Through the Fire (13 page)

Rae visibly sagged in her seat, the muscles in her face relaxed into a relieved smile. “Honestly, you had me worried. I thought you wanted him back. In fact, I didn’t know what to think, especially since you had this past life with him. And a child.”

“Yeah, we have some history and a child but I know he’s not the man for me,” Maxine said. “I love Quinn but I’m not
in
love with him. There’s a difference. We had our moment and it didn’t work. He hurt me when he left me to come back East to be with Niki in New York. But I forgave him. Or maybe I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Rae’s eyebrows hiked up.

“I hurt him, too. My timing about telling him he had a son was wrong. I hurt him by keeping that knowledge away from him for so long. Three years. I waited so long and I don’t really know why. I told him after Niki’s funeral, when he was at the lowest point of his life. It was wrong and cruel. Maybe I wanted to hurt him like he had me…”

Rae saw Maxine fight back tears, swallowing hard to shut down the waterworks before they could really get started. She covered her face for a moment with her hands and then pulled them away, apologizing.

“You care a lot for him, don’t you?” Rae asked, feeling the woman’s pain.

“Yes, I do. Don’t you?”

Rae nodded a couple of times as if reassuring herself that it was true. “I love him, Maxine. He’s something special.”

Maxine looked at her, eyes glistening. “Quinn is all that. Believe me. It’s hard to meet men, at least good men. I’m not saying he’s Mr. Right, I don’t know that because I’m not you, but I can definitely say he’s not Mr. Wrong. Quinn has some rough edges. We all do. But he has a lot to offer some lucky woman. Be patient. Work with him and you’ll have a real keeper. Let all his pain ebb out. Let his love for you grow. He’s complex, temperamental, and sometimes hard to understand. Girl, even with all that, Quinn is all man and worth his weight in gold.”

They sat there, finishing off their food and
coffee. Neither saying anything. Thinking about all that had been said before.

Suddenly, Maxine tapped her finger on the table and asked if she thought Quinn would ever write or play again. The one thing, other than love, that kept him balanced.

“I’m working on him,” Rae said, feeling certain. “I’ll have him back doing his music thing before long. I know how much it means to him. It’s a part of the reason he’s so nutty now. Not playing.”

Maxine shook her fork at Rae, chuckling. “I’m glad we talked. You’re just what he needs. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

They laughed at that, paid for the food, and left. On the street, amid the crowds, Rae turned and hugged Maxine, her lips brushing against the woman’s cheek. Then she whispered two words, lovingly and sincerely. “Thank you.”

“W
ell, little man, looks like it’s just us fellas,” Quinn said to Jamel as he took Jamel’s lunch plate away. Maxine and Rae had left together about an hour earlier after Max dropped off Jamel. They were almost too chummy for his taste. Made a brother nervous. “What do you wanna do today, J?” He put the dishes in the sink.

“Play in the snow!”

Quinn chuckled. “That out there isn’t really
snow anymore, it’s a mess. But how ’bout if we do some shopping of our own?”

“Can I get a game for my Nintendo?” His eyes widened.

“Early Christmas gift?” Quinn teased, with a raised brow.

Jamel nodded shyly.

“Awright. But don’t tell your mother. It’ll be our secret.” He stuck his hand out and Jamel gave him a five. “Come on. Get your coat. There’s a great game store on Fourteenth Street. We’ll walk.”

“In the snow?” Jamel asked, bright lights twinkling in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Quinn conceded. “If that’s what you want to call it,” he said under his breath.

Jamel went darting off to get his coat.

“Don’t forget your boots!” Quinn shouted behind him. He shook his head and chuckled. “Snow.”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, buddy.” Quinn stopped at the corner for the red light.

“Is Miss Rae your…girlfriend?”

Whoa.
“Uh, yeah. She is. Is that cool with you?” He looked down at his son.

Jamel’s small face screwed up for a moment of consideration. “I guess.” He gazed up at his father. “Is she nicer to you than Mommy?”

“Why do you think she’s nicer than Mommy?” he asked gently.

