“That is not the point.”
“But it is the point, Brianna. If your issue is with relating to her, that is the point.”
“My mother is not supposed to be white. I am a black woman. I don’t know how to be anything other than that. Everything I am, who I became, sprang from there. Her family actively discriminated against black people.”
“That is your family, too, Brianna.”
“Our family. Our family.... I keep saying it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”
Dr. Shepherd pushed her glasses back up onto her face. “No one says that you have to like it, Brianna. I imagine that your mother is not proud of that truth, either. However, it is a part of who you are, your history.”
“This is just a bit much for me. I have a whole other side of myself that I know nothing about. Never felt the need to address my blackness, and now I do, like it’s a Girl Scout badge I need to earn. Being more, extra, to compensate for my white blood.”
Dr. Shepherd scribbled on her notepad. “There are cultural differences that might come into play here, but you are no different than any other two people trying to establish a relationship.”
“I am not following.”
“Communication is key. Talk with her. Continue to exchange ideas, common interests, dislikes. In time, you’ll start to see her for who she really is and not the image in your mind.”
“I never considered the possibility of Michelle’s white mother being mine. Not once.”
“Shock is normal. Rather than focusing on all you lost, rebuild your life with what you have, old and new.”
Brianna closed her eyes, forcing her mind to remain open. She had been more transparent than she intended, but she may as well. She had no choice but to be there and make the time count.
“Are you okay? Any other thoughts about this you’d like to explore?”
Brianna glanced at the analog clock propped on the book shelf and exhaled. There was still a lot of time left in their session. It was enough time to adequately discuss what had been gnawing at her conscience for the last few weeks.
“No, but there is something I’d like to discuss.”
Dr. Shepherd shifted in her seat, obviously energized by the prospect of Brianna opening herself up to the therapeutic process without any prodding. “That’s great. I’m listening.”
“I think I may be in love.”
Chapter 10
Yet another difficult night with Michelle had left Armand in an uncomfortable space. He could not determine how things had gotten so bad between them. When did loving her become such a chore? He had stopped by Brianna’s room on his way to bed, as usual, to check on her, and Michelle flipped on him as soon as he got into their room. What was her issue? Michelle had taught him about opening his heart and showing compassion for others, but it seemed like she had none for her own flesh and blood. Armand couldn’t make sense of it. He was doing what Michelle should have been doing, and he didn’t mind. They were partners after all. Why couldn’t she see that?
Armand pulled into the parking lot of the Bank of America building off Main Street. Choosing a space as close to the building’s entrance as possible, he backed his car into a parking spot and killed the engine. Facing the entrance provided him with an unobstructed view of people coming and going. Preparing to people watch, Armand powered down the driver’s side window and laid the seat back. He relaxed and contemplated whether it was a good idea for him to be there. Though a small part of him felt like he might be overstepping his boundaries, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he needed to stay close. Michelle would not be pleased if she knew, which meant this moment would be added to the growing list of secrets that made the energy between them uncomfortable.
Maybe he was overreacting and straining their union to satisfy a need he didn’t have the words to describe. The bickering seemed to only get worse after she accepted his ring. They had argued more in the last few months than they had in the last few years. He shared the unorthodox nature of their origin, and she took it well. She was upset for a moment, but he thought it brought them closer together, strengthened their bond. He was no longer certain if that was the case, or even if their future was probable.
As he was tapping his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel, debating his next move, the shine of the band on his finger stopped him cold. He stared at the ring as everything it represented clawed at his sensibilities—the man he strove to be, one of integrity, compassion, loving and devoted; the kind of man Michelle could depend on; the kind she deserved.
Michelle was being unreasonable, but it didn’t matter much that she was his priority if she didn’t feel it.
“Damn it. Why is she making shit so complicated?” he wondered aloud. “I promised her. I am simply making good on that promise.”
He could not deny the possibility that in the midst of everything, he had lost sight of that. He didn’t want to fight with her, but they needed to hash this out.
“I need to keep them both safe. No way would she forgive me if something happened to Brianna. No way. Argh! This is bullshit.” Armand continued venting his frustration, talking himself into either staying or going home. “I’m doing the right thing. Protecting her, them. I am protecting them. . . .”
A twinge of guilt locked his tongue into place. Michelle had not been on his radar, and he knew it. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. Brianna needed him more.
Still wrestling with his decision, Armand lifted his seat into the upright position, resting his head on the steering wheel face down as he spoke. “Go home, Armand. Just take your ass home. Nothing to see here anyw—”
Turning his key, he opened his eyes and caught sight of something that stopped him midsentence. Opening his door, standing with one leg on the pavement and the other on the car’s floorboard, Armand squinted, trying to improve his 20/40 vision, pausing only for a second before deciding to approach for a closer look. “Fuck it. She’ll understand.”
Squinting again, Armand zeroed in on a gentleman standing a few yards from the entrance. His internal alarm was triggered in an instant. Closing the car door, he casually made his way to the area, moving as quickly as he could without launching into a full-blown sprint.
