The Beauty of Summer (A Christian Romance Novel)

Chapter 5

"And they fired you for that? That didn't happen on the job."

"Doesn't matter, Mãe. It's considered assault on a fellow employee, even if it happened away from the job. It's against policy. And Mark didn't even want to get my side of the story. He'd made up his mind to fire me before he met with me. He even had a security guard waiting in case I acted like a drama queen."

"Wow."

"Wouldn't surprise me if Mark is doing Jada. A lot of people in the office think so."

"Isn't he married?"

"When has that ever made a difference, Mãe? You should know better."

Silence on the other end.

Summer gulped. "I'm sorry, Mãe. I shouldn't have said that."

After an awkward but silent few seconds, Susan spoke again. "Well, you're not fine. You're upset. I can hear it in your voice. Virginia is only a two-hour plane ride away. I'm coming up there.

"Mãe, you don't have to do that."

Susan knew her daughter well enough to know that those words meant: Mãe, you don't have to upend your life and inconvenience yourself and cancel your plans just to tend to me, but I would really like it if you would. "Yes, I do. Now the last-minute plane ticket is going to be steep, but I'm not going to let my daughter wallow in misery the whole weekend by herself."

Sumer didn't argue. "I'll cover the plane ticket, Mãe. Don't worry about that." Tears started to flow down her face.

"Okay. I'll be there before bedtime."

"Thanks, Mãe."

"See you later, dear."

News of her mother's visit strengthened Summer's resolve. With her mother coming, at least she had someone to talk to. She had failed at making any friends, other than Xavier, since coming to Richmond. She couldn’t figure out what it was about herself that made people not enjoy her company. Even when she was living in Atlanta, friends were few and far between.

She decided to tidy up the apartment. The maid was not due until tomorrow, but Summer wanted things to be neat and clean before her mother arrived later that evening.

* * *

Thinking that a jog around the community would clear her head, Summer put on her pink workout shorts, black activewear tank top, and running shoes, tied her hair into a ponytail, and started to do stretches in the foyer of her apartment to ready herself for her run. She knew going for a jog by herself was tactically risky in this neighborhood. She didn't have to worry about being attacked, but she did have to worry about men in the neighborhood seeing an attractive woman jogging by herself and using that as an opportunity to try out whatever come-on lines they had conceived. When she first moved into the neighborhood, that was an attractive and welcome prospect. Now, she didn’t want to think about men.

When she went outside, it was 6:05 p.m. The sun was low in the sky, and the air was at sixty-eight degrees, ten degrees cooler than it had been most of the day. Summer took a deep breath and then started her jog. She would start at her apartment building door and then circle three times around the neighborhood. That would give her a two-mile run.

As she jogged, Summer noted the differences between this community and the community she had left in Atlanta. This neighborhood, called Crestlane, was a gated community of corporate professionals and mid- to high-level government workers. Here, most people stayed in their apartments except to travel to and from places outside of the community. It was quiet, and not many people were around except for fellow joggers and some male service workers, who were prone to stopping whatever they were doing and ogling her as she jogged past.

The neighborhood where her mother lived in Atlanta was a mix of low to middle-income persons, a community decidedly blue-collar. It was a community of mostly detached single-family homes, with a couple of apartment buildings on the outskirts of the neighborhood. Susan's cousin Cicely owned a home in the community since the sixties. Given the opportunity, she would fete visitors with the tale of how the neighborhood was upscale until the late eighties. In the early nineties, people who were making money moved out to neighborhoods such as Lithonia or Druid Hills, leaving only low-income workers who could not afford to move. Despite white-collar flight and an escalating crime rate, Cicely stayed in her home. She would rather live there than in one of those boring upper-class communities, where people didn't know their neighbors. Something about struggling together creates community, she would say. As a result, everyone in the neighborhood knew everyone else in the neighborhood, kids would come outside to play with other neighborhood kids, mothers would exchange anecdotes and gossip on the sidewalk outside their homes, and men would tinker with their cars and catch up with other men on the latest with the Falcons or who was the cutest dime piece in the neighborhood. It wasn't a perfect neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination, but there was life. Living in Crestlane for two years, Summer understood the dichotomy on a greater level. Compared to her old neighborhood in Atlanta, Crestlane was about as dry as a Peruvian desert.