“’Cause…she’s here with you and Mommy’s not…and maybe it’s ’cause you don’t like Mommy…and me.”

Quinn’s heart felt as if it had seized in his chest. Once on the other side of the street, Quinn led Jamel over to the front door of Virgin Records under the shelter of the overhang. He bent down to Jamel’s eye level.

“Listen to me, J.” He braced Jamel’s shoulders. “Me and your mom…” What could he say that would make sense, when sometimes he wasn’t too sure of what went wrong himself? “Sometimes things don’t work out between two people.” He swallowed. How would Remy have counseled him? What had he said to him so many times when he’d come to Remy and asked what had he done so wrong to make his mother leave?

“Remember when you were here during the summer and you were telling me about your friend Carlos in your kindergarten class?”

Jamel nodded.

“And remember how you said you two had an argument and you were real upset because he was your best friend?”

“Yes.”

“And I told you that happens with friends. Sometimes they don’t agree, sometimes without thinking they hurt each other’s feelings. Right? But if you were really friends, you would make up and say sorry and sometimes the friendship changes because of what was said or done…and you could be friends, but a different kind of friend. Like you and Carlos are now.”

“I said sorry, like you told me to do. And I still talk to him when I see him in the lunchroom. But we’re not best friends anymore. He’s in 103 and I’m in 101. Andre is my best friend now.”

“Do you feel bad that you and Carlos aren’t best friends anymore?”

Jamel shrugged. “Sometimes. But he has new friends, too. Sometimes we play in the yard together.”

“That’s kinda like what happened with me and your mom, J. We had a disagreement about some things and even after we said sorry, things changed. And it has nothing to do with you, son. We both love you very much. Very much. Understand.”

Jamel looked into his father’s eyes and slowly bobbed his head. Quinn smiled and hugged him tight, hoping he’d said all the right words. This father thing wasn’t easy.

Jamel wiggled away. “Is this the game store?” Jamel asked, his mind already on more important issues.

Quinn stood and chuckled. “Naw, right around the corner. And you know what? Since you’ve been so good, you can get two.”

“Yippee!”

After about an hour in the game store, then on to the pizza parlor for a quick bite, and Virgin Records to pick up some CDs for Quinn—even if he didn’t play he never stopped loving the music—they started back home.

It was about two blocks before Quinn’s house, when she spotted them. Her thin hand
fluttered to her chest when she saw the handsome pair together—father and son.

Without thinking she kept them in her sight from the opposite side of the street until they reached a house and went inside. She stared at the house, the closed door, and debated about what to do, what she should have done long ago.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d stood there in the cold, pacing the few steps back and forth trying to summon up the courage to cross the street. When she glanced at the house, they were coming out with an old woman from the ground floor door. She watched the woman hug the little boy and wave as they entered a black Jeep and drove away.

Tentatively, she crossed the street, not sure what she would do when she got there. She opened the short, black iron gate and walked to the front door. For a moment she felt like fleeing, just letting well enough alone.

“Who’s there?” Mrs. Finch called out from the window, stopping her in her tracks.

Startled, she turned to the window and saw the face of the old woman peering back at her. It was now or never.

“I… My name is Vera…I… Could I speak with you…for a minute?”

Maxine and Rae had yet to return from their shopping spree when Quinn dropped Jamel off at his grandmother’s house, promising to come for him the following day. After chatting briefly with Mrs. Sherman he headed back home, wondering how the two women had made out.

Rae had been damned near secretive when he’d talked to her about it the night before, as if they were concocting something. He wondered what secrets of his past Max would reveal, if anything, and what Rae would have to say about their current situation.

It was a strange predicament to be in, but he wasn’t trying to front, trying to hide anything from anyone. Yeah, he still felt a little something, something in his heart for Max, he always would. She’d been there for him for as long as he could remember. And he had to admit that he felt those old waves of warmth whenever he saw her. It still hurt every time he thought about how she’d deceived him by not telling him about Jamel, but he was getting
beyond that, too. She’d been holding up her end in seeing that he had a relationship with his son, even with her husband, Taylor, in the picture. That couldn’t be easy for either of them. He knew he had a hard pill to swallow knowing that some other man was raising his son. Yeah, he definitely had to keep his hand in.

