Never Keeping Secrets (18 page)

“Sorry, Omari,” she said. She hadn't really spoken to him since she left the hospital.

“Miss you too, Nora,” she said with a smile. Nora was the makeup artist from the show.

“Thank God for you, Ming.”

Danielle smiled as she logged out of her voice mail.

Kent's use of his on-camera catchphrase tickled her and she could use a laugh as she tried to make decisions that would affect the rest of her life.
Whatever is left of it.

Mind over matter, Danielle,
she told herself.

She reached for her bottle of water as she rested on a lounge chair in a cabana on the beach. Over the last month she had been to see more doctors and specialists. She had learned so much about the disorder and she did take some peace in knowing that although the disorder could cause cysts in many organs of the body so far she only had complications with her kidneys. She was in the early stages and although there were treatments and lifestyles changes to extend the life of her kidneys there was no cure.

One day her kidneys would fail.

One day she would need dialysis.

One day she would die from it.

Danielle took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her forehead. Everyone lived to die one day but she hadn't even hit thirty yet and facing that was hard.

So far she had returned to work and had not disclosed her disorder to the producers but the first chance she got to take a full week off, she took it, because besides her physical state, she had to worry about her mental health, and that meant being in the company of someone she loved who also loved her.

She shifted her eyes out to the turquoise waters of Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and smiled at the sight of Mohammed emerging from the water. Her heart swelled with love for him and then filled with sadness that when she left Jamaica in the morning he might not see her again until she was in her casket.

Mohammed rung the water from the ends of his dreads as he made his way back to her. “You should swim. The water feels good,” he said, his Jamaican accent even heavier since he moved back.

“Just enjoying watching you,” she said, handing him a towel.

“You're in Jamaica,” he said with a smile. “You need to get wet.”

He chuckled as he stretched out on the lounge chair beside her and pulled her clothes, dampening the sheer cover-up she wore over a three-hundred-dollar bathing suit that she had absolutely no plans to swim in.

“Stop, Mohammed,” she said.

He leaned up to look down at her with a playful glint in the brown depths of his eyes. “Stop what? Stop this?” he asked, playfully biting her cheek.

The bites turned to kisses as he settled back and then pulled her body slightly atop his. “I thank you for spending your vacation with me,” he said, his voice serious.

Danielle tucked her hand between his side and his arm as she closed her eyes and listened to the rumble of his words inside his chest. “Thank you for making time for me last minute,” she said softly.

“I thought I would never see you again, I thought you had forgotten all about me,” he said, his hands massaging her leg in that intimate way that wasn't sexual. It was the touch of a man toward a woman he loved.

“Never,” she promised.

His hold on her tightened.

She pressed a kiss to his chest.

“All week I've been wanting to ask you what made you come here. And since you're leaving me tomorrow, now is as good a time as any,” he said.

She hadn't told him about her illness. She didn't want to burden him with her illness. She selfishly had just wanted to spend time again with the one man she ever loved while she was up and healthy enough to enjoy it.

“Just missing you and decided to take a chance you weren't loving someone else,” she lied.

Mohammed shook his head and leaned up a bit to free his dreads to hang over the back of the lounge. “I'm not gone lie. I've had women in all these years. You know that,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” she told him with mock attitude, lifting her head from his chest to look up at him.

“And I've even loved a couple . . . but never the way I loved you, Dani,” he said. “Never.”

She believed him.

Danielle forced herself to look out at the beautiful landscape of the ocean and the skies blending together in the distance as she blinked to keep tears from wetting his chest.

“I gone miss ya,” he said, his accent
so
thick.

Thick and sexy.

“I love ya, Danielle,” he promised.

She leaned up, bracing her hand on his chest for support, as she looked him in the eye. “And I love you, Mohammed. Please don't forget that. Ever,” she said with a sappy smile as a tear she couldn't deny raced down her cheek.

