Through the Fire (4 page)

“Do you ever think you’ll play again?”

“I don’t know,” he answered in a monotone.

“What are you afraid of?”

The question shook him.
How could she know?
He swallowed, fighting down the seed of truth that struggled to burst forth. He failed. “Myself,” he answered. “And you.” He came toward her.

This time it was Rae who moved away to safety—out of reach, wary almost, rising to circle him as her emotions raced. Finally she stood still, gripping the edge of the piano for support. Her gaze connected with his. “So am I,” she whispered.

Quinn stepped up to her, absorbing all the available air in the room. She suddenly felt light-headed. He reached out to her, gently stroked her cheek. “What are we going to do about it?”

She looked up at him. “Maybe stop being afraid.” Her body trembled beneath his touch.

“How?” he asked, his soul desperately needing to hear the answer.

“Through the fire—to the safety on the other side.”

His very own thoughts again, he realized. “I don’t know if I can.”

Rae took his hand in hers, and smiled tenderly. “Neither do I, Quinten Parker. Neither do I.”

And in that instant they found themselves in an unfamiliar place, a place long forgotten—filled with promises and truths unspoken—the future.

T
he studio session was in full swing. Quinn had run out of excuses for not getting there as he’d promised and finally found himself seated on the opposite side of the soundproof room, watching them do their thing. Funny how Rae had wiggled her way into his life, with him kicking and screaming all the way. The truth was, he kind of liked it. Liked the feel of being part of something, sharing, even if it was only a bit of himself. At least it was a start. Who
knows, maybe it could really turn into something if he let it.

It all seemed so easy, too easy, Quinn mused as he absently tapped his foot and nodded his head to the beat of the band. He and Rae had fallen into a comfortable pattern of spending time together during the past two months. They’d talk on the phone, or meet for drinks in the evening, sometimes even do laundry together. He checked out some of her performances, and they hung out at some of the local spots every now and then. The only problem was, it seemed that she was always surrounded by people: the band, girlfriends, studio folks. And they all wanted to get in his business, find out what the deal was with him and Rae, when he was going to play again, write again. He didn’t even know. At times it really pissed him off. All he wanted was to be left alone, not become a source of conversation for her curious friends. But a part of him understood. He had his aloofness as a buffer against the world and she had people and her music. Hey, whatever. He wasn’t about making waves anyhow. That’s why he stayed away. This was her world, not
his anymore. And if she hadn’t practically begged him, he wouldn’t be sitting there now. But she couldn’t seem to understand that, couldn’t seem to understand what it did to him.

He watched her do her thing behind the studio glass, directing the band, switching up on the music. He had to admire her, though, her drive and focus. In that way she was a lot like Nikita. But the similarity ended there. Rae was her own woman. She wasn’t born into privilege, hadn’t attended Ivy League schools, didn’t surround herself with people who looked down their noses at others. Rae wasn’t trying to get on the other side of the tracks to see what it was like. She lived there. She’d made her way through life on her own, without anyone’s help.

One evening over dinner she’d told him where and how she’d grown up and even he was amazed that she’d survived.

“There were five of us,” she said, sipping her screwdriver. “Me and four brothers.”

“Where do you fit in?”

“The oldest.” She laughed lightly. “And believe me, being oldest in my house had no perks, especially being the only girl.”

“Why?”

“My father—such that he was—believed that a woman’s role in life was to take care of the men, no questions asked. And if you did gather up the nerve to question anything, you were sure to get an ass whipping. Maybe get one just because he felt like it at the moment. Me he only beat once a month. My brothers he beat like it was a religious ritual.”

“Damn. What about your mother? Didn’t she do anything, say anything?”

Rae twisted her lips. “My mother had been whipped into submission years earlier. She wouldn’t even speak unless my father said it was okay.”

Quinn slowly shook his head, knowing that there was nothing he could say to make it all disappear, be different somehow, so he just listened.

“The minute I turned sixteen I left. Got on a train from Mississippi and came to New York. I never looked back, too scared I’d see my father running up behind me.” She shivered at the image. “Found a job as a waitress in Brooklyn and finished school. I had this great music teacher who took a liking to me. She got me
into the high school choir. I used to stay after school and watch her practice on the piano.” She glanced up at him. “That’s how I learned to play.”

The corner of his mouth curved up into a grin. “So did I. Just listening mostly.”

Rae nodded in understanding. She took a breath and another swallow of her drink. “When I graduated, Ms. Granville, that was her name, told me about a small recording studio in Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn and a guy that was looking for talent. So I went to see him, not knowing what to expect, but hoping he’d miraculously make me an overnight sensation.”

