Touch of Fate

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“Gullah?”

Max nodded. “It’s a popular language in the sea islands of the south. Slaves from the Sea Islands of South Carolina and northern Georgia were brought to America largely from different communities on the Rice Coast of West Africa. They spoke many different languages, so in order to communicate with each other they combined the similarities of their language with the English they learned and formed the unique Gullah language.”

“Wow, I never knew that.”

“Most people don’t. I didn’t until I started researching the island of Hilton Head. It has a rich history in our rise from slavery, one I’m thinking we should preserve.”

“You’re probably right.”

“What other ideas do you have for Sandy Pines?”

There were already plates set on the table, good china, he surmised by looking at it closely. The glasses were most likely crystal, both in an older-looking pattern, that meant they’d been in this house and in his family for a while. It was certainly something to see firsthand some of what his ancestors had accomplished. Most people of African American descent didn’t even know from where they came, let alone the opportunity to sit at a table that a great-grandfather had probably used.

“Right now I’m just getting a feel for the place, for the island. I think there’s more here than history has told.”

“I think you might be right,” she agreed just before Dalila came back in.

“You Alma’s boy. Same lukkha her,” Dalila said, putting bowls on the table and smiling over at Max.

“You know my mother?” he asked.

Dalila nodded her head, her silver-streaked hair not moving at all as it was pulled back so tight into a bun. She wore a long dark skirt and crisp white blouse. No apron, no uniform, just clothes, understated but neat. There was an air of authority about Dalila, a no-nonsense aura that radiated from her. And there was knowledge. Max could see in her eyes that this woman had seen a lot, experienced a lot. And, yet, she was still standing. He both admired and envied her that.

“Alma was a good girl. Came here in the summer with her parents. Then wit’ her chillun. Two boys. Max and Ben. Strong names she give you.”

Max barely remembered their summer visits here. Now, he was embarrassed by that fact.

“Right,” he said as a way of agreeing but not admitting. “Are you the only one left working here?”

He’d seen a groundsman around when he’d checked in and of course there was the young lady that had taken all his information and his credit card the minute he’d walked through the doors. But in the three days since he’d been here he hadn’t seen anyone else.

“Old Juno takes care the outside. Me and Chiniya, Juno’s girl, we take care of the inside. Don’t need nobody else, don’t get more’n two or three here a month.

You from the city too?” she asked, moving closer to Deena.

“Ah, yes. I’m from New York.”

“Hm-hmm,” Dalila said, crossing long arms over her ample breasts. “Need to take time out. Go to town, take ‘em wid you. Attuh you eat.”

As fast as she’d come in, Dalila left. Deena hummed happily, lifting a bowl and scooping potato salad onto her plate.

“What are you so happy about? She didn’t have much to say to you.”

Passing him the bowl she said, “I think she did. I mean, I don’t think it’s actually the words but what lies in between that she said. She thinks we work too much, don’t take time to enjoy the scenery enough, wants us to go exploring after we eat. I’m with that.”

Shaking his head, Max put potato salad on his plate, picked up a piece of fried chicken and put that on his plate too. For somebody who didn’t know what the Gullah language was a few minutes ago, Deena sure had understood Dalila well. And she’d called him perceptive? No, Max was sure that Deena Lakefield saw more and deciphered more than anyone gave her credit for. Just another fascinating attribute that made her … what was she to him? Special? Unique?

He didn’t quite know, but planned to find out.

“Tell me more about your family?” he asked while they ate.

“Not much to tell. Monica’s my oldest sister but she thinks she’s my mother. She’s controlling and rigid in what she thinks is right. But I love her anyway.”

“It’s like that with family. We don’t have to always like them, but we love them. What about your other sister? She can’t be that bad.”

Deena shook her head. “Oh, no. Karena’s great. She had a hard time last year when she hooked up with Sam because she didn’t think she could be in a relationship and have a successful career. But she’s gotten over that.”

“Sam’s a good guy. He’ll treat her right,” Max said, not really wanting to talk about relationships, but acknowledging that it was probably going to be a little hard to skirt around that issue.

“What’s your family like? There are a lot of Donovans, I hear.”

“There are. My uncle actually lives in Dallas but all three of his kids have left home. His wife died years ago so we always think he’s alone, but he says he’s just fine.”

“Alone doesn’t always mean lonely,” she pointed out. “Some people just like to be by themselves. I think they can still lead normal lives that way.”

“I agree,” Max said because sometimes he felt more like his Uncle Albert than he was ready to admit.

“Do you like to be alone?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love hanging with my cousins. We have a great time together. And I like our family gatherings. But there are times I just need to be alone. You know, with my thoughts and stuff.”

“You look like a thinker,” she said before taking a sip of her lemonade. “Like there’s a lot on your mind that you’re trying to sort out.”

“It just seems easier to work things out that way.”

“I’m the exact opposite,” she told him. “I like to talk.” Then she chuckled. “I guess you can tell that already.”

He smiled. “It’s okay. I just figured you had a lot to say.”

“All the time,” she added. “My mother said I’ve been talking since birth. I don’t believe that but I was the first of her children to talk and walk. Like I’ve always had someplace I wanted to be or something to do.”

“And you’re on your way there with your writing?”

She sighed. “I love writing. It’s like having the chance to escape into my own little world. I really enjoy the freedom and the expression. I believe this was my calling. Despite all the other things I’ve tried.”

“Other things like what?” He wasn’t sure but thought it might be a little dangerous asking this question.

“Hmm, let’s see. I did a few months as a video dancer. Then I thought I might like acting. Those didn’t really turn out to be my thing. I like to be in the spotlight somewhat. But the thought of people staring at me and my body shaking all the time wasn’t very appealing. I tried catering, because I love to cook. But that required a little more organization than I could manage.”

