by Candice Dow
“I’m not going home. You come out here now or I swear I’ll bust the windows in your car and set it on fire if I have to.” I couldn’t believe the things I was saying, but I felt every syllable of them. At that moment I was willing to do anything, and Jamison must’ve felt it too. He hung up the phone.
The door opened fast, like he’d been standing on the other side the whole time. Jamison stood there alone, dressed in a pair of boxers I’d bought him.
“Did you really think I was going to go away?” I asked. Through the corner of my eye, I could see an old lady standing in her doorway next door wearing bright, pink foam rollers in her hair and a flowery nightgown. I wanted to lower my voice, but I was beyond caring about embarrassing myself.
“What is this? What is this?” I started crying again, but I didn’t bother to wipe my tears. I just wrapped my arms around my stomach and held tight. The baby felt heavy again, like he was feeling the weight of the moment.
“I can explain it—” He stopped mid-sentence and reached for me. “It’s nothing. I’m just…”
I stepped away.
“Just what?”
“Look, Kerry, I think you should go. I’ll put on something and then come too, but I need to get dressed.”
“I’ll be damned if I let you walk back into that house with that woman,” I hollered. “Does she know you’re married? That you have a son on the way? Why can’t she come out here and face me? Don’t be embarrassed. I’m here now.” I tried to push my way through the doorway, but Jamison held me back.
“Let me in,” I said, pushing my way in further. “I just want to see her. I just want to see her. I want to see the woman you chose over me.”
“Don’t do this,” he said, pulling my arms. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
I pulled back and looked my husband in the eyes. We’d known each other for twelve years. He was my first love. The only man I’d ever imagined marrying. He looked so naked standing there in front of me. So defenseless. He had pale, milky white skin, looked almost white sometimes in pictures, and the centers of his cheeks were beet red, the color they turned when he was sad or angry.
“Don’t do what? Anything foolish?” I cried, “Foolish? You jerk. You fucking jerk.”
I practically jumped into Jamison’s arms and started pounding my fists into his face. He was six feet, five inches, well over a foot taller than me, but I was towering above him then. Every bit of anger and frustration I felt grew me taller. I was swinging and screaming and hitting to make him feel the pain I felt. I was beat down and beat up by his lies and now I wanted him to feel the same thing. It didn’t stop what I was feeling, but it felt good, like I was releasing something. Letting go, or at least loosening up my anger.
“Foolish!” I screamed. “I’ll show you foolish!”
“Ma’am, stop it!” I heard an authoritative voice before I felt a hand pull at my shoulder. “Ma’am.”
My body was being lifted up. I felt two hands on both of my sides.
“She’s pregnant,” Jamison said, reaching for me as the hands pulled me further back. I turned to see two police officers standing beside me, two others were holding me. Suddenly, I could see the flashing lights from their cars in the street, the flickering blues hitting small groups of people huddled in different places along the curb. There had to be at least six cars out there, and all I could think was where they’d come from and who they were there for.
“He ain’t worth it,” one woman said in the crowd.
I turned to look at Jamison. There were so many people there, so many people I didn’t know and I felt like adding Jamison to the list. He seemed a part of this place, farther and farther away from me than I thought.
“Do you live here ma’am?” one of the officers asked me. She was the only woman and she was so small the blue uniform seemed to swallow her up.
“No,” I said.
“That’s Coreen’s house,” someone called from the crowd.
Then, as if the person had summoned her, Coreen Carter came crawling out the door. Her face was streaked with tears that seemed bigger than mine. Her eyes were red and she was visibly shaken. She stepped outside and stood beside Jamison in front of the door.
Seeing the cops had brought me back to reality, but seeing Coreen stand beside my husband sent me into what I can only call an out-of-body experience. Baby and all, I twisted out of the police officers’ hands and charged after her.
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DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2007 by Candice Dow
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 0-7582-4888-1
Table of Contents
Cover
Also by Candice Dow
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Contents
PROLOGUE
Scene 1 FATIMA
Scene 2 FATIMA
Scene 3 FATIMA
Scene 4 FATIMA
Scene 5 RASHAD
Scene 6 FATIMA
Scene 7 RASHAD
Scene 8 FATIMA
Scene 9 RASHAD
Scene 10 FATIMA
Scene 11 RASHAD
Scene 12 FATIMA
Scene 13 RASHAD
Scene 14 FATIMA
Scene 15 RASHAD
Scene 16 FATIMA
Scene 17 RASHAD
Scene 18 FATIMA
Scene 19 RASHAD
Scene 20 FATIMA
Scene 21 RASHAD
Scene 22 FATIMA
Scene 23 RASHAD
Scene 24 RASHAD
Scene 25 FATIMA
Scene 26 RASHAD
Scene 27 FATIMA
Scene 28 RASHAD
Scene 29 RASHAD
Scene 30 FATIMA
Scene 31 FATIMA
Scene 32 RASHAD
Scene 33 FATIMA
Scene 34 RASHAD
Scene 35 FATIMA
Scene 36 RASHAD
Scene 37 FATIMA
Scene 38 RASHAD
Scene 39 FATIMA
Scene 40 RASHAD
Scene 41 FATIMA
Scene 42 RASHAD
Scene 43 FATIMA
Scene 44 RASHAD
Scene 45 FATIMA
Scene 46 RASHAD
Scene 47 FATIMA
Scene 48 RASHAD
Scene 49 FATIMA
Scene 50 RASHAD
Scene 51 FATIMA
Scene 52 RASHAD
Copyright