Always in My Heart

Chapter 2

“Detective Williams?”

Nigel Williams sat up straight when he heard the soft voice on the other end of the line. Was this the call he had been waiting for?

“Yes,” he said. “This is Detective Williams.”

“I hear you wanted to talk to me.”

“Dominiqua?”

“Yes,” came the low reply.

The murder victim’s girlfriend. Thank God. “You were there last night? When Garrett was shot?”

“Yes.” The girl began to cry.

“I need you to come in to the station,” Nigel said. “So we can talk about what happened.”

“I—I’m scared. If I talk to you, people will find out. And…”

Her voice trailed off, but her sentiment was clear. She was afraid to talk, because of the code on the streets—never snitch.

It was an all-too-common conundrum. People were afraid to come forth with information for fear of retaliation against them. But the catch-22 was that when people didn’t come forward to report the bad guys, the bad guys were still on the streets to hurt other people.

“I can come to you,” Nigel offered. “Just tell me—”

“No! No cops. I can’t be seen talking to a cop—”

“If you saw what happened, if you have information, it’s important that you tell me,” Nigel said, speaking as gently as possible. “We can figure out a spot to meet that will be safe for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dominiqua said. “I—I can’t.”

And then she hung up.

Nigel heard the dial tone, and groaned in frustration as he replaced the phone to the cradle. Damn, he’d wanted Dominiqua to give him a name. At least, however, he had been given a lead. Dominiqua did know something. It might take time, but he was certain she would eventually come clean and let him know who had shot down her boyfriend in cold blood.

Nigel shook his head as he thought of last night’s murder of a young male. Twenty years old, gunned down in the street. The distraught mother being held up by family members at the crime scene, where her son lay bleeding from a gunshot wound.

Murder on the streets of Cleveland and another young life lost in a senseless manner. When would people stop taking the drastic action of murder as a way to solve their disputes?

Not any time soon, Nigel knew. Ever since his move to the homicide department within the Cleveland police three years earlier, his caseload had always been full.

Marshall Jennings, his best friend of twelve years and partner on the police force, had gone out to speak to the boy’s mother once their evening shift had started, while Nigel had stayed in the office looking up information on the victim, that could possibly link to any suspects.

“Hey, Williams.”

Nigel, who had been staring at the computer screen, looked to his right. Marshall was heading toward him, his blazer wet. Clearly, he had been caught in the torrential downpour. It was the end of May, and the showers had been intense lately. Mostly because even though it wasn’t yet summer, the weather was extremely hot.

The good thing was that if the rain kept up this evening, it wasn’t likely anyone would be gunned down on the streets.

“How did it go with the mother and the family?” Nigel asked.

“They’re devastated, understandably,” Marshall said, shrugging out of his jacket. “They saw Garrett at least two hours before he was shot but don’t seem to know anything useful.” Marshall hung his blazer on the back of his swivel chair. “They gave me some names of people who might have had a beef with him. Some leads to follow.”

“Well, I heard from Dominiqua, the victim’s girlfriend,” Nigel told him. “Those early leads were right—she did see the shooting.”

Marshall’s eyebrows rose as he took the seat at the desk beside Nigel. “All right. She name the shooter?”

Nigel shook his head. “I tried to get her to come talk to me, or to tell me something over the phone, but she hung up before she did. She’s too scared to talk.”

Marshall nodded his understanding. “She’ll probably come around.”

“I hope so. If she loved the guy, I’m thinking she’s going to want to see the shooter brought to justice.”

“No doubt,” Marshall agreed. Leaning forward, he typed something on his computer screen. Then he said, “Guess who I saw today?”

“Who?”

“Callie.”

Callie Hart…Nigel felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut with a sledgehammer. “You did?”

“Yep. I dropped by the church earlier to pay my respects on my way to the dentist. As I was leaving, I saw her getting out of an airport limo.”

Nigel turned his attention to the pile of papers on his desk. He needed something to do, a distraction. “So you didn’t talk to her?”