On her second jogging pass, Summer stopped at the gate booth. She did not recognize the Puerto Rican woman sitting there.

Summer spoke to draw the woman's attention away from her cell phone. "Hi."

"Hi," the woman said, setting her phone on the desk. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Summer Maldonado. I'm in Apartment 323B. I'm expecting my mother sometime this evening, maybe as late as 10 p.m. I just wanted to make sure she was let in without a problem."

The woman grabbed a clipboard with forms from somewhere down out of Summer's sight. "'Your mother's name?"

"Susan Maldonado."

The woman started writing. "Okay. I'll see to it, Miss Maldonado."

"Are you new here?"

"No, I'm temporary. I actually work at Alliance, across town."

"What happened to the regular gate attendant?"

The woman continued to write. "She quit."

"Why?"

"Something about she didn't pass some certification. So, rather than wait for them to fire her, she quit. That was dumb though."

"Why?"

"You quit, you don't get unemployment."

"So, are they looking for someone to replace her?"

"I think so. You interested?”

“Maybe.”

“You'll have to check with the Crestlane office."

"Okay. Thanks." Summer started her jog again, intending to go around the community one more time before she stopped, took a bath, and started preparing dinner.

* * *

It was 8 p.m., and Summer had just spent the last full twenty-four hours without Xavier. She had hoped that cooking would help keep her mind off him, but even as she took the herb-crusted roasted chicken out of the oven, she could not stop thinking about him and hoping that he would call, stop by, text, tweet, f*******:, email, anything. She kept hope alive by imagining that Miss Thing Jada would set him off in some way, forcing him to abandon his marriage plans and come running back to her. Maybe he would realize that God never intended him to be with a woman whose bosom was made in a factory in Singapore.

How horrible a girlfriend must I have been for Xavier to date someone else while we were still together, and then propose to her? The words he spoke stuck in Summer’s mind, like a kernel of popcorn between the teeth. A mistake. Was their relationship a mistake? Was there nothing redeeming in their entire fifteen months together for their relationship to be classified as nothing more than a mistake? It didn't seem like a mistake during their first date, when he drove her to Yorktown; they ate a fancy steak dinner, and then they strolled on the beach by the York River, talking for hours.

It didn't seem that way on Christmas Day, when Xavier invited Summer and Susan to his mother and father's house in Petersburg. There, they sat among Xavier's two brothers and three sisters, along with assorted in-laws, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews, all buzzing about and making Summer feel as if she was part of the family.

It didn't seem that way during the many days they sat cuddled on Summer's couch, binge-watching old TV comedies and kissing like teenagers during every commercial.

It didn't seem that way on her birthday, when he feted her with yellow roses, and then an evening of scrumptious Caribbean food and live jazz at a club in the West End of Richmond. Even after the club, they went to his apartment, put on Cannonball Adderley’s Dancing in the Dark, and danced until Summer felt as if she was floating out of her body. That night, more than any other, was the most tempting for her, for she was sure she would have violated her Christian principles and made love to him if he had pressed her. But he didn't. Instead, rather than drive her home, he set her up in his spare bedroom, while he went to his. In hindsight, Summer thought she should have gone into his bedroom and given herself to him. Maybe then, he would still be with her.

No, it was not a mistake, Summer thought. A good relationship cannot be made into a mistake just because another woman comes along. Xavier was not perfect, but he was the man for her. She knew that now. Without him, she had nothing. With him, she had everything she needed. And there was no way she was going to allow that wench Jada to take her man. Not without a fight.

Summer placed the chicken on the counter, and then placed fresh green beans inside of a frying pan with some olive oil. She had to come up with a way to get Xavier back. But whatever her plans, she could not share them with her mother. Her mother had raised her to be proud, strong, and independent. Not a blubbering i***t begging for her man back. But Summer was not as strong as her mother hoped she was. She was weak. She knew it. Weak and flawed. She needed and wanted Xavier. Without him, she could no longer live.