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Claudette Mitchell adjusted the rearview mirror carefully, glancing over at her daughter as the young girl moaned softly in her sleep, her head rolling forward. One eye still on the road, Claudette reached over, her fingers fumbling around until they finally found the button on the side of the passenger seat. The girl moaned again as the chair moved into a reclining position. A moment later she was snoring, a sure sign the six-year-old was thoroughly exhausted; and no wonder, considering the past week’s flurry of activity. Not that the child had even known her grandfather well; the truth was that she’d only seen him twice, both times before her third birthday. But the news of Eddie Lee Ward’s passing had brought carloads of his relatives into town—a dozen or more of them piling into the Mitchells’ brand-new five-bedroom Columbus, New Jersey home—and the commotion of too many people moving about at all hours of the day and night made for very little sleep during the week leading up to the funeral. Claudette wiped her own eyes tiredly, yawning as she switched lanes on the West Side Highway. Few cars were traveling the road at this hour of the morning, the very reason she’d gotten herself and her daughter up and out of the house as early as they had. Claudette hated traffic and
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did all she could to avoid it. It was, in fact, one of the main reasons she and her husband made the decision to leave New York. Thaddeus Mitchell—known as ‚Mitch‛ to most family and friends—had kept his position as a principal at the city’s most prestigious black-owned architectural and engineering consulting firm, but Claudette have a schedule that allowed her to drop off and pick up decided to take the plunge and start her own business. Working from the attic, which they’d decided at the last minute to convert into an office for her, she’d taken her Rolodex, called several of the contacts she’d made over the years as an Acquisitions Editor for a major New York publishing company and informed them all of her new public relations firm. Within months she’d built up an impressive client list of both established and up-and-coming talent. With the exception of a meeting or two here and there, she rarely went into the city since they’d relocated nearly eight months before. In fact, the only reason she was headed back there now was because of the letter she’d received from a lawyer representing her deceased father’s so-called ‚estate‛ s-yet-unnamed personal possessions and a furnished apartment in a well-appointed recently renovated Harlem brownstone. Curiosity, more than anything else, was the reason for this trip. Claudette glanced over at her daughter again as her car phone rang a little too loudly. The girl stirred but remained asleep. Claudette picked up the receiver quickly before it could ring again. ‚Hello?‛ she said softly. ‚It’s me, Claude. I’m just checking on you guys.‛ She smiled at the sound of her husband’s voice.
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‚Nile and I are just fine, Mitch. She’s going to be upset that she missed your call, though. She’s been asleep pretty much since we got on the road.‛ ‚And you, baby? Are you okay?‛ Claudette nodded as if he could see her. ‚I’m fine, sweetness. Really. I mean I’m sorry he’s gone, of course, but I’m dealing with it. I’ll be just fine.‛ ‚Listen, I’m going to try and get out of here as early as I can. Absolute worst-case scenario will put me uptown no later than seven-thirty. I’ll meet the two of you at the hotel. And don’t worry about dinner. I know this trendy Caribbean soul food restaurant you’ll love. I’ve made reservations.‛ ‚You’ve thought of everything.‛ She could hear the concern in his voice. ‚Well, you’ve already got enough to deal with. Listen, Claude, I want you to be careful. I know Greg said the neighborhood is a great one, but we really have no idea what you’re walking into. I wish you’d wait for me.‛ ‚We’ll be fine, Mitch. And I’m more than a little curious to see this apartment. I couldn’t possibly wait.‛ ‚Then call me the minute you get there, okay? Pull me out of a meeting if you have to, just get me on the phone. I’ll feel much better about all this once I hear from you.‛ ‚I promise. Bye, honey.‛ She hung up the phone as Nile stirred again, this time opening her eyes and looking around as she stretched and yawned loudly. ‚Well, hello there,‛ Claudette said, rubbing the girl’s cheek gently. ‚How’s my babygirl?‛ ‚Fine.‛ Nile yawned again, her narrow, slanted eyes resting on the phone. ‚Was that Daddy?‛ Claudette nodded. ‚We’ll see him later tonight. He’s taking us on a date.‛ ‚Are we almost there, Mommy? I’m hungry.‛
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‚We are,‛ Claudette said, still looking forward as she reached into the back seat for the insulated cooler bag she’d put there earlier that morning. ‚And as for food, I made you a breakfast sandwich. There’s a box juice and some fruit too.‛ Claudette consulted her directions quickly as she put on her signal light and moved towards the exit ramp. Moments later they were driving down a busy one-way street. She could tell by the buildings along the way that they were getting closer to the neighborhood her father had apparently called home for the past few years. They were very similar to the ones in the photos that Greg Blackmon had taken a few days after learning of Claudette’s inheritance. ‚It’s actually a great piece of property,‛ Greg had remarked as he slid the envelope of snapshots across Mitch’s desk. ‚It’s in the Mount Morris Park section, just south of 125th Street near Lenox Avenue. The entire block dates back to the late 1800s. The apartment Claudette inherited is in a huge five-story brownstone that was originally two side-by-side homes. In 1917, the family that owned the corner unit purchased the adjoining house, knocked down the walls between them and divided it into apartments. Unfortunately, the property value decreased over the years. I don’t know what Ward paid, but his renovations value into the millions of dollars. If I were you, I’d hang onto that apartment.‛ That was a decision yet to be made, Claudette thought to herself as she quickly glanced at her directions one last time and made a series of turns. Several minutes later they were parked outside of an attractive, well-kept brownstone on the corner of two dead end streets.
