Grown Folks Business (4 page)

Cameron said, “But the doctor told me at my age I would die of something else before the prostate cancer.”

Sheridan looked from her father to her mother. Their chuckles continued, even through the words—
cancer, radiation, die
—that made her want to cry. It took minutes for Cameron and Beatrice to notice their daughter wasn’t laughing.

“Honey,” Beatrice said, “the key is they found this early.”

“Really?” Her question was full of hope.

Cameron nodded. “For eight weeks, I’ll have daily treatments, and in the end, I’ll be fine. Anyway, you know what I believe,” her father said. “Jesus is the name above all names—and that includes cancer. The devil has no power over me.”

Sheridan took a deep breath. “So, you’re going to be all right,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Ofcourse, sweetheart.”

“Yes, your father will be healed, and he will shout God’s glory from every rooftop.” Beatrice chuckled again. “You know how your father is.”

The smile that Beatrice and Cameron exchanged was one Sheridan had watched her parents share over the years. It was their secret code, a nonverbal language that only they spoke.

“Okay,” Sheridan said as casually as she could. “When does this all begin?”

“My doctor’s going to call me.” Cameron patted her hand. “I wanted you to know, sweetheart, because I want you to be here for your mother. Now, we haven’t said anything to your brother yet. We will, but not until we know more. I don’t want him taking off from work and rushing down here. There’s no need for that.”

“He’s going to be upset when he finds out.” Sheridan squeezed her hands in her lap to stop their trembling.

Beatrice waved away Sheridan’s concern. “Don’t worry about your brother. I’ll take care of him.”

Sheridan knew her mother would do just that. She was a daddy’s girl, but her brother could win a gold medal as a mama’s boy.

“The main thing, Sheridan, is there’s nothing to worry about. I’m going to be fine.”

Sheridan put strength into her voice. “Well, that’s good. I’m going to use the bathroom.” She made sure she smiled before she rushed away.

Before Sheridan stepped into the lavatory, the fragrance of spring rain accosted her from the potpourri on the sink. Only the morning daylight filtered through the small window once she closed the door. But Sheridan didn’t need light to move. Everything was still the same in the sea-blue room. The same rug covered the white tiled floor. The same plastic shelves sat above the commode, holding toiletries and old perfume bottles that gleamed as if they’d just been shined but were probably as old as she was. The small space hugged her with its familiarity. And she felt safe—to release the tears she’d been holding and hiding from the moment her father had uttered the words “prostate cancer.”

Sheridan didn’t care what her father said; he might be prepared to go, but she wasn’t ready. Not now. Not ever.

She slid to the floor and let her tears flow.

Please, God. Don’t take my father. Please, God.

And then she remembered her prayer from yesterday. How she had asked God to make Quentin do the right thing. And how Quentin had driven away from her as soon as she had said the prayer.

The memory made her sobs deeper, and she almost choked trying to keep her cries silent. She couldn’t let her mother and father hear. If they did, they’d try to comfort her, and then they’d see the burden weighing on her and realize her tears were for something far beyond her father.

How can this be happening?
To lose the two most important men in her life…

She prayed, “Dear God, please, God,” until she couldn’t say it anymore. After minutes she stood and turned on the water. She washed her face. And dried her tears. And prepared herself. Some way, somehow, she’d find a way to get through this. She had no other choice.

I
t seemed impossible that life would continue.

Yesterday she’d lost her husband, and today she had to entertain the prospect of losing her father. Yet the fax machine was filled with customer orders requesting the best from Hart to Heart.

Sheridan’s eyes scanned the final fax from one of their largest customers. Marcy, the owner of a Hallmark gift shop in New York, loved Hart to Heart. “Your husband is phenomenal,” Marcy had quipped when she discovered it was Quentin Hart who wrote the emotionally stirring words for the sample cards they’d sent to her. “He makes love with his prose. You are a very lucky lady.”

I’m not lucky, I’m blessed,
Sheridan had thought as she beamed with pride then. She was sure she was going to throw up again now.

How was she supposed to care about Hart to Heart when the man who pulled her heartstrings had ripped the rope?

