“What about your mother?”
“She was devastated after my father died. They’d been together since they were seventeen. But she knew she needed to take care of me. So she searched and searched for extra work, eventually getting a job at a store in the next town over. It took her forty-five minutes to walk there each day but she did it. She also took any odd jobs she could find. Babysitting, cleaning houses, selling things she’d made. Whatever she could do to make extra money for us, she did it.”
“She sounds like an amazing woman.”
I felt Deborah smile against my chest. “She was. She and my father always put me first. When I was really young, they would beg, borrow, or steal books they could find to help me learn to read. They always made sure I went to school because they saw it as a way off the mountain, as they used to say. It wasn’t until just before the end of my junior year of high school that my mother revealed the biggest secret she’d kept for years.”
“What was it?” I inquired, intrigued to learn about this obviously remarkable woman.
“After my father’s death, every family member we had started coming around asking my mother what she was going to do with the life insurance money. She told them that they’d never gotten life insurance. A few weeks before the summer after junior year my mother told me the truth. She told me that they had in fact had a policy—albeit a small one, and when she’d received the check, she’d taken it to a bank to open a savings account in my name, depositing it all. For six years it just sat there. My senior year I did a sort of exchange program where I moved in with a family in a wealthier part of Kentucky to go to their high school. There I had access to guidance counselors who walked me through the process of applying to college and for scholarships.
“Once I was accepted to Stanford my mother told me I was going come hell or high water. The money from the insurance policy paid a monthly stipend to the family I stayed with, and was just enough for my plane ticket and incidentals to move to Palo Alto.”
“I bet she’s proud of you.”
Deborah shrugged. “I hope so.” She sat up again, peering down at me. “She died last year of lung cancer. I didn’t even know she was sick. A relative of mine told me she made them promise not to tell me because she didn’t want me going back home for anything.”
I reached up and wiped away the tear that’d landed on her cheek. Swallowing I lifted my head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her back against my chest. Her silent cries against my chest tore me apart. I’d give anything to make her stop hurting. I didn’t know what it was like to have parents who loved you so much they’d sacrifice their own happiness and well-being, but I was glad she did.
She deserved at least that much.
I held her until she stopped weeping, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. And because I needed to be inside of her again, I rotated our bodies so that she was on her back underneath me, her arms raised, clutching at my shoulders. She needed me as much as I needed her. Our second round of lovemaking wasn’t hurried or rushed in the least. Once I sheathed myself with a second condom from my wallet, I slowly slid inside of her, watching her with every movement.
Even when it pained me, my body wanting to go deeper, harder, faster, I took my time, making sure I gave Deborah what she needed. I couldn’t replace what she’d lost in the past, but I could show her that her parents’ sacrifices had been worth it. That was because they drilled into her the value of education and put their money where their mouth was, she ended up at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. And more importantly, she’d run into me. The man who would spend the rest of my life making sure she never went without anything ever again. And that especially included feeling loved and adored.
We came together that second time, as well, and once we did, I slid from Deborah’s body, but wrapped my arms around her, keeping her to my side.
That night I had the most vivid dream in my life. I dreamt of four little boys who grew into four dynamic and strong men. Men I’d be a fool not to be proud of.
****
Deborah
I felt him watching me before I even opened my eyes. Yet, I didn’t feel creeped out. Slowly I blinked my eyes open, trying to adjust to the morning sun. I found those dark brown eyes of his and gasped. They were so intense. His eyes could tell an entire story without him having to open his mouth. That scared the hell out of me.
“Our oldest son will have your eyes.”
It took way too long for me to even register what he’d just said.
I sat up on my elbow, the thin, white sheet slipping from my body, revealing my nakedness. “What?”
Robert’s eyes had roamed down to my bared breasts, his face tightening with the same hunger that had been present the night before.
“What did you just say?” I insisted, covering myself, though that didn’t deter his gaze at all. It was almost as if he could see right through the sheet.
Finally, his eyes rose to meet mine, again stealing air from my lungs with just a look. “I said, our eldest son will have your blue eyes.”
“Oldest son?” He had to be crazy.
“Yes. Four boys altogether.”
He was completely serious.
I jumped up from the bed, stumbling over his long, athletic build, frantically reaching for my black robe to cover myself. I couldn’t be in the same room with him and naked without my body responding. And the absolute last thing I needed right then was for my body to betray me.
“What’s wrong?” he questioned as if he hadn’t just said the most insane thing in the world.
“You need to leave,” I insisted.
He moved slowly but with intention, the tight muscles from all of the outdoor activities he’d told me he enjoyed evident on his frame.
Swallowing, I averted my eyes, taking a step back, until I bumped into the chair that held my suitcase.
“Why?”
“Because you’re talking crazy. And put some clothes on!” I picked up his pants from the previous day and thrust them in his direction, still not looking at him.
I sighed in relief a little when he took the clothing from my hand. I heard rustling, indicating he was redressing himself. Of course, my relief wasn’t to last too long.