They both laughed.

“That brother worked me to death. Do you hear me?” She chuckled, remembering the countless nights of burning the midnight oil. “RJ was no joke. He taught me so much about the business, introduced me to people, and did my first demo for me. When I met with the producers at Sony, they loved what they heard and wanted to sign me right then and there.”

“I hear a but in there somewhere.”

Rae grinned. “But…I didn’t want to sing, never did. I wanted to write and compose.”

“So what happened?”

“I told them I wasn’t interested. Well, RJ almost had a stroke right in the office. He’d worked for three months to get me in. If looks could kill I would have dropped dead right on that plush red carpet.”

Quinn howled with laughter. “Woman, you are crazy.”

“Yeah, they thought so, too.”

“So what happened?”

“After the producer cussed RJ out for wasting his time, RJ begging and pleading with him, I did something I’d never done before in my life—opened my mouth and said what it was that I wanted, for once. Not what someone else wanted for me.

“‘I want to write music, lyrics!’ I shouted over the din. They both turned and looked at me like I was crazy. And suddenly the old fear of being beaten took hold of me and pushed me back down into my seat. The room grew deathly quiet.

“‘What did you say?’ the producer asked.

“‘I want to write.’

“He leaned back in his seat.

“‘What makes you think you can?’

“I reached into my bag and pulled out my notebook that I’d been writing songs in since high school and handed it to him. I swear he must have read it for an hour, or at least it felt like it, especially with RJ cutting me dirty looks every few seconds. Finally he put the book down and closed it. He stared at me for a long time.

“‘I have a young girl group. They have talent but their music sucks. I want you to listen to them, see if you can come up with something, and then we’ll see. Maybe one of these songs.’ He tossed the book back at me and my music career began.”

“Did you get to work with them?”

Rae nodded.

“Did they take off or what?”

She nodded again.

Quinn cocked his head to the side, realizing he was going to have to pry the information out of her. “You gonna tell me who, or what?”

“After Five,” she said shyly.

He tossed his head back and laughed in awe. After Five had jetted to the top of the charts and remained there for years. Most of the girl groups of the past ten years ago had been patterned after them.
Unbelievable.

But that was Rae, cool and unassuming, Quinn thought as the music came to an end. He often wished, especially after meeting her, and being plunged back into the world of music, that he could find that creative part of himself that he’d lost. Somehow she was able to hold on to that part of herself where he could not. In his mind, the whole creative process was connected to his past, a past that he wanted to forget, but couldn’t. He didn’t know if he ever would.

The session ended and the band started filing out of the soundproof booth. There seemed to be a glow, a radiance about Rae as she walked toward him. Oh, how well he remembered that feeling. The rush.

“So what did you think?” she asked on a breath, dropping a headset around her neck.

“Sounded great.”

She tucked a lock behind his ear. “Really?”
Her finger stroked his chin. She needed to hear his words of assurance to usher out her doubts.

“Yeah, really.” He smiled, wanting to pull her close, but didn’t.

The tightness in her chest slowly eased. “Well, that’s it for today. I’m beat. Let me just tie up a few things with the band and we can leave. Want to go over to the Blue Note? Everyone is going.”

There was that everyone again.
“Naw. I’m gonna cut out. You go ’head with your friends.” He brushed her forehead with his lips and turned and left.

Rae watched him leave, and that same emptiness in her heart that she always felt when he moved away from her found its way back and settled. She was falling for him. Hard and fast. It was the only thing she was certain about anymore. Her thoughts were full of him, her actions planned around him. Her work once again had become a diversion, her friends a shield. But this time instead of it all protecting her from pain, it was keeping her from losing her heart. She couldn’t risk that again, especially with a man like Quinten Parker, whom
she knew so well, and not at all. He was full of light, dark shadows, and pieces that she could not put together. He wouldn’t let her. Then at times he was open, communicative, funny, romantic, and accessible. At others he was as remote as a distant continent.

She sighed and turned away, knowing all her efforts to keep a seal on her emotions were futile. “Listen, I’ll see you all later,” she called out to the group. She snatched up her bag and dashed out, hoping to catch him before he pulled away.

When she stepped outside she saw his Jeep and she felt that familiar breathlessness take over. Slowly she walked over to where he sat behind the wheel. “Can I get a lift?”

Without responding, he opened the locks and she got in.

They pulled up in front of her building, spending most of the half-hour ride in silence.

“Thanks,” Rae murmured and reached for the door.

“I’ll call you.”

