Suspicions

by Sasha Campbell

  I started laughing angrily at how ridiculous this whole situation was. “Scott has sex with anything wearing a skirt. How could you have been so weak?”

  She shrugged. “I was lonely and Scott happened to be there when I was most vulnerable. I guess I confused my love for him as something else.”

  What else was new? In the years we’ve known each other, Whitney had been in love more times than I could count. She’d been engaged at least five times, and she believed every man who told her he loved her. It was a vicious cycle with her. Was she ever going to learn she has to love herself first if she expected to be loved by someone else?

  “I will never forgive you for sleeping with my son. There are some things we do and others we don’t. You were my best friend, but you betrayed my trust.”

  “Noelle, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. I made a mistake. I’ll give you some time to think—”

  I held up a hand, cutting her off. “There’s nothing to think about.” I had already written her off like a bad debt. The only person I needed to discuss this situation with was Scott, but apparently Whitney got to him before I did because he refused to answer his phone when I called and all my messages have gone unanswered. I even texted the knucklehead the way he instructed and got no response. “Please, get the hell outta my office and don’t come back.”

  She just didn’t know when to give up. “Noelle . . . I hope in time you find it in your heart to forgive me.” Tears were running down her face and her bottom lip quivered, but I was unmoved by both.

  Was she stupid or what? Did she really think I would ever have anything else to do with her again?

  Whitney started toward the door, then stopped and held on to her stomach.

  I immediately became concerned. “What’s wrong?” I wanted so badly not to care about her, but I wasn’t made that way.

  “I-I’m not sure. I’ve got a sharp pain here. Ouch!” She buckled over and used the wall to support her weight. “It really really hurts!”

  I rose and came around the desk and immediately noticed the blood trickling down her leg onto her white sandals. Whitney must have felt something warm because she looked down, saw the blood, and screamed. I caught her just before she hit the floor. Tiffany came rushing into my office.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Call an ambulance!”

  It felt like forever before they finally arrived. Blood was everywhere and, for a while I thought she might have lost consciousness. I rode in the ambulance with Whitney and held her hand while she screamed and cried all the way there. Her relationship with my son was the furthest from my mind. Despite how she betrayed me and my trust, I would never want anything bad to happen to her. If she died, I would be losing a piece of my life.

  By the time we got to South Shore Hospital, the doctor was waiting and Whitney was hurried quickly into a room and examined. “Whitney, it looks like you’re about to have a baby.” The doctor forced a smile, but I could see the concern in his eyes.

  “No, it’s too soon!” she cried. “You can’t take my baby yet.”

  She was right. The baby was barely seven months.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a choice.”

  The nurses started rushing around getting the room ready for delivery. There was still blood and Whitney was screaming. I was ready to fall apart myself, but I couldn’t do that. She needed me to be strong.

  “Whitney, honey, you got to hang in there for your baby. Everything is going to be just fine,” I said soothingly.

  “No, it isn’t!” she screamed. “Something is wrong with my baby. God is punishing me!” She was sobbing and becoming hysterical.

  The nurse gave me a concerned look. “She has to calm down; otherwise, we’re going to have to put her to sleep.”

  I turned to Whitney and took her arms firmly in my hands. “Whitney! Calm your ass down! Otherwise, they’re going to cut your stomach open and take the baby and you’re gonna have that ugly-ass scar like your sister Vicky for the rest of your life.”

  That got her attention.

  Whitney sat up on the bed and her crying calmed somewhat. As vain as Whitney was about stretch marks, I knew that as far as she was concerned, having a cesarean section was worse than losing a limb. The nurse got the bed disassembled and the stirrups in place just as Whitney was hit with the next contraction. I held her hand and since I was supposed to have been her Lamaze partner, I showed her how to breathe. This went on for hours, with her squeezing my hand and pushing on the doctor’s cue. And shortly after 9 PM, she gave birth to a four-pound eleven-ounce little boy. I was crying and laughing at the same time. He was so little, but he was perfect.

  “Noelle, how many toes does he have?” Whitney asked as the nurse carried him over to the warmer. I didn’t miss the desperation in her voice and tried to get as close as I could, but they were working fast to get his vital signs, and then they raced out the room with him and down to the neonatal intensive care unit. Whitney’s eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily with exhaustion. “Noelle, is he okay?”

  I watched as the nurses left the room, then moved over beside her bed and mopped her damp forehead. “Whitney, he’s perfect. Five fingers, toes, and eyes to die for.”

  “That’s . . . good. I wanna name him . . . Michael.”

  Her hand went limp and the machine next to her started beeping. I called Whitney’s name, but there was no response. Then nurses came racing back into her room and told me to get out the way. I stepped outside just as another young nurse rushed in pushing a crash cart.

  38

  Tiffany

  I parked at the corner, waiting for Kimbel to come out of his house. Can you believe that fool turned my cell phone off? Hell, it was his idea for me to give up my old wireless subscription and move to his plan, yet last night I tried to use my phone and it was dead.

  Well, I’ll show his ass.

