She stopped cold. So did her heart. Eva swung around, David squaring off with Goliath. "Are you threatening me?"
Hostility sparked from her like a live wire. Realizing he'd touch a nerve, Marshall stepped back and switched gears. He needed to proceed very carefully if he wanted to come out of this unscathed.
"Merely stating facts. I believe in you, what you're trying to do here, Eva. I want to make sure the right story is told. Help me."
Aggravated beyond measure, teeth clenched so tight she thought they might crack, she crossed the threshold, and rounded on him again when he moved to follow her inside.
"Back off. For five damn minutes. Back off."
Thankfully he stayed outside, visible in the large street-facing window. Eva made a pointed effort to ignore him as she haggled with the butcher. Ten minutes later she had a couple of beef bones and ham hocks bagged and paid for.
Marshall, of course, was right where she left him.
"What're those for?" he asked as she rejoined him back on the sidewalk, nodding towards her recent purchase.
Eager to get to her car parked only the next street down; Eva tossed a glare over her shoulder. "You're a nosey pain in the ass."
Unapologetic, Marshall lifted his hands. "Journalist."
"Your mom's teaching me to make homemade stock."
His eyes returned to her little buggy. "That's a lot of soup."
"I bought extra." Digging around in her back pocket, she hunted around for her keys, had a small moment of panic before she found them in her jacket tied around her waist. "For the puppies."
"Puppies?"
"Yes. We have three new additions at home." Finally at her car, Eva popped the trunk, drew up short when Marshall moved to help her and warned him off with a glare. Taking the hint, he backed off and reclined against the front fender.
"What did you do?"
"Excuse me?"
"No single parent in their right mind would take on three puppies on a whim unless they're compensating for some perceived wrong. So," he reached into his bag, pulled out a pear and bit into the ripe flesh, "what did you do?"
Stretched to the limits of her patience, Eva drew in slow, deep breaths as she loaded her purchases into the trunk of her car. When she was finished, she slammed the trunk shut and re-joined him on the sidewalk.
"Because I love your sister and have profound respect for your mother, I am going to phrase this as polite and succinctly as possible." She edged closer, until dirt-smeared converse met trendy loafers. "Stay away from me."
"Haven's a small island." Marshall folded his arms, pear dangling from his fingers. "Will be kinda hard to manage that."
"Try. Try really hard."
"Keeping a toe outside of enemy borders isn't really my style." He shot her a toothy grin, laughed in the heat of her frustration. "Come on, Eva. We can be friends, can't we?"
"Sure." She shot up her hands with an aggravated laugh. "Why not? Let's watch girlie flicks, eat ice cream and braid each other's hair. How's tomorrow night?"
"Okay. French braids are cool, but I don't do pigtails." Marshall rubbed a hand across his scruff. "Not with these cheeks."
"I was being sarcastic."
"So was I."
Growling, an inch away from pulling out hair--his--she yanked open the car door, set a hand on the hard top. "I really don't like you."
"Give it a week," he said, nudging her shoulder with his arm. "I have a way of growing on people."
Strolling off with a whistle and a smile, Marshall left her scowling in his wake.
#
Considering his afternoon efforts a success, Marshall decided to squeeze in a visit to his mother. And had his fingers crossed that she would be up to her elbows in pasta dough because he had a serious hankering for some spaghetti. And large juicy meatballs dusted in Parmesan...
Because the weather was gorgeous and the air soft, Marshall left his rental at Ethan's and enjoy the walk over with LeBron to his parents' home. One of the oldest properties on the island it was a pretty little picture nestled on a staggering two-acre lot.
His mother had taken advantage and planted a variety of fruit bearing trees and a sizeable vegetable plot along with her rioting flowers and bushes. As a proud member of the Vancouver Rose Society, she was a Triple Crown winner with her prized roses.
Uncouple the lead from LeBron's collar, he set the loon free in the fenced front yard where the golden blur chased squirrels and snapped at birds. Knowing the spare key was tucked in the small body of the birdhouse hanging on the porch, Marshall let himself in the front door, locking up behind him.