Roughly ten feet out, the tiny hairs on his arms stood, and his throat felt like he had swallowed a brick. Something was off with this guy. Not only did he seem odd, loitering about in his khaki shorts and T-shirt in the sea of designer suits flanking the walkway, but for some reason, Armand did not want him there. He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing around, but it was obvious he did not come from inside the building.
As Armand drew nearer to the mystery guy, an eerie feeling swept over him. His vibe was regrettably familiar. The guy’s stance and build kicked Armand’s instincts into overdrive. Everything in him screamed that he was looking at Javan, but even Armand found it difficult to believe.
Still, Armand needed to be sure, so he perched himself on the side of the building, just a few bodies away from the guy, hoping to steal a glance at his face. The details didn’t matter. Armand could only remember his eyes and how the dim light seemed to power the sinister glow he saw in them. They were the eyes of a possessed man.
Armand wanted confirmation of his suspicions, but he also wanted to avoid confrontation. There was a time and a place for everything; this moment was neither.
Turn around. Turn around, you fuck. Come on.
The crowd started to disseminate as the lunch rush neared its end. Waldo disappeared around the corner into the construction in progress on the building’s north side. Shit.
Temporarily frozen in thought, Armand stood, hands covering his curly crown, frustrated that he had missed him. Before he could turn to leave, Armand heard a familiar voice.
“What are you doing here?”
Her curt tone birthed marbles into his muscles. He did not want to mime his way through another argument. Dropping his head, Armand reluctantly turned to meet his foe.
&n
bsp; “I’m waiting,” she challenged.
“I don’t want to do this. I was just leaving.”
“Why were you here in the first place? Are you following me?”
Armand took a deep breath, trying to come up with some viable explanation, something other than the truth. “Not exactly. It’s not what you think.”
“I think you’re following me. Unless you have some business here?”
Fuck. I got nothing.
“Fine, Brianna,” he mumbled with a hint of defeat.
“Fine? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“I am here for you.”
“Armand!”
He raised his hands, cutting her thought short. “I didn’t follow you, though. I got here a few minutes ago.”
“You cannot keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Showing up like this. I didn’t even tell you I was coming here.”
Armand had no response to that. There was no way in hell he was telling her he had snooped through her things to get the info. She would really flip out.
“I’ll give you a ride home. Let’s go.”
Rolling her eyes, Brianna threw her hands up in the air and started walking in circles in front of him. “No, just stop. This is hard enough without you doing this. I got here all by myself, Armand, and I can get home—alone. I’m not an invalid.”
“I know that, but it’s dangerous. I am just trying to keep you safe.”
“I appreciate that, but you’re doing too much, Armand. I can’t handle this. This is too much.”
“It’s just a ride home, Brianna.”
“It’s not about the fucking ride, Armand! Holy crap, you are not hearing me!” Brianna pushed past Armand, heading toward the construction area.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her back behind him in an attempt to reason with her. “Stop! Wait, Brianna! Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Let me take you. What is the problem?” Armand stood between her and the small pathway through the construction area. It prevented her, at least for the time being, from taking that route, keeping her from bumping into Javan, who could easily be lying in wait somewhere.
“I’m all over the place, Javan!”
Armand’s body instantly tensed. “What did you say?”
Realizing her error, Brianna quickly recovered. “Armand, this,” she said, motioning between them, “whatever this is . . . is confusing the hell out of me. Let me be. Javan is gone. There’s no threat anymo—” Throwing her hand over mouth, Brianna suddenly bent over, holding her stomach.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Brianna slowly straightened back up, wiping her mouth. “I’m fine. I just need you to stop.”
Ignoring her answer, Armand kept pressing her. He hadn’t really noticed before, but Brianna looked pale and out of sorts. She didn’t look well at all. “Is your stomach upset?”
Very slowly, she replied, “No, why?”
“You’re holding it,” Armand answered, pointing to the hand cradling her midsection.
Brianna quickly moved her hands to her sides. “I didn’t realize.”
“Just let me take you home.”
“I’m not going with you.”
Scrunching his face, Armand drew an exasperated breath. “What is the fucking problem?”
“What do you think?”
“Don’t do this shit.”
“I heard you two last night. I hear you every night.”
“And you know Michelle is overreacting. There is nothing going on between us.”
Leaning against the wall for support, studying the ground, she spoke in practically a whisper. “Are you sure, Armand? Is this nothing?”
Armand was lying to himself, to Michelle, and to Brianna. It was definitely something, but it was nothing he was prepared to admit. The thought of betraying Michelle was too heavy a weight to have on his mind with all that still needed to be done. He simply could not think that way. It didn’t fit his mold.
“I’m sure.”
Without warning, Brianna slid down the wall. She looked like the terrified young girl he had found that night at Javan’s; nothing like the strong, sensitive, cultural woman he had come to know.