  At seven-thirty, Kimbel stepped out of his house in his black suit and tie. As usual, he looked luscious. He always had and to me he probably always would. Unfortunately, he played with my emotions and took my kindness for weakness. And I’m learning that everything that looks good doesn’t mean it is good for you.

  As Kimbel rounded his Jaguar to the driver’s side, I held my breath and next thing I knew, he slammed his suitcase to the ground and started kicking the front tire. I started laughing my ass off. Kimbel was angry, which meant he wasn’t too happy to find that at three o’clock this morning I had parked down the street, crept up to his car with a pocket knife, and carved HERPES along the driver’s side. There was no way he could miss it. The words were the length of the door. There was also no way he was going to be seen driving his most prized possession to work.

  I peeled away from his block, loud enough for Kimbel to see me leave. I even waved like I was a beauty queen. He-he! I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes and had to pull over. That will teach him to mess with me. By the time I got myself together, I had hoped to finally feel vindicated. Only instead, I felt just as miserable as I had the day before. Getting back at Kimbel no longer excited me as it did in the beginning. In fact, I was starting to feel like I had crossed over the line to stalker status, and I wasn’t having any part of that. It really was time for me to finally just let go. But no matter how I felt, I wasn’t a fool. Kimbel wasn’t getting the ring back even after I made him pay for everything. The ring was my consolation prize. Nevertheless, I did need to close that painful chapter in my life, and I wasn’t going to be able to do that until I took care of something first.

  I was back at the salon working full-time again. I guess everyone had heard what happened because no one asked about my fiancé, which was a good thing. A couple of weeks ago, I probably would have gone off if anyone asked, but now I was in a much better place.

  “Tiffany, you got a call!” the sales clerk yelled from the shop.

  “Tell them to hold on.” I finished wrapping my client’s hair and
stuck her under the dryer and headed to the lobby. “Brittany, go ahead and take a seat in my chair. I’ll be right with you.” I moved up to the counter and took the receiver from Claudia. “Hello?”

  “Is this Tiffany Phillips?”

  “Yeah, this is her. Who’s this?”

  There was a chuckle. “The pretty lady forgot about me already. My feelings are hurt.”

  Oh my goodness! I knew that accent anywhere. “Baughn! How you get my number?”

  “You told me you worked in a beauty salon in Chicago, so I found you.”

  I turned away from the counter, grinning like a damn fool. “Damn, but there’s over a hundred salons in the Chicago.”

  “Yeah, mon. I discovered that,” he replied with a chuckle.

  I was definitely flattered by his determination. “I can’t believe you’re calling me all the way from Jamaica.”

  “I’m not in Jamaica, mon. I’m in Indiana.”

  “Indiana. W-What are you doing there?” I stuttered.

  He laughed. “I’m a student at Indiana University.”

  What? I couldn’t believe it. Baughn was here. In the U.S.A. When I left, I never expected to see or hear from him again.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a student?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance. After that night I called you and discovered you had left. My feelings were hurt.”

  Closing my eyes, I breathed, “I’m sorry. I just figured what happens in Jamaica . . .”

  “Stays in Jamaica. I understand. Unfortunately, that wasn’t at all what I was tinking. How about I drive down and take the pretty lady to dinner next Friday? That’s if you are free?”

  The thought of spending the evening with him was too tempting an offer to pass up. “I’d like that.” I gave him my new cell phone number and made plans for him to call me later that evening. When I finally hung up, I was tingling all over.

  “Who was that?” Debra asked the moment she saw me hanging up the phone. I cut my eyes at her.

  “None of your business,” I snapped. She was at it again.

  “Come on. You’re not smiling like that for nothing,” she teased.

  The client sitting in my chair chimed in. “Uh-huh. She look like she’s about to get her some.”

  Okay, I’ve had it with all these nosy-ass folks in this place. “Okay, listen up! My personal life is just that—private. So quit asking about who I’m seeing or what I’m doing. It’s none of your damn business.”

  “Damn, Tiffany. We just playing.”

  I whipped around so fast I made that chick jump and she almost dropped the hot comb from her hand. “Debra, you play too damn much. I’m tired of you eavesdropping on my calls and spreading my personal business. You need to quit worrying about what I’m doing and focus on trying to figure out who your baby’s daddy is.” Yesterday I had heard her on the phone saying the DNA results on the dude she suspected as her youngest child’s father had come back negative.

  I waited for a quickie comeback and there wasn’t one. Debra just stood there styling someone’s hair, trying to pretend she hadn’t heard a word I said. She heard as well as every other nosy female in the salon. Maybe now she’d know to stay out of other people’s business. I went back to work, chuckling inside. That’ll show her.

  Around three, I took a break, went out, and sat in my car while I made a call on my cell phone. “I would like to make an appointment with Dr. Clark.”

  “What are you being seen for?”

  I swallowed before speaking. “I need to be checked for sexually transmitted diseases. I want to be tested for everything.” If Kimbel gave me herpes, there’s no telling what else he might have given me, and I needed to know before I infected someone else. Game over. It was time to get my life back.