“Nope. But get this—she’s got a child.”

At the news, Nigel whipped his head in his friend’s direction. “What?”

“A young boy was getting out of the car with her. Maybe eight. It must be her kid.”

Nigel felt a tightening in his chest. Callie had a child? “Was she with someone?” he found himself asking. “A husband?”

Marshall’s eyebrows rose at the question. “Still carrying a torch for her, hmm? Even after how she left you?”

“Just curious,” Nigel responded. “She’s got a kid, she likely has a husband.”

“I didn’t see her with anyone. It was just her and the kid. But that doesn’t mean she’s not married. Her husband could have stayed home while she came here for the funeral.”

Nigel nodded. He hated that he felt even mildly curious to know what she was doing in her life. Once she had walked away from him, he had vowed to forget her forever.

Obviously, she had forgotten him. If it was true that she had a son around the age of eight, then she had clearly moved on from him fairly quickly. Merely a year or so after breaking his heart, she had gotten involved with someone else and created a child with him.

Well, good for her.

“Another thing,” Marshall began, “she looked like she’d been hurt. Was wearing a sling, had a bandage on her forehead. I guess she may have fallen or something.”

“Hmm,” was Nigel’s reply, a noncommittal response. But curiosity was stirring in his gut, even though he didn’t want it to.

“You gonna call her up?” Marshall asked.

“Call her?” Nigel guffawed. “Why?”

“To say hi. It’s been what, ten years?”

But the look on Marshall’s face made it clear that he was simply stirring up trouble. Nigel wondered why his best friend was goading him like this. Marshall knew how brokenhearted he had been after Callie had left town without so much as a glance backward. The last thing Nigel wanted to do now was see her, even if he was over her.

He had already paid his respects to Dave Henry and other family regarding Jean’s passing. Thankfully, he hadn’t run into Callie at the time.

“Back to the murder case at hand, my friend,” Nigel said, turning to his computer. “Because we’ve got a job to do.”

* * *

Callie awoke with a start, her eyes popping open. She was surprised to see daylight pouring into the room. It seemed as if she had only gone to bed a short while before, and that the night had whizzed by.

And though she’d clearly slept like a log, she didn’t feel well rested. Her mind had been on Nigel before she’d fallen asleep, she had even dreamed of him.

She was anxious, the plight before her weighing on her mind.

Easing her body across the bed, she reached for her phone on the night table with her good arm and checked the time. It was six fifty-two in the morning.

Then she glanced across the room to where the daybed was. Kwame, who had also been exhausted from an early start and hours of activity yesterday, lay on his stomach, his form still. He was sleeping, which didn’t surprise Callie.

Quietly, she rose from the bed and exited the room. It was quiet. Perhaps no one had woken up yet.

After using the bathroom, Callie made her way downstairs. As she neared the kitchen, she finally heard soft voices. And when she rounded the corner, she saw Natalie and Uncle Dave sitting at the small, round table.

“Morning,” Callie said, then yawned. She wrapped an arm around her uncle, gave him a warm hug. Then she did the same to Natalie.

“I made tea,” Natalie said. “But if you want coffee, I can brew a pot.”

“I can do it,” Callie said.

Natalie stood. “With one good arm? Sit. Let me get you some coffee.”

Callie didn’t argue. She sat at the table beside Uncle Dave. “How are you feeling today?” she asked him.

“I keep expecting Jean to walk into this kitchen and start fussing about what she’s going to prepare.” Uncle Dave sighed. “I’m just trying to hang in there.”

Reaching across the table, Callie squeezed his hand. There were no words. She could only provide comfort.

Callie turned toward Natalie, who had spent much of the day before inconsolable. “How are you doing today?”

“Better. Definitely better.”

Natalie didn’t face her as she filled the coffee carafe with water from the sink, and Callie knew this wasn’t a good time to ask her about her husband. There would be time for that later.

