Sometimes Love

by Victoria Kennedy

  “Well, I see something I like a whole lot,” he said with a sly grin, tapping his finger on a page of the large book.

  “Yes, the reggae festival. That’s a good choice,” I said. My hope was to include pictures of his event in my book, as well. While looking at pictures of the reggae festival, when there were tents erected and lots of people, he claimed that was the atmosphere he was trying to capture. He wanted a carnival.

  “Who is this fine ass brother right here?” He was still tapping the book. And he was pointing at Michael.

  “Oh. That’s Michael Franklin, my partner and best friend.” “Girl, if I were Mr. Pearson, I don’t think I’d like you spending too much time with this one here. He is gorgeous.” “Trey, you better behave yourself.”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  Armed with contacts and information from the reggae festival, I immediately went into action, since I only had three weeks including the planning stage and actual event. I called several bands asking them to send proposals, contacted party rental businesses with the same instructions and set up the rest of my day to put business in order.

  It was almost seven o’clock in the evening, when I came up for air. That’s when I realized I hadn’t heard from Humphrey all day. I called the gallery, got the voice mail and found it strange that he had the cell phone turned off. Usually, he was easily accessible, but it seemed he’d disappeared. To pass the time, I organized my notes and pictures in a new binder and played some of Stevie Wonder’s music to distract me from my preoccupation with Humphrey’s whereabouts.

  Thoughts of Michael popped into my mind, as I perused the familiar material. I missed him and the rapport we had. Whenever we’d started a new project, just the act of organizing it became an event. He would insist that we go out to dinner the same night a contract was signed. After all our hard work had finally culminated into a successful affair, we’d go out afterward to discuss our success and where we could go from there. I knew I’d miss those times living in New York, working alone, but I doubted he missed me at all. I wanted so badly to call him and tell him of my good fortune in acquiring my newest client. Surely, he was so busy; he didn’t have time to entertain the thought of me. I toyed with the idea of calling him, risking his rejection and concluded that it hadn’t been quite long enough. My musings made Humphrey’s absence even more noticeable.

  I started to worry around ten…still no Humphrey. I took my nighttime shower and even the caress of the steamy water massaging my tense muscles didn’t put me at ease. Ever since our quarrel about Phillip, the matter had remained unsettled and it had wrapped around us like a shroud in the bed, causing me to toss and turn. Then the intimate touch of his large, warm hands on my skin reassured me, calmed my restlessness. He’d smoothed my hair, wiped the sweat from my brow and fastened his lips to my neck, nuzzling my collarbone until I was restless once again, in anticipation of what was yet to come. His slow grind provided consolation and led me to a release that finally welcomed sleep to have its way. Making up by making love had been our reconciliation and there was a sweet relief in knowing that our big fight was behind us.

  I don’t know what time I finally drifted off to sleep, but it was exactly 5:30 the next morning, when I was awakened by my phone.

  “Zoë.” Humphrey spoke my name before I could say hello.

  “Where are you and why didn’t you come home last night?” “Madonna is gone.”

  His voice cracked on ‘gone’, as if saying the word hurt his throat. My thoughts immediately went to the last time I’d received bad news over the phone. Panic made me jump into a seated position on the side of the bed.

  “My God. What happened Humphrey?” “She ran off and left the baby.”

  “What do you mean she left the baby…where?”

  “She left her in the damn supermarket, in a fucking shopping cart!”

  A cold chill washed over me just thinking about what desperation could have driven the seemingly serene woman to take such measures.

  “Don’t ask,” he interrupted my thoughts. “I have no idea why. One of the twins said that she’d been talking all week about how she wasn’t a good mother to her daughter.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Where is Pia’s father?”

  “We were never sure about who he was, but I’m going to track him down. I don’t know what happened between them, but when she returned home to D.C., she was a different person: pregnant, distant and frankly—disturbed.”

  “I wonder if he’s the reason she never returned to New York.” He said, “She never spoke of it, so we never asked.” “Humphrey, what is going to happen to this child?”

  “We’re going to take her—you and me. Do you have a problem with that?” he asked.

  I choked out a “no” which was just a notch above a whisper and hoped I didn’t sound too selfish. I, too, was saddened over the newest development in Madonna’s life, but I wasn’t surprised. When I first met her, she struck me as a person with mental challenges. I decided to let Humphrey grieve as he saw fi and hoped his decision to claim his niece was only a part of that process.

  “My God,” he sobbed. “I can’t believe she’s gone. Just like my father.”

  I’d spent months learning the ways to please and comfort him but when it came to that moment, I was at my most helpless, ever. Heartbreak resounded in every moan and whimper…the kind of heartache that couldn’t be soothed away, or wiped away— not even wished away. I loved him so much that all I wanted to do was love the hurt away.

  Madonna’s disappearance left so many questions—most of which would not be answered unless she came back. Like the one he’d planted in my head, when he mentioned his father. What was that all about? I wondered. Wasn’t his father in London?

