Grown Folks Business (8 page)

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m a survivor. Destiny’s Child has nothing on me.”

“I just want to see that m—well, praise the Lord anyway.”

“I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Hang in there. I’ll be praying.”

She hung up and massaged her eyes. The call didn’t bring her the comfort she had expected, but in a small way she’d found some consolation. The thought of her brother getting on a plane, flying for ninety minutes to Southern California to confront the man who had once been his friend, made her smile just a bit.

Her BlackBerry vibrated atop her desk. “Oh, no,” she groaned when she noticed the message: “7
P.M.
marriage retreat meeting.” She’d forgotten; she and Quentin had done all the research for the couples’ getaway and were supposed to review it with the board tonight.

Sheridan searched through her desk for the folder with Quentin’s scribble on the outside. She stood and hurriedly grabbed her jacket and bag. In the foyer she yelled, “Chris…” Seconds passed before she said, “Christopher.”

His bedroom door opened, and then her son appeared at the top of the landing.

“Christopher,” she began, “I’m going to church. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I have my cell, okay?”

He nodded, leaned over the railing, and smiled. Sheridan took two steps back. How many times had Quentin watched her like that? “Okay, Mom. I’ll take care of Tori. I’ll take care of everything.”

It was the second time he’d made that pronouncement—that he was now the man of the house. Sheridan shuddered. She still had to speak to him about that.

She rushed to the car. But when she put her key into the ignition, her hand stayed still.

She was supposed to be doing this with Quentin.

Preparing for Hope Chapel’s tenth marriage retreat, the annual vacation for married couples.

She flicked her wrist and the engine revved up. And her stomach fluttered.

She was supposed to be doing this with Quentin.

Attending the retreat as husband and wife. As examples for the soon-to-be and newly married couples. But what kind of example would she be now?

She could imagine the comments: “Did you hear about the Harts?” and “I thought they had the perfect marriage,” and “Just goes to show you the world is not what it seems.”

In one movement Sheridan turned off the ignition and jumped from the car. “I can’t do this.”

She stepped into her home, and Christopher was standing there as if he’d been waiting.

“Did you forget something?”

She looked at him and wondered why she never noticed it before. Everyone said he looked like her, but tonight he sounded like his father.

“No, I just decided not to go.” Sheridan rushed up the stairs. At the top she glanced down at her son. He was watching her, and his eyes told her he understood.

Inside her bedroom Sheridan made the call.

“Hi, Nicole, it’s Ms. Hart,” she said, trying to put a smile into her voice. “Is your mom or dad home?”

“Hi, Ms. Hart. Mom and Dad are on their way to church. You just missed them. Sorry.”

I’m not sorry.
“That’s okay. I’ll just leave a message. Tell them, we…I…Mr. Hart and I are sorry we missed the meeting tonight.”

“Okay.” Nicole paused. “Is Chris, I mean, Christopher there?”

Nicole reminded Sheridan that Christopher’s demand for a new identity went beyond their home. Still, it pleased Sheridan that Nicole asked for Christopher.

A year ago it had almost broken her heart when Christopher asked if he could go on a group date. She’d known it was coming, but she wasn’t ready. His choice of Nicole eased her pain a bit. The two seemed perfect.

Christopher and Nicole attended the same school, were in Jack and Jill, were both active in church, and often found themselves at social events together with their parents, since their fathers were both doctors and their mothers officers in their chapter of Delta Sigma Theta. Nicole was the girl whom every mother requested for her son in her prayers to God.

So when Christopher announced last November on his sixteenth birthday that he and Nicole were now boyfriend and girlfriend, Sheridan and Quentin had given their approval—and the talk about the responsibility of dating as young Christians. Sheridan was also pleased that they’d joined the Dating Forum at church, a program their pastor had developed a year before.

“Hold on, Nicole,” Sheridan said. “I’ll get Christopher for you.” As she walked to her bedroom door, she allowed herself a small grin. She couldn’t do anything about their father, but at least she could help Christopher and Tori maintain some semblance of their lives.

“Christopher,” she yelled from her bedroom door. “Phone.” He bounced up the stairs. “Nicole’s on the phone for you.”

Christopher stopped moving. “Tell her I’m not here.”

Her grin turned upside down. “What’s wrong? Are you mad at Nicole?”

“No. I can’t do this right now.”

His words were the same as hers just minutes before. She nodded, and like he’d done for her, she told him silently that she understood.

They stood for a few seconds longer. Eye to eye. Emotion to emotion. The security and comfort of life as they’d known it to be, gone.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said. And Sheridan turned away, ready to tell another lie…this time for her son.

The day had been as hazy as her memory was now.

Sheridan sat on the lawn, holding Christopher in her arms.

“Do you want me to hold him?” her father asked from one side of her.