She closed her eyes, surrendering to her emotional exhaustion. Even though she’d slept when she returned from her parents, she’d still been too tired to cook dinner and had ordered pizza. It had worked for the children—it had worked for her—until Tori began her assault.

“When is Daddy coming home?” Tori had asked as she slipped a piece of pepperoni into her mouth.

“I don’t know.”

It could have been her tone or her glare that silenced Tori and made Christopher stomp from the kitchen. Since that time, she’d heard little from either child.

The shrill of the telephone startled her. She grabbed the receiver.

“Sheridan.”

She shot up straight in the chair. “Yes.”

“How are you?” her husband asked.

Quentin sounded as if he were really away on business and calling to check on those he loved. “What do you want?” Her words sounded harsh—even to her ears. But what was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to act when all she wanted was for him to come home?

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night. I wanted to, but I thought I should give you time.”

In that instant, she felt it again. The longing. For her husband. For her life.

“Sheridan, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“I want to come home.”

She inhaled. That’s what she’d been thinking.

“To talk.”

She breathed. Almost smiled.

“To the children.”

Her near-smile was gone.

“To let them know what’s going on.”

The hope chest that she had opened in her heart slammed shut.

“Sheridan, are you there?”

She wanted to be any place but here. “There’s no need for you to talk to Chris and Tori. They’re fine. They think you’re away on business.”

“Thank you for that, Sheridan. I think it’s best if I tell the children myself.”

“Tell them what?”

He paused. “I want to explain. That I’m not…coming home.”

“You can’t explain that to me, Quentin. How do you expect your children to understand it?”

“I want them to know that I’m still here.”

No, you’re not.

“And that I still love them and always will.”

She wanted to ask him why the children should believe him when he’d said the same words to her for years. “Quentin, this isn’t a good time.”

“There’s never going to be a perfect time.”

“I just want to wait a few days. Wait until…” She paused. What did she want to wait for? For Quentin to change his mind and tell her the truth—that he wasn’t in love with a man. That it was a lie he’d been told by the devil, and he’d come to his senses. “This isn’t a good time,” she repeated.

There was weariness in his sigh. “Don’t do this, Sheridan.”

“Don’t do what?” She stood and paced across the length of the office. “Don’t try to protect my children from this devastating news that will rip their hearts out the way you tore me apart?”

“Sheridan.”

She was tired of hearing him say her name. “My father has prostate cancer,” she blurted out.

“What? Oh, Sheridan, I’m so sorry.”

“My mother called this morning,” she explained, “wanting both of us to come over tonight. They wanted you to be there with me. They thought I would need you.”

There was a moment of silence. “Do you want me to come over now?” he asked softly.

Please, yes.
“No, not if you’re going to leave again.”

He hesitated. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

She wanted to scream that he was a liar. A cheat. A low-down, dirty dog. But those were the words in her head, not her heart.

“I’m so sorry about Dad,” he said through her silence. “And you know if there is anything I can do, I will. I love your parents, Sheridan.”

But you don’t love me,
she wanted to cry. At least the words he’d spoken about her parents were the first words in the last twenty-four hours that she trusted. Quentin’s mother had passed away and he had no relationship with his father. Beatrice and Cameron Collins had been his parents since he met them when he was only twenty-three years old.

“Now, I hope you understand why I can’t deal with this. Why I can’t handle making arrangements for you to talk to Chris and Tori.”

“I understand how you feel, but this has to be done. I’ll come over tomorrow night.”

She sighed.

“I can come over after dinner.”

Will you stay?

“Please, Sheridan.”

Exhaustion encouraged her to agree. “Whatever.” She spoke as if the word took effort. Then she added in a much stronger tone, “But I don’t want you saying anything to Chris and Tori about what’s going on.”

“They’re going to ask questions. Especially Chris.”

Another truth. “Tell them we’re separating, but don’t tell them you’re a…” She stopped, daring him to finish her thought. When he said nothing, she said, “That’s all we’ll tell them, until I figure out what’s best for them.”

“I want what’s best for them too.”