Rae stopped and turned toward him, a sudden realization hitting her as sure as a
smack.
This is the way it will always be with us,
she concluded. This netherworld where illusion is the reality, forever locked in place with no hope of more.

“I…don’t think you should, Quinn. We’re simply going through the motions, pretending that all is right with the world. We are never asking for, or expecting, any more than the little we receive, convinced that we are okay.” She didn’t know when this half step was no longer enough, only that it was.

He stared at her, knowing that this moment between them was going to happen, and maybe it was best. Better now than before she became too much a part of his life, found her way into his soul. Slowly he nodded, tugging the inside of his bottom lip with his teeth. “If that’s what you want.”

Rae felt the rage well up inside her, the weeks of frustration and uncertainty. “What about you, Quinn? Do you even know?” she shouted.

“I’m not like you, Rae—”

“I don’t expect you to be,” she snapped, cutting him off. “You don’t even know what you’re like. You live this half life, just going
through the motions, pretending to be alive. I’d hoped that we would have moved beyond…this…” She tossed her hands helplessly up in the air. She took a breath and lowered her voice. “But it’s not happening.” Her gaze pierced him. “And you know why? Because you won’t let it. And I can’t deal with it anymore. I won’t.” Slowly she shook her head. “Goodbye, Quinn.” She opened the car door. One foot hit the pavement.

“What do you want from me, Rae?” he ground out from between his teeth.

She snapped her head toward him, stunned by the anguish in his voice. She reached across the gearshift and took his hand.

“I want you to live again, Quinn,” she whispered. “I want you to care about life again…about me.”

He snatched his hand out of her grasp. His voice turned cold, indifferent, his guard going up. “Caring comes with a price. I’ve paid it once too often.”

“Nothing worth having is free—or without risks. You need to decide if we’re worth the risk and if you’re willing to take it.” She stepped
from the Jeep, closed the door gently behind her, leaving him with his demons and her parting remarks.

And as Rae walked up the steps to her apartment she wondered when she would ever be able to do what she demanded from him.

Q
uinn lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head, staring sightlessly up at the stucco ceiling. He knew Rae was right, right about everything, right about him. Somehow he’d convinced himself that he could simply glide through this thing between them—no commitment required—without turning over too much of himself to her. Each time he felt the stirrings of emotions rise within him, he’d shut down, shut her out. He wasn’t trying to hurt her, he
was trying to keep from being hurt. There were parts of him that were dead inside, or so badly bruised he didn’t want those sore spots to be touched. He did want to reach out, to be a part of something, a part of someone’s life, but he no longer knew how, knew what to do. It was true what she’d said about the half-life that he lived. Sometimes he felt as if he were in some sort of vacuum, moving through the world like a ghost. He could see, smell, touch what was going on but he couldn’t be a part of it. Sometimes the loneliness, the bottomlessness was so great that all he could do was weep into a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, try to dull the never-ending ache that lived with him day in and day out.

Everyone thought that he should be better now. Nikita had been gone for three years. He had a son to think about, a career, himself. But none of them understood that it was so much more than the loss of his wife, his sister, his mother, his youth. It was the sum total of it all that had driven the life forces out of him, as surely as rebel troops forcing out the helpless villagers. None of them understood that each of those wounds had never truly healed, but
were only bandaged. And each loss stripped away another layer of the wrapping until the wound was laid bare and raw.

What did Rae expect him to do—just smile and tumble in love with her? Maybe it was easy for her, but it wasn’t for him. Not again. Yet the only time he felt any semblance of life still beating inside him was when he was with her, when he heard her voice, listened to her laughter, watched her compose. Couldn’t she see that?

But even knowing all that, what could he possibly hope to give to a woman like Rae?

His phone rang. Slowly he turned on his side and lifted the receiver.

“Yeah,” he mumbled into the phone.

“Hey, Q. It’s Max.”

He sat up, a frown creasing his brow. “Whassup, Max? Everything cool with Jamel?”

“Yes, he’s fine.”

His heartbeat slowed to normal.

“Actually he wanted to speak to you.” She paused a moment. “He still hasn’t stopped talking about his visit to New York to see his
daddy.
”

He could almost see the smile on her face
and the tiny gap between her front teeth. “It was special to me, too, Max,” he said sincerely.

“I know.”

An unspoken understanding hung between them.

“Uh, before I put him on the phone I wanted to talk with you about something.”

“Shoot.”

“Well, the holidays will be coming up before you know it, and Taylor and I were planning on spending them in New York with my folks. We figured since Jamel will be out of school, he could spend the two-week break with you. I mean if you don’t have any plans.”

