I Can Love You

by Mackenzie Joy

  “I didn’t keep him from you, Tara; you kept him from yourself.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? How could you do this to me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? Why did you disappear on me? If it hadn’t been for an adoption counselor contacting me to advise me of my rights, I would have known nothing. And when I found out what you did not share with me, I tried to tell you I wanted to be there to support you, but your father told me you wanted nothing to do with either of us. I had no reason not to believe him, especially considering the way you’d gone about the adoption. I figured he was right.”

  Suddenly, Tara slumped to the steps. It was true. She had vanished before his eyes but blamed her sudden disappearance on music obligations.

  “And Mia’s role in this? You said my sister contacted you.”

  He took the seat beside her on his staircase but looked ahead, avoiding any eye contact. “She did. It was right around the time of the shooting you were involved in. One day I was sitting at my desk at work, and the phone rang with your sister on the other end of the line. I didn’t answer, letting it go to voicemail. I sometimes wish I had and other days ever since I’m thankful I didn’t pick up. She left a message to say that you were coming for him. If I’d taken that call, she’d be on the receiving end of most of the rage I kept locked in over the years.” He reached for the empty cup that Tara held onto and absently ran his finger around the rim. “It’s good she called. Otherwise, you’d be the one catching those emotions the first time I saw you had I not had notice.”

  “And that’s that? You’re okay with… everything now?”

  He swallowed back a bitter laugh. “Not in the least. It just bought me some time to expect this moment.”

  Tara took the cup and poured herself more wine. This time Marcus reached for the bottle, and she pushed his elbow away. “My father. He handled everything. All the legal stuff related to the adoption, that was all him. So when an adoption counselor gave me paperwork to sign that wasn’t complete, I filled them out. I don’t think she knew. Too many thoughts swirling in my head to even question it.”

  “I thought it was odd they typed most of the details, but someone handwrote my information. It looks like you created a mess your father couldn’t clean up.”

  Tara cut her eyes and took a sip from the cup.

  “But still. I know your father, and he would never let a slip up happen after working as hard as you’re implying to keep this under wraps.”

  “My father pushed form after form in front of me to sign. At that point, it hurt too much to think about what was happening. The consequences of keeping the baby outweighed everything else. When I arrived at the birthing center to deliver, they asked me to complete an updated medical history form. The counselor noticed information about the father was missing, and she pointed out how difficult it already was to place African-American babies, especially ones with questionable family history. I gave her information solely to let the adopting parents know both of us were healthy adults.”

  “When you gave my name, they had to notify me to get my consent to give up my parental rights. After some digging, I found out that your father tried to keep that from happening by telling the adoption agency the father was unknown. Since he had enough money and connections, few questioned his involvement in the legal matters, and I would have never known if you did not tell her what you did.”

  “How was Aaron right under my nose the entire time? I searched for him, but because they sealed the records and I gave up my rights, I couldn’t find out anything.”

  “For me, it was a race against the clock. By the time I found out, I literally had a day to file my paternal claim. My family had made it clear they did not want news of this getting out, since you were getting pretty famous by then, so I requested the records remain confidential, just like you did. The agency you worked with had a couple ready to adopt Aaron, but once I could prove paternity, they denied their application to adopt him, and they gave me my son. It’s been the two of us ever since.”

  With her body hunched forward and her face buried in her lap, she wept inconsolably.

  * * *

  Tara’s body stirred against Marcus as the two of them laid together. No sounds except her gentle murmur and Marcus’s quiet groan when she brushed her body against his. The sun began filtering through the drapery in the bedroom, casting light on Tara’s body entangled in the bedsheet.

  “Where am I?” she asked, sitting upright in bed. Panic suddenly set in when she recognized her surroundings. Tara also noted the way he moved to hold her in his arms. He looked down into her face while working to soothe her by rubbing her back.

  “Don’t worry, nothing happened. You fell asleep on the stairs last night, and I brought you in here. My room is right next door. I heard you stirring in your sleep a couple of hours ago and came in to check on you. That’s when you fell asleep crying in my arms.” Tara eyed him suspiciously, and he gestured between them. “See, we both still have all our clothes on.”

  Then it all started coming back to her. Marcus expressed a few times that he’d become worried about both her safety and mental state. She had wanted to leave his home and return to the hotel, but shock, combined with unaccustomed drinking, had left her unstable, a quivering mass of clashing emotions.

  And then there was the horrific shooting incident, from which Tara had not fully recovered. She remembered stepping out into the night, and something as beautiful as snow flurries prompted a panic attack, so Marcus coaxed her back inside and suggested she spend the night in a guestroom because she was in no condition to drive. Tara had refused the offer and instead opted to call for car service. However, sheer exhaustion had won out, and Tara had fallen asleep, where most of the conversation about their son had taken place—on the staircase. Marcus eventually put her to bed in one of his guest rooms.

