Destiny Lingers (13 page)

“And one mean racist too, I hear.”

“Yep. That too.” Chase shakes his head and looks down at the ground. “He certainly was that too. He was a lot of things, Dee. He did and said some terrible things to people, including to my mom and me. But when I came of age, I swore I’d never be like him. And after he got so drunk that he beat my mama to the point of death, I swore it’d be the last time. After that, I wouldn’t have anything to do with him. That’s when I switched back to my real name, the one my mama gave me: Chase Monroe McKenzie.”

We stand here looking at each other in pregnant pause.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Chase asks in a hushed tone.

“Yes, it has been,” I reply. “Way too long. I hate that I have to leave in the morning. There’s so much more of the island I’d like to see. It’s been so long.”

“Listen to me.” Chase takes a deep breath and a step closer. “I want you to know that I never really forgot you, Dee. I don’t know what all happened way back when—what all our folks and the world did to keep us apart. All I know is that one day we were finally getting close and then you were just gone. You stopped coming back. Miss Joy said you’d gone away to college, then grad school, and then you went off and got married. I thought I’d never see you again. You have no idea how many times I have thought about you over the years, passing by your beach house, wondering where you were, how your life turned out.”

“I wish I could say it turned out fine, Chase. But it hasn’t.” I’m taken aback by how easily my mouth spewed out my sad truth.

Chase nods his head as if he understands. He purses his lips, perhaps detecting how jumbled up my feelings and life must be right now. I hang my head, unable to speak.

“So who’s the other man making fireworks go off in your life, DeeDee? Still married to him?”

“Yes,” I reply. “At least, I think I am. We’re working on it.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Chase says. He seems melancholy. “We’re working on it too, I guess.”

“You got married too?” I ask.

“No, but certainly being pushed in that direction.” Chase releases a deep sigh. “Her name is Missy. We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now, but … well, she’s a nice girl, comes from a good family and all, but I’m just not convinced she’s the one I should marry.”

“Why not?”

“Just not the right one. My detective head tells me she’s got another agenda going on, but I just don’t know what it is yet. Time is on my side right now. I just want us to get to know each other a lot better before rushing into marriage. Just don’t want to make a lifelong mistake, you know.”

“Trust me—I know. That makes a lot of sense. Take your time, Chase. Everything’ll work out for both of us, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, I believe you’re right.” Chase takes my hand and steps closer. “And Dee, you deserve a man who loves you and treats you right. You are a wonderful woman. Make sure that man of yours treats you right.”

“I’ll do my best, Chase. Thank you.” If he only knew the drama that awaits me back in New York.

“I’m always here for you.” Chase squeezes my hand. “Your mama may not like that, but I am. I promise I’ll keep an eye on the house and your aunt Joy while you’re up in New Yawk!”

“I appreciate that, my friend.” I give Chase a warm hug. “And again, thank you for everything. This fish fry and this time to reconnect with you were simply wonderful.”

“Get home safely now,” Chase says tenderly. I can feel his energy radiating from his body through mine as he hugs me back. “Be careful up there in Sin City. And promise me you’ll get back to Topsail real soon.”

“I will. Good luck to you, Chase. Hope everything works out the way you want.”

“Yeah, you too, lady.”

“And promise me you’ll get that wording right on your police car,” I tease.

“Oh, you caught that, did ya?” Chase shakes his head and chuckles as his face turns a bright red. “I will surely get on that, Miss D, first thing in the morning!”

I have to force myself to unlock eyes and energy with Chase. Vacation is over. Time to get back to my work and the harsh realities waiting for me back home.

I pull out of the parking lot and turn onto the little highway, heading back to the beach house to pack up so I can catch my plane to New York first thing in the morning. While I’m sad to say good-bye to my family, Chase, and Topsail Island, I must return to another island—the island of Manhattan, where the looming mysteries surrounding my life, career, and marriage remain unsolved.

