Back to Your Love

by Kianna Alexander

  He recoiled. How could she have kept this from him? With the election just days away, this was the last thing he needed. “Imani,” he murmured.

  Her head down, she wiped at the tears that splashed down the front of her robe now. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I was ashamed.”

  He didn’t speak, just stared at his hands resting in his lap.

  “I knew you would react like this. I tried to tell you to stay away from me.” She turned her back to him.

  “If it really was an assault, why would you keep it from me so long?” He didn’t bother to hide the disbelief from his tone. He looked up, and she spun back to face him again.

  She blinked rapidly, appearing stung by his words. “What are you saying? You don’t believe me?”

  He shrugged, his jaw tight. “I don’t really know what to believe, Imani.”

  Her eyes hardened. “I don’t believe this. You have no right to accuse me of anything. I tried to warn you off, but you wouldn’t listen!”

  Never in his life had he felt so duped, so betrayed. His cold, distant gaze met hers. “You won’t have to worry about me bothering you anymore.” He stood up, grabbed his suit jacket from the back of a nearby chair, and stalked toward the door.

  She didn’t follow him. When he looked back, he saw her lying over the arm of the sofa, weeping.

  Anger flared within him, warring with a deep sense of betrayal. Unable to put his feelings into words, he knew there was nothing left for him to do but make his exit. He left her apartment and didn’t bother to say good-bye.

  As he drove away, at first not even knowing his destination, he cursed a blue streak. His mother would undoubtedly faint if she could hear the obscenities pouring from his mouth like a waterfall. He could not believe Imani and her deceitful ways. He’d just made love to her, for God’s sake. How could she hurt him this way after what they’d shared?

  This was not the sweet, innocent Imani he knew. He’d always loved the virtue in her, the upright and elegant way she carried herself. But now, his perception of her had been tainted by the harsh reality of her secret. Never, not in ten lifetimes, would he have thought she was that kind of girl.

  He had to go home. He wanted a drink, but Imani had already endangered his campaign, and he wasn’t about to make matters worse with public drunkenness.

  He made his way home on autopilot, taking the turns that had become second nature to him without much thought. When he pulled into the driveway of his modest one-story home just off of Oberlin Road, he got out of the car and trudged inside.

  Xavier tossed his jacket over the back of his brown sofa and walked straight to the tall wooden cabinet occupying a corner of his living room. He extracted a humidor, then opened it to select one of the fine cigars inside. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d smoked one, but something about the spicy bite of the aged tobacco seemed to calm his nerves. A compartment of the humidor held a book of matches and a stainless steel cutter. Flopping down on the couch, he used his cutter to snip the end of the cigar, then lit it. The first draw made him cough a bit. Soon he relaxed into a comfortable position and tried to let thoughts of Imani float away from his mind like the curling smoke rising above him.

  He’d just begun to get into the cigar’s complex flavor when his cell phone vibrated on his hip. He slid it out of his pocket and demanded, “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Hello, Mr. Whitted.” The voice on the other end belonged to Aaron Givens.

  “How did you get my private number, you prick?” He waited for an answer.

  In response, Givens snorted. “Easily. I have my ways.”

  “What do you want?” He was in no mood to talk to the old blowhard, but he’d already answered the call. He wondered why he never looked at the damn caller ID.

  “I’m just checking in with you. Have you been reading the paper lately?”

  Xavier could detect the note of condescension in Givens’s voice. “What’s your point?”

  Givens chuckled. “I’m offering you a little friendly advice. Drop out of the race, before you embarrass yourself.” He paused for a moment. “Ms. Grant has quite a past, and the word is out now.”

  Anger sprouted anew, and Xavier wanted to punch something. Was this asshole threatening him? “Save it, Givens. I’m not dropping out of the race.”

  On the other end of the line, Givens sputtered “You’ll regret this!” and disconnected the call.

