Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

  Parke lifted a brow. “So do you. Now, stop stalling.”

  “Okay.” She paused, struggling to repeat what she wanted to forget. “When I confided in Rainey that I needed a reference to become a foster parent, he said sure.” She swallowed. “My foster care recruiter called this morning and relayed that Rainey’s exact words were ‘Investigate her past thoroughly to make sure she’s mentally stable to accept the responsibilities of caring for children.’ Why would he say that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry you don’t have your family’s support, but you have mine. Did you try and call him?” Parke sighed heavily.

  “I’ve left messages, but he hasn’t called back. His comments were a surprise.”

  The elevator opened and Parke ushered Cheney inside. “Take a deep breath,” he instructed, stroking the length of her nose. Disregarding others in the elevator car, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I told you I’m a warrior, and I’ll fight your family or anybody else to make you happy.”

  Inhaling and exhaling his cologne Cheney’s emotions were too jumbled to protest, so she complied and leaned into his chest. Once they were settled in the large classroom, Parke asked questions, talked to other prospective parents as if he initiated the process. Every so often, he would stop and look her way, giving her a reassuring nod and communicating his support and his love. He left her side only to get them refreshments.

  “You’re serious?” she whispered when he returned with a cup of coffee for her.

  Folding his arms, Parke didn’t blink. “Yep.”

  “I think that woman is Wilma.” Cheney grabbed his hand and stood. “C’mon, let’s go introduce ourselves.”

  “Miss Applewhite?” Cheney queried as she walked up behind her.

  The short, pump woman turned around. “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m Cheney Reynolds. We’ve spoken on the phone.”

  “Oh yes.” Wilma smiled, extending her hand.

  “And this is one of my references, Parke Jamieson.”

  Wilma tapped her pink-polished nails against her unpainted lips. “That name sure sounds familiar. Are there others? I mean do you have numbers behind your name?”

  Parke frowned. “Yes, I’m the sixth, why?”

  She shrugged. “Funny, seems like I heard it before.”

  “I’m one of her references. Remember?” Parke pointed out.

  “Of course. I’m sure if we would’ve met, I would’ve remembered such a good-looking man as yourself.”

  Cheney shot daggers at the gray-haired woman as Parke shrugged innocently. She stabbed him in the side with her elbow.

  A tall Black woman about sixty years old cleared her throat at the podium. “Let’s get started. I’m Eva Moore. I’ve been a foster parent for more than twenty years. We have a lot of information to cover in the next three hours.”

  Parke mouthed three hours? She nodded and refocused on the speaker, releasing a breath of gratitude when he remained seated and didn’t change his mind and back out.

  “As a foster parent, you are to support the rebuilding of a nurturing relationship between the children and their families,” Eva instructed the audience. “Children often feel angry or upset, and want to lash out because of their bad experiences. Their pain won’t allow them to trust overnight, so be patient. It’s a gradual process as kids learn to regain faith in adults and build confidence. Takes place one day at a time.”

  A heavy-set White woman leaned forward, raising her hand. “Do all the children who come through children services have these problems?”

  Eva clasped her hands. “Unfortunately, most of them do, so expect it. In some cases, they’re frightened and confused about being separated from their parents. Kids will have questions you honestly won’t be able to answer. In turn, their parents are angry and feel threatened by outside intervention, which makes their kids rebellious and depressed. Even young babies can become irritable and fretful.”

  “This isn’t going to be easy. Are you sure you want to do this?” Parke whispered, touching her hand.

  “Yes, I’m sure. All the children can’t be that bad. They’re just telling us about the worst possible scenarios.”

  “I hope you’re right. In any case, I’m with you.”

  “Please remember,” Eva continued, “As a foster parent candidate, you are required to attend eight more three-hour sessions.”

  The seminar turned into a question-and-answer period before the moderator quoted statistics of children who had endured the system and later became successful in life. Cheney’s mind drifted. Who would have thought attending college would’ve changed her life for the worse. Bad choices had ruined her future.

