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She was quiet for a moment. “I see. And what about Jamel? Can you face Quinn and not tell him about his son? And when you do, what then?”
The noose around my neck tightened a bit more. I struggled for air. “Three years, Marva. Three years since he left and went back to New York.” I swallowed and looked over her head, focusing on the rack of travel brochures on the other side of the room. “And most days I hardly think what might have been. But then there are those days when I think how cruel it is to deprive Quinn of the knowledge of his son. Yet, Taylor is the only father Jamel has ever known. How right is that?”
“Why didn’t you ever tell Quinn? It’s not as if you didn’t have the opportunity.”
“When I found out I was pregnant, Quinn had been back in New York and with Nikita for almost three months—shortly before you started working here. They were a week away from getting married. I didn’t want him coming back to me just because I was pregnant. That’s the oldest trick in the book. I wanted him back only if he loved me, and I didn’t believe he did. Not really. Not the kind of love I needed. And then Taylor walked through that door right over there, into my life and my heart, and made all the hurt go away. He made me believe in myself again.”
“But how do you feel about Taylor, Maxine, really feel? Right now—today.”
I looked at her then, right in her midnight-blue eyes. “I love him.”
“And Quinn?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you need to go to New York. For your sake, Taylor’s, and Jamel’s. You’re never going to have peace until you finally face Quinn and either put closure to these feelings you have—”
“Or see if what I already have with Taylor is all I need.”
“Yes. My sentiments exactly.”
We didn’t talk about my “situation” any more for the balance of the morning. That’s just the way Marva was. Once she’d said what was on her mind, that was it.
Unfortunately, that didn’t mean it was off mine. Whenever there was a lull in the day’s activity, after I’d finished booking the trip of a lifetime for yet another customer, my “situation” would tiptoe up behind me and tap me on the shoulder. Hey, don’t forget me, it would whisper in my ear. I wanted to slap it away like an annoying fly, but I couldn’t. It just settled back down and waited for the next opportunity to sneak up on me again.
“I’m going to take a break for lunch,” Marva announced. “I have some errands to run. You want to come?”
“No. Go ahead.”
“Want me to bring you anything?”
“No. I’ll probably go out when you get back.”
“Okay. See you in about an hour.”
I tried to concentrate on surfing the Internet to see what kind of sales some of the other travel agencies were offering when the bell chimed over the door. I looked up and a thirtyish, good-looking man walked in. He was tall, about Taylor’s height, maybe six-two or so. He was dressed casually in one of those nylon designer jogging suits, looking ready to hang out for a minute. His dark brown skin glistened with a slight sheen of perspiration. He was pleasant enough to look at—more than once—which I did, and I caught a glint of light bouncing off the third finger of his left hand.
“Hi. How can I help you?”
He walked farther into the office, cautious, and looked around as if trying to determine if we were alone. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his electric blue windbreaker. My antennae went up, and I instantly wished I’d taken Marva up on her offer to go to lunch. I stood—ready for anything, bumping the back of my knees against the chair, my hand near the phone.
He cleared his throat. “I hope so.” He gave me a shy smile. “I, uh, wanted to book a flight to Chicago.”
Chicago. I almost said it out loud in relief. My pulse slowed down just a notch. “Of course. Why don’t you have a seat and tell me your plans?” I indicated the chair next to my desk.
He eased into the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“When were you planning to leave?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Short notice.” I started to give him my standard speech about the advantages of booking well in advance, but something told me that this trip was a last minute decision, that stopping in was on impulse. His next comment confirmed my conclusion.
“I’ve debated about going for almost a month.”
“A month? Why did you wait so long?”
He shrugged slightly. “Wasn’t sure if it was the best thing to do.”
“Book early, or take the trip?” I teased, which got a chuckle out of him. I kept typing.
“Take the trip.”
My right eyebrow arched in question. “Oh. So, what made you finally decide to go ahead with it?”
“Funny thing is, I’m still not sure.”
At that point I didn’t know whether to be curious or annoyed. I hoped he didn’t think he was going to get a refund if he changed his mind.
“Is there a problem?”
He didn’t answer.
