The Morning After (21 page)

Nearly half an hour had passed since he pulled his Pathfinder in the driveway of his home. Colin couldn't believe his own gall—arriving home this late. Riddled with guilt and regret, he buried his face in his hands for the second time.

It was supposed to be just a quick meeting over coffee at Starbucks. How it turned into dinner . . . and then dessert . . . and then a movie . . . at
her
house, he didn't know. How in the world would he explain this to Angel? It was nearly two in the morning. What could he possibly say to her that wouldn't make things sound even worse than they actually were?

“I fell asleep on the couch and she didn't wake me up,” he rehearsed.

It was the truth, but Colin knew Angel wouldn't believe him. In the first place, how would he explain going to his assistant's house for dinner when his wife, no doubt, had dinner waiting for him at home? No.... Forget all that. He'd never even get that far. First he'd have to come up with one good reason—just
one
—that he had for taking in a movie at Nona's instead of coming home after work like any decent, married husband and father would. No.... Scratch that too. Before he could begin to sell that one on Angel, he'd have to make her understand that he'd only agreed to have coffee with Nona to catch her up on the details of some of the client files he'd been working on.

“I'm a dead man,” Colin whispered, banging his forehead against the steering wheel.

There was no way he was going to succeed in convincing his wife that his walking into their house at 2:00
A.M.
was all an innocent mistake. He was barely able to convince himself. There were details about it all that even Colin couldn't explain away. Like when Nona asked about them discussing the files over coffee, why didn't he just refuse and insist, instead, that they set aside a specific time tomorrow to do it? He could have worked through his lunch hour to get it done, if necessary. Wasn't like he hadn't worked through lunch before.

And after coffee, when Nona invited him back to her house for potluck, saying that she had a bunch of leftover food from the big meal she'd cooked over the weekend, why in the world did he accept?

“We're family now, remember?” she'd said. “Come on over and let your big sister feed you.”

Big sister. Yeah, right.
Colin almost laughed at the thought of him using that one. If he tried to use the it's-no-big-deal-she'sjust-like-kinfolks angle in his explanation to his wife, it would be like putting a down payment on his funeral. Maybe he wouldn't die physically, but it would be the death of his marriage for sure.

Colin massaged his throbbing temples. He and Angel had had their disagreements in the past; especially in recent days. But this? This was different. He'd never come home at such a blasphemous hour before and certainly not without calling Angel at some point and giving her an update on his whereabouts. Innocent or not, how was he going to explain himself? And if everything were so innocent, why did he feel like a wanted fugitive, looking over his shoulder, expecting at any moment to be captured and punished to the full extent of the law?

“Oh, God, help me,” Colin whispered through a heavy exhale. He could feel tightness building in his neck and shoulders. Tension. Guilty tension.

Reality was beginning to break through Colin's makeshift cloud of virtue like the Arizona sun. He knew why he felt like dirt. Why he felt like filth. Why he felt like the scum of the earth. It was because although there had been no sexual misconduct in his eight-hour fellowship with Nona, nothing about it was proper. The heaviest burden of guilt, the one that was bringing pain to Colin's upper body, was the fact that although he hadn't gone to bed with Nona, he'd slept with her.

“I didn't mean to,” he said aloud, defending himself to the invisible accuser who occupied the car with him. “It's not like it was planned.”

By most people's characterization, the brief two-person slumber party would be seen as anything but inappropriate. It was as simple as Colin falling asleep on the sofa halfway through the movie. He hadn't even felt himself getting sleepy. When his eyes came open shortly after 1:00
A.M.
, it took a while for him to become coherent. The first few moments were spent trying to define his unfamiliar surroundings and figure out how he'd gotten there. It was then that Colin noticed pressure being applied against the left side of his body. When he looked through the dim light provided only by the flickering television screen, he was able to identify the lump of flesh beside him as Nona. At some point during the evening, she'd followed his lead; fallen asleep and was using his shoulder as a pillow. Colin nearly scared her to death when he frantically jumped from the sofa, fumbling for the shoes he'd abandoned when he made himself all too comfortable.

