Page 6 of Play to Win
3
There’s no place like home.
Portia couldn’t help but recite the famous line as she stepped up onto the first of three wide front steps late Monday afternoon. The paint was cracked on each, but she slowly took one after the other until she stood on the porch just a few feet away from the cut-out gray and white screen door. Nostalgia flooded her as she looked to one side where a swing hung, with rusted chains holding it to the roof of the porch.
How many afternoons had she spent laying on that swing, rocking back and forth while she read a book that took her to somewhere far from Providence and the cruelty she’d endured here?
Damn, she hated this place.
With determined steps, Portia crossed the porch and grabbed the handle to pull the screen door open. The handle wobbled and she had to use her other hand to hold it in place while she pulled—gentler—this time. When it finally opened, she stepped closer to the front door, its white paint also peeling in places. But the clear white knob tugged on her heartstrings as another bolt of memories soared through her mind.
They were diamonds. Every doorknob in Sunny’s house were jewels and when she was old enough, her dotting godmother would gift them to her and Portia would be rich enough to travel wherever she wanted to in the world. Her ideal destination always included a place far away from Providence.
Shaking her head, she thrust a hand into her bag and shuffled through the things inside until she found the key. It was on a ring designed like a huge sunflower, of course. Gladys “Sunny” Shakur, an eclectic and high-spirited woman, had always loved her flowers. Using the key to unlock the door and push it open, Portia then stepped inside. She’d never imagined she would be standing in this foyer, her Kate Spade ballerina flats on the old planked wood floor again. But the package with instructions and keys had arrived at her apartment in Seattle hours after the surprise call she’d received from Sunny months ago.
“How’s my Ladybug?” Sunny asked the moment Portia had answered her cell phone.
“Sunny! Hi!” she’d exclaimed with sincere excitement because it had been months since she’d heard from her godmother.
Just before Christmas, Sunny announced she was flying out on New Year’s Day for a missionary assignment in Haiti. Portia had only been partially surprised. Sunny Shakur was not the type of woman to let roots grow under her, at least that’s what she always told Portia. The years between Portia’s twelfth birthday and her high school graduation, Sunny had planted herself in Providence, contradicting her own mantra for a time.
“I wanted to tell you I’m heading out again, going to Haiti this time. Got some work to do over there.”
Sunny was always straight and to the point, a trait that Portia tried to learn in her adult years.
“Okay. Well, when will you be back? My publisher has scheduled a book release tour starting at the end of July, so I was thinking of taking a couple of days to visit with you while I’m on the East Coast,” she’d said.
“That’s another thing I was calling about. I need you to do me a favor,” Sunny told her in the husky voice that was more than comforting to Portia.
As her godmother had been the only family member Portia had that gave her anything resembling compassion throughout her life, Portia had come to love that voice.
“Anything,” she’d immediately responded.
And months later, Portia was standing in the foyer of the yellow Victorian on the corner of Langston and Mulberry Streets in Providence, Virginia. Her assignment was to meet with the real estate agent, Cynthia Curtis, and complete all the paperwork to put the house up for sale.
Closing the door behind her, Portia dropped her bag on the antique table and looked around. Everything was the same. From the musky aroma of incense to the eclectic mixture of French Victorian and Afrocentric décor. Sunny was a woman of many different tastes, none of which she ever apologized for or explained. In her words, “I am who I am, and those who don’t like it can kiss my entire ass!”
Portia smiled at that thought. Sunny had been her savior on so many occasions, she would do anything for her. Which is why she was in this town where the children had hated her and her parents had disowned her. At least her parents had moved to D.C. a few years ago, so there was no possibility of her running into them here.
Even still, she whispered “Not for long,” as she moved through the empty rooms of the house.
The real estate agent would be here at any moment. The signed and notarized Power of Attorney to handle all of Sunny’s legal and medical dealings was in her bag and her flight to Charlotte, North Carolina was scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine. Portia would meet with the agent, drive back to the resort in Alexandria, find herself some dinner and prepare for the next stops on her book tour.
The muffled ringing of her phone drew her attention away from the house and its memories and she walked through the arched doorway of the parlor and then the living room to get back to the foyer where her purse was.
“Hello?” she answered after finding the phone.
“Ms. Merin?”
“Yes, this is Portia Merin.”
“Great. I’m Cynthia Curtis from the Thurston Realty Company. I know we were scheduled to meet at five this afternoon, but I’m running a little late. I should be there closer to six, if that’s alright with you. Or we can reschedule for tomorrow afternoon?”
“No!” Portia snapped and then cleared her throat. “I mean, no that’s not possible. I’m flying out tomorrow morning.” She looked at her watch and resisted the urge to sigh. “I can wait until six.”
“Wonderful! I’m so excited about seeing the house and getting it onto the market. It’s a historic home so I’m sure there’ll be lots of interest in the property. Sunny didn’t let too many people inside when she was here, so we’ll definitely schedule an open house to show what a magnificent house it is.”
“Right.” Portia agreed. “It is a magnificent house.”