“You are aware that this ticket is nonrefundable?”
“Yes. I know.” He stood up, walked across the room to the rack of brochures, and picked up one detailing the wonders of Hawaii. “Went here on my honeymoon,” he said, almost to himself.
I watched him for a moment threading along the crossroads of decision, and then I saw something in his eyes, a momentary flicker as if he’d seen something pleasant, and he smiled again. Just a little.
“I hear it’s beautiful.”
“More like heaven on earth,” he said.
His body seemed to relax and let go, then, as if the strain of carrying a burden had finally been removed, the tension flowed from him on a tide of expelled air, leaving him open and receptive. All of a sudden I realized he wasn’t out to give me a hard time but was really battling with his decision about the trip.
“Will your wife need a ticket as well?”
His head snapped in my direction, as if realizing he wasn’t alone.
“No. She doesn’t like to fly.”
“Is it business or pleasure?”
He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding, then blew out a long breath. “It’s a college reunion.”
I smiled, wondering what that was like. I’d never gone any further than business school, to get my agency certificate. Couldn’t see any college reunions in my future.
“That sounds like fun. How many years has it been?”
“Ten.” He turned toward me.
“I’d think you’d want to go. A lot happens to people in ten years. You can joke about folks who’ve gone bald, gotten pot bellies, and wound up with the wrong wives.” I laughed lightly at the images.
His dark eyes suddenly locked with mine, and my heart knocked. What had I said?
“That’s part of the problem,” he said out of nowhere.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Neither do I.”
He was quiet for a while as he absently fingered the brochures, looking around the office, but not really seeing. I thought that would be all he’d reveal. But then, like a young thief eager to make a confession, he let the words pour out of him.
“I just know that going back may resurrect some things that are best left buried.”
My “situation” tapped me on the shoulder again. “Then…why go?”
“That’s what I’ve asked myself these past weeks. But if I don’t go, too many questions will be left unanswered. I’ll never really know if I made the right decision.”
“Made the right decision—you mean about your job, where you decided to live…?”
Slowly he shook his head. “No. About the woman I chose to marry.”
“Oh,” was all I could summon in response. His confession surprised me in its bold honesty and its reflection of my life, and something inside of me needed to know if there was a solution to my own quandary. Maybe he had it, this stranger.
I looked at him for a moment. His face was gone. In its place was my own, staring back at me, waiting. In the blink of an eye what began as a benign conversation suddenly took a serious twist. What could I say to him, to this man who felt the need to share a part of himself with a total stranger, to one who wouldn’t be judgmental? Perhaps that’s what made it easy.
“I think I understand,” slipped across my lips.
“You do?” He sounded mystified, and absently sat down opposite me.
I nodded, thoughtful. “I’m sort of at a crossroads myself. And have probably asked the same questions as you.” I leaned forward on the desk and clasped my hands, staring at them for a moment. I looked at him, and our gazes connected in that inexplicable split second when you realize that a chance meeting has the potential to change you future.
He fingered his wedding band.
“How long?” I asked, pointing to the ring.
“Three years.”
“Any kids?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “A little girl.”
“That’s nice. Kids make things worthwhile.”
“Yeah. But sometimes they’re good camouflage for what you don’t want to see or deal with.”
Was Jamel camouflage for me? Was I using my son as a shield, to keep from dealing with the truth? Was I using him to convince myself that as long as he was happy, cared for, and loved, everything was as it seemed—the picture of a perfect nuclear family—that Jamel didn’t represent my tie to the past with Quinn and my road to the future with Taylor? I shook off the notion.
“What about you? Any kids?”
I nodded. “A little boy, Jamel.”
“Hmm.” He looked away, seemingly lost in thought.
“Is this—person—you think you should have married going to be at the reunion?”
“Yes. She’s the one who sent me the invitation. Humph. I didn’t know she’d kept up with me,” he added in a faraway voice.