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She shut the engine off, taking a deep breath before turning to her daughter, whose face was pressed to the glass anxiously. ‚Is this it, Mommy?‛ the girl asked, her fingers fumbling over each other as she excitedly struggled to get out of her seatbelt. ‚Nile, honey, calm down. Here, let me help you,‛ Claudette offered. ‚I got it!‛ Nile cried as her mother reached over. Within seconds she was free, one hand on the door handle and the other clutching her coat. ‚Mommy, are we going?‛ she asked impatiently. ‚Coat on and buttoned up before we get out, little girl,‛ Claudette directed as she reached into the backseat for her briefcase which, in addition to a small stack of paperwork needing to be reviewed over the weekend, also contained a file of documents given to her by Alec Grinnell, her father’s lawyer, at their last meeting. Attached to one of those documents was a small envelope with two keys inside, which Claudette now held in her hand. They had not yet earned a place on her key ring. ‚Don’t we need our bags, Mommy?‛ Nile asked as her mother joined her on the sidewalk and took her hand. ‚We’re staying at a hotel, remember?‛ Claudette replied absently as they reached the building. Nile nodded and wriggled free from her mother, bounding up the steps of the building with an excitement Claudette envied. The fact that the man who was responsible for bringing them here had abandoned his family so many years ago didn’t matter to the child. This was an adventure, a new place to explore. How it came about wasn’t important to her. ‚Wait, Nile, I have the key right here.‛
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The girl moved aside impatiently as her mother unlocked the door, slowly stepping up into the foyer of the building. Nile pushed ahead of her excitedly. ‚Is it this one, Mommy?‛ Nile asked, reaching to turn the knob of a door in the far corner of the foyer. ‚No, Nile, don’t!‛ Claudette whispered loudly, motioning for her daughter to come to her. ‚That’s someone else’s apartment. Honey, you have to learn to be patient. I know I’m moving slowly, but I’m having a little trouble getting used to all this.‛ ‚You mean because you were mad at your daddy before he died?‛ Claudette stood up taller, forcing a smile. ‚Looks like our place is up on the fourth floor. I’ll bet I can beat you there.‛ Nile turned and rushed across the room, her footsteps barely audible as she ran up the thickly carpeted staircase. Claudette followed behind her slowly, running her fingers along the intricately detailed banister as she went. It immediately felt familiar, even though it’d been years and years since the last time she’d sat at her father’s side and watched him work, no, create the masterpieces for which he received the accolades of men who from one side of their mouths praised his work and from the other side offered him pennies on the dollar as payment for it. He rarely took their money, though. Instead would ask for the scratched, ragged pieces of old furniture that people like these always seemed to have stacked and strewn about in their garages or storage sheds. They always obliged, thinking their faces cleverly hid the ridicule in their eyes as they watched this seemingly foolish, uneducated black man haul away what they believed to be worthless junk. They never bothered to stay in their doorways for very long, though, or they would have seen the smirk on his face
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at having so easily acquired priceless period pieces that would be restored and sold back to these same unsuspecting families as antiques at, of course, exorbitant prices they were all too willing to pay. Every now and then, Claudette recalled, there were those pieces that took even her father’s breath away as he restored them. Some of these he brought into their home for her mother, a woman who recognized and appreciated their value, even to the point of drawing up a will that would ensure they be passed on to her daughter and down through the family for generations to come. Other pieces seemed to mysteriously disappear from his workshop without explanation, though there had always been plenty of ugly rumors floating about. Her father, of course, denied them all. And young Claudette always chose to believe him…even though there was that one time when she and Daddy visited Velda Hodges -spoken schoolteacher who lived two towns ove down on a fancy sofa just like the one her father had been working on in his workshop several weeks before. Even then she was sure there was a good explanation for it. His talent had only increased over the years, and before long his work was so in demand that people would bid and outbid each other for it. He was a quiet, shrewd businessman. And yet for all the money that so easily came his way, very little of it ever seemed to make it into the bank, and the family struggled financially year after year, finally losing their home for good the summer Claudette was preparing to enter high school. That was it for Mazey Ward, who’d spent those years working harder than any woman should have to outside her own home, cooking and cleaning, washing and mending, all for the lowest of wages, while her own family’s needs went neglected. And then to lose that home on top of it all unforgivable.
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Young Claudette had come home that day to find their furniture and most of their belongings loaded onto a truck and her mother and uncle sitting on the front porch. Their faces said more than their mouths did, but it didn’t matter. Claudette already knew what was happening. She’d known it was only a matter of time. Three years passed before she saw her father again and the visit from him had lasted all of five minutes, thanks to her mother, whose presence Claudette could sense even after the woman had left the room, the kitchen door open just enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. Hesitant to speak freely, father and daughter didn’t say much, and then suddenly he was gone. He never wrote or called; and yet he always seemed to know what was going on in her life, always there for the important events, even if only for a few minutes and even if they never actually spoke. Like the day of her wedding, for instance. She’d marched down the aisle alone, but she’d seen his smiling brown face in the crowd as she and Mitch turned back to the congregation as man and wife. Two years later, he’d been one of the first to welcome baby Nile into the world. He’d even been there the day of her mother’s funeral, though the whispers and glares of her mother’s brothers and sisters kept him from approaching her. But he had been there. How and when he ended up in New York was still unknown to Claudette, but suddenly there he was n person mother to rest. No, she saw him in print, first the subject of a feature article in the Amsterdam News, and later in countless local mainstream newspapers and magazines. Word-of-mouth quickly led to his once again becoming a much sought-after furniture restorer, this time in the Connecticut/New York/New Jersey tri-state area. He came
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highly recommended. Claudette herself could attest to that, having received his business card from Rena, a personal friend of hers who also happened to be a partner in the well-known Manhattan interior design firm Claudette had unofficially consulted when decorating her new home. ‚He’s the best, let me tell you,‛ Rena had said. ‚Not only does he do amazing work with his hands, but he’s got an unmatched sense of interior design. Typical artist, though. Not very sociable, refuses to identify himself as one of the urban elite. Very mysterious and tight-lipped about his personal life. Very picky about the types of projects he’ll take on. Depends on his mood. Sometimes it’s furniture; other times it’s doors. He’s even been known to do a staircase every now and then. Oh, and he’s very wary of most people. I have this feeling he’d like you, though.‛ ‚I don’t think so, Rena ‚He’s very hard to get to, mind you. For most people, anyway. Of course, I never have a problem reaching him,‛ Rena had bragged, whipping out her cell phone. ‚I can call him right now and get you in to see him ‚No,‛ Claudette had protested quickly. ‚That’s okay. I’ve got someone else in mind.‛ ‚Honey, there is no one else for this project. Those pieces of furniture your mother left you are priceless. You’d be crazy to let anyone other than E. Lee Ward touch them up.‛ ‚Really, I’ve got someone else in mind,‛ she’d repeated so firmly that Rena had given her a quizzical look. Claudette had forced a smile to soften the tone of her words. ‚Well, okay. But if you change your mind,‛ her friend had offered, her voice trailing off as she slipped her phone back into her purse. ‚Thanks,‛ Claudette had replied shortly, the taut smile still on her face. She offered no further explanation and Rena never mentioned E. Lee Ward again until the day of the funeral.
