The vision of Quentin in their bedroom, explaining why life had to be this way, returned to her mind, and she was surprised when fresh tears pushed from behind her eyes.
What was she supposed to say to her children? What would life be like for them once this news got out? Why did Quentin leave? What did she do? She sniffed back her tears. Crying wasn’t giving her the answers. She needed to go to the source. Find out from Quentin what she’d done, how she could fix it now and bring him home. She looked at the clock. In a few hours, Quentin would call, she was sure of it. And they’d talk then. She took a deep breath. She could make things right. By this time tomorrow, her husband could be back where he belonged.
The black machine stayed quiet, as if it were punishing her with its stubborn silence. It was after ten and Sheridan couldn’t believe Quentin hadn’t called. He hadn’t called to check on her or the children. He hadn’t called to tell her he’d made a terrible mistake. He hadn’t called to say he was coming home.
She grabbed the telephone and punched numbers into the handset. She tried to control her breathing as the telephone on the other end rang. After two rings, it was answered.
“Hey, girl, I was just going to call you,” Kamora said. “I’ve gotta tell you about this bozo I had dinner with last night. The love handles on this guy were thicker than twenty-two-inch tires.”
Sheridan couldn’t find her laughter. “Do you have time for your best friend?” she asked with tears in her voice.
“What’s wrong?” Kamora’s cheer was gone.
That question released the floodgates. “Kamora, you’re never going to believe…” Sheridan paused through her sobs. This would be the first time she’d say it aloud to someone other than her reflection. But if she didn’t let it out, she’d burst.
“What’s wrong?” Kamora repeated with urgency.
“Quentin…”
“You’re scaring me,” her childhood friend cried. “He wasn’t in an accident, was he?”
Sheridan almost wished it was something like that. An accident. Something simple. Something she could fix. Something she could understand.
“No, Quentin’s fine, but still, can you come over?”
“Is Quentin home?”
“No,” she managed to say through the cries that rose from her center. Her husband would never be home again.
“Give me fifteen minutes.”
Ten minutes later, Kamora stood at the front door, with a shopping bag in her hand.
“What’s that?” Sheridan asked, still wiping water from her eyes.
Kamora held up the brown bag. “Some wine, girl. Three bottles. The way you sounded, I knew you needed something.”
“I don’t drink,” Sheridan whispered as she closed the front door and led Kamora up the stairs to her bedroom.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Kamora hissed. “But even Jesus understood the importance of wine in serious situations. Girl, why do you think his first miracle was changing some ghastly well water into one of life’s finest liquids?” She held up one of the bottles, then used her foot to close the bedroom door behind her. “Anyway, this is plum wine. There’s more plum than wine in this.”
Sheridan wanted to laugh, but instead the tears came again, and she wondered if this emotional hydrant would ever drain completely.
“Sweetie,” Kamora said, resting the bottles on the nightstand. She wrapped her arms around Sheridan. “What’s wrong?”
Sheridan sniffed. “You’re never going to believe this.”
Painful seconds passed as this morning’s episode played itself out for the thousandth time in her mind.
Sheridan sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed her hands together. She didn’t want to say it, but at the same time she couldn’t wait to put the words out there. “Quentin left me.”
“What?” Kamora exclaimed as she knelt in front of her friend. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“Why would he leave you? This doesn’t make sense.”
Sheridan looked at Kamora, and her tears spoke for her.
“He left you for someone else?” Kamora whispered.
Sheridan nodded.
“Oh, my God. I cannot believe this.” Kamora stood and paced. “Not Quentin Hart, Hope Chapel’s Man of the Year. How could he do this?” She paused. “Sheridan, why didn’t you tell me you guys were having problems?”
“I didn’t know.”
Kamora sat next to Sheridan and squeezed her friend’s hands. She took a deep breath. “Are you sure, sweetie? I’ve heard every wife knows when her husband is seeing another woman.”
“But what about when he’s seeing another man?”
Kamora frowned, then paused, then smiled. “Oh, okay. I’ve gotta give you your props, girl. In the middle of all of this you still got jokes.”
When Sheridan stayed silent and stared unsmilingly, her hands slipped from Kamora’s grasp. Kamora’s copper skin almost paled to pink, and she squinted as her eyes searched the room. “Where’s the wine?”
“Let me get some glasses.”
Sheridan stood, but Kamora pushed her back onto the bed. “No need for glasses, honey. This kind of news deserves wine straight from the bottle.” She twisted the top off one of the bottles, turned it upside down, and swallowed a long gulp. She opened another one and handed it to Sheridan.
“Okay,” Kamora began as she slipped to the floor and leaned against the wall, “I’m ready.”
Sheridan was surprised at her calmness as she lay across the bed, sipped wine, and unfolded the story, talking without pause for almost thirty minutes. It was easier than she thought. After all, as she spoke, she realized this couldn’t be her life. She was living these moments for someone else, and when she awakened, she and Quentin would have a good chuckle.
“And when he told me it was a man, I hit him,” Sheridan said.
Kamora laughed.
Sheridan said, “Knocked him to the floor with one of my best Billy Blanks moves.”
