I Can Love You

by Mackenzie Joy

  “The model Robyn? Wow. Who knew? What a small world we live in.”

  “Oh, Tara, it’s about to get even smaller. Robyn and Rebecca are cousins.”

  “Okay.”

  “But there’s a third person worth noting in this equation. Robyn was married to someone else we know. Q.”

  “Wait. What? My Q?”

  Sydney’s voice softened, and she apologetically replied. “Yeah.” Sydney cleared her throat. “It gets worse. Quinton owns KINSON just as much as Robyn does.”

  “No. That can’t be right. I’m sure after the divorce, everything reverted to Robyn or however that works.”

  “I checked. I’m afraid not, Tara. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I wanted to give you a heads up before they announce it on Monday. Q and his ex own your masters.”

  “So you’re telling me my fiancé has been playing me all this time so he and his wife could get their hands on my catalog?”

  “They divorced years ago.”

  “As if that even matters at this point. The two of them being in cahoots now to play me like this makes it even more fucked up.”

  “Let me get Eugene on the line. Maybe we can find some way to stop this.”

  Tara shook her head. “I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.”

  “Tara.”

  “This is exactly the kind of thing my father warned me would happen. I need to go Sydney.” Tara hung up the phone and turned it off.

  Every song she sang and every word she wrote, Quinton went behind her back and stole them from her. No way will she ever forgive him, and no way in hell would anyone earn her trust again.

  * * *

  Quinton sat behind the steering wheel in Tara’s driveway, trying to find the exact words to use for his planned confession. Just outside the city, he got word of the deal being done, and there was nothing he could do to change the inevitable. He turned off the ignition and picked up a bouquet of roses and a blue Tiffany shopping tote from the passenger seat.

  He walked the well-lit path and let himself inside using his key. The house was almost eerily quiet and dark, especially with the night snowfall casting shadows through the windows, making the interior of the house appear cold and forbidding. After looking into every room, Quinton finally noticed that a glass door leading to the deck was slightly open, and he spotted the lone figure out there.

  Tara had to have heard the door slide open. The night was too still for her not to, but if she did, she did not look up. Instead, he watched her take a slow sip from a wineglass, staring out into the woods behind her home.

  Something was amiss, but it couldn’t be word about the merger and acquisition. The legal department sent a memo to everyone asking to continue to treat it as confidential until they notified the press. Quinton clutched the bouquet and took the remaining steps toward her.

  Tara gave him a fierce look and then returned to staring at the bare tree limbs in front of her.

  “What the fuck?” he muttered. She had nothing but a thin-strapped nightgown on and socks on a deck covered with snow.

  “Tara, what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against the wooden railing in front of her. The snow started to fall harder, and he pulled his coat off to give it to her. Tara sat on a lounger with just a light blanket around her but rejected his offering.

  At last, she tilted her tear-streaked face upwards, saying, “I spent ten years fighting love. I never gave it a chance, because I didn’t believe I deserved it. I let my guard down, and I start to trust openly, giving uninhibitedly. I thought I was doing what was right because it all felt so good. Then after I give myself to you completely, to the man I thought was my best friend, I learn I was a fool for doing so.”

  Quinton kneeled before her, reaching for her hand and looking directly into her eyes. “Baby, I love you. I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you.”

  Tara cocked her eyebrow. She drained her glass with one swallow before responding. “No? What do you call this?” Tara asked, thrusting printed emails Sydney had sent her. She poured more wine, keeping her eyes trained on his face, hardened with anger.

  “When did you get this?”

  “Does it matter? Instead, do you feel like telling me why I have been making love to a man I don’t even know? One who was married to someone who has been in my face more than once? She was at my party, Quinton. My fucking party! Was that part of the plan, the two of you devised when you scammed me out of my music? Was that why you were so hell-bent on getting me to step my game up on this last one I turned in so you could get your money’s worth?” Quinton placed the bag and flowers on the lounger beside Tara and took her hands into his. They were cold, and he rubbed them to warm them up.

  “Tara, let me explain. It’s not what it looks like. Robyn and I are ancient history. We have been done for years, years before you and I got close. It’s over between her and me,” he said in a pleading tone.

  “Like us,” she replied. She sipped her wine, staring defiantly at Quinton. “Now please leave my son and me alone and don’t even think about ever coming back.”

  “I had no control over what happened. I have no say in anything that company does, and I didn’t find out until it was too late. You have to understand the position I was in. I couldn’t divulge that information to you or anyone without there being repercussions. Otherwise, I would’ve said something to you. You have to believe me.” Shaking his head dejectedly, he tried to caress her face. “I am not going to lose you like this. Just give me a chance to explain everything to you. Whatever it takes to get your music back, I will do it. I don’t want anything to do with this, baby. I just want you. I want us. I want to move on with my life with you.”

  Tara tossed her glass of wine into his face and stood up, storming toward the door leading into the house, but Quinton grasped her arm, halting her escape.