  She glanced at Parke. What would she do without him? Cheney didn’t disclose that she had called her father when she couldn’t reach Rainey. Roland didn’t conceal his hatred. Cheney had counted five phone calls she had made to her father to engage in a meaningful dialogue. All she got was pleasantries. Her family’s alienation only intensified her guilt, so she figured why bother. This particular time she was desperate.

  “Hi Daddy,” Cheney greeted over the phone.

  “Hello, daughter, your mother’s not here.”

  “I called to speak with you. I know the Division of Family Services contacted you about background information on me—”

  “Look, Cheney, you wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for your medical condition six years ago.”

  Cheney gasped. “You know.”

  “Yes, I know and it was wrong. Is taking other people’s children into your home some form of asking for forgiveness for your sins? Well, I can’t forgive you, ever, and I hope God doesn’t either.”

  She didn’t need to ask why, how, or when. Dr. Roland Reynolds had privileges with other medical professionals. What Cheney didn’t know was if her doctor sought her father out, or her father requested a breach in patient confidentiality.

  Eva’s voice cracked Cheney’s musings. “Before we dismiss tonight, I would like for you to see a short video about what to expect once a child comes into your home.”

  Cheney witnessed a six year old scratching a sleeping infant’s face, a toddler drawing on the wall, a twelve year old smashing drinking glasses, and a little boy sitting in the center of the bed urinating. She hadn’t realized she was pinching Parke’s hand until he massaged her fingers.

  A young man, sitting a few seats down from her, waved his hand in the air. “Please tell me that foster parents don’t have to endure those nightmarish experiences without recourse.”

  Speaking in a controlled voice, Eva replied, “If you are uncomfortable with any child in your care, admit defeat. You do them a disservice not to have them removed from your home. Personality clashes do happen, but fostering is only effective when you and the child can bond.”

  “I don’t know about you two, but I’ve seen enough. The two-hundred-and-something-dollars a month Missouri pays ain’t worth the gray hairs them youngsters would give me,” a woman behind them mumbled.

  Cheney exchanged looks with Parke. At that moment Cheney didn’t know which was harder, agreeing to an abortion, or agreeing to take on the responsibility of a foster parent. Her expression either revealed too much or Parke knew what she was thinking.

  “You’ll be a wonderful foster mother,” he assured Cheney.

  “Thank you.” She sniffed.

  When it was over, Parke pulled out his electronic organizer and began punching in information.

  “What are you doing?” Cheney asked, peeking.

  “Clearing my schedule,” Parke answered as if she should have known. “I want to attend every session.” He crossed a leg over his knee and kept tapping.

  She looked at him incredulously. His demeanor showed he was all business. “This process could take up to four months.”

  Fingering his mustache, he shrugged. “Four months with the woman I love. Where do I sign up?” He winked and she blushed.

  As they stood to leave, Parke helped Che
ney with her coat, buttoning each button and wrapping the scarf securely around her neck. Then, grabbing her coat collar, he tugged her forward. “Did you pull out one of my love notes today?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, Miss Reynolds?”

  Their stare wasn’t challenging, but soft. “Like milk, I need hugs to make me strong.”

  “I’ll brand you with a hug before the day is over.”

  Cheney smiled, craving anything positive he was willing to give. She could feel the tears stinging her eyes. “Your faith in me makes me want to love you.”

  Parke froze. “Hold up. Did you just tell me indirectly that you love me?”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Malcolm reined in his annoyance as he waited to leave another voice message on Hallison’s answering machine. His temper softened as he fingered a five-by-seven silver picture frame that captured them smiling.

  Hallison looked elegant, sleek, and sensuous in a stunning black form-fitting dress. She was more than perfect for him. Physically, mentally, and spiritually, the woman held him captive. It wasn’t just her tempting smiles and alluring perfume.

  He huffed into the phone. “Know this. I’m a man serious about his woman. I’ve accepted your time away from me on Thanksgiving to spend time with your mother. I would’ve been glad to go if you would’ve asked.”

