Grown Folks Business (35 page)

They had been sitting in front of the house for at least an hour. The quiet felt good. And Brock’s hands over hers felt even better.

“I want you to get some rest,” Brock said. “It’s been some week for you.”

Sheridan leaned back. “This week is just a piece of the puzzle. A puzzle that began at the beginning of this year.”

Brock twisted in his seat. “I hope I’m a good piece of your puzzle.”

She smiled.

He said, “I guess it’s been difficult getting used to Quentin being gone.”

Her smile went away. “Yes, but it’s getting easier.”

She could feel the question coming—the one she was sure he’d almost asked a million times before. “How long have you and Quentin been divorced?”

Time to tell. “Not very long. Actually, not at all.” She spoke faster when his eyes widened. “Our divorce will be final soon.”

He paused. “So, I’ve been sleeping with a married woman?”

“We only did that once.”

“Good thing. Adultery…not my thing.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Are you upset?”

He shrugged. “Should I be?”

“No, because in my mind, I’ve been divorced since January fifth—the day Quentin left. It’s just hard for me to talk about it with you.”

He was thoughtful for minutes. “Was it very difficult? You both seem to be in that place where mature people who divorce find themselves, mostly because they want to do what’s best for their children.”

“Are you a divorce expert?”

“No, but I see a lot of divorce—especially with some of the boys I work with. And rarely does it look as civilized as it does with you and Quentin.”

She thought about all the times when her thoughts had been far from civilized. “Separation is hard.”

“I always wondered why you never talked about Quentin.”

“I thought that was one of the rules—never talk about your ex with your new…”

He grinned. “You don’t know what to call me, do you?” Before she could answer, he leaned across the seat and kissed her. For a moment she wondered if Mrs. James was watching. But then with his tongue he took away thoughts that weren’t centered on him. When he pulled away, he asked, “So are you going to tell me about Quentin?”

“Quentin who?”

They laughed, but then she turned serious. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“I don’t want to know about him, I want to know about you.” He shrugged. “It’s just that sometimes, Sheridan, I feel there is an emotional wall around you. You let me get close but only so close.”

“I don’t feel that at all.”

“Like right now. You know how to direct the conversation. You almost had us going off on another subject.”

“I guess I haven’t accepted my separation from Quentin in my head yet.”

“Have you accepted it in your heart?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. What comes first—the heart or the head?”

“You tell me.”

She was quiet and looked away. “Quentin’s out of my heart. I’ve worked hard to close that door. But maybe he’s not out of my head.”

Brock nodded slowly, digesting her words. “So, if he’s out of your heart, is there room for someone else?”

More time passed. “I didn’t think I had any room.” She stopped, still not looking at him. “But you’ve opened that door a bit for me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so.”

With his fingertips, he turned her head so she faced him and kissed her gently. He pulled back and said, “If there’s room in your heart, I’d like to submit an application for residence.”

She shook her head. “I just don’t know if I’m capable of loving again,” she said softly. “How can I love when I still may have a broken heart? How would…”

He covered her lips with his fingers. “A while ago, you promised to just go for it with me. Stop asking the questions. Just go.”

Her stare was intense. “Is that what you’re doing?”

He kissed her, gently, tenderly. Then, urgently. When he leaned back, he’d taken all of her breath away. “What do you think?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The door to her heart cracked open just a bit more. And she knew then that maybe, just maybe, she could make a little space and perhaps let Brock Goodman inside.

The couch enveloped her like a soft leather glove.

Sheridan eased further into the crevices, dipping deeper into the comfort. And then she did what she’d wanted to do all day. She closed her eyes.

She couldn’t count the hours since she’d last rested. For the past days her slumber had been filled with images of Christopher, Déjà, and a baby. She’d awakened every morning tangled in tousled sheets as if she’d been battling an enemy.

But now she wondered what would fill her dreams tonight. Today all of her wishes for her son had been granted, but not the way she wanted. Never did she expect to feel such overwhelming loss. She wished now that she had never prayed those prayers.

“I know you’re sovereign, Lord,” she whispered. “I know everything is for your purpose and glory. But please forgive me for my thoughts. Please understand my heart.”

She sat, relishing the peace that came with that prayer, and minutes later, her calm ushered in a vision of Brock. And her entire body smiled.

“You look happy.”

Slowly she opened her eyes and took in Quentin. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, standing as if he were home.

“Happy is not exactly the word I’d have used.”

He joined her on the couch, leaned back, and rested his legs on the table. “Been a long day,” he said.

“Longer than long.”

He smiled.

“How’s Tori?” she asked.

“She’s okay. I stayed with her until she fell asleep. I think this was traumatic for her.”

Sheridan nodded. “I thought about letting her stay with Mom and Dad tonight. But when I called, she said she wanted to come home.”

“Told me the same thing.” He paused. “I think when things like this happen, people want to be around those they’re closest to. Makes them feel safest.”

It was the way he spoke that made her twist to face him. “You miss this.”

She wasn’t sure herself whether she was asking a question or making a statement. She wasn’t sure at all what she thought he missed. But he nodded—understanding and agreeing.

In the silence Quentin’s eyes slowly took in the room as if he was digesting memories, saving the nourishment for sometime later. His eyes rested on the family pictures on the mantel.

“I miss all of this,” he finally said. He sounded as if he were drowning in sadness.

