by La Jill Hunt
“And you’re deflecting. Now, answer my question. What did you mean?”
There was no turning back. She hadn’t planned on telling Garry like this, but there was no way she could complain about his withholding information and then do the same thing. She wasn’t a liar or a hypocrite.
“Miranda. She said you were controlling and had some issues when it comes to dealing with others.”
Garry continued to stare at her, but his next words let her know that this wasn’t the first time he’d heard this. “She was wrong. I don’t have a problem with the dynamics of shit.”
“I didn’t say that you did.” Sylvia frowned, recalling other statements Miranda had made in the letter.
“Who did Miranda supposedly say this to? Don’t tell me: that asshole Sherrod. I swear he—”
“He didn’t do or say anything. She told me herself,” Sylvia finally said.
“Sylvia, what the hell are you talking about?”
“She left me a letter,” Sylvia told him. “Before she passed. She wrote it years ago, it seems.”
“That’s crazy. I don’t understand. How did you get it?” Garry shook his head in disbelief.
“She put it in the back of Jordan’s baby book, and I found it.”
“No, Randy didn’t do that. She didn’t. This is some shit Sherrod is doing. That’s what he does. He tries to make me look bad. He put it there.” Garry began pacing back and forth.
“Why do you keep accusing this man? What the hell is wrong with you?” Sylvia was now worried about her husband’s behavior. Seeing him physically assault Sherrod had taken her by surprise. She’d never seen him hit anyone. And now, he seemed to be visibly shaken.
“I’m telling you, Syl, whatever is in that letter isn’t true. He’s crazy and a liar.” Garry was breathing so hard that Sylvia could see his chest rising and falling.
She turned and rushed out of the bedroom.
He called behind her. “Syl, where are you going? We’re not finished.”
She didn’t stop until she was in her office. Reaching into the bottom drawer of her file cabinet, she quickly searched under the pile of nuptial magazines and publications until she found her wedding planner and flipped to the back where she kept the letter. When she was trying to think of a place to keep it, it had seemed like a fitting and ironic place.
Sylvia stood up and closed the drawer with her foot with a little more force than she had intended. It closed with a loud bang, and she hoped it didn’t wake Peyton or Aunt Connie, whose bedrooms were right down the hall.
When she walked back into the bedroom, Garry was sitting on the side of the bed, looking lost and bewildered.
“Here.” She handed him the envelope, now wrinkled from being opened so many times.
“What is this?” Garry just stared at her hand in front of him.
“Take it. It’s the letter full of lies,” Sylvia said. “The one you said Sherrod wrote.”
“I don’t want it.” Garry shook his head.
“No, take it and read it. Read all the lies in there about you.” Sylvia forced the letter into his hands.
After a few seconds, he finally took it from her and pulled out the crumpled letter. She watched his face as he read it.
July 11, 2001
11:11 p.m.
Dear Sylvia,
If you’re reading this, it means that somehow, someway, I have finally found the nerve to reach out to you and reveal those things that have been hidden after all this time. I guess I should start by introducing myself. My name is Miranda Meachum, affectionately known to many as Randy. I currently hold a position as the head mixologist at Salute, one of the most prestigious bars in the city, where I’ve worked for the past several years. I am a master wine sommelier by trade. I take pride in everything I do, including my love of scrapbooking, HGTV, and most of all, my wonderful daughter and love of my life, Jordan, who was fathered by your husband, Garry.
I make no apologies for the birth of my child. Although her conception wasn’t one that was planned, it happened nevertheless. Garry and I met under circumstances that were saddened and haunted by the death of two very important people in our lives : his father and my fiancé. We shared one night of forgettable sex, and I say that in the most respectable way possible, because truly, each one of us barely remembers it. What I do remember is being sad, lonely, and wanting to die. I had lost a part of me that I felt I couldn’t live without, and my desire to live was gone. I had nothing to live for.
