Chapter Ten Derek
CHAPTER TEN
Derek
I see your ten,” I called across the table with a cigar hanging out one side of my mouth. “And I raise you ten.” I tossed a yellow chip onto the growing pile in the middle of the green-felt-covered table.
“Too rich for my blood. I fold.” Bubba threw his cards down and leaned back in his chair.
“Same. I’m out.” David threw down his cards. “Anybody want another drink?”
I stayed silent as the rest of the table called out their orders.
“Call.” Roger tossed in an orange chip.
“Call,” Eric repeated and followed suit.
“Full house, baby.” Roger fanned his hand on the table in triumph. “Beat that.”
“If you insist.” I fanned out my hand, displaying four sevens. The table erupted in a chorus of “ooh”s before we turned to Eric. He fanned out his hand to reveal the five of hearts, the king of clubs, the eight of hearts, the nine of spades and the two of clubs. So, in short, nothing.
The chorus of “ooh”s were replaced by “boo”s.
“Man, what the hell was that supposed to be?” Bubba yelled. “My hand was better than that.”
“And yet you still folded.” Eric shrugged and puffed on his cigar. “You gotta take big risks to get rewards.”
“Yeah, and sometimes you lose big, too.” Roger chuckled and gestured at the stack of chips I was raking toward my chest with my forearm.
“We are the descendants of some of the biggest risk-takers in this country.”
“Welp, here he goes.” Bubba rolled his eyes. “Don’t give him that.” He was referring to the fresh glass of whiskey David placed in front of him.
“My great-grand uncle saw three thousand acres of swampland and turned it into this.” He stomped his feet on the hardwood floor. “It’s heaven, man. It’s an oasis. And it’s still ours.”
“For now,” Roger murmured under his breath, and it made my stomach flip and my neck grow hot.
“No.” Eric banged his fist on the table. “It will always be ours, and I don’t give a damn what I have to do to keep it ours.”
“Eric, sit your drunken ass down, so I can take more of your money,” a man named Geoffrey called from across the table.
“I’m serious; we need to fight for what’s ours.” He poked his finger on the table’s surface, almost spilling his drink.
“What do you plan to fight with? A well-designed spreadsheet, Malcolm Excel?” Roger quipped, and the table erupted with laughter.
“Have you ever been in a fight, Psych Tyson?” David said to more laughter.
“Man, forget y’all,” Eric scoffed, but his mouth curled into a smile. “Deal the cards.”
David shuffled the deck and dealt the next hand. We tossed in our opening bids.
“So, which founder are you related to, Eric?”
“The man himself, John William Pike.”
“But your last name is Everett?” I asked.
“Yeah, we’re cousins,” David chimed in, before trading two of his cards and reorganizing his hand. “My grandmother is his great-aunt.”
“Is everybody here descended from the three founders?” I asked. “How does that work?”
“Everybody at this table is either a Pike or a Hodge. Most of everyone who lives here is a descendant but not everybody. Most of us met our wives in college.”
“Except for Roger,” Geoffrey interjected.
“Freaknik 1988,” Roger answered with a nostalgic grin.
“So no one here is descended from a Walker?” I asked before sliding a card to David to swap. The table got quiet. “What? What did I say?”
“The Walkers are a complicated subject,” David said in a low voice. “And Wednesdays are supposed to be simple.” He slid me a new card before taking a puff on his cigar.
“So can I ask a simple question?” I placed the new card into a hand that I already knew was garbage but began to rearrange in the hopes of bluffing my way into another win.
“Shoot.” David didn’t look up from his hand.
“What would make three of the richest Black men in the country move to the middle of nowhere and start a town?”
“That your idea of a simple question?” David chuckled, and I nodded. “Well, here’s my simple answer: if you can’t find it—”
“—make it!” The rest of the table joined in, voices overlapping as they raised their glasses and cigars in a celebratory toast. I took a moment to look around, wondering how many times these men had shared this same story—a blend of pride, humor, and solemnity stitched into the fabric of their community.
David leaned back in his chair, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the overhead light.
“The short version? Racism, plain and simple. But these weren’t the type of men to just sit around and take it.
