Places In My Heart. Sheryl Lister

      “Uncle Omar!”

      His twelve-year-old niece, Brianna, flew off the porch and across the grass before Omar could close the car door. It seemed like she had added another inch or two to her slender frame since he’d seen her last and, with her smooth mocha skin, dark eyes and wide smile, was a mini replica of her beautiful mother. She launched herself at him as soon as he rounded the fender, and he scooped her up and swung her around. Setting her gently on her feet, he placed a kiss on her temple. “How’s my favorite niece?” he asked with a grin.

      “I’m your only niece,” she answered with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’m good.”

      “You enjoying your summer break?” he asked as they strolled up the walk.

      “Yes and no.”

      “What’s the problem?”

      “There’s nothing to do...except the stupid report Mom makes us write. I want to take a dance class, but she said I’d have to wait awhile.”

      “Well, that report is important.” His librarian sister-in-law made his niece and nephew write a Black history report every summer, saying they couldn’t know where they were going unless they knew where they’d been. “As far as the dance class, you keep doing what you’re supposed to and I’m sure your mom will let you take one.” Omar held open the screen door.

      Brianna pouted and mumbled, “I guess.”

      He shook his head and followed her into the house. His ten-year-old nephew, Rashad Jr., was in his usual spot in front of the television, playing some video game. Omar playfully rubbed his head. “What’s up, little man?”

      “Hey, Uncle O,” Rashad Jr. said without taking his eyes off the screen.

      “Where’s your mom?” he asked Brianna.

      “In the kitchen,” she called over her shoulder and veered off down a hallway.

      He continued to the kitchen. “Hey, Serena.”

      “Omar,” she said, drying her hands on a dish towel and coming over to hug him. “How are you?”

      “Good. What about you?” He studied her pained expression.

      “Yesterday, not so great. But today is better.”

      He nodded, knowing she was talking about his brother. “Anything you need me to do?”

      “No. But you’re welcome to stay for dinner if you want. Rashad asked for fried chicken, so that’s what I’m making.”

      “You know I never turn down your fried chicken. Where is he?”

      “Outside in the backyard.”

      Omar went out the sliding glass door off the kitchen and spotted his brother sitting on the grass beneath a large shade tree.

      “Hey, little brother,” Rashad called.

      “Hey.”

      Rashad smiled. “Serena call you because I had a bad day yesterday?”

      “No. I didn’t know you had one. How’s today?”

      He shrugged. “Better, I guess.”

      “What happened yesterday?”

      “Had one of those stupid shrink sessions. The man acted like he had somewhere he needed to be. Kept checking his watch every five minutes, then asked if we could call it a day.” He slanted Omar a glance. “Fifteen minutes into the session. Made me upset. I’m not going back. Tired of being treated like I’m nobody.”

      Omar sighed inwardly. This was the second psychiatrist Rashad had seen. It had taken several months for him to receive the service. The first one only wanted to prescribe medication, to which his brother was adamantly opposed, and the current one had a habit of canceling or shortening appointments. It was even more reason why he wanted to open the center. He started to speak and his cell rang. Not wanting to interrupt his brother now that he was opening up, he let it ring.

      “You going to answer that?”

      “I can call whoever it is back later.”

      Rashad shook his head. “Answer your phone, Mr. Psychologist. This isn’t a counseling session.”

      Omar chuckled and dug the cell out of his pocket. He went still upon seeing Morgan’s name on the display. “Hey, Morgan.”

      “Hi, Drummond. Is this a good time to talk?”

      “What’s up?”

      “I just wanted to see how your meeting with Jaedon Dupree went.”

      “It went well. Can I call you later? I’m talking to my brother.”

      “Of course. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

      “Your call is important.”

      “Drummond, I thought we—”

      “Relax, Morgan. I just meant as far as our business is concerned.”

      “Oh. Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll be home around nine, if that’s not too late for you.”

      Omar smiled. Back to business. “No. I’ll call you around nine-thirty.” Rashad was staring at him with a silly grin on his face when Omar hung up. “What?”

      “Baby brother’s got a new girl. It’s been a while.”

      This was the brother he remembered and grew up with. At thirty-four and six years Omar’s senior, Rashad had taught him everything he knew about women. Omar had idolized his big brother and tried to emulate his every move, from his walk and the way he talked to his smooth reputation when it came to the ladies. “I don’t have a new girl. Just a new agent.”

      “This I have got to hear.”

      They shared a smile, and Omar filled him in on what had led up to him firing Roland and hiring Morgan.

      Later, after arriving home, he decided to shower first. Then he’d call Morgan to let her know about his conversation with Jaedon and invite her to be his date for the fund-raiser. Now that he’d fired Roland, he was free to be seen with her in public and wanted to introduce her as his new agent. He only hoped he’d be able to keep his hands off her.