Hot tears streamed down her face and she swiped them away, feeling helpless and overwhelmed. Lately her emotions were running higher than ever. But at least now she had a chance to make things right again.
She hugged the pillow and turned toward the window.
Teaching Alex to read was critical to the future of Beacon House, and he wasn’t going to make it easy. She had to figure out some way to get past his fear and reach him.
She thought for a moment. He had a job he loved, money and worldwide acclaim. But there had to something he was unable to do. Some dream he’d never achieved because of his illiteracy. She just needed to find out what it was…and fast.
Chapter 3
Thirty minutes later, Cara was eagerly arranging her teaching materials on the coffee table when the sound of glass breaking and a loud curse sent her on a mad dash to the kitchen.
“Is everything okay?” Her heart pounded and her fingers grasped the edge of the doorway.
“Yeah, that’s just the way we announce mealtimes around here,” he joked and dumped a pile of blue glass into a nearby garbage can.
She giggled, relieved he wasn’t hurt.
He retrieved two more glasses from a cupboard and started filling them with ice from the refrigerator.
She moved toward him. “Mmm. So tempting.”
Alex looked over his shoulder at her as ice cubes spilled onto the floor. “Excuse me?” he said in a shocked voice.
She laughed and gestured to an island where a mouth-watering tray of deli meats, assorted cheeses, dill pickles, fresh Italian bread, a tricolor pasta salad and a giant pitcher of iced tea were waiting to be eaten.
The confused look on his face was priceless, then his eyes widened in recognition. “Oh…right. The food.”
She pursed her lips. “What did you think I was talking about?”
He flashed a grin, flexing his muscles like a bodybuilder preening before the judge’s table. “My cover-model looks, of course!”
Unable to resist, she picked up an olive. But instead of eating it, she threw it at him.
“Hey!” he shouted when it bopped him on the shoulder.
Alex selected another olive and good-naturedly chucked it at her. “You do not want to get in a food fight with me,” he warned.
“Oh, yeah?” she taunted, deflecting the green orb with her elbow, before picking up another and tossing it his way. “Why not?”
“Because,” he said, reaching up and catching her olive with one hand before dropping it into his mouth. “You’ll lose every time.”
He grabbed a whole handful and like a pitcher getting ready to throw a fast ball, prepared to attack.
“Okay, okay!” she shrieked, grabbing a napkin off the table and waving it back and forth in surrender. “Truce!”
Alex pumped his fist in the air with a triumphant “yes!” Rich and melodious, the sound of his laughter was like one big hug.
After washing their hands, they loaded up their plates, both a bit cautious of the other, and sat down at the table. As Alex poured the iced tea, Cara admired a bunch of wildflowers stuck into a jelly jar.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, before she bit into her ham and swiss on rye.
“My mom always told me flowers make a table. She said even if you’re drinking Kool-Aid and eating macaroni and cheese on paper plates, as we often did, flowers can make it seem like caviar and champagne.”
“What types of flowers did you have?”
He looked thoughtful. “When times were good, carnations from the florist down the street. They’d always last real long.” He paused, and his shoulders sagged a little. “When times were lean, there were always plenty of dandelions to choose from in Central Park.”
She smiled, eager to know more about the woman she’d only met through a letter. “Your mother sounds wonderful.”
“She’s my rock. I just wish I’d get to see her more often. Now that I’m done touring, I should be able to spend a little more time with her.” He bit into his sandwich piled high with roast beef.
“Does she live in Harlem, too?”
Alex swallowed and shook his head. “Not anymore. I bought her a place in Brooklyn a few months back.”
Cara felt a pinprick of fear. “Oh? Whereabouts?” she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.
“Park Slope.”
Phew, she thought, glad to hear his mother didn’t live in Williamsburg, the Brooklyn neighborhood where she lived that was just east of Park Slope. Although it was unlikely she’d ever run into her or Alex, she didn’t want to take any chances.
He took one of the wildflowers out of the jar, inhaled its scent, a faint smile upon his lips. “I would have bought her a place near me,” he continued, “but she wanted to get out of Harlem. Go somewhere different. I guess memories can do that to a person.”
He replaced the flower, and the smile disappeared, eyes clouded over. “Ever since my…” He stopped and took a bite of his sandwich.
“Your what?” she blurted.
The look on his face could have melted concrete. Tension stretched between them and made itself at home.
Way to go, Williams.
When it came to Alex, her natural curiosity went into overdrive. Yet she knew from past experience that sometimes being nosy about someone else’s life could lead to more questions about her own. And in this case, that would be a disaster.
Alex looked stricken as he sat there, toying with his pasta salad.
“I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.”
She saw something dark flicker in his eyes and vanish.
He waved her apology away, swallowed deep. “My twin brother, Michael. He…left,” he swallowed deep. “And my mom hasn’t been the same since.”
Twins. A lump rose in her throat.
She’d heard that twins shared a strong emotional connection with their other half, even inside the womb, and wondered if Alex and Michael had that type of relationship. They must have.
Then why weren’t there any pictures of Michael anywhere?
“I’m sorry,” she blurted again. And she was sorry for him, more than he would ever understand.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and then suddenly got up. Cara winced as his chair scraped the floor.
“Would you excuse me?” he said without looking at her.
She bit her lip, remained silent as his plate clattered in the sink and he stalked out, the screen door slamming behind him.
Elbows on the table, she pushed her plate aside and threaded her fingers through her hair, not caring now if she messed it up.
She felt bad about bringing up the past, but unconsciously a part of her wanted to hear Alex talk about her father and what he’d done to his family. She hated keeping secrets, and it could have been an opportunity to tell the truth. Clear the air. Maybe the fact that she was Judge Williams’s daughter wouldn’t matter to him.
But she was lying to herself, because she knew that it would.
Thirteen