  Tossing his cell phone aside, Xavier took another long puff from the cigar. When he’d smoked his fill, which was only about halfway down the cigar’s shaft, he extinguished it in the metal ashtray on his side table. Exhaling the last curl of smoke, he let his head drop back on the pillows behind him.

  Before he’d let Imani seep back into his heart, he’d never had to go through things like this. The presence of the lit cigar in his hand spoke volumes about his stress level.

  He told himself that it didn’t matter, that he was through chasing after Imani.

  But a part of him knew that when it came to the two of them, it was never really over.

  Xavier didn’t realize he’d drifted off until a loud banging on the front door startled him. Grumbling, he got to his feet and stumbled in that direction, shouting, “Who the hell is it?”

  “Max and Tyrone, man,” came Tyrone’s reply.

  Xavier flung the door open, leaning on it for support. “What are y’all doin’ here, banging on my door like the police?” He’d been just starting to get into his impromptu nap, and he hadn’t appreciated the loud knocking.

  Maxwell, dressed in a brown designer suit, stepped past him into the house. “We were supposed to have a poker game.” He looked his friend up and down. “Man, it smells like a cigar shop in here.”

  “I know. I had one a while ago.” Xavier gestured toward the remains of the cigar resting in the ashtray.

  Tyrone closed the door behind them as he slipped out of his black trench coat, revealing the navy suit beneath. Waving a hand in front of his face, he wrinkled his nose. “Damn. Are you sure you only smoked one?”

  “The smell lingers.” Xavier shrugged. He was a grown man in his own house, and he’d do as he pleased.

  “X, I haven’t seen you smoke in years.” Tyrone’s voice held a mix of irritation and concern. “What the hell is going on with you?”

  “Imani.” His tone was bitter as he said her name. He dropped down onto the couch again, reached for the still-open humidor. Maxwell pulled it away.

  “Oh, no,” Maxwell insisted. “You know I hate the smell of those damn things.” He punctuated his complaint with a couple of fake coughs.

  Xavier rolled his eyes but closed the humidor. After returning it to the cabinet, he sat down on the couch again.

  Tyrone took a seat on the love seat across from them. “So I’m guessing you read the article.” His brow furrowed.

  “Yeah, T.” Xavier rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We made love, and now I find this out.”

  Maxwell’s brow hitched in confusion. “What are we talking about?”

  “She had some kind of involvement with Givens back in the day.” He shook his head at the memory of her words.

  Tyrone settled back in the chair. “I guess you know she might endanger your chances at winning the council seat.”

  “It’s more than that. She lied to me, T. She kept it from me all this time.” The sting of betrayal hit Xavier again, tightening his chest. He wanted to finish his cigar, but he didn’t want to deal with Maxwell’s dramatics about the smell.

  Maxwell remarked, “I don’t know why y’all let women get under your skin like this.”

  Tyrone shook his head. “Spoken like a true Casanova. You’ll meet your match one day.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Maxwell folded his arms over his chest.

  Xavier shook his head at the two of them. Tyrone
and Maxwell often took on a lecturing tone with him when he did something they didn’t approve of. He supposed he understood Tyrone’s ways; as the oldest of the group, he probably felt a certain responsibility for them, like a big brother. Maxwell, however, was the same age as Xavier. As far as Xavier could tell, Maxwell just liked being the contrarian of the group.

  Xavier admitted, “I don’t feel like I can trust her anymore. So I’m through chasing after her.”

  Tyrone looked sympathetic. “Then you should have no problem sticking to our agreement to stay away from her until after the election this time.”

  His eyes cast down toward where his bare feet rested on the area rug, Xavier nodded. “No problem whatsoever.”

  As far as he was concerned, everything he’d shared with Imani had been reduced to ash by her lies, just like the smoldering remnants of his cigar.

  * * *

  After Xavier’s departure, Imani remained prone on her sofa for what seemed like hours. She wept bitter tears, her sobs echoing in the room until hoarseness rendered her silent. The teardrops fell, staining the fabric of her sofa until she had no tears left to shed. Finally, she dragged herself up, trudging to her bedroom.

