Then he was gone.
But the joy she’d carried when she entered the restaurant was gone as well. The dinner was sad. The dinner was over. And they’d never return to Carousels as husband and wife.
Carousels had been their favorite restaurant for most of their married life. She remembered their first time there; it was the day they’d signed the papers making them homeowners.
“Oh, Quentin, this is too much,” she’d exclaimed when she saw the model for their View Park home. “What are we going to do with five bedrooms?”
“Fill them with beautiful children who look like you.” He had laughed at the look of horror on her face. “Okay, so we’ll be satisfied with the two wonderful children we have. But don’t worry about the bedrooms. After Christopher and Tori have their own, that only leaves two. And I figure we’re going to need a guest bedroom, and a library, and a gym, and an office.” He held his hand up to his forehead. “I think we need a bigger house.”
She’d laughed. “Okay, I’m convinced,” she said, even though the burden of being homeowners overwhelmed her.
When they signed the mortgage papers, she’d almost cried. “Do you know what our payments are going to be?”
“Sheridan,” he began as he wrapped his arms around her, “you’re a doctor’s wife. We can afford this.”
Sheridan knew Quentin’s words were right. Still she wondered why they couldn’t wait until there was more money in their savings. But money in the bank didn’t matter as much to Quentin as it did to her. He had to be a doctor. It was one of the few professions that would support the life he was determined to live.
“Let’s celebrate,” he’d said that day as he helped her into their new Range Rover.
She shook her head. “I need to get home. Mom’s watching Tori, and Chris will be home from school soon.”
“Don’t worry about the children.”
She cocked her head and said, “I thought buying the house was crazy, but I know you’ve lost your mind now. There are two children at our home waiting for their mother.”
“Not tonight. Your parents agreed to take them. We’re not even going home.”
It took her a moment to settle into the idea of an evening alone with her husband. “Where are we going?”
“I found a new restaurant, Carousels. I’ve been dying to go there. And then, I got us a room at the Hilton at Universal Studios.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, it’s not Maui, but we’ll get there.” He grinned. “In the meantime, we’re going to have a blast at the Hilton.”
“I didn’t pack a bag. I don’t have any clothes.”
“The plans I have for you don’t call for any clothes.” He kissed her gently.
She’d moaned with love, and then spent two of the most glorious days with her husband, starting at Carousels and finishing on the balcony of their twenty-fourth-floor hotel room overlooking the Hollywood Hills.
It had been a wonderful time, but just another entry into the catalogue of all the blissful moments they had shared.
A car honked, and Sheridan jumped before she looked in her rearview mirror. She wondered how long she’d been sitting at the light, remembering what life had been.
“That’s the end of it for me,” she said as she sped onto the freeway. “I’m tired of remembering. Now it’s time for me to forget.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sheridan took a breath before she slammed the car door. A week had passed since she’d promised Quentin that she’d speak to Christopher. But as the days went by, she’d said nothing to her son. It was difficult enough, just trying to find comfort in their new life. And she’d hoped that time would bring forgiveness to Christopher’s heart. But the passing of time did little to soften him. Each night when Quentin called, Tori ran to the telephone; Christopher stomped away.
Last night, when she insisted he talk to his father, Christopher had yelled, “I’m never talking to him again.” He’d slammed his bedroom door. “I don’t care if you put me on punishment for the rest of my life.”
Quentin had heard his son’s words and told Sheridan, “This can’t go on.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Sheridan had said.
In his sigh, she heard Quentin’s doubt, but in this case, she was on his side. As angry, as saddened, as frustrated as she was with the situation, she still wanted her children to have a relationship with their father.
Sheridan walked across the grass toward the clubhouse where Christopher’s golf team held practices twice a month. This morning, she’d decided this would be the perfect day to have this talk. Tori was spending the afternoon with her friend Joy after dance practice. So Sheridan was free to take Christopher to lunch, pack his favorite foods into his belly, and then convince him that he should give up the fight of hating his father.
Sheridan opened the clubhouse door and Darryl walked out before she stepped inside.
“Hi,” she greeted Christopher’s best friend.
He grinned. “Hey, Ms. Hart.”
“Where’s Christopher?”
Darryl’s smile left and he glanced at the boy next to him. “Christopher?” He said his name as if he had no idea who she was asking about.
Sheridan laughed. Teenagers. “Yes, remember my son? I came to pick him up.”
This time, Darryl’s glance went to the ground. “Uh, he’s not here, Ms. Hart.”
“Did he leave already?”
“Ms. Hart.”
Sheridan turned toward the voice and smiled as Coach Matthews moved toward her. When she glanced over her shoulder, Darryl and the other young man were gone.
“Ms. Hart, how are you?” Coach Matthews said.
“Just fine. I came to pick up Chris.”
The coach frowned. “Chris isn’t here.”
