Our Home Sweet Home

OUR HOME SWEET HOME

Unpredicted Romances 2

Johnny Dragona

She finally found a home, but can she stay there without falling in love?

A sixteen-year-old, African-American girl loses her mother and has to fend for herself in New York City’s Hell’s Kitchen. Then things get worse.

A high school dropout lures Wanda to his apartment under the guise of wanting to introduce her to his mother. Knowing Mom wasn’t home, he takes advantage of Wanda. Nine months later, she gives birth to a fair-skinned daughter and has to leave school to take a job while a neighbor watches her child.

Stalking, harassing, threatening, Jeff Parker continues to make trouble for Wanda over a period of several years. Unable to find gainful employment, she is forced to live in, and leave, one homeless shelter after another, often to get away from him. Jobs are also lost when sexually exploiting employers attempt to seduce Wanda and make her life difficult.

Wanda moves to New Jersey and meets a White, blind widower who has been raising a daughter on his own. But the paths they take while trying to ignore the building, mutual desire each has for the other, touch many more than two people. Can Jim bury the memories of his late wife? Can Wanda shed her fear of men?

Reader Advisory: Contains violence, hard language, including those of a racial nature, and some descriptions of sex.

OUR HOME SWEET HOME

Unpredicted Romances 2

JOHNNY DRAGONA

WWW.LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM

LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

OUR HOME SWEET HOME

Unpredicted Romances 2

Copyright © April 2015 Johnny Dragona

ISBN: 978-1-910397-72-5

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademark status and the following trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction:

Thunderbird

Styrofoam

Chapter One

Mommy, I’m cold. Is it almost time yet? an eight-year-old girl solemnly asked through chattering teeth. Walking in a state of near exhaustion, she was wearing plastic bags over poorly fitting shoes and kept her trembling fists clenched in pockets that afforded no warmth. A thick head of long, brown hair made a futile attempt to keep her ears from numbing, while an oversized coat that someone had thrown into a garbage barrel draped her undernourished body.

The bitter, February wind whistled through leafless trees and swept that dark and deserted, New Jersey street, sadistically biting all who dared to venture outdoors. Only days earlier, the snow had cleared, but more had been forecast. While other people in that neighborhood were appreciating the warmth of their homes on an evening like that, a mother and her daughter had to continue walking.

No, honey, a desperate voice responded with an understanding, yet forced warmth. We have to wait until the people go to sleep.

Her cheeks stained with tears from the cold, the woman was also shivering. She had often wanted to just lie down on a sidewalk and embrace the peace and tranquility of that often welcomed eternal sleep.

As with other nights, they would find a warm basement in an apartment house. If they weren’t discovered, Cindy would stay there during the next day while her mother would look for work. It was no life for a child. But what other was there? Nor was it a life for such an attractive, young woman.

Wouldn’t it be better just to give up? No. Wanda would not have her daughter in a foster home, not after what had happened to other children she’d known while they were living with what the social workers had called nice families. Wanda Jenkins would rather raise her daughter alone.

Realizing it had been about two years since that tragic day, Cindy squeezed her mother’s forearm. Do you think we can find another home of our own again someday?

A gust of wind blew Wanda’s matted, black hair against her face. The once silky strands were no longer lustrous as they had been before their world had seemingly come to an end. Stopping to pull it away with bony fingers, she spoke affectionately. As soon as I get another job, baby. But where was she going to find work? What skills did Wanda Jenkins have?

They were oblivious to the man who was standing at the curb several feet ahead of them while waiting for his dog to finish his business on that exceptionally raw evening. Nor did they know he had been listening to their conversation.

Excuse me, he interrupted them with a soft, inquisitive voice. Not knowing if he’d assumed correctly, the man hesitated before reluctantly asking, Are you homeless? What a tragedy if they are. Why should people have to live like that? With all of the sadness on his mind, he was lucky after all.

Yes, Wanda reflexively responded with a cracking voice while turning her head to look back at him. The cold was too unbearable, and her thin coat didn’t help at all.

Being homeless had always been a painful thing to admit. It just wasn’t fair. But why had she even acknowledged such an embarrassment to a total stranger since that hadn’t been any of his business? Suddenly annoyed, she grabbed Cindy’s arm to hurry her away.

Have you eaten anything today? His heart wrenched at the thought of people in their position. Maybe there was some way he could help them.

Wanda, who had begun moving away, stopped walking although not knowing why. Her first hope was he would feed them. But should she trust him? Would he be like that other man who had invited them into his home—the one who tried to force her to have sex with him and threw them out after midnight because she had shown no interest in doing that?

We had breakfast at a Salvation Army. But we were too late for supper.