Hey, it was like what Remy drummed into his head out on the boat. Be patient and let things work themselves out.

He pulled into the last available spot on the block, thankful that he wouldn’t have to jump up in the morning to move his Jeep. He put his key in the door and was just about to walk into his apartment when Mrs. Finch called out to him from downstairs.

He groaned. She couldn’t possibly want him to run any errands. The front of the house was clear of snow and ice, her refrigerator was stocked. He’d taken her quilts to the laundry, and he’d cleaned out the basement weeks ago. He closed his eyes.

“Yeees, Mrs. Finch.”

Slowly, she walked up the stairs, something she rarely did, and met him at the top of the
landing. She had an anxious look on her face that put Quinn immediately on alert.

“What’s wrong? Are you feelin’ okay?” He went to her and took her hand and she made the last step.

She looked up at him, knew what she had to say to him would once again turn his world upside down. She’d prayed on it during the last hour, asked for guidance and the right words to say. She’d simply have to let go and let God.

“Son,” she began, “I think we need to go inside so we can sit and talk.”

Quinn’s heart began to pound. He could tell whatever she had to say was nothing but trouble. He didn’t want trouble. Not again.

Q
uinn sat on the edge of the couch. He could feel his entire body trembling with rage, disbelief, and so many other emotions he couldn’t give a name to. He ran his hands through his locks, then across his face. His chest was in a knot, he could barely breathe.

He stalked over to his liquor cabinet and poured a glass of Jack Daniel’s, downing it in one long gulp, then refilling it before the first splash had hit his stomach.

His body shuddered as deep, wrenching sobs gripped him and shook him like a lone leaf on a tree. Tears spilled down his cheeks in a steady stream. Suddenly he spun around and threw the glass across the room, smashing it against the wall.

“Liar!” he roared like a wounded beast. “Damn you to hell!” He snatched up his jacket and stormed out, pulling away from Mrs. Finch when she tried to stop him from getting into his car.

She watched in horror as Quinn tore recklessly away from the curb and sped away, disappearing from sight within minutes.

“Oh, Lawd, oh, Lawd, what have I done? Watch over my boy, please,” she cried, and stumbled back into the house.

His eyes were bloodshot as he stalked into Encore like a madman, demanding to know from the skeleton staff where this Vera was.

Stunned customers whispered among themselves, couples pulled closer together, trying to steer clear of Quinn, who moved like a storm out of control, wheeling between tables, heading for the kitchen.

He pushed open the swinging doors with such force that the line of cooks and dishwashers scattered like startled birds.

His reddened eyes tore across the tight space looking for her. “Where is she?” he demanded. He pushed past one of the waiters to the back of the room.

“What the hell is going on in here?” came the hard mean voice of the security guard from behind Quinn, followed by a steely hand on his arm.

Quinn tossed the offending hand away as if it were an annoying fly. The guard stumbled into one of the cooks.

“It’s okay, Mike,” came the now familiar reed-thin voice from the back of the kitchen.

Quinn zeroed in on her, a million thoughts tumbling through his mind at once. He was breathing hard, trying to control his level of rage he’d never before felt. The overwhelming sensation of it, the control it had taken over his mind, frightened him with its power. It was then he knew from where true violence emerged.

Slowly Vera walked toward him, her eyes un
wavering. The staff moved to the far side of the cramped space like the parting of the Red Sea.

She stood in front of him, stood accused of all the things she saw reflected in his eyes. She raised her chin a notch.

He pointed his finger at her, his face twisted in an angry mask. “You take back what you said,” he hissed. “Eat every lying word of it.”

“It’s not a lie, Quinten,” she said softly.

He blinked away a new wave of tears. His nostrils flared as he tried to suck in air.

“There’s so much I need to finally tell you,” she continued, then paused for a moment. “Will you at least listen to what I have to say? Please.” When he didn’t respond, didn’t move, she continued, “We can talk in the back room.” She moved past him, past the shocked faces, unsure, but determined to face whatever transpired between them.

