Chapter 2 #2
Just not ones related to Christmas and being in this town didn’t help. I settled in the living room on the big, gray couch, laptop in front of me. For a while, I worked on the next chapter of my newest book. I was a free-writer, a bad habit, but it had worked for me so far.
“Knock, knock,” Serena called after a while.
She was leaning over the railing, Aziza peeking around her hip.
“Can we come harass you?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Like y’all ever wait for permission,” I said.
She laughed and came down. Serena was all pretty and curvy in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt.
She was Aziza’s nanny and teacher, homeschooling my baby so she didn’t have to deal with bullying or the feeling of being an outsider.
She was wonderful at what she did, the best in her field, and I loved that for us.
“First of all, your daughter is a genius,” she said, lifting the star. “Second, we need to talk logistics.”
“Logistics?”
“Okay, remember that light show in Ruston I mentioned? Music, fake snow, food, hot chocolate, little train?”
I looked at her, suddenly feeling uneasy. “Yes.”
“Well, my cousin got tickets for us. So, I’m taking her tonight. We leaving in about forty-five minutes. You can come, if you want. I hope you want.”
Aziza clasped her hands under her chin. “Please, Mama. Please, please, please.” Max offered a timely little yip in support.
My mind jumped straight to all the bad things that could happen. Accidents, random violence, someone following them. It sent my anxiety into overdrive. Just too many people, too many possibilities.
“I don’t know, Serena. Ruston is crowded this time of year. It’s gon’ be dark. And cold. And—”
“And I’m a fully functioning adult with a black belt in Taekwondo,” Serena cut in, her voice soft but firm. “I got it. My cousin and her kids gon’ be there. You got the address and the schedule of events already in your email. You can track my phone. This not kidnapping, Ky. This Christmas.”
I gave her a look. She pursed her lips and arched a brow.
“My job is to teach this child and keep her safe. I wanna make sure she got real memories of Christmas. I know you got your reasons for not making any. I respect that. But Ky… she ain’t you.”
That hurt. Badly. Was I being selfish? I’d asked myself that a thousand times. I didn’t try to deprive Aziza of Christmas. I just didn’t participate. My baby pressed against me, eyes wide and pleading. I knew I was done for.
“I’ma hold Ms. Serena hand,” she promised. “I’ma look both ways, I won’t talk to strangers, I won’t eat nothing weird. I’ma remember everything you said. Please, Mama.”
Her voice broke a little on “please.” I felt so bad in that moment.
“What time you gon’ be back?” I asked Serena.
“The show starts at seven. We probably be back by nine-thirty. Ten, if traffic stupid,” she said.
“You text me when you get there and before you leave. If anything feel off, you come home immediately, Serena.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Scout’s honor. Well, Girl Scout.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “You were a Girl Scout?”
She smiled, her pretty face lighting up. “I quit, but it still count a little bit.”
I sighed. “Okay. You can go.”
Aziza squealed and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Go get a hat and gloves. Double socks,” I said, smoothing her hair.
“I’m gon’ look like a snowman,” she complained, already racing upstairs.
Serena stayed back. “You could come, you know. You don’t gotta keep hiding yourself behind something that happened ten years ago,” she said quietly.
“This is not hiding. It’s just my preference,” I countered.
“Mm-hmm. If you say so.” Her eyes moved to the empty corner. “I still think that spot would be perfect for a tree. Just saying.”
“I’m not paying anybody to decorate a tree I’m never gon’ look at. Can you help my child find a hat?” I changed that subject fast.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said with a sad smile, then headed upstairs.
I stood there listening to Aziza singing, Max barking, and Serena telling her to slow down.
They were here. Mr. Benton was here. And I felt so alone.
Forty minutes later, Serena’s SUV rolled down the long driveway.
Aziza waved at me from the back window, glowing with excitement.
I watched until they disappeared around the curve, then forced myself away from the doorway.
The house was heavy with silence. I told myself to go back to my laptop, answer emails, work on my draft.
Instead, I walked back to the entryway and stood there, looking lost. staring at the empty corner like it was staring back.
A soft whine had me looking down where Max rubbed sympathetically against my leg.
“I’m okay, boy,” I murmured.
Mr. Benton appeared suddenly, and I almost jumped out of my skin. He moved so quietly that I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it.
“A visitor representing the town called from the gate,” he announced.
