As the sun set, the streets were quiet in this bedroom community of well-kept houses and manicured lawns. It was close to dinnertime, and Tara hoped her mystery person would come home soon. Finally, a late-model green Land Rover turned into the driveway, and a young Asian couple with two children exited the vehicle and entered the house.
Who are you, and why did Daddy leave me this address?
The door closed, but another one opened nearby. An older woman came out onto the porch of the house Tara parked in front of. Holding onto her open front door, the woman peered curiously out at Tara as she made no effort to get out of her car.
Not only was Tara getting nowhere, but now she was drawing unwanted attention to herself. Time to leave, Tara told herself, immediately heading back to the Four Seasons Hotel for the night.
* * *
Despite heavy rush-hour traffic on the Schuylkill Expressway, within thirty minutes, Tara was back in front of the house occupied by familiar strangers.
Two children waved goodbye to their mother, who was standing on the front lawn. Soon after, the mother retreated inside the home. She was next seen driving out of the garage, with the father right behind her in his vehicle. They waved their goodbyes before driving away in opposite directions.
Tara allowed five minutes for them to clear the area before getting out of her car, taking only the letter her father had left her. She kept the hood of her silky tan jacket over her head. The weather stations were predicting a cold front was on its way, and the temperature had already started to drop considerably since Tara left the hotel. She proceeded toward the side of the house, stopping at a window. It appeared to offer a glimpse into the home. An open curtain provided an unobstructed view of the dining room, in which Tara saw a few moving boxes marked with their contents. Confused, she moved away from the window and looked for another one to peek through.
After circling the house, Tara realized each room held boxes for a family. One that either had just moved in or was about to move out. The wild goose chase was now getting ridiculous, and she felt the only way to solve the mystery was to talk to the adults who lived there or leave the matter alone.
Standing beside her car, Tara took one last look and chose to leave it alone. No matter what secrets the walls within held, she wasn’t sure if she should or could open herself up to any more pain.
“Don’t just stand there. Tell me who you are before I call the police,” an angry high-pitched voice about twenty feet away from Tara demanded. “Well?”
Tara nervously turned around, slowly removing her sunglasses. “I was just looking for someone. I thought they lived here.”
“Well, if you knew them, you would have said something to them before they drove right past you.”
“Ma’am, you’re right. I didn’t mean to cause any harm; I’m leaving now.”
“I asked who are you, young lady?”
It was the older woman from the evening before. Tara’s hands were shaking so hard. She jammed them into her pockets to hide them from the woman. “My name is . . . Christine. I got this address from someone, but the person I thought lived here doesn’t seem to be here.”
The woman looked her up and down, all the while firmly holding her faded green terry bathrobe closed. She used her morning newspaper to point at the house. “Oh, you must be talking about that family that just moved out. I sure do miss them.”
A family? “Uh yes. I think they had a child about ten years old,” Tara added, hoping this would bait the woman into revealing more about the previous occupants.
“Oh, he was the perfect gentleman. I need to send him a birthday card sometime soon. That child would offer to shovel my walk for me and bring me my paper every morning just before heading off for school. Now I have to come out here and fetch it myself, not like the news is worth reading nowadays, with all the doom and gloom going on. I get it for my numbers, see. That boy’s daddy raised him right. Always well-mannered.”
Tara balled her hands, nervously trying to regain control of herself. Could it be my son she’s talking about? “I’m sure they’ll keep in touch with you. It sounds like he’s fond of you.”
“I reckon so, but you know how it is. They’ll call here and there, but it all begins to fade out until you’re forgotten.”
“He sounds special, and I’m sure if his parents raised him as well as you say they did, he’ll be by soon. He’s just getting settled into his new home.”
“Oh, child, it was just the daddy. I don’t know what happened to the child’s mama. His daddy was so quiet and reserved and never spoke of her. He never brought many women around, either, except there was that one girl who always stopped by. I think she was more like an auntie to the boy than a special friend to the father.”
“I see. It was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Campbell. Just call me Mrs. Campbell, sugah. And be careful snooping into other folk’s business.” The woman sweetly cackled as she waved goodbye.
Tara started the ignition and tried to decide if, in light of this new information, her plans would change again. Although her primary goal had been to find out if her child was okay, and Mrs. Campbell seemed to affirm that he was, she knew not to rely solely on this woman’s opinion. She also couldn’t assume the child the woman described was even hers. But what if he was? What if she had a son?
* * *
Back in her hotel room, Tara began an online search of county records. Within seconds, the name of the former owner of the home she had just left appeared. Marcus Aaron Grant, Sr.
Senior? She felt a sudden wave of nausea. She did not expect him to be waiting for her after so many years. Nor was he supposed to still care for her as she did for him. Even so, it hurt to know he’d moved on to have a child with someone else.
Timothy Russell wanted her to find Marcus again, but why?
She shook off her emotional state and began a property search under his name. Among the listings found, one, in particular, caught her eye.
