A Cautionary Tale (working title) Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

The day dawned sunny and clear, but bitterly cold with winds that were gusty and biting. I guess that should be expected, it is February. Friday, February 13th to be exact, and the first time I’ve ever dreaded coming home. I arrived last night and had no trouble resisting the urge to go to my family home. I was tired from the two hour drive and grouchy from all the effort it took to get here, but mainly I was anxious and hesitant to see my step-mom after our ugly fight earlier in the week. So, I was thankful that I had Marla with me and conveniently used her as my excuse for not gathering with the rest of my kin-folk.

It’s a good thing I know these pavements so well, because what stands in my path makes me lose all sense of both time and place. 

“Oh dear God.” Followed quickly by, “No fucking way.” I murmur in stunned disbelief. There he stood; the first man to crack my heart open. The object of my teenage heart’s desire. I was 17 and he was 21, and that was about a million years ago. He’s as appealing as he was way back when; standing in front of my dad’s house  looking all debonair and yummy, in a sharp charcoal wool top coat, a black cashmere scarf, casually knotted, black leather gloves and no hat. I didn’t know he had heard of my dad’s passing, and wouldn’t, in my wildest dreams have imagined him coming by to pay his respects. I am moved beyond words. I walk slowly toward him murmuring, ‘no fucking way,’ on repeat, like a dirty little mantra. We stand there staring at one another for a couple of seconds that feel like forever as the years magically melt away. 

“Russell McN-,” I attempt to say, but the rest of his name gets lost in the fabric of his coat as he gently folds me in a Russell McNeil hug. 

“Mmmm,” involuntarily surfaces from somewhere deep inside me. I remember these well, and suddenly I’m 17 years old again. I feel his hands move from the small of my back to my waist. I know he’s about to break our embrace, but I’m not ready to let go. So I tighten my hold and whisper, “not yet,” into his neck drinking in his scent. He smells so good; he always did.  

"I'm so sorry Butter," His voice is mellifluous and soothing, "I was shocked to hear the news." All my senses have run amok, and a tear tracks my cheek as his hands slide back into place and he pulls me even closer than before. 

Once I finally allow him to release me, he holds me at arm's length so he can give me a good, slow, and thorough perusal. We grin at each other like two cuckoo loons standing outside my childhood home. 

“Daniella Goodman,” He croons and it feels like warm caramel, dripping in my ear, all smooth and sweet.  I barely control the hum vibrating in my chest, making my heart flutter. 

“Rusty McNeil.” Slips from my lips as I try and fail to keep a straight face. I am momentarily alarmed when he takes a quick step forward, taking up all the space between us, causing me to tilt my head back in order to maintain eye contact. I search his face to try and get an idea of where this is going. My eyes dance, flicking back and forth to each of his, gauging, measuring his response. His face is impassive; I can’t get a read, but he holds me transfixed as he slowly leans in, imposing on the last of my personal space. My lips are slightly parted. I know, by the puffs of white vapor floating in the air every time I exhale, and still he moves in closer. As he slides to my left ear, I give way, turning my head a half an inch, exposing my neck.  

“Do you remember what happened the last time you called me Rusty?” His breath  bathes the shell of my ear, heating my entire body.  

“Don’t break my heart again Danie, and tell me you’ve forgotten.” How does he ask a question and give the answer all in one breath? 

All of the moisture in my mouth has dried to dust. His proximity, the low rolling timbre of his baritone voice, and him evoking long buried memories is playing havoc with my equilibrium. Spikey, little tingly sensations run the length of my spine, and I’m amazed that my knees haven’t buckled. The instant he steps back the Philadelphia winter winds rudely burst our wildly inappropriate bubble. I inhale deeply, needing the clarity the crisp, cold air brings. I feel as though I am coming-to from unconsciousness. I hear street sounds again, the sun is bright and the air is biting. I visibly shiver, and for all the coins in the kingdom, I couldn’t tell you if it was because of the brutal February weather or the inescapable pull of the dude standing in front of me, either way, it’s not a good idea to stand here like this. I start to turn and I’m stopped in my tracks by his hand on my elbow.  

“You haven’t answered my question Daniella.” 

I’m at an awkward angle, half turned, one foot on the pavement, one on the first step. Having been stopped in motion I’m off balance and stumble forward just a bit. I feel his grip on my left elbow tighten fractionally. I look down at our connection and back up to his face. 

