Page 81 of Meet Me on Greenwood

He frowned. "He does not serve Negros." Something about the way he said Negros, like it was a curse, made my heart race. "You should really run along."

The man was finely dressed, obviously a wealthy businessman. I sensed that he could bring about real danger if provoked.

"Gema?" a familiar voice called.

Both of us turned in surprise as Houston opened the door. I stepped away from the man, joining Houston on the steps.

"Did you need something Larry?" he asked the man tucking me behind him.

Larry looked at Houston, then at me. He shook his head. "No. We do not need anything from you anymore. Good luck to you."

Houston nodded. "Good day."

Once the man was across the street, Houston turned back to me. "Come inside. It is not safe for you out here."

As I walked into the practice, he closed the door behind me. A woman with umber skin moved out from behind the curtain. Her eyes fell on me with concern.

"Are you all right, ma’am? Please stay out of Mr. Page’s way. He is a dangerous man."

"I’ll take care of it, Donna," Houston said.

She looked at Houston curiously, but didn’t push. "Very well. Do you want coffee, dear?"

"No, but thank you."

She smiled sweetly before telling Houston, "I’ll let your next patient know you’ll be a few minutes behind."

I followed Houston into what was probably a well-put-together office at some point but was now in the process of becoming a memory. Boxes lined the walls, half filled. The bookshelf behind his desk had been stripped down to its last few volumes.

"Why are you here, Gema?" he asked.

"I saw Lettie at church."

He nodded once, almost disappointed by the revelation. "You heard about my practice."

"Lettie seemed worried." I looked around at the boxes, the bare walls, the careful dismantling of something that had taken him years to build. "Houston, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said quickly, sitting on the edge of his desk, arms folded. "It was always a borrowed thing. I knew that when I took the loan."

"That doesn't make it less devastating for you."

He looked at me for a moment, eyes searching. Was he thinking about our kiss? I thought about it more than I cared to admit.

"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't."

The office settled around us. Outside cars passed by, voices drifting through the glass.

"I’m glad I got to see it before you move out," I said, trying to break the silence. "The man outside didn’t seem to like you."

His face tensed. "No, he doesn’t."

"I think I saw him." I took a breath, knowing I was headed into dangerous territory. "At the Red Pussy Cat. You were playing cards."

He nodded. "Sarah’s father."

"Oh," I said. "I—that must have been your bachelor party, right?"

He didn't answer immediately. Which was its own answer.