Lessons From A Younger Lover. Zuri Day

the fast lane. But those thoughts and that life came to an abrupt halt three years ago, when Isis’s mother dropped off their daughter and called a week later saying she had moved to New York. That she couldn’t make it as a model with a child in tow, and at twenty-two, was too young to be a mother anyway.

      Ransom had been furious. He’d flown out to New York to try and make Brea see reason. But there was no getting through to her—partly because a strapping six-foot-tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed Viking was in the way.

      “He’s just my roommate,” she’d said.

      Her roommate’s eyes and protective stance had said otherwise. Ransom flew back to California and, at his father’s suggestion, hired a lawyer and had papers drawn up the following month. Brea gave him full custody. That’s when his life changed.

      He got serious about school and, having already received an associate’s degree, graduated eighteen months later with a bachelor of science degree in Construction Engineering Management from Cal State. He dropped his partying friends and moved back to the small town he felt was better suited to raising a child. Promiscuous sex was out: he loved Isis but had learned the hard way where irresponsibility could lead. A chance conversation with a teacher and mentor, the one who’d nurtured his desire to build things, had given him a place to invest some of the money he’d gotten from an automobile accident with a grocery chain semi. A year later he’d become sole owner of the then fledgling construction company. That’s how the security of his daughter’s future was born, and life had been good ever since.

      Ransom was a man who didn’t hide or deny his sensitive side. So he didn’t try and stop the tears that formed as he thought about the immense joy his daughter had brought to his life. He’d do anything in the world for the little girl in the next room. But he couldn’t help thinking too, as he drifted off to sleep, that his wonderful life wouldn’t be quite complete until there was a queen in the castle along with him and his princess.

      3

      Gwen cast a critical eye at the full-length mirror. No matter what Chantay said, this skirt is too tight! But she had to admit, it did give definition to her slender booty, while the suit’s flared jacket added the illusion of curves to her boyish frame. As for the rest of the makeover that had taken place the previous Saturday, Gwen was pleased. She’d never plucked her brows, but liked the depth the thick yet curved arches gave her almond-shaped eyes. Having worn her hair in its naturally curly state most of her life, she felt the straightened bob that rested just beneath her shoulders was not only a welcome change that drew attention to her pouty lips, but also gave her a more sophisticated look. The hairstylist’s suggestion to lighten her black tresses was also spot on: the dark auburn highlights complemented her mocha complexion, and brought out the red tones in her skin.

      Gwen’s eyes widened as she looked at her watch. Where had the time gone? Had she really spent forty-five minutes getting dressed, an act that usually took fifteen minutes at most? Remembering the objective, however, she forgave herself right away. She’d easily aced the online application process and Adam had assured her that because of an effort to increase minority teachers in the district, and his power of persuasion, her position was assured. Still, she wanted her education, experience, and merits to be what impressed the personnel committee at Sienna Elementary. Her mother’s savings would cover expenses for the assisted living facility, but Gwen still needed to support herself. And if the conversation with Joe she had last night was any indication, she couldn’t count on big bucks from the condo sale. She wanted to wait until the housing market stabilized and make a higher profit. Joe wanted to sell to the first buyer who bid. He’d made it clear that all he wanted was for their life together to be in his rearview mirror.

      Gwen exited her bedroom and was taken aback at the sight of her mother sitting on the living room sofa reading a magazine. Lorraine Andrews’s appearance had changed drastically in the year since Gwen had last seen her. Her hair was almost white now, and the faint lines around her eyes had deepened, joining new ones on her forehead and cheeks. She’d lost weight, which gave her a frail appearance. Once bright brown eyes were now watery and dim. She was only sixty-six, but looked older. Gwen took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and walked into the room.

      Lorraine looked up and smiled. “Baby, your hair looks nice. When did you do that?”

      “On Saturday, Mama, remember?”

      Lorraine frowned. “Was I there when you got it done?”

      “No, Mama. I borrowed your car and drove into LA. I met Chantay and she helped me with a makeover.”

      “How’s Margaret?”

      Gwen’s shoulders slumped and it became harder to hold on to her happy facade. “Chantay’s mother died last year, Mama. I flew home and we went to her funeral together.”

      Lorraine frowned slightly, placed the magazine on the seat beside her, and folded her arms. “Margaret sure loved going to bingo. Maybe I’ll call her and go this weekend.” She looked up as if Gwen had just walked in the room. “I like your hairstyle. Is that new?”

      Gwen fought back tears as she walked over and hugged her mother. The conversation had been similar to several she’d had since arriving the past Friday afternoon: repeated questions, mention of people either dead or long since moved away, and the behavior that had scared her brother on his last visit enough for him to call and ask for her intervention. Strongly suggested may have been a more accurate description. Even begged wouldn’t have been too exaggerated a verb. Both her brothers were married with children, one living in Seattle, the other in North Carolina. It made sense that Gwen was the one best able to step in and help their mother transition to another way of living.

      Gwen reached for the phone, called her mother’s neighbor, Mary Walker, told her she was leaving for the interview and asked that she keep an eye out for any potential wanderings of the Lorraine kind. After making sure the gas line to the stove was turned off, she felt the home safe enough to leave her mother alone.

      “Here, baby, wear this.” Lorraine unpinned a brightly jeweled brooch in the shape of a butterfly from her blouse and held it up to Gwen.

      “It’s pretty, Mama, but you know I’m not much of a sparkly jewelry wearer. I like simple stuff.”

      Lorraine’s eyes misted over. She rose from the couch and headed toward her bedroom. “You used to like wearing my jewelry,” she mumbled.

      “I’ll wear it, Mama,” Gwen called out. She didn’t bother to remind her mother that while Gwen had played dress-up with her mother’s hats as a child, it was Chantay who always coveted her mom’s jewelry, and to this day wore big gaudy earrings and enough bracelets and necklaces at the same time to open a pawn shop.

      Lorraine turned and brought back the brooch, smiling as she pinned it to her daughter’s lapel. “There, you’re all set. Your hair is usually curly. I like it straight.”

      “Thanks, Mama.”

      Twenty minutes later, Gwen pulled into the neat and pristine parking lot of Sienna Elementary. She was immediately impressed with the playground, which sat to the right of the L-shaped building. Brightly colored swings moved in the breeze. Sandboxes and hopscotch imprints dotted the asphalt landscape. Several jungle gyms sat between a half basketball court on one side and soccer field on the other. A jogging track surrounded the playground, and a colorful mural of playing children painted on the school’s wall lent a spirit of whimsy to the scene. Whoever designed this area really knows children, she thought, as she mounted the four steps to the school’s front doors. If what she saw on the outside was any indication of the attention to detail on the inside, Gwen knew she’d like teaching here.

      The first person she saw was a young, perky woman with fiery red hair and a bright, white smile. Joanna Roxbury, who also taught first grade, welcomed her to Sienna Elementary and pointed her toward the executive offices.

      “Mr. Johnson is gonna love you,” she chuckled, as she took in Gwen’s stylish suit and modern haircut. “Be careful to keep your wits about you, or from what I hear, he’ll talk you out of your pan—I