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Nile’s sudden appearance at the top of the fourth floor staircase quickly brought Claudette’s thoughts back to the present and she hurried to reach her daughter, who pointed to the door at the end of the hallway. ‚I didn’t touch the knob this time,‛ she said quickly. ‚Good girl.‛ Claudette followed Nile as the girl turned and skipped toward the apartment. The door opened easily and Claudette found herself staring into a room that reminded her of her childhood. The furniture was different, of course, but the way each item had been carefully picked and arranged to complement every other piece in the room was more than a little familiar. All of it drew her into the apartment, and whatever apprehension she’d felt at coming here was momentarily gone in the presence of things that brought on reflection of the happier days of her early life with her father. ‚Oooh, Mommy, it’s gorgeous,‛ Nile cooed, repeating the word Rena used to describe almost everything that appealed to her. ‚Yes, it is,‛ Claudette agreed, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she strolled from room to room, eight in all, and each one unique in its décor. It was obvious by the cozy, creative touches throughout that her father had personally designed this interior. ‚Mommy, look! A dollhouse!‛ Nile cried as she burst into the smaller bedroom at the back of the apartment. ‚Is this mine to keep?‛ Claudette kneeled down beside her daughter, her eyes suddenly moist at the memory of her own four-story dollhouse, handmade, of course, by her father, each room filled with delicately crafted miniature mahogany furniture identical to several of the pieces that had passed through his workshop. It was the one item, above all others, which she’d wanted to bring with her the afternoon she and her mother left Warrenton, Virginia. But somehow—even though
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there’d certainly been room for all her mother’s belongings—there apparently hadn’t been room enough for this most precious possession of hers and it had been left behind with a few other ‚unimportant‛ items. Claudette suddenly realized she’d never forgiven her mother that one indiscretion. ‚Can I keep it?‛ Nile asked again, her hands fumbling around in each room of the small house. ‚Of course, Nile, but be careful, baby. You have to handle everything very gently,‛ she replied, her voice trailing off as Nile carefully picked up an intricately detailed chaise lounge, revealing what looked like a burn mark beneath it. ‚Oh my goodness,‛ Claudette breathed, putting her hand to her chest. ‚What, Mommy?‛ Nile asked worriedly as her mother stood so quickly she nearly stumbled into the house. ‚This is my dollhouse. My father made this for me when I was a little girl. See that mark right there? That’s from when my Aunt Marva dropped her cigarette. I remember crying and making such a fuss that she never smoked around me again,‛ Claudette reminisced. ‚Smoking is bad,‛ Nile piped in. Claudette nodded absently. ‚He kept it safe all these years,‛ she whispered, struggling to hold back the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. ‚Mommy,‛ Nile said seriously, standing to face her mother. ‚There isn’t anyone else in this whole world that I would want to have it. Yes, darling, you can still keep it,‛ Claudette said, answering the question floating about in Nile’s dark eyes. ‚Just please take good care of it. It’s very special to me.‛
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‚I will,‛ Nile promised, hugging her mother around the waist tightly, then dropping to her knees to further explore the dollhouse. A phone rang somewhere nearby and Claudette realized it was hers, buried deep in the pocket of her coat. She suddenly felt comfortable enough to slip out of it and did so, bending to pick up Nile’s things from the floor as she left the room. ‚Hi, sweetness,‛ she smiled into the phone. ‚You didn’t call. I was worried. Is everything okay?‛ ‚Everything is fine. Mitch, this place is gorgeous,‛ she said excitedly. ‚Very warm, very cozy. Would you mind if we stayed here the weekend?‛ ‚I was really looking forward to paying a hundred and ninety-five dollars a night for a room at your favorite hotel. But, okay, if you insist,‛ he replied in mock disappointment. Claudette laughed easily, stretching out across the velvet parlor sofa in the corner of the living room. ‚I hate to deprive you of spending money on me, so you’re welcome to purchase a fabulous gift for your lovely wife instead. In fact, I insist on it.‛ He laughed at the other end, the mellifluous tones of his voice tickling her spine. For a moment she was transported back in time to the early days of their relationship, when she could be found curled up in her favorite chair, giggling like a schoolgirl, eyes closed and wishing he was there beside her. She happily accepted that he still sent her. ‚I love you, Mitch,‛ she said suddenly. ‚And you know I love you,‛ he whispered huskily. She could tell that she still sent him too. ‚Hurry home?‛ ‚Hurrying.‛ ‚Was that my Daddy?‛ Nile appeared in the wide doorway of the room, arms folded across her chest, just as Claudette disconnected the line.
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‚Yes, it was.‛ Claudette sat up quickly, her face still warm. Nile’s hands went to her hips. ‚Did you tell him about my dollhouse?‛ ‚Nope. That’s your news.‛ The girl breathed a sigh of relief, disappearing down the hallway. Claudette quietly watched her go, kicked off her shoes, stretched out again and quickly drifted off into the deep sleep she hadn’t had since the day of her father’s funeral.
‚I really do love this place,‛ Claudette sighed, setting her empty wine glass down on the coffee table beside her. Mitch pulled her closer, gently kissing her as the two cuddled in front of the fireplace. Until a few minutes ago, Nile had been there also, her pretty brown face lit by both the glow of the flames as well as the excitement of toasting marshmallows for the very first time. Sitting beside her husband and daughter, Claudette couldn’t imagine a more perfect ending to their day. ‚I’m glad, Claude,‛ Mitch said a few moments later as she settled back in his arms. ‚I was concerned that it would be too much for you to handle emotionally.‛ ‚For a few minutes there I thought I was going to lose it. But this place reminds me of the good times. I don’t know— I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it just does.‛ ‚So you want to keep it then.‛ Claudette nodded slightly. ‚I wouldn’t mind hanging out here on the weekends you’re in the city. And you can stay here instead of in a hotel the nights you work late during the week.‛
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‚You have a meeting with Grinnell tomorrow, don’t you?‛ Claudette nodded again. ‚Yes, and I’ll tell him my decision then. You’re coming with me, aren’t you, Mitch? He seemed quite adamant about that. Had you planned to work tomorrow?‛ Mitch shook his head. ‚This weekend is all about us. I turned my cell phone off when I left the office this afternoon. With everything going on these past couple of weeks, the three of us haven’t had much time together. We’re going to spend every waking moment with each other.‛ ‚Except for tomorrow morning. Our daughter made it quite clear that I am not included in your breakfast date,‛ Claudette chuckled. Mitch laughed quietly, his warm breath on the back of her neck. Claudette pulled his arms around her more tightly. ‚I’m sure I can talk her into letting you tag along,‛ he offered. ‚Are you kidding? And have that child shooting me looks across the table all morning? I don’t think so. Besides, that’ll give you time to shop for my gift,‛ she joked. ‚Actually, I already bought you something.‛ Claudette shifted to face him. ‚You did?‛ ‚Yes. I was just waiting for the right moment to give it to you.‛ ‚Well, Mr. Mitchell, I’d say this was it,‛ she said softly. ‚You,‛ he said, kissing her again, ‚stay right here. Don’t move an inch.‛ ‚Not one.‛ Claudette smiled and reached for her glass as her husband disappeared down the hallway. She’d forgotten that it was empty. His glass was also, so she jumped to her feet, lightly scurrying across the room to the kitchen, where
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a half-full bottle of Chardonnay sat chilling in the sterling silver ice bucket she’d bought that afternoon at a small gift shop within walking distance of the brownstone. A shadowy figure on the opposite side of the street caught her eye suddenly and she paused at the kitchen window as a man appeared beneath the lamppost. Something about his stature and his movements seemed vaguely familiar and she found herself unable to turn away. His back remained to her as he attempted to open the driver side of his car. The keys in his hand fell to the ground and he bent over to pick them up the same moment a woman’s voice called out softly from a nearby window. He retrieved the keys, stood and turned in one fluid motion. Claudette gasped, the wine glasses slipping from her grasp as the streetlight lit his face well enough that she could make out every feature in detail. Claudette grabbed hold of the kitchen counter, steadying herself as her head became so light and her breaths so short she thought she would pass out. ‚Baby, what’s wrong?‛ Mitch cried as he came back into the kitchen in time to see her clutching her hand to her chest, her eyes wide. ‚Claudette!‛ ‚I’ll be back,‛ she managed, stepping over the broken glass on the floor and pushing past him to the front door. Snatching up his coat, which he’d laid across the back of the easy chair, she slipped into a pair of her shoes, flung the door open and raced down the staircase. A young woman, her arms full of packages, was standing just outside the front door of the building, struggling to keep her balance and open the door at the same time. A look of relief crossed her face as Claudette appeared in the foyer and she stepped into the building the moment Claudette opened the door.