“What's wrong?” he asked, pressing a kiss to his thumb before he swiped the tear away.

And the dam broke.

Danielle pressed her face back to his chest as the tears fell, racking her body, stuffing her nose, and tightening her throat.

Several people walking by their cabana on the beach eyed them as Mohammed pulled her body up and then twisted onto his side to make room to lay her on her back. He held her chin as Danielle tried to tuck her face against him. “No, no, no. Don't cry. Don't cry,” he whispered down to her as he pressed his lips to her cheeks.

His affection made her cry harder but Danielle fought for control because she always thought she looked a complete mess after a snot-inducing cry. Puffy eyes. Red face. Running nose.

It was not the image she wanted to leave the man with.

She took the dry hand towel he offered her and wiped her face but she drew the line at blowing her nose.

“Better?” he asked.

“Hungry,” she told him, trying to lighten the mood. “Let's hit the buffet at the hotel.”

Mohammed stood up and then held her hand to help pull her up to her feet. “Nah, my mama is cooking dinner.”

Danielle pulled out her pair of jean cutoffs and pulled them over her bikini bottoms. She tied the ends of the sheer cover-up into a knot at her waist. “I don't feel like changing. This cool?” she asked.

Mohammed eyed her. “No, it's hot . . . but it's cool.”

She playfully slapped his thigh with a towel before she stuffed the towels into the large straw tote and slid her oversized shades onto her face.

They left the beach and made their way to Mohammed's Jeep parked at the hotel where Danielle was staying. She smiled at how much it resembled the beat-down Jeep he drove back in Jersey.

She climbed into the passenger seat and pulled her foot up onto the seat, looking out the window as they left the luxury resort. Danielle had barely spent any time at the resort, Mohammed had become her tour guide, showing her his Jamaica. She almost felt like she knew the way to drive to his home on her own.

During the fifteen-minute drive she just enjoyed being in Mohammed's company and for many of those minutes she had no worries in the world. “What's your mama cooking?” she asked, glancing over at him.

“Jerk chicken, rice and peas and fried dumplings.”

Danielle's stomach growled.

Mohammed laughed as he turned down a street crowded with homes painted in bright colors and parked in the driveway between a turquoise house and a red one. When Mohammed moved back to St. Ann's Bay he purchased the house next to his childhood home, where his mother still resided.

As soon as they climbed from the Jeep the bright white door of his mother's home opened. Danielle smiled when Mohammed's three-year-old son, Adric, came running toward them at full speed. He sprang up and Mohammed caught him easily before settling him on his lap.

Danielle's insides turned to mush when Adric reached out his arms to hug her around the neck as well.

“I missed y'all,” he said.

“Yes, he did,” Oni, Mohammed's mother, said, still standing on the porch.

During the majority of Danielle's week, everywhere they went Adric—and sometimes Oni—was right there with them and in the short time Danielle had fallen for them both. She had been so pleased to know that Mohammed had spoken of her to his mother and the woman hugged and welcomed her like an old friend.

As they entered the two-bedroom home, the smell of the food made Danielle weak at the knees. Oni already had the round table in the bright blue dining room laid out with food and a big glass jug of punch.

Danielle's stomach growled again. Her new nutritionist had her on a strict diet low in protein and sodium and high in fiber to try to ensure she didn't grow any more cysts, but Danielle knew she was going to set it aside and enjoy the feast his mother fixed for her last night.

Mohammed set Adric on the floor and he came right over to Danielle to stand between her legs and lean back against her chest. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, his shoulder-length braids smelling of the coconut and oil herbs Oni used. “I know a little boy whose name is Adric. I know a little boy whose name is Adric,” she sang in a chant. “Hey little boy?”

Adric turned with a giggle and placed both of his hands on her cheeks. “Yes?” he asked, still laughing.

“What's your name?”

“Adric,” he said loudly with a jump.