“You sound like quite the entrepreneur.”

“I guess. But this is it, writing is the one. I have a really content feeling with this, a satisfaction all those other careers didn’t give me. Monica calls me scatterbrained because I’ve moved from one thing to another for so long.”

He put his fork down, seeing again that as much as she acted like it didn’t bother her, what her family thought of her and said to her really affected her. “I don’t think that makes you scatterbrained. If more people took the time to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives, the dropout rate in college wouldn’t be so high. Companies wouldn’t have an increased turnaround in staffing. Careers are big decisions and not everyone is born knowing what it is they want to do.” “Were you?”

He shook his head. “Actually, I studied engineering in college, thinking I’d build bridges or something like that. Who knew I’d get into sales and renovations. But, like you with writing, there’s a satisfaction in what I do that I don’t think I’d get from doing anything else.”

“And your parents were fine with that?” she asked, still with doubt.

“I think parents just want what’s best for their kids throughout their entire life. The problem is, what’s best is not always what the parent sees. But it’s okay, Deena, you don’t have to walk anybody’s path but your own. I’m sure your family will come around when they see how happy you are with your writing career.”

“I hope so,” she said but Max could tell she wasn’t convinced.

That was unfortunate. One thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t like this melancholy and doubting Deena. He liked her smiling and talking. So he’d just have to keep her mind on things beside her family and their thoughts about her career.

Right after lunch, after Dalila’s second directive to do so, Max and Deena headed to Shelter Cove. Max drove the car he’d rented upon his arrival while Deena plotted their course using the map she’d gotten from her travel agent. What they both noticed first about their drive was that it was a little difficult spotting signage to help guide their way. According to town regulations, signage was limited in order to promote the island’s natural beauty.

“We’re lost,” Deena said after they’d passed the same spot on US 278 three times.

“I am not lost. I have a GPS right here,” Max said, tapping the dashboard. “And you have a map right there.”

“And we’re lost,” she reiterated. Why men could never admit this was beyond her.

“Shelter Cove is just around this bend.”

“You mean the bend we’ve been around three times already?”

He shot her an annoying glance and she smiled sweetly. “Why don’t we stop at that gas station and ask directions?”

“Because I’m not lost,” he said, stubbornly driving past said gas station.

A half hour passed and Deena had let her map slip to the floor. She knew they were lost, it was just about waiting until Max would admit it. So instead she turned on the radio, flipping past several stations. An oldie but goodie was on a station she passed and she hurriedly flipped it back. Luther Vandross’s “A House Is Not a Home” played and Deena sang along.

For a while Max listened to her slightly off-key voice. This song had been an all-time favorite for him but he didn’t say that. In fact, he didn’t say a word, just let her sing until the song was finished.

“I take it you like that song.”

“What? Are you kidding? Who doesn’t like Luther and his many love ballads? Many of his songs have inspired some pretty hot love scenes in my stories.”

“Really? You need Luther to inspire you to write love scenes? What about personal experience?”

“I have that, too. But nothing compares to Luther.”

Was she always so open? Each time he asked her a question, she answered him. Never once did she hesitate. Max was used to women being calculating, manipulative, their every response practiced and designed to lead to what they ultimately wanted. He didn’t get that impression from Deena. She just said whatever was on her mind. He wondered if that was a good or bad thing.

“Okay, you win,” he said finally.

“I win what?”

“We’re lost.”

Deena laughed. “No, you’re lost. I’ve just been waiting for you to realize it.”

He couldn’t be angry; her laughter was contagious. The mood was light. Being with her, pleasant. He decided to go with it.

Living in New York and Las Vegas, both of them were fairly used to shopping at high-end stores. When they’d finally reached Shelter Cove they were both in awe of the specialty shops like De Gullah Creations and Blue Parrot. Deena happily picked up souvenirs for both her sisters and her mother.

“Not getting your father anything?” he asked as they stepped up to the counter to pay.

“He wouldn’t be interested in anything here,” she answered quickly. “My father is very stern and very shrewd. He frowns upon what he calls frivolous spending.”

Max nodded, pulling his wallet out of his pocket on instinct as the clerk gave Deena a total. “So he’s tight?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. I guess he just wants to hold on to what he has.”

“A closed fist never receives anything,” Max said, extending his arm to give the clerk his credit card. “My mother used to tell me that when I was young.”

“Oh. No, you don’t have to do that,” she said, pushing Max’s hand away from the clerk. “I have money.” She was digging through her purse for her wallet.

“It’s okay. I want to pay for it.”

“But you don’t have to. I can pay for my own things.”

The clerk looked from one of them to the other, huffing impatiently.

“Deena,” Max said, putting a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. I’ll pay for the items.” He sensed she was about to say something else so he continued, “You can buy me a soda and snack when we leave. I’m still hungry.”

Reluctantly she put her wallet away, frowning up at him. “I’ll buy you a snack and whatever else I decide to purchase, Mr. Donovan.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she was the one to stop him this time. “I know. Max.”

With another of her sugary smiles she took her bag and walked out of the store.

“Independent woman, huh?” the clerk asked.

“I guess so,” was Max’s reply. “Independent and sexy as hell.”

Chapter 4

Meeting a guy in the middle of the night then letting him kiss her senseless on the beach the next morning wasn’t out of the ordinary for Deena. The impulsiveness of the situation actually lived up to her reputation. Still, she had a good feeling about Max Donovan and she always trusted her gut. That’s something her father taught her that she actually took to heart.

Now she was getting dressed to go to dinner with him. They’d shopped and toured the island all afternoon. Max needed to get a feel for the scenery to help him with the project he was doing for his mother. She just wanted to see the island, maybe get some ideas for her book. But mostly, she just didn’t want her time with him to end, so she’d tagged along. Tonight was special, different. It was their first date.