“I’m not going anywhere until you explain yourself.” His voice was so deep and domineering, I almost felt chastised and pulled to him at the same time. But I couldn’t budge.
“Explain myself? I’m not your child and you are not my superior of any kind. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
He shook his head. “Of course you’re not my child. I just told you, you and I are going to have four children together. But that does make you my woman so I need an explanation.”
My eyes widened. “Oh my god! Again with the children. What the hell is that about?”
He gave a casual shrug. “I had a dream.”
“Dream? Seriously.”
He nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“If you think I waited all of these years to lose my virginity just so I could throw away my Stanford education to settle down and be some rich guy’s wife and a mother to his kids, you’re sadly mistaken!” I protested angrily. It wasn’t that I was opposed to marrying or becoming a mother, but I wasn’t even twenty-two years old. We hadn’t graduated college yet. And he was so sure. How could anyone be that damn sure of anything?
“You’re overreacting.”
The anger that moved through my body was uncanny. Not only had he said the worst thing you can say to any woman when we’re upset, the cavalier and casual way he’d said it pissed me off even more.
“Get out!” I yelled.
Robert’s scowl, while intimidating to most, I’m certain, did little to dissuade my anger.
“I’m not going any fucking where.”
“Get the hell out! I am not talking to you about this anymore.” I glanced at the clock on the wooden, circular table in the corner of the room. “We have to b
e on the bus in an hour. I need to pack and I don’t want to look at you anymore.” At that point, I wasn’t even certain why I was so angry. I just knew I was.
“I said I’m not going any goddamn where. At no point did I ever say you needed to quit on your professional goals or sacrifice the education you’ve worked so diligently for.”
I was too busy throwing clothes into my suitcase to respond to him.
“Deborah!” He reached for my wrist, halting my movements.
“I—”
“Robert!” someone called from the opposite end of the locked door, knocking loudly.
“Fuck! What?” he yelled, responding to the male on the other side.
I didn’t recognize the voice.
“Open up, man. We’ve been looking for you. It’s an emergency.”
Robert growled, giving me one last glare, as if to say this wasn’t over, before releasing his hold on my wrist and moving to the door. He yanked it open. “What?” he barked at the guy on the other side.
As soon as I saw his face, I recognized him. He was one of the freshman that’d accompanied us on the trip but I couldn’t recall his name. I didn’t waste time trying to, either; I went back to packing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the guy lean in and say something low in Robert’s ear.
“Shit!”
That one curse had me startled, alarm bells shooting through my body. Something wasn’t right, and in spite of my earlier anger, I felt the deepest urge to comfort him. But he turned and gave me a sharp look, stopping me in my tracks.
“I have to go, but this isn’t over.” It sounded like a threat, a warning, and a promise.
My body shivered and my lips parted to ask him what it was that had him leaving so abruptly. Call me crazy, but my instincts were telling me that something was seriously wrong for him to drop the conversation we’d been having and to rush out. However, before any words could come out, he was gone and I was left standing in my empty room, missing his presence just that quickly.
I didn’t know it then, but it would be another five years before I had contact with Robert Townsend again.
Chapter Nine
1979
Deborah
“I don’t understand why we had to have lunch here,” Cohen stated as he glanced around at the crystal chandeliers lining the roof of the Crown Jewel hotel’s restaurant we were sitting in.
I frowned, already annoyed by his tone. “Because this place is only a few blocks from my job and I love the food here,” I retorted rather tersely.
However, Cohen didn’t seem to pick up on it, or not care about my attitude at the moment.
“This place is ridiculously overpriced. The only people who come here are the ones who want to be seen or make everyone else believe they have money.”
I narrowed my gaze, unsure of whether or not my boyfriend of the last two years had intentionally just called me some sort of social climber.
“Wasn’t your sister’s engagement party held here just a few months ago?” I sweetly reminded him, smiling as I stared into his hazel eyes.
His already present frown deepened as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Don’t remind me. Jonathan and his family just had to pay for the best,” he scoffed.
“You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t like the well-to-do, you talk a lot about what other people do with their own money quite often,” I noted out loud, while unfolding the white linen napkin and placing it in my lap.
Truth be told, Cohen’s family wasn’t poor by any means. His father had inherited his grandfather’s luggage company, and while the company had taken a turn for the worst in recent years, Cohen had grown up in Williamsport’s upper-middle class circles. But now, as a student teacher of economics at Williamsport University, he spent a great deal of his free time railing against the rich and elite society. And while the commonality of our views on issues of discrepancies in socioeconomics, education, and poverty in our society had originally drawn us together, I didn’t need to hear about it when all I wanted to do was enjoy an hour-long lunch with my boyfriend. Especially, when I was in the middle of a hectic work day.
“Thank you,” I lifted my head, telling the waiter who’d brought out our food.
Cohen waited until our waiter left to respond to my earlier comment. “I merely talk about the inequalities as I see them in society.”
