Chapter 1 : Part 3

Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin'
by Mata Elliott

(Page 3 of 4)

Cassidy gave Robbie a squeeze and patted his braided-to-the-scalp hair. "Your scooter looks new." "It is. My dad gave it to me last weekend . . . when I stayed at his house."

"It's very nice. I like your knee and elbow guards, too. Where's your helmet?"

Robbie's stare widened. "I should go put it on." "Good idea. I've got the luggage." Cassidy watched the boy ride home, her heart still aching. She turned back to Emma. Emma's expression was a sandwich of disbelief and disagreement.

"Ya should've let that chile help. It's never too soon for a boy to learn the ways of a man." She propped her cane on her hip and stacked her arms across a hefty bosom. "And like I've told ya time and time again, young lady, acceptin' a man's strength is not a sign of weakness."

Out of reverence, Cassidy kept her eyes from rolling, but she had to speak up. "I've got the Lord, and He's all the strength I'll ever need."

Emma laughed. "The Lord is the center of my world, too, baby. But the broad shoulders of an earthly man sho feels mighty good."

Not in the mood for one of her neighbor's love-and-marriage and how-good-a-man-can-make-you-feel talks, Cassidy hugged Emma good-bye, then grabbed her suitcase from the sidewalk and hurried to the house. Before she could drag her key from her purse, the Charity Community Church van pulled up to the curb and the driver blew the horn. Cassidy waved at Deacon Willie Linden and the three silver-haired female passengers on their way to the Knitting Circle, a club that met at the church on Friday evenings.

"Well, mercy," Odessa Vale exclaimed, pushing open the screen door. It squeaked and slammed behind her. "Baby girl, what are you doing here?" Cassidy wrapped her aunt in a hug that pinned them close for several moments. She was forced to give the abridged version of why she'd come home early because Deacon Linden had blown the horn a second time, and now he was on his way up the walkway to escort Odessa to the van.

"We'll talk more when I get home." Odessa gave Deacon Linden, barely able to bend his arthritic knees, her bag of knitting supplies so she could hold on to his elbow and the rail as she eased down the steps. "I'll tell you all about Trevor," she said over her shoulder.

"Who's Trevor?" Cassidy called after Odessa, but she was engaged in a conversation with Deacon Linden and either didn't hear the question or elected not to answer.

"Are there any questions or concerns?" No hands rose this time. Trevor Monroe clapped shut his binder and stood. "In that case, we're done for the day. You'll find refreshments in the lounge." He smiled at the newest teen employees seated around the conference table as they gathered complimentary pens and handbooks, preparing to exit. It was a first job for most of them, and their uncertainty was obvious. As was his custom, Trevor had tried to keep the tone of the meeting casual. Although he let it be known that he was boss and expected professionalism at all times, he wanted his employees to feel comfortable and free to approach him. At the door, he shook each teenager's hand. "My number is in the manual if you have concerns, job-related . . . or otherwise," he reminded them.

Without meeting his secretary's gaze, he knew she regarded him with dissatisfaction. Grace Armstrong had advised that his private number should remain private. The managers could handle concerns. But Trevor had disagreed. The concerns of employees, especially the teens, were paramount. Some of them couldn't, wouldn't, talk to their parents. He preferred they come to him rather than reach out to negative street influences.

Trevor looked Grace's way. Above the burgundy rims of reading glasses, set so close to the tip of her nose it seemed one quick move of her head and the frames would topple off, her eyes scrutinized him. After all of the teenagers had gone, Trevor strode over and glued a kiss to the cheek of the woman dear enough that he'd given her cards and gifts every Mother's Day since she started working for him. Trevor knew he had a special place in Grace's heart as well. Grace had miscarried a baby thirty-five years ago, and he was the same age that baby would have been.

Grace wriggled out of his embrace, fanning her hands as if shooing flies. "That lovey-dovey stuff will get you nowhere, Mr. Monroe."

At work, she insisted on addressing him formally, and that was one of the battles he'd let her win. "I know, but that lovey-dovey stuff sure is fun." He winked. "Just don't tell Houston. I'd hate to have him put a beat-down on me."

Grace's face softened. "It's been ages since I've had men fighting over me."

"Shattered many hearts in your day, huh, Grace?" She chortled, not answering. Trevor could easily imagine she had broken hearts. Grace was attractive at fifty-nine. Her silver and black hair was cut in a modern style, and even with the makeup she often wore, her face appeared natural. Grace had a mediumsize, well-defined figure, and her clothing, while befitting her maturity, stayed hip enough to gain oodles of compliments from younger workers. Grace was what Trevor imagined his wife might have resembled years down the line if-

Grace's voice interrupted Trevor's thoughts as she passed him on the way to the door. "I mailed you an invitation. Did you receive it?"

He frowned, not meaning to. "It came a few days ago."

Copyright © 2006 by Vermata Elliott

About the Author

Mata Elliott began writing, her first novel, Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin' during the difficult season of caregiving for two ailing parents. Prior to taking on the role as care giver, she graduated from Temple University with a degree in education and taught on the elementary level for nearly ten years. When Mata is not writing, she enjoys reading, taking long walks, eating ice cream, watching romantic movies with her husband, and playing with her two senior citizen cats. Mata has a soft spot in her heart for all animals and whenever possible she makes it her mission to rescue stray or abandoned cats and dogs and find them a loving home. Mata is the mother of one son and she lives in Philadelphia.