A Taste of Honey

by Darren Coleman

  Before I knew it a couple of hours had passed and Cameron and I were talking the way we used to in her office. She was off the record and insisted that I respond the same way. It was like a free session. We talked about the pain of my discovery in regards to my parents and about my desire to kill Kevin, which I was glad to learn was normal.

  “This was a really bad time for you to find out about Honey, I know. Just dealing with your other issues has to be incredibly tough, but you were about to marry her. So in essence, this may have been the best time.”

  I digested her words and accepted that she may have been right. “So what do I do?”

  “What do you want to do?” she asked in response. “I mean if you love her and you think you can get past it maybe you should call her.”

  “I could never forgive her. Our whole relationship was built on lies.”

  “Perhaps, but let me ask you this. Do you feel like you know why she didn’t tell you the truth from the beginning?”

  I thought about it and the answer was so easy that I imagined that Cameron was trying to set me up. “She lied so that I wouldn’t know that she was a call girl.”

  She smiled. “No, she lied so that you wouldn’t judge her for her past. You see as humans we all have secrets, things we do that we wouldn’t want to share with anyone else in the world. As time goes on, we find acceptance from ourselves and that is often so incredibly difficult. Sometimes we beat ourselves up daily over these things. Naturally we reason that if we have so much trouble accepting ourselves that there’s no way in the world someone else will accept us for who we really are or in certain cases who we were.”

  “So are you saying that I should forgive her?”

  “I’m not telling you anything except for what I’m telling you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Do you have ears?” She laughed. She stood up and said, “Khalil, I have to go. It’s getting late. I’m in a hotel room with a man who I’m slightly attracted to and who I know deep down inside is somewhat attracted to me. The thing is I know that that man is in love with someone else. Someone who has secrets just like everyone else in the world.”

  “Even you?”

  “Especially me.” She headed for the door and before she turned the handle she said, “Khalil, call me if you need me. Don’t sit in this room too much longer, it won’t help the pain, and most of all be true to yourself.” I was listening attentively. “Always remember, you can’t choose who you love. When you find that the person is bad for you, usually it’s gonna hurt. As a matter of fact, it always hurts.”

  With that she walked out of the room.

  Hours after Cameron left I stood in the shower, replaying the entire scene in my mind. The car pulling up, the window going down. “I know we haven’t met formally, but I feel like I already know you. Khalil, there are some things that you need to know about Honey. After you hear them, trust me, brother, marriage will be the last thing you want to do with her.”

  Cheron had gone on: “I told Honey that she couldn’t build a future on a lie, and that you deserved to know the truth. As much as I don’t want to admit it, Honey is evil and I know you’ve been through so much already that you don’t need to be with someone else who would deceive you about something so important.”

  I hated to admit that I had become all ears as Cheron poured out hateful gossip that was more lethal than acid. Each word destroying a piece of the love and trust that I felt for Honey.

  I questioned her motives at first but she never made an advance. It was like she was playing the role of my guardian angel.

  “I thought you were her friend. Her best friend,” was the only thing I had responded with.

  “I was. But right is right and wrong is wrong.”

  I climbed out of the shower and got dressed. My heart ached and felt as though it might stop beating at any second. I needed to see Honey. I picked up the phone to let her know that I was coming home. I got halfway through dialing the number when I heard a knock at the door.

  I hung it up and walked to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Cheron.”

  When I opened it up she walked in. “What are you doing?” I asked, shocked with her boldness.

  “I came to check on you.” I’d made the mistake of calling her from the hotel the next day for more details. She’d seemed to take pleasure in delivering as much detail as I was willing to listen to.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Really? I brought you something to help you out.” She lifted a bag of liquor and put it on the dresser. “I thought you could probably use a drink.”

  “I don’t think…” She was already popping the top and pouring the XO into a cup.

  “Plus there are some things I wanted to talk to you about.” She was talking really fast. “First I need to use the bathroom.”

  As she headed into the bathroom I realized that I wasn’t wearing anything but a towel and I needed a pair of underwear. I began digging through my bag, searching to no avail, when the door swung open. I looked at the door and she was standing there in nothing but her bra and panties.

  Cheron had to be at least five or six years older than me but her body took my breath away. She looked like one of the girls you see in King or Smooth magazine. I knew what time it was as I scanned the black-and-pink bra-and-panties set. “Cheron, what are you doing?”

  “You know exactly what I’m doing.”

  “So is this why you told me about Honey? So you could steal me from her?”

  “No, that’s not it at all,” she said as she moved toward me, hands-out. She touched my shoulders and as the sensations trickled through my body I lost my temper.

  I yelled at the top of my lungs: “Cheron, get the fuck out of my room before I kill you.” I was so angry. She had ruined my life. In that instant I wished that she’d never told me anything about Honey. For the first time I realized that staying in the dark about Honey’s secrets wouldn’t have been so bad. She’d taken an HIV test at the prenatal appointment, which came out negative, so it was a case where what I didn’t know wouldn’t have hurt me. My anger persisted. I shoved Cheron into the wall and told her for the second time to leave.