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‚Oh, thank you, my sister,‛ the woman smiled brightly, a big dimple appearing on her right cheek. ‚You came at just the right time.‛ ‚Here, let me help you,‛ Claudette offered politely as the woman stumbled through the doorway. ‚If you wouldn’t mind grabbing that box there on the stoop and setting it right here on the dumbwaiter, I’d appreciate it,‛ she said gratefully. ‚My apartment is on the third floor,‛ she explained. Claudette nodded, quickly retrieving the box up and setting it down where the woman had indicated. ‚I really do appreciate your help. I hope you weren’t in a hurry.‛ Claudette waved her hand dismissively. ‚Don’t worry about it. I thought I saw someone I—don’t worry about it,‛ she repeated. ‚Maybe you can still catch them?‛ ‚Maybe I should check,‛ Claudette agreed. ‚Would you excuse me for a moment?‛ There was no one in sight as Claudette reached the sidewalk and rounded the corner onto the street that faced her kitchen window. The car she’d seen the stranger trying to open was still there, but there was no sign of him anywhere now. She began to wonder if he’d ever been there at all. Pulling her husband’s coat around her tightly, she slowly headed back to the front of the building, reaching the front door at the same moment the young woman pushed the last box onto the dumbwaiter with her foot. Claudette waved to her and the woman smiled, walking quickly to open the locked door. ‚My turn to help you.‛ ‚Thank you,‛ Claudette said gratefully. ‚I rushed out without grabbing any keys.‛
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‚So you were in a hurry. I’m so sorry. Did you catch up with your friend?‛ ‚I’m not sure I even saw him. You know how it is when you’re overtired. Your eyes play tricks on you.‛ Claudette forced a smile. ‚Please don’t worry about it—I’m sorry, what was your name?‛ ‚Marquita.‛ ‚I’m Claudette. And Marquita, please, it’s no big deal.‚ ‚At least take this,‛ Marquita insisted, reaching down into the box at her feet. ‚It’s a flyer announcing the special activities we’re having this month to celebrate our one-year anniversary. Come on down tomorrow morning, have a cup of coffee and pick out a book for yourself. My treat.‛ ‚Actually, that does sound good,‛ Claudette smiled, taking the flyer from the young woman’s hands. ‚I’ve got no plans for the morning. My husband and six-year-old daughter have a breakfast date and I’m not included. This is something I’d really enjoy.‛ Marquita looked relieved. ‚Good. I’ll see you then,‛ she said, the bright smile returning to her face. Mitch appeared at the top of the stairs as the two women said their good-byes. His face was still creased with worry, but relaxed considerably as Claudette started up the staircase to meet him. ‚Claude, what’s going on? What happened?‛ ‚I think I spoke too soon,‛ she replied. ‚What do you mean?‛ ‚I’m not as together as I thought.‛ She stopped on the step just below him and sighed. ‚Mitch,‛ she said solemnly, ‚I could swear I just saw my father from the kitchen window.‛
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two
Friday, October tenth, 2:03PM. That was the official date and time of Velvet Sharpe’s first day of freedom. The day she’d wandered out to the edge of the lonely country road at the end of her dirt driveway to meet Sadie, her one and only friend in the world. Sadie had been late, of course, so Velvet had taken those few precious moments of calm to sit by the side of the road and watch the cars go by, the way she used to back when she was a little girl in Sumter, South Carolina. Not that many cars actually came down this road anymore—it was one of the few in the county that seemed frozen in time, somewhere in the sixties or so, and had not yet been paved. Drivers trying to avoid damage to their hard-earned vehicles took alternate routes. But she’d sit out there anyway, wishing someone—anyone—would stop long enough for her to open a door and slide in beside or behind them and carry her off to wherever—the destination didn’t matter, just so long as it was far away from here. The postman, of course, came everyday, though Velvet usually only saw him from a distance. He’d arrive almost three o’clock on the dot, just about the same time as her husband, Willie Sharpe, and Velvet would watch from her bedroom window as the two men exchanged greetings, chatted briefly, then went their separate ways—the postman
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miles to his next stop, and Willie Sharpe up the driveway to the run-down single-family home he shared with Velvet, his wife of twenty one years. It’d be at least an hour before he came inside, though, and when he did he’d be drunk ‚as all get out‛, as Sadie would say, having spent the better part of that hour drinking homemade whiskey behind the old outhouse that sat at the far edge of the Sharpes’ property. He’d be empty-handed, too, whatever mail the postman delivered having disappeared somewhere between the outhouse and the front door. If there’d ever been anything addressed to her, she’d never known it. In the twelve years they’d lived in the house, not one single piece had ever reached her. Until Friday, October tenth at 2:03pm. On that day the postman—not the regular one—had come early, just moments after she’d reached the end of the driveway and settled herself on the wooden fence her husband had constructed two summers ago. The young man had pulled up in his truck, smiled the whitest smile Velvet had ever seen on a dark-skinned man, and handed her freedom in the form of a narrow, beige envelope with a New York City return address. Even now she wasn’t sure she’d uttered a word in response to his friendly conversation—in fact, what had he said exactly? She couldn’t recall. She’d been stunned at this stroke of fortune—Divine Providence perhaps—that had led her to the edge of the road on that particular day at that particular time. Sadie had arrived moments later, and after seeing the envelope and deciding it was something very official needing to be opened right away, the two sped off in her station wagon to the small lake a mile up the road, but not before stuffing the other pieces of mail into the box in front of the fence.