Chapter
Sixteen

G
arrett and I are back in the New York City news rat race again. I am looking for another big story, as the one about Thomas has long been buried by other breaking news. Garrett and I have barely spent any time together since we got back earlier this week. He seems to be avoiding me, always racing off to get to the assignment desk. We still have not talked about the distance between us and the future of our strained marriage or about all of the family tension we experienced at the beach. Perhaps we will make the time to be together this weekend to make things right. I’ll get off work and get home early this Friday night, just as Garrett’s waking up to a new weekend. I plan to steal some time with my man.

Garrett is whistling his own rendition of “Volare” when I enter our home. The television is blaring, and dirty dishes are piled in the sink. The scent of the fresh Irish Spring from his shower and the Polo cologne still hangs in the air, and I know my husband is up and running.

“Hey!” I yell out as I enter through the door. “I’m home!”

“In here!” Garrett calls back from the bedroom. I drop my things by the door and pick up a pile of mail as I follow his voice. He is standing over our bed, packing a suitcase full of clothes.

“What are you doing?” I asked, stunned. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Didn’t you hear about that riot in Boston?” His mind is already at work. “They say it’s a race thing. The brass wants me to fly up there this weekend and check it out.”

“Great,” I say, disappointed that yet another weekend will come and go without our spending crucial time together.

“Baby, don’t look so sad,” he says, planting a hard peck on my cheek. Garrett grabs his socks off the dresser and turns back to his packing. “It’s a big story.”

“I know,” I reply.

“So look,” he continues nonchalantly. “I’ll probably just stay up there over the weekend.” Garrett flips his toiletry bag into his duffel, zips it closed, and prepares to leave.

I certainly was not expecting this.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he continues. “And then I thought I’d visit with Jen and her new boyfriend. She lives up there, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Duh. Like I don’t know where his sister lives?

“So, gotta go, baby. I’ll call you.”

And with that and another peck on the cheek, my busy husband is gone.

I refuse to allow my haunting suspicions to flare up again, so I try to consider the bright side. A weekend to myself might not be such a bad idea. I could always cook a big southern meal and invite my girlfriends over for a pig-out slumber party. I could take a long, luxurious bubble bath or catch up on my reading. Maybe I’ll clean the house and get it shipshape before Garrett gets back. Maybe it’s all for the best. Garrett needed a breaking story of his own anyway.

And perhaps he does need to bond with his sister. It’s been a while since we’ve seen Jenny, especially since she met Bradley the Buppie, her new live-in lover. Maybe Garrett is just doing his big-brother duties by checking in on her to make sure she’s picked the right guy. That’s my Garrett. He adores his little sister, and I’m sure he’s looking out for her. Let him be.

I feel guilty for feeling anything other than pride about Garrett’s trip to Boston, especially after he was so supportive of me during my hostage story. We have both been under a great deal of stress and pressure lately. I will not take Garrett’s sudden absence personally. Instead, I will make the best of this time alone—by not being alone. I’ll call my girls.

I need the close comfort of my girlfriends. I miss their company, so I invite the girls over for a Saturday-night dinner and sleepover. I buy lots of wine and vodka, so we have plenty to drink to keep our spirits high and the conversation flowing. I figure I’ll treat the girls to my famous fried chicken and whip up some collard greens, wild rice and gravy, my grandmama’s melt-in-your-mouth sweet potato casserole, and a batch of delicious homemade jalapeño corn bread, and a pitcher of sweet tea with mint and lemon, just like we do it back home. My New York friends love it when I cook a big down-home country meal, and this Friday night will be the perfect time to forget about our hips, hounds, and husbands and just splurge over our friendship feast. In the spirit of letting it all hang out, I think I’ll bake up a nice peach and berry cobbler too.

Perhaps it is in respect to that age-old adage about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, but I have decided that I also want Eve here among our circle of friends. Eve, Kat, Hope, and me—the four of us, just like we were in the good old days. Maybe I have been hallucinating all this time, convinced that Eve is having an affair with my husband. I have hunches but no solid proof. I admit that I miss her friendship and the way things used to be among us four girls. I would hate to be so insecure that I am wrong about my suspicions and then lose her friendship forever. Maybe I can get a better read on what’s really going on during dinner. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Sometimes I feel horrible suspecting the two people I love most of possibly causing me the most harm. What if I’m wrong? Even worse, what if I’m right?