I sighed. No one was supposed to be here, and I didn’t feel like saying the same thing yet again.
“I shall see to it.”
“I’ll—” I started, then stopped. “Thank you.”
He went to the door. I hovered halfway down the hall, too introverted to stand right behind him, too nosy to hide. He opened it.
“Good evening,” a deep voice said.
It was foreign and familiar all at once. My heart tripped, skipped a beat, then started racing. My mind went back, ten years folding in on themselves. There was a moment of panic—then, I remembered that Aziza was gone. And then came the rage. I know this man didn’t—
“May I help you?” Mr. Benton asked, cool but polite.
“I hope so,” he said. “My name is—”
“Mr. Christopher. Yes. I recall. Ms. Grindley is not currently receiving—”
“It’s all right, Mr. Benton,” I said. My voice sounded calm somehow, all cold and missing the heat of my anger. Just how I wanted it.
He looked back at me. Whatever he saw there softened his eyes. I hoped it wasn’t pity. I would hate it if it were pity. “As you wish, ma’am,” he said, stepping aside.
I walked forward, every step careful. I refused to look unsteady. And there he was.
Jabali Christopher.
He looked different than he did at seventeen, of course.
He was still so handsome, all smooth, mocha skin and beautifully carved, masculine features.
He was taller, broader through the shoulders, with a neat moustache and full beard now.
But those warm brown eyes were the same, like they were trying to read me.
That pissed me off more, because he no longer had that privilege.
Reading my mood, Max growled half-heartedly. Jabali didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Hey, Ky,” he said quietly.
“It’s Ms. Grindley,” I corrected.
Something flashed in those eyes so much like my baby’s, but he nodded.
“Yes, ma’am. Ms. Grindley,” he said. His voice was deeper now, low enough that I felt it all over me. “I know I kind of just showed up. I appreciate you even opening the door.”
“This is my home. Not an office. You don’t make appointments at people’s homes.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You still focused on technicalities.”
“You still ignoring boundaries,” I clapped back.
Mr. Benton made a small sound that sounded like a cough, snapped for Max, and disappeared, leaving us alone.
I kept one hand on the door. I needed something to hold on to. After ten years, Jabali Christopher still had the power to have me shook. “What do you want?”
He looked past me, taking it all in, like he was trying to see if anything had changed.
“I came on behalf of the town,” he said. “Mayor Shipley-Melrose asked me to talk to you.”
I tilted my head and peered up at him. “The mayor. Your mama’s sister.”
“Yes, ma’am. She said you got her letters, that you already answered. She still asked me to come. Face to face.”
“About the trees.”
“About the trees,” he confirmed. “She said Mrs. Amanda always let the town use the pines on top of the hill for decorations, and she was hoping you might reconsider. People look forward to it. The kids love it. It matters to the town.”
“I’m aware of the tradition. I lived here, remember?”
Something in his eyes heated, and his gaze bored into mine. “Of course I remember, K—Ms. Grindley.”
“My answer is the same. The trees are on private land. My land. Having people come up and check out the decorations is a potential liability. I won’t be opening the area for that.”
I was proud of how my voice sounded, cool, professional, poised. All the opposites of what I was feeling inside. Inside was a seething mess of anger, hurt, fear… and desire. Some stupid part of me still desired, still wanted him. Stupid me. He nodded once, like he’d expected my answer.
“Can I ask why? And I don’t mean the legal stuff. I read the letters. I mean, why you really don’t want it?”
A cold little half-smile curled my lips. “You don’t get to ask me anything.”
His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed soft.
“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see.
I’m just here ’cause this town loves that tradition and they barely know how to talk to you now with all the paperwork and gossip.
I thought maybe you’d hear it different from somebody you actually know. ”
“Someone I know?” I scoffed. “I don’t know you.”
Everything about him tightened, his posture, his jaw, his hands.
“You might not want to, but you do know me. Just like I know you, and I know you didn’t come back here just to sit in this house and look down on everything through your frosted glass doors.
That ain’t even you, Kyleigh. You care more than that. ”
“It’s Ms. Grindley, and you don’t know what I care about,” I snapped. “You gave up the right to assume anything about me when you let my business turn into a joke on a stage.”
