And while we were on our knees, we kissed. A kiss that felt so spiritual, maybe because we were on our knees . . .
We didn’t have dinner last night. At least we didn’t have the kind of nourishment that added inches to the hips. Instead, we burned so much off that I’d be able to eat anything I wanted for a week.
“So,” Jamal began, breaking into my thoughts, “last night you said you’d be my wife.”
“Of course I did.”
“So, that means—” He jumped up and out of bed so fast, he startled me. And standing there in all his naked glory, he said, “There’s going to be a wedding.”
“What?” I sat up, pulling the sheet over me.
He sprinted into his closet and came out with a garment bag. “Now, I haven’t seen this,” he said. “Pastor Ford and Michellelee took care of it, but this right here”—he grinned—“is your dress.”
“What?”
He turned around and dashed back into the closet. “Everything I need is in this garment bag and this bag here,” he said, holding up his duffel bag.
“Jamal, what are you talking about?”
This time, he kissed me before he ran away.
None of this was computing, and just when I was about to zip open the garment bag, he jumped out of his closet, dressed in a jogging suit. Moving quickly, he grabbed his garment bag, duffel bag, gave me another kiss, and said, “I’ll see you in a little while, babe.”
He turned and dashed out of the room, leaving me sitting there. But I didn’t have to wait long before I heard his footsteps coming back toward our bedroom.
Only it wasn’t Jamal. It was Michellelee.
“What in the world?”
Michellelee put her hands on her hips. “What’re you still doing in bed?” Before I could ask what she was doing in my apartment, she said, “Now that your man is gone, what are you still doing in bed?”
“Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“Didn’t your man tell you? There’s going to be a wedding today.”
It had to be my blank stare that made her sigh.
“Didn’t he ask you to marry him again?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Well, you’re getting married again . . . today.”
“Huh?” I knew I sounded like a dummy, since I felt like one.
“Silly girl, you don’t even know what today is.” She shook her head. “Today, nine years ago, you married Jamal Taylor, and you’re going to do it again. Now, will you get your happy behind up so that I can get the bride ready?”
Slowly, I smiled, and it all became clear to me.
I got it. Finally, I really, really got it.
It was just like the first time—well, almost. There were two fewer people in attendance. But my joy was exactly the way it was in 2003 when we’d come to Pastor Ford and told her that we were getting married in a week.
As I stood at the altar, holding hands with my husband and grinning like we were sixteen-year-olds, I couldn’t believe that Jamal had done all this. For the last month, he’d worked with Pastor and Michellelee. Apparently, he’d been sure that I’d say yes.
Pastor Ford said, “Well now, finally, we can begin.”
Everyone chuckled and I had to laugh, too. I was supposed to be here an hour ago, but I’d been a bit late. That hadn’t been my fault, though. After all, I’d found out twenty minutes after I’d awakened that I was getting married. Was I supposed to just get up and get going?
First, I had to have my own celebration, Michellelee and I. At least thirty minutes passed before we finally stopped jumping around and admiring my ring. Only then were we able to get down to the business of becoming beautiful.
Pastor Ford said, “I love officiating over weddings, bringing the love of two together. But even more than that, I really love presiding over the renewal of vows. Because this means that the commitment is still there. This means that if you had the chance to do it all again, you would. And, you are.”
Behind us, Michellelee sniffed.
She was standing in as the best woman for both me and Jamal. He didn’t want to replace Chauncey and I . . . well.
“So, it gives me the greatest honor to stand here with Emily and Jamal, and say that with everything that has gone on in your nine years of marriage, through any sickness, and all the health, through the riches—and, blessedly, there hasn’t been too much that you can consider poor—through it all, what the two of you are saying today is that you still love and honor each other.”
I hoped no one had seen the deep breath I’d just taken. In counseling, I’d come to understand that even in the middle of his transgression, Jamal still loved me. I got that part, but it wasn’t until this morning, maybe not even until this moment, that I understood that Jamal still honored me, too. His transgression didn’t diminish that.
Now, if he did it again . . .
Pastor Ford interrupted my short reverie. “So, it means a lot to me to stand here as these two proclaim their love once again for each other. Emily”—she paused and turned to me—“and Jamal, I know you haven’t had time to write anything, but I think that’s a good thing. It’s about what’s on your hearts anyway, so why don’t you talk to each other, for just a few minutes. Tell each other what you think, what you feel, and why you love.” She glanced at my husband. “So, Jamal?”
I was thankful that Pastor hadn’t started with me because I didn’t know what I was going to say.
Jamal took my hands, but when he looked into my eyes, I wasn’t so sure that his going first was the right move. Because the love that was in his eyes was sure to take me out.
He cleared his throat. “Emily.” Just the way he said my name made my knees turn into jelly. “When I decided that we were going to stand here and do this again, I wanted to come up with something profound, something that would truly let you know what you mean to me. But even though I’ve had weeks to think about this, weeks to go through the dictionary, weeks to search the Internet, I couldn’t find anything, because I discovered that words aren’t sufficient. Words alone would never do. So, I will start with the words, I love you. I love you so much that my heart pounds a little harder when I think of you and it grows a little more every time I look at you.”