White washed walls dressed in varying sized frames crowded the foyer. Full of smiling memories, celebratory milestones and happy times spanning back as far as a hundred and fifty years. Marshall leaned in to examine his sixth grade graduation picture hung next to his grandparents wedding photo. The faded black and white of 1945 a striking contrast to the sharp colours of the late seventies.
Pushing on through the kitchen at the back of the home, Lottie Davis stood in front of the stove, humming along to Biggie streaming from her iPhone. Setting his bags on the table, Marshall encircled her from behind in a brawny hug. Chin propped atop her head, he sniffed appreciatively.
And nearly drooled at the savoury notes of meat smothered in rich spices. All thoughts of spaghetti were obliterated by the prospect of something new and intoxicating.
"What's for dinner?"
"Lamb stew. A new Bobby Flay recipe I've been keen to try."
"Then I'd like to toss my hat into the pool of willing test subjects."
"You always did have impeccable timing," Lottie chuckled, angling to kiss his cheek and wrinkled her nose at the scratch of facial hair. "When are you going to do something about this? Can hardly see you through all this mess."
"I'll have you know the ladies love a man in a beard. Gives a bit of mystery and intrigue."
Lottie snorted, shaking her head. "Most cases its to hide a weak chin, cleft lip or a boring personality, all of which you don't have."
Marshall laughed at that, moving over to the upper cabinets to fish out shallow bowls to set the kitchen table. "I was at the market. Brought you some of that honey you love. From Bees & Trees."
"Lovely. I could use some in this citrus vinaigrette."
Searching through the bags, Marshall found the jar and brought it over to the counter. "Dad and Jen around?"
"Both out back. Gathering some fresh tomatoes and lettuce for a salad to go with the lamb."
On cue the backdoor swung open and Jenelle, unusually dressed in jeans, stepped in, arms overburdened with goodies from the garden.
"Here, I got it," he said, taking hold of the door for her.
"Why am I not surprised." Smiling, Jenelle joined her mother by the stove, spilling her bounty on to the counter. "Whenever there's food on the stove, Marshall comes knocking."
"Spend six months in the bush eating bugs, roots and the odd critter caught in a snare and you'll develop a strong nose for home cooking, too." Returning to the task of setting the table, he fished out cutlery and glassware, laying them all out as to his mother's precise preference. A duty drummed into him from early childhood mucking about with his siblings.
His mom kept the same dishes and glasses, the cutlery drawer was a hodgepodge of knives and forks and spoons acquired over a lifetime, most of which he could remember from as far back as his mind allowed.
As he set down the forks on the left and the knives on the right, he had an uncanny shift back to an evening where he'd slept under the stars in Nigeria, looking up and thinking about this exact thing. And wondering if he'd live to do this one small thing again? To stand in his mother's kitchen, setting the table.
Something so simple, so menial...so ordinary.
Throat thickening, his hand trembled, and Jenelle's teasing banter faded into obscurity. He turned, looked across to his mother who was watching him in measured silence. A tearful gleam in her eyes that said she had experienced a moment of her own. Linking them. Fusing them in a single second where nothing and no one else existed.
Crossing the room, he gathered her close, held tight and breathed softly in her ear, "I'm home."
A ripple tore through her in a single, jagged sob. And those hands, those strong capable hands of hers clutched him close.
"Aw, thanks you guys." Marshall looked over as Jenelle slid her fingers beneath her eyes, wiping away any evidence she'd ruined her makeup. She might, for a lazy afternoon, give up her expensive threads and heels, but would never, short of cutting off an arm, face a day without mascara.
"Take over for a sec," he said, scooping an arm around his mother's shoulder, leading her out to the back deck where they almost collided with his father. It took one knowing look for Harold to stand aside, lips pressed tight together.
"I'll see to things," he said, and disappeared inside.
"Here, mom." Marshall steered over to the patio seating. With her face buried into his shoulder, he stroked a hand over her short mess of pewter curls, and together rocked as the sunset washed over them.