  “Tara, listen to me. I came here tonight to tell you. I should have said something sooner, but I was also afraid to. I now know it was a mistake holding back on something like this, but I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

  Tara glared at him and looked down at his hand on her arm. “I understand this—you are a liar, a thief, and about to be arrested if you don’t let go of my arm.”

  He released it immediately. Feeling frustrated and on the brink of defeat, he followed her into the house. “Can you stop the histrionics for one minute so I can say what I have to say before I go?”

  Tara stormed off to her bedroom and slammed the door. Quinton opened it and planted himself in front of her as she poured herself more wine.

  “Damn, Tara,” he shouted, “stop drinking that stuff.” She rolled her eyes at him and raised the glass to her lips. “Talk to me. We have too much going on between us to lose it over this. Tara, I love you.”

  “Fuck you, Quinton.”

  Angry, Quinton grabbed the bottle off the dresser, snatched the delicate glass out of her hand, and threw them one after the other against the bedroom wall. The near-empty bottle and glass shattered, causing shards of glass to fly through the room.

  “For the last time, Quinton! Get out!”

  Recognizing his position, Quinton accepted momentary defeat.

  “I’ll leave, but I’ll be back in the morning. We have to discuss this.” Quinton’s voice was tight with fear. He moved closer to her, and she did not protest. He cupped his hands around her face and moved closer, kissing her gently against her slightly parted lips.

  “Baby, I know we can get through this. Just give me a chance to explain.” He took her hand but dropped it when he sensed her resistance.

  Reluctantly, he made another attempt to take her hand in his. This time, Tara placed the ring he’d given her in his palm and reached for the door handle to remind him to leave.

  A lone tear winding down his face, Quinton took one last look at her. “I’ll go ahead and leave and check into a hotel for the night, but in the morning, I’m coming back. I can’t lose you. Friends first, Tara, don’
t ever forget that.”

  Once within the confines of his truck, he looked back at the house. With his head against the leather headrest, Quinton slammed his fist on the steering wheel and cursed.

  “Damn you, Robyn,” he said in exasperation, dropping his head forward into his open hands. Feeling beaten by love and the game Robyn was playing with his life.

  * * *

  In the darkness, leaning against the inside of her front door, Tara slowly slid to the floor. His truck headlights pierced the darkness through the glass surrounding the entryway. When they grew dimmer, she knew he finally left. All she could do now was cry knowing the love she felt for him would never be the same.

  * * *

  Instead of checking into a hotel, Quinton started driving in a southerly direction. He relived every memory shared with Tara as he drove throughout most of the night.

  He passed state markers, first Delaware, then Maryland, eventually seeing signs of the District of Columbia during his soul-searching drive. His heart was heavy with pain brought on by seeing Tara’s tears and when he could face her again. The sun met him as he traveled down 95 and became brighter just past Richmond as he changed to Interstate 85. His body was on autopilot and had been since he opted to drive south when he left Tara’s house.

  Quinton stopped for gas soon after the route change and called his manager. His voice worn and filled with regret, said, “Please don’t call me for at least three days. I need to get away for a while. Cancel whatever shit is on the schedule.”

  Checking into a motel for a few hours, Quinton rested before getting back on the highway, driving until he reached his destination.

  Chapter 19

  Quinton lay perfectly still on top of the goose down comforter. He stared at the ceiling, absently focusing on a shadow. The room was essentially unchanged from the last retreat to his childhood home. Although he was born in Harlem and returned as an adult, Sigourney was where he had roots.

  The house in which he spent the first decade of his life now belonged to him and was an escape during troubled times. Nothing but family and his thoughts allowed on the South Carolina spread. Not even music. A small stereo in the living room and an old clock radio in the bedroom were the only traces of his career.

  In this house, Quinton would find renewal in his life and clarity in his actions. September had been the last time he spent in the house in which his grandmother had raised him and his sister. He had come here after attending Timothy Russell’s funeral. Attending had not been a hard decision to make; it was what he wanted to do. He, of course, mourned the loss of an industry legend, but having stood beside Tara in her time of need had changed his life.

  He had admired Tara for years and found the Pamela-inspired publicity stunt thrilling because it gave him a chance to live out a fantasy, even if only for hype.

  On the day of the funeral, he recalled arriving at the church.

  Tara’s sisters were being comforted by family and friends, and then there was Tara, alone and hurting. Periodically, people would glance at her and then would decide not to approach her. Her fame outweighed her emotional needs. For many, celebrities are invincible, immune from the pain of loss that afflicts everyone sooner or later. Every public sighting was a career booster, and for some, even appearing at funerals had ulterior motives. Yet Quinton knew otherwise. What he saw in Tara’s face was daddy’s little girl feeling lost without her father.

  He approached her on the steps of the church, her expression when she saw him deepened his emotions. Tara fell into his arms, and for the first time since knowing her, she cried in a way he had never imagined. He saw she was human and in search of answers. Even though he was there when she received news of her father’s death, on the day of his funeral, Quinton recalled that it very well could have been a burial of Tara’s soul.