  “I didn’t do my job, you know. I was supposed to protect her and I failed,” he said a few moments after regaining his composure. “How am I going to explain to everyone that I let my little sister lose her mind? I was supposed to protect her.”

  “I’m not going to let you take this guilt trip. Your sister is a grown woman and it was not your duty to monitor her social life. And besides, you don’t owe anyone an explanation about anything. At some point, Madonna had to be responsible for herself. And you can’t assume the reason.”

  “She was so trusting. So full of dreams and ideals about living happily ever after with a man too perfect to actually exist.”

  “She sounds a lot like me.”

  “But she wasn’t like you; she wasn’t as strong. She needed that dream man to give direction to her life.”

  “And I need you, Humphrey. That’s what you do for me. Without you, I don’t know what direction my life would take.”

  “With or without me, your life would still go on. Just like it did before I came into the picture. You wouldn’t walk off and leave your child abandoned in a supermarket.”

  An uneasy feeling crept into the pit of my stomach as the impact of my imagination affected my digestive system. Just the thought of losing him was making me ill.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said. “I don’t ever want to find out how my life is lived without you.”

  “I love you so much, Zoë, it makes my heart hurt.” “I love you too.”

  “Would you please come down to DC? I really need you right now.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I arrived in D.C., I found out two things I didn’t know: Madonna wasn’t his mother’s biological daughter and the twins were not his father’s.

  Madonna was actually the lovechild of Humphrey’s father and an under-aged lover he’d taken in Jamaica. The twins were Inez Pearson’s revenge. Humphrey was her heart—the one true lovechild of hers and her husband, Tony’s. When he discovered the twins were not his, he took Humphrey and Madonna away and sent them to live with his family in St. Ann, in the country. And from there—England. This was a decidedly different version from the story Humphr
ey had shared with me.

  I found all that out from Inez. I think she felt the need to clear away the shadows that were covering up the truths in her life. I just wish she hadn’t revealed them to me.

  “I think God took Madonna’s mind away because I dared to love her like she was my own. Everything that I love dearly is always taken away. My husband went crazy so that he could get away, my son moved away and my daughter wanted to get away from me so badly that she lost her mind, too.”

  “Miss Inez, don’t dare think such a thing.” I was so shocked that this ostensibly stern, emotionless woman was so burdened with grief and blame.

  “Besides,” I said, “you still have Monica and Marlene living here with you. You all can help each other get through this.”

  “I don’t love them the same way,” she said quietly, as if she were making a confession to a priest with her head hung down low and her hands clasped in her lap. “You probably think I sound like a terrible mother, but the twins were conceived for the wrong reason, at the wrong time. They weren’t made out of love.”

  “I understand all that, but they’ve been here for twenty years now. Of course, you’ve developed some feelings for them.”

  It dawned on me that she was telling me things that Humphrey might not know. I hoped she wasn’t trying to find out if I would betray her confidence. But this was much different, this was his family. And I had to know if he understood how his mother really grieved.

  I found Humphrey up in Madonna’s room, lying across her bed and he seemed to be okay.

  “As soon as we are finished here, I’ll start going through her things,” he said looking around at the room.

  It had yellow paint on the walls and flowers everywhere; they adorned everything: the bed, the chair, the curtains, and the pictures. The room itself was the picture of an English garden.

  “You don’t have to do it immediately, Humphrey. Wait a while.

  Give yourself time.”

  “I don’t want to waste time. If I’ve learned nothing else from this whole experience—it’s not to waste time. Nothing can be gained by waiting…by prolonging the inevitable.”

  She’d left a note on the baby at the store so she could be returned home safely and Humphrey kept quoting it to me like he had to say the words to believe she was really gone.

  I’m sorry. I know that many people would call this the easy way out but I’ve never even contemplated anything this hard in my life. I want peace and so far, life hasn’t been able to give it to me. Maybe I’ll have a chance if I start a new one. As far as Pia goes, I’m sure that Humphrey will make everything all right. For whatever it’s worth, I love you all.—Madonna.

  It sounded like a suicide note, but Humphrey was convinced she would never kill herself, that she was in pain and just needed to get away.

  I think what hurt him the most was that she hadn’t confided in him how miserable she had been and hadn’t trusted him with the details of her whereabouts. He was really hurting.

  My parents arrived as we were leaving for the store.. I took my first real free breath of the day. It was the closest I’d felt to comfortable.

  “Zoë, baby,” my mother cooed. “We’re sorry it took so long to get here, but the BW Parkway was a mess. They had one lane open all the way from Columbia to Silver Spring. You can only imagine the confusion.”

  My father stood at her side quietly. He seemed uncomfortable with being confronted by everyone at once, at the front door. I couldn’t blame him.

  “Baby,” was all he said before kissing my cheek and smoothing my hair.

  When I looked over at Humphrey, he was already in my mother’s embrace. It was tender the way she comforted him with consoling words and a gentle stroking of his face. It was more than I’d seen Inez do all week. It made him cry.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry,” she said, “If I could, you know I’d take away the pain…but it will get better, Dear. I promise.”