  She yelled back but sounded fearful: “I’m trying to help you out. All I did was try to look out for you. Nigga, you crazy.”

  “Nah, your ass is crazy.” Like Martin Lawrence sending Cole, Pam, or Tommy out of his crib I yelled, “Now get to stepping.” I grabbed her clothes and opened the door. I tossed them into the hall along with the liquor bottle. “Your ass ain’t a friend to anyone. You’re a snake.”

  She scrambled out into the hall and grabbed her clothes. Ten minutes later I was on my way to Honey.

  33

  HONEY

  The sound of footsteps startled me but didn’t wake me. I wasn’t asleep. I sat up in the bed as soon as I heard the sound of feet moving through the house. I reached for the light on the nightstand. I knew he’d come. I hadn’t turned the alarm on all week, anticipating seeing him again.

  When the light hit the room I saw the surprised look on his face. If it weren’t for the baby inside of me things might have gone differently. I might not have held out the hope of survival. Maybe I wouldn’t have prepared myself to go to these lengths.

  Once he saw me he began to cry. “How could you do this to me? You took everything from me. My life is over. I kept my end of the deal. I left you alone,” Priest said.

  “You told my fiancé everything. You told him what I did and he left me.”

  “What are you talking about? I did not,” he said, almost whining.

  “Why lie about it Priest? You’ve done enough lying to last a lifetime I’d think.”

  “I’m not lying. If I was going to tell I would have done it the day I saw you downtown. I’ve been overseas since the day after that. I was in town to take pictures at the Capitol with the other players who were on the U.S. National Team. We left the next day. I just came home this morning. I couldn’t have done it.�
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  I was puzzled at what he was saying. I did remember the sportscaster saying that he was unavailable for comment. He went on, “I was playing in a tournament when the story broke. Then I come home to this.” His voice was trailing off. “I come home to you ruining my life, my marriage, my career.”

  My body began to get cold. I believed him. I had always been good at reading someone’s body language and Priest was being straightforward. I sucked in air and tried to stay calm. He was sweating as he began to ramble on and on about his family and his career.

  Speaking just below a yell he said, “What am I supposed to do now? You tell me that.” He began to ramble. This made me nervous in light of the fact that he’d come to kill me. The gun he held in his hand and the black gloves he wore were a dead giveaway of his intentions.

  “Stay calm and don’t lift that,” I said. “I swear I will use this.” The Smith & Wesson that I had been aiming at his face since the second he walked into my bedroom had kept him steady up to that point. I’d purchased the gun years back and I knew how to use it. I’d learned a long time ago that there were some situations where pepper spray just wouldn’t get the job done.

  “So you gonna kill me?” he chuckled in a tone of disbelief. I don’t think he doubted for a second that I would pull the trigger. I did think that he was having a hard time accepting that his revenge would not come to pass.

  “I don’t want to but…” I stopped when we both heard the front door shut. “Who’s with you? Is your boyfriend with you?”

  “I’m alone,” he said in a panicked tone. When I heard the voice my heart began to beat again.

  I heard the familiar pattern of Khalil’s feet moving quickly up the stairs. I couldn’t believe that he had come home. He turned the corner and saw Priest standing there with the gun in his hand.

  I wanted to scream out that I had it under control but Khalil’s eyes lit up with anger and he rushed toward Priest. He didn’t move quickly enough and I watched as Priest lifted the weapon and fired three shots. They all hit Khalil.

  I wanted to scream; instead I aimed for Priest, who looked surprised at what he’d done. By the time he faced me I was squeezing the trigger. I lost track of how many times I fired, but I didn’t stop until he slid down the wall as the crimson blood began to pour from the holes I’d put in him.

  “Oh God no,” I yelled out. I ran and stepped over Priest to Khalil. “Baby, please. Don’t die. Don’t die,” I kept repeating.

  I was a flash as I ran for the phone to call 911. As I ran down to unlock the door and the gate, he was still breathing. When I got back to him, he wasn’t.

  One Year Later

  FROM HONEY TO HAILEY

  On a lovely spring morning I delivered a beautiful and healthy, seven-pound four-ounce baby boy. I named him Khalil after his father. The only sad thing about the birth of my child was that I was forced to deliver him alone in a small town in West Virginia. It was just one of those things. After a tear in the lining of my uterus, I’d begun bleeding heavily and had been transported from Alderson Federal Prison Camp to Greenbrier Valley Medical Center.

  Fortunately, I hadn’t been charged for Priest’s death, but the people at Mark-One International did their best to have me charged with blackmail. It turned out that they were paper gangsters, because the only muscle they sent after me was their lawyers. They also seemed reluctant to reveal which account they’d paid me from. I suspected that they had done a few shady things as well, because they quickly let the issue go. After wasting time and money, they found out that they had no way of tracking the money I’d received, finding it, or retrieving it. They’d wired the money to an account that no longer existed, even in Antigua, where it had been formed. At the direction of my banker on the island, I’d done like the rest of the white-collar criminals and moved the money thirty times across four continents.