“Aren’t you glad I made you take that class?”
Sheridan nodded. “And I haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet.”
Kamora frowned. “There’s more? Wait.” She turned her bottle of wine upside down, emptied what was left into her system, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Go,” she said, signaling Sheridan to continue.
“It’s Jett Jennings.”
Kamora frowned. “What’s Jett Jennings?”
Sheridan sat up on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest. She took another sip of wine, and waited for Kamora to understand.
A moment later, Kamora’s eyes widened. She crawled toward the bed, with her empty bottle in her hand, and then climbed up to sit next to Sheridan. “Your superfine husband is kicking it with that giga-gorgeous man?”
Sheridan nodded. “But I think it’s more than kicking it. Quentin said they’re in love.”
“I didn’t know Jett was gay. Man.” Kamora shook her head as if she was trying to get this news to go down as well as the wine. “But then again, I didn’t know Quentin was gay either.”
When Sheridan flinched, Kamora said, “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. This is just a little too much to take.”
“Tell me about it.”
Still shaking her head, Kamora said, “Remember when I told you all I wanted in life was to marry that man? When I met him at your Christmas party last year, I was willing to take my last breath if God would bless me and let me be with him just once.” Kamora paused and fanned herself as if her body temperature had risen. “Whew! He was so fine I wanted to eat him with a spoon. I even started watching golf because of the brotha. I was going to do anything to make him my husband. But I couldn’t get him to look twice at me.”
“Now you know why.” Sheridan took another sip. “But it’s a good thing he wasn’t searching for a wife so that he could hide in the closet, you know? I mean, can you imagine what would have happened if you had married him? Both of us would be sitting he
re tonight drinking wine.” She paused. “Wait a minute. That’s what we’re doing anyway, huh?”
Kamora giggled and bounced back on the bed. But her laughter was soon gone. “Sheridan, this is some serious stuff.”
“I know.”
Kamora sat up. “What about the kids? What did Chris and Tori say?”
“Do you think I told them?” Sheridan shook her head. She had to take another sip at the thought of her children. “They think Quentin is away on a business trip. I couldn’t handle telling them yet.”
“I hear you. Girl, this is grown folks’ business. I don’t know how you’re going to tell those babies.” Kamora paused. “Chris is going to flip.”
Sheridan took a sip of wine.
Kamora continued, “He’s going to get the business once this news gets out.”
This time it was two sips that Sheridan took from her bottle.
“And poor Tori,” Kamora sniffed. “That little girl is going to be heartbroken.” She was almost crying now. “How are your children going to handle this?” Kamora wailed.
Sheridan turned up the bottle and swallowed until the liquid burned her throat. “You know,” she began, needing to talk about something other than her children, “I used to worry about Quentin leaving me for one of his patients.”
“I remember,” Kamora slurred.
“But when he didn’t after the first few years, I got comfortable.”
“As well you should.” Kamora hiccuped. “He was faithful to you for all those years, girl.”
Sheridan frowned when her friend lifted her empty bottle to her lips. She said, “Still, it was hard at first. I didn’t exhale until Quentin walked through the door every night. But I never thought it would be as bad as this. I thought the worst thing would be if Quentin left me for a white woman.”
“Girl, I hear you. That would’ve been awful.” Kamora licked the lip of her empty wine bottle. “But look at it this way. This could have been way worse.”
“I don’t know how,” Sheridan cried.
“Quentin could have left you for a white man.”
Sheridan squinted, as she pondered Kamora’s words. Then she chuckled. Then she giggled. Then she laughed. Kamora joined her, and their laughter turned hysterical. They laughed until tears came and their watery eyes reminded Sheridan of her pain. Kamora felt it too, and they cried.
“Kamora, what am I going to do? My husband is gay. A homosexual.”
“I don’t know…”
Sheridan frowned and lifted her finger to her mouth, signaling for Kamora to be quiet.
“What’s the matter?” Kamora’s whisper sounded like a roar.
“I heard something.” Sheridan stood and wobbled a bit before she eased toward her door. She straightened her back and peeked into the hallway. Her master bedroom was at one end of the second floor, more than fifty feet away from the other bedrooms.
She stepped into the dark and glanced at Tori’s, then Christopher’s door. It looked as if the lights were out in both bedrooms.
When she returned inside, Kamora asked, “What was it?”
Sheridan shrugged. “I thought I heard something.” She flopped onto her bed. “But it was wishful thinking. I wish I heard Quentin coming home.” Her tears returned. “Kamora, how could I love a man for seventeen years and not know that everything he’s said to me is a lie?”
Kamora cried with her. “Girl, Quentin lied to all of us.”
Sheridan paused. Would her parents and the rest of her family and friends feel as cheated as she did? “What am I going to say? How am I going to explain this?”
“There are no words.” Kamora sniffed as she opened the last bottle of wine.
“And what about church?”
Kamora frowned as she took a sip from the new bottle. “What about church?”
“How am I supposed to go back there? You know the news will leak out, and then…”
“Yeah, you know how church folk can be. Maybe…” Kamora stopped.
“Maybe what?”