And then, one day as I sat looking at a calendar, trying to plan which day I would take my own life (as if whether I committed suicide on a day I was scheduled to work would make a difference), I realized that I hadn’t had a period in some time. I took a pregnancy test, and when it came back positive, I was elated, thinking that somehow God had allowed my fiancé to live by blessing me with our baby. In the midst of planning my baby shower a few months later, it occurred to me that there was a slight chance that Garry may have fathered my child.
I contemplated, and against the advice of my closest friend, I called and told him. He was shocked, but he handled the news well, from what I could tell. I assured him that I would let him know. On the day my daughter was born, I called, and he came to the hospital. He knew, as well as I did, that she was his. He asked that I name her Jordan and promised she would be cared for. He also told me he was happily married.
Over the years, Garry has done what he promised from that first day. He has been a great father, provider, and friend. Jordan has had to celebrate Christmas some years on the twenty-seventh of December, and Valentine’s Day sometimes on February twelfth, but she is always celebrated and acknowledged. The times he missed those important dance recitals, cheerleading competitions, and other milestones have been few and far between.
Despite the circumstances, Garry is to be commended. He has made co-parenting a breeze. In all that he has done right, however, there have been some things that he’s done wrong. His controlling nature has at times taken a toll on my friendship with others, especially males. He’s dealing with some deep-rooted hurt that has resulted in his inability to understand the dynamics of friendship, and I’m worried about him. He is a troubled man, and it bothers me to see him like this. I know that he loves you very much. Maybe the burden of fathering Jordan is weighing him down. Maybe the secret is taking its toll on him, and maybe, once the truth is finally out, he can find some much-needed peace in his life.
I wish both of you nothing but the best in your lives, your family, and your marriage. His love for you is enduring and one of a kind. Hold on to it. A love like that is rare, but it is powerful enough to overcome mistakes, hurt, and it’s not easily destroyed. Even in death, I still feel the love my fiancé and I shared, and I know that we will be together one day.
Blessings,
Miranda “Randy” Meachum
“She was an amazing woman. Under any other circumstances, I probably would have loved to have met her. You’re right. She was your friend and a great mother, and I know that because only a real friend who loved their child would’ve written such lies, as you put it.”
“Syl, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sick of hearing that from you. I want you out of here, Garry. I can’t do this anymore,” she told him with tears in her eyes. “Until you feel like you can be open and honest with me about everything, we don’t need to be together.”
“I do feel that way,” Garry pleaded. “I’ve told you everything.”
“No, you’re not. There’s something you’re not telling me. I don’t know what it is, but I know there is. I thought we were going to be able to do this together, but I can’t, Garry. It’s too much.”
Garry rushed over, grabbing her shoulders. “Sylvia, don’t do this to me. I need you; I need my family. You can’t kick us out. Jordan, she needs stability and structure and we . . . we need you. She just lost one mother.”
Sylvia hated that he was playing on her sympathy and using Miranda’s death to
make her change her mind. “I know this, which is why I tried.”
“Sylvia, I can’t lose her.” Garry was crying and sweating at this point. “Please don’t make me lose her. I can’t let that bastard have her. I can’t.”
“Garry, for God’s sake, tell me what the hell you’re talking about. Lose who?” Sylvia asked him.
“Sherrod. He’s going to file for custody of Jordan,” Garry told her. “And he says Randy wrote him a letter too.”
The ringing of the doorbell stopped Sylvia before she could respond. She looked at Garry and said, “Who in the world could that be?”
Garry pulled a T-shirt out of his drawer, and Sylvia jumped up and slipped on her robe and slippers before they both went downstairs. Sylvia peeked out of the window and took a step back when she saw who was standing on the other side of the door. It was the last person she would have ever expected, especially after what had happened the night before.
“Who is it?” Garry asked her.
Sylvia unlocked the door and opened it. She stared at the woman for a few moments, neither one saying a word, until Sylvia finally broke the awkward silence by saying, “Good morning.”
