The Foursome

  The Foursome

  Celya Bowers

  Genesis Press, Inc.

  Indigo Love Spectrum

  An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.

  Publishing Company

  Genesis Press, Inc.

  P.O. Box 101

  Columbus, MS 39703

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, Genesis Press, Inc. For information write Genesis Press, Inc., P.O. Box 101, Columbus, MS 39703.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

  Copyright© 2007 Celya Bowers

  ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-565-7

  ISBN-10: 1-58571-565-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition

  Visit us at www.genesis-press.com or call at 1-888-Indigo-1-4-0

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the following people who helped shape me into the person I am and the person I will soon be:

  My mother, Celia Mae Bowers Shaw Kenney, for showing me the light at the end of the dark tunnel. I miss you.

  Mrs. Van Dora Washington who lost the fight to Alzheimer’s in December 2003 and who inspired me to write this novel.

  To a woman who had her own special light, Freddie Faye Johnson-Hill, who lost a valiant fight with cancer in October 2006.

  To Mrs. Winnie Williams, a very special lady, who passed away in March 2007.

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks:

  To my family: Darwyn Tilley, Jeri Murphy, William E. Kenney, Sheila Kenney, Kim Kenney, Shannon Murphy, Rod Kenney, Yolanda Tilley, and Celya Tilley, for keeping me grounded.

  To my readers: Kenneth Portley, Judy Brown, Natasha Swindle, and Melody Alvarado, for your input.

  To my crew: Cherry Elder, Erica Black, Eulanda Bailey, Sharon Hickman-Mahones, Lester Brown, Lisa-Lin Burke, Roslin William, Linda Hodges, Darlene Ramzy, De Andra Garrett, Brandye McCool, Huini Mwangi, Michella Chappell and Annette Freeman, for always having my back.

  To my military connection: Lawrence Leonard (Navy), Brad Northcutt (Air Force), Tom Paine (Air Force), and Justin Thompkins (Navy) for protecting the country at all times.

  To the members of Celya’s Corner: Sherry Ramsey, Stacey Plummer, Gail Coleman-Surles, Janice Coleman, Winston Williams, Veta Holt, Jacoby Stennett, John Brown, Jessica Kenney, Janet Kenney, Sherry Kenney, Elliot Charles, Kimberly Williams, Marnese Elder, Kerry Elder, Lesley Paine, Paula Washington, Mary Thompkins, Mary Bell, and Paula W., thanks for being there for me.

  To my critique group, The Sizzling Sisterhood: Diane O’Brien Kelly, Angela (Cinnamon) Cavener, and Shaunnette Smith, for all your insight.

  If I’ve forgotten anyone, charge it to my head not my heart.

  Peace and Sanity,

  Celya

  PROLOGUE

  Darius Crawford walked into his childhood home expecting to see his newly retired father practicing his golf swing in the living room, as he had every day for the last two years.

  His father had summoned him and his sister Darbi to have dinner. That could only mean bad news. His sister hadn’t made it to the house yet. He heard his father rummaging through his desk in his office.

  “Where did I put that list?” he heard his father say. “I just had it. I must have left it on the…” His father’s sentence drifted into space as he noticed Darius standing in the doorway watching him.

  “Hey, Dad. Can I help you find something?” Darius’s usually calm father had been jittery lately. Another bad sign. Today, he was dressed in a polo shirt and slacks. At least that was normal, Darius thought.

  “No,” came his father’s short reply. “Just wait in the other room.”

  Darius nodded, taking his six-foot-three-inch frame to the living room. Just as he sat down on the comfortable suede sofa, he heard the front door open and close. He smiled as his sister walked in and plopped down beside him.

  “Hey, Darius. What’s up with Dad?” Darbi Crawford asked her older brother. “You think he’s mad because I found my own place?”

  “No, Darbi. You’ve been back almost a year. It was time. I think it’s something else. Besides, when have you known Dad not to speak his mind?”

  She laughed. “True. I called him the other day and he nearly bit my head off. Then he asked me about something that made no sense whatsoever. He asked me about Amos, as if he were still alive.”

  Darius nodded, holding his breath at the mention of his dead brother-in-law. He had noticed his father’s forgetfulness, but hadn’t wanted to say anything. Something was wrong with the strongest man he knew.

  Otis Crawford walked into the living room with a stack of papers in his hand. He sat across from Darius and Darbi in his favorite chair.

  “I know you’re wondering why I asked you here today. I went to the doctor a few days ago for a follow-up to some tests I took a few weeks ago,” he explained.

  “What is it, Dad?” Darius hoped it wasn’t something terminal.

  “Well, I’ve been having some problems remembering things lately. I was supposed to meet the guys for golf and I went to the wrong course. I missed an important luncheon at the senior center and the board meeting at the church. I mentioned this to the doctor at my yearly physical a few months ago and he thought of a few things that could cause it. Dementia, Alzheimer’s, you know, all the things you don’t want to hear. So he ran a few tests.”

  Darius choked the words out. “What is it?”