“Hey, you remember Marshall, Nigel’s friend?” Natalie asked as she began to pour the water into the coffeemaker.

“Yeah,” Callie said. “Sure I do.”

“I saw him yesterday at the church.”

“Marshall was at the church?”

“Yeah. You must have just missed him, because I ran into him when I was heading down to the basement to use the bathroom. There he was, exiting the men’s room, what a surprise. He’d come to pay his respects, of course, which was nice, though he said he didn’t have much time because he was heading to an appointment. He knew Auntie Jean from her volunteer work in the community.” Natalie paused. “He mentioned Nigel. Said both of them are detectives now.”

Callie felt a spasm of alarm. If Marshall had been at the church, and at the time that Natalie said, then he could have very well seen her. And if he had seen her, he would’ve seen her with Kwame. Wasn’t it likely that he would tell Nigel about having seen her with a young boy?

“Uncle Dave, do you know if Nigel’s family still lives at the same house where he did before?” They would be able to tell her how to find Nigel.

“Actually, Nigel lives there now,” her uncle answered. “Ever since his father moved south, Nigel’s been back there. He spent a lot of time renovating his parents’ old house. I hear it’s lovely.”

If Nigel lived in his parents’ old house, that meant he was only two blocks away.

“Good.” Callie emitted a shaky breath. “I need to see him.”

“Need to see who?”

At the sound of the voice, Callie looked toward the entrance to the kitchen and saw Deanna entering. She was wearing black silk pajamas and a pair of white slippers.

“Nigel,” Callie said, then swallowed. “I need to see Nigel.”

“Why?” Deanna asked.

“Because I…I need to have an important conversation with him and I need to have it before anyone else does.” Though it could already be too late.

Both of her sisters looked at her with concern. Callie knew they were curious, but she was suddenly anxious. She had to speak to Nigel before Marshall mentioned anything to him. Not that Nigel would necessarily put two and two together, but Natalie’s news was a sign that Callie needed to get on with this sooner rather than later.

“Callie?” Natalie prompted in a cautious tone.

Callie knew that what she was about to say would be a bombshell. She hadn’t trusted her sisters with the truth at the time because all they’d been doing then was arguing with each other. Somehow, she had come to believe that there’d be no harm in keeping the secret from them.

Same as she’d kept it from Nigel.

That was going to be the hardest part. Doing the right thing and telling Nigel the truth, after all this time.

Callie’s stomach twisted. She had loved him. Lord, how she had loved him. But she’d let a disagreement—albeit a major one—come between them.

She held no illusions that she and Nigel would reconnect romantically. Too much time had passed for that to happen. She had gone on with her life, and he had gone on with his. But what she hoped most of all was that he wouldn’t be too angry with her when she let him know the truth she had kept from him all these years.

“Whatever it is, Callie,” Natalie began gently, “you know that you can trust us with it.”

Perhaps Callie should have trusted her sisters with this years ago, but she’d just been so scared. “I have something to tell you,” she said, nerves tickling her stomach as she spoke. “Something that I told no one all these years. Except for Tamara Jackson, the friend from college who I went to Florida with. And please, try to understand my reasoning and not be upset with me.”

“You’re scaring me,” Deanna said.

“It’s Kwame.” Callie looked around, making sure that her son was nowhere in earshot. He had been sleeping when she had left the bedroom, but he could have awoken by now and been on his way downstairs.

Certain that he wasn’t lurking nearby, she continued. “When I left Cleveland, I was pregnant. I know you all knew I had a child, and you didn’t ask me any questions. Still, I felt the need to tell you that Kwame wasn’t Nigel’s son. I said nothing more, and I think you all realized that I didn’t want to talk about it because you asked me nothing else. Perhaps you even assumed the worst. That I’d broken up with Nigel and met some other guy, quickly got pregnant, and then run. But the truth is…” Callie drew in a deep breath. This was the first stage of her telling the truth. Coming clean. “I was pregnant with Nigel’s baby when I left.”