They played the little game often over the last week and Danielle would cherish how Mohammed's son had instantly gravitated to her. His own mother had died during labor and he never knew her. For one week of her life she knew how it felt to play the role of mother and that meant everything to her because her illness prevented her from ever having children of her own.

She smiled through the tears that threatened to rise.

“Come help me, Dani,” Oni said, reverting to Mohammed's nickname for her.

Danielle winked at Mohammed and walked through the dining room and into the bright yellow kitchen. She washed her hands at the sink. “I am starving, Mama Oni,” she said.

“
Tell
him.”

Danielle turned and nearly jumped up onto the sink to find Oni standing so closely behind her. She was a short and thin woman with beautiful dark skin that was still tight and smooth for her age. Her bright eyes seemed to gleam beneath the colorful headwrap she wore around her braided hair. “Ma'am?” she said, looking down at her.

“You no well, child. Oni see all, you know. And you no well,” the old woman said, pointing her finger up at Danielle as she chastised her.

Danielle felt a cold breeze rush over body. She opened her mouth to lie, but the words wouldn't rise.

“Tell him,” Oni stressed again with one last long look before she left the kitchen.

Danielle turned back to the deep white sink and turned on the faucet, bending down to splash her face with the cool water before drinking a handful. As she stood up straight, she felt a twinge across her back and massaged it deeply even though she knew it couldn't fix what caused the ache.

L
atoya pressed another piece of gum into her mouth as she climbed back into her car from dropping Tiffany at school and Taquan Jr. at daycare. Once she came from under that cloud of pill popping, things became clearer and one thing that was vividly lucid was freeing herself up by getting
both
of her kids out of the house during the day.

Taquan was against it until Latoya got sick of his mess and dropped the baby right off at the church to spend the day with him while she ran errands. That was the end of
that
debate.

She still craved the pills but she was doing better.

She steered her car toward the church as she hummed along to “Never Would Have Made It.” “Ain't that the truth,” she said aloud, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.

When she pulled into the parking lot of the church she was surprised there weren't a lot of work trucks already there. Taquan told her he had to be at the church all day to oversee the new repair of the heating system. She grabbed the breakfast she purchased for him from his favorite diner and left the car to enter the church. She paused at the doors to the sanctuary.

Latoya felt overcome by it and everything it stood for. For her His spirit was just as strong now as when the choir sang and her husband preached. It was in the quietest of moments that she felt her connection to her faith.
Peace be still.

The path of her faith had taken so many detours and pitfalls along the way. But even when she faltered she knew the Lord had never left her side. He had never left her behind. Never forsaken her.

“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered, coming down the aisle.

She set Taquan's breakfast on one of the pews and moved to lift the hem of the red wrap dress she wore as she knelt at the altar. She prayed for her husband to not let ambition pull him any further from his devotion to God. She prayed for the well being of her children and her family. She prayed for the Lord to strengthen her youngest sister to make better decisions than she had in the past. She prayed for each of the childhood friends she missed so much sometimes that she wept. And she prayed for herself most of all.

Her tears wet her folded hands.

“I am not happy, Lord,” she admitted. “Please show me the way. Please.”

And that was the truth. She had her faith, her children, her husband, and her family. But truth be told, Latoya was lost and confused and living in a world too filled with hurt. On the outside she lived the life everyone thought she strived for. But on the inside she was barely making it day to day and finding reasons to smile. To rejoice. To be happy.

She rose to her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes as she retrieved Taquan's food and headed up through the pulpit to take the shortcut to his office on the upper level. She climbed the stairs but looked up in surprise as her husband's door opened and Olivia, the choir director, exited.

Latoya paused and took in the clinging and deep-plunging V-neck sweater the woman wore with leggings and high-heeled ankle boots. She was the epitome of brick house with more breasts, thighs, and hips than she had waist. The outfit hid nothing. Not even the fact that her nipples were hard.

“Sister Sanders,” Olivia said, her husky voice just hinting at the beautiful, soul-stirring gospel solos she delivered every Sunday.

