Yup, this was the absolute best part of my life. A day with my daughter-in-law and then dinner with the four of us. What could be better?
Just as I stood, the doorbell rang.
“Brock must’ve forgotten his key,” I said as I rushed to the door. My face had to be covered with all the joy I felt from spending this time with Evon when I pulled the door open. “What happened?” I began. But then my smile went straight away.
Quentin stood on the other side of the threshold with a scowl so deep I half expected him to start roaring. He stomped past me, pushing his way into my home.
“I cannot believe you, Sheridan!” he shouted.
“Quentin.” I only said his name to give me some time to think. Because it didn’t take any special kind of intelligence to figure out why Quentin was in my home on the edge of rage.
“I cannot believe you did this to me,” he yelled. “Do you really hate me this much? Did our divorce affect you so much that you’ve turned into a vindictive . . .” He paused and the name he wanted to call me rested right on the tip of his tongue. I was sure the only thing that stopped him was that I was the mother of his children.
My heart hammered against my chest so hard I had to take a couple of quick inhales to keep breathing. “Quentin.” All I could think to say was his name.
It wasn’t until this moment that I realized I hadn’t played this tape all the way through. I didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that Quentin would one day come knocking on my door. I don’t know, maybe I thought that Harmony wouldn’t tell him where she’d heard about him and Jett. Or maybe I thought that he would never come over here, because what would he say? He couldn’t be mad at the truth.
Finally, I said, “What are you talking about?” just to give me more time. To figure it out and see what he knew.
His face stretched like my words surprised him. “Is that how you’re going to play this? Like you don’t know what’s going on? Well, let me tell you,” he said, taking two steps closer to me.
The anger in his eyes made me take two steps back. But I could smell the stench of his fury. Over Quentin’s shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Evon, standing in the cut between the dining room and the entryway. She was so still that it was only because she was standing that I figured she was still breathing. Her ever-present smile was gone, though her eyes were still bright. But now they shined with tears and fear.
I needed to calm Quentin down, but he moved back and forth, stomping hard, like he was digging a ditch with his feet.
He screamed, “I’m talking about you going to Harmony and telling her some nonsense about me and Jett.”
Well, the jig was definitely up now. Not that I didn’t already know what Quentin was talking about. But I knew now that it wasn’t just some theory on his part. He had all the facts.
“Quentin, calm down,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I leaned and glanced over his shoulder, giving him the hint that we were not alone.
He turned, saw Evon, but then turned back to me as if seeing her meant nothing. Her presence didn’t do anything to calm or soothe him.
“I cannot believe this, Sheridan. I cannot believe you told Harmony to leave me!”
“Whoa!” I said, holding up my hands. “I never told Harmony that.”
He stomped right up to me and pointed his finger in my face. “You’re a liar. You know what you did, you b—”
“Uh, Quentin, you need to slow your roll and back up off my wife.”
I don’t think there’d ever been a time when I’d been so happy to hear my husband’s voice. Turning around, I saw him, holding two shopping bags that he gently, slowly placed on the floor. His eyes were stuck on Quentin, and the way my husband moved, so deliberately, I knew that if my ex made one wrong move, Brock would be all over him.
Christopher stood next to Brock, frozen for a moment. Then he rushed to Evon. “Are you okay?” he asked as he pulled her into his arms.
She nodded, but didn’t say a word. I wasn’t surprised. She was in such a state of shock she probably would be mute for weeks.
“What’s going on here?” Brock said, coming to my side.
“Ask your wife,” Quentin barked.
All eyes turned to me. And I had no idea what to say.
Brock said, “Sheridan?”
I knew I had to speak then. I said, “Quentin’s under the impression that I had something to do with him and Harmony breaking up. But I didn’t.”
“Oh, really, Sheridan?” The way he shouted, everyone faced Quentin. “You’re going to stand here and lie?” He turned from me and looked at Brock. “Just so you know that I’m not crazy, Harmony told me that your wife met with her just so she could tell Harmony that I was involved with Jett.”
The eyes shifted again; every pair was back to me. If I could’ve, I would’ve clicked my heels three times and headed to Kansas.
It was Brock’s stare that I felt the most. His brows framed the confusion in his eyes. “Sheridan?”
“Let me explain,” I said quickly. “Harmony called me,” I told Quentin, because Brock already knew that part. “At first, I told her no.” That statement was meant for Brock. “But then she called again and I felt so sorry for her. She was confused, she needed someone to talk to. So we met.”
“And you told her to leave me.”
“No! All I told her that day was that you were a good man.” I paused. “Ask her, she’ll tell you that’s what I said.”
“So then how did you get from there to where you told her to leave me?”
“I never told her that.”
“You told her that I was having an affair with Jett.”
“I didn’t say that either. I just told her that I saw the two of you together.” When Quentin gave me a bitter chuckle, I added, “I told her that I saw you at Rendezvous.”
Brock moaned, and I knew the two of us were going to have a big discussion tonight. But the thing was, everybody could be mad if they wanted to, but all I’d done was report what I’d seen. Quentin was back with Jett and he was playin’ Harmony just like he’d played me.