“Let me.” As her mother gingerly took the baby, Sheridan kept her eyes on the stage. The long speeches were continuing under the blazing June sun, and Sheridan didn’t want to miss any part. In less than an hour, her husband would march across the stage, accepting his medical degree and taking them both to the land they’d dreamed of.

“I’m so proud of you, Dr. Hart,” she’d told him that morning as she tightened the knot on his brand-new silk tie, which she’d spent almost forty dollars on. It had been beyond a splurge, but she’d remembered the way Quentin had eyed the tie when they saw it in
GQ
magazine. And although they couldn’t afford it, by the time the credit card bill came, Quentin would officially be a doctor, albeit an intern.

Quentin had hugged her tightly, and inside his arms, she felt all of his gratitude. For the way she worked for the city of Inglewood while he studied for long hours and worked even longer hours.

But this was the beginning of the life they’d strived for together. In eight days Dr. Quentin Hart would begin his internship at UCLA.

“I want to give you the world,” he’d said as he’d clasped the faux pearls around her neck. “In a few years you’ll have a real string of these.”

She faced him. “That doesn’t matter to me. All I want is to be with you.”

“And I with you…until the end of time.”

She closed her eyes and held her husband tighter than she ever had, promising herself they would be this way forever. And as she stayed in his arms, she wondered where the ringing was coming from. She didn’t want to break away, knowing in her heart that she had to hold on to him. But the ringing continued, growing louder, until she had to let go.

Her eyes opened; it took her a moment to focus and realize where she was. In her bedroom. In the present. Not with Quentin. Not in 1991.

She begrudgingly released her dream.

“Hello.”

“Sheridan, were you asleep?”

She glanced at the clock. It was only a bit after ten. When had she fallen asleep? “No.”

Kyla said, “Nicole said you’d called, and I was concerned when you and Quentin didn’t make it to the meeting tonight.”

Sheridan cleared her throat, hoping to remove the grogginess and her memories. “Oh, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re not feeling well?”

The thoughts of yesteryear stayed with her. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I missed the meeting, but I wanted to get the hotel agreement to you.”

“I’ll pick it up tomorrow, or you can give it to me in church on Sunday. Everyone is excited about Hawaii. I’m so glad Quentin suggested it.” She paused. “So, with the proposal completed, there’s not much left for you and Quentin, right?”

There’s nothing left for us.
“Kyla, I’m really sorry to do this, but Quentin and I won’t be on the planning committee anymore.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

My husband prefers a man to his wife.
“I can’t talk about it now, but Quentin and I completed everything you needed. You don’t need us anymore.”

“That’s not true. You’re part of the marriage fellowship team. We will always need you guys.”

Sheridan felt them building—the tears. Sadness once again, overriding the anger. But there was no way she was going to cry. “I’m sorry, Kyla,” she quivered.

“It’s fine,” Kyla said. She paused and then spoke with a softer voice, “Sheridan, remember that I’m your friend if you need anything. At any time.”

The battle to keep the tears away would be lost if she didn’t end the conversation. “Thanks, Kyla.” She hung up without saying good-bye. And then she had her victory. She didn’t cry. But although she was triumphant over her tears, she couldn’t defeat the ache. The ache that came as much from remembering their past as from trying to imagine her future.

M
aybe this was getting easier. Maybe she could find normal in this abnormality.

Those were Sheridan’s thoughts as she stepped from the shower. Even when she glanced at her toothbrush, standing alone, even when she opened the medicine cabinet, filled with only her toiletries, there were no tears.

Inside her bedroom, Sheridan jumped into a pumpkin-colored sweat suit and rushed downstairs into the kitchen.

“You get on my nerves,” Tori shouted at her brother.

Sheridan almost wanted to applaud. Even the children understood that life had to move on. “Tori, don’t talk to your brother that way.” She spoke the same words in the same tone that she’d used a million times.

“He started it,” Tori protested, giving her standard answer. “He told me that I was out of my mind because I didn’t call him Christopher. And he’s the one who’s out of his mind because everyone knows his name is Chris.”

Sheridan’s thoughts of normalcy dissipated. “Tori, what’s wrong with calling your brother Christopher, if that’s what he wants?”

“I like Chris better than Christopher.”

He said, “I don’t care what you like. My name is Christopher, stupid.”

“Mom!”

The chirping of her BlackBerry caught Sheridan’s attention. As she searched in her purse, she said, “Christopher, don’t call your sister stupid, and Tori, call your brother…” She stopped when she saw Quentin’s number across the screen next to “missed call.”

She stepped from the kitchen, away from her children, and wandered into the living room to listen to the message.