“Why didn't you just come home?” he scolded. But there was no sense in second-guessing himself now. It was too late. “Besides, I didn't do anything wrong,” he spoke into the darkness, once again, pleading his case to the unseen. “I went to sleep and she went to sleep. That's all it was. It wasn't
us
going to sleep. We didn't sleep together.”

Pause.

“I mean, we did, but not like that. We just happened to be on the sofa together, and both of us fell asleep. It could have happened to anybody.”

Pause.

“I'm a dead man,” Colin moaned, again burying his face in his hands.

When he would get into mischief as a child growing up in his parents' home, Colin's mom would often say, “I might not know everything, and your daddy might not know everything, but there are two beings in this world that you won't ever be able to fool: God and yourself.”

And she was right.

For days, God had been whispering to Colin, telling him to draw some boundaries in his relationship with Nona. She may have been old enough and friendly enough to be his big sister, but she was also young enough and attractive enough to be his other woman. Colin knew he'd crossed the line when he began dumping the details of his marital discord in Nona's ears. But it felt good to have someone listen to him. Empathize with him. Value him. Appreciate him. He'd gotten too comfortable with the person who was supposed to only be his office assistant, and he'd allowed her to get too comfortable with him.

That became clearly evident when she embraced him instead of just saying good-bye after they shared lunch on Saturday, the day he took Austin in to work with him. Although he'd planned to only work a couple of hours and leave early, Colin ended up staying long enough to accompany Nona for lunch at The Brookwood Grill. When they parted ways, Nona not only took the time to hug Austin, but she did the same to Colin, placing a quick kiss on his neck before releasing him. It momentarily took him aback. Caught him by surprise. Left a lingering feeling of awkwardness. But Nona never indicated that the act of affection was anything other than chaste, making it fairly easy for Colin to dismiss it as such. But after tonight's little sleepover, the two incidents combined made him feel like the cheating husband that he knew he wasn't.

Two-thirty.

Another half hour had passed. Colin knew that no matter how many seconds ticked away on the clock, the task ahead wasn't going to go away, and it wasn't going to get any easier. He was just glad that the house was completely dark. It meant that Angel was in bed and most likely asleep. If he could get through the night without having to deal with this, maybe daylight would provide a brighter outlook.

Colin's body felt like a block of hardened cement as he opened the door to his vehicle and peeled himself away from the leather interior. The pleasant night air provided no comfort during his trek to the front door. Even with the door key already positioned in his hand, Colin fumbled with getting it into the lock to open the door. Once inside, the quiet of his house enveloped him. A mixture of hovering aromas gave way to the fact that dinner had, at an earlier hour, been prepared for him. Colin's heart sank lower.

In the shadows of the living room, he began his normal ritual; the one he did on days when he came home like a decent husband would. Colin peeled off his suit jacket and hung it on the coat stand near the door. Then, with movements slowed by mounting remorse, he stepped from his shoes and pushed them in the corner beside the base of the coat stand.

Turning to his left, he saw a faint glimmer of light peek underneath the door down the hallway. It was Austin's night-light. Colin couldn't believe he'd once again allowed his son to go a full day without spending any quality time with him. He'd let his frustration with Angel spill over into his relationship with his child. Colin's shoulders slumped in shame.

He couldn't wake up Austin as he'd done a few nights ago. If he did, it would wake up Angel too, and theirs was an argument that he just didn't have the energy or willpower to participate in tonight. He wasn't ready. Before talking to Angel, he needed to do some thinking. Some planning. Some praying. But Colin dared not go to bed without at least peeping in on his son. He'd kiss the boy goodnight, then make up for his absence tomorrow.

Feeling for the light switch in the darkness, Colin found it and flipped it upward. He let out a startled yowl and almost lost his balance when the brightened room revealed that he wasn't alone. “Angel,” he gasped, trying to steady himself with a hand to the wall, and his racing heartbeat with a hand to his chest.

Angel stood beside the sofa in their spotless living room, looking like she'd been posted there for hours. Waiting for his arrival. Her jaws trembled. Her lips were fixed. Her hair was tousled. Her puffy eyes indicated that tears—lots of them—had been recently shed. In her hand, she clutched one of Colin's dress shirts.

