Page 18 of Without You
“Oh no.” Charisse brought her hands to her mouth.
As her eyes blurred with tears, Terrence stumbled into the house, clamped his arms around her waist, and buried his face in her neck. She fell against the wall and cupped the back of his head to offer comfort.
She shut her eyes, but the tears squeezed through—for the woman she came to love, and for the man holding onto her so tight. Grandma Esther had been mother and father to him and was his last closest relative.
She stroked his soft hair. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered.
* * *
Hundreds attendedthe funeral for Esther Hyacinth Jones, beloved by the people in her community, the church, and even those in the hip-hop community for her staunch support of her famous grandson.
The two-hour service included songs from the church choir and a word from her pastor about her years of service to the Lord by serving on committees to help the less fortunate. Only in recent years did she slow down, but continued to volunteer for hours every week by joining the outreach committee, where she made phone calls to follow-up with members who were sick or hadn’t been to service in a while.
Charisse sat in the front row, her children to the right, Terrence to her left. Chelsea clung to her and leaned on her arm. Terrence held fast to her hand.
During the eulogy, her heart broke when his voice thickened as he shared memories about the woman who took him in when he was twelve years old. Several times during the short speech, he glanced at Charisse and she smiled slightly, encouragingly, which seemed to give him strength. He would take a deep breath and follow through, his voice a little bit stronger.
The five of them stayed at the gravesite long after everyone else left. Chelsea sat in her father’s lap with tear-streaked cheeks. The older boys lost their stoic expressions when their grandmother was lowered into the ground, so tears stained their cheeks, too.
They eventually left to join the attendees who were eating and drinking at the reception venue. But for the moment, the little family sat quietly and remembered Grandma Esther and her tart tongue, her wit, and her unconditional love for them all.
9
Terrence looked up when Charisse stepped out onto the back patio. He sat in the dark on one of the old wicker chairs Grandma Esther kept in the backyard, smoking a blunt to calm himself after spending the past four days in the company of concerned visitors he secretly wished would leave him alone so he could grieve in peace.
Charisse stayed behind to help him pack up his grandmother’s belongings and mementos. Some of those items would be shipped back to his place in Atlanta, while others would be dumped or donated. Eventually, he’d have the place painted and cleaned in preparation for sale. There were minor repairs that needed to be done, too. The doorbell didn’t work and there was a leak under the kitchen sink, but he was in no rush to get rid of the old brick house. There were too many memories and too much of his grandparents’ history here.
Charisse walked behind him and sat down in the other wicker chair.
“How are the kids?” he asked. She’d called Atlanta to check on them.
“They’re okay. Still sad about losing her, of course. Having a couple of days off from school was good for them, but they’ll be going back tomorrow. Mom will make sure of that. Chelsea said to tell you that she loves you.”
The corner of his mouth lifted up. “That’s my princess,” he said softly.
“What are we going to tackle next?” Charisse asked.
She was dressed down in a pair of thin, thigh-hugging sweats and a black T-shirt and wore her hair in two simple, large cornrows. Yet he’d never wanted her more.
He appreciated her remaining behind to help, but her presence also inflicted torture. They hadn’t stayed under the same roof in years. Even when they vacationed together, he rented separate lodging. So being in close proximity to her in the small house wore on his nerves. His gaze slid over her full breasts and he bit back a groan.
“The Salvation Army is coming to pick up the furniture tomorrow, but I need to pick up more boxes for the personal items. I guess I’ll run and do that first thing in the morning, and then we can box up the rest of the stuff in the bedroom before starting on the attic. There’s not much up there, so it shouldn’t take long.”
“Sounds good.”
Terrence extended the blunt to her.
“I don’t do this anymore,” Charisse said, taking it.
“Give it back, then.”
She eyed him. “Wait a minute. Let me get a few puffs.”
“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled. “If my grandmother saw us right now, she’d be so pissed.”
Charisse let smoke ease between her luscious lips. Damn, she was sexy. Spending the past four days with her in this house tested his control in unimaginable ways. She only had to stand in the same room with him, and every cell in his body went on high-alert. Some days he wondered if he’d ever be able to feel, even remotely, for another woman the intense love and obsessive need he did for her. Maybe not—a just penance for all the dirt he’d done.
“I’ll never forget that one time she caught us doing the ‘the reefer,’” she said.