Chapter 5
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Tara focused on her mission, target: Marcus Grant. She studied him from afar as he exited a dark SUV, waved goodbye to the driver, and then walked into the newly built house. A stray piece of hair Tara had pushed behind her ear had become tangled in her earring post; she removed it, appreciative it gave her a chance to collect herself. She then moved into the now-abandoned space in his driveway.
Staring at the unique structure in front of her, she wondered if the owner designed it himself. She questioned if he, too, were watching her through the many full-length glass panes surrounding the house. Tara recognized the influence of Frank Lloyd Wright and Ludwig Mies van der Rohe by the organic architecture, non-traditional windows, and an open layout that still blended into its surrounding wooded landscape. All names she only knew by witnessing firsthand Marcus’s interest in the men he studied. Tara imagined that if Marcus proved himself to be the architect he was destined to become, the house was just as magnificent on the inside as well as trendsetting. She also knew his home was probably environmentally friendly and full of the latest gadgets since he had a weakness for technological advancements.
Deciding there was no time like the present to find out, Tara approached the oak double front door and braced herself for whatever was to come.
Marcus opened the door with a phone in hand. If she surprised him, he did a damn good job of concealing it. Disgust, however, that much was clear in the manner he cast narrow eyes down on her.
Looking up at him, Tara sensed the distance between their hearts, aware of how her body still responded to his nearness. With skin like Kofi, his smooth face aged during her decade-long absence, but it showed the maturity of beautiful, expensive wine. Dark, mysterious eyes held all the secrets she shared intimately with him, and his full, seductive lips remained tight as if daring not to tell a soul. His hair closely cropped, much shorter than she recalled. Yet the cut fit him, offering a distinctive air about him with the rest of his stone-carved fe
atures. An angled jawline still called for a trail of her butterfly soft kisses. The throbbing vein in his neck snapped her out of the reverie and back to the task at hand.
“Hello, Marc.” She tried to project confidence but fooling neither of them. “It’s been a while.”
He just looked at her, his intense gaze traveling from her frightened eyes to her camel-brown top under a golden-brown jacket.
“Not long enough,” he said, his voice cold, devoid of emotion.
If she had expected a welcome that would send chills up and down her spine, she was sorely disappointed. This was no welcome at all, and it stung immeasurably. She flinched, tugging on the scarf around her neck. “May I come in?”
He stepped back without saying a word, but she saw the pain and hurt in his eyes. He escorted her into the foyer, refusing to allow her to go any further. This was the home he should have been sharing with her. But she had chosen her career over him and their child. “What do you want?”
“I came down to talk to you,” Tara answered hesitantly, “about the past.”
“I don’t have time. A car will be here any minute to take me to the airport.”
“Surely, you can give me five minutes of your time.”
“Tara, I gave you ten years and you never once picked up a telephone to call. My letters went unanswered. With technology these days and all the gadgets at your disposal, you can’t tell me you couldn’t send me a text, e-mail, hell a fax, carrier pigeon, anything. Now you walk back into my life unannounced and expect me to put everything on hold for you because you suddenly have time? Tara, I think it’s best that you turn around and walk back out that door, never to return.”
Her eyebrows drawn into a frown, she searched for a better response.
Instead, he addressed the silence with two words. “Goodbye, Tara.”
“But, Marc,” she pleaded, “this is important. It took me all this time because I just found you and I finally got the courage to—”
“Save it,” Marcus said impatiently. “My car is here,” he said, hearing a car horn honk.
“When are you coming back? We need to talk.”
“In a day or two.” Marcus pulled out one of his business cards and wrote down a telephone number. “Here’s my card. My cell number is on the back. Please don’t come to my home unannounced ever again. I suggest you call first next time if there is a next time.”
His harsh words unleashed the tears she’d been trying to hold back. She nodded slowly. Never had she expected him to be as cold as he was. But she walked away convinced that his anger was justified, as she had taken the symbol of their love and given it away. She was not the only one who had spent the past ten years hurting. Marcus had been in pain, too.
She hurried to her car, which the black sedan waiting to pick up Marcus blocked in. Tears flowed unchecked down her face, and the physical world around her appeared to be one giant blur. She honked on her horn, blasting out the driver for delaying her departure from this painful scene. She may still have feelings for Marcus, but it was clear he no longer had any for her. If he did, she reasoned, he wouldn’t have treated her so brutally. The driver allowed her to back out, and the loud screech of her tires harshly turning on the asphalt before speeding off alerted all that she had left.
* * *
Anger soon followed Tara’s tears. How dare Marcus be so cold-hearted! Any past hurt was no excuse for him to practically shove her out of his house. Without hesitation during her emotional hailstorm, Tara was New York-bound, leaving Grim behind at the Four Seasons. No doubt he was wondering where she was, but she didn’t have an explanation that would satisfy his expected inquisition. Instead of dealing with yet another man’s disappointment in her choices, she drove and drove until the New York skyline appeared in the distance, and Newark Airport was beside her. She would have to deal with Marcus Grant later. For now, she needed an escape and familiar territory where she could recast her emotions.
