Page 85 of When Love Takes Root

He tapped the domino table twice. “Siah.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You hear Wallace lying on me?”

“I hear him making a compelling argument.”

Granddaddy’s eyes narrowed. “Compelling?”

Juice leaned forward. “You know Siah got to use graduate-level words before three o’clock, or his head hurt.”

“I’m saying Mr. Wallace might have a point.”

“My own blood,” Granddaddy muttered. “Sat right here and chose betrayal.”

Mr. Wallace slapped the table. “That boy got sense.”

“That boy needs a wife,” Granddaddy said, turning on me so fast I almost laughed before his eyes finished finding my face. “Where my damn grandbabies at?”

Juice lost whatever sense he had left.

I dropped my head and rubbed my beard because I knew better than to let that man see too much amusement. “Granddaddy, I have to find a wife first.”

He squinted at me, studying my face with the same attention he used to give breaker panels. The man could walk into a room, hear one flicker, smell one heated wire, and tell you where the danger had been hiding before the wall ever came open. Apparently, age hadn’t stolen that either, because one look at me had him smiling like he had located a short in my spirit.

“Hell, you sitting over there looking all sweet-eyed and tender like I used to do when your granny walked into the room. You sure you haven’t found her already?”

The laugh came before I could stop it, but it didn’t have anywhere to hide once it left me. It sat there between us, warm and guilty, telling on me harder than my mouth ever would.

“I hope so.”

Granddaddy’s smile crept in slow. “There it is.”

Juice sat up. “Wait a minute. Granddaddy got a read?”

I gave him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m receiving revelation.”

Granddaddy tapped the table again. “Who is she?”

I looked toward the lobby because my body knew before my mind caught up.

Celeste Coleman stood near the activities desk with a tote over her shoulder, speaking to one of the staff members. She wore a green blouse tucked into black slacks, gold hoops at her ears, and her red-and-brown locs falling down her back like autumn had learned how to behave. She wasn’t dressed for attention. She didn’t need to be. Some women walked in, and the room adjusted because it recognized value before anybody announced it.

My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Last night flashed through me in fragments. Her hand close to mine, near a sweating margarita glass. Her eyes wet when she talked about the mail still coming in Jamal’s name. The way she looked at me when I told her I wanted marriage, like my honesty had knocked on a door she didn’t know whether to open. Her voice asking if I was paying attention. My own heart answering before my mouth did.

Yes, ma’am. I am.

Granddaddy watched me watching her.

Juice went still beside me, which meant he heard what I hadn’t dressed up. Granddaddy heard it too. Men like him didn’t need a full sermon when truth walked in wearing one sentence.

Celeste didn’t see me at first. She signed in, greeted Tasha at the desk, then turned toward the activity room. She stopped when her eyes found us. Just for a breath. Just long enough for recognition to pass over her face before she gathered herself and moved on.

She didn’t come over.