Page 7 of Happy Is On Hiatus
The tallest of their trio at five seven, Sharae had a slim, willowy figure. Second to the shooting range, running was her favorite thing to do, so her size 8 butt stayed tight, and her C-cup breasts were still perky at forty. She kept her hair cut short and natural, opting to leave the chemicals to Jemel and Rita. Today’s style was curly with a side part, with a few sassy tendrils dropping over her right eye. Her smile was brilliant thanks to two years of braces when she was sixteen, her deep, throaty laughter infectious even now, when Rita was dancing on the outskirts of misery.
“I can cook,” Jemel said, lifting her chin in what Rita and Sharae knew as her defiant stance.
“Girl, you burn canned biscuits,” Sharae managed between guffaws.
Jemel didn’t pout—which she was also known for—but blinked at those words. “Well, those Hawaiian rolls in the pack taste better anyway,” she insisted.
Rita set the dishwasher to run and touched a hand to Jemel’s shoulder. “Not better than my yeast rolls,” she said in a consolatory tone. “But you don’t slack on bringing the top-shelf liquor. Plus, you’re always the cutest one at the party.”
Twisting her lips, Jemel turned away from Sharae’s almost-tempered chuckles. “Well, I do dress better than you two.” It was her one crowning glory.
Being the youngest of their crew and the shortest had often made Jemel feel like an outcast. There’d even been times when Jemel had mentioned that her biracial heritage made her feel different from the rest of them. But Sharae and Rita had never treated her differently or acted like she was a bother in any way. Not even when they were old enough to get into clubs and Jemel was just fourteen, too young to even get a work permit. Her breasts had hit puberty before any other part of her body, and until the rest of her caught up, she’d looked like she might tip over with how fast she’d shot to a full B cup in her teens. So it hadn’t been that difficult for Rita to lie to her friend who DJ’d at the club and convince him to let Jemel in.
“Nobody has time to fixate over clothes like you do, Jem.” Sharae had finally stopped laughing when she reached out to run a hand over Jemel’s hair.
Jemel hadn’t combed her long curls out yet; she’d just pulled off her scarf and headed over to save Rita from burning her house down. Not that it would’ve gotten that far, but Rita could see how it might’ve looked from their standpoint.
“Obviously,” Jemel replied, with a nod down at Sharae’s blue Crocs. “Those shoes look awful with the hem of her dress pants resting on top of them.”
Sharae looked down, then back up at Jemel and shrugged. “I’ve got court in—” She paused and twisted her wrist to look at her watch. “Oh shit, I have to be downtown by eight, and it’s already twenty after seven. Traffic’s gonna be a bitch!”
“Sorry again,” Rita said when Sharae started to head out of the kitchen.
Stopping, Sharae wrapped an arm around Rita. Jemel joined in by easing an arm around Rita’s waist. These were her sisters-of-the-heart, her ride-or-die BFFs and most favorite cousins in the world. If there was ever a time she needed their hugs and good thoughts, it was now.
“Don’t apologize. I’m here whenever you need me. Even when you don’t call me to give a heads-up that you’re about to start an inferno in your driveway.” Sharae smiled and leaned in to kiss Rita on the forehead.
“Me too, even though I’d like for you not to burn our neighborhood down before I can gain more equity in my house,” Jemel said and added a kiss to Rita’s cheek.
“Gee, thanks, you two,” Rita replied, but she looped her arms around them until they all came together for a tight group hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without y’all.”
“You don’t have to find out,” Sharae said when they broke apart. “I’m gonna call you after I finish up at court, and you can tell me how it went with the lawyer.”
Rita nodded and walked out of the kitchen.
“And I’ll be at the shop, but y’all can FaceTime me so I’ll be on the call too. I want to know how much of McCall Motors’ assets you’ll be adding to your portfolio.” Jemel was big on saving and preparing for a stable financial future. Probably because she’d been so short on funds growing up and hated working for anybody long enough to make any real money.
Jemel had taken cosmetology in high school and had done hair in Aunt Ceil’s basement to make money. It had taken her a few years onthe road with her boy-band boyfriend and then another couple of years at community college to finally find her niche in floral design. Now she owned her own florist shop and was pleased as punch about it.
“How ’bout I just call you both later tonight. I’ve got an HOA meeting I need to prepare for and some more purging to do. Plus, I just need some time to think.” Truth was, she needed alotof time to think. Her life was going to change, and she had no idea if that was going to be for the better, but she had to figure it out, and it was best if she did that on her own.
She opened the front door, and the smoky scent filtered into the house on a balmy breeze. The fire truck and police cruisers were gone, but Willow Grove was fully awake, and a couple of cars slowed in front of the house as neighbors got a peek at what Rita knew was going to be the talk of the development for the next couple of days.
Sharae stepped outside first. “That’s fine, but do me a favor, don’t burn anything you purge this time. Just put all his shit in trash bags and put ’em in the garage.”
“That’s right,” Jemel said as she walked out the door. “Trash day’s not until tomorrow. But you can be ready to drag all his crap out here bright and early in the mornin’ ’cause you know sometimes those jokas like to roll up at the crack of dawn.”
Rita laughed and Jemel smiled back at her. It was those smiles and their encouragement that guided Rita back into the house to close the door. And it was the weight of her world barreling down on her shoulders that had her leaning against the door and sliding down until her butt hit the floor.
Chapter 4
THIS DAY JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER.
Sharae showed her badge and walked through the metal detector at the courthouse.
“Lookin’ good this mornin’, Sarge.” Meadows, one of the sheriff’s deputies that secured the building flashed his toothy grin and sexy green eyes.
“Hey, Meadows,” she replied, continuing to use the last name printed on the pocket of his uniform shirt. She knew his first name was Rodney, his favorite drink was cranberry juice and vodka, and he sucked at darts. In fact, he still owed her forty dollars from the last night she and some of the other law enforcement workers had been at the pool hall talkin’ shit and gettin’ drunk.
