Free For Love and Vengeance by Theresa L. Henry

Aviva didn't
have time to make an impression. She was aware, however, that there were no
other houses in close proximity.
    The car came to a
stop, and while she looked around, her door was opened by Jake. He held out his
hand to assist her to exit the car. Aviva ignored his hand and got out of the
car without touching him. Their eyes met briefly and hers were the first to
lower, avoiding the question she saw reflected there.
    Their
relationship was slower to develop than the one she had created with Josh.
Jake's personality was more reserved than his younger brother’s. Rearranging
her thoughts, Aviva knew it to be incorrect. Jake was the family protector, the
watcher. There was something about him, something embedded deep within him that
gave rise to a need to take care of those around him. Of all the
brothers, he was the most silent, the one who missed very little, the observer.
    A barely audible
whisper was all she heard as she stood upright outside the vehicle. The words
meant only for her ears. “It's okay, I understand. You need to tell
Jason...everything.” He had no time for further comment as Jason quickly made
his way around the car and stood waiting at her side. He heard the murmur of
Jake's voice but had been too far way, the words too quietly spoken to decipher
their meaning.
    “What were you
two talking about?” Jason asked.
    “Not now, Jason.
We need to get Aviva out of this chilly rain.” The deluge of earlier in the day
having slowed to a light sprinkling of rain drops.
    Feeling reprimanded
for having to be reminded of his priorities, Jason stilled his inquires as to
their conversation. He didn't like that Jake had been whispering to his woman,
but he needed to trust that nothing untoward had been said; so he filed the
incident away as something to bring up with his twin later. He didn't like the
whispering, but right then he needed to get Aviva inside, and settled into the
place they would call home for a short while.
    ~~~~~~~~~~
    The interior of
the house was beautiful. It was just the type of house every little girl who
grew up in London dreamt of, and Aviva was no exception. As a child, she had
wanted enough space so that she could entertain her school friends who had so
much more than she and her mother had ever been able to afford. Enough space so
that she could invite them over for afternoon tea of sandwiches and Earl Grey
tea served from dainty china cups.
    Her reality was
something far different. On the occasions she had friends over, her mother was
always a warm and welcoming host who never allowed anyone to leave their home
without feeling the full force of her hospitality. She was also a fiercely
proud Caribbean woman. While she respected the culture of which she was a part,
she was also proud of the culture into which she had been born.
    There were no
cucumber sandwiches with the crust sliced off. Instead, there was bun and
cheese, a dark, sweet bread with raisins. It was so doughy, its density would
be remembered long after it had been consumed. Also served was hard dough white
bread sandwiches, coupled with ham and English mustard, her concession to
Englishness, but she always insisted on a Jamaican twist, hence the bun and hard
dough bread.
    Aviva remembered
those tea parties with nostalgia of an age that had shaped her into the person
she had become. Proud of her heritage, proud that she had been blessed with a
mother who took the time to allow her to attend the tea parties of her peers,
but had also allowed her childhood friends to experience another culture and to
see that although different, there was much to be gained through that
difference. Throughout the journey that was her life, she had come full circle.
Here she was, back in England, walking into the type of home she had always
dreamt of, and yet, at that moment, she would give anything to be surrounded by
the warmth of her mother’s arms.
    Standing in the
hallway of the house, Jason saw the tears in her eyes and was