Colin looked away from her disturbed and distorted face. He couldn't bear to look at her and know that he'd been the cause of her obvious anguish. Instead, he dropped his eyes to wood flooring whose shine told him it had been recently polished. He didn't know what to say.

“It's almost three in the morning, Colin Stephens,” she growled through clenched teeth. Then in a slow, calculated tone, one that made every word seem like a sentence of its own, she asked, “Where . . . have . . . you . . . been?”

Colin's mouth opened and closed twice, but no words escaped.

“Answer me, Colin! Where have you been?”

Her uncharacteristic scream pierced his ears and his heart. Colin's hopes of avoiding this battle until tomorrow were dashed. Ready or not, it was on.

Road rage was as common in metropolitan Atlanta as skyscrapers were in New York City. Good thing his first class wasn't until 9:40
A.M.

T.K.'s fingers drummed against the steering wheel of his Corvette. It was an early model classic with more than 200,000 miles to its credit. But, the recently bathed white exterior and the polished black leather seats that he'd had reupholstered two years ago looked showroom new. T.K. only drove it occasionally these days, in hopes of preserving it for at least another few years.

“C'mon, dude. If you're gonna drive this slow, you might as well walk,” he yelled to no avail at the driver in the car in front of him. T.K. was quickly losing the battle to remain calm as he worked his way through rush hour traffic. “There's room for at least three cars to get between you and the guy in front of you. Why are you riding on your brakes? If you're afraid to drive, take the doggone bus! The least you could do is get over in the slow lane with the other turtles.”

The traffic that flowed in the lanes on either side of T.K. prevented him from going around the overly cautious road menace. Every time that T.K. thought he had an opening to whip from behind the sluggish driver, someone behind him would beat him to the punch.

“My grandma drives faster than you, man!” he belted in frustration. “And she's dead!”

Time wasn't working in his favor. On a good day, the drive from T.K.'s Alpharetta home to his destination in Midtown would be just over thirty minutes. Today, it had already taken him that long to get just over half as far.

Most days, the heaviest part of rush hour didn't begin until around seven in the morning; when the bulk of the early morning commuters took to the highway. When T.K. received the six o'clock call from Jerrod, he'd immediately kicked off his covers and jumped out of bed. It took him about half an hour to shave, shower, and get dressed, but he still didn't expect to run into this kind of bumper-to-bumper havoc.

“Lord,
please
help me get from behind this man.”

It was more like an exacerbated groan than an earnest prayer, but no sooner had the words left T.K.'s mouth than the driver put on his signal to merge into the lane to the left of them. It took a few moments, and the car came dangerously close to being rammed from behind by a fast-approaching vehicle, but the “man”—who turned out to be a middle-aged female wearing a baseball cap—cleared the way for T.K. to increase his speed.

“Women drivers,” he muttered before shifting gears and applying pressure to the gas pedal.

Midtown wasn't an area that T.K. often frequented. He wasn't as savvy with maneuvering around its neighborhoods as he was with other parts of the city, but what he didn't know, his Garmin GPS Navigator did. T.K. breathed a sigh of relief when he parked in the lot of the small complex. The clock on his dashboard said that he wasn't as late as he thought he'd be.

Seven-twenty. Still time enough to scoop up Jerrod and get back to Alpharetta before his students could declare him MIA.

Climbing out of the vehicle, T.K. took a second to scope out his surroundings. It wasn't the best neighborhood, but it wasn't the worst either. He felt certain that the Platinum Stargazer alloy rims of his cherished sports car would be safe until he returned. T.K. had no plans to be in the apartment for long, but for added security, he tucked his portable GPS in his glove compartment, then engaged his locks and his alarm system.

The community was so quiet that he could hear the grains of debris crunching beneath his shoes as he took the short stroll to the door that displayed the number that Jerrod had given him. T.K.'s fist was still mid-air, preparing to knock, when the door opened.

“Hey, Coach D. What's up?”

T.K. removed the sunglasses from his eyes and broke into a smile. He hadn't seen much of Toby since the trial. “What's going on, stranger?” he replied, pulling his former student in for a quick embrace. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.” Toby's grin was so tight it looked permanent. He stepped aside and pointed toward the sofa. “Come on in, Coach. Not much space in here, but there's enough for you to sit down.”

