Page 9 of Leave It to Us
With her feet tucked under her as she sat on her golden-yellow couch, she held her tablet in her lap and continued to scroll through pictures of the island where she’d spent her childhood summers. From the time she was three until the summer she’d turned sixteen, she, her sisters, and their father—before his untimely death when Tami was eight years old—had boarded a flight from Boston to Hilton Head Island. From there, they’d hop on the ferry for the forty-five-minute ride out to Daufuskie.
And once on that island with her Grandma Betty, life for Tami had become one adventure after another. Fabulous food; lazy afternoons lying on the dock, just staring up at the brilliant blue sky; and at nightthere was always music. In addition to having a thick, powerful singing voice, Grandma Betty could play the piano for hours, serenading the girls on sultry summer nights while crickets chirped in the distance and moonlight glistened over the water.
That was, hands down, Tami’s fondest memory of her time on the island. Those nights when the family room in the summerhouse was alight with a golden blaze from the table lamps, the patio doors were open to let in the cooling breeze that rolled off the river, and she lay on her back on that burgundy-and-beige Aubusson rug that covered most of the hardwood floor. She was probably about six or seven during her earliest memory of those nights. Lana, who would’ve been twelve or thirteen then, was already boy crazy and had spent most of her time writing letters to her girlfriends and whatever boy she thought was cute at the time back home, curled up at the end of one of the two walnut-brown couches in the room. Yvonne—who would’ve been seventeen, already the mature and studious one with her nose in a book—had remained in the family room with them only because Grandma Betty had insisted on their bonding time.
If she closed her eyes, Tami could still see her grandmother’s long fingers moving effortlessly over the piano keys, her fingernails polished in one of those nude tones she always wore, rings with huge diamonds and rubies on multiple fingers. Sometimes she’d sing a song, either one of hers or somebody else’s from the sixties, her favorite era of music. Other times, she’d hum something distinctly gospel. It didn’t matter which; Tami would always lie on her back, one foot planted on the rug, an ankle crossed over her knee. Her arms would be out at her sides, hands on the floor so her fingers could drum to the melody.
A banging sound echoed loudly, jolting her from her thoughts. It took her a moment of blinking and steadying her mind on the here and now to realize it was a knock at her door. She stood and set her tablet on the couch before heading across the room.
“Hey,” she said to Gabriel after swinging open the door. “Were we supposed to meet up tonight?” Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall whether she’d totally blanked on their plans.
“Nope,” he replied, and then stepped forward. “But it’s dinnertime, and I went down to that pizza spot you like. So I’m here to share.” As if she couldn’t already see the pizza box and the plastic bag on top that looked to be holding two additional containers of food, he lifted his arms to ease the food closer to her face.
As soon as she caught the scent of melted cheese—and that amazing sauce the pizza place used on their pies and as a dipping sauce for their tasty garlic knots—her stomach growled.
“You gonna let me in or nah?” he asked, hiking up one thick brow as he grinned.
Gabriel’s smile may have been his most dangerous weapon where women were concerned. It gave way to the tiniest dimples in his cheeks, which were otherwise barely noticeable beneath his low-cut beard. He was bald, with great eyebrows and eyes that laughed right along with his smile.
“When you’re bearing such delicious gifts, hell yeah, I’m lettin’ you in,” she replied, and stepped aside to let him pass.
As she closed and locked the door, Gabriel walked through her small living room to her equally small kitchen.
“You changed that room around again?” he said as she followed him into the kitchen. “I swear, I don’t know anybody who needs to have a different furniture setup in their house as frequently as you.”
She moved around him to get two glasses out of one cabinet while he opened another to take out two plates. He’d been in her apartment enough times to know where everything was and to have unspoken permission to get things on his own.
“Change is good,” was all she said in response to the debate they’d had way too many times. “Besides, Shana’s lyin’-ass boyfriend burned ahole in my rug when he was drunk and dropped his cigarette one night. I had to move the couch to cover it.”
“You should’ve made her pay for a new rug,” he said, putting a slice of pepperoni—with extra cheese, ham, and onions—onto each plate.
She sighed and held the glasses, one at a time, under the ice maker on the front of the refrigerator to fill them up. “She was packed and gone before I could get a chance,” she replied. “Anyway, I’m just glad to have both of them out.”
“Until you have to pay your rent on the first of the month.”
After grabbing two cans of soda from the case on the floor, she tucked them under her arms and retrieved the glasses. “Don’t remind me,” she said, and then walked back into the living room.
He looped the handles of the plastic bag on his fingers and then picked up both plates to bring into the living room. The pizza box remained on the kitchen counter. Joining her on the couch, he offered her a plate, and once she accepted, he set the bag on the coffee table.
“Hot wings and fries,” he said as he removed the plastic containers from the bag and then opened each one.
“I told you, I’m watching my carbs,” she replied with a groan. “And before you say it, I know the pizza crust has carbs. But the fries will only add to it.”
“So don’t eat them,” he said, then reached over to snatch a few and stuff them into his mouth.
That was easier said than done, which was the whole reason she’d brought it up to him again.
“You know if you need any help—financially or otherwise—you can just let me know,” he said after they’d been eating in silence for a few moments.
She’d just taken a bite of pizza and now looked over at him. “Huh?”
He smiled when he glanced at her and then reached out to grab the thread of cheese that had obviously been dangling from the corner of her mouth. If it were with any other guy, there probably would’ve beensome embarrassment, but this was just Gabriel. Still, she grabbed her napkin and wiped her mouth; he took one, too, and cleaned his fingers.
“I said, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
She fought back confusion. “Why would I ask you for money?”
He folded his slice of pizza and brought it to his mouth before pausing to respond. “Uh, because you’re unemployed and your roommate just moved out. It might be a little tough paying bills with no money coming in.”