No, sir. They’d been run out of one town too many, told they weren’t welcome, no matter how much money they had or how much they contributed. ”
Roger tapped ash off his cigar. “And it wasn’t just them. It was their families, their friends. It’s one thing to be a target yourself, but to see the people you love treated like dirt?” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “That’ll light a fire under you real quick.”
Eric picked up where Roger left off. “So, they started looking for land. Cheap land. Somewhere nobody else wanted. Found this swamp and said, ‘We’ll take it.’ Turned it into Miller’s Cove. Built homes, schools, businesses. They didn’t just make a town. They made a legacy.”
“That’s incredible.” I was genuinely impressed. I’d heard of Black Wall Street in Tulsa and other Black-founded towns, but this was the first time I’d had the chance to sit in one. “And it’s still all Black-owned?”
David’s expression darkened slightly. “For now. But it’s a constant fight.
Developers are always sniffing around, making offers, but some things simply aren’t for sale.
It’s not just land. It’s history.” He shot me a glance, making my stomach feel like it was filled with lead. “You know what I’m saying?”
Before I could answer, Roger nodded. “People see the beach, the charm, and they want to turn it into a resort town. But they don’t see the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this place.” I felt my face swarm with heat, and my heart began to race.
“They don’t care,” Eric added bitterly. “To them, it’s just a good investment.”
The table fell into a contemplative silence, broken only by the shuffling of cards and the occasional clink of a glass.
I felt a pang of guilt. Here I was, pretending to be someone else, competing for a job to please Edward Mason, a man who would likely never fully understand or respect what this community represented.
“So, Derek.” Geoffrey broke the silence and gave me a sly grin. “How’s married life treating you?”
The question caught me off guard, and I nearly choked on my whiskey. “Oh, you know.” I scrambled for a response. “Ups and downs. Just like any marriage.”
The men laughed, clearly amused by my discomfort but not fully understanding its source. “Better watch out,” Bubba said. “Jasmine looks like the type who doesn’t play around. She’ll have you sleeping on the couch if you mess up.”
I let out an involuntary chuckle that was a genuine reaction to Bubba’s statement. He had no idea how on the money his assessment of mine and Jasmine’s relationship was.
“She’s…” I hesitated, unsure how much to say without giving myself away. “She’s definitely… strong-willed.”
Roger smirked. “Translation: she’s got him wrapped around her finger.”
The table erupted in laughter again, and I couldn’t help but join in, even as my cheeks burned.
The truth was, they weren’t entirely wrong.
Jasmine had a way of getting under my skin and keeping me on my toes.
And lately, pretending to be her husband had started to feel less like a charade and more like…
something else. Something I wasn’t ready to name.
David dealt another hand, and we settled back into the game.
I glanced at my cards and suppressed a groan.
A pair of fives. Not exactly a winning hand, but I’d learned quickly that poker in Miller’s Cove wasn’t just about the cards.
It was about reading the room, catching the banter, and knowing when to bluff.
“So, Derek.” Eric leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m in market research,” I replied carefully, sticking to the truth as much as possible. “Jasmine and I are working on a project together.”
“Work and pleasure, huh?” David remarked. “Could be a dangerous mix, but it works well for me and Eleanor.” He smiled.
“What kind of project?” Roger asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Just, uh, analyzing trends and demographics. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds boring as hell.” Bubba earned another round of laughter.
“It can be,” I admitted, “but it pays the bills.”
“Well, you’d better hope it pays well.” Geoffrey eyed the growing pile of chips in the center of the table. “Because if you keep winning like this, we’re gonna need a rematch next week.”
I grinned, feeling a surge of confidence despite my terrible hand. “Deal me in.”
As the night wore on, the conversation shifted between lighthearted jabs and deeper discussions about the town’s history.
I learned about the annual Founders’ Day picnic, the reverence the community has for firefighters, efforts to preserve historic buildings, and the local legends that gave Miller’s Cove its unique charm.
By the time we played the last hand, I felt like I’d gained not just a better understanding of the town but a deepening respect for the men around the table.
“All right, gentlemen.” David gathered the cards and chips. “Same time next week?”
There was a chorus of agreements as we stood and stretched. Bubba clapped me on the back. “You’re all right, Derek. For a New York City boy.”
“Thanks, Bubba.” I smiled despite myself. “You’re not so bad, either.”