  Marcus released her and then swung his long legs over the side of the bed. “I guess it’s useless for me to fall asleep.” He meant his muttered words for no one, but she heard them. “There are fresh towels in the linen closet if you want to wash up. There’s a bathroom on the other side of that door. How long are you going to be in the area?”

  Tara sat with her back pressed against the headboard, and her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. “I never really gave it much thought. I only came down here to talk to you about our child and, hopefully, to convince you to help me track down information about the adoption. I had become desperate because I was getting nowhere. I have been looking for our baby—I mean our son—for quite some time. I guess requesting they seal the records and then you having him explains why it has been so hard.”

  “Why were you trying to find him?”

  Tara sighed. “I just wanted to know my baby was okay.”

  “Now that you know, what’s next?”

  “I want to see for myself that he is okay. Marc, I can’t possibly walk away after getting this close to him.”

  “I don’t think-”

  “Please. I need this.”

  Marcus reached for the door and gripped it through measured breaths. Finally, he resigned his defensive stance, at least for now. “We’ll talk about Aaron over breakfast. Hopefully, we can work something out that will be agreeable to us both and will secure the happiness of our child.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marcus didn’t give her a response. Instead, he ducked out the door and closed it behind him in the same way he did his emotions.

  * * *

  Tara nervously watched before entering his sunroom. The smell of breakfast led her to him, and she watched him set a small table with glasses of orange juice and a set of plates. While she showered, he made eggs and sausage and distributed equal portions between them.

  She made her presence known by remarking about the morning rain shower tapping against the glass-enclosed room. “I can sit out here and listen to this sound forever. You have a beautiful home.”

  She watched his expression s
hift from pleasant as he soaked in her genuine compliment to annoyed as if he remembered her presence bothered him.

  “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind the clothes. I had nothing close to your size, but I remembered you used to love lounging around in my sweats,” Marcus said, taking his seat.

  “I still have a fondness for men’s clothing. Tell me, how is Stephanie doing? I haven’t talked to her in ages.”

  “She’s still Stephanie. You know her. She was your friend. Steve and I sort of inherited her by default.”

  His joke lightened the mood. “But both you and Steve worked with her at the bookstore. You knew her way before I became a customer there. I recall she had her eye on you, but somehow I won the prize instead.”

  Smiling, Marcus showed a perfect set of white teeth. “I’ve never been referred to as a prize before.”

  “Well, what we had was special, considering everything.”

  He shrugged and his smile gone. “Stephanie and Steve have become like a surrogate family for Aaron. Since our bond is so deep, he refers to them as his aunt and uncle. How’s your boyfriend doing? The news reported that he was in critical condition for a few days.”

  “Quinton is not my boyfriend,” she said, correcting him. “He’s doing much better and they released him two days ago. That reminds me. I’m supposed to call him last night.”

  Marcus stabbed his scrambled eggs with a fork.

  “Good thing that egg is already dead,” Tara said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Your egg. You’re attacking it as if you have a grudge against it,” she said, chuckling. His ill-concealed jealousy amused her. “Quinton and I are just friends. Can I trust you with a secret?” Tara asked, mischievously. There was a time when she and Marcus shared secrets without having to ask for a promise of trust. His curiosity piqued, he nodded. “There is nothing romantic between us. Our publicist set the whole thing up.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. It looks too real to be a con,” he replied, biting into his toast. “You expect me to believe that you’ve been faking this whole relationship for two years now?”

  Tara, impressed he noted the duration of the publicist-arranged faux romance. “Marc, it’s not a con, just business.”

  “Okay, so suppose what you say is true, don’t you think deceiving the public is wrong?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Oh, I’m curious to hear this explanation.”

  “Let me school you on the entertainment business and how I have managed to survive with a bit of normalcy. By providing the media with a little eye candy and romance, I can live my life without their interference.”

  “So it’s just one big lie for the public after another. That’s what it takes to get to the top?”

  “You’re not being fair. That’s not the same thing. What happened with Aaron was a decision made for me and one I did because the alternative would’ve affected too many people, including you.”

  “Tara, we both made sacrifices in our lives, but there is one thing I can say I am proud of. I put no one above my son, including my family.”

  Looking away, Tara imagined the things his mother had been saying about her for the past ten years. “Ironically, although it’s not a consolation for my choices, you can tell your mother that the worthless little backup singer did well for herself.”

  “It brought my parents and me to a crossroads when the option to raise my son came up, and I chose to take a year off from school to become accustomed to raising a child alone. We stopped speaking, and since then, my mother passed away. If you still wish to express your sentiments to her, I can forward you the address of her final resting place.”

  Wanting the floor to swallow her whole, Tara diverted the conversation to the matter at hand.

  Marcus pushed back from the table. “I apologize in advance, but I have to run to the office.”

  “But it’s the day after Thanksgiving.”

  Marcus stood and waited for her to do the same.