“Sheridan, hi, this is Quentin.”
Does he think I’ve forgotten the sound of his voice?
“I, uh…well, I hope you’re well.”
Then why did you leave me?
“And, well, anyway, I wanted to make plans to get the kids.” His sigh that followed let Sheridan know that his words were as absurd to him as they were to her. “Maybe tomorrow. After church, if you’ll be going.”
Why would he wonder if we’ll be going to church? We always go…
“I, uh, won’t be there.”
Oh.
“I’ll meet the kids outside. Or at your…our house. Whichever you prefer. Whatever is best for you.”
Come home. Make this all go away. That would be best for me.
“So give me a call when you get this message. Uh, thanks…and Sheridan…” He stopped, ending his message.

Sheridan replayed the message. But no matter how many times she listened, it didn’t help her understand how she’d gotten to this space as a single mom making visitation plans with her children’s father.

Sheridan sighed. Even though she wanted to strap Quentin to a tree and play darts with his manhood, on the other side, she wanted to preserve the children’s relationship with their father. They deserved that—even if he didn’t.

She had no idea how Christopher and Tori would react to this news. Neither had mentioned Quentin, walking around as if only the three of them had ever lived in the house. She was sure Tori would want to see Quentin. And she was just as sure Christopher would not.

In the kitchen Sheridan stuffed her cell phone inside her purse and then turned to her children. In just minutes they’d fallen in love again, chatting as if moments before they hadn’t been preparing for war.

“Hey, you two.” She spread her lips into a smile she didn’t feel. “Your dad…tomorrow.” She paused as Tori’s eyes widened and Christopher’s eyes narrowed. “He wants to see you after church,” she said as if she agreed with their new life.

“Yeah,” Tori cheered.

Christopher glared at his mother for a moment and then turned and walked from the room.

“Christopher, wait.” She rushed up the stairs behind him and caught his door just before he tried to slam it. “Christopher.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“I’m not going to see him, Mom. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

“He’s your father, Christopher.”

“Not anymore.”

My thoughts exactly.
“He will always be your father, and he wants to see you.”

Christopher folded his arms and leaned back on his bed. Sheridan sat next to him. “I know you’re mad right now, but you’ve got to know that your father loves you.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

Sheridan reached inside for words that would answer that question for both of them. “Because this has nothing to do with you. I know for sure that he loves you.”

Christopher jumped from his bed. “I don’t care if he loves me,” he screamed.

“Christopher, watch your tone. There’s no need to yell.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I don’t love him, and you can’t make me love him. Just like you couldn’t make him love you.”

His words froze her heart.

“Mom?”

Both Sheridan and Christopher turned to Tori standing in the doorway.

“I love Daddy.” Tori stood at attention, as if she were determined to make her position known. “I want to see him.”

Christopher looked at his sister as if she had really lost her mind. He glowered at his mother and then stomped from the room.

Sheridan tapped on the door. “Christopher.” She paused and waited. He’d been inside the bathroom for almost an hour—since he’d left her sitting in his bedroom wishing she’d slapped him for speaking the truth.
“Just like you couldn’t make him love you.”

She couldn’t remember what Christopher had said before or after, but she knew it would take a long time for those words to leave her.

“Christopher, this is enough. It’s time to come out. Right now.” Her tone carried her warning.

She stepped back and tapped her foot. Counted silently. She’d give him to ten. When she got to nine, the door opened.

He looked at the wall, the stairs, the floor. He looked at everything—except her.

The anger she felt floated away. She wanted to hold her son, tell him to cry, so she could cry with him. Just like she did with Tori almost every night.

But Christopher had told her he needed no comfort. “I’m fine, Mom” was all he said when she asked how he felt.

Now Sheridan knew he wasn’t fine.

“Christopher, I’m sorry you’re angry, but this is not how we’re going to handle this, okay?”

He mumbled words she couldn’t decipher.

“We need to talk,” she said.

His tear-filled eyes finally met hers. “Mom, please don’t make me go.”

It was the way he trembled that made her blink back her own tears and reach for him. “Okay,” she whispered as she held him. “We’ll talk about it later. I have to take Tori to dance practice.”

“Okay,” he said before he hurried into his bedroom.

“Mom.”

Sheridan turned, and there was Tori, with her own tears. Sheridan prayed for the day when her home wouldn’t be filled with all this sadness.

“I’m ready,” Tori said.

Sheridan nodded. “Wait for me downstairs.” In her bedroom she dabbed at the water that seeped from her eyes and then inhaled, ready to be the strength for her children.

She yelled good-bye to Christopher, heard no response, and then rushed Tori into the Explorer. Silence stayed with them through the five-minute ride, and Sheridan was grateful when she pulled in front of the dance studio.

“I’ll be here to pick you up at two.”

