The Ex Files (18 page)

S
HERIDAN

Sheridan rolled the shopping cart down the aisle, the basket only half filled. But, she didn’t feel like wandering any longer through the thirty aisles of the grocery superstore. Not with her stomach being so unsettled.

“It’s just the chicken,” she told herself. But she didn’t believe her words. She hadn’t eaten much with her pastor, but still she felt sick.

Pushing her cart forward, she closed her eyes for just a moment, but when she looked up, it was too late. Her shopping cart slammed into the back of the man standing in the checkout line.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” the man said, turning around.

“Quentin!”

He grinned. “First you dump your coffee all over me, and now you’re trying to run me down with this weapon of mass destruction. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me around the city, just waiting to attack.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to hurt you, it would be with something more lethal than a shopping cart, Dr. Hart.”

“Ouch.” He laughed and put the carton of milk he’d been holding onto the conveyer belt. “How’ve you been?” He kissed her on the cheek.

“Fine.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t sound that way.”

She shrugged, thought of Tori. Then thought of Brock and turned her eyes away from him. “So, you’re doing your own shopping these days?” she asked.

“I’ve been doing my own shopping since…” He stopped. “I haven’t spoken to Tori in a couple of days and that’s not like her. Is everything all right?”

Sheridan peered at Quentin. Wanted to ask him right there if he were trying to turn their daughter gay. Knew right then that was a ridiculous thought. “She’s fine. I’ll make sure that she calls you tonight.”

Sheridan watched her ex as he took cash from his wallet to pay the cashier. He still moved with grace, his perfectly manicured fingers cutting through the air as if he were conducting a symphony. He still stood with dignity, his head high as if he were above the world.

“I’ll wait and help you take that stuff to the car,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

She didn’t know why her face burned with heat under his glance. He put his grocery bag on top of hers and rolled the cart into the parking lot. After he packed the packages inside her SUV, he asked, “You want to grab a cup of coffee?”

She tilted her head. “You have time for a lot of coffee these days. Who’s taking care of your patients?”

He chuckled. “My patients are fine. It’s just that I think bumping into you is a sign. We haven’t spent much time together recently.”

“We haven’t spent time together in three years. And why would we?” She leaned against the car. “We’re divorced.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“No need. I have plenty of friends.”

He leaned next to her, stepping into her personal space. “I’ve missed you as my friend, Sheridan. There was a time when we could talk about anything.”

“There was a time when I could trust you with anything.”

“And you can’t anymore?”

She shook her head. “Lost all of that when you told me you preferred Jett over me.”

“Never said that.”

“That was the result.”

He peered at her for a long moment. Made her skin burn more. Made her heart pound harder. “Even after all these years, and the fact that Jett is gone, you still can’t forgive me?”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to forgive you for, Quentin. Forgive you for being gay?”

“I’m not actually gay. I’m…well, I’m whatever. And, I can’t help that.”

She ignored his comment. “Or maybe I’m supposed to forgive you for leaving me.”

“I never wanted to do that.”

She hesitated. “Did you really think I would go along with you being with me and Jett at the same time?”

He tilted his head toward the sky. Waited for a bit of time to pass. “I’m not sure what I wanted then.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s why I’ve had such a hard time since.” Now his eyes were on her. “There is one thing I’ve been absolutely sure about, though.” He moved close, so close she could feel his breath as he spoke. “I’ve always known that I still love you.”

She stayed in that place—just for a moment—before she backed away from him.

He said, “I’m not asking you for anything. Just want you to know the truth. I love you. Always have. Always will.”

Life in the grocery store parking lot continued—cars passed and honked. People strolled and talked. All was normal, except for this declaration from her ex-husband. “How can…” She stopped. “Never mind. We don’t even need to go there, it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

But he looked at her as if he knew her heart was blasting through her chest. “Then, if you’re so sure, come home with me.”

“What?”

Her shock made him laugh. “You’ve never been by my place except to drop Tori off. And, we could have a cup of coffee…and talk. Talk about where we went wrong.”

“We?”

“Okay, maybe not we.” He softened his voice. “But we can talk about finding a way to be friends.” Her glance followed his hand as he entwined his fingers with hers. Their hands melded together—as if they were meant to be. Then his thumb stroked her palm the way he used to, and she remembered everything that it had taken her three years to forget.

“So, do you want to come by my place for…a cup of coffee? And to talk. I need to talk about…” He stopped, not finishing the thought.

Now she knew why her heart pounded. This was what she’d prayed for. Was he ready to renounce his lifestyle, come back to the side of right?

He squeezed her hand. “I need you, Sheridan,” he whispered. “I need to talk to you.”

