Chapter 35
T WO DAYS HAD passed since the Red Party, yet it still felt like it happened a second ago. The memory of Chris walking away, the family blowout, and the condemnation by their mutual friends was all still so raw. It almost overpowered her ability to reminisce on the time that they shared.
Those moments… Carrah wanted them back. She was unsure of how to get them as she sat scrolling on her phone, hoping a message from him would pop up. He hadn’t responded to any of her messages. Still wouldn’t answer her calls.
Carrah wondered if the angst and turmoil of sleepless nights accompanied by crying fits would go away if she could apologize, try and make things right between them. No longer having the patience for time to tell, she went to his office. It was closed.
Locked up as if he’d never occupied the space this summer. Desperation took over and she journeyed to the outskirts of town to his cottage. The gate was down to the dirt road. There was only one place left to go, and the last time she went to the Chennault mansion, Chris was expecting her. After the scene she’d caused at the Red Party, she doubted anyone inside the walls of that home wanted to see her. Still, she had to try.
The courage Carrah held evaporated the moment she pulled up to the mansion’s gate. To her surprise she was instantly buzzed in. She drove down the long drive and stopped in the circle where Carter emerged from the front steps and she quickly got out of the car.
“What are you doing here?” His snippy words raised the hairs on her arms. She had not anticipated this reception from him.
“Carter.” She walked around the car to meet him where he stood. “I need to see Chris. I want to apologize for what happened.”
“Which part? The fact that insults were hurled at him over you by scheming-ass Trent Butler, or that you hung him out to dry?”
She deserved that slap in the face. “I care about your brother. Is he home?”
“You know, I thought you were different. He warned me. I didn’t listen.” He turned away and started back to the house. “You can leave. My brother is gone.”
“Where?” she pleaded, but he kept going. “His office is closed. The cottage gate is chained.”
Carter faced her. “Chris took you to my grandparents’ cottage?” She nodded as he scanned her over with hard eyes. “Maybe you should come in,” he mumbled.
They went into the Chennault home, and it couldn’t compare to any other home she’d entered in the Shores. Not only did you see opulence, you smelled it, or at least you thought you did. Polished wood floors, an Italian marble staircase, and furnishings fit for the monarchy.
“Wait here.” He left her in the foyer and disappeared.
She paced back and forth. What would she say? How would she start her apology? There was so much to say now that her head finally understood her heart. The laws of attraction needed a disclaimer. The agreements of love required an interpreter.
“Carrah.” The older man’s voice startled her. She turned to see Mr. Chennault standing before her while Carter was a few paces behind. “I understand you’re here for Chris.”
“Yes sir, I am.”
“Chris isn’t here, Carrah. He returned to New York the day after the Red Party.”
The beat of her heart skipped then scattered, searching for its rhythm. She clutched her chest, hoping to pull away the ache; unfortunately it spread. Her eyes closed instantly replaying the last time she saw him walking away from her. A hand rested on her shoulder and she opened her eyes to see Mr. Chennault at her side.
He guided her to a chair where she inhaled then fought to exhale. Her eyes closed again while her ears rang and she found herself clawing back to the surface.
“Here,” the man said, forcing her eyes open for a second as he shoved a glass of water into her hands. She drank and then felt her body begin to calm. “Are you all right?” he asked, taking the glass from her.
Carrah opened her eyes and saw both Carter and Chloe standing behind their father with another older woman now holding the glass she’d drunk from. She stood on wobbly legs. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I bothered you all. I should get back home.”
“Wait,” Mr. Chennault protested. “If you aren’t in a rush, I thought we could talk for a bit?” She nodded, more curious than anything to learn what the man had to say. “This way.”
Carrah followed him down a long hall and up a short flight of stairs that led into a study. An oil painting on the wall of the Buffalo Soldiers first caught her eye. Then there was a rendering depicting the life of a free Creole in French New Orleans. On his desk she noticed The Isis Papers and Soul on Ice . There were also original album covers from Motown’s greatest artist and an ode to Prince. The eclectic mix of art and culture between extravagant mahogany shelves that paired with earthy-toned furnishings created a warm space that encompassed the duality of Black history and Black achievement in America.