Kat sounds so excited over the phone as we make our plans for our four-girlfriend weekend.

“Let’s start early,” she suggests. “I love your fried chicken, and the sooner I get to it the better!”

“Garrett’s out of town, so come any time. Wanna say four o’clock cocktails and dinner at six?”

“Very cool. I’ll beat the drums and let Hope and Eve know. See you early for cocktails tomorrow, snookums! Can’t wait!”

“Neither can I,” I reply. “I so need some girl time.”

I hang up the phone and start the plans for our all-girls feel-good southern feast.

Chapter
Seventeen

I
am pulling out the last batch of fried chicken when the doorbell buzzes. I take a quick look around the room to make sure everything is right. The tulips and tuberose I purchased from the corner bodega are opening up nicely. The first round of martinis is waiting. The dinner table is set for the fabulous fearsome four. We are about to have a blast!

“Hurry up!” an impatient Kat demands as I hear bustling at the bottom of the stairs. “Open up that door. I smell something
good
!”

Kat is a woman who knows what she wants. I chuckle at her demanding yet delightful antics, race to the door, and swing it open.

“
Hey, girl!”
We squeal our delight and excitement that our special night has officially begun. Kat squeezes past me and heads straight to the kitchen. “Where’s that fried chicken, girl?”

Hope and I laugh as Kat scurries by. Eve must be coming late—as usual. Hope and I hug each other tightly. Oh, how I have missed these good girlfriend hugs.

“Come on in, Come on in. Dinner is just about ready,” I say. “Put your things down over there.” I motion toward the “briefcase place” next to the couch.

The girls make themselves at home, pouring themselves some stiff martinis before settling down, barefoot and cross-legged, on the couch in front of our bay window. We chitchat about the latest fashions and the cutest movie stars. We dog-out men, share our latest bargain-hunting heroics, and laugh until our insides hurt. Kat spills the beans on her latest date from hell, as I continue stirring the pots, preparing our thanksgiving dinner. I glance at the stove clock once again. It is almost six o’clock now—two hours after start time—and Eve is still not here. She hasn’t even called to offer her typical explanations.

“Well, where in the world is Miss Eve?” I finally ask. “I’m worried about her. She’s really late.”

“Oh?” Kat looks up at me from her
Essence
magazine. She looks puzzled. “Didn’t she call you?”

“Call me?” I shake my head. “No.”

“Hmpf. That’s funny. She said she’d call you. She leaves tonight.”

“She leaves? Tonight?” I spin around, surprised and confused. “Where’s she going?”

“To Boston,” Kat replies.

“
Boston?”
I ask.

“Yeah, Boston. She said something suddenly came up.”

Yeah, like my husband’s
dick?

Kat has no idea she just dropped a bomb.

“Eve is in Boston?” The words are still stinging and ringing in my ears. “Is that what you said?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Kat is looking at me like I’m nuts. “She said she was going to call you before she caught the last flight out tonight.”

“Well, she didn’t!” I angrily snap back and slam my wooden spoon down on the kitchen counter.

“Whoa!” Kat puts up a defensive hand. “Don’t get mad at
me
. I wasn’t the one who stood you up for dinner. I’m here and I’mma eat
my
chicken.” She rolls her eyes.

“She still should have called, Kat,” a more level-headed Hope chimes in. “That’s just plain rude, especially if your girl went through all the trouble to do all this cooking.” She motions toward the dinner table, decorated for a feast for four friends. “Honey, did you check your machine? Are you sure she didn’t leave you a message? She said she was going to call you.”

“No, she didn’t.” I am still in shock. “Eve is really in Boston?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes!
Eve is in Boston.
Eve is in Boston. Big deal—let’s eat.” Kat swoops up her martini and heads for the dinner table.

“Eve is in Boston.” I shake my head in utter disbelief.

“How many times are you going to say that?” Kat snaps. “Let’s just eat,
please
! That fried chicken smells so good.”

The pieces of the puzzle are suddenly starting to fit.

“Garrett is in Boston too,” I say.

“And?” Hope doesn’t get it.

“Garrett and Eve are in Boston together,” I reveal, slowly and surely. “They are having an affair.”

