Read Under His Wings for Free Online

and a future that gleamed bright and
wide open. She refused to muddle it up with imaginary scenarios and paranoia.
    She’d been granted a second chance and she would grab it by
the tail.
    Even if it bit her in the ass during the ride.
    * * * * *
    “See? I told you we would have a good time,” Resa boasted
hours later as they left Paulo’s. She stumbled and Tamar grabbed her arm,
bracing the inebriated teacher. Her left leg protested at the additional
burden, but Tamar kept ahold of the blonde until she regained her footing.
    “Oops!” Resa giggled, and then broke out in a surprisingly
in-tune rendition of Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee from Grease .
Tamar bit back a smile. Her friend had taken the get-stinkin’-drunk-off-your-ass
part of their celebration to heart, downing beers like they were on the
endangered species list.
    Good thing Resa was a happy drunk.
    “Watch your step,” Tamar said, her tone as dry as the June
night. Or her blood alcohol level. She and another teacher had stuck to a
two-beer limit, had been designated the “sobriety crew” and assumed the
responsibility of hauling Resa and the other two women who had joined them
home. Since Resa lived in Tamar’s direction, she’d volunteered to pour the
cheerful blonde into bed and carry her back to the restaurant in the morning to
pick up her car.
    As Resa neared the finish of her musical number, unease
skipped down Tamar’s back. She’d walked this same stretch of sidewalk many
times over the years and yet her gaze bounced around them as she guided her
friend down the street. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her
shoulder. Of course she glimpsed nothing but empty sidewalk. But this didn’t
end the eerie sensation of being watched.
    Long shadows stretched across the uneven cement, casting the
night in a murky gloom reminiscent of a B-horror movie. She was only half-black
but that part more than qualified her as a candidate for being killed off first
by a machete-wielding maniac.
    God, she hated the dark.
    “I wanted to be on Broadway.” Resa slung her arm around
Tamar’s waist and leaned her head on Tamar’s shoulder. “I was the star of the
drama club during high school in Boston. My goal was to major in theatre in
college, but my parents wouldn’t allow it.” Her voice dropped several octaves,
imitating her parents Tamar assumed. “We have scholars in this family, not
vaudeville entertainers.” Resa sighed and Tamar flinched, the alcohol fumes
enough to knock out an elephant. Resa’s head became a heavier load as she
slumped more of her weight on Tamar. Oblivious, the teacher continued her
lament, her tone returning to its normal lighter notes. “So I majored in
education and minored in theatre. But I still think about what if I’d followed
my dream. What if I hadn’t let fear and my parents’ dictates hold me back?”
    Resa stopped, drawing Tamar to a faltering halt. The
slightly weaving blonde tossed her shoulders back, stretched her arms out wide
as if she were a diva stepping onto a dim stage with a single spotlight beaming
down on her. She threw her head back and opened her mouth wide. “Summerti-i-ime
and the livin’ is easy… Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is hi-i-igh…”
    She belted out Summertime from Porgy and Bess in a rich alto. Which was pretty funny considering the opera was about a black
man living in the Charleston, South Carolina, slums. But hey, the girl had a
voice on her. The things a person found out about their friends when they were
three sheets to the wind.
    Resa ended her performance with a sloppy bow that almost had
her face-planting on the sidewalk. “Do you think I could have made it, Tamar?”
    “Definitely,” Tamar assured, taking Resa’s hand. “You have a
beautiful voice. Really. I’m surprised, actually.”
    The other woman beamed. “Aw thanks.” She swung their clasped
hands back and forth between them as if they were two grade-school girls.
“That’s the nicest thing