Mama B - A Time to Dance (Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

heard his
plate clink in the sink and, judging by the time it took him to walk into the
kitchen, I could tell he hadn’t bit more scraped the messed over food in the
trash. “Derrick!”
    “Yes?” he
hollered back.
    “Scrape your
plate in the trash.”
    His footsteps
sounded three times, and I heard a fork crossing the plate. Then he took three
more steps and I heard the glorious sound of the faucet. Well, I’ll be a
monkey’s uncle. He actually rinsed off his plate, too!
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome,
Mama B.”
    I laughed to
myself. Libby was right. Derrick was still wet behind the ears. Nothing a
little time and prayer couldn’t fix.
    He appeared
again in the dining room. “Mama B, the wind must have loosened the wooden side
of the fence, by Otha’s room. You got a hammer and nails? I’m gonna go out
there and try to secure it.”
    He didn’t have
to ask me twice. “I most certainly do.”
    Five minutes
later, he was a-hammerin’ away. I sat in my easy chair listening to the sound
of a man working on the house. Reminded me of Albert and how much he used to
fiddle around with things until they really broke and we had to call in an
expert to fix the original problem plus whatever else damage he had caused.
    Somehow,
thinking about Albert brought in thoughts about Libby’s double-dog dare for me
to return Dr. Wilson’s call. I had to laugh at her, too. I didn’t know why she
was getting her hopes all up for. I guess she was so happy with her husband she
didn’t understand how I can be content without mine, but I was.
    Still, I knew
Libby didn’t mean no harm. I also knew she’d probably set up another
“coincidental” encounter with Dr. Wilson if I didn’t take her up on the dare.
    I half-heartedly
fished through my purse for my phone, then scrolled back through my call log to
find the one unidentified number in the memory.
    My heart started
pumping a little fast. I had to tell myself this was just the same as calling
in to order a veggie pizza. Strictly business.
    “Hello, Dr.
Wilson, this is Beatrice Jackson returning your phone call.”
    “Yes, Beatrice,
good to hear from you.”
    I could hear a
smile in his voice. Pizza. Pizza. “How can I help you?”
    “Well,” he
chuckled, “if you’d rather go there now…how about a classic? A movie and
dinner.”
    Dinner I could
understand. But movies ain’t my cup of tea. I’d rather read a book than sit up
in a dark theater. I could almost hear Libby whispering in my ear to stop being
difficult.
    “Dr.
Wilson—”
    “Frank,” he
reminded me.
    “Frank,” I
started again, “like I said in the text, I do thank you for those flowers you
sent after Geneva’s death. That was mighty sweet of you. But I don’t go on
dates.”
    “Who says it has
to be a date?”
    I didn’t have no
comeback for that one.
    He must have taken
my silence as a cue to keep on talking. “God set it up so we all need to eat
every day, and maybe we could both use a little entertainment every now and
then. Sounds like a win-win to me.”
    “Is Libby paying
you to take me out?” I asked to take the pressure off of me.
    My tactic worked
because Dr. Wilson started laughing. “No, no way.”
    My face and neck
muscles loosened at the sound of his laugh. He hooted like somebody who didn’t
have a care in the world, just living his life the best he could. Like good
people.
    “I had to ask.”
    “So, what do you
say? Friday? Seven o’clock?”
    Goodness
gracious, that’s late. “Six.”
    “That’s even
better. We can catch a matinee. Do you want me to pick you up or do you want to
meet up.”
    “I’ll be glad to
meet you there.” Then I said something that might have sounded like I was some
kinda ‘70s feminist, but I had to be sure he wasn’t expectin’ no hanky panky.
“I’m paying my own way.”
    “Oh, Beatrice, I
can’t let you do that. What kind of gentleman would I be?”
    I insisted,
“You’ve proven yourself plenty-a-gentleman already by