“I know, Darryl just told me. Can’t believe I missed him. Anyway, how’s he doing? He hasn’t mentioned the father-son tournament recently. Is it still going on?”
The coach’s frown deepened. “Ms. Hart, Chris quit the team last week.”
“What?”
“Told me he didn’t want to play anymore.”
“No way.”
The coach nodded. “I was shocked. You know, he was our best and was getting better each year.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have called you and Dr. Hart. I was just sure he’d discussed this with you.”
“He didn’t say a word.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hart.”
She waved her hand as she turned to the door. “No problem. I’ll talk to Chris when I get home.”
“We’d love to have him back,” the coach said before Sheridan stepped outside and rushed to her car.
Coach Matthews’s words swirled inside her. Christopher had quit. Left his favorite sport. Stopped playing the game he loved—the hobby he shared with his father.
Sheridan turned her car into her subdivision and wondered where her son was. He’d walked out the door this morning. With his golf clubs. Said he’d be home before three.
As she eased her car past the tennis courts, the sound of cheers made her turn. To the left were the basketball courts. She slowed the car and squinted. Stopped and stared for long minutes. She got out of the car as Christopher dribbled the basketball down the court, pulled back at the free throw line, then shot the ball. It swished right through, barely touching the net. Young men swarmed around him, giving high fives, and a group of young girls cheered from the benches.
“Christopher,” she yelled. Several heads turned, but not her son’s. She called his name again. Even from sixty feet away, she could see his surprise. She waited as he gathered his clubs, said good-bye to the other players, stopped to hug one of the girls, then strolled toward her.
Her forehead creased into a deep frown. What was he wearing? It looked like a stocking cap, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Hey, Mom. What are you doing here?”
She couldn’t believe his question, but it was what he wore that had her attention.<
br />
“Christopher, what is that on your head?”
He grinned and patted the silk material. “It’s a do-rag.”
“A do-what?”
He repeated the word as if she should know. “It keeps my hair in place. Makes it look good.”
She wanted to tell him he didn’t have any hair—they kept his hair cut so short he was almost bald. But even if he had a six-inch Afro, she wasn’t about to allow one of her children to prance around in public wearing a stocking cap. “Take that thing off,” she demanded.
“But, Mom,” he whispered and then looked over his shoulder as if he was afraid someone was watching.
“Take it off,” she said again. “Or I’ll take it off for you.” He did as she ordered. “Now, what are you doing here?”
A moment of silence and then, “I decided to play ball today instead of going to golf.”
She almost waited to see what other lies he would tell, but instead she said, “I just saw Coach Matthews.”
The grin left his face.
“Get in the car,” she said, turning back to the SUV.
“I’ll walk home.”
“Get in the car.”
He dumped his clubs in the back seat and then jumped inside. “Mom, before you go off, I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s not like I need golf to graduate or anything.”
“It’s not about that, Christopher. It’s about the fact that you lied.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You told me you were going to golf practice this morning.”
“No, I just said I was leaving. And I did leave. So, I didn’t lie.”
She wanted to slap him. Slap him for being so smart, and for trying to get technical with her. Slap him for being so stupid, hanging out just blocks from his home.
He continued, “I said I was leaving and would be back by three. Remember?”
“You had your golf clubs with you, Christopher. You go to practice every other Saturday with the team.”
“But I didn’t tell you I was going to practice.”
She took a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d quit the team?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
She gripped the steering wheel. “Christopher,” she said, her voice rising with anger. “I’m tired of this game. You know that when you left this morning I thought you were going to practice. Just like you knew I wouldn’t ask if you quit the team. Why would I ask that?”
When he stayed silent, she said, “You’ve been lying, Christopher.” She held up her hand when he began his protest. “You’ve been lying with your actions and you know it.”
She stopped the car in front of their house, but neither got out. “Why did you quit the team?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t want to play anymore.”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”
He started out the window. “I don’t feel like playing anymore.”
“Because of your father?”
He finally turned to her. “I don’t have a father.”
She sighed. “I’m so tired of you saying that.”
“I don’t know why. Last week, you told me you understood what I was feeling. But this week, every time he calls, you act as if it’s okay and I don’t get it.”
“I do understand how you’re feeling, but what I understand more is that it wasn’t doing any good holding on to my anger. I was miserable.”
“Dad made you that way.”
“Initially, yes. But it was my choice to hang on to it or let it go. And I feel better letting the anger go.”
He was silent for a moment. “Well, I’m not angry anymore either.”
She exhaled, relieved.
Christopher said, “I just don’t want to have anything to do with him.”
Her relief was gone. “We really need to talk about this. I had planned on us having lunch—”
“I’m not hungry and there’s nothing to talk about.” He looked straight ahead, staring through the windshield, punishing her for deserting him and his anger.
She thought about dragging him to a restaurant anyway. Food could certainly change his mood. But then on the other side, there was nothing more wretched than spending time with a miserable teenager.
“Okay, go inside, but don’t leave this house before I get back.”