  I wound up taking a plea to tax evasion, since I admitted to accepting hush money that I didn’t report. I laughed at the one-hundred-thousand-dollar fine, but I didn’t laugh at the one-year sentence I received. Nor did I find anything funny about having to go back to “Camp Cupcake,” as the women’s prison was called, while my baby went home with his father.

  Khalil survived the bullets that Priest fired into him and he stood by my side every day after that. He also put his career on hold to take care of the baby while he waited for me to come home.

  We sold the house in Annapolis after the shooting, of course. Believe it or not, people lined up to buy the house that Priest Alexander died in. I loved Khalil more each day as he would come to West Virginia and stay for a few days at a time.

  Everything seemed to work out beautifully as he was able to persuade Frannie to move temporarily to Fort Washington, into our new house. Frannie and Khalil were like new, as she got used to being a grandmother.

  In federal prison, the best anyone does with early release is doing eighty percent of whatever they’re sentenced to. With this in mind I counted down the days. Even in the worst case I’d be home by Christmas. Of course I was hoping for September.

  As was customary, Khalil and I were on the phone. “So what’s he doing?”

  “He’s about to fall asleep, it looks like. Before that he was eating and in a little while he’ll be taking a crap in his Pamper. That’s all he does.” Khalil laughed.

  “I would do anything to be there to change one of those. To be able to help you.”

  “You will soon.”

  My heart ached for my man and my baby. “I love you. I love you both so much,” I said with tears in my eyes, as usual. I talked to Khalil every day and every day I cried. Next he did the usual and prepared to put the phone to the baby’s ear.

  “Go ahead baby and sing to him.” As he placed the phone to K.J.’s ear, I began singing the words to an old-school song that one of the inmates had taught me, called “Sukiyaki”:

  If only you were here,

  you’d wash away my tears.

  Khalil said, “Keep singing. He’s smiling.”

  It was a rough beginning for our son, having to break out of jail just to bust out of his mother’s womb. But even though it’d started like this, I swore K.J. would have everything that both his father and I didn’t. I promised to myself. Most important, he’d have love and he’d be protected.

  Even though I wasn’t there with him every day, I gave all that I could, and that would have to hold him over until I made it home. I didn’t stop singing for three or four minutes. By the time I stopped, Khalil whispered, “He’s asleep, Honey. I’m going to go put him in the crib.”

  “Okay.”

  “Khalil,” I said in a whisper. “Thank you for giving me another chance. Thank you for saving my life. You might not know it, but you save my life every single day.”

  “You’re welcome, Hailey.”

  We hung up and I went to my bunk, where I drifted off to sleep for the first time daring to dream about a happy ending.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First I want to thank my readers and fans, old and new. Your support and e-mails mean the world to me. I don’t know about other authors, but I am truly humbled by all the love.

  Next I want to thank the entire Amistad staff, especially Dawn Davis and Christina Morgan, for your patience and dedication. Also, Gilda Squire, Laura Klynstra, Bryan Christian, Michael Morrison, and all the other members of the Harper family who helped bring my books to fruition.

  A few special friends have been instrumental in all of my projects. First off, Rockelle Henderson; I’ll miss you as a colleague but I’ll have you as a friend for life. You have been a godsend from day one. Kelli Martin, you never forget your first…editor. Again, Joy King, love you for life. Enid Pinner, Chad Cunningham, Derek Lowe, Sheryl Hicks, test readers from the past, I credit you with helping me get to the present. Gina Blake, thanks for your help and for all the good energy. You popped into my life just when I needed you. Stick around.

  To all my friends, family, and readers who’ve lent
a hand in promoting my work, I thank you. If I named you all, the acknowledgments would be longer than the book. Please…you know who you are. Some of you I can’t get anything done without: Tressa Smallwood, Yolanda Johnson, Lynn Thomas, Tamara Cooke, and Tracye Stafford. Shaka, get ready for one more run! A heartfelt thanks to DeWright Johnson Jr. We may have lost the connection, but the love remains. I always hear you, even when you think I don’t. I’ll be back, but until then, I wish you nothing but the best. To my man, Eyone Williams, just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll get where you’re trying to go. Dannette Majette, so full of energy, you are one of a kind. Much success to you.

  To Karibu Books, my family and my home from the very beginning, thank you for the support. Shout out to my special deejays, Justine Love and Todd B on WPGC. Also much love to Michel Wright and Natalie Case. Thanks to all the black-owned bookstores fighting the good fight across the nation. I also have to acknowledge the African-American buyers at the chains, who have supported me from day one. At the top of the list, Sean Bentley, thank you.

  As always, I have to thank my mother for her support and help with my most precious commodity, my son. Thanks for letting me get those sixteen-hour days in. I needed them.

  Although this book is not an exercise in my spirituality as far as the content goes, still, I must thank God for the air I breathe, this gift of life, and allowing me to complete this task. Many people will write me and tell me that they love my work or that they think I’m great—not being conceited, just being real. For those thoughts I truly am thankful, but I’ll take no glory for the stories I create, this career, or for even becoming published. My life has been just as much a miracle as a work in progress. I am nothing without HIM.