  He definitely had misread Hallison’s signals. The perfect night planned at the Ritz backfired. They had their first argument. He thought they were back on track at the park concert, then all of a sudden Hallison wouldn’t return his phone calls. “Christmas was hard for me. All I wanted was you. Here’s a love warning, sweetheart. It ain’t no way I’m going to bring in the New Year without you.” Knowing the recorder would cut off any minute, Malcolm rushed on, “I’ll be at your house tomorrow night, New Year’s Eve, to celebrate the one year anniversary of our first date. I still have your Christmas pres—”

  He pushed redial and waited impatiently until after her greeting. “I suggest you be ready at seven o’clock, or I’ll camp out at your front door. Hali, whatever is bothering you is our problem. I miss you, sweetheart.”

  It was after nine when he arrived home and walked straight to his recorder. One message. Loosening his tie, he pushed play. “Hi, Malcolm.” He smiled, hearing Hallison’s voice. “I miss you, too. I’m sorry I’ve been shutting you out. We do need to talk. I need to unload my problems on some issues I can’t resolve. I’ll be ready, Mr. Jamieson. I can’t have you waiting outside my door. Smooches.” Relieved, Malcolm fell back into his recliner with a big grin. She had the most drugging, husky voice he had ever heard, and she had come to her senses. As he prepared for bed, he kept smiling.

  New Year’s Eve night, Malcolm dressed in a lightweight suede suit and finished off the look with new leather Stacy Adams. With a gift box and long-stemmed red rose, he headed for his car. On time, Malcolm knocked on Hallison’s door. She opened it and looked stunning in bronze satin dress with alternating layers of organza.

  “Wow, I see what I’ve missed.” Malcolm entered her apartment and right away subjected her to his kiss. It was time to touch and taste. “Hali, you make a man hungry. Don’t ever shut me out again,” he whispered against her baby-soft cheek.

  “I’m sorry, but we need to talk—”

  “Shh.” Malcolm silenced her with his finger. “We’ll talk tonight—all night if you want, until we’re both satisfied, okay? We better go. Tonight, I’ll talk first, you listen, then you say whatever you have to and you’ll have my undivided attention.”

  “Aren’t women supposed to go first?”

  Handing her a single rose, Malcolm chuckled. “Not when her man has something very important to say.” He wrapped a fox-trimmed black cape around Hallison’s shoulders and escorted her to the front door.

  During the drive downtown, he admired her hair swept up with soft spiral curls dangling from the top of her head. Gorgeous. Soft strokes of blush sparkled on Hallison’s cheekbones. Sweet. Full, perfectly shaped lips glistened with lipstick. Irresistible.

  His fingers danced with Hallison’s hand as he brought it to his face, rubbing her soft palm against his beard. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

  Hallison tightened her lips, displaying her dimples. “I’ve craved you like water and air.” Her voice shook with emotion. “But—”

  “It’s okay.” Malcolm squeezed her hand. “Hali, whatever your fears, I’ll crush them with all the strength within my bare hands. I promise.” Once they were in front of the Hilton, he smirked at her surprised look.

  “You remembered?” Her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  “I haven’t forgotten anything about us, and why what we have is so special.”

  He escorted Hallison to the top-floor ballroom. Partygoers spilled into the halls chatting, laughing, and mingling. Entering the large festive room, the couple was on the dance floor within minutes, swaying to slow jams. Malcolm held her close, but inches away so he could memorize how intently she watched him.

  Snaking her arms around his neck, Hallison appeared blissful. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “Because I love you.”

  She froze, gasped, and her eyes glazed over. “Are you sure? I have to be sure.”

  “Yes, very sure, I should’ve confessed a long time ago that I was falling in love with you before I took the liberty of suggesting a romantic weekend. Maybe that’s why you questioned my motives, but I loved you then and even more now. This past year we’ve shared very special moments. I know what it means to be completely satisfied, happy, and in love with only one woman.”