After exiting and pulling into the Turnpike service area for gas, Tara sent a few messages, including one to Quinton.
Tara: Biz?
He responded after a short delay.
Q: Why? Whassup?
Tara: Can you meet me at the studio? I need to see you.
Tara said a silent prayer, hoping Quinton was no longer upset with her.
While waiting for his answer, Tara called Grim and asked him to check them out and meet her in New York in a few hours. She did not explain that she was almost in New York already, but said it was easier for her to drive from where she was in Pennsylvania, rather than go out of the way to Center City and then northbound. She noticed he was not pleased, but he complied with her request. Tara had a feeling a lecture was coming her way from the head of her security team about her recent reckless behavior.
After hanging up, she replied to Quinton’s last message, which came while she was on the phone with Grim.
Q: Everything okay?
Tara: Need to get a song out my head.
Q: Time?
Tara: Your studio @ 9
Q: IT’S 8:45 NOW!!!!!!!!
Tara: And?
Q: CU in 30
Tara: TY Gotta go. Tunnel ahead.
She shut off the device and tossed it onto the passenger seat before returning to the Turnpike. She wanted to call one of her sisters to vent, but their ten-year fractured relationship still needed more tending before allowing them to get too close to her. Quinton would have to do.
* * *
As expected, Tara arrived first at Quinton’s recording studios. A doorman let her in and escorted her to the elevators, informing her that per Quinton’s instructions, she was to wait in the main studio on the third floor, the one only he worked in. When Logan, Quinton’s house engineer, came in, Tara told him they would work on a new song.
“Q already has the place set from a song he’s been working on since yesterday,” he told her. The engineer was a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and shoulder-length dreadlocks. His belly, wrapped snugly in a white t-shirt, protruded over his faded blue jeans. “He said you two would do some writing and vocals tonight on that one. You all right?”
“I’m fine. Thank you. It was just a long drive getting here,” Tara explained. She dropped her handbag on the sofa and walked around the room, taking in the scene before her. Melted candles of all sizes covered every available space. Some clustered in groups and others in glass pillars by themselves. All were white. “I guess we can take it all up when he gets here. Did he say how long he would be?”
“We scheduled him to come back in later tonight for a few hours to add to the piece, but he called to tell me to come in earlier. He should be here shortly. It sounded like he was in the car when we spoke.”
Tara stopped in front of his workspace, a board, and sound equipment that helped him create most of the songs represented by the plaques lining the studio hallways. He had multiple monitors positioned around the room, including one in the center of the board that displayed his logo glowing on the screen.
Uncertain of what to do while she waited, Tara picked up a menu binder full of delivery options to eat, but Tara wasn’t interested in what she was flipping through. Food was the last thing on her mind.
“Can I hear what he’s been working on?” she asked.
“Not until you tell me what was so urgent.” The sexy male timbre of Quinton’s voice startled her. He excused Logan, telling him he would call for him when needed.
Quinton moved one of the black engineer chairs closer to Tara, who was sitting at the board. He watched her eyes nervously blink until she took her attention off him, returned the menu book to where she found it and directed her attention to the knobs and buttons on the recording equipment before her.
“Baby girl, talk to me,” Quinton urged, scooting his chair even closer. They sat knee to knee, close enough for him to take her hand into the palm of his larger one. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
As she struggled for words, he leaned
closer to her and raised her chin with his hand to get a better look at her.
Blinking away a tear, Tara shook off her sadness and let her anger toward Marcus subside. “You go first. What have you been working on? I hope it’s not a hit for another woman.”
An amused twinkle in Quinton’s eye helped ease her tension.
“You know I can’t help working on something for the ladies. But a beautiful diva did get the hook for it stuck in my head. I thought I’d surprise her by laying down some tracks to see where it would lead,” Quinton answered.
Tara rolled her eyes.
He laughed at her disapproving expression and then stood to remove his black leather jacket. His soft gray sweater revealing muscles cut into a lean, hard body and distressed jeans. Then he moved around the room, lighting the candles.
“I thought you were in Philly,” he said, lighting the last one and then using the remote to play some music. After sifting through numerous selections, he stopped when the hypnotic sounds neo-soul floated through the many speakers in the control room. “Want something to drink? Tea? Water?”
“A bottle of water would be nice. I just got back into town. I had to get away from there. I didn’t even bother checking out of the hotel.”
Quinton was frowning when he turned to face her. “What happened?” he asked, handing her the bottle.
Tara started walking around the room, animatedly recounting her trip back to Philadelphia.
“How did you expect him to respond?” Quinton asked when she spoke of Marcus’s curt dismissal of her. “Tara, you walked out on him ten years ago.”
“I know, but—”
“But what? Tara, you were pregnant with the man’s child. You left town with no forwarding address and without extending him the courtesy of telling him what you did with the baby.”
Quinton stood when Tara got quiet on him and hugged her. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”
“I know,” she sniffed. “So what are you working on? Logan said you wanted me to lay down some vocals.”
I Can Love You Page 6