“Oh.” Did Quinn know that I’d kept up with him over the years through Val? That I knew about the success of the foundation he’d started in his sister Lacy’s memory, or that I listened to his CD in the privacy of my car? That I knew he was working on another book, and he and Nikita had often visited Shug’s Fish Fry in Harlem on Friday nights? Yeah, I knew. It was as though by catching snippets of his life I could vicariously remain a part of it. Although the tidbits of news were often few and far between, they filled some of the spaces. Sometimes.
“Do you think the trip to Chicago is going to change things between you and your wife?” I knew what I was really asking. I was asking him about me, my life, and I needed to hear the answer from someone who stood to lose everything. As I did.
“I’m sure it will. One way or the other. I think that’s what scares me—the fact that my marriage will be tested, my vows held up for inspection.” He stood. “But if I don’t go, I’ll never have the answers.” He looked directly into my eyes. “Will I?”
I felt as if I held the future of this stranger’s life in my hand. With one word I could decide his fate—and more importantly, my own as well.
“No. You won’t. You never will. And until you do, you’ll always ask yourself what if? Nothing will ever be whole.” Then all at once everything crystallized for me. I knew I must take the chance. Go against the odds, and deal with the consequences. It would never be fair to Taylor for me to be unsure, be with him as a second choice. I needed to clear the path behind me, so that I could move forward with Ty—no obstacles, no looking back.
He smiled, almost in thanks, I thought.
“Then I guess I’d better book that ticket. Round trip.”
As I keyed in the last of the reservation information, I suddenly realized that he sounded so sure, so certain that what he had at home would be waiting for him when he returned. I prayed the same would be true for me. I had to believe that it would.
Chapter 2
Now Comes the Hard Part
As I stuck my key in the lock of my town house several hours later and stepped inside, my heart thumped, and that funny dipping feeling took hold of my stomach.
“Mommy!” Jamel squealed, and he came barreling toward me as if he’d been shot from a cannon, right up into my arms, just as he did every evening.
He wrapped his little legs around my waist and his arms around my neck. I smothered his face with kisses until he was giddy with laughter. My heart filled.
“Did you bring me sumfin?”
“Yes.” I kissed his cheek. “A lot of love.”
He giggled. “Where?”
“In my purse, of course.”
I dropped my purse on the hall table and carried him down the short foyer, heading in the direction of the scent of grilled salmon coming from the kitchen. Yeah, Ty was working his magic. The thought made me smile.
“Hi, Babe,” I said to his back while he continued to cut up fixings for a side salad.
I put Jamel down and eased up behind Taylor, sliding my arms around his waist, pressing my head against the expanse of his back. Mmm, he smelled good. If only I could wrap myself up in his essence.
“Hi, yourself.”
He turned from the sink, grabbed a dishtowel to dry his hands, and pulled me full against him. We fit, every dip, every curve. Perfect.
I raised my head, looking up at him while he lowered his, brushing soft lips teasingly across mine. A shudder spread through me, like water being skimmed with a stone, just as it had from the moment we met.
Taylor’s body was sculpted from dedicated hours at the gym. Muscles rippled beneath his shirt, and I never grew tired of running my hands over him. I remember when he first walked into the door of the travel agency—all I could think was, Oh, my God. He had this—this—walk that defied explanation, smooth like a long lazy panther with a touch or urban assuredness—casual but raw. His skin reminded me of warm brandy, and there was a faint shadow of a beard stroking his strong chin, with a dimple dead center that gave him a rugged but boyish look. And yet it wasn’t so much the good looks, the drop-dead body, arrogant swagger, or Isaac Hayes voice that caught and held me. It was the soft center, the quiet strength that hovered just beneath the surface that intoxicated me.
“We’re going to put Jamel to bed early so we can spend some time together,” he said against my mouth.
“I like the sound of that.”
“If I had my way, I’d like to spend that time right now,” he said from deep in his throat, and I felt the urgency of his need press against me. “You feel good to me, Max.”
His fingers played along the sensitive cord of my spine, sending shock waves down the length of my body. I felt weak with need, and then laced with guilt as images of Quinn bloomed before me like an erupting volcano.
Ty stepped back. “What is it, Maxine? Why is it when I touch you lately, you freeze up on me?”
I turned away to hide the truth. “That’s not true, and you know it.”