Sheridan decided not to waste the words asking him how he could say that and then turn around and do what he’d done.

“Good night, Quentin.” She hung up before she could hear his good-bye, before she would lose her pride and beg him to come home. She clicked the caller ID button to see where the call had come from. It was his cell phone.

Sheridan wondered where he was. Where he’d spent all of his hours away from his family. She hadn’t allowed herself to speculate. But now the dam broke, and the questions flooded her. Was Quentin with Jett? Were they sharing a bed? Were they touching, caressing, kissing?

She tried again to remember the last time Quentin had made love to her. Still she couldn’t.

The sting of the tears was immediate.
Quentin and Jett are together,
her mind whispered as if it were telling her a secret. She squeezed her eyes, wanting to release the images that came with her thoughts. Quentin and Jett. Having sex. Making love.

Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her BlackBerry, scrolled through the address book, and clicked on Dr. Hong’s number, then paused. Dr. Hong was her doctor—should she go to her with this news? But then she wondered what other doctor she could go to. A clinic was out of the question and she wasn’t going to choose a physician from the Yellow Pages. Not even a recommendation from a friend was safe. Her own doctor was best.

She dialed the number.

“Dr. Hong’s exchange.”

“Yes,” Sheridan said through deep breaths designed to keep her tears at bay. “I’d like to leave a message for Dr. Hong.”

“Go ahead, please.”

“This is Sheridan Hart. I’d like to come in at her earliest appointment for a blood test.” She paused, inhaled courage, and then said, “I need to have an AIDS test.”

S
heridan’s fork slipped from her hand.

She glanced at Christopher and Tori, who continued to swirl the pasta onto their forks in silence, not seeming to notice what had just happened. Sheridan held her breath—
one, two, three, four, five.
And then the sound of the key jiggling in the front door lock.

“Daddy’s home,” Tori squealed. She jumped from the kitchen table and ran toward the door.

Sheridan squeezed her eyes shut. Even as she had tossed through the long hours of last night, then turned papers for a few hours in her office before she spent the rest of the day in bed, she hadn’t been able to prepare her heart for seeing the man who was the source of her pain.

Tori’s squeals of delight brought Sheridan back to the kitchen table. Although Tori ran to greet her father, Christopher stayed in place, and his stares made Sheridan twist in her seat.

“Chris, your father is…home.”

He shrugged. His face remained stiff, without emotion.

“How’s my best girl doing?” Quentin’s voice floated into the kitchen from the foyer.

Although she couldn’t see Quentin and Tori, Sheridan played the scene in her mind—Quentin lifting Tori waist high and swinging her around in a circle. A grin surely filled Tori’s face; a smile certainly spread Quentin’s lips.

Sheridan wanted to lay her head down and cry. In minutes, Tori’s cheer would be gone. She looked at Christopher again. His face was taut, his cheeks were sucked in.

“Hey.”

Sheridan looked toward the voice. Quentin stood in the arch-way to the kitchen, grasping Tori’s hand.

“How are you?”

There was so much in his tone. It was their history she heard the most. Sheridan tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t move from the way they were pursed, protecting her—keeping all of her emotions of the past days inside. She pushed her chair back and cringed as the legs creaked against the tile. She lifted her plate from the table.

“Tori, finish your dinner,” she said, keeping her eyes away from Quentin.

“I’m finished, Mom,” Tori whined. “I just want to talk to Daddy.”

The normal words she would have said, insisting her daughter return to her dinner, didn’t come. There was nothing normal left within her.

As she piled Tori’s plate on top of hers, Quentin said, “So, how are you, Chris?”

When there was no response, Sheridan looked at her son. His eyes were still on her, watching, waiting.

“Chris,” Quentin called for his son’s attention.

Finally he turned to his father. “Mom said you were away.”

Even before she turned, Sheridan could feel Quentin’s eyes on her.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Where’re your bags?”

The dishes clanked against the porcelain sink as Sheridan almost dropped the plates.

“Sheridan, are you all right?” Quentin asked. She heard the concern in his voice.