  What bothered her most was that she couldn’t nail down why she’d cried so hard for so long. Were her tears brought on by Xavier’s anger or by her own shame? For weeks now, she’d been trying to get him to walk away from her and from whatever emotional connection they shared. She felt certain she’d finally succeeded in her quest as of today, but the victory felt hollow. There was no sense of triumph at having been right or relief at having him out of her life. No, today felt decidedly sad. It was almost as if she were mourning for their lost relationship.

  Inside her bedroom, she dragged her bare feet across the carpet until she reached her closet. She took a few steps inside and grabbed the edge of the big cardboard box she’d brought over from her mother’s house.

  Once she pulled the box out of the closet, she slid it to the foot of her bed and sat down there. She rifled through the box for a few moments, sniffling as she touched these physical manifestations of her past. There were so many things in there from Xavier, things she had no need of now. At least, that’s what she told herself. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  In the empty room, she gave voice to her thoughts. “I need to let go of him. How can I get him out of my system?”

  The empty room offered no response, but an idea popped into her head. Maybe some catharsis would help here, some symbolic activity to rid her of all the feelings Xavier stirred inside her. Determined to bring an end to this madness once and for all, she went back to the closet to get dressed.

  Within thirty minutes, she’d donned a pair of jeans and a Spelman sweatshirt, hauled the box out to the trunk of her car, and gotten on the road. Her destination was Maya’s house, set far off the beaten path in the wilds of Wake County.

  The drive proved long, as usual, and contemplative. She took the back way to Maya’s house, down a narrow two-lane road bordered on both sides by towering pine trees. As she navigated the winding roadway, the brilliant sunlight of the morning penetrated the canopy of pine branches to dapple the asphalt. With each passing mile, she pushed away thoughts of last night, when she’d given herself to Xavier with such abandon. He’d been an attentive lover, and she would miss the feeling of his strong hands on her body. But as she’d been trying to tell him all this time, what they shared was better left in the past.

  She arrived at Maya’s house and pulled her car into the long gravel driveway, parking it behind Maya’s sedan. Getting out of her car, she hiked across the neatly trimmed grass and up the three steps to the wide sitting porch that wrapped around the single-story house. There, she rapped on the door.

  The door swung open, and Maya appeared in the frame. Still clad in her typical weekend ensemble of lime-green bathrobe, bunny slippers, and pink flexi rollers, Maya fixed her with a confused stare. “Hey, Imani. What are you doing out here, and why didn’t you call so I could get dressed?”

  Imani offered a small smile. “Sorry, Maya. Coming out here was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  Maya stifled a yawn. “Good thing I love you and you’re always welcome. Do you want to come in?” She swung open the screen door and stepped back.

  Imani shook her head. “No, not really. I just want to use your fire pit.”

  Lips pursed, Maya folded her arms over her chest. “You’re not trying to get rid of a body or anything, are you? What’s next, getting a ticket to Tijuana?”

  Despite her sullen mood, Imani giggled. “No, nothing like that. Just throw on some sweats or something and meet me in the back.”

  “Okay, but if it turns out to be a body, I’m not going to jail for you.”

  Imani shook her head at her cousin’s silliness. When Maya stepped back inside the house and let the door swing closed, Imani sat down on one of the brown wicker chairs on the porch. For a few minutes, she enjoyed the near-silent surroundings of her cousin’s property. She could smell the sap from the pine trees scenting the air and heard the distant mooing of a cow. Maya lived in the heart of farm country, though she and her husband never grew anything except azalea bushes, like the white ones currently blooming around the porch.

  Maya returned a short time later in a black tracksuit with a hot-pink stripe. “Okay, what are we burning, Cuz?”

  Imani got up and gestured for Maya to follow her. “Come on, I’ll show you. By the way, where’s Fred, anyway?”

  Maya, trailing behind Imani as they walked toward her car, shook her head. “Still asleep. He was up half the night last night playing poker with his boys.”