“Brianna, Brianna . . .” Armand bent down, draped an arm around her waist, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”
This time, Brianna offered no resistance, barely walking to the car because she was so weak. Something was definitely up, and Armand promised himself that he’d get to the bottom of it.
Chapter 11
Since Lisa’s surgery, Frank had not left her bedside. The passing hours had provided ample time for him to recollect his previous movements. The picture had not brought him any comfort except to confirm that he had not hurt his wife. His conversation with Charlie pained him like a hangnail in his mind. He sincerely regretted getting involved with her. He never would have guessed that she would deliberately hurt Lisa. That child was not of his loins, and it troubled his spirit to ponder the likelihood of having lost his wife to the grave behind that lie.
He surmised that Lisa and Brianna were the closest he had ever come to experiencing love in its purest form. Shadows reserved for cemeteries mocked his fear during the first twenty-four hours of Lisa’s recovery. The thoughts tempted his mind into ominous spaces, but as her survival became evident, his despondent disposition withered away. Regret remained, a weight so indomitable that death still fancied itself as a favorable recourse.
This was day ten of a mind-numbing wait for his precious wife to gain enough strength to speak with him. Words of insight, candor, and repair tumbled needlessly about in his head as he pondered auspicious endings to their condition. The chair, doubling as his bed, reinforced the ache in his back, begging him to change the routine he had embraced with each passing day. He simply sat, recording minutes, only moving to relieve himself in the bathroom or to escape the insensitive, snide remarks of the revolving trio of nurses assigned to tend to Lisa.
He dared not utter a word of complaint, for their work, in her regard, was the best available. Lisa’s surgeon and interim medical advisors had advised him as such, and she was his priority. Enduring their nuanced criticisms of his role in what had transpired was a small price to pay for the service they provided. After he owned his failings as a husband, specifically a protector, knifing the carefully-crafted ideal of masculinity he lived his life within, Frank’s vulnerability surged to a stifling peak. Cradling the remnants of who he believed he was, juxtaposed with the harsh reality, exposed Frank to suffering he could not yet comprehend.
He had but one measure of solace in all of this: Lisa’s recovery. Things were touch and go at first, but after a transfusion, her condition had drastically improved, and she was expected to make a full recovery.
Lisa was not suicidal, but Charlie’s news must have had an adverse effect on her. Her strength was something he had come to marvel. None of this felt right; he had to be missing something, but he had no idea what it could be.
“Frank? Where am I?”
The sound of her voice slashed through his thoughts, much to his delight. He quickly moved to the edge of his seat, leaning over the hospital bed, cupping her hand in his with a gentle squeeze. With his free hand, he lovingly pushed the hair out of her face, trying not to shy away from the emptiness he saw in her eyes—a void, he realized, that he alone was responsible for.
“I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”
Lisa looked weary as she tried to focus her vision, glancing around the sterile hospital room, straining her eyes under the bright fluorescent light. The bandages from her futile attempt to escape her misery slowly brought the memory of the last few days to the forefront of her mind. Lisa closed her eyes and let a tiny single river of hurt run from its corner.
“Frank?”
Frank’s heart dropped so low he didn’t know if he would have the guile to lift it again. It took everything he had not to fall
to his knees and follow suit, knowing that he had once again failed her so fantastically was difficult to stomach. A stinging sensation spread from his chest throughout his body as he grappled with the weight of his decisions.
“Lisa, please don’t. I am so sorry.”
“Frank . . .” She shook her head slowly, loosening the words trapped in the air. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Frank continued to hold her hand, caressing it gently as she shared her truth, insisting she lend her pain into the small open space on his shoulders. “Fifteen years. For fifteen years, I tried to have your child. She’s having the child that should have been mine.”
Shaking his head to deny her claims, Frank wept freely, revealing how vulnerable witnessing Lisa’s despair made him.
“Lisa, nothing happened.”
Lisa stared at Frank with ruby-frosted eyes, swollen with hurt. His body rocked like he had been hit with a 12-gauge shotgun, sending him crashing to his knees, pleading for her forgiveness.
“Lisa, please.”
“Stop lying, Frank! Just don’t.”
He rested his forehead against the metal railing of the hospital bed, relenting to her request, allowing its cold disposition to ease his growing anxiety. The tension built in his frontal lobe, loosened its grip on his mind as the hurricane wreaking havoc calmed to resemble a large ripple in a small pond. As the pain dissipated, he searched for words to ease her pain, to temper the mood in his favor.
“Lisa, please, try and stay calm. I promise I will answer whatever questions you have.”
Lisa jerked her hand away from him, turning her body as best she could toward the window. The ominous sound of her weeping pierced his heart.
“I loved you,” she whispered in between sobs. “How could you start a family with someone else?”
Gravity pulled his sullen body lower to the ground as his heart slammed into his rib cage over and over again, taking a little of his manhood each time. Frank dried his face with the back of his hand, stood up, and walked around the bed so that he could look into her eyes. He searched her face for understanding, some inkling that she believed him.
Virtuous Deception 2 Page 6