She didn’t want to respond. Didn’t want to say a word to the man who was twisting her heart. The man she was still willing to beg to come home. She said, “I’m okay,” because she knew her children were watching.

“Mom.” In Christopher’s tone, she heard his questions.

She faced her family.

“Chris, Tori. Your father wants to talk to you,” she said, for the first time looking directly at Quentin.

Quentin’s eyes locked with hers, and Sheridan could almost hear his silent plea.
Help,
she was sure he was screaming inside.

But she said nothing more and crossed her arms to keep her pounding heart inside her chest.

Quentin cleared his throat. “Ah, guys, let’s go into the living room.”

“Is something wrong, Daddy?” Tori asked. Her child’s intuition didn’t allow her to let go of her father’s hand. She’d held him from the moment he’d walked through the door.

Quentin and Tori walked toward the other room, but Christopher stayed at the table.

Sheridan said, “Chris, didn’t you hear your father?”

“What does he want to talk about?”

Sheridan stiffened. Something was in his eyes, in his voice. “Your dad’s going to tell you.”

He stood and moved closer to her. “I want you to tell me.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. She turned away and began rinsing the dishes. “Go into the living room, Chris. I’ll be right there.”

Seconds passed before she heard his steps. She placed the plates inside the dishwasher, wiped off the counter and the table, dusted invisible crumbs from the chairs, and then looked around for anything else to keep her away. But there was nothing left to do. She took a breath and joined her family, as it used to be.

Quentin sat on the couch, with Tori by his side. Sheridan walked to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel’s edge. Christopher moved to stand next to her.

“Son, why don’t you sit down?” Quentin motioned toward the love seat.

Christopher shoved his hand inside his jeans and shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Quentin looked at Sheridan. But she stayed still.

“Tori, Chris, there is something I want to tell you.” He cleared his throat. “First, I want you to know I love you.”

“I know that, Daddy.”

Quentin squeezed Tori’s hand. “But your mother and I have decided…we need a little time apart. We need…” He glanced at Sheridan.

Sheridan pressed her lips together.

He lowered his head. “I’m going to be staying somewhere else…for a little while.”

Tori’s eyes widened, already filling with water. “Daddy, you’re not going to be staying at home with us?”

“No, sweetheart.”

“Where are you going to be?”

“I’m not sure…right now.”

Sheridan swallowed the lump of fear those words put inside her.

“Are you and Mom getting a divorce?” Tori asked.

“Your mother and I haven’t decided anything yet,” Quentin said.

“Your mother and I”?
Sheridan wanted to scream to her children that she had nothing to do with this. They should know she was the good parent, the one who had expected to keep their family together until the end of time.

“Sheridan,” Quentin said. “Do you have anything to add?”

She shook her head.

Quentin sighed and turned toward his daughter. He lifted Tori’s face with his fingers. “Nothing’s going to change…not really.” He wiped away Tori’s tears with his thumb. “I’ll see you all the time, and we’ll still do things together and—”

“Why are you leaving us?” Christopher finally spoke.

Sheridan wanted to step to the center of the room, and shout, “Bravo.” She held her smirk as she looked at her husband.

“I can’t give you a simple answer, Chris.”

Christopher shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be simple.”

Quentin said, “There are just some things your mom and I have to work out.”

“Daddy, I don’t want you to go,” Tori cried as she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck.

“Tori.” Sheridan reached toward her daughter, and she ran from her father into her mother’s arms. “Go upstairs, and I’ll be up in a little while.”

“Mommy, why is Daddy leaving?” Her grasp was tight around her mother’s waist.

Sheridan kissed the top of Tori’s head. She wanted to console her, assure her the world would be just as her father promised—nothing would change. But she knew words wouldn’t soothe her daughter because she hadn’t found any in the English language to bring comfort to herself. “Honey, go up to your room, and I’ll be there in a while, okay?”

Sheridan could feel the nod of Tori’s head before she ran upstairs, her sobs louder than her footsteps. Quentin stood, as if he wanted to follow his daughter, but he didn’t move.

