2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Keyshaun

I paused once I was out of sight of the Purple Lantern to steady my racing heart. I rested my ass against the corner of Williams Wellness, willing my half-hard dick to calm the hell down.

Cradling a bag of food, I blew out a long breath to calm my ass. Tanner LaBrie did things to me.

That man was everything I found desirable in a man, plus a few things I didn't know I liked until I saw them on Tanner. Like his Hawaiian shirts. Cute. So cute. And so sexy when the first few buttons were open, offering a tease of thick, dark chest hair. I bet that hair grew in density as it spread out over his chest and belly. To hell with a treasure trail. That man probably had a treasure road that led to a big, fat—

"You plan on bringing that food inside anytime soon, or am I supposed to drop my wide ass to the curb to eat my lunch?"

My sister stood beside me, her dark brown eyes narrowed. Oops. I'd done the unthinkable. I'd delayed her feeding.

"Sorry, I got winded."

She looked down the street and then back at me. "Winded. From walking five hundred feet. You."

Dammit. I was a terrible liar. Out of the three of us triplets, my poker face was the absolute worst, which was why my mother always came to me when we were kids and someone had done something bad. Mama knew Key was the one to interrogate. Not that the interrogations lasted long. Generally, I would fib terribly, then Mama would call me on it, and I would crack like a rotten walnut and spill the beans. Or nuts, I guess.

"Toting all this food is a cardio workout all in itself," I parried and got the Jemetta Williams death glare. She lifted the bag from my fingers.

"You try carrying around two hungry human beings inside your body for nine months before sounding off on the amount of food it takes to sustain three."

"Sorry," I whispered and got a curt nod. I loved my sister, truly and deeply as I did my other triplet, Ornell, the eldest of our trio by exactly nine minutes. Etta was the middle, and I was the youngest. And the most special Mama would whisper to me when the other two weren't around. Course she told my siblings they were the most special when I wasn't there, so it all worked out. "I forgot Mama's warning."

Etta sniffed and rolled her eyes in the way that kids do over their parent's words of wisdom when they pertain to said child.

"Mama says all kinds of things."

"Most are dead on," I replied, leading my grumpy and exhausted-looking sister back into the air-conditioned gym. A gym, I was pleased to say, that was thumping. Every machine was in use, the boxing ring held a couple of guys sparring, and the yoga/aerobic walking room was filled with seniors getting some cardio work in for the day. I loved the senior groups most of all. I noted my uncle Devon in there, sweating, his Black bald head shiny. "She should know about carrying babies. She carried three."

Etta waved me off before pushing into the sunny office to find a seat behind the desk and flop as well as a woman toting twins could flop.

"I know, and she's been a lot of help, but Lord does she have to be right all the damn time?" Etta asked while opening the brown tote bag to scope out the takeout containers. "Did you get something for yourself?"

"Yeah, some chicken and rice with a side of broccoli," I replied as I sat in one of two seats facing our desk. All three of us Williams kids used it as we were all partners in Williams Wellness. "Did you hear from Ornell about the last offer we made on the space in Buffalo?" She pulled out a white box, opened it, and passed it to me. She had dark bags under her eyes, her usually neat bright yellow hair that she took such pride in was showing some black roots, and her quick smile hadn't shown itself in some time. "You look really tired. I'm not sure you should lead any more classes. What does your doctor have to say?"

"She says that I could do yoga if I do a gentle flow, but Lionel thinks I should just chill for the final month." I bobbed my head in agreement as I took another box, this one with steamed broccoli. Her boyfriend Lionel was a smart man. I agreed with him wholly. Now we just had to convince Etta to start easing back. Not an easy task. She, like Ornell and myself, is a worker. Mama liked to say we overworked, like our father, and see where that got him in the end.

The pulsating sound of music from the senior walk group leeched through the wall and set my head to bopping along to a Beatles remix that really got the BPM rising. Shauna, a new hire, was leading the group today, but I planned to take it over from here on out. I enjoyed working with the seniors in the neighborhood. Getting folks into shape, no matter their age, was what got me out of bed in the morning. Seeing older people stepping it out, stretching it out, or jogging it out helped ease a little of the pain of seeing my father die at the age of 54 from a heart attack.