“Is it because of what happened…with Déjà?”

“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Even though it was killing me that Chris could be a father, in other ways, it felt good. I felt like I was home again. I was needed by my children.” He turned to her and placed his hand over hers. “And it felt good that you needed me too.”

I’ve always needed you, Quentin.

His hand stayed, but he turned his glance away. “I was surprised to see Brock at the hospital.”

She said nothing.

A moment passed, then, “This may be none of my business, but how serious are you about this guy?”

“You’re right. It’s none of your business.”

He turned back to look at her and then smiled when she smiled.

“It just seems…he’s around quite a bit.”

“You’ve only seen him a few times.”

“But I can do the math. If I see him once a week, I know you’re seeing him more than that. So what’s the deal?”

His tone was light, as if he were just asking a friend a simple question. But in his eyes Sheridan saw seriousness. She tilted her head. “You know, over the past few months there’ve been times when I actually thought…some of the questions you’ve asked me…you almost sound jealous.”

He shrugged. “I’m not jealous. Just a little sad that you’ve moved on with your life.”

“Why? You’ve gone on with yours.”

He nodded, opened his mouth, and then closed it.

“Quentin, are you happy?” she asked.

His glance roamed to the mantel again, where the history of their love remained, even though he’d left almost half a year ago. “I thought I was. I wanted to be. But…”

This time she reached for his hand. They settled in the comfort of the familiar, until he said, “I’m leaving Jett.”

His words froze every part of her. Finally she was able to ask, “What happened?”

“I’ve been asking myself that.” He stared at the wall. “I haven’t been happy.”

“That’s what you said about being…with me.”

He nodded. “If I were a psychiatrist, I’d diagnose myself as being totally confused.”

“So then I won’t say it,” Sheridan said, wanting to lighten the mood. But then, she asked, “Quentin, is all of this based upon today? It’s been an emotional day. I don’t think you should make any decisions…” She stopped herself. Couldn’t believe she was actually talking to Quentin about this. Couldn’t believe that she wasn’t jumping up and down, shouting, “Hallelujah.”

She said, “So what’s going on?”

“I wish I could explain it. But being with Jett didn’t solve any of what was going on inside of me.”

She exhaled a long breath.

“Now, I’m not saying I’m not gay. What I’m saying is that I never felt right with Jett. I don’t know if that’s a function of Jett not being the one for me or whether none of that life is right for me. I don’t know. What I do know is that God’s not finished with me. This isn’t my final stop.”

For months she’d been praying—first for Quentin to come home, and then just for God to speak to his heart.

I know he loves the Lord. If Quentin will just pause and listen, he’ll hear God’s voice.

Sheridan recalled Pastor Ford’s words. Was Quentin listening to God’s voice?

“What are you going to do?”

He grinned without happiness. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask if I can move back home.” He chuckled just a bit when she exhaled. “I think you and Chris and Tori have all found your way through this. I’m just going to take some time for myself.” He shook his head. “I’ll probably move out next weekend.”

“You have a place already?”

“Been looking at a few spots, but I’ll grab a hotel room for now.”

She nodded.

He said, “It’s amazing. I’m over forty and I’m searching for an apartment and myself at the same time.”

She squeezed his hand. “Do me a favor and really spend some time with God.”

“I will, just like I always have. Through all of this, I’ve maintained my relationship with God. He’s been with me.” He paused. “I want you to know that I continued to ask God to take this desire away from me. And I still feel it, Sheridan. It’s real. It’s who I am.”

She took a deep breath. “Maybe that’s the challenge. Maybe you keep asking God to take the desire away when all He wants is for you to give it up.”

He was silent for long minutes. “You still think it’s wrong for me to be gay.”

She held up her hands. “I’m not judging you. I just keep you in my prayers. I’m just asking you to look at this through God’s eyes.” She took his hand. “You should consider talking to Pastor Ford.”

He shook his head. “I know her position on this.”

“Her number one position is as your spiritual leader. She’s only concerned with your spiritual health. This isn’t a personal opinion or judgment for her. You know how she is.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I know that Tori and probably now even Christopher would love to have you back at church with them.”

“I’ll think about it,” he repeated. He looked at her, and for the first time she saw the new lines in his face. It looked like sadness had etched itself deep inside his skin and made itself at home. “I will always love you, Sheridan.”

She nodded. “I know that, now.”

“We still have quite a life in front of us—together.” He paused. “We were almost grandparents.”

“Isn’t that scary?”

He nodded. “But one day we will be. You’ll be a terrific grandmother.”

“And you’ll make a wonderful grandfather.”

“I hope so. In the meantime”—he dropped her hands and stood—“I’ve got to figure out my life so that I can be here totally for my children. And their children. And their children.”

She held up her hand. “Please, I can’t think about any of that.”

He gently pulled her from the couch. When he put his arm around her shoulders, she inhaled. With each step they took toward the door, Sheridan was aware of Quentin’s touch, the way his arm folded naturally over her shoulders as if it belonged there. When they stopped moving, she could feel her heart beating, and then she realized it was his heartbeat she felt.

He looked down at her, and her heart hammered more. It was a familiar stance, but one she’d missed for months. He stood so close she could see the speckles in his eyes and smell the fragrance of his breath. And tonight, on his face, she saw the same love that had been there so many years before.