“You know damn well I haven’t forgotten. When have I ever forgotten anything having to do with you?” I watch as the muscles in his jaw bunch ever so slightly, but his eyes sparkle with amusement. He never cared much for me swearing, thought it was unladylike, but swearing at him brought out something absolutely primal in him, and I suddenly recall how much I liked pushing his buttons.  He releases my elbow, and I feel abandoned. Without his touch the blustery wind feels colder, as it whips my hair around my face. 

“C’mon, it’s freezing out here, let’s go inside. I want you to meet my husband.” 

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The house is a beehive of activity. My sister, Dena and her family are already here. Her husband Claude is sitting on the couch looking bored and annoyed, his usual disposition, and I feel no guilt in totally ignoring him. I look around the room and I don’t see my husband, Cyrus, but do spy my son CJ trying to sneak one of Audree’s famous chocolate chip cookies.  

“CJ!” I bark his name and shake my head when he looks over to me. Russell has removed his coat and is hanging it on the hooks over the basement door. I smile inwardly, he remembers. And I’m oddly pleased that he is as comfortable here as he was over twenty years ago. Dena and her girls are gathered in the kitchen/dining room. My step-mom Audree, rounds the corner, headed for the stairs.  

“Hey Mack,” she greets Russell first, like she wasn’t at all surprised to see him here. 

“Good Morning Miss Audree,” He replies equally nonchalant. 

I’m puzzled but can’t quite put a finger on why. 

“Danie, call your brother, the limo will be here in twenty minutes. We are not going to be late today.”  She firmly states as she climbs the stairs. 

“Good morning to you too Audree,” I say trying to hide my sarcasm under my breath, but she hears it, and stops midstride.  

“Not today Daniella, don’t start.”  

Russell is looking at me with a curious, yet amused expression on his face. 

“What!” I say a tiny bit too harshly. 

“Some things never change, do they?” He has seen me and my step mom go at it on more than one occasion. I roll my eyes to say ‘whatever,’ and pull my phone out to call Jimmy my younger brother. Two things happen at the same time, Jimmy walks in with his two younger children, and their mother Kim, and my husband emerges from the bathroom and is heading down the stairs. My stomach gives a little flip and I let my gaze slide to Russell who is watching Cyrus come down the stairs. 

“Yo Mack, whassup man!?!” Jimmy greets Russell with the proper amount of surprise I was expecting from the rest of my family, and thankfully, diverts his attention momentarily with the black man handshake/hug. You know, when they slap hands, grip and pull each other in for a pat or two on the back.

Somehow we’ve  migrated the few steps to the dining room. There are too many people in the tiny ass North Philadelphia row house. My daughter LaNissa, and my three nieces are laughing and chattering away in the kitchen, CJ and my nephew Lil Jimmy are in the middle of the living room floor, and Kim and Claude bookend the couch. Audree calls Jimmy upstairs, and Russell turns to introduce himself to Cyrus. Whoa! I'll make the introductions, thank you; I just beat him to it. 

"Cy, there's someone I want you to meet." I say to my husband. "Cyrus Barrett this is Russell McNeil, Russell, this is my husband, Cyrus." I gesture to each respectively, and I add, "Russell holds a very special place in my heart," and the two men shake hands.   

"Yo! Givin’ out my whole government." Russell says playfully. 

"Well what do you want me to call you." I retort. 

"Mack, what you always called me." He shoots back. 

"Mack, Cy, Cy, Mack." I say all sassy, with a shake of my head. "Better?" And give Mr. McNeil a pointed look.

 Mercifully the doorbell rings. I yell upstairs, "Audree, Mr. Oyende is here."  

Good Lord we are full to capacity, no one else can fit in here. LaNissa asks me to pick out her fro', and Mack has discovered that my niece goes to Lincoln University the same school as his daughter.  

I grab the pick and begin picking out Nissa's hair. 

"You're what, about 53/54 now?" I ask Mack. 

"53." He answers with an sly little grin. 

He knows I know the answer. I point the pick at him and say " 9/13." Point back at myself and say, "10/13." I can't tell from his expression if he's surprised that I remember, or that I thought he forgot.  At that point Mr. Oyende calls for everyone to gather in the living room, for prayer.  

One by one we spill out of the house. The few neighbors that haven't already left for the church offer kind sentiments and heartfelt condolences.  

As we are working out who is riding where, I notice Mack talking to the limo driver, then departing to hop into a humongous SUV, with city tags. Once everyone is situated the limo slides in behind the big black SUV, red and blue lights flashing as it leads the procession of cars taking us to Heavenly Grace Baptist Church. 

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All work on this site is the intellectual property of the author Diane Gossett