kenny did need a male figure in his life, if only to teach him how to treat a woman.
She’d felt guilty depriving him of a father whenever she saw him staring at other kids with their fathers.
However, the guilt was short-lived whenever she recalled how and why she’d become a mother.
Justine had tried to erase the memory of being blackmailed and humiliated when she surrendered her will to avoid going to jail, while she’d been forced to give up her virginity to a man she didn’t love.
Justine didn’t blame Dennis Boone for getting her pregnant, but his manipulative wife and mother-in-law.
There had been a time when she’d become physically ill when she saw a photograph of Dennis and Precious Boone with their young son Michael in the Amsterdam News.
It had taken her a while to stop staring at the boy she carried beneath her heart, whom she would never be able to claim as her own.
However, her twins had compromised. Michael resembled his father, and Kenneth, his mother.
Reaching for Francis’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for running interference for me.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “There’s no need to thank me.” He released her hand and took off his suit jacket. “I think it’s time we get your typewriter unpacked and set up.”
“After that’s done, what do I have to do to convince you to stay for dinner?”
Frank took a step, bringing them within inches of each other. “Call me Frank instead of Francis.”
Now Justine was confused. “But you introduced yourself as Francis.”
He angled his head. “That’s because I was trying to be formal. Only my mother calls me Francis.”
“Formal is boring,” Justine countered, smiling. “I put a chicken in the oven before you arrived, so it should almost be ready in about a half hour. I’ve already made the mac and cheese that will also go in the oven.”
Frank unbuttoned the cuffs to his shirt and rolled them over his wrists. “Do you cook like this every day?”
“During the winter months, I cook enough to last for at least three or four days, and when I come home, I just have to reheat dishes. It’s different during the spring and summer, because having the oven on for so many hours heats up the entire apartment.”
“I meant to tell you that your sweet potato pie was delicious. I thank you, and my mother thanks you.”
“The next time I bake pies, I’ll make certain to make one for you.”
“Be careful, Justine.”
“Of what?”
“Spoiling me. Then, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
She smiled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Justine didn’t want to think of interacting with Francis other than his picking up Kenny and dropping him back home.
She appreciated him buying the typewriter and interceding between her and Norman.
He wanted friendship, and that’s what she would offer and nothing beyond that.
And the nothing wasn’t about his race. It was about his gender.
She didn’t trust men, and she could not afford to become involved with one until Kenny went off to college.