Frank took a step, bringing them within inches of each other. “Call me Frank instead of Francis.”
Now Justine was confused. “But you introduced yourself as Francis.”
He angled his head. “That’s because I was trying to be formal. Only my mother calls me Francis.”
“Formal is boring,” Justine countered, smiling. “I put a chicken in the oven before you arrived, so it should almost be ready in about a half hour. I’ve already made the mac and cheese that will also go in the oven.”
Frank unbuttoned the cuffs to his shirt and rolled them over his wrists. “Do you cook like this every day?”
“During the winter months, I cook enough to last for at least three or four days, and when I come home, I just have to reheat dishes. It’s different during the spring and summer, because having the oven on for so many hours heats up the entire apartment.”
“I meant to tell you that your sweet potato pie was delicious. I thank you, and my mother thanks you.”
“The next time I bake pies, I’ll make certain to make one for you.”
“Be careful, Justine.”
“Of what?”
“Spoiling me. Then, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
She smiled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Justine didn’t want to think of interacting with Francis other than his picking up Kenny and dropping him back home. She appreciated him buying the typewriter and interceding between her and Norman. He wanted friendship, and that’s what she would offer and nothing beyond that. And the nothing wasn’t about his race. It was about his gender. She didn’t trust men, and she could not afford to become involved with one until Kenny went off to college.
CHAPTER14
“How many words do you type a minute?” Frank asked Justine as he stood behind her, watching her fingers fly over the keys in a motion almost too quick for his eyes to follow as words filled the blank sheet of paper.
The space she had set up as her office also doubled as a sewing room. A sewing machine sat on a corner table, and several baskets filled with fabric were lined up against one wall. Reams of paper, a tape recorder, steno pads, and a cup with different-colored pencils were neatly stacked on the top of a two-drawer file cabinet. He glanced over at the books packed tightly onto shelves in several bookcases. Lacy curtains and the windowsill lined with plants had added a feminine touch to the room.
Justine’s hands stilled. “The last time I was tested, it was over seventy-five.”
“How long ago was that?”
She glanced up over her shoulder at him. “It was when I was in secretarial school. I enrolled after graduating high school.”
Frank hunkered down next to the desk, his head level withJustine’s. “Had you planned on becoming a secretary?” She smiled and shook her head, and he noticed an elusive dimple in her left cheek.
“No. I’d planned to go to college to become a teacher.”
“What happened to make you change your plans?” he asked softly, unable to stop staring at her.
“I wanted to start a family after graduating college, but fate intervened when I lost my husband two months after we were married, and then I discovered I was pregnant with his child.”
Frank closed his eyes for several seconds as he’d tried imagining the trauma Justine had had to go through knowing she would have to raise her child alone. “How did he die?”
Justine lowered her eyes. “He was shot during an attempted robbery. He’d spent a year in the Korean War without being wounded only to come home and have someone shoot him in the head for seven dollars.” She paused and met Frank’s eyes. “That’s all his life was worth—seven stinking dollars.”
Frank placed his hand over hers and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Seven million wouldn’t be enough for a human life.”
Sighing, she forced a smile. “Enough talk about death and dying. I did promise to feed you, so let’s go into the kitchen.”
Justine could not believe she felt as comfortable as she did with Francis D’Allesandro as he sat across the table in her kitchen sharing an early dinner. He was so easy to talk to that she felt as if she’d known him for years, rather than a few hours.
“Why haven’t you remarried?” he asked her after swallowing a mouthful of macaroni and cheese.
She stared at him over the rim of her iced tea glass. “I didn’t want some man believing he was doing me a favor by marrying me and that he felt he could discipline my son where it would become abusive. I’ve never had to hit Kenny, but that’snot to say I don’t punish him when he does something wrong.” Justine took a sip of the tea. “You know all about me, but I know nothing about you.”