T.K. looked around the cozy space as he took Toby up on his invitation. It was a small place, indeed. But it was clean and inviting. “So what have you been up to?” T.K. knew the backstory of Toby's withdrawal from school. Jerrod had filled him in a long time ago. He thought it was a shame that the boy's parents had basically washed their hands of their son because of his admission. Surely there was a law against putting a sixteen-year-old up in his own apartment, forcing him to function like a grown man. But T.K. decided not to bring up any of that. “I hear you're a working man now.”

Toby's new smile didn't appear to be as genuine as the one before it. “Yeah. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.” He shrugged. “I work the three to eleven shift at Publix. Not a Fortune 500 job, but it pays the bills that I have to cover.”

T.K. took another moment to scout out the place. It reminded him a little of his off-campus apartment during his college days. Toby misread his quiet exploration, apparently thinking that T.K. was in search of the boy he came to pick up. “Oh . . . J's in the bathroom,” he explained. “He's a cool guy, and he's been great company, but boy is he messy. He's in there cleaning out the sink. I told him to rinse out the face bowl after he brushes his teeth, but he never does. So I got him in there cleaning all that dried toothpaste from out of my sink.”

T.K. laughed. “Yeah, he can be a pig if you don't stay in behind him.”

“Tell me about it.” Toby walked toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink, Coach? I got water, apple juice, Kool-Aid and Coca-Cola.”

“Coke is good.”

Toby returned with a glass of water in one hand and a can of soda in the other. He handed T.K. the can. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Bracing himself for a possible spill, T.K. popped the tab. The carbonated drink fizzed in his mouth before going down his throat. “Toby, I want you to know that I appreciate you taking Jerrod in like this. You didn't have to do that.”

“No problem,” Toby replied. “Me and J . . . well, we been through a lot together. There was a time when it felt like it was just me and him against the world.”

T.K. nodded. “I know.”

“Plus, he didn't start acting all funny when he found out I was—” Toby stopped, like he wasn't sure how much his former educator knew. Like he was afraid that if T.K. found out like this, that he'd all of a sudden start treating him differently too.

T.K. nodded again. “I know.” Toby gave a half-smile. He was clearly relieved.

“Hey, Coach D.” Jerrod emerged from the bathroom, drying his hands on a paper towel.

T.K. stood. He was so happy to see Jerrod that he was tempted to run to him, grab him around his waist in a big bear hug, lift him off the floor, and spin him around a time or two. There was no way that Jerrod could know how much he'd worried over his disappearance. T.K. restrained himself; only embracing the boy briefly. “Don't ever do anything like this again.” His voice was low, but firm. T.K. released the boy and looked him in the eyes. “I mean that, Jerrod. You hear me?”

“Yeah . . . yes, sir.” Jerrod's eyes dropped to the carpet. His demeanor was that of a child ten years younger.

His remorse was genuine and endearing, and T.K. couldn't help but smile before looking over Jerrod's shoulder at Toby. The boy was quietly watching the exchange while sipping from his glass. “Toby, I hate to dip in and out so fast, but I've got a class to teach this morning and—”

“Yeah, I know. It's cool.” Toby raised his glass like he was toasting as he spoke.

T.K. loosened his hold on Jerrod and walked closer to Toby. “Listen, son, I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't try to encourage you to get back in school.” Toby opened his mouth to speak, but T.K. raised his hand to stop him. “I know it got rough for you after the trial and after your parents found out about you, and I understand that. But living here puts you in a whole new school district. You really have no excuse for not getting your diploma, Toby.”

“If they found out at Alpharetta High, they'll find out here,” Toby said. “It'll just be a matter of time.”

Time
. The word reminded T.K. that he was running out of it and needed to leave. This would be a subject that he'd have to take Toby to the mat on at a later date. Somehow, he had to convince him that running away from his troubles wasn't the answer. If he ran now, he'd be running for the rest of his life. Toby's sexual struggle was a demon that he needed to face head-on. But not by himself, or he'd lose every time. He couldn't keep hiding out like this. He needed God's help. There was so much more that T.K. realized he needed to say, but today wasn't the day to say it. T.K. knew where the teen lived now, and he knew his work hours. He surmised that he'd come back on another day and talk more. Timing was everything. That was a lesson that T.K. learned from Essie Mae Richardson in the short time that he knew her.