  Otis looked at his children. “It’s Alzheimer’s,” Otis whispered. “Doc said it’s good that we caught it this early. He said most people don’t realize something is wrong until it’s almost too late to do anything. But with the progress they’ve made with the disease in the last few years, I could live up to twenty years with it. But lifestyle changes will have to be made.”

  Darius’s heart sank at those words. “What kind of changes?”

  Otis stared at his son with sympathetic eyes. “I know you just finished building your house last year and haven’t really gotten used to it yourself, but the doctor suggested that I live with a family member. He also said that eventually I’d need a nurse. I know that house has been your dream for more years than I want to count, but your place is big enough for me and a nurse.”

  Darius nodded, too afraid to say anything. He knew if he opened his mouth the wrong words would come tumbling out. Being the oldest, he should have figured whatever it was would fall on his shoulders. He had just moved into his custom designed five-bedroom house less than a year ago and now his father and nurse would take up an entire wing. Just his rotten luck, he thought.

  His father continued. “I’m selling this house. Between that, my retirement, stocks and bonds, I should have enough to pay for the nurse.”

  Finally, Darius found some courage. “Dad, money isn’t an issue. However…” He let the sentence drop.

  “What is it?” Otis asked impatiently.

  “It’s just that today I was named vice-president of marketing and my workload will increase. I worry about you being there alone with a stranger.” Especially if his father would eventually lose his memory.

  Otis smiled. “Congratulations, Son. I knew that job would one day be yours. Don’t worry about the nurse. The doctor referred me to a reputable agency to find one. Since it’s you
r house, you can interview her when the time comes. But I get final say-so.”

  Twenty years of hard work at Sloane, Hart, and Lagrone had finally paid off for Darius. He was vice-president. This should be the happiest time of his life. But the news of his father’s illness took all the wind out of his sails. He would gladly trade that promotion for his father.

  “Dad, I wouldn’t have it any other way. What do you need from us?” He knew that his father would also have to sell his prized possession, his restored 1969 Corvette. His father loved driving it.

  “Well, I have a few things I need to get in order. I appreciate this. I know this isn’t what you envisioned, but I am grateful.”

  Again Darius nodded. He watched tears slide down his father’s weathered, dark brown face. Darius wished he were strong enough in his manhood to cry.

  “Dad, we can both help you,” Darbi said, wiping her eyes. “I can keep you company during the day and we can do exercises to keep you active.”

  Otis shook his head at his daughter. “I thought we agreed that you were going to give college a try. You’ve been offered a second chance. Don’t let it slip away.”

  “I’d rather stay with you,” Darbi said softly.

  “No. You’re going to enjoy your life. I don’t want you holding no bedside vigil. Is that understood?”

  Darbi nodded. “All right. You win.”

  Darius smiled, albeit sadly. All their lives were about to take a serious change. But how would that fit in with his work schedule?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Six months later

  “It’s time, Cherish. You can do this,” Cherish Murray chanted to herself, grasping the doorknob of her late mother’s room.

  Though her sweet mother had gone to her great reward over nine months ago, Cherish still lacked the courage to sort out her mother’s belongings. The room held so many painful memories. But it was time. She opened the door, sneezing as the dust settled.

  The corner where the hospital bed had stood for over five years was now empty. Slowly and carefully she began going through her mother’s belongings. Each dress told a story of its own: Cherish had gotten the purple dress for her mother to wear on Mother’s Day and the pink one for her 65th birthday, which would have been the coming week.

  She picked up and gently caressed the gold-framed picture of her mother, wiping away the tears as they spilled against the glass. “I wish I could take all those years back, Mama, those years when I thought I didn’t have time to visit. I wish we could have had more time.” She took a deep breath and put the picture in a box of things she’d keep.

  She looked toward the heavens and made a vow. “I will make this up to you, Mama. I know I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, but somehow, someway, I will make this up to you.” She retrieved more clothes from the closet.

  Cherish continued to wipe away tears as she folded dresses and put them in the box marked Shelter. She folded bed jackets, robes, and other items. Soon the box was full. She was just leaving the room when the phone rang.

  She ran to her room to answer it. Her lips curved upward in a smile as she recognized the caller.

  “Hello, sweetie,” said the familiar voice.

  “Hello, Aunt Diane,” Cherish said, sitting on her bed.

  “Have you cleaned out your mother’s room yet? It’s been nine months. Cherish, you can’t blame yourself for the past.”

  “I could have helped her more than I did in the beginning.” Cherish paused. “But to answer your question, yes, I just finished.” She grabbed a Kleenex and wiped her eyes. She heard her aunt talking, but it wasn’t registering. Her mind had floated back to that dreadful day.

  “Cherish, I have Alzheimer’s,” Margaret told her only daughter during her monthly visit.

  “Mama, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Cherish faced her mother, determined not to shed a tear.

  Margaret watched her daughter struggle for control. “When, Cherish? Before or after your report on your job successes?”

  Cherish wanted to say that her job hadn’t taken precedence, but it had. She had noticed her mother hadn’t looked well the last few months, but had said nothing, fearing it might interfere with her life. “How long have you had it?”