If only that job interview hadn’t taken so long. She had to sit and wait while the interviewer spent a half hour talking to a friend on the telephone about their skiing trip in two weeks. By the time the interview was over, the Salvation Army’s kitchen was closed.

The mistrust in her voice couldn’t be disguised. Why had she even bothered to tell the man that? When he said nothing, she put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder to guide her onward.

But the child didn’t want to move for some reason.

There had been a hint of fear in her voice the man couldn’t help but notice. He had seen homeless people on the television news and could only imagine the problems they must have. Many of them were drug addicts; some belonged in mental institutions. Others were just down on their luck. Nevertheless, this woman has a little girl. And her kid said she was cold. They’re both cold and hungry.

Wait, he said urgently. My daughter and I didn’t finish what I made for dinner. Why don’t you come in and get warmed up? Perhaps it was better to assure her they wouldn’t be alone. The news was full of sickos, rapists and murderers. It seemed that people were no longer safe, whether in their homes or on the streets.

The guy has a daughter. He probably won’t try anything funny. The building next to them was a one-family house. Most likely, he doesn’t live alone in it. The pain in her shoulders and neck, caused by the chilling wind, was the worse she had ever felt. And Cindy’s entire body was trembling. Wanda accepted the invitation but stayed a safe distance behind him while they stepped onto the porch.

Glancing at a small plaque on the inside vestibule door that read Home Sweet Home, Wanda wanted to smile. But she was too cold to do so. Her mind shifted back to a faded sign on a door in New York City. Behind it, she could always expect to find a warm, loving mother. But that had been so long ago.

* * *

The man put a cup of hot chocolate in front of Cindy a few minutes later and introduced himself as Jim Adamo.

Wanda told him their names and thanked him. She also thanked him on behalf of her daughter, who was still too numb from the cold to speak.

Smiling warmly, Jim emptied the contents of a plastic container into a saucepan and adjusted the flame to medium by gently blowing and listening to its fluttering sound. How do you like your coffee? he asked.

I’ll take it any way. Wanda shook off a chill and rubbed her hands together, despite the warmth in that cozy room.

Noticing how efficiently the man moved around, she knew he was no stranger to a kitchen like many men were. The table, counters and stove were spotless. There were no dishes in the sink or on the drain board. Even the curtains were clean and seemed to have been recently hung. And the highly polished cabinet doors gleamed. There was definitely a female touch in the house.

Yeah, but how do you like it? his soft, almost teasing voice asked again. Jim suspected it had been some time since she had enjoyed the luxury of being fussy about anything.

He wondered how long they had been living in shelters for the homeless. What must life in those places be like? But the woman had said something about waiting for the people to go to sleep. What had she meant by that? Was the little girl born in a shelter? The mother seems so young. Is this just another kid who got into trouble? Jim guessed that under her tired, old sounding voice there was a kid of about eighteen. No, can’t be. The girl sounds as if she’s about seven or eight.

Sniffy, go and lay down, he gently told the German shepherd whose tail was happily banging against one of the chair legs. He had apparently decided to examine the stranger to see if she was acceptable company for his master.

Wanda slowly relaxed to the pleasant atmosphere in that comfortable home while petting the dog. Guess your protector is checking me out.

The well-groomed dog curled into a corner. But his alert, brown eyes never left the newcomers.

Continuing the role of host, Jim placed a cup of coffee into the microwave oven, pressed a few buttons, gave the stew a quick stir, and took the milk from the refrigerator. Then he slid his hand back and forth across a shelf over the sink while mumbling something.

Wanda, who had warmed a bit and was opening her lightweight jacket, watched him curiously. What are you looking for? she asked a moment later.

The sugar bowl, Jim said almost inaudibly and realized he’d forgotten to tell her something.

Still unaware of what was going on, Wanda pointed a finger. It’s on the next shelf up. There’s definitely something wrong here. A strange sensation running through her, she suddenly felt an eerie chill. She considered grabbing Cindy and running from that house. He might be on drugs.

Ah hah, Jim sighed triumphantly while closing a hand around the highly polished, silver sugar bowl. Jess must have put it back in the wrong place. He turned to face her and smiled apologetically. I forgot to tell you. I’m blind.

A dawning light flashing awake, Wanda’s heart melted. That would account for his compassion. Only a person who knows problems can understand someone else’s grief.

Her mind instantly moved in a different direction. She had met people who were blind in homeless shelters. But some of them couldn’t even dress or shave themselves. Some even had to be fed. No way does this guy seem blind, or work around the kitchen like those people. He’s even cleanly shaved and has unstained clothes.