“Sister Olivia,” Latoya said, still watching the woman as she continued down the stairs in a way that was pure sex. “I wasn't expecting to see you around today. Do you have choir rehearsal?”

Latoya knew firsthand the appeal of a minister to many women. There was power and presence in the pulpit. On top of that, Taquan was a young and charismatic minister whose attractiveness could not be denied. Plenty of the women of the church—young and old—gave him an extra long squeeze or a greeting that was almost sing-song:
“Morn-ing, Rev-er-end San-ders.”

Latoya was very clear that there were whores everywhere . . . including the church. To her they weren't two women serving the Lord. Olivia was the same age she was and in that moment Latoya was eyeing her like a woman going after her husband.

Olivia came to a stop a few steps just above the one Latoya stood on. Latoya took another step up so that she wasn't eye level with the woman's obvious camel toe.

“No, no choir rehearsal until later tonight,” she said. “The preacher needed me to do something for him.”

“Oh really,” Latoya said, feeling her ire rise. “And what was that, Sister Olivia, particularly in
that
outfit?”

Olivia looked offended and made a face. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“What is it you had to do for
my
husband?” Latoya said.

Olivia smirked as she came down the few steps separating them. “Perhaps you should ask your husband,” she said, looking Latoya in the eye as she stepped down onto the same step where she stood.

Latoya climbed one step and then turned to look down her nose at the woman. “And perhaps you should find out what is appropriate clothing to wear inside a church?”

Olivia chuckled. “I'll do better,
First Lady
, when you do better.”

Latoya felt her neck warm because she knew a lot of the members of the church and the church board thought her attire wasn't always appropriate. “I don't really care what you do as long as you keep it away from my husband. Clear?”

Olivia sniffed the air. “Do I smell insecurity?” she said cattily.

Latoya sniffed the air as well. “Do I smell your . . . funky behind?” she countered with a pointed look at Olivia's crotch.

“Funny, I get no complaints,” Olivia said with a quick but deliberate look up the stairs to the closed door of Taquan's office, then turned and continued down the stairs.

It took everything Latoya had not to race down the stairs behind her and beat her ass. Instead she headed up the stairs and stormed inside Taquan's office.

He was putting away files in his file cabinet and looked up at her in surprise. “Hey baby,” he said.

“Baby hell,” she snapped, throwing the container of food onto his desk.

“Respect the house of the Lord, Latoya.”

She made a face. “Don't play with me,” she warned.

Taquan frowned. “What's wrong? What you all bunched up in the face about?”

“Are you screwing Olivia Monroe?” she asked, moving over to the trash can to look down for condom wrappers or any other proof. “Is that why you can only share your rod once a lousy week?”

Taquan moved past her to close his office door. “I am not screwing Olivia.”

“Newsflash, Rev, you ain't laying it down on me that often either,” she said, watching him as he came around to sit behind the desk.

He instantly stood up and came back around the desk to pull her body against his as he kissed her. Deeply.

Latoya fought hard not to touch him and clasped her hands behind her back even as she felt herself melt as he nibbled her bottom lip before sucking it gently. She moaned in pleasure and kissed him back, sucking the tip of his tongue into her mouth the way she knew he liked.

Taquan lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. Their mouths were still open and panting. “I am not screwing Olivia Monroe,” he repeated, before he slid his hands down to her hips and jerked them forward to press his erection against her belly.

“Then why were you two here alone?” she asked, even as her eyes fell on his lips, wanting to taste them again.

“She came by before she went to work to talk to me about using the basement level as a daycare center,” he said, giving her buttocks another massage before he released her. “I think it's a good idea but it would have to wait until after the renovations so the children aren't displaced during that time.”

“And where are the heating people?”

Taquan frowned as he reclaimed his seat. “Hopefully they'll be here at eight like we arranged.”

“But she said—”

“Hold on, baby,” he said, reaching for the phone.

