Love Knows No Color Pt. 26

Our marriage and family relationship continued to evolve as the children grew older. While we both loved all the children, and they loved us, the bonds grew stronger between certain pairs. For example, Brittany and Shavonda had grown very close. And Ethan, while he was also close to Shavonda, felt I could do no wrong. Miracle also gravitated towards me more than her mother, spending as much time as she could toddling around me. I suspect that she was a little mad at Shavonda, who had been weaning her. Miracle was now drinking a lot of juice in bottles, and milk as well. We'd gotten her to drink cow's milk about a month back, and Shavonda had cut back on mother's milk even in bottles. TO be honest, at this point, I was probably drinking more of Shavonda's milk than the baby, and weaning me was going to be far more difficult.

One manifestation of our evolving family was our inclusion of the kids when we did the festivals this year. During the Ren fest, we had taken turns keeping the older children busy during the day. Even Tamika helped. She loved the kids as much as we did, and now that she was married was trying for one of her own.

But the real treat for them came at the Bedford Fall Festival. There were rides set up, and booths that sold cotton candy and funnel cakes. For them, it was like a trip to the amusement park. We had them the second weekend of the festival, and took their favorite toys with us. Between rides, they would play in the booth, much to the delight of the customers. Our sales those two days were significantly higher than the previous week when they weren't there. We chalked it up to the area.

Bedford was pure, conservative, small town America, a mountain town where family values mattered. And our family, while interracial, was obviously a happy one.

For the kids, especially Ethan, the highlight of the trip were the races at night. Though the nights were cold, the kids didn't complain as the cars raced around the track at the fairgrounds. Afterwards, Ethan decided he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up.

With the festivals finally out of the way, our nomadic life returned to normal. We had a little breathing room now, with no more shows until the train show the weekend of Shavonda's birthday in November. The only thing we had planned during this period was Shavonda's long promised guest spot during church services.

The week after the festival, on Wednesday, Reverend Frazier showed up with the choir director and the church organist and drummer, to discuss Shavonda's performance. Since Kenny and Edie were also there, along with the rest of the crew for train night, we decided to put on a performance for everybody, so they could see exactly what we did. Shavonda had insisted that if she was going to sing for the church, she wanted me playing bass too.

Everybody gathered in the game room, and the four of us played a short set for them. Edie had, by now, acquired a tambourine and was providing us with what little percussion we used. She also sang many of our songs, but tonight since they were here about Shavonda, Edie sang backup. The only song we did that Shavonda didn't sing lead on was 'Love will tear us apart again.' As usual I sang that one. We'd included it because it showcased my bass more than most other songs. We also included 'Save Me' which had become Shavonda's signature song, and a couple others that showcased her formidable skills. Saving the best for last, we played the song we'd learned in anticipation of her performing it for the church, Macy Gray's 'I Can't Wait to Meet You.'

The songs went over well, especially the Macy Gray one, and with a better understanding of what we did we held a planning meeting with the church members as Kenny dispatched the trains in the other room. The Reverend had brought a copy of the planned service to the meeting, which detailed the hymns planned for the service. But he said he'd have to change that and include the Macy Gray song. The choir director agreed, and we set up a rehearsal with the full choir for Friday evening, with Saturday optional if we needed more preparation.

At the rehearsal, the drummer approached us. He'd been impressed by what we did, especially how we'd played the songs without a drummer. He liked the way I used the bass to play the drum parts as well as the bassline. We invited him to play with us some time, because we were all curious what we'd sound like with a drummer.

We managed to work 'I Can't Wait to Meet You' into the service, as it was a song about Jesus. With this as with all the songs Shavonda was to sing, the choir provided backing vocals, while I added the bass that was missing from the usual church services. While we did pretty well on Friday night, we wound up getting together Saturday afternoon to polish our performance. All in all, I was amazed how well we fit in with the choir and musicians. The two of us filled in some bare spots in the choir's sound. The best part was that since the church routinely recorded the services, and made them available to those who couldn't attend, we'd finally be recorded.