“We need to talk. Can I come inside?”
Sylvia glanced at her husband, who gave her a strange look then shrugged. Moving to the side and motioning for her to come in, Sylvia welcomed Titus’s wife inside their home.
To be continued in
Imitation of Wife
coming in August 2019
Please enjoy the preview on the next page!
Sylvia
“Um, come in,” Sylvia said, moving to the side so her unexpected guest could walk in. Her eyes met Garry’s. He looked just as surprised.
“I’m sorry to just show up like this, but I . . . I tried calling your daughter and she didn’t answer and I . . . I . . .” She began crying.
“What’s going on?” Aunt Connie rushed into the foyer and over to the crying woman. “What’s got you so upset?”
“Uh, Aunt Connie, this is Tricia,” Sylvia told her. “She’s . . .”
Sylvia didn’t know how to introduce her. Her day was getting more and more awkward by the minute. It seemed that the turmoil from last night was overflowing, and before she could wrap her mind around one thing, another one popped up. Certainly, Titus’s wife was here to talk about her husband and Janelle. She was dressed in a pair of sweats and Timberland boots, which Sylvia hoped wasn’t an indication that she planned on fighting
“Tarik, uh, Tank’s mom,” Tricia said, wiping her eyes. “He and Peyton are friends.”
“Garry, go get some Kleenex,” Aunt Connie instructed, and Garry didn’t hesitate to rush off. Sylvia was sure he was relieved to be able to leave the three of them. “Come on in here and sit down.”
Sylvia tried to subtly get her aunt’s attention, but she was too busy leading Tricia into the living room. The two of them sat on the sofa, while Sylvia sat in a nearby chair.
“Here you go.” Garry eased in the room, holding out a box of Kleenex.
“Thank you,” Tricia said, snatching several out and wiping her eyes.
“Okay, now tell us, why are you crying, baby?” Aunt Connie coaxed her.
“Because Tank is missing. After the incident at the game last night, he and his father had words. He rode the bus back to the school with the team, but he didn’t come home. We’ve looked all over for him.” She sniffed. “I’ve talked to all of his friends, but they don’t know where he is.”
“So, you came here?” Sylvia looked at her like she was crazy. “You think he’s here?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Like I said, I tried calling and texting Peyton. She didn’t answer. And I have been driving everywhere. I’m sorry for showing up like this.” Tricia began crying all over again.
Garry, who was standing in the doorway, said, “I can tell you right now he’s not here. Peyton is upstairs asleep.”
“Why don’t you go wake her up and see if she’s heard from her li’l boyfriend?” Aunt Connie suggested. “What’s his name? Frank?”
“Tank,” Garry corrected her, adding, “her friend.”
“I’ll go talk to her,” Sylvia volunteered, but at that moment, both Peyton and Jordan came walking down the steps. Sylvia was taken aback, since Jordan’s room was downstairs, and she rarely ventured to the second floor of their home. She was wearing a pair of leggings and a nightshirt. Peyton had on a pair of shorts and an unfamiliar T-shirt, which was too big. Sylvia noticed Tank’s basketball number emblazoned on the back and wondered when and where she’d gotten it.
“What’s going on?” Jordan asked.
“Mrs. King?” Peyton’s eyes widened when she saw Tricia sitting on the sofa beside Aunt Connie.
“Peyton, when’s the last time you talked to Tank?” Garry asked her.
“Um, I talked to him last night after the game. He was pretty upset about what happened,” Peyton said. “I kinda don’t blame him.”
Tricia stood up. “What did he say? What time did you talk to him?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. He said he was gonna call me later today,” Peyton said. “What’s wrong?”
“Baby, Tank didn’t come home last night. His parents are worried,” Sylvia explained.
“He’s probably with somebody from the team partying. We did win the state championship last night, remember?” Jordan sneered and folded her arms. “Not that they got the chance to celebrate and enjoy the moment like they should have. Someone stopped that from happening.”
