Second Chance for the Black Princess

Chapter 1

Josie

“I guess this is it,” I say with a sigh. “Home sweet home.”

My U-Haul truck beeps as I back it into the driveway. An unnecessary warning since the quaint street and its surroundings are deserted.

I kill the engine and jump out into the arms of the sweltering, midday sun. Beads of sweat start to sprout on my forehead.

Yuck.

I turn my attention to the little blue house in front of me with the wraparound porch. Two large oak trees with branches hanging over the roof almost swallow the entire house.

This is a serious downgrade from my cute apartment in Orlando, but it’s for a good cause.

“Hi there, neighbor. You new in these parts?” a male voice crackles to my left.

I follow the voice and find a craggy, sand-colored face with sharp eyes on the next-door porch — which is so close it may as well be an extension of my house. He is seated in a rocking chair.

I smile at him and rap a knuckle on the truck. “I wonder where you got that idea from.”

“Oh, it’s not just the moving truck. It’s also the big-city stance, assessing your new country house like you’re seeing if you still want the place.” He picks up a bottle of beer and takes a swig, laughing after taking a gulp.

I laugh out loud at his assessment. “I'll have you know that I actually grew up right here in the East End. I’m just adjusting, not judging. A fine but important distinction.”

“Well, you bring some big-city charm with you. You must have gotten all of it, too, because usually the city has none.” Another gulp from the brown bottle and a warm jack-o-lantern smile.

I walk a few steps to the old man and look up, holding the white railing of the front porch stairs. “I'm Josie. It’s nice to meet you.”

He stands up, comes down the stairs, and shakes my hand. “Wyatt. Let me get my good shoes and come help you unload.”

My eyes drop down to his indoor slippers and up to his face. There's no way this tiny, ancient grandpa will be able to lift any of my boxes or furniture.

“Don't judge a book by its cover,” he says with a naughty grin of scattered teeth.

Did he just read my mind?

My fingers wander to my head and play with my medium-sized afro, feeling the coils of my hair. “I'm sure you're more than capable, Wyatt, but the movers’ll be here any second.”

“Tell you what. Lemme change my shoes and get my secret weapon, and we'll see who finishes first. If I win, you'll come over for some of my wife's buttermilk pie.”

“And if my movers win?”

“You'll all come over for some of my wife's buttermilk pie.”

“Sounds like a win-win, Wyatt.” I shake my head, smiling.

He cackles and shuffles up the steps before disappearing into his own house. I shake my head again, smile fading, and I open the truck to search for my phone. The movers are late and don’t pick up my calls.

A frustrated sigh escapes my lips.

I really want to get this move over with.

I’m typing a passive-aggressive message to them when Wyatt reappears in my driveway. He’s accompanied by two identical young men who are a little more tan than him and significantly taller.

I look up from my phone.

“Rodney, Julius. This is Josie. She’s our new neighbor, and you boys are gonna help her unload her truck.”

“Hi there,” the twins murmur in greeting. “Happy to help.”

“Josie, my grandsons.”

“A pleasure to meet you both. I already told your grandpa there’s no need –”

One of the twins raises his hand to cut me off. “Hey, what are neighbors for?”

Ah, that small-town friendliness. You don’t get that in the city. Even one that’s home to the happiest place on earth. 

I look at the street, confirming for certain that there’s no glimpse of the movers. Then I open the back of the truck. If I weren’t so exhausted from my interstate drive, I’d decline the offer.

But I’m too tired.

Please cancel the truck, I tell the company. I have movers closer to home.

We work together hauling things, grunting, and sweating. I’ve missed this about Belmont. That ‘think of your fellow man’ attitude.

I don’t mind at all that the movers failed to show up. When we’re done, we gather in their kitchen, which smells of lavender and jasmine, for the promised delicious buttermilk pie.

“Will you be teaching at Belmont Elementary?” asks Celia, Wyatt’s wife, after I explain why I’m back. She is just as pint-sized and crinkly as him.

“Yep. I’ll be teaching second grade.”

“I just know you’ll be a wonderful addition. And please feel free to pop in anytime. We love company,” she says.

I thank them profusely for their help and for opening their home to me. Then I leave. Shortly afterward, I clean up and then return the truck. On my drive, I notice all the changes in the city.