Hope’s and Kat’s heads snap back at the same time. Hope drops her fork. Startled by this sudden revelation, Kat puts down her martini.

“Whoa! Hold up—wait a minute,” she says, squinting at me with her head cocked to the side. “
What
did you say?”

I nod my head slowly and stare at the hardwood floor. “Eve and Garrett are having an affair. It’s been going on for a while.” I look at each of them for any possible signs of their knowing.

“Please don’t say something like that if it’s not true,” pleads Hope. “Are you absolutely sure? I mean, really, do you have any proof?”

“Hope, I found her red hair in my bed, okay?”

“Oh my God!” Hope and Kat gasp, understanding the severe and horrible implications of such a find.

“I found another strand of her red hair in my bathroom—in my tub, no less!”

As my emotions begin to percolate, Kat and Hope sit there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“
And
Maxine told me that Garrett has been giving Eve gifts. I think I even saw some lingerie he gave her. Shit! I just
know
, y’all. To tell you the truth, I have always felt there was something more than an ‘old friendship’ between Garrett and Eve.”

Hope looks shattered, as if she is about to cry. “But, honey, do you really think Eve—
our friend—
would …” She gestures her hands around in circles in the air, unable to speak the words that will annihilate what we have believed to be reality up until now. This particular truth will surely and severely hurt us all. Life, as we know it, will never be the same.

“Everything seems so clear now as I look back. Garrett has changed. Our marriage has changed. I have changed. There are actually times when I feel like I’m dead.”

“Oh, honey …” Hope and Kat try desperately to comfort me. I confess to Kat and Hope that I feel that I have truly lost myself and am on the verge of losing my mind. At the same time, I sit here wondering if maybe I’m just hallucinating. I know where everything is in our beautiful brownstone—the clothes, dirty and clean; the bills, paid and unpaid. I even know where Garrett can find his misplaced socks, his golf glove, or lost keys, but ask me where I am, and I could no more tell you than the man in the moon.

The only place I feel alive and important is at work and out with my camera crew, chasing the news of the day through the fast-paced, hard, and dangerous streets of New York City. Here, I’m an eyewitness to the best and the worst of human nature. Funny how I can witness the same things in my own home, behind closed doors that seem so strong, solid, secure, and impenetrable, but, in reality, are not.

Having finally spoken my truth, releasing my worst nightmare and secret to my best girls, I burst into tears. I wail and sputter and cough my way through this heavy burden and unrelenting pain of finally facing my new reality.

Hope and Kat run over and grab me, just before I sink to the floor, wailing aloud like a desperate, wounded animal. My two best girlfriends hold me, locking me tightly within their loving arms, as together we drop to our knees. They will not let me go. They squeeze me even tighter, surrounding me with their love.

Kat keeps repeating, “I got you. I got you, baby,” gently whispering the words into my ear so they drum home her message of care and concern and support. I know it is not easy for Kat to surrender to such a caring place. I know it deeply pains her to see me so weak. I know it scares her when it is not her time to be tough.

“Let it out, baby girl.” Hope rocks me as I bawl in pain. “Just let it all out. We’re here with you. We got you, Des. Just let it
all
out.”

And I do, for what seems like days.

Once I have finally calmed down, Kat and Hope move me over to the couch, stretch me out, and cover me with an old quilted throw from back home. We say nothing. We just sit and think in silence, staring out the bay window, as the candles burn down to melted stubs, and our special feast of friends turns cold. We have all lost our appetites.

Finally, Hope breaks our silence. “What are you going to do?” she asks gently. “I don’t know, Hope,” I reply weakly. “I know I’m not happy. I believe this thing with Eve is Garrett’s way of getting even with me for some reason. We are so distant these days.” I start to cry again but fight through the pain to continue. “I truly believe in my heart that Garrett has always had a thing for Eve. This is like their unfinished business from college. I don’t think I could have stopped them, even if I was aware that something was going on.”

“That motherfucker,” Kat hisses. “Men are going to do whatever they’re going to do, honey. Even if you confront him about it, he’s still gon’ lie to you right there in front of your face.”