When Jim placed an empty cup for himself on the counter, she impulsively stood. Want me to pour it for you? Their seemingly independent host might still need help, even though he appeared to be quite self-sufficient.

Jim turned to face her again and smiled. His voice was gentle while his words left no doubt as to his ability. No thanks. I’m quite capable of handling a job like this.

A hint of well disguised sarcasm went unnoticed by Wanda. When she sat again, her momentary mental anguish over whether she had done the right thing was interrupted by the appearance of a pretty, twelve-year-old girl.

Jessica had been reading in bed and wondered who was talking with her father. A wrinkle free, pale-pink robe was closed to the next to the top button while long, golden locks were hanging over the fronts of her shoulders. Her blue eyes were bright, not dull like Cindy’s had become.

Hi, love, Jim said. This is Wanda and Cindy. While his daughter was smiling warmly at the little girl, he continued. They’re going to be staying tonight.

Hi, Cindy said and smiled, showing the first trace of warmth, or any emotion, since they had entered the house. Although the thought of going out into the cold again had been preoccupying her mind, she had missed Jim’s last statement.

Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. They couldn’t impose like that. But why not? It seems perfectly safe here. And it’ll only be for one night. For tonight, there won’t be any dirty cellar, no having to find a corner for Cindy and me to relieve ourselves and then having to sleep with the stench of urine. If his wife would agree, they would be able to sleep in comfort for at least one night.

When Wanda offered no argument, Jim continued talking to his daughter. See if you have some pajamas that’ll fit Cindy. Wanda can wear something of Mommy’s.

Wanda had to think about that. But where is his wife? How come she hasn’t joined us? Is she going to like the idea of a strange woman in her house?

They can sleep on the sofa bed. There was no way he was going to let those nice people go out in the cold again. Jim had some connections in town. Social Services can help them get settled. And Wanda will need a job.

Jessica’s eyes dulled at the thought of someone wearing her mother’s clothes. But the idea of having another girl in the house turned her frown into a thoughtful, yet almost imperceptible, smile. Maybe her father should let them stay. She had heard of homeless people and guessed, by the condition of their clothing, that was the case with them. Imagine not having a home. Did the little girl’s father die?

* * *

After Wanda and Cindy finished the pot of stew and a loaf of French bread with something they hadn’t had in a long time, real butter, Jim offered them a hot shower and a change of clothes. Then he ushered Wanda to the living room to show her the sofa bed while Cindy and Jessica continued talking in the kitchen.

Wanda stared at the large picture over the mantle. In it, Jim was wearing a tuxedo. Next to him was a beautiful woman with long, blonde hair who was dressed in a white gown. Your wedding picture is beautiful, she said. Where’s your wife? she asked thoughtfully with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

Even when she was younger than Cindy, Wanda had often dreamed about getting married in a white gown someday. Her mother hadn’t been married. But she had wanted to do so with all of her heart. Unfortunately, things hadn’t worked out that way for her either.

Jim blinked away the tears that suddenly welled in his eyes. How well he remembered that day. Susan walked down the aisle toward him looking like a princess in a fairy tale. Although only visually impaired then, he had been able to see her beautiful face. They loved each other so deeply. And when Jessica had been born a year later, they had even more to live for.

She died about a year ago… His voice cracking, he had to swallow to continue. It was in an automobile accident. She was Christmas shopping.

Jim momentarily relived that horrible evening. When he picked up the telephone, knowing in his heart there had been a problem, chills ran through his body even before the police officer had begun speaking. It was a friend of his who broke the news. Jim wanted to die, too, if only to be with Susan. But there was Jessica to consider. With no mother, she would need a father who could play both roles.

With a renewed heartache that had only been shallowly suppressed and always ready to surface, Jim also mentally recalled silently standing next to his sleeping child’s bed for what seemed like a long time.

* * *

Jessica suddenly started stirring and whimpering. That beautiful, little angel was having a nightmare.

When she sat up and blinked her eyes, Jim dropped to his knees along side of her bed. I’m here, baby, he whispered, seemingly void of all emotion. Daddy is here, he said while embracing his daughter as if wanting to prevent life from escaping her, too. Daddy will always be here for you.

Daddy…? she began sleepily. I had a bad dream about Mommy. Where is she?

Tears flowed from Jim’s eyes and dripped onto her trembling shoulders. Mommy…had an accident, honey. He couldn’t say the word, died. How could he tell that sweet child she would never see her mother again?

Jessica gasped and looked at him through widened eyes. Is she okay, Daddy? She saw him crying and suddenly knew her mother was not okay.

Holding her shoulders tightly as if to give his daughter the courage he didn’t feel in himself, Jim spoke softly. Jess, she’s not okay, baby. She…died.

