couldn’t help being on edge. She hadn’t wrestled with a male since her early teens, the age at which the boys she knew confused no with go ahead. She imagined that some never got the responses straight in their heads.
“Since you have to get up so early,” Joel said as they stood in her open front door. “I don’t suppose I can expect a nightcap. But I would like a kiss.”
Like a thunderbolt the realization hit her that she didn’t want Joel or any man other than Luther to kiss her. She turned away just as he came in for the kiss.
“That’s what I suspected. Thanks for a pleasant evening.” With that, he strode down the walk whistling the “Toreador’s Song” from the opera, Carmen.
She closed the door, thinking that, if she had hurt his feelings, he certainly intended her to see that her rejection meant nothing to him. She could do without Joel Coleman, Lawrence Hill and Trevor Johns. In fact, she could do without any man who didn’t spell his name L-u-t-h-e-r B-i-g-g-e-n-s.
But she couldn’t imagine a future with the man she’d known almost all her life.
Deciding that it was past time he got on with his life, Luther drove slowly along Ford Road, organizing his thoughts and formulating the arguments he would need to convince his family to accept his proposal. He reached his parents’ home in Dearborn, Michigan, a few minutes before noon on the second of January.
“Happy New Year, everybody,” he said as he strolled into the den where his parents, his sister Glenda and his brothers Charles and Robert sat around the fireplace roasting nuts and enjoying the still-sparkling Christmas tree. They all jumped up when he walked in, but stood back until Irma hugged her oldest son first.
“We thought you’d never get here, son,” Jack Biggens said. “Your mother’s got the bread ready to bake, but she knows how you like to walk in and smell it perfuming the place. Come on over here and have a seat.”
He hugged his father, handed him a bottle of Scotch and greeted his siblings. “Mom, are you baking the bread here in the fireplace as usual?”
“Beats the oven anytime,” she said. “It’ll be ready in about forty-five minutes, just in time for lunch.”
He sat down and began cracking pecans, his favorite nut. “We got a lovely poinsettia from Ruby,” Glenda said. “I haven’t seen her for a while. How is she?”
He didn’t come there to talk about Ruby, and he didn’t intend to. “Ruby’s fine, as far as I know. When are you going back to school, Charles?”
“Classes start the tenth, so I’ll be leaving Friday.”
Their conversation roamed over a myriad of topics and, as usual, he enjoyed the love and camaraderie with his family. After lunch he decided that the time had come to tell them what he wanted. He waited until they’d left the table and were back in the den.
“I’ve been managing the dealerships ever since I recovered from that accident and left the service,” he began. “Dad’s ready to retire, Glenda doesn’t live anywhere near a dealership, Robert’s got his own thriving company, and Charles has never been interested in the automobile business. I hired an accountant to estimate the worth of the business, and I want to buy you out.” He heard the gasps, noted that they didn’t come from his parents and continued.
“I’ll buy five-sixths of that amount from you, and you can split it among yourselves as you see fit.”
“That wouldn’t be fair, son,” Jack Biggens said. “Since you’ve been the manager, you’ve increased the holdings and the profits. I think you should get a quarter, and that’s what I’m proposing.”
“You mean we’re going to sell to Luther?” Charles asked.
“Why not?” Jack said. “He busts his butt at it every single day, and you don’t give him a hand when you’re in town. I say we take a vote.”
“No vote’s necessary. I say we just do what’s right,” Irma said. “If the five of us split three-fourths of the proceeds, it’s just and right.”
Luther knew that, when his mother put her foot down, his siblings would fall in step.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll send the contract over before Charles goes back to the university. It’s a load off my shoulders.”
As he headed home, an icy mist threatened to make driving impossible, and he stopped several times to deice the windshield. He didn’t make New Year’s resolutions, but as he walked into his house, he promised himself that he would get over his almost lifelong passion for Ruby Lockhart. Pain lodged in the region of his heart when he let himself recall how, on that one night when she was his, she’d moved beneath him, rocking to his rhythm like an ocean wave undulating beneath the moon.
“It hurts,” he said aloud. “But she’ll never know how much.”
He wasted no time drawing up his plans to modernize the business and, before he went to bed that night, he knew where and how he’d start. “I’ll have my hands too full to think about Ruby, much less see her.”
However, Luther’s role in Ruby’s life remained basically as it had always been.
As she sped down the Edsel Ford Parkway three days after New Year’s, a blue SUV swiped the left side of Ruby’s car and sent it spinning into the right lane. She’d never prayed so hard in her life as she did while struggling to control her car. When it finally stopped on the right shoulder of the highway, she got out, wrote down the plate number of the offending vehicle and stood beside the driver’s door of her car waiting for the driver of the SUV. A big, lumbering man got out of the SUV half a city block away and started toward her but, unsure of what to expect, her nerves rioted throughout her body, and she took out her cell phone and dialed the one person she always relied on.
“Hello.”
“Luther, it’s Ruby.” The words rolled out of her at a rapid-fire rate. “I’m on Route 12, and somebody just hit my car. He’s a huge man, and he just got out of his SUV and he’s headed this way. Maybe I should just—”
“Get in your car and stay in it,” he said. “Lock the door and roll down the window just enough to speak with him. Did you call the police?”
“I forgot. I’ll call them now. Look, the man’s almost here, so I’d better hang up.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Keep that phone open and right where he can see it. Where are you on twelve?’
“Just past the intersection of Route 94 headed to Detroit.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
She hurried back into her car, closed and locked the door, rolled down the window about two inches and dialed the police. It hadn’t occurred to her to be afraid or even especially cautious, but she trusted Luther as she always had, and when the big man reached her car, huffing and puffing for air, she was on her guard.
“When did you get your driver’s license?” he yelled. His breath gave her the real reason for his having nearly run her off the highway.
“I’ve been driving for…let’s see…about
