by Day, Zuri
“Why not?” He sat up, and met her eye-to-eye.
“As I’ve told you before, once he and I were no longer together, we both moved on with our lives.”
“He’s no longer your boyfriend, but he’s still my dad!”
This was different. When discussing Jayden’s father with him she’d seen curiosity, sadness, even longing. But she’d never seen anger. What brought this on?
“Did something happen today that made you want to see your father?”
“Doesn’t every child want to see their dad?”
The question pierced her heart. “Yes.”
“I’ve asked you before, but you never tell me anything about him. You won’t even tell me his name and now I know why. Because you know I’d search for him on the Internet. And I’d find him, too.”
“I know how difficult this must be for you—”
“How can you say that when you know Grandpa?”
“Yes, I know Dad. I’m speaking of the difficulty of this whole situation. It’s very complicated, Jayden, which is why I’ll explain everything when you’re older. Not now.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “Bobby’s got a dad. Zachary’s got a dad. Joshua’s got two dads!”
“Does he have a mom?”
“No, but he’s got a dog!”
Cynthia would have chuckled, had the light in her child’s eyes not dimmed so quickly. And if not for his next question.
“Do I look like him?”
“You’re way more handsome.” Silence. “You have his eyes, and body structure. When you smile, there’s a hint of a dimple in your right cheek, just like him.”
Her voice broke, and Cynthia fought for restraint. Unresolved feelings and prolonged guilt is only part of why Cynthia had hoped Jayden would outgrow the curiosity about her first love, and biggest mistake. Clearly, this was wishful thinking. The questions wouldn’t get easier. For her and Jayden to move peacefully into their future, she’d have to step back into a tumultuous past.
Once in her room, she went straight for her cell phone and tapped her thumb on the face she’d snapped of Byron when just before leaving for the art show in Santa Monica, he’d done the same. Just seeing his smile calmed her spirit. Love might trump pride after all.
27
“I’ve been thinking about you,” is how Byron answered his phone.
“But you didn’t call.”
“No.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
This evoked an unlikely snort that would have made Anna swoon. “For the second time tonight, my ability to understand has been questioned.”
“Perhaps there’s a reason.”
“There is, and I’d like to tell you about it.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not over the phone.”
“It’s late, and a weeknight. Tyra’s already in bed.”
“I’m . . . it’s . . .” The dam of restraint tethered to resignation slipped. She closed her eyes to staunch tears, held a sob behind clenched teeth, straightened her spine, and swallowed pity. “It’s okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Good night.”
“Cynthia.”
“Yes.”
“Give me a half hour.”
“Don’t ring the bell. Call when you get here. I’ll let you in.”
Forty-five minutes later, her phone face lit up. She tipped down the stairs and opened the door. “Hello,” she whispered, before placing a finger to her lips and motioning him inside.
They were quieter than cat burglars as they returned to her room. She closed the door and visibly exhaled. “I can’t believe I’m so nervous. He’s a very sound sleeper.”
“If he knocks on the door, I’ll jump in the closet.”
“That’s a good idea!” She attempted a smile and failed miserably.
Byron’s eyelids lowered along with his already soft voice. “Cynthia, come here.”
She fairly ran into his arms. Tears followed suit and ran down her face.
“Shh. It’s okay.” He looked around. “Let’s go over here and sit on this big chair.”
Chaise, she thought automatically but didn’t correct. As long as he kept his arms around her, she didn’t care what he called it.
He sat down and settled her between his legs, gently rocking her silent but shaking body as the tears flowed. After several long moments she pushed away from him, and got up to blow her nose. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Well, I’m in need of liquid courage. Be right back.”
Byron watched her leave, then looked around him. His brow furrowed as he thought. What in the world has happened? It had to be serious for her to invite him here. He rested his head back against thick, plush fabric, noting how the chair almost conformed to his frame. Everything around him matched and looked expensive. As was the case on his other lone visit, not so much as a piece of paper was out of place. Yet his being there alone was proof of a mess somewhere.
Cynthia returned. Still shaken, but composed. “I brought the bottle and an extra glass in case you changed your mind.” She placed the tray on a table beside the chaise. “There’s a savory trail mix as well, so please, help yourself.”
She sat at the end of the chaise facing Byron and took a couple sips of wine. “Where’s Tyra?”
“My neighbor came over to watch her.”