  Sniffing, Hallison blinked and one tear escaped. “Thank God, thank God,” she whispered, resting her head on his chest as if she was relieved about something.

  “I love you,” Malcolm repeated closer to her ear. As the music changed to a faster beat, they continued swaying to their own rhythm. “Hali, I need to know if you love me.” Holding his breath, he waited.

  “Yes,” Hallison choked. “I wasn’t sure how you felt, or if I was special.”

  Exhaling, Malcolm hugged her with relief and happiness. He loosened his embrace and stroked both of her cheeks. “How could you not know? Our kisses, hugs, and talks are so intense. What we have is so hot and it’s not just lust.”

  Glancing at his watch, Malcolm noted it was almost midnight, and they had danced at the same slow pace most of the night. “Baby, I felt you slipping away from me. I couldn’t let that happen. You’re my happiness.”

  “I desperately wanted to be branded as yours, but I needed something more. I’ve got to start going back to church. I can’t ignore it anymore, Malcolm.”

  “Honey, I don’t mind visiting a church.”

  When confetti drifted around them and cheers, horns, and claps confirmed it was the New Year, Malcolm dropped to one knee and pulled out the ring box. “Hallison Dinkins, I love you. You are my destiny, my world, my joy, and my peace. I promise to stand by you always to love you and support your dreams. Hali, will you marry me?”

  She nodded. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Believe it.” Malcolm stood and tried to slip on the three-carat diamond ring. “Will you be still, woman, so I can claim my prize?”

  ***

  “I’m engaged!” Hallison blurted out as soon as her mother opened the front door.

  Fingering the diamonds on her daughter’s ring, Addison whispered, “Congratulations, baby. Malcolm?”

  “Yes.” Hallison hugged her mother through blurred vision.

  Stepping back, her mother scrutinized her face. “I want you to be happy with a good husband. I assume he loves you as much as you love him.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “I was hoping you would come back to the Lord first. An unsaved husband makes it hard on a wife who wants to serve God. Remember, you’ll both be one flesh.”

  “I love him so much. I can’t see my life without him.”

  Patting Hallison’s hand, her mother smiled. “I like h
im, too. As long as the wedding isn’t tomorrow, we’ve got time for him to repent and be baptized, you to be reclaimed, and for me to start planning. If you fast and pray, God will save him.”

  “Why would I do that? I don’t want Malcolm saved, Mama. He’s fine.”

  “A saved man today could mean happiness later. Hold out, baby. You’ve got a fiancée who is living outside of the church and God’s will.”

  Plummeting from bliss to doom, Hallison left her mother’s house and headed to work. Their conversation stayed on her mind. Why couldn’t her mother just be happy for her? At least she wouldn’t be fornicating with Malcolm. But it could have been worse. Mama could have said that God told her Malcolm wasn’t the one. That would have been a disaster. Her phone interrupted her musing. “Good morning, Hallison Dinkins, Director of Personnel.”

  “Good morning, soon-to-be Mrs. Hallison Dinkins Jamieson,” Malcolm’s baritone voice resounded through the receiver.

  “It’ll be just Mrs. Jamieson,” she cooed back.

  “Before this conversation goes any further, I love you.”

  The corner of Hallison’s mouth curved upward. Can it get any better than this? she wondered. “And, I love you, too, for the third time this morning.”

  “Can I help it if I’m obsessed with you?”

  “I’m addicted to you, too,” Hallison affirmed.

  “Good. Now that we’ve admitted to our addiction, why don’t we have a counseling session at lunch say, twelve-thirty?”

  Hallison was ecstatic. She didn’t care what her mother said. No sanctified man could give her this much joy. She checked her desk calendar. “Twelve-thirty is fine. What do you have a taste for?”

  “You,” Malcolm growled into the phone like a wild animal about to attack.

  “Malcolm,” Hallison scolded, jokingly.

  “Then don’t ask me that when I’m craving you.”