They took seats across from each other at the empty fireplace.
“The cottage on the outskirts of town,” he smirked, “my parents left that old place to Chris. Before our kind of people were able to purchase land on Lakeshore, my mom and dad created a little lake haven. Chris loves it there in that one-bedroom shack. You’ve been there?”
So many times… “Yes.”
The man’s assessing eyes peeled back whatever lies she might have told and he simply asked, “How many times?”
“A few,” she admitted. “There we didn’t have to worry about becoming the topic of gossip. We didn’t have to hide from the fact that our families couldn’t get along.”
“It wasn’t always like that. In fact, we used to joke that since the attraction bug skipped me and Camille, our children would unite two of the oldest bloodlines of the gens de couleur .”
Carrah perked up. “Wait, you and my mom… were supposed to marry?”
The old man chuckled. “No. Our parents were quite progressive and did not believe in arranged marriages. Although I’m certain they would have loved it if Camille and I had fancied each other. It definitely would’ve made things less complicated with the business and preserved the friendship that had been established by our grandfathers.”
“Until my grandfather betrayed your father and changed everything,” she sighed.
“You mean your father.” Chauncy gave her a pointed stare. “Your grandfather took the blame so his only daughter could have what she wanted, and that was your dad. Your mother gave Melvin what he’d wanted, which was relevance, position in our world, and the keys to Noir. Your father has sacrificed everything and everyone to sit atop an empire. Sort of like now.”
It was. Although she couldn’t agree out loud. Her father had unknowingly sacrificed her dreams, the wishes of her mother, Beau’s vision for the future of the company, and there was probably more. Carrah could not ignore that her father was possibly exposing the company to risk. He’d disregarded everyone’s opinions for the belief that a joint venture was best for Noir.
“Do you say that because I’m turning over top secret formulas to be reviewed by your nephew? Is your plan to steal then produce without us?”
“I am not your father,” the older Chennault bit back. “That was him who tried to steal the formulas Claudette and I created… amongst other things.” He paused as though searching for the right words. “My son confessed to me the way he felt about you. I made the mistake once of watching your father’s greed ruin beautiful things. I can’t allow it to happen again.”
“What do you mean?”
The man got up, went to a cabinet, and pulled a box out. He came back and handed her a square-like item heavily wrapped in old newspaper before reclaiming his seat. Carrah unwrapped the newspaper and then allowed her eyes to focus on a picture of what was likely a very young Claudette Chennault along with Mr. Chennault, her father, and another woman she didn’t know.
“Who is this?” Carrah asked another question, this time hoping for a verbal reply.
“My wife and I, along with your father and my sister, Hannah. We were thick as thieves. Your father almost became my brother until he made a choice that complicated the relationship of our families forever.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sighed. “You may not. However, I believe your mother suspects. She’s been asking a lot of questions lately. But that’s not why you’re here.” He paused, assessing her with a piercing brown stare. “How do you feel about my son, Carrah?” The sincerity of Mr. Chennault’s question forced her to confront what she’d been allowed to escape the last few days since the night of the Red Party.
Hiding from her feelings didn’t seem to be a viable option with the misery that had followed her ever since Chris cut off all contact.
“I… I’m not supposed to love him, but I do.” Her vision was of the floor beneath her feet. How could she look this man in the face after knowing the unfiltered history of her father and the havoc it had and still wanted to wreak over so many people’s lives?
“I assumed so.” He chuckled, and she looked up and stared in his face. “You would not have come here otherwise. When do you plan to tell him?”
“He won’t answer any of my calls or messages, and you just told me that he’s gone. Maybe it’s for the best.”
“Of my children, he is the most logical but unfortunately the most obstinate. Give him time to rationalize what happened. I’m sure you two will have a chance to talk. My advice to you is, strive to achieve your dreams or they will be lost and become figments of your imagination. What you did the other night was cater to the whims of other people. Me included.”