Latoya picked up the container of food and opened it to see if the chicken and waffles were salvageable.

“I wasn't aware of that, Brother Banks,” Taquan said, shooting Latoya a hard stare.

She locked her knees because she knew the call from the president of the church board was about her altercation with Olivia.

“I understand that,” Taquan said. “I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding on both their parts.”

Latoya rolled her eyes.

“And I appreciate the board's support of my plan for expanding the church. You know that.”

She couldn't believe that slore had already hopped on the phone
. I thought it was Jesus on the mainline, not Brother Banks.

“Let me talk to my wife and I'll call you back,” Taquan said.

“One, she had no right being in your office dressed like that. Two, she insinuated that you and her were dealing. Three, she was disrespectful,” Latoya rushed to say as soon as he placed the phone in the receiver.

“The church board can still kill the deal for the expansion, Latoya,” Taquan began. “Was this really the time to be childish and confront a church member about sleeping with me?”

Latoya looked at him in disbelief. “I am the First Lady of this church but I am your wife first and that gives me the right to confront any woman I believe wants you,” she said.

Taquan shook his head before lowering it into his hands.

Latoya watched him as he stayed that way for long moments. “She said I should ask you what you needed her to do—”

“Do you really think I care about some catfight in the stairwell?”

“What?” she asked, not sure she heard him correctly.

Taquan raised his face and looked at her with unbridled anger that had his shortbread complexion of skin flushed. “Do you really think I care about some catfight in the stairwell? Huh? Do you?”

Latoya took a step back from the fire and brimstone in his eyes.

“I could care less about what either one of you are stressing,” he said, rising to his feet to point to the mock-up of the new church hanging on the wall over his chair. “That's what I stress about. So you will not destroy this for me. You will apologize to Olivia if that's what it takes for the board members to get over this.”

“No, I will not,” Latoya asserted. “I will not apologize. You will defend me because I am telling you that she goaded me.”

“Get out, Latoya,” he said, waving his hand at her dismissively. “And don't say two words to me until you admit you were wrong and apologize.”

And just like that he went back to his filing and ignored her. In that moment, Latoya actually felt hatred for her husband as waves of anger, disappointment, and hurt flooded her. She fought the urge to give him a good Newark-style cussing out that made you sit in the mirror afterward and cry while you asked the Lord, “Why me?” But she just turned to run from the church.

As soon as she climbed behind the wheel of her car she snatched up her purse and dug around in it for her Altoids can. It didn't register for a few aching moments that the can and everything in it was gone. It had been pure instinct to turn back to her pills.

She craved them.

Latoya flung her purse onto the floor and dropped her head to the steering wheel as she gripped it tightly.
Fight it. Just fight it.

Still trembling with her emotions she finally started her car and drove home, wiping her frustrated tears with one hand as she drove with the other. She was surprised that she missed Taquan Jr. because at least he would have distracted her from her thoughts.

As she pulled up to their house she saw a local delivery van parked in front of it on the street. She turned onto the drive and climbed out just as the driver stepped down from his truck and up onto the sidewalk. She met him at the end of the walkway.

“Latoya James-Sanders?” he asked, holding a bright red box with a gold bow.

She smiled at the man who looked no more than a teenager as she nodded and then dug out a tip to hand to him.

“No tip,” he said, handing her the box. “Everything was taken care of. You have a good day.”

Latoya carried it as she turned and unlocked the front door. She tripped over one of Taquan Jr.'s toys and the box went flying out of her hand as she fell. She lifted her head just in time to see it bounce off the wall. The lid fell off and wax paper floated in the air as at least two dozen chocolate candies dropped to the floor.

“Shit,” she swore. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Latoya was surprised at how good it felt to curse.

As the wax paper finally landed the card taped to it unfolded.

She made a face as she climbed back to her feet. “Good Lord, what now?” she asked, moving over to pick up the note.

 

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