His eyes went sad at that. “I’m sorry. I been sorry every day. I don’t expect you to forgive me ’cause I showed up talking about them damn trees. I didn’t forget, Ms. Grindley. And I’m sorry you hurting.”
I kissed my teeth. “Hurting? Nothing or nobody in this town can hurt me. And your being sorry doesn’t do anything for me. It didn’t then. It doesn’t now.”
He nodded, accepting the lie, exhaling slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “Then let me talk like just another person from this town, not your ex. People trying to do something that bring them joy. We not asking to build nothing permanent. Just lights and ornaments for a few weeks. You wouldn’t even have to see it if you didn’t want to. ”
“I’d know it was there. That’s enough.”
He stared at me. “You really hate it that much?” he asked. “Christmas?”
I shrugged. “I don’t ‘hate’ anything. I have boundaries. I prefer my land not be used for a celebration I want no part of, by people who have nothing to say to me until they want something.”
“You really believe that? That nobody in this town care about you unless they trying to get something?” He looked at me like I was pitiful.
“Is that all you came for, Mr. Christopher?” I asked, avoiding that question.
Of course, he didn’t give up easily. He never did. “Zahara said you got a little one in here,” he said softly.
I froze before a fine trembling took over my body. I didn’t want him asking anything about Aziza. Not yet. I’d tell him one day, just not now. I managed to keep my face smooth.
“I do, but whoever lives in this house is none of your concern,” I responded coldly.
He lifted his hands, palms out. “I ain’t say it was.
And look, Ms. Grindley, I understand why you don’t like me, but you ain’t gon’ keep handling me.
” His tone was suddenly rougher, more aggressive.
I swallowed but didn’t drop eye contact.
“All I was saying is that the baby here and all these babies around deserve joy, too. Community celebrations give ‘em that. That’s all.”
“Are your people watching my house?” I asked, nervous.
He shook his head, his face twisted into a scowl. “No. My people live up the road. They walk by and see her by that fence you put around here. Nobody checking for your place like that. My family would never.” His eyes held mine. “You know I’d never do no shit like that.”
“I don’t know you,” I said again.
Silence stretched. Then he nodded.
“Whatever. A’ight. You want us to stop coming to you about the trees?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to stop showing up, period?” he asked.
Every part of me screamed “yes” and “no” at the same time.
“Yes,” I said, for my sake and Aziza’s.
He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded once. “A’ight. I hear you.”
“And Mr. Christopher? Let me be clear. If you or any town representative come on this property again without my permission, I’m calling the sheriff. I’ll press charges for criminal trespass. I don’t play about my home or the people in it. We understood, Mr. Christopher?”
His expression tightened, but he didn’t look away. “We understood, Ms. Grindley. I ain’t gon’ put you in that position.”
“Have a good evening. You can tell the mayor my answer is still no,” I announced.
“Yes, ma’am.” He paused. “Take care of yourself, Kyleigh.”
“Bye, Mr. Christopher.”
He nodded once, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t going to argue. I closed the door before he reached the gate. The latch clicked. I pressed my palm against the wood and made myself breathe in, out, in. My hand shook. I curled it into a fist.
“Ms. Kyleigh?”
I jumped. Mr. Benton stood halfway down the hall with a silver tray, teapot and single cup arranged just so.
“I took the liberty of preparing a bit of chamomile tea,” he said. “You appeared… unsettled.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out too fast, my tone all wrong. “It was just town business. Nothing important.”
His eyes held something soft. He’d known me since I was a newborn swaddled close to Mrs. Amanda. He knew I was lying, but he let me be.
“Very well. I shall leave this in the sitting room. In case your ‘unimportant’ business disagrees with you,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Benton,” I said quietly.
He nodded and disappeared. I stood there a few more seconds.
The house felt so strange right now. Finally, I turned and went upstairs, my steps too quick.
I passed the second floor and caught a glimpse of my baby’s tree, its white lights blinking.
I kept going, all the way to the third floor, to the converted attic Mrs. Amanda had given me when I was a teenager.
It was my room, my sanctuary. I closed the door and leaned back against it, finally letting my eyes shut.
Only then did I let everything hit. I had been in the presence of Jabali Christoper. His voice, his face, those eyes... my baby’s eyes. My eyes watered. My breath stuttered. He was still so beautiful, still so perfect, and I still—
“You’re okay, Kyleigh. You’re okay,” I whispered to myself.
But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.