“Ugh, so many memories,” I say when I pass by my old high school. I make a mental note to visit some of my old friends who still live here once my car arrives from Orlando.

A large signpost with directions to the country club pops up, and my mouth goes dry. It brings back unwanted memories of that summer.

I shake my head hard. “No ma’am,” I tell myself. “What we’re not going to do is remember that summer. Nope!”

The unwanted images of swimming pools and a certain lifeguard retreat to the back of my mind, but no matter how hard I try to suppress them, they refuse to disappear.

A hectic week of organizing and dusting later, my house starts to resemble a home. Celia brings me a vase of roses and gardenias from her backyard to celebrate the achievement.

 “They smell so good, thank you,” I tell her at the front door. “I’ll take some for my mom when I go see her tomorrow. She loves summer flowers. I know these will cheer her up.” I swallow a lump.

“Or you could pluck some more for her. As many as you want.” She peers into my eyes. 

I blink, trying not to show emotion and failing.

“Something wrong, honey?” 

Caught off guard, I’m unsure if I should tell her or not. “Yeah, just thinking about my mom. She has multiple sclerosis.”

“I’ll be praying for her, sweetheart.”

Me, too.

The next morning, I drive across town to a street in the East End that’s seen better days. My mom, Clara, has lived here in my Aunt Denise’s house since her health took a turn for the worse.

I walk into the dimly lit first-floor bedroom and look at the frail frame propped up by pillows on the bed. Her once-rich sepia brown skin is dull and lifeless. I’m shocked by how much weight she’s lost.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mama,” I say after we’ve embraced.

Her voice is low. “Oh, stop it,” she says with a weak smirk.

When I sit in a chair next to her bed, she clasps my hand surprisingly firmly in both of hers.

“I mean it, Mom. You look better than the video calls. It’s a lie, but more comforting than the truth. “I’m glad to finally be back to help you.” I kiss her on her cheek.

“Me too, baby. But I’ll be fine. Promise not to worry too much about your old mother?”

“I can’t do that, Mama. You know that.”

“My stubborn daughter,” she says with a smile. “Just like her mom. That’s why I love you. When do you start work?”

“In a week. I’m excited. I’m getting my classroom all ready.”

Not long after, Mom drifts off to sleep and I leave, happy to finally have the freedom to see her at will again.

She’s on my mind as I drive up to Belmont Elementary on the first day of school. It’s a massive historic building that could pass for a Gilded Age mansion. 

A white woman with a close-cropped pixie cut climbs out of hers at the same time I do. She approaches me. “You must be Josie, the new second grade teacher?”

I nod.

She grabs my hand. “Angela. First grade. I recognized you from the directory. We’re glad to have you with us.” Her manner is pleasant.

“I’m ecstatic to be here.”

We shake hands and stride across the parking lot to the school. A line of vehicles snakes through the drop-off zone. The air is punctuated with car horns, the pneumatic hiss of the buses braking, and children’s eager yells.

“Is it any different from where you’re from?”

“Believe it or not, I went to Belmont Elementary, so I’m from here. But my last school? I taught art, but they didn’t have an actual art room. I’m so glad to have a classroom.”

Angela’s steps pause. She looks mortified. “You’ll find that all the facilities here are top-notch – our parents have very discerning tastes.”

“Sounds like a dream,” I say.

“Friendly advice, though. The old second-grade teacher you’re replacing was super popular. She had to retire unexpectedly. It came as a big surprise. So, she might be a tough act to follow. She was a legend. ”

We stop near the entrance, and I smile at her. “Much appreciated, Angela. Thanks for showing me the ropes.”

A floppy-haired brunette boy next to us turns around and shouts, “Hey Dad. Dad! I think I left my –” He accidentally steps on my foot as he darts back toward the cars.

“Look both ways!” I call out, almost to myself. 

My gaze follows him. I hope whatever he forgot was important enough to risk getting hit by a car and worth mashing my poor foot.

A dark-haired, gorgeous white man leans out the window of a sleek Dodge Durango to hand the boy a lunch box. Or a pencil case maybe. 

I’d know those full lips anywhere. I kissed them for a summer and have dreamed of them far too often since.

My heart stops cold. The searing pain in my toes stops. It was definitely worth it for me.

God, that summer. Chance Worthington III, the lifeguard I fell in love with.

No. It can’t be him. For one thing, he hasn’t aged at all in the last eleven years.