Yes, he knew smoking was bad for him. Yes, he knew African Americans had a 30 percent higher chance of dying from heart disease than White folks. Yes, he knew he had to work harder to keep his sugar in check. He knew because my mother, brother, sister, and I had told him all of this, yet he smoked steadily, ate fried foods, and refused to do any kind of cardio exercise. His passing at such a young age, leaving Mama to feed and clothe three sixteen-year-olds, was a real rough road for the four of us. It had lit a fire in me to do my best to try to get people over fifty-five to realize that they could get healthier if they gave it a tiny bit of effort. There is no age limit to changing your lifestyle. A good diet, exercise, and a positive outlook worked wonders. You could lower your cholesterol, your blood pressure, and your glucose levels with smart food choices, regular heart-healthy workouts, and a winning outlook. I'd failed my father, but I could do my level best to help others live longer.

Dad had missed out on so much. He never saw his kids graduate high school. He never saw us open our first gym. He'd never hold his twin grandsons. It broke my heart, but it kept that fire burning in my gut. His brother Devon had been on the same path but losing his elder sibling had opened his eyes to how important taking care of yourself truly was.

Uncle Devon had stepped up big to help shoulder the burden until the three of us had moved out. Etta had gone to a local community college in Elmira to get her certification in yoga, reflexology, and massage. Ornell grabbed a degree in business from Penn State and is using it now to expand our gyms. I joined the Army and saw the world while learning to be a dietician with a GI Bill. I also had some success with boxing while in the service, so I trained a few locals who had dreams of being the next Rocky Balboa.

"Hey, you want your chicken?"

I snapped back to my sister. "Thanks, yeah, I was thinking about Dad."

Etta grew sad instantly. She had always been my father's little princess and his loss, while devastating to us all, had nearly crippled her.

"I wish he were here to see these two when they make their debut," she softly said, rubbing at the huge stomach hidden under a pink maternity top.

"Yeah, me too." There wasn't much else to say. We all missed him daily, Mom most of all, but we had pushed on as best we could. "He'd be proud of us."

"Well, let's be honest, he'd be confused as hell about us. He'd wonder why I was making babies with a White man after I'd dated a Hispanic woman for two years, why Ornell had a girlfriend who used to be a man, and why you came out of the Army gay as a daisy."

"I went into the Army gay as a daisy," I corrected as I opened my dish of sweet and sour chicken and inhaled the aroma of one of my favorite foods.

"He didn't know that, though. When he passed none of us had come out as bi, pan, or gay, and so he probably figured we were all straight arrows like him." She dove into her shrimp with the kind of hungry ferocity one usually only saw from hyenas at a fresh kill. "Damn, this is so good! I swear…" She paused to swallow, her hand coming up to shield her mouth. "This is the best thing ever after jalapeno poppers dipped in Lionel's comeback sauce."

"Those kids are going to come out sweating," I tossed out. That got a weary giggle from her. "So Ornell? Any word from him?"

"Mm, just a short text. Said the owner of the space was dickering about our latest offer, but Ornell is positive he'll settle soon." She held out a shrimp. I shook my head. "Coward."

I sighed as I chewed some perfectly steamed broccoli. "I'll have to reach out to him and see if there's a plan B in case this guy won't take our offer."

"Ornell always has a plan B, so you can relax."

Yeah, he did, which was why he was our expansion man. The three of us had dreams. Williams Wellness Centers all along the east coast. A new house for our mother. A fishing boat for Uncle Devon. Upward mobility for us and our sig others. Well, sig others for my siblings. I went home to an empty apartment in a new community that overlooked Seneca Lake. My place was nice, with lots of room and a gorgeous view. I'd moved in just six months ago and loved the neighbors. It was just…

Well, kind of lonely.

"If they go for the offer, then I'm going to—"

"You'll stay put and let Ornell handle it. We're short-staffed already and I've not officially taken my maternity leave yet. So just chill and let him do what he does best, and you do what you do best."

