Chapter Twenty-Three
From Avila’s perch on the couch, she watched Terence and Ebony roll on paint. Pillows propped up her foot on the coffee table,
and ACE bandages were wrapped around her swollen ankle.
The pain was better today, but it had awakened her at least a dozen times in the night, forcing her to hobble from the couch
to the kitchen for the aspirin.
Since this morning, though, Ebony hadn’t let her up once. Terence came early and set to work. Ebony dutifully brought out
the bag of frozen peas every three hours and set the timer on the stove for twenty minutes.
Avila measured time by her ice pack. The TV was off by her own choice; there was nothing worthwhile to watch. Ebony turned
the radio on to an R&B station, and Avila watched Terence pour paint into the pan. She tapped her fingers to the upbeat tune.
“Are you hungry?” Terence asked.
She was tempted to say yes, just to relieve the boredom. “No.”
“Need more aspirin?”
“It’s not time yet,” Ebony said. “The bottle says every four to six hours.”
“Okay, Nurse Ebony.” Terence tossed her daughter a smile.
Avila was surprised at her daughter’s response to the injury. She never had seen this mothering side, and she realized that
Ebony would make a great big sister. After their disagreement the day before, she was relieved that her daughter’s anger had
been curbed, even though it had taken an injury to do so. Or perhaps Ebony was simply happy that Terence was with them again.
Perhaps the time that Ebony and Terence would spend together would be good for them.
A while later, Terence prepared a simple lunch and carried it to the backyard. Then he lifted Avila off the sofa as if she
weighed nothing.
She rested her arm on his shoulder. “This is ridiculous. I feel so helpless.”
“You’re not helpless, just injured. Let someone lend a hand.”
She tried to relax her body in his arms. He was always helping her, for heaven’s sake. And she was always pushing him away.
Ebony was diving into her sandwich when Terence settled Avila into a chair and pulled up another one to elevate her foot.
The sound of the crunch of gravel in the driveway echoed.
“I’ll be right back.” Terence headed down the porch steps and around the house.
“Wonder who that is.” Avila dug into her bologna sandwich and chips, gulping down the ice water. The pain in her ankle intensified,
and she realized it was time for medication.
Ebony offered to get the aspirin, and, while she was doing that, Terence returned, holding two crutches.
Avila grinned. “Where did those come from?”
“The local hospital medical supply store. Hopefully they’re the right height.” He leaned them against the wall at her side,
then seated himself across from her. Avila was moved that Terence actually had searched for crutches for her. The man was
too kind.
Avila set her glass back on the table. “Getting tired of carrying me around?”
“Yes.” He smiled.
When they finished eating, she hobbled back into the house on the crutches. By the time she made it to the couch, she was
glad to elevate her ankle again. The steps had aggravated it, and it seemed all the blood had rushed down, reviving the throbbing
of her ankle.
Terence and Ebony finished the kitchen and moved into the living room. The furniture was squashed into the center of the room
to allow access to the walls. Avila laid her head against the sofa and listened to the sucking sound of the rollers working
against the walls. The window behind her was open, and fresh air trickled in, alleviating the heavy smell of paint fumes.
“Ebony, I printed out the script for you to review. You should get a head start on reading through it before the first day
of rehearsals.”
“I will, Mom,” she said, her voice a tad exasperated.
Terence balanced on the ladder, rolling paint onto the ceiling. His shorts hugged his hips, and Avila followed the long line
of his legs to his sneakers. He rose on his toes, and his calf muscles flexed. Hmm. Attractive.
She could sit here and watch him all day. But she wanted to do the work herself, not sit here watching other people do it. Stupid ankle.
Michael Jackson’s voice poured from the Bluetooth speakers. Ebony turned it up, then resumed painting the wall beside Terence’s
ladder. He began singing, working in time with the beat.
Seconds later, Ebony joined him. She swayed with the rhythm, moving her head from side to side as she sang along.
Ebony and Terence shared a smile, singing in unison. Avila’s lips curved into a grin. Ebony was a great dancer. She was doing
more dancing than painting as the roller went over and over the same spot.
Terence wasn’t doing much better. When Michael Jackson sang the chorus, he turned toward Ebony, holding the roller like a
mic, and belted it out.
Ebony’s laugh was more melodic than the music. She turned her roller up and sang with him. They faced each other, cranking
out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Ebony and Terence two-stepped.
A laugh caught in Avila’s throat.
Terence finished singing, but he was off pitch. “Your turn, Avila.” He pointed to her.
Avila said the words instead of singing them. No one would want to hear her sing.
Ebony called over the music, still bopping to the song, “You can do better than that, Mom.”
Terence stepped down from the ladder and took the main part while Ebony did the backup.
Avila watched, knowing a silly grin had spread across her face, but she couldn’t look half as silly as the two of them bopping around the living room with rollers in their hands. They weren’t getting much done, but they were having a blast.
Watching them getting along triggered something in her. The music volume seemed to decrease as she watched them together,
behaving like old friends. How many days like this had Ebony missed with her biological father? She was nearly a teenager,
and her formative years were quickly passing. How would the lack of a father affect her future? How would she learn how to
relate to a man when she had no role model?
