Page 25 of Plus One

He’d seen the anti-nausea routine. First, during theology courses and a practicum in the prison infirmary and later in the hospice. But Monique didn’t look ill.

Maurice mentally flipped through a catalog of sick and shut-in visits. Mrs. Gibson, whose cancer had spread, was now in hospice. Chemo had made her skin seem more like a canvas. The intricacies of her vascular system had been painted on her face like an anatomy chart. But Mrs. Gibson was also nearly ninety years old, light-skinned, and rail-thin. Any abnormalities would have shown up immediately.

Maurice shook his head and returned to observing.

Lanie, Tommie, and Sunny were absorbed in a conversation with Deb and Don. Richard focused on his phone.

He settled into the atmosphere that wasn’t exactly quiet but also didn’t disturb him. Monique’s attention was away from the table and on the holiday lighting woven through the ornate curves of the ironwork that surrounded them.

The Turners were the first to rise from the table. Mr. Turner’s hand fixed itself to the base of his wife’s spine in a move that, from Maurice’s vantage point, had been refined through decades of experience. Their rhythm required no verbal cues. They were unmistakably together.

Cassie and Taurion rose next, their movements not as practiced but just as intense. They drifted to the garden. Taurion’s lips brushed Cassie’s hand, inspiring warmth to suffuse her tawny cheeks.

Maurice’s chest tightened.

Taurion pulled out his phone and positioned them for a selfie. Monique rose from her seat, her sleeveless blue wrap dress a fluttering streak of color across the greenery as she walked away from him.

She approached the couple, hand outstretched for the phone. “Let me,” she said, with a genuine smile as she positioned them in front of a cluster of deep green leaves dotted with colorful flowers.

The bodice of her baby-blue dress hugged her upper body and flowed into a soft skirt that skimmed her ankles, where a sparkly adornment caught his attention. Her skin against that dress made Maurice think of spring and resurrection. Rebirth. Candy-coated chocolate.

That thought slammed into him, heating his cheeks, and forcing his eyes downward. But only temporarily. Not watching her wasn’t possible.

He found her again. Sun beamed on her shimmering skin, a pleased smile playing on her lips. Her expression was open as she spoke to Cassie and Taurion. She looked happy and moved in a way that made Maurice’s previous concerns vanish.

“Look at Monie, always with the camera.”

Maurice whipped his attention to Tommie, who now sat beside him. “Where did you come from?” His gaze went back to Monique, who had ventured farther into the garden. Maurice sat taller. Watching.

“Chill, B.” His best friend smiled in a way that was beyond amused.

One thing Maurice had learned in his many, many counseling sessions was to be purposeful with his words, even the ones he never spoke out loud. But his mind was a riot of new information: colors, sensations, sights, tastes, and sounds that he’d never thought to study up on before.

He was at a loss.

Tommie was quiet beside him. “You feeling her?”

Maurice stiffened. What did that even mean? He was too old, too out of practice. And Monique? She lived halfway across the country and had kids and a life that functioned just fine before she met him.

Throughout lunch, the Lanes had oriented themselves toward Monique like a sunflower turning toward the light. And Monique had been gracious. Accepting the attention but not outwardly welcoming it.

Monique put on no show with Cassie and Taurion. They laughed and leaned into each other. Loose and inviting. Real.

Maurice wanted to see what she’d do next.

“It’s cool if you are,” Tommie said with laughter in his voice. “You been studying her like she’s some code you’re trying to crack.” Tommie patted him on the shoulder. “Just… keep an eye out, okay?”

“Of course,” Maurice said on instinct.

“I’m for real, Mo. I”—his voice was almost a whisper—“Monie’s been through some things, and…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know she can take care of herself, but her being here means more to us than you know.”

“Whatever needs to be done, I gotchu.”

“No doubt. But I didn’t ask you here—didn’t ask you to kick it with Monie—to put you to work, my brother. I asked you here to have fun.”

Fun. The time he’d spent at the Lanes before everything went from bad to worse wasfun. But Maurice could only sustain that fantasy for a few hours at a time. Tommie was talking about days. Fun. Him?

Maurice’s watch buzzed with a text alert. Darnel. He picked up his phone and read through the string of text updates about a job opportunity Maurice had been advising him on.