“I think Tori asked a good question,” Christopher began as he closed the space between him and his father. They stood face-to-face, toe-to-toe, father and son. Sheridan watched and wondered when Christopher had grown taller. He was standing almost an inch above his six-foot father. “Why are you leaving us?”

“Chris,” Quentin said and reached for his son.

“No love, Dad.” He backed away, dodging his father’s touch. “Just the truth. What’s the real reason you’re moving out?”

Quentin glanced at Sheridan, and she shook her head.

“Why are you trying to protect me?” Christopher said, raising his voice. “I want to know.”

It’s time to stop this,
Sheridan thought. Before Quentin blurted out more than she wanted told. “Chris, your dad said all he’s going to say.”

“There has to be more to this than just you’re leaving. Tori and I deserve to know.” Christopher’s voice quivered as he looked between his parents.

Sheridan said, “Like your father told you, we have to work some things out.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Christopher, we are still your parents,” Quentin said. “You are not going to talk to us that way.”

“Then I won’t talk to you at all.”

Sheridan watched her son march up the stairs. When she heard his bedroom door slam, she whispered, “That went well.”

Quentin shook his head at her sarcasm. “We should have told them the truth. Lying never works,” he said, as he turned back toward the couch.

She almost laughed. “You’ve been lying for seventeen years. Now you’re a man with integrity? Please.”

The soft lines of his jaw hardened, and he pressed his lips together as if he was trying to hold back words he might later regret. After a moment he said, “We’re going to have to tell them. I want them to understand and know they will always be a part of my life.”

It was Sheridan’s turn to be silent.

“And you too, Sheridan.” He paused. “I will always take care of you.”

She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Quentin.” She spoke softly, then stopped, letting his name rest between them for a moment. “How can you talk about love, and caring, and all of those things, and then just walk out of here? Like your family never mattered.”

“You and the children have always mattered to me. That’s why I waited so long and why it’s so hard now.”

“But none of this makes sense. I thought you loved me.”

“I do.” He shook his head. “I know it’s difficult to understand.”

She looked down at the floor. “Was it me?” she whispered.

“No,” he said quickly and took steps toward her, but stopped when she stiffened. “Please believe me. This has nothing to do with you.”

“How can you say that? Obviously, something was wrong. Something was missing for you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see Jett in her mind.

“This was happening long before I ever met you.”

“That’s the part I don’t understand. You keep talking about all the years you’ve had these feelings. But then, what were the seventeen years with me about?”

“They were about loving you.”

There it was again. Moving words, loving words, words that let her know she was cherished. Only now she knew the truth.

“Sheridan,” he continued, “believe me when I say if there was any other way—if there was anything else I could have done, I would have done it. But I was miserable.”

His words made her want to cry. She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together, trying to close off everything that had once been open to him.

Quentin stared at her for a moment. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

It took a moment for Sheridan to understand. She turned her hand, staring at her bare left fingers. Then she frowned at him. “Why should I?”

He spoke no words, just lowered his eyes.

“I hope you didn’t imagine you were going to have me and…” She stopped and held up her hands as if she were surrendering. “Anyway, I’m sure Tori will want to speak to you. And probably Chris, too. Where can they reach you?”

He walked to the mantel and stared at the photos of the four people who were the parts of the Hart family. It took a moment before Sheridan understood Quentin’s silence. “Have you already moved in with Jett?”

His silence was louder this time.

“Quentin?” She called his name with dread and disbelief. And then the hours rushed through her. The hours she’d been living this nightmare, wondering what was wrong with her. Wishing she could have her husband back. Hours she’d spent blaming herself, feeling inadequate, insignificant. “How could you do this?”

“Sheridan, I’m sorry,” he said, still turned away from her.

His words unwrapped the anger she’d been holding within. “I cannot believe you.”

He faced her. “Sheridan, sweet—” He stopped before he finished. “I have to give this a chance. If I don’t, I’ll never know.”

“So you really didn’t want to stay here with me and the kids? All of that stuff you said on Monday was just show.”

“No, I wanted to stay, but when you decided I should leave…”

“You were looking for permission to leave me and the kids to go live this lifestyle you know is wrong.”