Chapter 12 Maurice
Sleep and Maurice had never been good bedfellows. The surprise of a good, albeit short, night’s sleep had him wanting to return to his room and recapture that… peace?
After Monique left his room, he spent a good part of the night in reflection.
That brief conversation with her had him assessing everything.
She’d given a lot of herself yesterday, and he’d thrown her scraps.
Somehow, he’d make it up to her, show her just how grateful he was for their… whatever this was.
Pacing the lobby, he waited for the others to arrive. Hawkishly, he monitored the elevator bank, having been undemocratically elected to be their party’s Julie on this Love Boat.
“What you peeping at?” Tommie said, slipping behind him too close and sudden that Maurice didn’t have a breath to react. Clapping him on the back, Tommie laughed. “Something has your attention. I never could sneak up on you.”
“Come on, man. You play too much,” was the best Maurice could do. Tommie was right. His guard was always up. Head always on a swivel. He could never risk not being aware. So why now? What changed?
“How was your night?” Lanie asked, pulling Maurice into a hug.
Hugging her back, but with an uncharacteristic tentativeness, he said, “It was good. You?”
Lanie sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “You know how it goes with some people,” she said, as she moved aside to let Maurice greet Auntie Don.
Over Don’s head, Maurice spotted the people of which they spoke.
Richard Turner was already looking at his phone when they approached.
Mrs. Turner’s hand fell onto his arm in a way that nudged instead of demanded.
Maurice knew that hand and missed it. Not Mama Turner’s specifically, but what it meant to be touched and taught.
Richard glanced up and then took his time weaving through their small group, greeting everyone with the veneered smile and gladhands of a seasoned schmoozer.
“What’s up, brother,” Richard said to Tommie, giving him a loud clap of a handshake before pulling him in for an insincere hug.
The hugs Tommie gave were with his full body.
Chest to chest. Heart to heart. Richard’s body language never showed an openness to that kind of closeness.
At least he had the good sense not to try to outcharm the charmer.
Richard turned to Maurice and jerked a nod in a flat greeting. “Mo.”
“Hey, man. Good to see you.” Phrases like that were common manners, not lies.
Richard gave a quick nod before going back to his phone. Sunny popped up at Maurice’s other side and pulled him into an embrace friendly enough for both of them.
“Mo! I’m so glad to see you! My girlfriends can’t stop talking about the reno. When we get back, your crew is gonna be booked and busy!”
Sunny named herself correctly. Soledad “Sunny” Ferrera Turner’s TV personality was not an act. The local midday news was one way he grounded himself. So, when he met Sunny in person two years ago, long after she’d become a regional phenom, Maurice was more than a little starstruck.
“That was all you, sis,” Maurice said, smiling as Sunny picked him apart with her investigative journalist gaze.
It pierced something in him without causing discomfort.
Old feelings of protectiveness stirred in the center of his chest. He wanted to rub the fluttering away, but he held Sunny’s hand and her attention.
“There’s something different about you.” She leaned closer, making him shift his feet.
Now he was uncomfortable. “Elaine, come here.” Calling Lanie over was her dropping the gauntlet.
At functions, they’d corner Maurice and pelt him with questions about his interests and dating habits, his lifestyle, everything. “He’s different, isn’t he?”
Lanie draped an arm over her sister-in-law’s shoulder. Cheek to cheek, they assessed him. “Possibly…” Their eyes danced with a kind of knowing Maurice had only witnessed in the women he was close to, like they had the key to some cypher he’d abandoned.
“Y’all buggin’.” He tried to deflect, to redirect, but he’d never been victorious against the two of them before. “I’m good. A little tired from all the travel, but I’m good. I promise you.”
“What do you mean, tired?” Sunny pressed again, making a face that said she didn’t believe him.
Their history of ganging up on him in the most sisterly kind of way usually made him feel more human, more normal, but he wasn’t in the mood to play along today. “What do you mean?”
“Did we see him and Monie at dinner, sis?” Sunny, Maurice learned quickly, had a dramatic flair. Beside her, Lanie shook her head slowly, leaning into the performance.
Aunt Deb appeared at his side, bringing with her an aura of stateliness and quiet authority.
Her fresh line-up remained, courtesy of his hands just a couple of days prior.
“Now, girls, leave the boy alone. Let’s save the foolishness for after we get a little something up in us.