She almost nodded, almost agreed. But when her stomach rumbled, reason returned. And she pulled her hand and heart away from him.

“Sheridan…” His beeper vibrated, and he glanced at his pager. With a sigh he said, “I’ve gotta get this.” His eyes held more than regret when he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Let’s finish this later.”

He strolled away before she could tell him that there was no need for later. It was already finished.

Inside her car, she turned on the ignition, tried to turn off thoughts of Quentin—his words, his touch. But it was only when she thought of Brock that she smiled.

S
HERIDAN

The telephone had rung just once and when he picked up, Sheridan spoke before he could even greet her.

“Brock, I love you and I miss you and I want to see you.”

“Me too.”

She’d inhaled hope. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“I never wanted to fight at all.”

“I want to see you; can you come over?”

And then, the sound of dead air, the quiet nothing that came through once someone disconnected. She stared at the phone, her face tight with confusion.

In the next moment, the telephone rang. “I meant to say yes.” Brock’s smile came through. “Give me about an hour. I love you.”

He’d hung up again, and although she’d wanted to linger in the memory of his words, she’d rushed to her bedroom to shower.

Now Sheridan peeked through the curtains just as Brock’s car stopped at the curb. She scooted from the window and turned to the mirror. It had been a long time since she’d given this much thought to the way she looked. She never had to—no matter what she wore, Brock thought she was beautiful. But today she’d chosen with care. The new jeans she’d purchased months ago hugged her curves and the equally flattering white silk T-shirt completed the ensemble—all designed to remind Brock of the reasons he’d had to miss her.

The bell chimed and with a deep breath, she swung the door open. “Roses,” she exclaimed.

“No, my name is Brock,” he kidded. He kissed her and then handed her the flowers.

She inhaled—the perfume of hope. She smiled, knowing now, they would be all right.

Inside the kitchen, she arranged the stems into a crystal vase and the moment she finished, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as if they hadn’t spent twelve days apart. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes, took in his scent and his words. When she stepped away from his embrace, she said, “I’ve missed you, too. I was surprised when I didn’t see you in church.”

“I’ve been going to my grandmother’s church.” He paused. “Maybe I’ll come back to Hope Chapel Sunday.”

Holding hands, they wandered into the family room, and when they sat, he held her in the quiet. “This is what I’ve missed most,” he said.

She nestled deeper into his chest. “I don’t know how to get you to believe how much I love you.”

“All you have to do is say it.”

“If that were enough, you’d know. I think it’s because you want more from me—”

He squeezed her, stopping her. “I don’t want to talk about that right now; just want to know that you love me.” He paused, and then his words sliced through the silence. “And that it’s only me.”

She closed her eyes, squeezed away thoughts of Quentin. “It’s only you.”

“That’s enough for me. That’s enough for now.”

More silence, and then he said, “I have some news.” She pulled away, looked at him. “My mom has finally decided to move out here.”

“That’s terrific,” she said, pleased that he’d accomplished his mission. He’d moved from Washington, D.C., to Los Angeles years ago to be closer to his grandmother, Big Momma, a petite woman who’d passed away just months after he and Sheridan started dating. Now, with his mother alone in D.C. (since his younger brother was attending college in Berkley), he wanted his mother closer. “What changed her mind?”

He shrugged. “We talked about it when I was home. She knows I can’t move back there—she knows how serious I am about you.”

“Well, I’m really glad to hear that.” She paused. “At least your big news is good news.”

He frowned. “What happened over here?”

“Tori.”

His smile came back. “More teenage stuff?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what to call this.” A breath, and then, “I came home and caught her kissing Lara.”

“What do you mean kissing Lara?”

“Kissing Lara. Lips locked, tongues moving…” She stopped. Remembered. Shuddered.

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was.” She repeated the story; when she told him about Irma Nelson, she added, “I just cannot believe she reacted that way.”

“Well, Irma may have overreacted, but I’ve got to give it to her for reacting at all. More parents need to step up and do something about all of these things that the media and even now school systems are trying to tell kids are okay.”

She tilted her head. “You think Irma was right? I mean, she wants to keep Lara away from Tori, like there’s something wrong with my daughter.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Tori. I’m just saying that in today’s times parents need to take action to stop this mess. Kids need to be told that behavior is wrong; now, maybe Irma overreacted, but I give her props for acting like she’s the parent.”

Sheridan slipped from his arms. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

“I’m not saying she was right in exactly what she did, but she was right in doing something. She took a stand. If she thinks Tori could be influencing her daughter—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not saying Tori is doing that. But if Irma sees Tori as the danger, at least she took some action. She’s doing what she thinks she has to do to protect her daughter.” He paused. “And maybe you should do the same.”