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‚That way he won’t know you even saw it at all,‛ Sadie had pointed out, her voice hushed as if he could hear her miles away at the printing plant where he worked. Velvet sometimes wondered if he couldn’t. ‚That one there,‛ he’d often say, ‚I want you to stay away from her. She ain’t no good—no good for nothing!‛ he’d hiss. So Sadie had stopped coming around, except for when she knew he wasn’t home, and even then she only stayed a few short minutes. Sometimes they’d sit in Velvet’s kitchen and gossip, other times they’d park Sadie’s car far off the road and walk down to the lake and back, talking about their men or their lives or whatever other subject that came up, and still other times they’d just relax in companionable silence. Today, though, there was much to discuss once the envelope was opened. Her freedom papers as they liked to call them—the documents that for all their legal jargon and verbiage simply said she'd inherited a furnished apartment in Harlem, New York—would send her out on a personal journey within just ten days' time, and there were preparations to be made before then. Preparations that would ensure she would never again have to darken the doorway of the home Willie Sharpe made sure she understood belonged to him. Those ten days passed as slowly as if they'd been thirty, but they had finally passed, and Velvet was ready, the two new suitcases Sadie had given her packed little by little each day and stowed in the trunk of Sadie's car, which was now in position down by the lake and ready to carry her six cities over to a bus station a full three hours south of their town. From there she would catch a bus back north, just to confuse Willie Sharpe who, knowing him as she did, would make no more than four phone calls to inquire as to whether a woman traveling under her name or fitting her description
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had purchased a ticket recently...and if so, to where? Phone calls to two bus stations in each direction would be the extent of his investigation, she was sure of that. She had not, however, counted on her husband coming home hours early today and barely had time to toss the overnight bag she’d packed with a few last-minute items out the window of the second floor bathroom before she heard the front door open and Willie Sharpe’s footsteps at the bottom of the staircase. She could tell by the way he stumbled about that he was already drunk. It wasn’t too long before he passed out, but not before Velvet had to endure minutes of his sloppy kisses and groping. She couldn’t even recall the last time she hadn’t been repulsed by his touch—it’d been so long. But today it was especially sickening and it was all she could do to keep from pushing him away. Soon, though…soon she wouldn’t have to suffer through it ever again. A long, deep sigh came from him and Velvet breathed her own, one of relief. It was the sound she’d been waiting for—the one that meant her husband had fallen into a slumber that would last for several hours. Long enough for her to get away, even though his sudden appearance had put her behind schedule. She knew Sadie was probably worried out of her mind by now. Velvet had heard her girlfriend’s car go up and down the road twice already and had silently prayed she would just park by the lake as they’d planned rather than risk passing the house a third time. Willie Sharpe surely would’ve become suspicious at that point, even in his drunken stupor. But he was asleep now and Velvet slipped out of bed, the way she often did after. There wasn’t time enough to fully wash off the stench of him—the clock was ticking and even with Sadie driving, they’d make it to the station with just enough time for her to check her bags and board the bus that would take her away from here—forever.
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kamichi jackson
Velvet dressed quickly, leaving behind the clothes her husband had pulled from her body nearly an hour ago. With one last look around the room, she crept down the staircase and out onto the back porch. The bag she’d tossed from the bathroom window had landed just beyond the porch’s screen door, which Velvet opened slowly and carefully, wincing as it squealed, even though she knew the sound wouldn’t wake her husband. Still, she wouldn’t rest easy until she was in New York. Velvet threw the bag over her shoulder and broke into a run through the overgrown fields of their property towards the lake. Sadie saw her the moment she approached the clearing. Waving, she jumped into the car and started it, turning anxiously as Velvet opened the back door, tossed the bag across the seat and slid in beside it. ‚Girl!‛ Sadie cried as she backed the car out onto the dirt road. ‚What happened?‛ ‚He came home early,‛ Velvet explained breathlessly as she stretched out flat across the back seat, resting her head on the bag. Willie Sharpe had come to know a lot of people over the years. The two women had decided that she needed to stay out of sight until they were at least an hour or more away from there. ‚And he wanted to—‛ ‚Please,‛ Sadie cut in, holding up her hand. ‚I get it.‛ ‚Will we make it in time?‛ Velvet asked worriedly. Sadie nodded. ‚Only just. But don’t you worry, sistagirl, you’re getting on somebody’s bus today.‛ Velvet shifted, watching the tops of buildings and trees go by from her position on the back seat. It made her dizzy after a while and she shifted again, closing her eyes as she lay on her side. ‚You do think I’m doing the right thing, don’t you, Sadie? I mean, accepting this apartment my father left me in his will?‛
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‚Honey, that man owes you. Please—an apartment doesn’t even begin to make up, but it’s a start. Hm, he should’ve left you some money too.‛ Money would’ve been a very good thing, Velvet thought to herself as she shifted again. Especially since she had very little of it. ‚What you need money for?‛ Willie Sharpe would ask whenever she came to him. ‚You don’t need nothing more than what you already got and you need to learn to appreciate that.‛ That line of reasoning had quickly worn thin with Velvet, so she’d eventually stopped asking and quietly made do with whatever things her husband decided she needed. Any money she did come across was from Sadie, who would every now and then pay her to do little projects at her kitchen table. ‚Girl, there’s just not enough hours in the day to get to all this stuff,‛ Sadie would complain with an exaggerated sigh. ‚You’re doing me a big favor, believe me.‛ Velvet knew in her heart she wasn’t doing anything Sadie couldn’t handle herself, but she appreciated that her friend left her dignity intact by making her feel useful. And the money she made from those occasional projects went into what she had long ago dubbed her ‚escape fund‛ which, until now, had gone untouched. ‚Are you sure you can’t come with me?‛ she asked sleepily from the back seat. They’d talked about this several times already, but the knot in her stomach pleaded for her to ask once more. ‚I would if I could, child.‛ This had come to be Sadie’s standard reply, after which she’d always explain that there were some people who were born to be city folk, and some who would never be anything other than country folk. She’d accepted years ago that she was of the latter persuasion.
