Again by Sharon Cullars

to wade into a sea of black folks. There would have been no way for him to blend in. What had been the guests’ reactions?
    Rhea got up from the bed, put the letters back in the drawer. She turned out the light, got into bed. As she drifted off to sleep, she willed herself to dream about a beautiful ballroom with women in beautiful gowns and distinguished men, all glamoured up in their tuxedos. Instead, she dreamed of groping hands, and someone trying to kiss her, someone with a bad case of halitosis.

C hapter 11
     
    C armen Carvelli sat at the table watching her son take another bite of the mezze pennette . Some people she knew held back on the butter. But she always added extra butter and jumbo shrimp prebasted in white wine, not too much garlic, double the olive oil. That was the way she liked it. Watching David attack the plate, it was obviously the way he liked it, too. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth, and she drew in the nicotine much like a crack addict sucking his pipe, eyes half closed as the smoke invaded her lungs.
    David peeked at her disapprovingly, but he had long ago given up trying to make her stop smoking. If she was going to die of lung cancer, she wasn’t going to fight against luck or providence. She was set in her ways. The only thing she could do was make her monthly confession, do some penance.
    “Aren’t you going to eat something?” he asked, his plate still half full.
    She shrugged. “I ate earlier. I don’t want any more. Go ahead and finish.”
    He had dropped by unexpectantly just as she was about to sit down to her meal. She’d only made enough for one, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. It was enough that he had felt guilty enough to come over. She would keep her hurt to herself.
    David wasn’t a mama’s boy. But he did look after her. His not returning her calls was unlike him, and she knew things were wrong. Things he wouldn’t tell her. She could see it in his coloring. The red was almost blood, tinged with green, a darker green. What was it? Red could mean any number of emotions, but with David, it usually signaled anger. It could also mean passion. When she moved her head slightly, she thought she saw a hint of purple around the edge. Frustration?
    She stood up, walked past him as he ate. Stood over him for a moment to tousle his thick hair. He’d cut it shorter, but it curled nicely around her fingers.
    He looked up, smiled. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for that?”
    She gave him her irritated mama’s face. “It’s a mother’s privilege to touch her child’s hair, no matter how old he thinks he is. So what have you been up to these past weeks?”
    A woman. The flash had told her that much. But it’d been too quick. Not Karen. That had been over for weeks now, thank goodness. Someone darker…black? Hmm.
    “Ma, you’re going to get smoke in my clothes,” he admonished.
    “Sorry.” She walked over to the china cabinet, pretended to sweep away a speck of dust, but instead studied David’s reflection in the glass. His usually genial features were hardened.
    “You haven’t told me why you called,” he looked over at her. She inhaled, turned around.
    “I don’t know. I can’t remember. It’s been so long.”
    “Ma, I told you I was sorry. I forgot to call. I wasn’t avoiding you.”
    “See, people forget,” she said going back to her seat. “If it was important, it’ll come back to me.”
    David put down his fork.
    “I know you’re worried about something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called twice.”
    “I didn’t know my calling would upset you. I’ve just been worried about you, is all.” Then almost beneath her breath, “Your dreams…”
    He fixed her with a stare, his eyes questioning. “Dreams? What are you talking about?” His voice lowered an octave; it always did that when he was upset or threatened. Something sparked from him, shifting his aura. The green was totally suffused in crimson. A dark, menacing