I picked up a floret and froze. "And what exactly is it that you feel I do best?"

"Charm the customers, lead the senior groups, and help me put up more pickled eggs."

Lord, oh Lord, help us all. "You have four dozen jars of pickled eggs on your shelves in the pantry as we speak, Jemetta. If you pickle one more egg, I will personally take your pickling license away."

She snorted then sighed. "I need help. This nesting thing is real, brother."

"Put something else into jars." I took a bite of broccoli as a new ABBA tune floated into our little oasis of personal space. The seniors loved songs from the 60s, 70s, and 80s.

"Oh you know what? I think Mama's rhubarb is ready. Lionel can do something on the grill. Or do you have a date?"

No, no, I do not have a date. I wished I had a date, preferably with a big, bad hockey player whose shyness and pretty hazel eyes called to me day and night.

"Sure, yeah, I can do rhubarb."

Might as well. There was nothing of note happening in my personal life unless hosing down the patio was now considered a big night on the town.

***

Pulling into the narrow driveway at my mother's house in Horseheads, I sat in my car and exhaled out a day's worth of stress. It was major crunch time at the gym. Etta had one week to go of part-time hours, and then she was done, Ornell was in Buffalo, and the hiring process had pushed me to my limits. I'd read over thirty applications and not one had any kind of schooling to be a personal trainer. No, Tina, showing your workouts on IG did not a certified PT make, but thanks for the links to your account. Ugh. I dropped my brow on the steering wheel. I still had the books to do tonight. With Ornell out of town for the foreseeable future, that odious job fell to me. I loathed it. But our bookkeeper, a skinny woman named Irene, had been nipping at my heels like a demented Schnauzer for days now.

The linen company I used for towels had gone on strike at noon, so I'd been stuck at the local laundromat washing towels that other people had sweated on until well after seven at night. Six to seven. Thirteen hours at the gym smiling at customers who bickered over the increase in our dues I'd instituted last week. Honestly, my peeps, I raised the weekly costs a dollar. One buck. My fees were already low compared to the dues the gyms in, say, Corning and the other larger towns in the area were pulling. One measly dollar. I know times are tough all over, but I have to keep the lights on, pay the staff, and wash stinking sweat towels at the Sudsy Suds when all I wanted was to go home.

"Whiner," I mumbled to myself as I channeled all the Zen vibes I could muster. Oh yes, and starting next week, unless I can find a yoga instructor with credentials, I'd be unrolling the mat for the biweekly sessions. Hopefully, Ornell will be back soon. He could take the Senior Sneakers jogging group out on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday mornings. Ornell lacked yoga training. I'd just completed mine four months ago, driving all the way out to Penn Yan to a yoga school. Two hundred hours of training crammed into ten weekends. But now I could handle Etta's classes until she could return. Also, it is something that I use now every evening just to de-stress. Lord knows I needed a way to unwind. So yeah, long ass day and it wasn't over yet.

The only bright spot in a long day had been seeing Tanner at lunch. He looked good, considering he'd just gone under the knife. His eyes were bright, and his cheeks—what I could see of them—were pink with good health. His brother was a riot, the exact opposite of his sibling. Maybe I should reach out to Tanner to offer some personal training when he has progressed enough to return to the gym.

Or maybe you should let his team work with him? He is a professional athlete.

Right, yes, he was, and I was being creepy. The sound of a lawnmower firing off nearby pulled me from my daydreams of spotting for a sweaty, grunting Tanner LaBrie. Uncle Devon wheeled my mother's push mower out of her shed, waved at me, and began mowing the grass. I climbed out of my Subaru, inhaled the scent of fresh-cut grass, and made my way into the 50s-style rancher where I'd grown up. The flowerbeds were tidy, and a small rainbow flag sticker was proudly displayed in the front bow window. Once inside, the smell of something delicious cooking led me through the lived-in house to the kitchen in the back. Mama was at the stove in a summer dress that bared her arms, her silver-and-black curls held back with a green and yellow hair wrap to match her dress.

"Hey, pretty lady," I called as I entered. She smiled at me and tapped her cheek. I gave her a hug and a kiss right where she had indicated. "What's in the pot?"