“Got all your things?” he asked Jerrod, tapping him on the shoulder.

“What things? Except for my bike, these clothes I got on were all I had when I got here. I been having to wear Toby's stuff.”

T.K. turned back to Toby and ducked his head in gratitude. “Thanks again. You taking Jerrod in like that really means a lot. I owe you one. I mean that.”

A smile and a nod was Toby's reply. He followed T.K. and Jerrod as they walked to the door of his apartment. Just as Jerrod opened it, Toby said, “Hey, Coach D?”

T.K. turned. “Yes?”

“You say you owe me one. Can I cash in now?” I couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into. He paused to think. Toby was a teenager, having to live off of a cashier's salary. Sure, his parents paid for most of his bills, but was certain that there were extra things that he wanted. Just like any boy his age, Toby, no doubt, wanted to have something that reminded him that he was still a kid despite having to live independently of his parents. “Sure,” T.K. said, fully prepared to reach into his pocket and pull out a few spending dollars to give the boy. “How much do you need?”

Toby let out a short laugh, shook his head, and then shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans. “I don't need no money, Coach D. I mean, Jerrod did eat me out of house and home, but if there's one thing I got plenty of in this house, it's food.”

“Oh.” T.K. felt a bit foolish for his premature assumption. “What is it that you want?”

Toby's eyes shot to the floor, and he shifted his feet with a twinge of uneasiness. “Uh, I was just wondering. Me and J was talking last night, and well, he was telling me that sometimes he goes to church with you. And uh . . . he was telling me about how much he liked your preacher man and everything.”

T.K. hadn't heard anyone refer to a pastor as a preacher man in ages, but he kept his thoughts quiet so Toby could finish.

“I was just wondering if, you know . . . if maybe I could come with you some time on the Sundays when J's gonna be there. You know. So I'll know somebody besides you on the day that I go. I mean, I know I live kind of out of the way and all. And if you can't come get me then, you know, I understand. I was just thinking and—”

“I'd be happy to come pick you up, son,” T.K. said, looking from Toby to Jerrod, and then back at Toby. He was surprised to hear that the boys had been discussing matters surrounding church, but he saw God's hand all in it. This would be the open window for him to minister to Toby further. Knowingly or unknowingly, Jerrod had apparently already gotten the ball rolling.

“I'm in the phone book. Anytime you want to come, just let me know, and I'll just get Jerrod to come with me on that day too so you'll feel more comfortable.” T.K. hoped he was telling the truth in light of Jennifer's decision to start a new life with Devon. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he couldn't let Jennifer's renewed relationship with her former ex change things between him and Jerrod. He didn't have a say-so in what Jennifer did with her own life, but he'd die before he sat idly by and allowed her to ruin Jerrod's. “Anytime you want to go, you call me, Toby,” he added with renewed confidence.

Toby's smile said that he was pleased with T.K.'s response. “Okay. I will.” The door of the apartment closed quietly behind them, and T.K.'s longer legs led the way as he and Jerrod made the walk to his waiting car; bicycle in tow. They crammed the bike into the trunk as best it would fit, and T.K. used a mechanism that he pulled from a toolbox to secure the trunk. No words were spoken between them until the car doors were shut, their seat-belts were secured, new directions had been programmed into the GPS system, and T.K. was driving out of the small complex.

“You mad at me, ain't you?” Jerrod asked over the GPS's order to turn left.

Anger was nowhere in the mix of emotions that T.K. was experiencing as he navigated back toward Alpharetta. “I'm disappointed that you'd run off like that and not tell nobody, but no, I'm not mad at you.”

Jerrod sank into his seat. “I just didn't know what else to do.”

T.K. tossed a glance at him and then focused again on the road ahead. “You could have called me.”

“I did. Remember? You took their side.”

“I didn't take anybody's side, and if you hadn't hung up in my face, you might have realized that. And you didn't tell me that you had run off from home either. All you did was tell me about Jen and . . .” T.K.'s tongue wouldn't even form the name, “
him
,” he concluded, frowning at the thought of it.