“Hey, have you confronted him—or Eve, for that matter?” Hope asks.

“After Maxine told me that Eve said she was feeling uncomfortable with Garrett hitting on her and giving her gifts, I asked her about it.”

“Eve?”

I nod.

“Well, what’d she say?” Kat sits on the edge of her seat.

“I asked her if Garrett was doing anything to make her feel uncomfortable, and she said no.”

“Did you ask her specifically about the gifts Maxine claims Garrett’s been giving her?” Hope asks.

“No,” I admit, realizing now that I was afraid of the truth. It hurts too much to know the whole truth sometimes. But perhaps it hurts even more when you don’t.

“Well, why the hell didn’t you ask?” Kat demands as she stands up, hands on her hips. “I don’t know why you didn’t bust that bitch’s ass right then and there.”

“Why not bust Garrett’s ass?” Hope throws back at Kat. “He’s the one who stepped out of their marriage.” She turns back to me. “Oh, how could they do this to you—to us? Garrett should know better. They both should … oh, dear …”

“Yeah,” Kat agrees. “First rule—you never shit where you eat.”

We sit again in silence that speaks so many words. “C’mon, y’all, tell me—you really saw no signs?” I’m desperate to know if I am the last to know. “Please, tell me the truth.”

Kat and Hope look at each other and then to me.

“Well? Did you know all along?” I continue to press the question, looking back and forth at my two best friends for anything close to a clue.

“Well, we have noticed that Eve has been acting strange lately, you know, canceling on us at the last minute a lot,” Hope says.

“She has also become unusually secretive,” Kat adds. “We just figured she had another private dancer. We had no idea the dancer would be Garrett.”

“Hm-hm-hm.” Hope shakes her head in disbelief.

“But to tell you the stone-cold truth,” Kat suddenly pipes up, “I honestly thought the bitch was fucking Maxine.”

Hope and I almost fall on the floor.

“
What?”
we respond in unison.

“Seriously. That’s why I think Maxine told you that shit about Garrett. She wanted you to get all upset ’cause Garrett’s getting in her way.”

“Oh, Lord.” Hope exhales as she lifts her palms to heaven. “This is too many things.”

I sit here simply dumbfounded, speechless, and confused.

“Yeah, honey, Maxine is an old dyke from way back,” Kat continues. “She runs a lot of product for Fritz down in the Chelsea projects, and that’s how she hooked up with Eve. Eve delivers the goods, you might say.”

Hope and I glance at each other for a quick reality check and then turn back to a babbling Kat as we hang on every word.

“You see, Fritz made Maxine like a little kingpin down in Chelsea. She gets a little power, a little extra money for that lazy kid of hers, and she also gets Eve, who of course wants to keep all her meal tickets happy.” Kat delivers the punch line with the dramatic flourish of a great gossipmonger.

“Kat,” I say, fearing we have gone from bad to far worse. “What in the world are you saying? Frankie and Maxine are sharing Eve—and now with Garrett?”

“I’m just sayin’ that as quiet as it’s kept, a lot of those nice furs and jewels ain’t from Fritz, honey. Huh-uh. They’re from Big Momma Maxine.”

“Aw, c’mon, Kat,” I say.

“Well, we know they ain’t from Garrett with his cheap-ass!” Kat snaps.

We all agree.

“Y’all remember that time that asshole gave you them zircons and made you believe they were real diamonds till Hope and I got you to take them fake shits to my jeweler boyfriend, who laughed and told you to get some new earrings
and
a new husband. You should have known something was up with that dickhead then.” Kat sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes.

But Kat was right; Garrett had led me to believe that those fake diamond earrings were actually real. They turned out to be just as fake as our marriage.

“I need a drink,” I say, exasperated.

“Me too,” Kat and Hope chime in and the three of us head off to the kitchen to mix up some very, very strong martinis.

“Have you talked to an attorney?” Kat asks as she pours our drinks. “You know you may need more proof of this affair than just your gut. Any letters, phone calls, pictures of the motherfuckers?”

“No,” I sadly reply. “I just can’t believe this, y’all. I am so embarrassed. How has my life gotten to this point?” I start to well up again.