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‚But you’ll be fine, Vel. You’ll see. I’m sure of it.‛ Velvet was sure of only one thing and that was that she couldn’t stay with Willie Sharpe another day. How they’d lasted this long was almost inexplicable. Their union certainly wasn’t based on love—it hadn’t ever been. Velvet supposed it had more to do with what they needed from each other—he someone to cook, clean and fall into bed with because he couldn’t find anyone else willing, and she someone to clothe, feed and house her. It’d been that way from the start. Velvet hadn’t even noticed Willie Sharpe that first day she’d come into town—he wasn’t the type of man one looked at twice. He wasn’t ugly or unappealing back then; there just wasn’t anything about him that stood out and made a woman, even a young one, take note. But he had immediately noticed her. It was the fire behind her eyes, he later told her, the tightness of her mouth and the way she kept her head held high that kept him watching as she’d walked the short distance from where the Greyhound bus disembarked its passengers to the Green Lantern, the town’s most popular—and most notorious— bar and grill. Not to mention her looks. She was what men called fine. And she was thick and shapely—probably more than a girl her age needed to be. At first glance, one might’ve mistaken her for a woman, but one look into her eyes confirmed she was only a child, and a lost one at that. She was someone he could work with, Willie Sharpe had decided that day as he’d put his drink aside and stood to approach her table. The owner of the Green Lantern, Miss Penny, big as she was, had somehow managed to get from behind the bar and across the room before Willie Sharpe could even take a step towards the young stranger that had captured the attention of most every man in the room.
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That was the way it went for the first several months, with Miss Penny blocking Willie Sharpe’s every attempt at approach—until the night Velvet had an argument of some sort with the woman and left the house—where Miss Penny had given her room and board—in a huff. Willie Sharpe came upon the girl—now eighteen years old and legal— walking alone down a dark road not far from his home. It took some smooth talking, but he’d somehow convinced her to come back to his place that night. They’d talked for hours, during which he’d said all the right things and promised all the right things and acted the part of the perfect gentleman—and it had paid off. Within days they were married and Velvet moved her few belongings into his place and began a new chapter of her life as Mrs. Willie Sharpe. Over the years, she’d often wondered how her life might have turned out had she not gotten into his truck that night; indeed, if she’d had just a few more dollars to take her even two or three stops further along the bus route that very first day. But that was neither here nor there now because Farmville, North Carolina was where she had ended up. She’d decided long ago, however, that Farmville, North Carolina was not where she would stay the rest of her life. The decision was the easy part. Actually executing her escape, however, had always been some hazy, non-descript mission impossible. Until just past two o’clock on Friday, October tenth. ‚Vel? Vel, we’re here, honey. Hurry, there isn’t much time.‛ Velvet sat up groggily as Sadie jumped out and ran around to pull the bags from the trunk of the car. A voice over a loudspeaker somewhere nearby announced a final boarding warning that quickly brought Velvet and her carry-on out of the backseat and to her feet. A moment later
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the two were racing to the waiting bus, reaching it just in time to hand over Velvet’s luggage to the porter. There wasn’t time enough for a lengthy goodbye, which suited both women just fine. Instead, they hugged quickly and then Velvet was boarding the crowded bus, stopping just long enough to turn and face Sadie for what they both knew might be the last time. Sadie raised her hand in a wave, backing away as she did so. She was out of view by the time Velvet settled into her seat. The bus set out on the very same route she and Sadie had just traveled and this time Velvet was determined to stay awake, fully intending to take in every bit of scenery she could from North Carolina to New York. The town of Farmville and the country roads just outside its city limits— that was all she’d laid eyes on since the day she’d set foot in North Carolina, and she was ready to see much more of the world. ‚Ain’t nothing you need to see that ain’t right here,‛ was what Willie Sharpe would say whenever she expressed a desire to venture out beyond their immediate surroundings. So Velvet had learned to keep her thoughts on the matter to herself, though she never gave up hope of leaving. And now here she was, on her way to one of the biggest cities—if not the biggest, she didn’t know—in the world. Wouldn’t Willie Sharpe be surprised if he knew? The thought made her smile. ‚I was wondering what you’d look like with a smile on your face,‛ said a deep voice across the aisle from her. Velvet’s smile faded as she turned to the owner of the voice that had pulled her from her private reflections. The man that stared back at her was probably somewhere close to the seventeen-year age difference that separated her and Willie Sharpe. He was a distinguished gentleman, handsome too, and he tipped his hat at her as she stared at him warily.
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‚Oh, I definitely like the other face more than this one,‛ he nodded, as if a preference had actually been asked of him. ‚Do you mind?‛ he asked, gesturing towards the empty seat beside her. Velvet shifted, glancing around at the other passengers to see if they’d taken note of this exchange. Before she could even answer, he had already gotten to his feet and dropped down next to her with a sigh. ‚I’m headed up to Delaware,‛ he continued as if they’d been in conversation all along. Either he hadn’t noticed, or he just didn’t care, that she had not yet spoken a word to him in reply. ‚Gonna see my middle daughter’s new baby. That makes me a grandfather for the fourth time now. Not that I don’t love my grands, mind you, ‘cause I do. Just wish there was a way to have them without having to get old to do it.‛ He chuckled aloud, staring out the window past Velvet. She found herself intrigued by the set of his jaw and the way his mouth moved beneath his thick moustache, blushing as his gaze suddenly shifted to her. ‚Now you look like a woman with something heavy on her mind.‛ His eyes were sympathetic and kind and for just the shortest moment Velvet was tempted to pour out her heart to this stranger. Her fears—of being out on her own again since she’d run away from home over twenty years ago, and of possibly seeing the younger sister she’d let behind without explanation and hadn’t seen in as much time; her contempt for her father, who she blamed for the way her miserable life had turned out and who she was convinced had never even bothered to look for her. And then there was her guilt that she’d never once contacted her mother and had to learn of the woman’s death from her father’s attorney. Why not tell them to someone she’d more than likely never see again in life?
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But she turned away from him instead, closing her eyes as if she wanted to sleep. He shifted beside her and she wondered if he’d gotten up and moved back to where he’d been sitting when he’d first spoken, but she didn’t open her eyes to find out. Within minutes she actually was fast asleep, the excitement and emotional strain of the past few days finally catching up to her.