“What?” Natalie’s eyes bulged. Deanna looked dumbfounded. Uncle Dave, however, didn’t look that surprised.

“I was pregnant with Nigel’s baby. Things weren’t working out, so…I just got scared, thought it would be best to raise the baby on my own.”

“I can’t believe it,” Deanna said. “And I can’t believe Nigel let you walk away when you were pregnant with his child.”

“No,” Callie said, realizing she hadn’t been clear. “Nigel had no idea.”

“You never told him?” Natalie asked.

“I…I thought it was best.”

Deanna was shaking her head. “So now you have to tell him that he’s a father?”

“It’s going to be hard, but I have to do it. It’s the right thing. My accident made that clear. If I were to die, Kwame should know who his real father is.” Callie shrugged. “He should have known all along.”

Silence fell between them, and after a long moment, Uncle Dave said, “Your aunt figured as much.”

Now it was Callie’s turn to be surprised. “She—she did?”

“You left town so quickly, then let us know you were pregnant. And the fact that you never wanted to come back to Cleveland… Your aunt realized Nigel must’ve been the father. I’m sad to say the times we ran into him, we weren’t all that friendly. We figured he had done something really bad to hurt you. We blamed him for you not coming back here.”

Even more reason for Callie to come clean now. “Nigel and I had our problems, but the decision to leave—that was mine. I was young, scared, and I thought it was the right thing to do. I’m sorry you and Auntie Jean blamed him, because the truth is he didn’t do anything particularly horrible to me. We just…I just thought it wasn’t going to work between us…” Callie sighed. “Are you all mad at me?”

“No,” Natalie said, who moved toward her and hugged her. “I can’t say I’ll ever truly understand, but this is your business. The only person who has the right to be mad is Nigel.”

Callie drew in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. She knew that was true. And that was her biggest fear.

“That’s why I have to talk to him. Right now.”

“Right now?” Deanna asked. “It’s not even seven-thirty in the morning.”

“I know, but…” Callie swallowed. “There’s no time like the present, right? I’ve just got to do this, before I lose my nerve.”

“At least have some coffee,” Natalie told her. She went to the cupboard, got a mug and filled it with java for her sister.

Callie was going to say no, because her stomach was jumpy and she didn’t know if she could handle eating or drinking anything. But she was tired, and a jolt of caffeine might do her some good. So she went to the counter, added sugar and cream to her coffee, and took a sip to make sure it was just right.

“Do you want one of us to go with you?” Deanna asked.

Callie waved off the suggestion. “No, definitely not. This is something I need to do on my own.”

And it was. She had gotten herself into this mess, and she was the only one who could get herself out of it.

Chapter 3

Nigel Williams could count on one hand the number of times in his life that he’d been speechless. He wasn’t the type to find himself at a loss for words. But when he opened the door to his home and saw who stood there—a few minutes shy of eight in the morning—he couldn’t think of one thing to say.

He stared, and so did she. He couldn’t help wondering if his mind had conjured her, it had been that long.

“Hello, Nigel,” came the soft voice of the woman Nigel had once loved. He still didn’t speak. He could hardly think, much less form words.

“I know you’re surprised to see me,” she went on.

Callie Hart was standing on his doorstep. Surprised was an understatement.

Callie looked into Nigel’s eyes, then glanced away uncomfortably. His own gaze went to the big white bandage on her forehead. Then he looked lower, noticing that she was hunched into a light jacket that was thrown over her shoulders, as though to protect herself from the chill that had come after the rain. The late May weather had been odd lately, and the recent heat—which had caused the rain—had been followed by a cold spell this morning.

Meeting his gaze once again, Callie asked, “Can I come in?”

Nigel’s stomach clenched. Here she was, after not being in touch for ten years, and she was asking to come in as if the request was completely normal? He didn’t want to let her in. Not in the least.

“Please,” Callie repeated, her voice catching slightly. “It’s…it’s important.”

What could be so important to talk about now, ten years after she had left him?