  While I waited for her to make the appointment, I closed my eyes and prayed I hadn’t given anything to Baughn. Even though we used a condom, I had been reckless. Baughn hadn’t given me reason to see him as anything other than a good guy and he deserved better. There was no way I could even think about having sex with him again until I knew for sure whether I had been infected.

  39

  Noelle

  “Who’s next?”

  A young petite thing waved her hand, then moved out onto the floor. I’d never seen her before, which meant she was a new customer.

  “Have a seat.” I reached up and touched her hair, checking the texture. By the look of things, it had been a while since she’d last had a perm. “What can I do for you today?”

  She shrugged. “I want just a wash and set.”

  “No perm?” I don’t know how she expected me to roll up some naps.

  Shaking her head, she replied, “I don’t need a perm. I have naturally curly hair.”

  Curly where? “A texturizer would look really good,” I suggested, hoping I could persuade her to do something to that mop.

  She shook her head. “Uh-uh, no chemicals. Just a wash and trim.”

  All right, it was her hair, so I wasn’t about to argue with her. A lot of people were on that natural kick, but most folks either were locking their hair or keeping it braided. She was on some afro kick. A few inches, yes, but her shit had to be at least eight inches long, and that was patted down.

  The music was thumping with Mary J. Blige’s new beat, and I sang along while I washed and conditioned her thick course hair. As soon as I rinsed it out, I signaled for her to move over to my station and take a seat.

  “Are you related to Mr. Gordon?” she asked, staring at me through the mirror.

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s my husband.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Ooh! He’s the nicest man. I had him for senior English last semester and he knew how to make class fun.”

  “Yes, I hear that a lot about him.” Just thinking about my husband made me smile. I couldn’t wait for him to get back home next weekend.

  “He also knew how to help you if you were struggling. He would go out of his way to do whatever he could to make sure we passed his class.”

  “Yes, that sounds like him.”

  She was sitting there grinning with this faraway look in her eyes. “He used to spend a lot of time with my friend Amber after school trying to tutor her. She was failing English. All she used to talk about was Mr. Gordon this and Mr. Gordon that,” she chuckled. “I think she had a mad crush on him, but who could blame her. He is fine. You know . . . there was even a rumor for a while that he and Amber was secretly having an affair. Is that crazy or what?” She started laughing real loud and ghetto, expecting me to join in. When she realized I didn’t see anything funny, she sobered real quick. “You know how folks be lying and starting rumors. Anyway, Amber ended up dropping out before the first marking period. Come to find out she was pregnant.”

  It took everything I had to hold it together. “Pregnant?” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat several times. “That’s a shame. Did she end up going back to school?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. We stopped hanging out after that. I haven’t seen her around, but I heard she had a little girl.”

  While I rolled her hair, I found my mind considering another possibility. Lord, forgive me for even thinking about my husband messing around with a student, but I was getting desperate, and at this point anything was possible. “I remember Grant talking about Amber. Said she was one of his favorite students. What’s her last name?” It was hard trying to lie and asked a question like it was no big deal.

  “Andersen . . . Amber Andersen, with an E.”

  That was easy enough. At least I had a name and a new lead to follow.

  I couldn’t get her hair done fast enough. I had this weird feeling, and one question kept going around and around in my head. Could my husband have fathered that baby? I just didn’t want to believe it, but something just didn’t feel right to me. Grant spent a lot of time with his students and took his career serious; however, I couldn’t help thinking about one of his students dropping out. The school year began
in late August and if she dropped out in October, that would have made her at least eight weeks pregnant. Meaning, she would have given birth in April, right around the time Sierra was born. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was the only lead I had.

  So far, I’ve called practically every student in the yearbook and Scott was pretty much MIA. He had sense enough to know that he had hell to pay. I was tired of him ignoring his responsibilities—little Michael and, until I found out otherwise, Sierra.

  I was still having a hard time accepting that my best friend had given birth to my grandchild, but if I wanted to be a part of Michael’s life, I had to find a way to get over it. Whitney was back at home, but Michael, although he was doing better, would stay in the hospital until he gained at least another pound.

  After my last client of the day, I went back to my office, retrieved the phone book, and looked for every Andersen within a commutable distance. There were five. I ripped out the page and stuck it in my pocket. I planned to call or drive by each address until I found Amber and figured out what the hell was going on. My son wasn’t cooperating and Grant was out of the country, which meant I had to get out there and find the answers on my own.

  It was almost 7:00 PM. when I pulled in front of a small ranch-style house and climbed out. I had called earlier, pretending to be a friend, and asked for Amber. When I was told she was at school, I thought I had hit the lottery. I followed the directions I got on MapQuest and was surprised to be driving in a fairly decent neighborhood where folks actually watered their grass. That’s just not something you saw too often in neighborhoods on the south side of Chicago. I pulled in front of a brick house with black shutters behind a Ford Focus. I moved up to the door and knocked. A few seconds later, a beautiful white woman with long blond hair and blue eyes came to the door. She was wearing purple scrubs, so I figured either she was a nurse or worked in housekeeping at the hospital.