Should Have Known Better

3

My husband, my college roommate, and I sat stone-faced in a row of white leather chairs along the side of Phil Landon’s sleek glass desk. As we’d been the entire way over to his central dealership in downtown Augusta, we were quiet and trying hard not to look at each other. And I didn’t care. I’d called in sick to come along for the ride that Reginald seemed confident would change his life, but I was in no mood to be a helping hand. I might’ve looked like a helping hand. I might’ve held a pad and pen and vowed to try to ask smart questions at smart times, but I couldn’t lie to myself. I knew Sasha had heard us arguing in the bedroom. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction (and didn’t know why I thought she’d be satisfied) of thinking I’d had an argument with my husband. She had no business being in my house and I needed to take control of the situation. Reginald could’ve spoken to Landon at any time, and on his own. His father had bought three Fords from him before he died. That had to be worth something. So, what was Sasha going to do? She had the big connections and beauty, but she wasn’t necessary. Reginald needed to see that. So, I wanted him to do well. But if he didn’t and it was Sasha’s fault . . . well, it would be her fault.

“So, when does the car come to take you back to Atlanta?” I asked Sasha as pleasantly as I could. We were waiting for Landon to come into the office. His secretary was getting our coffee . . . and Sasha’s espresso.

“Dawn, now’s not the time for that,” Reginald snapped.

“No, it’s fine,” Sasha said. “I have a driver coming later tonight.”

Reginald looked at me and grimaced.

The secretary, a brunette with big green eyes and braces that revealed that she might have been twenty-two, came in juggling four coffee cups in her two hands.

Landon walked in behind her with his hands in his pockets. He looked nervous. Maybe a little tired.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said and his voice boomed through the office in a way that articulated his confidence. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you, Ms. Bellamy.”

“And still, you came,” Sasha said cheerfully, getting up to greet him. “Now, that’s love.”

Reginald and I followed and stood up, too.

The secretary slid the small cups onto a little table beside the desk and curtsied out the door.

“These are my friends,” Sasha said, holding Landon’s elbow as she ushered him toward us. “Dawn and Reginald Johnson.”

“Yes, yes!” Landon said, shaking our hands. His smile was crooked, almost tense. He was a middle-aged white man with hair that was so gray it looked like it had never been any other color. His eyes were blue and his belly was too big for his shirt.

“Great to meet you,” Reginald and I said.

Landon took a sip of his coffee, slid the cup back onto the saucer, and went to take a seat behind his desk. He had one of those Irish Claddagh wedding bands on his ring finger. Two teenage boys with blue eyes and hair just as gray as their father’s were posed in football uniforms in photos on his desk.

“So, what exactly brings you here?” Landon asked Sasha, and I swear I couldn’t tell if his tone was friendly or just serviceable.

“Your favorite color, of course.” Sasha crossed her legs slowly and kicked up her patent leather black stilettos for him to see.

“Black?” Landon said.

“Black coffee,” she nodded at the coffee. “Black shoes.” She nodded at her shoes. “And black pus—”

“Horses!” Landon said quickly before Sasha could continue. He wiped some beads of sweat from his brow.

“Yes, you love black horses, too.” Sasha grinned.

I felt like I was listening to someone’s phone conversation and missing pieces.

“But I don’t have any black horses,” Reginald said, confused.

“You said on the phone that you had business,” Landon pointed out.

“Well, Mr. Landon, I own a small lawn care company. Nothing big. Just me and some fellas I pick up now and again.” Reginald rambled and I could tell that he was nervous. “I been working on lawns my whole life and I was thinking maybe if you can find some work for me—”

“What he’s saying is,” Sasha interrupted him, “he’s the best, so whomever you now have is fired. He has a five-man operation. Two trucks and the latest equipment. People will stop at Landon’s just to touch the green grass.”

Landon nodded.

“And buy a car,” Sasha added. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Hum . . .” Landon sat back. “Tell me, are you two from Atlanta? The South?”