  “I think I better take that as my cue to leave. Thank you for breakfast, Marcus,” she said quietly. Before she reached the door, Tara dug into her bag for something to write with and jotted down her phone number to hand to him. “Please call me when you have time. I want to see him as soon as possible. I refuse to leave town before I do.”

  Chapter 9

  Finally. Quinton sent up a silent prayer because now he was free to be alone with his thoughts in his own space.

  Quiana insisted either she or one of their cousins stay back to monitor him, but Quinton’s offer to sponsor everyone’s Black Friday shopping excursion cleared the house. Latrice, the woman who helped his grandmother raise Quinton and Quiana since they entered the world prematurely was the hardest to get out the door. Her arrival from Sigourney wasn’t exactly the surprise she intended because she loved on the twins just as much as a surrogate aunt could. Latrice was closer than a blood relative, and whenever he or his sister needed her, she was there. Coaxing her out the door with the group required all the charm he could muster, and eventually, it worked. For good measure, he arranged for car service and dinner reservations for the group of seventeen. With a wad of cash and Quiana’s hands on his American Express card, everyone was out the door, leaving him home alone at last. Quinton repositioned the pillows for support and gingerly moved his arm in a sling. Once comfortable, he settled into his sofa and found something to watch on TV.

  He surfed past the parades and holiday programming, choosing to catch one of the college football games, and kicked up his sock-covered feet and sweatpants covered legs.

  Quinton’s eyes drifted close, but the ringing doorbell forced them open. He reached for the remote resting on his chest with a pained grunt to switch to a channel that gave him access to his cameras. An impressively tall woman with her hair pulled back into a lustrous ponytail stood on the stoop with both hands clenching the strap of the bag she carried. The long-legged beauty’s long lashes accentuated dull, lifeless eyes, and she was wearing a wrap leopard print coat and dark, slimming pants with spiked-heel ankle boots.

  Robyn.

  She rang the doorbell once more and turned to look behind her.

  Quinton pushed up from his spot to see what his ex wanted. He reached the door, pulling it open, favoring his good leg because he didn’t bother to get his crutches. The dull ache from his wounds and the cold air pricked his skin but didn’t bother him as much as the sight of Robyn Nelson did.

  “Q.” Robyn’s appreciative smile dressed in a deep nude lipstick. Her face made up to appear natural offered the look that made her career as a runway model successful.

  He caught her eyes drifting to his bandaged arm and sling, not missing the sorrow behind her expression. “Why are you here?”

  Instead, she took a step forward, but Quinton’s positioning blocked her from entering without an invitation inside. “May I?”

  “No.”

  “Q.” She sighed at Quinton’s silence. “Did you get the flowers I sent?”

  “I don’t know. My people handled that for me. Is that why you’re here?”

  “I’m still your people, too. May I come in?”

  Her threatening his peace pushed him to say no. Quinton moved aside and let her in.

  “I would never imagine this place could become what you turned it into. I can’t believe I doubted you.”

  “Would you have moved in if you hadn’t?”

  Robyn looked at the street behind her and shook her head. “Still not quite my style, you know. Where is everyone? You can’t possibly be here by yourself when you just got out of the hospital.”

  “I let you come in, but this is as far as you get,” he said, stopping her from walking beyond the entry. A sharp pain shot through his leg, and he winced. Robyn reached out to offer her support, and when her hand touched him, Quinton pulled back. “I’m good.”

  “You should be off your feet.”

  “I was.”

  Robyn blinked her watery eyes and
nodded. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. This was a quick trip this time, and I had to check on you before I head off to Paris. I tried calling.”

  She cleared her emotionally clogged throat before continuing. “I’ve been calling you. I’m here if you need me. I can take some time off and help.”

  Q eyed her wondering if this was what Eve felt in the Garden of Eden when the snake first made an offer she would later regret accepting. “I’m good.”

  “But you’re by yourself. You need someone here.”

  “Who said I am alone.”

  She recoiled as if he slapped her. “Oh.”

  “So, if that’s all, thanks for stopping by.” Q moved to turn the knob to open the door for her to leave.

  “You’re still with her?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tara.”

  “Nah, man, what we will not do is engage in a conversation like you and I are cool. Bye, Robyn.”

  “There was a time when we were more than that.”

  “Yeah, until you doused that shit with gasoline and set it all on fire.”

  Robyn shook her head. “For too long, I let you point the finger at me like what happened was all my fault. We both made mistakes. We were young.”

  Q opened the door, and the cold air pierced through his skin. “Take it easy, Robyn.”

  “For some reason, you’re the one that’s kept me in your life all this time when you could easily let stuff go. Yeah, it looks like I’m holding on right now, but you… Q, your grip is just as tight.” She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and tilted her chin, preparing to take on both Quinton and the world she was stepping back into. “All the more reason I’m not wrong to still care or love you, Q.”

  She reached out and took his hand in hers. He squeezed it, allowing his hatred toward her to dissipate for the last few seconds she spent in his presence.

  “Bye, Q,” Robyn whispered. She walked outside, closing the door behind her.

  * * *