Velvet shut the car door behind her as she slid in beside her overnight bag, leaning back against the worn seat with a sigh of relief. City sounds still blared around her but—at least for the moment anyway—she was now tucked away in the safety of the yellow cab that had screeched to a stop when a young man outside the Penn Station entrance took pity on her and hailed a cab after she’d been trying for nearly half an hour. ‚You’ll be here all day doing it like that,‛ he’d said, shaking his head as he stepped off the curb and into the path of a quickly approaching cab. The driver looked as if he didn’t want to stop for either of them, but the traffic had him boxed in in such a way that there wasn’t any place else for him to go. He made no move to help Velvet with her bags so the young man scooped them up quickly and placed them in the car, pushing them across the back seat. She’d turned to thank him but he had already moved on, his arm raised high to hail his own cab. It took several attempts before anyone stopped for him, she noted, and then he was gone. With the exception of a terse exchange about the address to which she was traveling, there was no further conversation from the unfriendly driver, which suited
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Velvet just fine. The trip had been a long, grueling one and she needed the next several minutes to brace herself for whatever the weekend would bring. Until now, it had all been somewhat surreal. That would change the moment she stepped into the apartment—the modest inheritance that had come as more of a surprise than the news of her father’s death. That he’d left her anything at all was practically unbelievable considering father and daughter hadn’t spoken or laid eyes on each other since the day she’d left home twenty-three years ago. She’d certainly never expected to be included in his last will and testament. Claudette, yes, but she, no. Claudette. Velvet suddenly realized how infrequently she thought of her younger sister, as if the girl she sometimes wondered. Had she married? Did she have children? Was she even still alive? Over time she’d convinced herself that knowing these things didn’t matter. But this weekend would surely bring her face to face with these unknowns. Ready or not. Velvet jumped as the cell phone Sadie had convinced her to buy rang loudly in her purse, two times before she could find it and twice more before she could remember how to answer it. ‚Sadie?‛ ‚Vel? Hey, girl!‛ came Sadie’s voice loud and clear. Velvet visibly relaxed, closing her eyes and imagining Sadie curled up in the old recliner out on her front porch, where she always sat when she was in for a lengthy phone conversation. ‚How’s it going so far? Are you there yet?‛ ‚In New York, yes, but I haven’t gotten to the apartment yet. I’m in a cab, on my way. Took a little longer than I expected to figure out the best way to get uptown,‛ Velvet
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explained, recalling the debate her request for assistance had sparked among the commuters in the terminal. ‚Take the ‘A’,‛ one woman told her. ‚That’ll take her to Broadway. That’s not where she’s headed,‛ another woman had cut in, peeking over Velvet’s shoulder at the paper on which she’d scribbled the address of the brownstone. ‚The ‘1’ or the ‘2’. That’s her best bet,‛ was the opinion of an old man leaning against a newsstand in the center of the station. The whole conversation was lost on Velvet, who didn’t know if they were talking about trains or buses, or both. All of it sounded much too complicated anyway, and she’d opted to take a cab instead, even though it was much more expensive and the meter seemed to be rolling faster than they were driving. Considering her nerves at this point, however, it seemed the best way in her opinion. ‚Listen to you. Uptown. You sound like a New Yorker already! So what’s it like? Tell me what you see!‛ ‚I would, but there’s so much to see that I can’t see anything at all! Right now, everything looks like the pictures on the computer,‛ Velvet said, recalling the websites they’d visited the day Sadie had convinced her to sneak over to her house for a couple of hours so she could learn how to use the internet to do research on the neighborhood that would be her new home. And it was the cheapest way, Sadie had insisted, to keep in touch. Email and chatting and instant messaging—Velvet had heard her friend use those words countless times before, but she’d never done any of it herself until that day. ‚If I have anything to do with it, you’ll be a pro by the time I’m done teaching you,‛ Sadie had promised, giving Velvet pages of written notes to take with her to New York. ‚And you be sure to take a computer class or two when you
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get up North. You’ve got to have at least some basic skills to get a decent job these days.‛ A job. The very thought of it was both exciting and terrifying. Velvet spent days and nights dreaming about being a career woman. Exactly what kind of career she had not yet decided, but thank goodness she’d had the good sense to get her GED ago. Trying to find decent employment without one would’ve been impossible; a fact Willie Sharpe threw in her face whenever she even hinted at looking for part-time work. ‚Ain’t nobody gon hire you!‛ he would say with a wicked laugh. ‚Don’t nobody want no dummy working for ‘em!‛ A dummy Velvet was not. Highly-intelligent and selfmotivated—those were the types of words Velvet’s teachers had always used to describe her on report cards and in private conference with Mazey Ward, who kept an especially watchful eye over the education of her older, strong-willed and unpredictable daughter. Velvet was college-bound early in life, understanding clearly that only academic excellence would earn the scholarship she would need to get her there. And excel she did, achieving grades and honors that kept her in the top percentile of her class each school year. But then she had run away from home a week and a half before the start of her junior year in high school and her education had come to a screeching halt for nearly three years, the latter one of which she had endured Willie Sharpe’s endless taunts about her lack of a high school diploma—as if his having one made him any less ignorant. Sometime after the third or fourth time he’d called her a dummy down emotionally enough that she no longer thought or made decisions for herself
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degree through a home study course. That was how she’d met Sadie, who showed up one day at the door of the apartment the Sharpes lived in just before moving to their rundown house out in the country. ‚I’m Sadie Burke. I live three doors down. Are you Velvet Sharpe? I have a piece of your mail. Looks kind of important,‛ she’d said cheerfully, waving the oversized envelope about in the air. Every bit of Velvet’s pent up loneliness and frustration had suddenly overtaken her in that moment and she’d promptly burst into tears, at which point Sadie stepped into the apartment, closed the door behind herself and pulled Velvet into a much-needed hug. They’d been friends Willie Sharpe had immediately taken a dislike to the woman, tolerating her visits with grunts and glares from across the room. ‚She got too much mouth on her, that one. What she need is a man to cut her down some,‛ he’d mumble each time Sadie left. But at least he allowed her to come around back then, and even though Velvet knew it was because he was attracted to her and liked to watch her, she didn’t let it bother her because it was on those visits that Sadie would slip her study materials, test results or general correspondence sent in the mail to Sadie’s address from the home study institute. After weeks of secretly studying for the test, she’d passed it and was awarded a high school diploma, which Sadie had kept hidden for her until yesterday. ‚Oh, Sadie…‛ Velvet said, switching the cell phone from her right ear to her left one. ‚You’re there now?‛ Velvet nodded as if her girlfriend could see her through the phone.