“I just told her the truth,” I added, and glared at Quentin. I was tired of standing there being the one who was wrong. “She’d been wondering if you were still gay, if you would be with a man again. And I just told her what I knew.”
“You don’t know anything!” Quentin said. He closed his eyes, held his head in his hands for a moment, then released a long breath. He pointed his finger at me, but then put his hand down when Brock took a step forward. With a much softer voice, he said, “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to anyone.” He looked from me to Brock, then to Christopher and Evon. “But it seems that no matter what I do . . .” He paused and I swore there were tears in his eyes. He looked straight at me. “I’m not with Jett. Jett’s married.”
I gave him a long side-eye glance.
“He got married two years ago. To a . . . woman. Dana.”
A lump popped into my throat. “Married?” I whispered. Oh, my God! Had I made a mistake? But then I shook my head. I knew what I saw, I knew what I felt in my gut. I wasn’t going to buy his lies like everyone else. “But you and Jett were at Rendezvous,” I said, like that was my trump card.
But then Quentin raised the stakes. “We were there to meet the chef. Adolphe Baptiste. He’s . . . he’s a friend of Jett’s who catered his wedding. We had a meeting that night because I wanted Adolphe to cater mine. Harmony just loved the food when I took her there and I wanted him to provide the food for my wedding. My wedding that’s not going to happen now.”
I let his words sink in, though I still couldn’t say that I believed him. “But Jett told me . . . I saw him when I went to the restroom and he made it seem . . .”
Quentin nodded. “We were sitting at the bar when you walked by, and at first, I thought that you were looking for me.
I thought you were going to come right out and ask me about Jett. But you walked by, and I figured you really had to go to the restroom. Jett told me he spoke to you. Told me he said some things he shouldn’t have said, but he was just mess-in’ with you because you were being so self-righteous. And I would’ve cleared it up then if I had any idea you were going to go to Harmony.”
I calculated it all in my head. The first meeting with Harmony, seeing Quentin and Jett, the last meeting with Harmony. Had I been wrong about it all?
“I’ve lost her, Sheridan.” Quentin’s voice was soft and filled with sadness, now. “I lost her because of you.”
“Quentin, I’m so sorry,” I breathed. “I didn’t mean anything . . . I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You were wrong. On so many levels, you were wrong.”
“I’ll speak to Harmony. I’ll tell her—”
“I don’t even know where she is.” His words were even softer than before. Like he’d been in a losing battle and had no more energy to fight on. He said, “I hadn’t been able to reach her for days, and then, this morning, she left me a voice mail and sent me an e-mail. She told me everything that you told her. I didn’t even get the chance to explain,” he continued. “I didn’t get to tell her that you were wrong.”
“Well, you’ve got to find her,” I said. “You’ve got to tell her everything.”
“How?” Now he shouted. “I’ve called and her number is no longer in service. I went to her apartment, and she’s moved. I just came from the hospital and they told me that she quit.” He paused. “She quit, Sheridan. Because of you. She’s just gone.” He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and I prayed to God that he wouldn’t start crying right there in front of all of us.
The eyes had shifted from Quentin to me. But what was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do?
An eternity of seconds passed before Quentin looked up and at me. “I never meant to hurt you, Sheridan.” Now he whispered so softly that I could hardly hear him. But I wasn’t about to ask him to speak up. “Really, I never did. I thought I told you that. I thought I apologized.”
“You did,” I said, my voice as low as his.
“But I guess my apology meant nothing.” Before I could say another word, he added, “Because all these years, you wanted to get back at me. You wanted to hurt me.”
“No!”
“You wanted me to feel what you felt back then.”
“No!”
“All I can say is congratulations. Because in the end, you won. I’ve lost the only woman I’ve loved since you.”
“Quentin, no!” I reached for him, but he jerked away from me as if my touch was poisonous. With his head bowed, Quentin moved past me and Brock, walked to the door, and then without looking back, he walked right through it.
For a couple of seconds, we all stood there, staring at the door, transfixed.
Then Christopher moved. Well, at least his eyes did—from the door to me. And he shot me a heated glare.
“Chris . . .”
Before I could step toward him, he bolted toward the door. “Dad!” he yelled. And Evon ran after him.
I lifted my hands to my mouth wondering what had I done? Looking at Brock, I pleaded with him. I begged him with my eyes. He had to be the one to understand.
But he shook his head and said, “I told you to stay out of it.”
“I know. And I tried. And, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s a little late for sorry, don’t you think?”
“Brock.” For the third time, I reached toward someone who backed away. Brock stepped back, turned around, then walked toward our bedroom. Just a few seconds after that, he slammed our bedroom door shut.
I stood there in the entryway, looking from the open front door to the closed one of my bedroom. I stood there, all alone.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
A tornado had swept in and caused all of this chaos in my life.
The only thing was—I was that tornado. I’d caused the confusion.