Tori nodded but didn’t move, her eyes straight ahead.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Again she nodded. “Mom, are you going to be mad at me if I go see Dad?” Still she didn’t look at Sheridan.

“Ofcourse not, Tori. I want you to see your father if that’s what you want.”

She nodded again. “I do.” Finally she faced her mother. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I still love Daddy.”

“I know,” Sheridan said as she pulled Tori into her arms.
I still love him too.
She held her daughter for a moment longer before she said, “I’ll call him, and by the time I pick you up, the plans will be all set, okay?”

It was a weak smile Tori gave her, but Sheridan was grateful for it. At least one-third of their household had something to look forward to.

Tori jumped from the car and trotted toward the building as if she’d suddenly found joy.

You’re supposed to be on my side, Tori,
Sheridan thought as she eased the car away.
You’re not supposed to want to see your father.

The guilt bombarded her right away. Those were not the thoughts of a loving mother. Still, a part of her was glad that Christopher shared her feelings.

Sheridan maneuvered the car into the driveway, glanced at her home, and then clicked on her cell phone. She dialed Quentin’s cell, and the call went straight to voice mail. She dialed again. Same thing.

Where is he?
she wondered, knowing this was his weekend off. She wanted the plans finalized before she picked up Tori—before she changed her mind about letting her go.

“Where are you, Quentin?” she asked aloud. And she prayed her mind wouldn’t take her there again. To Quentin and Jett. Jett and Quentin.

“Golf!” She remembered his Saturday morning tee time. He’d canceled during the holidays, but since it was almost seventy degrees, she was sure where he was now. She glanced at her watch. She had more than thirty minutes to intercept him before he took to the course.

Sheridan backed the car from the driveway and then onto the 405 toward the private club in Bel Air. As traffic whizzed by, she glanced in the mirror, wishing she’d done her hair. Wishing she had on something other than her standard sweat suit uniform.

Why am I trippin’?
It didn’t matter what she wore or whether her hair was done; life was different now.
But he wanted me for all those years.
The other side of her told her that he hadn’t.

Still, after she parked, she checked herself in the mirror.

She slammed her car door, and then she heard his laugh. It surprised her, the way it made her feel. The way it made her smile. The way it robbed her of her anger. She turned toward the laughter, and her heart didn’t take another beat.

There was her husband. Walking from his Mercedes. In khaki pants and a navy golf shirt. With his Louis Vuitton golf bag draped across his shoulder. With a grin on his face. With Jett Jennings at his side.

She didn’t want him to see her, but she couldn’t move. She watched them walk, just feet away from her. Old friends. New lovers.

They chatted and laughed. A second before they stepped into the clubhouse, Jett turned. Eyes met. She stood, bolted in place. He stood, as Quentin disappeared behind the doors.

Jett’s face filled with surprise. Hers stretched with sorrow. They stayed, staring, waiting for the other to move. He shifted first. Turned the ends of his lips upward into a slight smile. The ends of hers drooped down. She pressed her emotions through her eyes and prayed that he would know what she was thinking. Then, she prayed that God didn’t punish her for those thoughts.

Jett understood. Took away his smile. Nodded slightly. Then, in the next moment, he was gone.

And still, she stood, shackled to the spot.

“Sheridan. Sheridan.”

She didn’t have the power to turn toward the voice.

“Sheridan.” Francesca Mills scooted over, rolling her golf bag behind her. “Darling, what are you doing here?” Francesca stood on her toes to lift her five-foot frame tall enough to air-kiss Sheridan’s cheek. “Don’t tell me your husband finally got you to take up golf. That’s wonderful. Perhaps we can play together some time. Are you playing today?” Francesca chatted as if Sheridan were talking back.

Francesca stepped back and eyed Sheridan’s sweat suit. “You don’t look like you’re playing golf.”

“I’m not,” were the first words Sheridan was able to push through her throat.

“So what are you doing here? Are you meeting Quentin?”

“No.” That was all Sheridan was going to say. Francesca Mills had made millions as an upscale interior designer, but she could have doubled her fortune as a gossip columnist. There was no way Sheridan was going to say anything more.

“Oh. Well…”

Sheridan hopped into her truck before Francesca’s inquisition continued. “I’ve gotta run, Francesca.”

“Oh. Well…I’ll see you in church tomorrow. I wanted to ask—”

Sheridan slammed the door on the rest of Francesca’s words and then sped off as if she had somewhere to go. She needed to get away fast, but no matter what the speedometer said, she couldn’t get away from the image in her mind. The two men—one clean shaven, one with a short haircut. Both impeccably dressed. Either able to turn the head of any woman passing by.

But only one of them aware that he had just squeezed every bit of her life’s blood out of her heart.

The image stalked her.

The picture in her mind of two men. With their heads tossed back, their laughter filling the air. No cares in their world.