I knew it—Jamal was trying to make me faint.
“Those are the words, and after the words will come my actions. And I promise you”—he stopped and then repeated, “I promise you,” as if he wanted to make sure that I heard him—“that I will spend every minute of every hour, every hour of every day, every day of every week, every week of every month, and then year, after year, after year, telling you and showing you how much you are loved, honored, and a blessing to me.”
When he paused, Pastor said, “That was beautiful.”
But Jamal held up his hand. “Pastor, there is one thing I want to add.”
She nodded. “Go ahead. For love like this, I got all day.”
He said, “When I first told Pastor that we were going to do this, I told her what I wanted to say. She”—he paused and looked at Pastor Ford—“didn’t think we had to talk about this, but I want this to be part of the renewing of our vows.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t get it right the first time, Emily. God help me and I’m so sorry, but I didn’t get it right. When we stood here before, I thought I was going to, and I tried to, but I didn’t. But this time, I know that I will. Because this time, I’m going to get on my knees every day and ask God to deliver me from anything that doesn’t prove my love for you. So this is a promise and a vow that I’m kissing up to God.” He cradled my face in the palm of his hands. “Emily Harrington-Taylor . . . I love you.”
Then he kissed me, pressed his lips against mine, and then parted my lips gently with his tongue.
Pastor Ford cleared her throat. “Uh . . . uh . . .”
We leaned back and looked at her as if we were surprised that she was there. Then we busted out laughing.
“I’m sorry, Pastor,” we said together, and
that made us laugh even harder.
“Well, I’m just saying that the kiss is usually saved for the end, but after that, I don’t know if there is anything else that anyone needs to say.”
“I haven’t had my chance,” I said, raising my hand. “And I promise it will be short.”
The pastor motioned for me to proceed.
“Jamal Taylor . . . I love you. And I will love you for the next fifty years, and the fifty after that, and the fifty after that. I told you from the beginning we were meant to be.” Then I did what he’d done to me; I held his face between my hands and gazed into his eyes. “I. Love. You.”
And I kissed him the way he’d kissed me.
When we broke apart, Jamal hugged me. I closed my eyes and held him as Pastor Ford and Michellelee clapped so loud, it sounded like there were fifty people in the sanctuary.
I held Jamal because I didn’t want to let go. Not ever. I was still holding on to Jamal when I opened my eyes.
And that was when I saw her.
Miriam.
At the back, in the corner of the church.
Our eyes locked, and for a moment we just stared. It had only been two months since I’d seen her, but she looked so different. Her hair was out of her signature bun, flowing free, touching her shoulders and making the white streak more visible. And she’d lost weight, just a little. It all looked so good on her.
After a while, her lips spread into a smile that matched the one on my lips. She pressed her hands together, with the tips of her fingers curled and her thumbs creating the peak of a heart.
And then she held the heart she’d formed with her fingers close to her chest. She mouthed, “Love you.”
It took me a moment, but then I mouthed back, “Mean it.”
I blinked and she was gone.
That quickly. As if she’d been a figment of my imagination.
With a breath, I broke our embrace and then hugged Michellelee. When I stepped back, I looked at the door one last time.
There was no way that Miriam would ever be a part of my life the way she’d been. But I was really glad that she’d come, even if it was just for ten seconds. Michellelee had probably told her, and I’d thank her for that later. Seeing Miriam helped me to know that now I was whole, I was complete. I guess it was true—forgiveness was really good for the soul.
The end . . .
So, that’s my story. Well, like I said in the beginning, this is not my story alone. This is the story of me and Emily, and now that you know how it went down, I have to ask, would you or wouldn’t you? Is there any situation where you would ever get involved with your best friend’s husband?
But wait!
Before you say that would never happen, before you say something like, “I’d never be as low-down as that chick,” make sure you’ve cried while you walked two weeks in my shoes. Don’t answer that question unless you’ve found yourself deep inside the gulf of grief. Because grief, if given the chance, will wrap itself around you and squeeze, making you lose all sense of up and down, black and white, right and wrong. Grief will hold you hostage and make you pay the ransom with your soul.
That’s what happened to me. Except Jamal came to my rescue. He pulled me up and out and then held me, until he didn’t hold me anymore. The challenge was, I wasn’t ready to let him go. And the truth is, I still want him now. That’s why I had to move away. I truly love that man.
I know, I know. This has got to sound crazy. You’re probably asking how could I possibly love Jamal Taylor when I loved Chauncey Williams? And you might even be saying that with the way I acted, I never loved Chauncey.
But I did. I loved my husband with all my heart. He’d come into my life and loved me when there was not another soul on Earth who did. He’d given my life purpose, he’d helped me achieve my dreams.
He’d rescued me, and my love for Chauncey was a complete and grateful love where I couldn’t do enough to return it. My plan had been to spend all the days of my life loving Chauncey back, and then praying that I was pouring a tenth of the love he’d given me into him.