“Do I?” He tossed the dishtowel onto the countertop and turned away. “I’m going up to take a shower,” he said more to the room than to me, then stormed out.
I shut my eyes and leaned against the counter. Oh, God, I didn’t want to hurt him. Not Ty. I’d heard the pain in his voice. I did that. What was I doing? What was wrong with me? Maybe it was best that I didn’t go. Leave well enough alone. Just the thought of the trip was putting a strain on our relationship.
But then the conversation I’d had with the man at the agency filtered through my thoughts, and I understood that if I didn’t go and put these feelings to rest they would always haunt me and float like ghosts between me and Ty. What if?
The scent of Taylor suddenly wrapped around me—conjured from my memory, I thought—until I opened my eyes. For an instant it felt as if my heart suddenly stopped beating.
Taylor was standing in front of me holding my airline tickets in his hand.
A rush of heat ignited in the pit of my stomach and jettisoned to my head, which began to pound. Dear Lord, not like this.
“Seems Jamel was looking for a treat in your bag and found these.”
He held them toward me, like a prosecutor displaying to the jury the final piece of evidence to convict the defendant.
“Planning to go to New York without saying anything, Max?”
His voice, the low rumble of thunder before the stroke of lightning, vibrated in my chest. His dark eyes narrowed. What I saw in them wasn’t anger, but betrayal. I stood accused. Guilty as charged.
I reached out to him and he took an almost imperceptible step back. My insides quivered.
“Ty…I was going to tell you—”
“When, Maxine?”
“Tonight.”
He tossed his head back and barked out a one-note laugh. “Tonight. How convenient.” He took a step closer. “What’s in New York, Max? Huh?”
His eyes cinched making his expression hard.
“What could possibly be in New York that you wouldn’t tell me about until you were ready to walk out the door?”
“Ty, if you’ll just listen, I’ll explain,” I tossed back with a touch of bravado, trying to stall for a few seconds to clear my head.
“I’m listening, Maxine. So, tell me, what’s in New York?”
He leaned against the refrigerator and crossed his arms, the damning tickets dangling from his fingertips.
I began to pace. “Val—my friend from New York—”
“I know who Val is.”
I cleared my throat. “She called and told me that…Quinn’s wife, Nikita, was killed in a car accident. The…funeral is day after tomorrow.”
For an instant there was a flash of shock in his eyes mixed with compassion. His stiff expression momentarily relaxed. His gaze met mine.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Max, but what does that have to do with you?”
“We were…he’s Jamel’s…” I blew out a breath. I was making a real mess out of this. “I should be there, Ty. He was someone important to me…once. He’s had so many tragedies in his life, Ty,” I said as the pain welled inside me—with the memories of how he’d taken care of his sister Lacy when their mother walked out on them, and then losing Lacy in that horrid shoot-out—hoping I could find the words to make him understand. “I need to be there…as a friend.”
“You sure that’s all, Max—a friend?”
I planted my hands on my hips. “What are you trying to say?” I asked, guilt toughening my voice, while my insides shook.
“I’m not trying to say anything. I said it. If it’s just about you being a friend, then why all the cloak and dagger? Why the cold shoulder toward me?”
The catch in his voice was unmistakable, even as he stood in front of me challenging, demanding. Beneath the ironclad exterior, he cradled his hurt and feelings about breach of trust.
My throat tightened. “Ty, I—”
“It makes me think you’re hiding something, you know. Like maybe you still have feelings for him. That you couldn’t tell me because you feel guilty. Is that the real deal, Maxine? Because if it is, I want to know. Now.”
A jumble of emotions and perfect-for-the-circumstances answers volleyed for position. I know he claimed to want the truth, but I couldn’t believe that he really did. And how could I explain to him the maelstrom of confusion that was waging war inside me?
“Hey. You don’t even have to say anything. Your silence is answer enough.”
He handed me the tickets, walked out of the kitchen and through the front door, its dull thud a perfect epitaph to the end of my day.
Jamel walked into the kitchen, his thumb stuck in his mouth, eyes downcast. “Where Daddy go?”
