Wildflower Read Free Page B

Mayweather — Preston Roberts realized a name change and an entire ocean weren’t enough to separate him from the turmoil Amanda left behind.
    Amanda .  Amanda was the only Mayweather girl — a girl surrounded by overprotective brothers who loved her more than she loved herself.  Now she was gone, and Preston believed the family still hadn’t forgiven him for what happened to her.
    He looked at his pedometer and saw he’d already jogged four miles. He circled around and headed back towards the hotel. He’d take a shower then try his brother again, even though he was overcome with feelings of deep apprehension. He wasn’t sure if it had something to do with his sleeplessness or with reconnecting with family after so many years of avoiding them. What if they weren’t receptive of him? Then what?  He had so many feelings — ambivalence, regret, guilt, anxiety — but he was too tired to deal with any of them.
    He thought of sending a text message to let his brother know he was in town. But what if the heads-up was an alert for his brother to plan a strategic avoidance?  No, he didn’t want to give him an opportunity to be disingenuous.
    ***
    Preston grabbed a large coffee from the 7-Eleven and pushed through the twenty-five minute drive despite his exhaustion.  He parked across the street from his brother’s house.  The numbers on the large solid brick facade with the stone entryway were prominent — he’d arrived at the right house.  Impressive neighborhood.  Mature trees, manicured lawns — uniformity.  The tall green door boasted brass fittings and all sorts of accessories that reminded him he was in an affluent neighborhood.
    He hadn’t seen his brother in thirteen years. It seemed much longer. Once he joined the Air Force at his father’s behest, his visits with the family gradually became fewer as the years went on. Phone calls had to suffice, and then emails. Soon after, contact was reduced to text messages. It was tough, though. He used to be close to his family.
    He stood at his brother’s front door, wearing an old pair of jeans with a Ralph Lauren t-shirt.  He wore a gold stud earring he’d gotten for his birthday last year.  His long brown dreadlocks with golden tips that used to gleam were now dingy and gathered into a ponytail.  He had a goatee that he hadn’t groomed in a few days. His slender frame was tight and muscular.
    For a moment, he contemplated knocking. Maybe it was a mistake. After all, he wasn’t expected. He stood on the porch with one piece of carry-on luggage which contained everything he owned. It wasn’t that he was broke, quite the contrary.  He sold everything except for what he absolutely needed because he knew he wasn’t going back to London. He knew there was nothing there for him anymore.
    He took a deep breath, preparing for whatever might happen when that front door was opened. He wasn’t sure how he’d be received.  He just wasn’t sure what to expect.  As he was about to ring the doorbell, he stepped back mentally and asked himself, “Why am I here?”
    Amanda .  She was the reason he was here.  The nightmares, memories of the tears she cried into her pillow — all of it saddened him. Her screams of agony haunted him again. Even the pills to help calm the anxiety, to quell the trauma, lost their effectiveness.  He needed to get some closure — once and for all — so he could move on with his life.
    He rang the doorbell and waited. No answer.  He considered sending a text message or even sliding a note under the door. But he thought better of it. Perhaps this was divine intervention — God’s way of saying, “Not yet.”  He took the handle of his luggage carrier, pulling it behind him as he made his way back to the rental car. Inside the car, he took another look at the house — wondering if he’d be welcome, and hoping that he would be.
    Just as he was about to drive off, he saw a car pull into the driveway.  A woman with long curly