“And what should I do? Keep Tori away from Quentin?”

“Exactly.”

Her eyes opened as wide as her mouth. “I wasn’t serious when I said that.”

“Where do you think Tori got the idea that it was okay to be kissing another girl?”

“Brock, she’s thirteen. They just wanted to see what it would be like to kiss.”

“Okay, so they were experimenting. Kids do that, but they do it with the opposite sex. So, I’ll ask you again. Where did she get that idea?”

His words were her thoughts. But aloud, they sounded archaic, judgmental, homophobic.

“Okay, let’s say that Tori was…influenced because of Quentin’s behavior. I’ve already talked to Pastor Ford and she agrees, as long as I tell Tori that behavior is wrong, everything will be fine.”

Brock opened his mouth, then closed it. Held up his hands. “Look, I’ve already said too much. I shouldn’t be interfering with you and Tori, so let’s end this here.”

Inside, her emotional alarm rang loudly, but still she pressed. “No, go on. I want to know what you think.”

He paused, then shrugged. “Okay.” Paused again, looked dead into her eyes. “You need to keep Tori away from Quentin for a while.”

“You are serious. Your solution would be to keep Tori from her father.”

“Yes.”

“And ruin that relationship.”

“Ruin?” He chuckled. “Sheridan, Quentin moved out of this house to be with a man. He put his feelings before his wife, his son, and his daughter.”

“But, he’s found a way to work it out. We all have. We’ve moved on and everything’s okay.”

“Okay? Well, that must be why you came home and found your daughter in the arms of another girl.”

“You can’t blame Quentin.”

“Then give me another explanation.”

“I don’t know. Television, movies, you just said that yourself. Or maybe it’s just plain old teenage stuff.”

“Like all teenagers in America are engaging in same-sex kissing.”

“Whatever, it’s not Quentin.”

He paused. “Why are you always taking up for that man?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“That’s the way it sounds. Like you’re protecting him. Like he needs your protection.”

“I’m not thinking about Quentin. I only want to do what’s best for Tori.”

He chuckled, but the sound held no humor. “You need to stop hiding behind your daughter and face the truth.”

“What does that mean?”

“Face your feelings, Sheridan.”

“Don’t make this about your imagined feelings about me and Quentin. This is only about Tori.”

“And that always leads back to Quentin.”

“Because he’s her father.”

“You don’t have to remind me. He’s her father, and he was your husband.”

She stood, crossed her arms. “That’s a fact that I can’t and wouldn’t want to change.”

He stared at her. Then he stood. “You know what, I don’t want to do this again.” He grabbed his jacket.

“Do what? I don’t even know how we got to this point.” She stomped behind him, following him to the front door. “Why are you upset?” Her voice rose.

“I’m upset that we can’t talk anymore without the mention of your husband’s name.”

“We’ve talked about Quentin for three years, but all of a sudden his name creates problems for you.”

“You’re right.” He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “He is a problem. And that’s because I just realized how much he’s still not only in your life, but in your heart.” He softened his voice. “Quentin is the reason you won’t marry me.”

“That’s not true.”

“What’s so bad,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “is that I think you’re telling the truth. You don’t even realize how much you still love him.” Brock looked down, and when he returned his eyes to hers, they were as soft as his voice. “I’m not going to do this anymore, Sheridan. I love you, but—”

She stepped closer to him. “There’s nothing for you to do except to keep doing us.”

He shook his head. “Can’t.” His Adam’s apple grew larger as it inched up, then back down his throat. “You’re in love with your ex.” The tips of his fingers on her lips stopped her protest. “Quentin’s still in your heart; I can feel him there. And if he’s there, then there’s no room for me.” He pressed his lips against her cheek. “I love you,” he said, holding her. “But, let’s not do this anymore.” Then, with another kiss, he stepped through the door.

He was gone before she could argue more, before she could convince him that his facts were fiction.

Still, after minutes, she hadn’t moved. She didn’t want to walk away from the place where she’d stood just a half hour before in the arms of the man she loved. She wanted to linger in the space that still held the fragrance of his roses—the perfume of their hope.

Quentin is in your heart…and that means there’s no room for me
.

She shook her head, trying to get rid of his words. But even when the words were gone, his image remained. The way he’d said good-bye—with a kiss. The way he’d walked to his car—never looking back. As if there was nothing left to see.

Finally, she peered though the window. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she knew what she hoped. That she would see Brock’s car, and then him getting out, rushing to her front door to resolve this.

But there was no car. There was no Brock.

There was no hope.