I bent down and scooped him up, anchoring him on my hip. “Daddy just went for a walk,” I said, hoping it was true. I kissed his forehead.
“I’m hungry,” he mumbled over his thumb, resting his head on my shoulder.
I looked around, dinner all but forgotten, the remnants of the half-made salad still in the sink. The casserole dish filled with grilled salmon on its bed of yellow rice and zucchini sat on the kitchen counter. Signs of Taylor’s caring touch were everywhere—the sunshine-yellow walls he’d recently painted, the new cabinets he’d put in on his free weekends, the stereo system he’d replaced when mine hit its last note. Even Jamel, who was always bathed and cared for when I arrived home from work.
I held Jamel a bit tighter. Taylor was a good man, better than good. There was nothing too big or too small around the house for him to deal with, no problem too trivial for him to listen to. I never had to worry about where he was at night because he was always home, with me and Jamel.
“I want to make a life for us, Maxine,” he’d said several months after we’d met, even as my belly grew fuller with Quinn’s child.
“But, Ty, what about the baby? I know it’s going to be hard to—”
“I can make you happy, Maxine. You and the baby. I love you, and I’m going to love the child you’re carrying just like my own. It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together,” he’d said running his hand along my cheek. “Give me a chance, Max. Give us a chance.”
When I’d looked into his eyes, the depth of love and sincerity radiated from them and entered my soul. In that moment I decided to give in to my emotions, let Taylor enter my heart and allow his love to fill me. Stop fighting what seemed our destiny. And every day that he’d been in my life was a blessing. No woman could ask for more from a man. Taylor exceeded all of his promises to me and to Jamel.
Yet, here I stood—alone—unable to tell this very same man that there was nothing and no one more important to me than him. Not even Quinten Parker. And the why not is what chilled me.
“Mommy, you cryin’?”
I blinked, then looked at my son. “No, sweetie,” I said over a wobbly smile. “I just have something in my eye.”
“I’m still hungry.”
I sniffed. “Then let’s get you something to eat.”
After fixing Jamel’s dinner and then settling him down for bed, I spent the next few hours alternating between jumping up to look out the window at every sound, and checking the phone to make sure it was working.
Every noise made me think it was Taylor returning home.
He didn’t.
And I thought I would go out of my mind with worry. By the time two a.m. rolled around, I was ready to start calling hospitals. I envisioned the worst.
From the day we moved in together, we’d never spent a night apart. Until now. I wanted to kick myself. Why couldn’t I have simply told him what he needed to hear? Why did I let him walk out believing that there was any man more important to me than him?
I stretched out across the bed, right on top of the comforter, too exhausted to pull it back. Staring up at the ceiling, I knew the answer, and it terrified me.
At some point sleep snatched me, buffeting me around on clouds of confusion, indecision, and guilt.
In a fitful sleep, I kept coming back to a fork after a long walk down an empty road. One direction was filled with light, and sounds of laughter. In the other direction the path appeared to be filtered, as if I were seeing it through a thin mist, making it difficult for me to see anything except the figure of Quinn, who held his hand out to me. He promised me he’d love me always, for real this time. We could be a family. He needed his son.
I started to walk toward him. Then I heard Taylor’s voice. “Don’t go, Maxine. I need you, too. I love you. We are a family. Max!”
I looked toward Quinn, then Taylor.
“Max. Maxine.”
My eyes flew open. For a moment the room was out of focus. When it cleared, Taylor was standing above me. It was morning. I sat up.
“Ty. Baby. I was worried. I’m sorry.” I reached for him.
“I need to get ready for work.” His tone was flat, emotionless.
He turned away and walked toward the closet. I got out of bed and followed him.
“Ty.” I touched his back and felt him flinch beneath my fingertips as if my touch offended him. My stomach dipped and then settled, even as my heart raced with dread. “Where were you all night?”
“Around. Driving. Sitting. Thinking.”
The words, thrown at me like darts, pierced the first layer of my spirit.
He took out his navy blue suit, and a stark white shirt. He’s always looked good in that outfit, I thought abstractly, trying to grab hold of something, anything familiar, to settle the shifting beneath my feet and between Taylor and me.