  During the service, she would not let go of his hand, and he sensed her vulnerability, but he also saw a woman bound to recover and rise even higher. He wanted to help her and made his first promise to her that day. Just after they closed the casket, Quinton leaned close and whispered into Tara’s ear: “I will always be where you need me, Tara. I’m your friend always and your friend first before anything else.”

  Quinton remembered her slow smile as it broke through her tears of sadness. “Friends first,” Tara whispered, accepting his promise. The rest of the service, Tara held her head high, never releasing his hand.

  Two days after her father’s burial, Quinton retreated to the home and the acres of land he had purchased as soon as he could afford to. The small house, once the home of a sharecropper, approximately an hour outside Greenville, South Carolina. Quinton had remained there in solitude, concluding that he loved Tara and would do whatever it took to have her by his side. Now he had returned because his plan had gone awry and Tara was gone.

  * * *

  Quinton turned off the shower and reached for a towel to dry his hair. He then wrapped the towel around his waist and searched in the medicine cabinet for a new toothbrush. He found a few of his toiletries but saw no point in following his usual routine, including shaving, because all he wanted to do was climb back into bed.

  In the distance, Quinton heard a knock on the door. He walked into the bedroom and put on a pair of gray sweatpants before answering the front door.

  “Who is it?” he asked in a deep, questioning voice.

  “Latrice,” a woman responded.

  Smiling, he unbolted the door and opened it for his neighbor, family friend, and caretaker of his property.

  “Hi, Latrice,” Quinton greeted her, giving her a big warm hug and kissing her on the cheek.

  “I thought that was you driving through town earlier. I saw you while I was at the beauty shop,” she said, patting her freeze curls as if to make sure they were still in place. “I wish you would have called to let me know you were coming, but you never do. Could’ve aired out the place and changed the linens for you.”

  Quinton moved aside so the woman, twenty-six years his senior, could come in. “I just needed to get away for a few days.”

  Latrice searched the house with her eyes taking in the obvious. Quinton was alone. In a sweet southern dialect distinct to the region, she asked him, “What’s working you, Quinton?”

  But he was not ready to provide answers. “Maybe I’ll be more up to talking after I take a nap. Right now, I am beat. I drove down last night.”

  Latrice nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I best be getting on to the market so I can pick up a few things for dinner. Are you going to set your clock to wake up in time to come over, or do you want me to call to get you out of bed?”

  “I think I’ll stay in tonight, Latrice.”

  “You will not, especially when I am cooking your favorite meal. Now go’ on take your nap so you can get to dinner on time. I have my card game tonight, and I don’t want you holding up my evening,” she informed him. She started to walk back out the front door, but turned around and hugged him once more. “Don’t worry, baby. Whatever pain you are facing today will be a memory tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Latrice.”

  Quinton followed her to the front porch and saw her off, watching her turn her red late-model Nissan around and head down the long dirt road that connected the property to the main road. Squinting up at the sun, he wondered how many hours of sleep he could get in before going to Latrice’s for dinner.

  The telephone rang in the living room, and Quinton sighed, none too pleased of the invasion on his day.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that is no way to answer the telephone, Q?” Quiana said. “I knew I’d find you here. What’s going on, big bro?”

  “What told you? Your twin intuition?” he joked.

  “That,” she hesitantly replied, “and word is out that you suddenly want to drop off the face of the earth.”

  “Damn, news travels fast.”

  “Actually, when you wouldn’t answer your phone or return my tex
ts, I called your manager, and he told me you didn’t want to be disturbed. What happened? Robyn or Tara?”

  “Both,” he sighed, sitting on the sofa. “Tara found out what Robyn was not only up to, but she thinks I was in on it, too. To make a long story short, Tara doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore.”

  “Ooh, Quinton, that has to hurt. Have you tried reaching out to her? I’m sure she will come around.”

  “She gave me the ring back. Tara believes the worst in me, and she refuses to hear me out. Ke, I didn’t even love Robyn like that. I never did, and if she hadn’t been pregnant, I damn sure wouldn’t have married her. How in the hell am I going through all this bullshit with her years after the fact?”

  “But you married her, and unfortunately, she lost the baby.”

  “I wasn’t honest when I told y’all she lost the baby. I found out she had an abortion. I was too messed up in the head. Embarrassed that my own wife got rid of my kid like that behind my back. It’s why I left her. I couldn’t stay with Robyn after she aborted my child.”

  “Oh Q. No.”

  He paused and swallowed the bitter emotion stirring inside. “Yeah.”

  “Have you seen Latrice?” his sister asked, changing the subject.

  “She just left,” he said, laughing. “You know her. She sniffed the air and sensed that I was coming. She wants me to come over for dinner, and you know she plans to keep me busy from that point on so I don’t walk around in a funk. Ke, I swear I’m not going to let her trick me into doing anything this time. Last time I was here, she had me picking peaches from out back, and I had to paint Grandma’s bedroom.”

  “Yeah, that’s Latrice, but she is family and good people. I know she will help you get through this.”

  “Right now, the only person I need is Tara,” he asserted solemnly. “Quiana, I love her. I can’t believe I lost her.”

  “Big brother, what was the one thing you always would say when I was ready to walk away from my recovery?”