“No, no plans. Sure he can stay.” He swallowed. “That would be great, Max, really.”

She exhaled. “And I was hoping we could…all get together while we were there…for dinner or something.”

“All…as in?”

“In me, you, Taylor, and Jamel…and whoever you’re seeing.”

“I’ll have to let you know on that one, Max.”

“Fine. But at least think about it.”

“Yeah. No doubt.”

“Um, Jamel is going to have a baby sister or brother in about six months,” she said in a rush.

If he’d been standing he would have fallen. A hundred thoughts flew through his head at once, the main one being that he never imagined Maxine as the mother of any child other than his. It was still hard for him to think of her as someone else’s woman—wife, even after all this time and everything that had happened between them.

“Q?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He paused. “Congrats, Max. I’m…happy for you. Feelin’ okay?”

She giggled. “Just the usual, hungry, tired, and sick.” She laughed again. “But Taylor is thrilled.”

I bet he is,
Quinn thought not unkindly. He’d never had that experience with her, with any woman. A flash of jealousy reared its green head, and the old anger that he’d felt toward her for keeping the knowledge of his son from him resurfaced—the years he’d lost.

“Anyway, it was good talking to you, Q. Here’s Jamel.”

If there was one thing he remembered about Maxine, she knew how to drop the bombs.

“Hi, Daddy!”

At the sound of his son’s voice, all thoughts of worry and regret drifted to the background, at least for the time he listened to the escapades of a six-year-old who still didn’t have a care in the world. But after the conversation, Quinn grew increasingly restless, pacing the confines of his duplex apartment like a hungry, caged tiger. It was nearly midnight. He was too wound up to sleep and couldn’t stand the silence of being with himself any longer.

The avenues were still teeming with activity even on a Wednesday night. He drove aimlessly for a while with no particular destination in mind. He stopped for a light and noticed the sign for Encore. People moved in and out, laughing and talking, some forming a short line to get in, and he wondered if Rae was inside.

He parked the Jeep two blocks away and walked back, figuring that would give him enough time to change his mind, but he didn’t, and found himself seated at a table shortly after. The club wasn’t as crowded as it had been on the weekend, only a few tables were filled as
others sat at the bar. He placed an order for his standard Jack Daniel’s and a plate of buffalo wings and was served promptly.

A small jazz combo held center stage, playing a medley of John Coltrane tunes and not particularly well, in Quinn’s estimation, but who could? He took a sip of his drink and finished off the last of the wings.

He scanned the crowd, and periodically watched the door, hoping that he’d spot Rae, and hoping that he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what to say to her. Yet he needed to talk to her, tell her about Maxine and her news, how it made him feel. He frowned at a sudden realization. He’d never told Rae about Jamel, about Maxine…about much of anything. It was always easier to listen to her, go along with the program when he felt like it, and keep himself to himself. Sure he talked, but not about his life, or any of the people in it. Just about things—all the things that weren’t important.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Handsome fella like you shouldn’t be talkin’ to himself. Need to have a fine woman sitting here witchu,” came a raspy voice, reduced
to a hoarse whisper from years of booze and cigarettes.

Quinn slowly turned his head in the direction of the intruder, and gradually looked up the length of the slight frame of a woman until he reached her face and rested on her eyes. Something inside him shifted uncomfortably. In the dimness she almost reminded him of someone but he couldn’t place her.

She was holding one of those big plastic bins that dirty dishes were loaded into, and it looked to weigh more than she did. “Seen you here once before, with a pretty thing, performs here sometimes. Right?” she asked, adjusting the weight of the bin against her narrow hip.

“Hmm.” He didn’t feel like talking, especially to her. There was something about her that bugged him.

“I try to notice people, remember faces,” she continued, ignoring the fact that she was being ignored. “And I’d never forget yours. Knew somebody who looked a lot like you a long time ago. But that was another life. Always wonder how he’s doing, though, what became of him.”

Quinn looked up at her, the sudden melan
choly of her voice catching him by surprise. He tried to make out her features in the dimly lit room, but couldn’t.

“Well, you have a good evenin’.” She ambled off, and Quinn felt the urge to go after her, demand that she tell him more.

Instead he tossed down the rest of his drink, threw some money on the table, and walked out, thankful for the rush of a cool breeze to lower the sudden rise in his temperature.

He glanced several times over his shoulder, having the strange sensation that the woman would suddenly leap out of the shadows and whisper something he didn’t want to hear. He shuddered and headed for his car. Today was a day he’d rather forget.

But he wouldn’t.