Terence sat down his roller and took Ebony’s, setting it in the pan. He took her hand and twirled her toward him, then back
out. Terence still had two left feet, despite his claim that he had outgrown them. His jerky dance moves made Ebony look all
the more graceful.
Ebony laughed as she spun. “Is this the way they did it in the olden days?”
“Hey, watch it,” he said.
“This is how they dance now.” Ebony did a move with her feet, then wiggled her hips.
“Not bad. You must’ve gotten your rhythm from your mother.” Terence did a move that reminded her of a duck, bobbing his chin
in and out.
Avila laughed.
“Well, just so you know. Mom can’t dance.”
Terence raised his eyebrows at Avila. “Too bad about your bad ankle, or you’d have to show her your stuff.”
“Yeah, too bad,” Avila said. When the song ended, Ebony turned the volume down. Terence gave Ebony a high five, then handed back her roller.
Avila watched them paint, side by side, and wished things were different for Ebony. What if Avila stayed here in Charleston?
What if she married Terence? Seeing the two of them together, she considered that.
Avila warmed to the idea. It could happen. Anything was possible, and Terence seemed to really want to be around the two of
them. Or maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Just the other day she was counting down the days until she returned to New
Jersey. She needed to get certain on what she really wanted before she entertained ideas like staying in Charleston.
Ebony finished a portion of the wall and moved the roller pan to the other side of the ladder, then loaded her roller.
Terence whistled to the tune on the speakers while he rolled over a water stain on the ceiling. When he needed more paint,
he descended the ladder.
“How about we grill tonight?” he asked Avila. “I can grab some meat at the grocery store.”
She was about to agree when she noticed his foot descending straight toward the roller pan. “Watch out—”
His sneaker landed squarely in the middle of the pan. Paint poured over the metal edges. He looked down, shocked. Avila sucked
in her breath.
“What?” Ebony peeked around the ladder. Her mouth dropped.
Terence lifted his foot and watched the paint run off his shoe, trickling back into the pan.
Avila had to try to keep from laughing.
“How did the pan get over here?” He slowly turned toward Ebony, a funny scowl on his face.
Avila could tell that her daughter was torn between horror and humor. “I had to move it.”
“You had to move it,” Terence repeated.
“It was in the way.” Her eyes were white. “I’m sorry.” She giggled, even though she tried to sound serious.
“You look real sorry.” He shook his foot again.
Ebony let out another laugh.
“That’s it.” Terence headed toward Ebony. She squealed and took off toward the door. Terence followed, leaving white footprints
on the drop cloth. Avila wished she could follow, especially when she heard Ebony laugh. She hadn’t heard her laugh like that
since she was a toddler.
When Avila’s cell phone rang, she pressed the On button, realizing that she was still smiling.
By the time Terence finished chasing and tickling Ebony, they were out of breath. He had forgotten how much fun kids were.
He realized Ebony probably needed a positive male figure in her life. She was eating up interacting with Terence.
He took off his shoe and ran it under the outdoor spigot, rubbing the paint away with his fingers.
Ebony plopped down on the grass nearby, breathing hard and laughing. “I’m tired.”
He finished cleaning his shoe. Then he took the other one off and helped Ebony up. “Piggyback ride?” He turned and offered
his back.
“I’m too old for that,” Ebony said, but her eyes said something different.
“Says who? Hop on.” He squatted, and she wrapped her little arms around his neck.
“Hang on,” Terence said as he stood, looping his elbows around her knees. She laughed as he rose to his feet. The sound was
the sheer delight of a child. He loved seeing her full of joy.
He jogged up the front porch steps, and Ebony kept laughing. Once they reached the front door, he let her down.
“That was fun.” Ebony smiled. “But not as fun as you getting paint on your shoe.”
“Ha-ha!” he said, serious but not serious.
When they stepped inside the house, he noticed that Avila was on the phone. When their eyes met, she looked away. He shrugged
it off.
He saw the wet footprints all across the drop cloth. He grabbed a roll of paper towels to sop them up. Avila’s quiet voice
carried across the room.
“Oh, I really can’t. I fell off a ladder and twisted my ankle yesterday.”
Terence wiped harder at the mess than was necessary. He could tell she was on the phone with Samantha.
“No, that’s okay,” Avila said. “I’ve got it covered.”
She was talking about the work on the house. How did she have it covered? He turned to look in her direction, but she didn’t
notice, because she was looking the other way.
“Sure, sure. Okay. See you.” Avila punched the phone off, and it clunked on the end table.
The mood in the room shifted. Even Ebony seemed to sense the change. It was time to go back to work. Terence moved the roller pan away and climbed the ladder.
The clock was ticking. Terence had a few more weeks with Avila, and the reality of it hit him with a new urgency. A few more
weeks to make her see how much he loved her. A few more weeks to make her see she had nothing to fear. Would that be enough
time? Or would Avila and Ebony go back to New Jersey and leave him forever?