Saturday evening, we interviewed and hired two more people for the store, both female. Shavonda was totally serious about opening the third store, and had placed an ad looking for people who had a strong interest in African studies. The new store would be dedicated to items that celebrated her rich heritage, and we wanted people who understood the significance of the items in the store, who could explain their significance to others, and who could provide input on other items of interest. They were to start next week, Carmella training in Shadyside under Velma, and Dominique training in South Side under Tamika.

Shavonda had signed a lease on a store front in Penn Hills, not far from where we lived. She intended to pull stock from the other stores to starts with, and had also ordered quite a few books that were appropriate. We'd also decided on a selection of CDs. Music was a fixture in all the stores, with each one having a selection recommended by the employees. Since we had some pretty eclectic tastes among us, the cd racks contained music difficult to find elsewhere. For the new store, we'd concentrate on music by black artists, everything from Leadbelly and Muddy Waters to Jill Scott and Kanye West, by way of Aretha Franklin, Funkadelic and Tracy Chapman. In other words, the music celebrated the contributions of the musicians regardless of style.

We were shooting for a mid-November opening, just in time for the Christmas shopping season. Shavonda's hope was that sales would be enough to get us through the winter without too much of a loss. Unlike the other two stores, this one would not be selling items we and the employees handmade. Thus, our startup costs were much higher, though the cost of the lease was much lower than either of the other storefronts.

The plan was for Shavonda spend her time at the new store working with the new hires, and Nykole would be a floating manager who would rotate through the stores covering the other managers off days. The stores had always been staffed with two people whenever possible. Shavonda just didn't feel right about having others staffing the stores alone. None of the stores had ever been held up, but Shavonda felt that if they were having a second person there would add a margin of safety.

Shavonda's performance in church went well. In fact, she was a hit. I played along in the background, watching James, Althea, Barbara and the kids in the front row. Even though the kids were at their grandmother's house for the weekend, and Barbara was Catholic, Brittany had talked her into coming to see us in our little AME church.

After the service, we were surrounded by a crowd of people commenting on Shavonda's performance. Quite a few also commented on my bass [laying as well. I had tried to give the hymns a funky feel that complimented them.

But what really stood out to me was Barbara herself, and her comfort with the congregation. I'd mentioned it before but now I was certain: this woman was comfortable with black folks. Most white people, when put in a situation where they are in the minority, tend to become anxious. Their body language betrays their unease. Not Barbara. She was enjoying herself, totally at ease as though she'd know these people all her life.

On Tuesday, I heard from the Kenjerski family. I had a long talk with Mrs. Kenjerski about the situation with Shavonda, and she agreed to talk to her. We agreed for her to visit on Friday evening after Shavonda got home from work.

The next morning, I arrived at work to find my truck with a crushed cab sitting off to the side, and a rental tractor, complete with long distance cab, coupled to my trailer. I retrieved my cooler from the wreckage of my truck and got on the road. That evening, Nick told the night shift had tried to lift 20-foot rebar over my trailer. Why I don't know. It made no sense to me. The ends of the bundle caught the roof of the trailer, putting a long tear in it, and slipped off the forklift. One ton of rebar fell on the roof of my truck. It was going to be a long time until it got fixed, if ever. The company hadn't yet determined what they wanted to do, other than suspend the forklift driver for a few days.

That night, Shavonda was mentioning how she needed some "mountain therapy" so I told her to take the next day off. Since the rental had no drive cam, nobody would know if she rode along with me.

The next morning, we left the kids with Althea, and Shavonda snuck into the passenger side door of the truck when I went to get my paperwork. Nobody was around, nobody saw her. She spread out a bedsheet and blanket on the mattress in the back of the cab, and took a nap while I strapped down my load. We were on our way by 4:30 am.

Clearfield was the first stop. As I pulled away from the dock at Lowes, I pointed to an empty Dr Pepper bottle in the trash bag and asked her, "Do you know why they call these pop bottles?" She shook her head no. "I'll show you," As I stopped the truck to close the trailer doors, I wedged the bottle between the dual wheels on the tractor, just behind where Shavonda was sitting. "Roll down your window and listen."

