never known anyone more capable of destroying her calm, not even Judd. And there was no doubt that she automatically pushed his buttons. The less she saw of him, the better, she told herself, fully aware that he was the first man for whom she’d ever had a deep, feminine ache. “I don’t know much,” she said aloud, “but I know enough to leave him alone.”
Naomi parked her car on Fourth Street below Howard University and walked up Florida Avenue to One Last Chance. She chided herself for spending so much time thinking about Rufus, all the while giving herself excuses for doing so. She had just been defending herself with the thought that being the father of those delightful boys probably added to Rufus’s manliness. He was so masculine. Even his little boys had strong masculine traits.
Rufus had made her intensely aware of herself as a woman. An incomplete woman. A woman who could not dare to dream of what she wanted most; to have the love and devotion of a man she loved and with whom she could share her secrets and not be harshly judged. A home. And children. Maybe she could have it with…oh, God, there was so much at stake. Forget it, she told herself; he would break her heart.
She increased her pace. It seemed like forever since the foundation’s board members had argued heatedly about the wisdom of locating One Last Chance’s headquarters in an area that was becoming increasingly more blighted. But placing it near those who needed the services had been the right decision. She walked swiftly, partly because it was her natural gait, but mainly because she loved her work with the young girls, whom she tutored in English and math. She welcomed the crisp, mid-October evenings that were so refreshing after the dreaded heat and humidity of the Washington summers. Invigorating energy coursed through her as the cool air greeted her face, and she accelerated her stride. Not even the gathering dusk and the barely camouflaged grimness of the neighborhood daunted her.
Inside OLC, as the girls called it, her spirits soared as she passed a group playing checkers in the lounge, glimpsed a crowded typing class, and walked by the little rooms where experienced educators patiently tutored their charges. She reached the nurse’s station on the way to her own little cubicle, noticed the closed door, and couldn’t help worrying about the plight of the girl inside.
Linda was half an hour late, and Naomi was becoming concerned about her. The girl lacked the enthusiasm that she had shown when they’d begun the tutoring sessions, and she was always tired, too worn-out for a fifteen-year-old. When she did arrive, she didn’t apologize for her tardiness, but Naomi didn’t dwell on that.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Naomi asked her, attempting to understand the girl’s problems.
“Five of them,” Linda responded listlessly.
“Tell me what you do at home, Linda, and why you come to One Last Chance. Speak carefully, because this is our diction lesson for today.” Already becoming a fatalist, Naomi thought sadly, when the girl opened her mouth to object, but closed it without speaking and shrugged indifferently.
“At home, I cook, clean, and take care of my mama’s children. I study at the drugstore where I work after school and weekends, but I have to be careful not to get caught. I come here for the company, so I can hear people talk good English and see what you’re supposed to wear and how you’re supposed to act. I can get by without the tutoring.”
“Do you enjoy the tutoring, Linda?”
“Yeah. It makes my grades better, but I just like to be around you. You treat me like I’m the same as you.”
“But you are the same.”
“No, I’m not. You got choices, and I don’t have any yet.” She smiled then. “But I’m going to have them. I’m going to be able to decide what I want. I’m going to learn to type and use computers. That way, I’ll always be able to get a good job, and I’ll be able to work my way through college.” She paused and looked down at her hands. “I’m not ever going to have any children, and I’m never going on welfare and have people snooping around to check on me. It’s humiliating.”
Good for you, Naomi thought, but she needed to correct her about one thing.
“I’m sure that motherhood has many wonderful rewards,” she told her. “When you fall in love and get married, you may change your mind.”
Indicating what she thought of that advice, Linda pulled on one of her many braids and rolled her eyes disdainfully. “Not me,” she objected, slumping down in the straight-backed chair. “All I have to do is look at my mama and then look at you. There’s never going to be a man smart enough to con me into having a baby. After taking care of all my mama’s babies, I’d have to be touched in the head to have one.”
Naomi didn’t like the trend of the conversation. “You’ll see things differently when you’re older,” she responded, thinking that she would have to teach Linda that life was more enjoyable if you laughed at it sometimes.
“Really?” the girl asked skeptically. “I see you don’t have any kids.” Linda opened her book, effectively ending the discussion. Shocked, and unable to find any other way to get the privacy she needed, Naomi lowered her eyes.
They completed the literature assignment, and as Naomi reflected on Linda’s above-average intelligence, the girl suddenly produced a drawing.
“What do you think of this?” she asked, almost defensively.
Naomi scrutinized it and regarded the girl whose face was haunted with expectancy. “You’ve got good technique, and this piece shows imagination. I like it.”
Linda looked up and smiled wistfully. “I love to paint most of all. It’s one thing nobody can tell me is good or bad, because I always manage to paint exactly what I feel.” As if she had disclosed something that she thought too intimate to tell another person, Linda quickly left the room.
Naomi watched her leave. Crazy about painting and forced to study literature. It was almost like seeing her own youth in someone else, except that she had had all the advantages of upper-middle-class life that Linda lacked. She understood now that her strong attraction to Chuck had partly been escape from loneliness. He had fulfilled her need for the loving affection that she missed at home, and he’d made her feel wanted. Cherished. God forbid that because of a desolate life, Linda should follow in her footsteps, she mused, getting up to replace her teaching aids in the cabinet that held her supplies.
Rufus stole silently away from the open door and, deep in thought, made his way slowly up to the president’s office. He was a board member of Urban Alliance and stopped by One Last Chance to discuss with its president participation in the Alliance’s annual fund-raising gala. He hadn’t known of Naomi’s association with OLC and was surprised to find her there. Certainly, he would not have expected to witness her gently nurturing that young girl. She had empathized totally with the girl, whose background was probably the exact opposite of her own, holding him nearly spellbound. He mounted the creaky spiral staircase whose once-regal Royal Bokhara runners were now threadbare, thinking that perhaps he had misjudged Naomi again. He had gotten the impression from her letters that career and independence were what she cherished most and that, like his ex-wife, she thought of little else and wouldn’t take the time to nurture another human being.
Maybe she was different from what she represented herself to be. She was tender and solicitous with his boys, who were immediately charmed by her. Captivated was more like it. Not because of the ice cream, either; they ate ice cream just about every day. No. It was more. He couldn’t define it any more than he could figure out why she’d had such a powerful impact on him, why she was constantly in his thoughts.