I knew this. I could admit this. And, I was going to fix this.
Now!
I looked at the bedroom door that Brock had slammed shut about ten minutes ago. But right as I took a step forward, I took three back. I wasn’t ready to face my husband. Not until I could tell him that I’d apologized to Quentin and was on my way to making amends.
So I went into action. First, I grabbed my cell from the dining room table, then rushed into the family room. My hands were shaking as I scrolled through my phone to Quentin’s number. Before I clicked on his name, I said a quick prayer that he would listen. That he’d be able to hear me above all the curses that I was sure he wanted to send my way.
But after just one ring, my call hit his voice mail.
I hung up and dialed again.
And this time, he answered.
“Quentin!” I breathed.
Then the click of the call ending. Without a word, Quentin had hung up on me.
I sighed and pressed his number again, but a second later I ended the call. I could’ve taken him hanging up on me again and again, but what good would that do? Quentin needed time, and right now that was all I could give him.
Next, Harmony.
But before I even scrolled through my phone to find her number, I stopped. Quentin said that her number was disconnected.
So without being able to talk to Harmony, I had to go to my son next.
If the timing of all of this had been just a little bit different, Christopher wouldn’t even be involved. If Quentin had come yesterday, or tomorrow, or early this morning before Christopher and Evon had gotten here, or even later tonight when the four of us would’ve been out to dinner . . .
But Quentin had timed it so that my son and my husband heard the worst about me. Of course, Christopher was livid. I would’ve known that even if I hadn’t seen his barefaced anger when he looked at me before he raced through the door to get to his father.
I owed my son an apology . . . I owed them all one. But Christopher also needed to hear my side. I wasn’t just out there trying to ruin his father’s life.
I scrolled to Son, clicked, and the picture of Christopher’s face shining bright with his smile popped up. I held my breath, but after only one ring, the call went to voice mail. I called again. Another ring, then straight to voice mail. I hung up, called again. Same result.
I could tell that my son was pressing ignore every time he saw my name. That was something I’d told him and Tori never to do, at least not as long as I was paying their bills.
I hadn’t paid one of Christopher’s bills in years.
So, without connecting with Quentin or Christopher, that only left Brock.
Just about forty minutes had passed since Brock had walked away from me. That was enough time for his anger to calm, at least a little, wasn’t it?
I took short, slow steps as if I was a dead woman walking, and this time I didn’t stop. When I got to our bedroom, I opened the door, stepped inside, then stood at the threshold.
My expectation was that my husband would do what he always did. Whenever I walked into any room where he was, he turned, he looked, he smiled. I wasn’t exactly expecting the smile, but I thought it was a natural reflex that made him turn and face my presence.
But clearly it wasn’t natural because his eyes didn’t waver from the television. He stayed the way he was, sitting up with his back against the headboard, his hands clasped behind his head, and his legs stretched out in front of him.
It was as if he didn’t even know I was there.
In the six years of our marriage, of course we’d had our little spats. But that’s all they ever were—little and spats.
For me, that’s all this was as well. After all, what I’d done with Quentin didn’t have a thing to do with me and Brock. But t
he way Brock sat, not acknowledging me, let me know that his view was different from mine.
I let time pass . . . seconds that turned into a minute. There was nothing from my husband, so I said, “Can we talk?”
More silence. More time passing. And in those moments, I came to realize how deep my husband’s anger was. Then finally, there was a slight shift of his eyes before he said, “We?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like we need to talk about anything. Seems like you took care of everything already.”
“I want to explain,” I said, knowing that I had to be patient in this situation. “I want you to know what I did and why I did it.”
Then, more passing time, more silence, nothing else from my husband. Not until I said, “Please.”
In the next second, Brock reached for the remote. And for a second, it looked like he was going to point it at me. Press exit and hope that I’d disappear. But instead, he aimed it for the television and set the sound to mute.
He said, “Speak.”
That’s it. Nothing more.
Moving with more confidence than I felt, I walked to his side of the bed, then sat on the edge. “I’m really sorry,” I said, thinking it was best to start there. “I should’ve listened to you.”
His left eyebrow rose, but he kept his silence.
“I didn’t know what to do,” I continued. “Harmony insisted that she had to talk to me because she had no one else. And then I found out that she was my soror, and then we saw Quentin and Jett . . .” I paused for a moment and took a breath. “I just felt that she had to know.”
“And why is that, Sheridan?” he asked with his lips so tight it sounded like he was growling. “Why did she have to know?”
Now I raised my eyebrow. “First of all, she asked. But secondly, if something like this were happening to you, wouldn’t you want to know?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. “The truth of it, Brock, is that I wish someone had told me. Quentin is gay and no one seems to want to talk about that.” I was getting revved up. Everyone was mad at me when, now that I thought about it, I was the only one who’d done the right thing. “And, I’m not even sure about this new story about Jett. I mean, now Jett’s married, and Quentin’s getting married, and Jett’s moved back to Los Angeles. Doesn’t this all ring strange to you?”
Forever An Ex Page 18