“Did you walk here?” he asked, looking behind her and seeing no car.

“Yes.”

Nigel wanted to turn her away. He really did. No explanation for her behavior would matter at this point.

“Can we please speak inside?” Callie asked. “Because you need to hear me out. Once you do, you can send me away and I’ll never return, if that’s what you want.”

His heart pounding, Nigel contemplated what to do for a moment. Then, he stood back and held the door open wide. As Callie stepped over the threshold, he noticed the sling Marshall had mentioned, which explained why she was wearing the jacket over her shoulders. Marshall had suggested that maybe Callie had fallen, but these injuries looked more serious than that.

“What happened?” Nigel asked, indicating her injury with a jerk of his head.

“A fender bender. Nothing serious.”

“You…you seem cold,” Nigel found himself saying. “Would you like some tea?”

“That sounds great. Whatever you have.”

Nigel closed the front door, then made his way off to the right where the kitchen was. Old habits died hard. He didn’t particularly want to offer Callie tea, as if she had come on a social call, but she was shivering, and Nigel could hear his mother telling him that you should always offer your guests a drink.

Guest…Callie Hart was hardly a guest.

As he turned on the flame beneath the kettle, he paused at the counter and closed his eyes. And then he pinched himself to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

He wasn’t.

Glancing over his shoulder, Nigel looked at Callie, who was now standing in the living room. She had her good arm wrapped around her body. She was looking around the house with interest, obviously taking in all the changes.

“I hardly recognize the house,” she said. “These hardwood floors are beautiful. Are they original?”

“Yeah. Once I ripped up the carpet, I found those floors. I refinished them.”

“Beautiful. And I love these upscale light fixtures.”

“Thanks,” Nigel muttered, wondering why she was talking about the house. “What kind of tea do you want? Orange pekoe, something flavored?”

“Orange pekoe is fine.”

Nigel opened the cupboard and took down the box of tea. He got a tea bag and put it into a mug as the water warmed.

“I assume you did all the work?” Callie said.

“Yeah.”

“I really like how you opened the place up by knocking down the wall that used to be between the living room and kitchen.”

Nigel said nothing. Just gritted his teeth. As if he expected Callie to be here after all this time, complimenting him on the renovations he’d done to the house.

As the kettle began to boil, Nigel watched Callie move toward the pictures on one of the walls. She seemed to take a keen interest in the photo of him in his police uniform on his graduation day.

“Do you live here alone?” Callie called out.

Nigel didn’t answer. Instead, he poured boiling water into the mug. Then, leaving it there to sit, he went back out to the living room.

“Do you live here alone?” Callie repeated.

“If you don’t mind, Callie, I’d like you to get to the point of why you’re here,” Nigel said instead of answering her. “Because I don’t understand why, after all this time, you’re here at my house.”

He saw something flash in her eyes. And he got the distinct sense that all her chatter had simply been a way to break the ice, to ease the tension.

“Maybe you should sit down,” she suggested.

Nigel groaned his frustration. “Are you here to apologize, Callie? Because for the life of me, that’s the only thing that makes sense. You came back to town for your aunt’s funeral, and you’ve been attacked by a bout of conscience. Well, guess what—you’ve shown up ten years too late.”

“You’re angry,” she said.

For some reason, the comment irked Nigel all the more. “You’re damn right I’m angry.” Pausing, Nigel drew in a slow breath. “I mean, I was angry. But what happened was a long time ago.”

“I know.”

It hurt to see her, he realized. More than it should given how much time had passed. Suddenly, he didn’t care if she had that cup of tea. He was ready for the visit to be over.

“You know what, Callie—there’s no need to apologize.” If she was truly sorry, it wouldn’t have taken her ten years to show up at his door, so any apology she gave him now would ring hollow.

“I’m not here to apologize.”

That got his attention. One of his eyebrows shot up. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago.” Callie drew in a deep breath. “Nigel…when I left Cleveland…” Her voice trailed off.