Kamora shrugged. “Maybe you should find a new church home. You could always start going with me, but really I think you’re going to be all right,” she said. “You know why?”
Sheridan shook her head, wishing the pain—in her heart and in her head—would go away.
“Because God is going to help you through.”
Sheridan looked at the wine bottle sitting on her nightstand. Her bottle looked empty. “I don’t think God is too happy with me right now.”
“Honey, what Quentin has done is not your fault.”
Whose fault is it? Sheridan wondered. But she kept her questions to herself.
“You should go home so we don’t wake the kids.”
Kamora stared at her for a moment. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not. Thanks for coming over and supporting me.”
“This is just what we do.”
Sheridan wondered why her friend was screaming.
Kamora grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled herself up, still balancing the bottle of wine in her hand. But when she stood, she wobbled.
Sheridan frowned. “Maybe you should stay here.”
“You don’t think I’ll make it home?” But before Sheridan could answer, Kamora glanced at herself in the mirror. “Oh, no,” she said. “Ssshhh.” She put her finger over her mouth. “Don’t wake the kids.”
Sheridan wanted to tell Kamora that she was the one being loud. But her aches—more mental than physical—kept her silent. Sheridan opened the door and peeped into the hallway. When she was sure it was clear, she said to Kamora, “You know where everything is.”
“Some host you are,” she said, handing Sheridan the last bottle of wine.
Sheridan waited until Kamora tiptoed down the long hallway and then closed the door to the guest bedroom. Alone, she looked down at the sweat suit she’d worn all day, then pushed away the comforter on the bed before she slipped between the sheets. She turned off the light but, a moment later, turned it back on—the way she did when Quentin was working late. She wanted her husband to know that even as she slept, she was always waiting for him.
Sheridan lay back and stared into the space. She tried to capture every relevant moment of her life with Quentin—the way they lived and loved, laughed and cried. It hadn’t always been easy, but it had almost always been wonderful. No matter what was going on in life, she knew she always had God and Quentin. There was no place she had to go in this world without her husband. He was her protector, her security, her strength.
She held up her hand and watched her diamond wedding band sparkle in the bedroom light. She had just had the ring cleaned; it had been Quentin’s idea when they’d been shopping two days before Christmas.
“I want your ring to shine as bright as the love I have for you that’s inside of me.”
Her husband had never left any doubt that his heart was filled with love. She just hadn’t known—until today—that his devotion was not meant for her.
What did I do, Quentin?
She twisted the band, removing it from her finger, swallowing her emotions.
She fondled the ring between her thumb and forefinger and then tucked the wedding band under her pillow. When she closed her eyes, stubborn tears, refusing to obey her command to stay away, seeped through her lids. She sat up and took a long swallow of the still half-filled bottle of wine. Then she turned off the light. And when she closed her eyes, she slept.
Chapter Three
Someone was tap-dancing on top of her head.
“Mom.”
Now the stilettos were stabbing holes through her skin.
“Mom.”
The pain deepened as Sheridan struggled to open her eyes. When the morning light accosted her, Sheridan slammed her eyes shut.
“Mom, are you all right?”
She forced her eyelids apart. With the little strength she had in her arms, Sheridan pushed herself up. “Chris, is something wrong?”
He frowne
d as if those weren’t the words he expected. “I was going to ask you that. Why are you still in bed? Are you sick?”
She glanced at the clock, frowned, and then asked herself the same questions. But as she slipped her legs from under the covers, yesterday’s memory rushed to her consciousness. And then her head pounded. “I was up late last night, Chris,” Sheridan explained as she tried to massage the pain from her head. “I was working.”
“I heard you and Aunt Kamora.” He paused and lowered his head. “Was she helping you with something?” he asked without looking at his mother.
Sheridan glanced at her son and frowned. Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“Was Aunt Kamora helping you with something?” he repeated, still keeping his eyes away from her.
“Yes.” She wanted to say more, tell more lies about something wonderful that she and Kamora had been doing.
“Okay. Go back to sleep; I’ll get Tori ready.”
“But I need to fix breakfast.” This time she moved her legs gingerly, but the pain stayed with her. Her temple throbbed, threatening to push her back onto the bed.
“I’ll fix Tori some cereal and you can go back to sleep. You look…tired.”
She wanted to protest. Assure her son that she could take care of him and Tori. But then she thought of Quentin.
“Okay,” Sheridan said, laying the comforter over her body with as much gentleness as she could. “I’ll be here when you get home.”
Her eyes were closed before Christopher stepped out of the room. She had to sleep to forget the wine. To forget Quentin.
But the dancing on her head began again, and moments passed before she realized that the assault was external. She grabbed the ringing telephone.
“Quentin?” she whispered as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Sheridan.”
The urgency in her mother’s voice overrode the throbbing in her head. Her eyes opened. “Mom?”
“Honey, I need to speak to you.”
Sheridan couldn’t believe it. How did her mother find out about Quentin already? Impossible. But then she remembered how when she was a child her mother knew everything. Growing up, she was convinced that God tattled on her. But she thought God had long ago stopped that. He was supposed to be on her side—especially now.
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