” She winked and smiled at them before they joined the rest of the group, giggling like a couple of middle school girls over an inside joke told at Maurice’s expense.
Those phantom sensations were an annoying reminder of the life he never got to live.
“Don’t let it get to you, son,” Auntie Deb said, clutching Maurice’s arm. The move was more a support for him than a replacement for the cane she often now needed. “They love you. They see you. We all do.”
He looked around at their group, made up of foundlings, and fought the urge to scoff. Rationally, there was enough evidence to prove Deb’s claim, but his nervous system wouldn’t allow him to believe it.
She hooked her arm through his. “Walk with me. Travel is still as exciting as ever, but these old bones struggle to keep up. I am stiff,” Auntie Deb said with a groan as Maurice took her cane in his other hand.
They walked down the hall, following signs that led them onto a veranda, down a flight of stairs, and to the beach. Maurice paused and looked behind him.
Monique hadn’t arrived yet. He’d checked.
“You okay?” she asked, drawing his attention from the thoughts and feelings he couldn’t believe were his.
Clearing his throat and collecting his composure, he answered, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The cabana was organized chaos as the hotel staff finished setting everything up for their lunch buffet.
Who knew sandwiches could be so elegant?
Maurice watched the precise dance the staff performed as they arranged to keep the hot things hot and the cold things cold.
Back home, they’d get a tray of hoagies and call it a day.
Everything was gourmet to him, even after being out for a dozen years.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.
A text from Ryan, one of his program guys.
RYAN
Yo Maurice. Hope you having a good time. Wanted to let you know I got that interview Tuesday. Wish me luck.
Maurice smiled. One of his guys was out there making it happen. He typed back.
MAURICE
That’s great news. You got this.
Call me after and let me know how it went
Another buzz. This one an email from Deb’s assistant, Sofia.
Hi, Maurice! Just checking in. The Miller Street project crew is asking about measurements for the cabinet install. Should I tell them to wait til you’re back or do you want me to pull the specs from your office?
Maurice’s jaw tightened. He’d meant to leave those specs before he left, but he had been so focused on packing, on prayer schedules, on not thinking about this trip, that he’d forgotten.
He typed back.
I’ll call you in an hour.
“You good, son?” Deb asked, handing him a cooler to fill with ice.
“Yeah. Just work stuff.”
She smiled. “Work can wait. This is your vacation too.”
Was it, though? Maurice had never taken a vacation. Didn’t know what that was supposed to feel like.
“You and Monique seemed comfortable together,” Deb continued, studying him.
Maurice kept his face neutral. “She’s easy to be around.”
“Uh-huh.” Deb’s smile widened. “That’s one way to put it.”
Before Maurice could respond, Sunny appeared with condiments.
“Maurice, you’re on sandwich duty. Turkey or ham?”
“Both?”
“Perfect answer.”
His phone buzzed again. Another text from Newark—this time from Jerome, asking about lumber delivery schedules for next week.
Deb huffed. “I told everybody to take the week off. Why do you encourage this, this overachieving?”
As empathetic and thoughtful Deb and Fairbanks Construction had been over the years, there were still a great many things they couldn’t understand.
Like how hard holidays were after you’ve done a long bid.
It wasn’t that Maurice encouraged anything except that his team do what they needed to feel safe and grounded.
If work was that, then who was he to stop them from crossing T’s and dotting I’s?
Measure twice, cut once. That was practically their creed.
Maurice silenced the phone and pocketed it. For him, he needed that reminder that work could wait. Had to wait. He was here. He should be present. Monique had asked that little of him.
They worked in comfortable rhythm—Maurice assembling sandwiches, Sunny organizing drinks, Deb overseeing everything with quiet authority. He scanned the beach without meaning to. The lounger Monique had been sitting in was empty, her bag still beside it. She hadn’t gone far.
Maurice returned to his task.
Tommie bounced over, grinning. “Yo, this is perfect. Beach day is perfect. Tomorrow’s gonna be—”
“Say perfect one more time,” Lanie called from across the cabana, “and I’m calling the whole thing off.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Maurice smiled despite himself. This—Tommie and Lanie’s easy affection, Deb’s quiet pride, even Sunny’s cheerful efficiency—this was what family looked like.
“Where’s Ricky?” Maurice asked, noticing the absence.
Sunny’s expression tightened slightly. “Phone call. Work never stops, apparently.”