"Corn soup." That was on track. My mother made soup at least once a week, no matter how hot or cold it was. I made a yummy sound and released her. "Hand me that pepper." I plucked the shaker from the square table in the corner for her. "You here for rhubarb?"

"Yeah, Etta wants to put some up." I yawned as I made my way to the coffee pot which was always filled with rich dark roast. "She's going to have to rent a storage unit just for her canned goods."

Mama laughed softly as she sprinkled. "Nothing wrong with getting food laid in for the lean times."

I found my blue mug with the Army logo in the cupboard over the toaster and poured myself some coffee.

"You sound like Ma Walton," I teased as I stirred in a spoonful of sweetener.

"You're not too old for me to paddle you with this spoon," she said, which always made me snicker. My mother had never raised a hand, spoon, slipper, or flip-flop to her three kids. She didn't have to. We knew if we crossed the line, we'd be scolded and grounded. Then we'd have to deal with Uncle Devon lecturing us on being hooligans while our sainted mother slaved away to feed her ungrateful brood.

"I'll behave," I quickly said and got a wink. "Your coffee is the best in the county."

"Oh sure, try to sweet talk your way out of a spooning."

I ambled over, yawned into my coffee, and felt her studying me as I stared out the jalouse window over her old sink. Someday, soon I hoped, we'd get her a bigger house with new windows, a larger garden, and a view of the lake. That's our plan. Hers, I know, was to have them haul her out of this rundown house in a body bag. Her words, not mine. I preferred not to think about her passing. I wasn't ready to lose another parent any time soon.

"You look tired. You work too hard, Keyshaun," she said as she placed her spoon on the watermelon slice spoon rest sitting between the burners. Mama did love fruit motifs. Her curtains were fruity, her tablecloths fruity, and her salt and pepper shakers were fruity.

"No recourse for it, Mama. The place is booming and new hires are hard to find. Now with Etta taking her leave and Ornell being out trying to nail down that location for gym number two, I'm doing what I have to do."

"I'm more than willing to come in during the day to sign in people," she offered yet again. "It would be fun. I miss seeing people."

I pondered on it for longer than I should have. We kids were happy to see Mama retire last year. She'd worked two jobs for close to forty years. Now that we were settled and prospering, we'd pushed for her to slow down, and she did. Begrudgingly. But maybe a few hours over a couple of days a week would be good for her. She did have mad receptionist skills as that had been her day job at the big medical center over in Corning for years.

"Are you sure you want to work again?"

"Yes, I would love to hang out with all the young people and admire all the buff guys."

"Mama."

"What? I'm not dead. I like to look."

"Okay, let me see what Etta and Ornell think."

"Fine, if that makes you feel better."

"It does. And thank you." I pecked her cheek once more, drained my coffee, and headed out back to the rhubarb patch, a plastic dish and a sharp knife in hand.

Uncle Devon's mower had stalled out front. Probably one of the neighbors had come over to jaw a bit. It was a close-knit community, filled with working-class folks of every color and religion. Mama loved it here, but the crime rate was not where we kids liked, and her living alone worried us deeply. Kneeling in the newly mowed lawn, I began harvesting the pinkish-red stalks, flicking snails away when I would discover them, and just enjoying the satisfaction that came from growing your own food. Well, Mama had grown it. She and Dad had started this patch when we'd just been infants. Now it fed her, us, and half the neighborhood. My phone buzzed with a new text when I was just about done. Checking it I saw it was my sister enquiring where I was and if I had rhubarb.

Lord you are bossy. Yes, I have rhubarb. Does Lionel have steaks on the grill? ~ Key

He does. They're almost ready. ~ Jemetta

Nice. Give me twenty to wash up. ~ Key

Don't forget the rhubarb. ~ Jemetta

As if I dared. Maybe I could take some home and make a pie. Not that I was great shakes at baking and pie wasn't exactly the most nutritious food, but every once in a while we had to treat ourselves. And since I couldn't drop a dollop of whipped cream on top of Tanner LaBrie, pie would have to do.