He looked at her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get something to eat.”
“You’re going without me?”
“You can still go with me.”
He shook his head, jumped from the car, grabbed his clubs, and then glared at her.
She pulled the car from the driveway and didn’t look back. Didn’t want to see the pain on her son’s face. The pain she understood. The pain she agreed with.
But she couldn’t tell him that. She had to do everything she could to get Christopher to lose his anger. Rage made you do ridiculous things—like quit a sport you loved. And Sheridan didn’t even want to imagine what other kinds of behavior could come from an angry sixteen-year-old. She had to do something. Had to do something to save her son. The challenge was, she had no idea what to do.
Chapter Fourteen
“Mom, I’m really worried about Christopher,” Sheridan said as she leaned back on her bed. As she spoke, her hands stroked the pillow where Quentin had laid his head just three weeks before.
“Honey, you have to give him some time. This is hard on Chris. He’ll come around.”
There had never been an issue in life where her mother couldn’t reassure her, but Sheridan doubted her mother’s assurances this time. For days she’d felt as if she were sitting on a ticking time bomb.
The feelings had started the previous Saturday when she found Christopher on the basketball court. For the next few days he’d hardly spoken, and he kept his promise never to speak to his father, even though Quentin called every night.
“I know this will pass,” Beatrice continued, breaking through Sheridan’s recollections.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Her father’s voice boomed through the line.
“Daddy, I didn’t know you were on the phone.”
“I know you didn’t. I couldn’t get a word in between you and your mother.”
“Sheridan, don’t listen to him. If your father had anything to say, we would have heard his one cent by now.”
“See how she is, Sheridan? Your mother didn’t even give me credit for two cents.”
Sheridan chuckled. No matter what was going on, her parents never lost their joy. “Daddy, how’re you feeling?”
“Great. I had another blood test today and the radiation is working—at least that’s what my PSA results say. I could have told the doctors I was getting better. I didn’t need a test. But I let the doctors do what they have to do. Anyway, let’s get back to Chris. Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No, I’m trying to give him the space and time he needs. Maybe in a few days.”
“I agree with Beatrice. Chris’ll be fine. He’s sixteen. His job is to make us all miserable. Don’t you remember your brother?”
Sheridan laughed. “That’s true, but I’m worried because I don’t think this is just Chris acting out. He’s really hurt.”
“Maybe Pastor Ford can talk to him,” Beatrice said. “Have you talked to her yet?”
“No,” Sheridan said, although she had no intentions of that happening. Although she loved her pastor, she couldn’t face her with this news. At least not yet. “I’ll wait a few more days. Quentin will probably come by to see him.”
“Speaking of Quentin, sweetheart, he called us this morning.” Beatrice almost sounded apologetic.
Sheridan jumped from the bed. “He did?” She didn’t know why she was so surprised. He’d always been close to her parents. Maybe the real surprise was that he hadn’t called before. “What did he say?”
Cameron said, “Wanted me to know that he was thinking about and praying for me. Said he wanted to come b
y in a few days.”
Beatrice added, “He told us that he loved us, just like he loved you and the children. He didn’t want us to doubt that.”
Cameron’s turn: “And he apologized. Said he never wanted to hurt you.”
“What did you guys say?”
Cameron chuckled. “Not much. Your mother answered the phone, and she was so shocked her tongue didn’t move. It was a first.”
“Well, I didn’t hear you saying too much.” Beatrice tried to be serious, but in seconds she was chuckling with her husband. “Sheridan, when we got off the phone, Cameron and I agreed we need to get one of those new telephones with that caller ID. I don’t want to be caught off guard like that again.”
Beatrice and Cameron laughed, but Sheridan didn’t. It seemed to take a moment for her mother to notice.
“Sheridan, are you all right?” Beatrice asked, turning serious.
At the window Sheridan watched as a black Lincoln Navigator with tinted windows pulled up in front of her home. Even through the closed windows, she could hear the beat of the blasting music’s bass.
The SUV’s back door opened and Christopher jumped out. A young girl followed with a skirt so short Sheridan knew it couldn’t have cost more than two dollars. There was hardly any fabric at all.
Who are those kids? “Mom, Dad, I have to go. Chris just got home.”
“Okay, dear, call us tomorrow.”
Sheridan hung up and ran down the stairs. She peered through the living room window.
The girl leaned against the back of the SUV and her skirt rose high; now Sheridan was sure she could see the child’s underwear. As he moved to the back of the truck to talk to her, Christopher’s grin was wide. The girl seemed to be doing all the talking, and Sheridan resisted the urge to rush outside and cover her son’s ears.
But she stayed in place, too shocked to move. When the girl stood on her toes and kissed Christopher’s cheek, Sheridan’s daze dissipated and she rushed to the front door. No one seemed to notice her standing there as the girl climbed into the back of the Navigator, waved, and then the truck took off like it was on a speedway.
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