  Imani used her remote to pop the trunk. As the lid swung up, she gestured to the box inside. “See, no body. I’ve just got some stuff I need to get rid of.”

  “Like what?” Before she could even finish asking the question, Maya had already begun digging through the box’s contents. “Looks like a lot of stuff you got from Xavier.”

  “That’s right.”

  Maya shot her some side eye. “Imani, don’t tell me you drove all the way out here to set some letters and teddy bears on fire. Isn’t that a little petty?”

  Imani pursed her lips. “Maya, don’t start with me.”

  Maya rolled her eyes. “Whatever, girl. I rescind my previous statement. It’s not a little petty; it’s a lot petty. What are you, seventeen?”

  Smacking her lips, Imani folded her hands into fists and propped them on her hips. “Come on. It’s not about being petty. It’s about being symbolic. It’s time for me to move on.”

  “I’m assuming you two had a fight.” Maya remained bent over at the waist, still digging through the box.

  “You assume right, and it was the big one. He knows about my harassment suit, and it’s over between us.” She pulled in a deep breath, trying to draw strength from the fresh country air. “I need to get rid of these things and the feelings they evoke. You know what they say: when in doubt, kill it with fire.”

  Maya snorted, both her hands buried in the box now. “Imani, you are not burning stuffed animals in my fire pit. I will not be party to the petty.”

  “Why not? I just told you what I’m trying to do here.”

  Maya pulled something out of the box. Straightening, she held it up for Imani to see. “If you’re going to kill anything with fire, it should be this. Why in the hell do you even still have it?”

  Taking in the sight of the journal she’d written in all those years ago, she sighed. “To remind me of how hard I worked to get where I am.”

  Maya shook her head slowly. “I call bullshit. This old, ratty book only reminds you of keeping secrets and feeling ashamed. This is what belongs in the fire pit, Imani. It’s time to kill the shame and the secrets with fire.”

  Imani looked into the kind eyes of her cousin and knew she was right. Maya was her only fema
le cousin on her father’s side and the closest thing she’d ever had to a sister. In all the years they’d been together, Maya had always looked out for her.

  “Did you bring matches, or do I need to get some? Because we are turning this thing to ash today, girl.” Maya tucked the journal under her arm, then used her free hand to close the trunk. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  Imani blew out a breath through pursed lips. “There was that time you told me to get the Halle Berry haircut, and I came out looking like a dude.”

  Maya cut her a look. “Other than that, crazy.”

  “All right, all right. Other than that, you’ve given me pretty solid advice.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out the book of matches she’d tucked in there earlier.

  “Good.” Maya started walking toward the backyard. “Then let’s have us a bonfire.”

  The two of them circled around the right side of the house, until they reached the fire pit. The pit was just a round indentation in the soil, filled in with sand and surrounded by a circle of large stones. A patio made of flat stepping-stones bordered the pit, and two white Adirondack chairs sat on the flat surface.

  Maya handed the journal off to Imani, then grabbed a bottle of lighter fluid from the grill station a few feet away. Returning, Maya waited for Imani to toss the journal in the pit before handing off the lighter fluid. “Go ahead, Imani. Douse it good so it’ll go up right away.” She flopped down in one of the chairs to watch.

  Taking the plastic bottle, Imani turned and anointed the journal with a liberal squirt. Then she gave Maya the bottle back and went for her matches. Striking one, she dropped in into the pit. The fabric caught immediately, and Imani backed away to take up residence in the other chair.

  The two of them watched the leather, ink, and paper burn in silence.

  Imani saw the pages disintegrate in the dancing yellow flames, smelled the gray smoke rising from the pit. Inside, she felt something happening, as if her soul were turning over. She projected the shame, the secrecy, and the pain she’d been holding on to into the pit, with the journal. As the smoke curled and rose toward the sky, she imagined those negative emotions floating away with it on the November wind, never to be seen again.