As we picked up speed on the highway, the bottle bounced around between the tires, finally wedging itself between them, cap poking from between the tires. It slapped the road on every revolution, making a pop pop pop sound as we rolled along. Shavonda laughed. A few miles out of town we came to a pasture where a horse was grazing. It raised its head, looked toward us, then took off at a trot away from the road. I laughed. "Jason, that's just WRONG!" Shavonda scolded, but she was smiling. She was enjoying herself.

While we were unloading in Phillipsburg, the smell of fried chicken wafted over the lumber yard from the grocery store across the street. We pulled free of the lumber yard, parked on the street, and went off in search of fresh chicken. "Is this for lunch?" she asked.

"No," I replied, "You are. We have a bed in the back, and 30 minutes to kill once we get to State College."

Shavonda licked her lips. "Mmmm, I can't wait."

We decscended the Allegheny front into Port Mathilda, riding the jake brake while feasting on chicken wings. After delivering to our stops in State College, we found a pullover outside of Centre Hall and took our lunch. My queen had already gone in the back to lay down, and as I pulled off the road she called my name. I turned around to find her lying naked on the mattress, fingers buried inside her. "I couldn't wait, boo!" she panted. "I'm ready for you."

I gazed upon my chocolate goddess, breasts heaving and nipples hard, as she pleasured herself. As I watched, she pulled her fingers from her sopping hole, and sensually licked each one. "God, I love you," I exclaimed as I quickly shed my clothing and slipped inside her tight heat. Her well lubricated passage offered minimal resistance as it stretched to accommodate me, and clamped around my length for a snug fit. Shavonda was a goddess, by far the most beautiful woman I'd ever had. And she was mine, for life.

She met my thrusts with her own, panting, "I'm almost there baby. Don't hold back!" I tried to slow my pace, but she clamped her long legs around my waist, pulling me deeper into her body as her breasts shook like jelly from the force of our collisions. A wet, sticky slapping sound filled the air as we made love in the back of that truck. Cars passed by mere feet away, oblivious to the passion inside.

Shavonda spasmed around me in orgasm as her climax hit her hard. And I was right behind her, her contractions pulling my own climax from my body. She milked my seed, moaning, "Mmmm. I love that. Nobody comes like you do." We lay in the afterglow for a few minutes, my dick twitching inside her as she gently squeezed it. "You think you got another one inside you?" she asked sensually. I nodded my head. My penis was still erect, and I started to thrust again.

"No, Jason," Shavonda said. "Not like this. I want to taste this one." I pulled out and lay back on the bed as she quickly straddled me, taking my length in her mouth. She'd backed up so that her legs were on either side of my head, and her pussy hovered right above my mouth, oozing our juices. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her down onto my mouth, savoring the taste of our lovemaking.

Shavonda's lips stretched around my manhood and she took me deep as I buried my tongue within her, seeking the source of her wetness. My upper lip playfully rubbed her clit as I ate her. Her moans vibrated around my throbbing shaft as she bobbed her head. My beautiful goddess was truly enjoying herself, and that was one of the many things I loved about her. We made love, often, because she wanted me as much as I wanted her. Two and a half years had not dimmed the desire. We lived for each other, and nowhere was this more apparent than when we made love.

Since we only had 30 minutes, and we'd already used up about half of it, neither of us played the teasing game we normally did, drawing out the sensations neither of us wanted to end. Instead, we were both using every trick we knew to bring the other to another orgasm.

Shavonda's moans became more frantic, and her pace on my dick increased as she neared her climax. With a shudder, she let go as I licked her frantically. My hands held her ass cheeks as she tried to get away from my probing tongue. I kept on licking, turned on by her inability to escape. Finally, she broke free and scrambled from atop me, dark titties swaying wildly from her sudden movement.

But to my surprise, she turned around to face me, nestled between my legs. "Look into my eyes," she said, then lowered her head. She took me between her lips, resuming her work on my manhood, all the while never breaking eye contact. Such beautiful eyes, they had such a hold on me. I would have gladly given up everything to be able to stare into those eyes every day. They held such a spell on me, whites contrasting with both the darkness of her skin, and the inky darkness of her irises.

Shavonda knew what her eyes did to me, how they affected me. She knew they turned me on more than any other part of her body. She knew that I couldn't help myself. When she looked at me I melted. And when she looked at me with pure lust, I exploded. I watched her feverishly swallow my essence.

