Chapter 18 #2
Frank realized Justine only called him Francis when she was upset with him. What he couldn’t figure out was what he’d said to upset her. She deserved a medal to have raised a boy who exhibited all the signs that he would grow up to make her proud to be his mother.
“Yes, I say so, Justine. I don’t have kids, but I’ve seen and been around enough of them to know if they’re going to make their mothers proud or weep for them. It isn’t easy raising kids in a city where they are exposed to so much negativity before they even reach adulthood.”
“There is one thing in particular that I worry about when it comes to Kenny,” she admitted. “And that’s drugs.”
Frank nodded. “I know, because my youngest sister died from a drug overdose.”
Justine gasped, then bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”
Suddenly his face went grim, and Frank chided himself for telling her about his sister.
It wasn’t something he liked talking about, and especially not to someone who wasn’t family.
Despite his growing feelings for Justine Russell, he knew she would never become a part of his family.
Not because he didn’t want it, but because she didn’t.
He’d told her that he and his high school girlfriend had planned to move to Canada to marry and start a family, but that was two decades ago.
Fast-forward more than twenty years, and he now found himself in a similar situation where he found himself falling for another Black woman.
He constantly had to remind himself not only was she different, but times were different.
He just couldn’t pick up and move to another country, because he had obligations that bound him to his family’s businesses.
His great-grandfather had come from Sicily to the United States in 1881 with three dollars, two changes of clothes, and a dream to make a living in his new country.
He’d found life tough and the welcome to Harlem unpleasant, where he experienced racist backlash from other immigrant groups.
However, he endured when he worked two and sometimes three jobs to make enough money to send for the wife he’d left in Italy.
Life for future generations of D’Alessandros improved, and now with Sal’s death, Frank had become the head of his family.
“The only thing I can say is that she’s in a better place, because her addiction had turned her into someone I didn’t recognize as my sister.” He forced a smile. “Enough talk about drugs. Are you ready for coffee and dessert?”
“Francis!”
“That’s my name,” he teased.
“I’m as full as a tick, and here you’re talking about having dessert.”
Throwing back his head, Frank laughed with abandon. “Every once in a while, you come out with these expressions that are funny as hell.”
Justine smiled. “Southerners have their own unique sayings that will make you laugh until you cry.”
“Southerners aren’t the only ones who have their own sayings. Roman philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca said: manus manum lavat, which translates to ‘one hand washes the other,’ while modern Italians say, Una mano lava l’altraed entrambe le mani lavano il viso.”
“Oh, my goodness. You speak beautiful Italian. Now tell me what you said.”
“I said one hand washes the other, and both hands wash the face.”
“It’s so true about both hands washing the face. It sounds so much better in Italian,” Justine said.
He winked at her. “That’s why it’s called a romance language.”
“I’ll see you guys later,” Kenny called out as he ran past the kitchen.
“Did you grow up speaking Italian?” Justine asked Frank.
“Yes. My mother spoke Italian to her children, while my father spoke English, so by the time I entered the first grade, I was completely bilingual.”
“I took four years of Spanish, and I got an eighty-five on the Spanish Regents.”
“That’s really good. Are you fluent?”
Chuckling softly, Justine shook her head. “No.”
“Do you want to learn to speak Italian?”
Her expression changed, becoming serious. “Why would I want to speak Italian?”
“You said that you want to become a teacher.”
“And?”
“Have you thought of teaching a foreign language?”
Justine shook her head. “No. I want to teach elementary school children.”
“Reading, writing, and arithmetic,” he said in a singsong voice.
Pushing back her chair, Justine stood. “I’m going to clear the table and put the dishes in the sink to soak before I put up a pot of coffee for our dessert.”
Frank also stood. “I’ll help you.”
There wasn’t much to clean up, because he and Kenny had washed everything as they were cooking.
It was a technique he’d learned from his mother, who wanted to spend the least amount of time in the kitchen once dinner was over.