For a while they were silent, with only the song of birds and breeze to carry the silence. And when finally Lottie cleared her throat and pulled herself straight.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry. I wasn't going to let this happen. I promised myself I wasn't going to let this happen." Very carefully, Lottie swept and dabbed at her face, cleaning up the mess of tears only to have it replaced by new and fresh ones. "Lord help me, it's been months and I thought I had it under control, but then I saw you there. Setting the table and it was so...familiar. Then you stopped, standing so still. And it hit me. Hit me damn hard."
"Mom," he sighed, leaning his brow against hers. Heart aching in his throat.
"No, you can't understand. You can't possibly, Marshall, you're not a parent." She turned to him, her hands gathered in his in his lap. Her eyes devouring his features as if desperate to soak him in. Every nuance and detail. "You haven't held a life in your arms, born from your body. You haven't watched that child grow and take off into the world, or faced the terrifying possibility that something could happen to them. Could still happen to them." When her voice broke, Lottie clamped down until she had control.
"There isn't a day where I don't worry about you all. Not one. But you most of all, because of the dangers you faced for your job. I've always supported you. Encouraged you. Wanted the best for you. And when you were taken, I would lay up at nights and curse myself for my stupidity."
"Mom." He gave their joined hands a squeeze before releasing to rub the smooth skin of her arm. Stroking away that tension and fear. "I never meant to scare you."
"I know. I know you didn't. I told myself I wouldn't make demands, or fault you for wanting to go back, but God how I prayed, Marshall, how I prayed you would walk away. Leave it all behind. And when Jenelle told me about your plans for CTV I thought at long last my prayers had been answered."
Marshall swallowed the lump in his throat and cast his gaze towards the dazzling spectacle of the sunset sweeping across the horizon. The sky a blaze of fire and gold and wrenching beauty.
"Well, nothing's set in stone, mom. No, don't fret," he added when she stiffened at his side. "I'm done with the field. I couldn't go back to all that, even if I wanted to. Not now."
Relief washed over her face, but Lottie said nothing. Only her hands gave her away, clutching at his as if she were afraid he'd disappear before her eyes.
"Do you want this job?" Lottie asked.
"Yes." His answer was swift, immediate, and not without threads of desperation. "Yes, I want it. Need it." Deserve it. "But things aren't so simple. So easy. It's complicated and there's politics," he said, trying not to sound all doom and gloom, so he softened the words with a smile and a wink. "That's why I'm here. Chasing an angle that I hope will show I've got more depth then the old fogies knew I had."
And if he failed? Then what? He'd be washed up. Nothing. A broken thing, discarded and forgotten. Useless. What did he have to offer to the world, if not his ability to capture a story? To weave words and facts, drawing attention and focus, glaring--hot as a spotlight--aimed at the cancer infecting the world?
As an investigative journalist, he'd been the surgeon, cutting it out. Ripping it out at the root. Crushing it into oblivion.
"I've got three months, mom. Three months to make this whole thing play out the way I need it to. Otherwise..." he faltered, then as always, reached for humour to mask his unease. "Otherwise I'll take up a job at Victoria Secrets as an experienced bra fitter."
Lottie tossed her head back with a long, rolling laugh, swatting him with her hands. "Oh you cheeky beggar. I'll bet having you on staff will see a line winging down the block far as the eye could see."
"I'd be insulted if it spanned less than three." They laughed together, mother and son, and Marshall thought, it was a beautiful sound.
Beyond them the door swung open and Jenelle popped her head out. "Dinner's served if you guys are ready to join us."
"Just about," Marshall answered and, with a smile, Jenelle disappeared back inside.
"Before we go in, about Eva," Lottie spoke up, sweeping a hand across his head, brushing back stray lock of burnished gold so she could see him more clearly. "She's a strong woman. Stronger then I think she knows, but she's also delicate." There was worry there, he thought, and something else. Something she wrestled with and eventually reined in.
"Tread carefully, Marshall," she said. "Be gentle with her."