"Mmmm, I needed that," she said with a sticky smile. I pulled her up for a deep kiss.

"God, I love you so much it hurts," I told her.

"How does it feel to be a sex object," Shavonda laughed. Seeing my puzzled look, she added, "What? You don't think girls need it too? You don't think we use you guys for sex? I been harvesting you for years." I looked at her dumbfounded.

"Don't get me wrong." Shavonda continued. "I love you. I respect the hell out of you. But I also need you inside me probably more than you need me. I can't even look at you anymore without wanting to fuck."

I wasn't sure where this was coming from. I knew she lusted for me. We couldn't keep our hands off each other when we were alone. I knew the sight of her dark skin aroused something primal within me, and I knew she felt the same way. I could see it in her eyes. But a sex object? I'd never heard it put that way, though once I thought about it, it made perfect sense.

Still, it was a shock to me to hear her say it. We lay there, holding each other, her hand stroking my manhood as I ran my thumb over her nipple.

Looking at the clock on the dash, I noticed we were about 50 minutes into our 30-minute lunch, so we hastily dressed. Soon we were back on the road, Heading over the mountains to Lewistown. On the long descent into the Juniata valley, Shavonda admired the way the highway curved around a lake, while I pointed out the folded and fractured rock strata that pervaded the area.

"You really missed your calling," Shavonda said. "I still want you to quit this job and go back to school. Your heart isn't in truck driving. Your heart is in those rocks, and you need to pursue that. We have enough money that we'll get by while you in school."

That Friday, I was home early, my run shorter than it had been in a while. I relieved Althea of her babysitting duties, and we sat and talked for awhile. I told her about the impending visit. "Jason, are you sure that is a good idea?" she asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "She still blames herself for what Tony did. I've talked to Mrs. Kenjerski. She doesn't blame Shavonda for what happened. I hope if Shavonda knows this, she'll be able to let it go. She is not to blame for what happened, and it's killing me to see her beat herself up over it."

"I hope to God you're right," was all Althea said.

Soon Shavonda was home as well. I told her nothing of the visitor we heard a knock on the door. I opened the door to a pair of older white ladies in their 50s. One was short and heavyset, with hair streaked in gray, the other taller and thinner with dark brown hair and glasses. The tall one spoke up: "I assume you're Jason? I'm Mrs. Kenjerski, and this is Mrs. Tomko. Her daughter was married to my son."

I invited them in.

Shavonda had wandered in from the kitchen, where she'd made herself a drink, "Jason, who are these women?" she asked.

I looked her in the eye. "This is Mrs. Kenjerski." Shavonda visibly stiffened. "And Mrs. Tomko. "They'd like to talk to you."

Shavonda started back into the kitchen but I grabbed her by the shoulders. "Let me go," she hissed.

"No," I said. "You need to hear what they have to say."

"You're hurting me," Shavonda said icily. "Let me go."

"I am not holding you tight enough to hurt you," I said as the ladies looked on.

"If this is a bad time..." Mrs. Tomko started to say but I cut her off.

"No, she's fine," I replied.

"Let me go or you'll never touch me again," Shavonda hissed through clenched teeth. "You gets none, ever."

"If that's what it takes to ease your mind I'll gladly do it." I said. I hoped it wouldn't come to that. But I was prepared to deal with the consequences. Shavonda relaxed, knowing she had no choice. Battle won, I led her to the couch. "Ladies have a seat," I said. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, we're fine," Mrs. Kenjerski said, then turned to Shavonda. "I had no idea you were so beautiful." Shavonda smiled. Mrs. Kenjerski continued, "Your husband is worried about you. Trust me, we know what it's like to lose a child."

"But I'm the reason you lost your child," Shavonda said sadly.

"Don't ever think that," Mrs. Tomko replied. "We don't. Our children and grandchildren died in a terrible accident. You didn't cause that. You're a victim too. He tried to kill you."

"Shavonda, dear, you can't beat yourself up about this," Mrs. Kenjerski said soothingly. "That man had no business laying his hands on you. He had no business running from the police. What happened was all his fault not yours. We all lost children because of what he did that day."