And the pots and utensils he’d brought over were clean and stored in the picnic basket.
He stood behind Justine, waiting for her to fill the sink with hot water, then add a liquid detergent, before reaching around her to put plates in the sink. Frank heard her suck in her breath as he pressed his chest to her back. “Are you okay?” he whispered in her ear.
“I don’t know,” she said breathlessly.
Justine didn’t know because although she’d found him to be too close, she wasn’t repulsed by it. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt it in her chest and her ears. The warmth of his body and hypnotic scent of his masculine cologne sent her nerve endings racing erratically throughout her body.
“Francis,” she whispered.
“What is it, doll?”
She smiled. It was the second time today he’d called her the endearment. “You’re too close,” she said, recovering full use of her voice.
He took a step back. “Is that better?”
“Better, but still too close.”
She didn’t have time to react when his hands went around her waist and turned her to face him.
Justine didn’t know if it was the fading afternoon light coming in through the kitchen curtains, but Frank’s eyes seemed to darken until they were a shade of blue jeans.
She didn’t know how it happened, but lyrics to The Crystals’ hit “Then He Kissed Me” played in her head as Frank’s head slowly came down, and he kissed her.
It was the first time a man had kissed her, and she felt as if she were melting, not only against him but into him.
Her emotions whirled and skidded as she struggled to get closer when seconds before she’d told Frank that he was too close for comfort.
Her mouth was on fire, and she quivered at the sweet tenderness of his kiss.
The sensual spell was suddenly shattered when she felt the bulge in Frank’s groin, his hands gathering the hem of her dress, baring her thighs, and his labored breathing as he became more and more aroused.
“No, Francis! Please don’t.”
Justine’s strident plea tore and penetrated the web of longing that had held Frank captive the instant he saw her.
Not only had he frightened her, but he had broken one of his cardinal rules.
He’d kissed a woman on the mouth. Then he had to remind himself that Justine Russell wasn’t a prostitute he paid to take care of his sexual frustrations, but a woman with whom he wanted to openly date, but only if she agreed.
She was standing there looking at him like a deer caught in the blinding glare of a vehicle’s headlights. “I’m sorry, Justine. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, breathing heavily.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have kissed me.
Now, will you please go.” It hadn’t been his kiss in as much as it was his hands moving up her inner thighs to touch the place where her body had betrayed her.
Her response to Frank had frightened her, because she knew if she hadn’t stopped him, she would’ve shamelessly pleaded with him to make love to her so that she could experience what it really meant to be born female.
“Justine, please let me explain.”
She shook her head. “There’s nothing to explain. Please go and don’t come back again until it’s time for you to pick up Kenny for his cooking lessons.”
Frank felt pain squeeze his heart when he realized the images in his nightmare had manifested. Justine had extended her hand in friendship, and instead of honoring it, he had overstepped and allowed his base instincts to treat her like the women he paid to slake his lust.
She was sending him away, and he would go, yet all was not lost. He promised to come back and pick up Kenny at the end of the school year. Hopefully that would give Justine time to forgive him for his brutish behavior.
He nodded. “Okay, Justine. Take care of yourself.”
She smiled. “You, too.”
Turning on his heels, Frank left the kitchen, picked up the picnic basket, opened the door, and walked out of the apartment. He was glad he hadn’t found a parking space near the apartment building, because walking gave him the time to clear his head.
What the fuck is wrong with me? How could I have forgotten that she’s nothing like the other women I mess around with?
She is a single mother struggling not only to make ends meet, but also raising a son on her own, and I treated her like a whore who was willing to do whatever I wanted because she was expecting payment for her services.
Frank unlocked his car and set the basket on the rear seat before getting in and slipping behind the wheel.
He stared through the windshield. Justine telling him not to come back until the end of June, he thought, was a reprieve, because she hadn’t told him to never come back.
Hopefully the next six weeks would be enough of a cooling-off period where Justine would forgive him, and it was more than enough time for him to atone for his treatment of her.