“Not now, Jordan,” Garry warned.
“I’m just saying,” Jordan said. “You ruined his moment.”
“Peyton, sweetie, maybe you can run upstairs and get your phone and see if he’s tried to call, or maybe see if you can reach him,” Sylvia suggested.
Peyton looked over at Jordan for a moment, then back to her mother and said, “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Aunt Connie said. “Both Peyton and Jordan here snuck off yesterday and we found them. And Peyton went off for a couple of hours the other week and we couldn’t find her, and she showed up at home.”
Sylvia gave Aunt Connie the same warning Garry had given Jordan moments before. “Not now, Aunt Connie.”
“He probably just needs to cool off, that’s all.” Jordan shrugged. “I do that all the time. I take a time out.”
“Has he ever gone missing before?” Sylvia asked.
“No, never.” Tricia shook her head. “I’ve never seen him so angry and disappointed. And she’s right; last night should’ve been the biggest moment of Tank’s life. He’s worked and trained so hard.”
“Yeah, and after that horrible loss last year when the refs cheated, he deserved this,” Jordan said.
“Wait, you know Tank too?” Garry asked.
“Yeah, by association,” Jordan answered. “He’s a friend of a friend.”
“Did you know he and Peyton were—” Sylvia paused and glanced at Garry before completing her sentence. “Friends?”
“No, not until everything popped off last night after the game. Like I told you, she and I aren’t cool like that. We don’t talk,” Jordan said.
“But you stayed in her room last night, didn’t you?” Sylvia asked.
“You did?” Garry sounded surprised.
“No, I didn’t.” Jordan turned her nose up in disgust. “I stayed in Aunt Connie’s room.”
Sylvia looked over at Aunt Connie to confirm.
“She did come and sleep with me last night. She was upset and needed to talk about what happened.” Aunt Connie shook her head at Garry.
“He didn’t answer.” Peyton came back down with her cell phone in hand. “I sent him a text, but it wasn’t delivered. His phone must be dead.”
“Oh my God. I don’t know where he could be.” Tricia began crying again, and Aunt Connie stood and rubbed her back.
“I’ll be right back,” Sylvia said and exited the room. She was halfway up the stairs whe
n she heard Garry behind her.
“Syl, where are you going?” he hissed. “You can’t leave a hysterical woman in our living room.”
“I said I’d be right back,” she whispered as she kept walking. “I have a phone call to make.”
“Who the hell are you calling?” He followed her into their bedroom.
Sylvia picked up her cell phone and pressed her sister’s name.
“What?” Janelle answered after the third ring.
“Nelle, wake up. We have a situation,” Sylvia told her.
“You’re calling Janelle? That’s the last person you need to be calling right now considering who’s downstairs,” Garry said.
“Shut up, Garry. You’re the last person who needs to be talking to me right now considering everything,” she snapped at him.
He sulked but didn’t say anything else.
“What the hell is going on? What time is it?” Janelle groaned.
“Nelle, I need you to call Titus right now,” Sylvia told her. “Call him on three-way. I need to talk to him.”
“I’m not calling him. Why do you want him?” Janelle asked.
“Because his wife is downstairs crying in my living room,” Sylvia said, trying not to yell.
“Shit. What?” Janelle squealed. “What the hell for? Why is she there? Is she looking for me?”
“No, she’s not looking for you. She’s looking for her son. Now, call him.”
“What? Tank is at your house?”
“Janelle.” It was taking everything for Sylvia not to snap, and she was two seconds from losing it. “I don’t have time to play no damn twenty-one questions. Get Titus’s ass on the phone, now.”
“Fine. Hold on,” Janelle said, and then the phone went quiet.
“Go downstairs and check and see what’s going on,” Sylvia told Garry.
“I’m sure Tricia’s still crying, Jordan is still complaining, Peyton is still moping, and Aunt Connie has it all under control,” he said. “They don’t need me down there.”