Embracing, frightened, father and daughter cried together, off and on, long into the night. Neither would be able to sleep; neither knew what was going to happen next. Their world had fallen apart. But they would have to put it back together and go on living. Susan was dead. Her memory, however, would remain with them forever. And no one would ever replace her. Jim made that vow that night, never to be broken.

* * *

I’m sorry, Wanda said softly. Her heart aching for him, she wanted to reach up and wipe the tears that threatened to fall from his eyelids maternalistically. But she decided not to. What else could a person say in a situation like that? It seemed that she and Cindy weren’t the only people in the world who had problems.

Swallowing to compose herself, she looked back at the picture and spoke as if talking to herself. You must have loved her very much.

Thank you, he whispered. I did love her very much. And Jim knew he could never love another woman as much as he had loved Susan. I guess I still love her, his almost inaudible whisper added.

Wanda looked at him and again at the picture. He was still as handsome as he had been back then—the same black, wavy hair, warm hazel eyes, broad shoulders and athletic physique. And despite what she considered his problem, there was an air of self-confidence about him. Jim certainly wasn’t handicapped, nor did his house and his daughter look as if he couldn’t take care of them.

After opening the sofa bed and taking a blanket and two pillows from a closet in the front room, Jim extended a hand. Come, he said and walked her back toward the kitchen while lightly holding her frail forearm.

Wanda’s arm tensed when they reached the basement door in the hallway. It had been in a basement that a so-called nice person had tried to force her to have sex with him.

Detecting her resistance and suspecting what could possibly be going through the woman’s mind, Jim spoke softly. Don’t worry. I just want to show you something.

Wanda reluctantly agreed and followed him down the stairs.

* * *

After they walked through the laundry room at the rear of the basement, Jim opened another door and put the light on.

Wanda followed him into the room and gasped. Upper and lower pipes that stretched across one long side of the eight by ten-foot room were crowded with dresses, slacks, blouses and pants suits. Sweaters lined the short wall opposite the entrance, while a pipe on the other long wall held coats and jackets. It was like a clothing store to her—a closet that held more clothes than she had ever owned in her life.

You sound like you’re about her height. About five, seven?

Wanda silently nodded and then realized what she had done. Oh! I’m sorry, she said shyly. Yes I am. But—

It’ll be okay, Jim interrupted her and smiled warmly. I’m sure Susan wouldn’t mind if you picked something out. In fact, she probably would have insisted on it.

Jim had often gone to that room during the past year. The scent of Susan’s clothes made it feel as though she were still alive. Even now, he felt her agreeing with him.

Wanda had mixed feelings. Even though he was being so nice to her, she couldn’t stay there. Jim had told his daughter they would be staying for the night. But what if he asks her to stay longer? They couldn’t do that.

Having passed through that neighborhood before, Wanda suspected there could be a problem for him. Jim…? she began. You’re very kind. And I can certainly use a new outfit. That shopping bag I have upstairs contains all of our belongings. But I can’t stay here after tonight, if that’s what you’re thinking.

Jim was confused and mildly hurt. You’re safe, Wanda. I wouldn’t—

That’s not it, she politely interrupted. Your neighbors… What would they say? I guess you don’t know I’m Black.

Grunting a laugh, Jim exhaled a sigh of relief. Well, I did detect a slight trace of a dialect. He had noticed but hadn’t given any thought to that causing a problem. Jim hadn’t been thinking of proposing marriage to her. Wanda and her daughter could just stay there until she got a job.

Wanda gasped and crossed her arms. I do not speak with a Black dialect, she protested with a slight intonation of mock defiance in her voice. Tilting her head back and sniffing sharply, she projected an attitude of natural sophistication.

"Well, you may not sound like Aunt Jemima or say you is, he teased her and chuckled. But you still don’t talk like a honky. He thought for a moment before adding something. Your daughter would have fooled me though. But you? You is what you is, sweetie." The broad smile on his lips was pleasant enough to warm her.

Knowing he was only teasing her, Wanda giggled. Cindy has very fair skin. Her father has blond hair and blue eyes. Her usually soft voice hardened to betray a hint of disgust. In fact, she has a few of his facial features. She hoped there wouldn’t be any questions about her daughter’s father.

Noticing the tone in her voice had changed, Jim decided not to pursue the issue of the girl’s parentage.

Well… He sounded tired. This door is always unlocked. Why don’t you take a shower and relax with your daughter for a while? I get up at five o’clock, so I’m heading for bed. Flipping up the crystal on his wristwatch, he laid a finger on its hands and grunted. I didn’t realize it was almost midnight.