I lifted an eyebrow as my gaze dropped down to the sirloin steak on his plate, as he sliced through it before lifting it to his mouth. He talked a big game about hating disparity, poverty, and loathing everything he called haughty, but he had no problem indulging in those things when it suited him.
“You used to agree with me on these issues,” he casually reminded me as he lifted a forkful of steamed, seasonal vegetable to his mouth.
I sighed. “I still agree.”
“But you come to places like this for lunch.”
“Like I already said, it’s close to my job and I have to get back in …” I lifted my right wrist, peering at the time, “thirty minutes.”
“Of course, your job,” he muttered, but I heard the sneer in his voice.
“What’s wrong with my job?” My hackles were up.
He shrugged, looking down at his plate. “Nothing. It’s just that ever since you got that promotion and big raise you’ve changed.”
I rolled my eyes but continued chewing the steamed trout I’d ordered for my lunch, before wiping my mouth with the napkin. I briefly debated on whether or not I should even respond. Ever since I’d been promoted six months prior to the supervisory role of heading up my own team in the finance department at Glamour Cosmetics, Cohen had been making little digs at every opportunity he could. At first I just shrugged it off as minor jealousy. I was moving along in my career while he was still working toward his PhD and teaching freshman-level macroeconomics classes. I didn’t begrudge him his annoyance, in the beginning, but now it was getting real old.
“The only thing that’s changed is my title at work.” And the amount of money in my paycheck, and the responsibilities of my job. But I didn’t feel like I needed to add that in.
“Exactly,” he came back with. “Your title is oh so important now. It’s like you feel like your title makes you better than everyone else. You’re becoming one of them.”
I didn’t have to ask who “them” were. When he said it in that tone, with that irritated expression on his face, he was referring to wealthy people.
“How so?” I questioned, needing him to give me an example of what he meant.
“Like the other night. We were supposed to go out to that jazz club you like but you stood me up.”
“I didn’t stand you up. I called you well ahead of time and informed you that our company’s CFO personally invited me and a few others out to dinner. There was no way I could turn that down. He’s the man who has the ability to influence my career for years to come.” Standing up implied that I’d just not shown up … at least, that’s what it meant to me. That hadn’t been the case at all.
“See what I mean? The Deborah Tate I met four years ago would’ve told the CFO to go screw himself.”
I frowned as I stared across the table. Cohen and I had been friends for a couple of years before we started dating. I’d gone to an economics seminar on Williamsport University’s campus about a year after moving to the city. I’d been invited by a work colleague. And while Cohen and I shared similar beliefs on inequality, I don’t know what ever had given him the impression that I’d tell the head of my department to go screw himself.
“Maybe we just see things differently,” I said, raising the glass of sweet tea to my lips, sipping from the plastic straw.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was defensive, and while I hadn’t meant to put him on the defense, I wouldn’t back down from it either.
“Exactly what I said. I happen to like my job. And yes, I want to succeed in it and grow with my career, and increase my salary. Women throughout history did not fight for
the right to vote, better work opportunities, and more equitable pay … hell, things we’re still fighting for, just for me to be ashamed of my ambition.” Unlike Cohen, I wasn’t born with life handed to me. He was five years older than my nearly twenty-seven years. He’d been able to take time off between college and graduate school to backpack through Europe. From the moment I left Stanford, I’d hit the ground running, and as a result, had received two promotions within the last five years, and the salary increases to match. I would never be ashamed of my accomplishments.
“You’re becoming one of them. Following the crowd.”
I pushed out a puff of air, knowing this conversation was leading us nowhere. “Let’s change the topic before we both end up saying something we don’t mean. How is your research for your dissertation coming along?”
Cohen had finally gotten his dissertation topic approved and had begun formulating studies to carry out the necessary research to complete it. Obtaining one’s PhD seemed like a grueling process, and he had at least another year to go before it was completed.
“It’s taking too long to find the subjects for the study. Why these people won’t just take what’s being offered to them is beyond me,” he responded, disgusted and pouting. He continued on, complaining about how all of his research participants were just looking for a hand out and therefore couldn’t be trusted with his precious study.
Not for the first time, I stared across the table at Cohen and tried to remember what it was that had drawn me to him in the first place. He was handsome, I would give him that. With his somewhat shaggy blond hair, hazel eyes, and square jaw. And I wouldn’t lie, I also liked the fact that he was six foot one, towering over me by a few inches. And like I said, we had some of the same values in common, but whereas I considered myself a go-getter, Cohen had a bad habit of complaining that the people around him were out to get him somehow. It was becoming a turnoff.
“Hey, I left my wallet back at the office. Can you get lunch this time?” he questioned as we finished up.
I refrained from displaying the frown that attempted to cover my face. This, too, was becoming something of a habit. And while I was a woman all about the progression of women’s rights, and I did just get a promotion at work, granting me a much higher take home pay than what Cohen made on his student-teacher salary, I was getting a little tired of always footing the bill.
Until My Last Breath Page 7