  She took out a tissue and dried his tears herself, the way a mother does a child when some mishap or another has befallen him. Inez looked on like she was expecting an introduction, but only because it was the proper thing to do, not because she wanted one. Judging by her actions, she looked like she wanted to make a hasty retreat to the car and spend some time alone.

  “Mama,” Humphrey said. “These are Zoë’s parents—Mr. and Mrs. Browne.” And to my folks, he said, “This is my mother Inez Pearson.”

  “You may just call us Joyce and Ed. May we call you Inez?” My mother, the consummate chatterbox, was never at a loss for words. “Of course, Dear,” Inez said. “Please call me Inez and thank you so much for coming.”

  Even though she referred to them both, she never took her eyes off of my mother. My mother took that as encouragement to come closer, putting her arm around her shoulders.

  “Inez,” she said. “We’re practically family now. We wouldn’t think of not offering our comfort and support. Isn’t that right, Ed? We’ll do anything we can to help.” She turned to face my father. We all went back into the house, which was just a little too quiet. Miss Inez went straight to her room with a headache. The twins sat on the front porch in their own private conference. And Humphrey was in Madonna’s room doing exactly as he said he would. He was dismantling everything, putting things into boxes and laying out clothes for the Goodwill. My parents and I sat in the living room alone with the television droning on in the background. My father was nursing an ice-cold Corona that

  Humphrey had given him.

  “Ma, I want to go back to Baltimore with you guys, when you leave. Is that okay?” I asked.

  “Your father was going to make that suggestion. We both think that’s for the best.”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ll be missed very much.” My father said, “Give him a few days. He’ll come around. Then you two can go back to New York and resume your lives.”

  “What if he doesn’t, Dad? What then?” “I’ll talk to him, if I have to. Okay?”

  “It’ll be okay, Sweetie,” said my mother, joining in the pep talk.

  I went upstairs to check on Humphrey and to let him know my change in plans. I found him shoving clothes in plastic bags and saw open boxes on the floor with shoes in them.

  “I think it’s too soon for all this. I don’t know which ‘inevitable’ thing you were talking about earlier but this is too soon.” I picked up a box of toiletries off the bed to make room for me.

  “That’s because you don’t know everything.” “Then tell me what I’m missing…please.”

  He never stopped packing and didn’t turn around to face me. “My father did this. He disappeared, all of a sudden. He went to the store and never came back, like a damned cliché.” “You never told me your father was missing.”

  “Oh, he’s not missing anymore. He came back, after about twelve months. That was many years ago but when he returned, he wasn’t the same. He never was.”

  “Maybe the same fate awaits Madonna. Maybe even me. We both share his blood.”

  “Maybe she just needed some time to herself, like the note said,” I offered.

  “You don’t understand,” he stood up straight and turned to face me. “You never will.”

  He turned back to packing and for the first time, I noticed the open drawers and cabinets and that they were bare. I could see I wasn’t going to win the battle that night. When I told him I was leaving, he was calm.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll call you tonight.”

  That’s it. No kiss. No hug. No nothing. He barely looked up from his task to acknowledge my leaving…to hardly acknowledge that he was dismantling Madonna’s life, as if she were dead.

  We went straight to my parents’ house. It hadn’t taken me long to pack my stuff; I just had the one overnight bag. I had been so uncomfortable with the sleeping arrangements—Humphrey and I sharing a bedroom right next to his mother’s, but none of them seemed to think anything of it. When I arrived at my parents’, I felt almo
st as out of place as I did in D.C. My father went to his den and turned on the tube. My mother went up to her office to look over some paperwork. And I was left wandering around downstairs.

  “Zoë, what are you doing pacing around down there?” my mother yelled downstairs to me.

  “I’m okay, Ma—just restless. Is it okay, if I borrow your car? I want to go make some visits.”

  “Yeah, you know where the keys are. As a matter of fact,” she said as she found her way to the top of the stairs, “why don’t you go over and check on the house? It’s just as empty as can be. We can’t seem to get rid of it.”

  “That’s because it misses me and it’s rejecting all the prospective buyers,” I said.

  My mother said, “Well, go over there and tell it to stop. That house is costing Phillip money and it’s costing me too much time.”

  “Maybe, if I go and say one last good-bye, it’ll behave.” We laughed as I walked out the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I found myself driving around the streets of Baltimore on a Saturday night, having no clue as to whom I should visit. I’d never had many girlfriends to speak of. I never really needed them. Michael had always been my sounding board, advisory council and fashion consultant all rolled into one. I didn’t have time for girlfriends. I drove into midtown, glad to be serving some purpose, even if I couldn’t figure out what it was at the moment. I noticed that a new coffee house had opened about two blocks from the house and figured, why not? I could always use a vanilla latte. In perfect timing, someone vacated a parking space on the main street and I pulled right in. The place was obviously popular because it was as full to capacity as the small storefront would allow. I was about fifth in line and noticed there was an upstairs, as a few people descended with cups of coffee in hand.

  I decided to take a closer look at the place.