Quinn followed her out, wondering what other lies she would tell behind closed doors. He’d hear the old bird out, make sure she was clear about staying away from him and anyone he knew, and then he would leave. Simple.

He watched her walk in front of him and a
distant memory flashed through his head: the walk, the tilt of her head, the many nights he’d watch her, no, his mother, walk out the door.

Vera opened a narrow door at the far end of the dimly lit corridor. She stepped inside. Quinn stepped in and closed the door.

“Whaddya mean coming around my place…talkin’ about you’re my mother. You been eyeing me since the first time I walked into this joint. I don’t know what your scheme is, but back off.”

Vera reached into the recesses of her bra and pulled out a pack of Salem cigarettes.

Quinn’s head spun.
“Pass me my smokes, will you, Quinten?”
his mother had asked, as she stepped into her shoes, ready to leave again, this time for the rest of the night. Quinn had taken the pack of Salem from the battered dresser and handed them to her.
“You goin’ out again?”

“Told you about getting’ into adult business. You just look after your sister.”
She had taken the cigarettes, tapped one out, and stuck it in the corner of her bloodred lips, turned, and walked out the door.

His head began to pound as he watched her
light the cigarette now, holding it in the corner of her mouth…as she’d always done.
No. You’re dead. Dead.

“You was only sixteen…you and Lacy, when I left,” she began. She blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “Know it wasn’t right what I done, but I didn’t have no choice, son.”

He flinched. “Don’t you call me son,” he said from between his teeth. “Don’t you dare.”

For a moment she looked away from the pure hatred in his eyes. “I wasn’t no good to you or your sister…the way I was back then, no more than a kid myself.” She turned away. “Then…it was the drugs, the drugs, men, and more drugs. Some days I didn’t know if I was coming or going, just knew I needed my hit to get through the day.” She turned to face him and pulled in a breath. “And…I had to get them…any way I could.”

He shut his eyes as the painful memories nearly consumed him. The nights he would lie awake, hear Lacy crying in her sleep, both of them wondering when or if their mother was coming back.

“I know you ain’t gonna understand this…or
believe it, but I did it because I loved you both. Loved you too much to let you see what I’d become. You two was the only things I did decent in my life, was decent in my life, and with what little of myself I had left I knew I couldn’t poison you.” She took a step toward him. “It was the only thing I could do…”

“Shut up! Just shut up.” He backed away from her. He didn’t want to believe the lies, the unthinkable, but deep in his heart he knew she spoke the ugly truth. “You think walking out on us, just leaving us like some forgotten garbage was the only thing you could do? Do you know what you did to us? Do you have any idea? Do you know how scared we were? Do you know the…the…things I had to do to survive, take care of Lacy?”

He turned away and began to pace the tight quarters. “All my life I figured it was something I’d done, hadn’t done, that if I was a better son you would have stayed. That you would have loved us.”

“Quinten—”

“Don’t you say anything,” he growled, whirling toward her. “Not now. You abandoned
us.” His voice cracked. “Know what that’s like, to feel unworthy, too afraid to trust anyone, care about anyone because you know they’re gonna leave you? Know what it’s like to have your childhood stolen, ’cause you had to become a man too soon? But we survived…without you.”

Vera hung her head. She deserved everything he said and more. “There ain’t been a day gone by that I haven’t thought about you and your sister, prayed that you two was okay.”

He laughed nastily. “Yeah. Your prayers were just about as useless as you. Lacy’s dead. And so are you.”

She visibly paled and sank down into a rickety, wooden chair. She covered her face with her hands, as deep soul-robbing sobs wracked her body. Suddenly she looked small and weak, not the monster he’d conjured in his mind.

Quinn watched her, wanting to grab her, hurt her some more, crush her heart the way she’d done to them. And at the same time he wanted her to hold him, tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he’d been a good son and brother.