  Margaret handed her the latest report from the clinic. “The doctor suggested I either move in with a relative or into an Alzheimer’s nursing home.”

  Cherish quickly scanned the paper, but the words were blurry. “Mama, according to this, you’re in the second phase. How many phases are there?”

  Margaret spoke softly. “There are three.”

  “And you’re at phase two! You’re more than half-way into this mess and now you tell me!” Cherish yelled. Then immediately she said, “I’m sorry, Mama. I wasn’t yelling at you. How have you been getting to the doctor? Your medicines?”

  “Diane.”

  “Aunt Diane took you to the doctor all this time without saying one word to me!”

  Her mother nodded. “I didn’t want to burden you,” she added in a voice that broke Cherish’s heart.

  “Cherish?” Her aunt called her name again louder. “Cherish!”

  She heard her name and realized she’d become lost in the past. “I’m sorry, Auntie, what were you saying?”

  “You can’t change the past. It’s gone. That’s why I called. You can do something about your future. A friend told me about a support class at the college, and I thought about you.”

  “I already have a degree,” Cherish teased her aunt.

  “I know that, smarty. This is a support group. It meets on Wednesday nights. So you have five days to get ready for it.”

  Cherish loved her only aunt dearly. Even though she knew that her aunt meant well, Diane Prudehome sometimes overstepped the boundaries of being an aunt. “Auntie, I’m fine. I’ve been working on my designs really hard. I have been thinking about other things besides Mama.”

  Cherish tried to speak confidently, so her aunt wouldn’t worry about her so much. “It’s a slow process for me. You know she was both mother and father to me. So it’s like I lost both parents at once. She worked two jobs to put me through college.”

  “Cherish, she was my sister and I miss her too. This group is for the children of Alzheimer’s patients. You spent the last five years of your life helping with your mother’s care. Luckily, you were able to work from your home, but now you have to start living. It will be good for you to know other survivors. Call me and tell me how it goes.”

  Cherish looked at the receiver as it hummed at her. She knew she had to go to that class or her aunt would hound her until she did. At least she had a few days to get used to the idea. She walked into her large bathroom and looked at her face in the mirror. Her usually blemish-free honey brown skin was a little spotty. It had been a long nine months and her grief had taken the form of acne. As she stood there, she heard the annoying beep of her fax machine in the background, her cue to return to work. She walked briskly to her office down the hall.

  * * *

  “Hey, Mr. Vice-president. I got something for you.” Curran Fitzgerald sauntered into his friend’s office. He yawned as he put a folded piece of paper on the desk and sat in the chair, grunting like a man of eighty.

  Darius smiled at his friend. He loved hearing the term vice-president. And because he was the first African-American to be promoted to executive status, he was very proud. His friend Curry was Irish-American, with curly dark blonde hair and hazel eyes women just went nuts for. “Rough night? I told you Tamara was too young for you.” Darius spoke of the redhead who had been occupying Curry’s nights lately.

  Curry smiled tiredly, then yawned again. “I was the victim of a moshing.” He expelled an exhausted breath.

  “And that is what?”

  “That is a group of young people who don’t have a day job, jumping around like they are crazy.” He yawned again, leaning back in the leather chair.

  “Was it really worth it?” Darius already knew the answer, but
wanted his free-spirited friend to finally admit chasing those young girls left him empty.

  “No. I woke up this morning on my couch and had to crawl upstairs. I had to take some muscle relaxers just to get dressed for work.”

  “When are you going to date someone closer to your age? Those young girls see a guy with money and that’s all. Curry, you deserve better.”

  That statement brought Curry erect in the chair. He let out a dramatic sigh and shoved a flier toward his friend so he would stop talking. “I know, Darius. I’m just having fun.”

  Darius nodded, knowing his friend did not like discussing the fact that he dated so many different young women, unlike Darius, who rarely dated. The outcome was still the same: loneliness. He turned his attention to the flier. “What’s this, Curry? You know I’ve got a meeting this afternoon.”

  “I know you have a meeting, I do too. Remember, I’m the director of advertising. My friend Sean is hosting a class I thought you might want to attend.” Curry ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign he was uncomfortable discussing the subject at hand. “It’s called ‘Children of Alzheimer’s Patients: How to Cope with Your Parents and Not Feel Guilty.’ Sean says it’s an awesome class for adult children having to take care of a parent.”

  Darius opened the flier and read the information. Now it was his turn to let out a dramatic sigh. He didn’t like discussing his father’s illness. His father had been living with him for only three months, and he both resented it and felt guilty for resenting it. “Thanks for the concern, Curry, but I don’t know about this.” Darius hesitated. It would be nice to talk to others in his position, but he kept envisioning those Alcoholics Anonymous meetings that he had seen on TV. My name is Darius Crawford. My father has Alzheimer’s and I feel guilty about him living with me.

  Curry smiled as Darius weakened. “Dare, you should go, it will help. It will kind of give you a heads up on the disease. I know ever since your father announced he has Alzheimer’s you’ve been frightened because you don’t know anything about it. This way you can learn right along with him. You probably should ask the rest of your family to go as well. Has the nurse moved in yet?”