But my love for Jamal was different. It was a grown-up love that came to me when I knew who I was. Jamal’s love came to me when I was feeling good about the person I’d become. His love came to me when I already had a life. And that’s why that love was so wonderful.
So, while Chauncey always, from that first day, had my heart, Jamal had captured my soul.
And you know what? Some of you may say that I probably loved Jamal all along. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. I can tell you that I never felt anything except friendship for him, but who knows? Maybe this is a case study that belongs in some Psych 101 class. Maybe students need to analyze how Chauncey’s love for me blocked my love for Jamal. Like I said, who knows?
What I can tell is that my love for Jamal was the right kind of love. It was just a shame that I’d found the right love with the wrong man.
At least I know that I have the capacity to love this way, and my prayer is that I will have a Jamal kind of love again in my life. Not that I expect that to really happen. How could one woman get two blessings in one lifetime? That really is too much to ask.
So if I never find this kind of love again, it’s fine with me. I’m only in my midthirties, but I’ve already been showered with more love than most women will experience in their lifetimes.
Now I ask again, would you or wouldn’t you? That, for sure, is the question. But I want to admonish you—make sure you never say never.
A Note from
Victoria Christopher Murray
Never Say Never is my fourteenth adult novel, and is actually based upon truth. Not the truth of my life, but something I heard about years ago. After 9/11, there was a phenomenon that was happening so much, it was written about in several newspapers and even became a Law & Order episode: firemen were leaving their wives for their best friends’ widows. It was so interesting that I wanted to explore it—with a couple of VCM twists, of course. So Never Say Never is the result of that exploration, and Emily and Miriam are now two of my all-time favorite characters. No, I don’t think there will be a sequel. Their stories are complete, I believe. They just became my favorites because I could actually see this happening and understand the who, what, where, and why of this situation. This novel truly made me ask, what would I do? What would I do if I was Miriam? What would I do if I was Emily? Those questions have stayed with me, and my prayer is that I could say, “Never,” but who knows?
So, I hope you enjoyed reading Never Say Never as much as I enjoyed writing it. I often tell readers and new writers that the final product of my novels is a major team effort. My stories would never be good without the people who are committed to helping me become better, and for so many years, I’ve been blessed with the best team at Touchstone. First, I have to thank Heather Lazare, who always asks the questions that help me take my novels up a notch. We’re two for two, Heather. And then Shida Carr—I could never thank you enough. You have been my publicist for eight years, and I truly believe that no one would know VCM without you. Thank you for every city, every interview, every ad, everything! To everyone else at Touchstone, from Editorial to Marketing, thank you for the years of cheering, encouraging, and just being in my corner.
In every part of my career, I’ve been blessed to have the best. And when Liza Dawson became my agent, that track record continued for me. Thank you, Liza, for making me feel like I’m the only client you have and for caring about me and my career beyond the next contract. With you, I know I have someone who cares about me for the long haul. It means so much that you believe in my writing. And you, too, Judith Engracia! Every time I call, you make me smile, and I know that I have no greater cheerleader. Thank YOU!
But even with the greatest of teams, none of this would matter if I didn’t have the amazing support of the readers. What can I say? All I have is, “Wow!” From my friends on Facebook and Twitter, to everyone who decides to share their time with me when I’m out on to
ur, there would be no stories without you! Thank you for reading, thank you for spreading the news about my novels, and thank YOU for your encouragement. I write so that I can breathe, and I’m glad that I’m still breathing!
A special thank you to four people who gave me some “behind-the-scenes” knowledge so that I could make this novel more authentic. To one of my best friends, Monique Jewell Anderson, who helped me talk through this story. To my niece, Deundra Christopher, you gave me more insight about firefighters than you probably know. My Facebook friend, Angela Hardiman Hammond, I would never have been able to write the story of LaTonya without you. Thank you so much for taking the time to explain some of the basics to me. I had another Facebook friend who helped with the firefighters’ story from the management side. I searched and searched through my messages and I could not find this young woman. But I really thank her, too.
Okay, I think that’s it. I hope I didn’t forget anyone. If I did, you know it has nothing to do with my heart, but more to do with these things that happen to a woman of a certain age. Now, on to the next book . . .
TOUCHSTONE READING GROUP GUIDE
* * *
Never Say Never
After a devastating fire kills Miriam’s firefighter husband, Chauncey, and leaves the surrounding community in shock, Miriam is not sure how she will ever be able to move on with her life. Left with three young sons, Miriam relies on her two best friends—Emily and Michellelee—and Emily’s husband, Jamal, for support. But as she grieves, Miriam begins to develop a strong connection to Jamal. When the two spend more time together mourning the loss of Chauncey, they find themselves in the midst of a passionate affair born of their mutual sadness. Never Say Never tells the story of love, friendship, and betrayal, and ultimately asks, Can real love find a way to forgive?
For Discussion
1. Never Say Never begins in Miriam’s voice, framing the story that follows as an explanation for her affair with Jamal. She asks the reader, “Would you or wouldn’t you?” Answer Miriam’s question with your group members, weighing both Miriam’s and Emily’s sides.
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