“I…I’m so sorry. Sorry for everything I done
to you, to your sister. Oh, God,” she uttered between her tears. “I know you can’t forgive me. I just want to you try to understand. It wasn’t your fault. Never.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes. Eyes that reflected his own pain and despair. “I was wrong what I done and I’ve paid for it every day of my life. ’Cause I just walked out without ever telling y’all that I loved you.”

Something inside of him twisted and rose to his throat. The vision before him became blurred. He turned, and on unsteady legs headed for the door.

“Quinten, pleeease…” came her strangled cry.

He turned and she reached for him, her arms extended just as he’d envisioned for far too long. Her thin fingers grabbed his arms and held him as if he was now the only thing that could hold her up.

Quinn looked at her, saw all that she’d done, all he and Lacy had been through. Slowly, he peeled her fingers away as she collapsed to the floor, and he turned and walked out to the keening sound of his name.

Quinn drove around for hours, his mind
spinning, his emotions out of reach. His
mother.
How many nights had he wished that she’d walk through the door, tell them she’d been on a long trip, but she was back and everything would be all right again? How many streets had he walked, hoping and dreading that he would see her walk out of one of those tenements? Hoping that he could let go of his fears, learn to trust, allow others to get close to him? He lived his life in fear. A fear he shielded behind street savvy and bravado. Always afraid that at any moment someone would find him out, pull his card, and show him for what he really was—someone who doubted his worth—as a boy, a son, a man.

When Maxine saw Quinn standing outside her mother’s apartment door, she had a momentary flash of déjà vu—the night he appeared on her doorstep in San Francisco with the police settlement letter about Lacy. He had the same wounded look in his eyes then.

She stepped inside and let him in, leading him to the living room. Without a word she sat down and waited for him to speak, unable to
imagine what could have happened. And when he finally told her, that his mother was not dead, but very much alive, you could have knocked her over with a puff of air.

She leaned forward. “What? Alive…after all this…” She squeezed her eyes shut, recalling all too well what the three of them—Quinn, Lacy, and she—had gone through during those years. Quinn dropping out of school to work with Remy, so that Lacy could stay in. Pretending that their mom was still around so the social workers wouldn’t come and take them away. The nights that Max would bring leftovers because they didn’t have enough to eat. And all along, she was alive.

Maxine looked up at him and her heart nearly broke in two when she saw the thin line of tears course down his cheeks. She reached across the space and touched his hand. “What did she say, Q? Did she explain why?”

He turned away, ashamed of showing this weak side of himself. But if not to Max, then who? “Yeah, she explained.” He told her what Vera gave as her explanation. “All a
bunch of bull, Max.” He pulled away from her grasp and stood.

She came up behind him, pressed her head to his back, and put her arms around his waist. The familiarity of it all was bittersweet. And she realized at that moment, that as much as she would always love a part of Quinten Parker, this was no longer her role, and had not been for a long time.

“Q,” she said softly, stepping away.

Slowly he turned around and pulled in a long breath.

“For as long as we’ve known each other, I always made it easy for you to turn to me, come to me with your worries, your joys, your ideas, your pains. And I realize now that I did all that because it was the only way I could have a piece of you in my life. Make it easy for you, accessible.” She lowered her head for a moment, not wanting to hurt him any more than he had been, but needing him to know and needing to say the words. “But we’ve all grown up now, Q. You’re not that same man and I’m not that same woman. And as much as it may seem like I’m the one to turn to, I’m not. It’s just familiar.”

He swallowed hard. “So…what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that maybe it’s finally time to let go of the past, as hard as it may be. You have a woman who loves you. A good woman. The right woman for you. If you give her half a chance, she’ll listen. She’ll help you make it all right again. She needs you and you need her now.”

And as he stood there feeling the familiar ties begin to unravel, the ground shift from beneath his feet, he knew deep in his heart that she was right.

He reached out and touched her cheek, nodding slowly in acceptance. “Thank you,” he said softly, “for letting go.”

“Always luv ya, Q,” she said tenderly.

He smiled and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “You, too.”

As she watched him walk away she had a real strong feeling that Quinten Parker was finally on his way to being all right.