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‚Vel?‛ ‚I’m here,‛ Velvet said absently. ‚Does it look like the photo? Tell me!‛ ‚Girl, that picture doesn’t do it justice at all,‛ Velvet whispered, leaning forward further to take in the full height and breadth of the opulent five-story building as the cab pulled up in front of it. ‚And I wouldn’t even know how to begin.‛ It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and none of the words that came to mind seemed descriptive enough to fully capture its beauty. Velvet continued to stare at the structure in childlike wonderment for several moments more before the driver finally made an emphatic gesture that caught her attention. ‚Is this not the address?‛ he asked irritably. ‚This is it, yes.‛ Velvet turned to face him. ‚I have other fares,‛ he said, glaring at her in the rearview mirror. ‚Is the meter still running?‛ ‚Yes.‛ ‚Then you still have a fare,‛ Velvet snapped, turning back to the window. ‚Oooh, girl, you’ll be just fine up there. Told you!‛ Sadie laughed at the other end. ‚Now get on in there. And you call me, honey. I want to know what it looks like on the inside.‛ Velvet promised to do so and disconnected the line, taking her time about getting her bags together, mostly to annoy the driver, but also because getting out the car meant facing the unknown head-on. She stood on the sidewalk outside the building a good five minutes more before she had the nerve to even take a step forward, but once she did so it was with a determination summoned from a place within her that hadn’t ‚seen the light of day‛ in more years than she cared to remember.
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Inside, the majestic foyer, with its grand Victorian details, bronzed wrought iron chandelier, and intricately carved door frames and moldings gave her pause, but only just long enough to admire its ornateness and arouse her curiosity as to what more elegance could possibly lie behind the door at the far corner of the spacious entranceway. With an eagerness that almost completely put aside any apprehension she’d been feeling up to that moment, Velvet located the second key on her ring that had been sent to her by her father’s attorney and opened the door to her inheritance expectantly. It took her breath away, not because she’d never seen furnishings such as these—indeed this was all she’d ever known as a child, and all she’d given up the day she left home as a rebellious fifteen-year-old. No, it was that it’d been so painfully long since she’d draped herself across a tufted chaise lounge, curled up in a supple top-grain Italian leather chair, or sat with family around an exquisitely crafted dining room table with carved detailing and an inlaid cherry veneer top. Not that the Wards had ever been wealthy. They’d struggled financially for as far back as Velvet could remember. But Eddie Lee Ward had always had an eye for splendor and had filled their modest home with pieces unwitting people would rather cast off than restore to their original stunning beauty. ‚Contemporarily eclectic‛ was the way the Amsterdam News obituary column had described E. Lee Ward’s unique and unpredictable design style, which was on its finest display throughout each and every room of Velvet’s apartment. Afrocentric art and batik wall hangings of burntoranges and burgundies graced surfaces painted with neutral, earthy tones. Carefully selected accent pieces tastefully blended modern and antique furnishings and made for a seamless segue from one room into the next.
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The bedroom, though, was by far Velvet’s favorite room, its walls absent of the colors splashed throughout the rest of the apartment. Ivory-colored walls and hardwood maple floors were drawn into each other by mounted African artifacts and a large Afro-Cuban inspired area rug under a low footboard sleigh bed, out of which Velvet could imagine sliding well-rested every morning. Luxury of space seemed to be the dominant theme and it couldn’t have been a more appropriate design choice to complement the room’s large windows, around which hung the sheerest white floor-length curtains, tied back midway to allow sunlight to pour in and play off all the room’s angles just so. In the corner of the room sat a detailed gold-leaf wood framed floor mirror. On the wall opposite the bed was an eighteenth-century design armoire, and beside it a matching bombé chest. Other than those few pieces, there was only a solid hardwood window seat with black leather upholstery— Velvet stopped dead in her tracks. A window seat. The window seat. She gasped, sitting down on the edge of the bed so slowly the motion was almost undetectable. Tears came first, one for every time she’d ever seen her mother sitting on that very window seat, arms circling knees drawn closely to her chest a child pressing her ear to the bedroom door could hear, sometimes praying so fervently for the strength to carry on that her words came in an unintelligible rush only a daughter hiding beneath the nearby vintage four poster bed could understand, and other times simply staring out the window with the farthest-away look in her eyes… Anger came next. Velvet took several deep breaths to beckon a calm that wouldn’t come—that simply refused to come until the
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hateful window seat was out of the apartment. With a strength that could only have come from the strongest of emotions, Velvet dragged the heavy piece from the bedroom to the living room to the foyer of the building, then down the front steps and out to the sidewalk, where she left it curbside at the foot of one of the neatly planted trees that lined the picturesque street, turning her back on it and all the unpleasant memories it evoked. ‚Oh great,‛ she groaned as she returned to the front door of the brownstone, digging around in her pockets for the keys she hoped she’d remembered to put there. A movement at the top of the staircase in the foyer caught her eye and she tapped on the door anxiously, waving to catch the attention of a person standing motionlessly on the landing. The diamond cut pattern of the door’s thick glass window skewed her view of the foyer from the outside and she couldn’t tell if it was a man, woman or child until the figure turned and bounded up the grand staircase with a vigor that could only belong to someone with youth of days. Velvet continued to fish for her keys, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally found them in the lining of her jacket, where they’d slipped down through a whole in her right pocket she’d been meaning to mend for some time. She made a mental note to get to that at some point over the weekend. Her cell phone was ringing as she stepped back into the apartment, closing the door behind her. She rushed to it and connected the line with only the slightest trouble this time. ‚Hey, Sadie Mae. I’m getting better at this cell phone stuff,‛ she bragged. ‚Gracious, I hope I have the right number,‛ a woman’s frustrated voice said at the other end of the line. ‚I’m calling from Attorney Alec Grinnell’s office and I need to reach Miss Velvet Ward.‛
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Velvet Ward. When was the last time anyone had called her that? Hearing it again was startling, yet strangely empowering. Velvet unconsciously stood taller, stronger, the way the young, headstrong, outspoken version of herself used to. ‚Hello?‛ ‚I’m here,‛ Velvet replied, snapping back to attention. ‚Yes, ma’am, you do have the right number.‛ The woman breathed a sigh of relief. ‚Thank goodness. Is this Velvet Ward speaking?‛ ‚Yes,‛ Velvet replied, her voice firm and confident. ‚Oh, yes, this is definitely Velvet Ward.‛
end excerpt
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