Now, Byron watched Cynthia. And waited.
She drank half of the wine in her glass. “Jayden asked about his father.”
“Not an unusual question, especially for a boy his age.” She nodded, took another sip. “What exactly did he want to know?”
“Where he lived . . . and his name.”
“He doesn’t know his father’s name?”
Byron hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous but . . . for real? Stay calm, man. This is hard enough for her as it is.
Cynthia finished her wine and set down the glass. She took a deep breath and spoke without emotion. “I was seventeen when I met him, the summer before I left for college. He was thirty-one, an investment broker doing business with my father. I was hanging out with friends by our pool when he arrived, had no idea he was there. We were playing around and one of the guys started chasing me. I ran into the house in nothing but my bikini, hair plastered to my body, something I’d done countless times. Only this time, I ran straight into him.
“I looked up and into the eyes of the most amazing man I’d ever seen—in person, at the movies, on television . . . ever. Looking back, I think I fell in love right then. But, of course, I denied it. Especially when my dad came out of his office and sternly commanded I change out of my wet suit.”
“What did this guy do?”
She shrugged. “Not much. It happened so fast. He said, ‘whoa,’ or something like that. We looked at each other and then I heard my dad. When I came back out of my room, he was gone. It would be four years before I saw him again.”
Cynthia stood, walked over to the table, and poured wine into two glasses. She gave one to Byron, who held it but did not drink.
“I graduated from college with a degree in sociology, and decided to take off a semester before returning to get my master’s degree in business administration. It hadn’t been easy maintaining a 3.8 GPA and I was burned out. One night I went into the city with some friends, to attend a private party.”
“The city?”
“Minneapolis. That’s about an hour away from where I grew up. It had been awhile since we’d all seen each other and we were ready to cut loose. We rented a limo that was stocked with champagne. Brought the party to the party.” Her smile was bittersweet. “We were young and carefree, had the world by the tail. We knew several of the other guests. The house was huge, a mansion, and soon we’d all gone our separate ways. Eventually I got tired of dancing and went outside to get some fresh air. And there he was.”
“Why won’t you say his name?”
&nbs
p; “Because it feels like I’ll choke on it.” She came back to the chaise, sat close to Byron but with her back to him. “Stewart Monihan. That’s the name I haven’t spoken aloud since Jayden was two months old, which was also the last time I saw him.”
He slid his hand across the downy material near her leg, but not touching. She reached over, clasped it, and continued. “He seduced me that night. It wasn’t hard. The relationship I’d entered during my sophomore year in college was one I knew wouldn’t last. After graduating, we wished each other well and went our separate ways. A few years ago we reconnected on Facebook. He’s married, has a daughter, doing well.
“After that amazing night with Stewart, I thought I was doing well, too, incredible, in fact. We had an intensely torrid love affair, clandestine because I was sure Dad wouldn’t approve. A little more than a month later, I found out I was pregnant, and he was married.”
“Damn.”
“Exactly. As bad as that sounds, it wasn’t the worst mistake. No, that happened three days later, when I told my mom.”
“How was that worse?”
His voice was soft, laced with concern, as he disengaged his hands from hers and ran them up her arm to squeeze her tense shoulders. She leaned back against him and picked up the glass of wine he never drank.
“From the way my mother reacted, you would have thought I screwed the pope. I think to have murdered someone would have been a lesser crime. Somehow the fact that I had no idea he was married got lost along with the lucrative business deal my dad could no longer continue. I thought to get an abortion.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because of Stewart, and the promises he made: to leave his wife, get a divorce, marry me and carry me and our child off into the happily-ever-after sunset. By the time I realized he had no intention of leaving his trust-fund darling, I was almost seven months along, and not at all happy.”
“What did you do?”
“Get shuttled off to upstate New York and an aunt I barely knew. I had Jayden and returned to Minnesota, a near prisoner in my parents’ home. It’s pathetic, but I still believed there was a chance with Stewart, that after seeing how beautiful our baby was he’d choose us and leave her. He didn’t. Within a week, I’d packed up my life and returned to Chicago, where I’d gotten my undergrad degree. I hired a live-in nanny, threw myself into work and school, got my master’s degree, took specialized certification classes in various types of counseling, and built the reputation that led me here.”
Finally, she turned and looked at him. “I am my mom’s most profound disappointment. She never lets me forget it, and I’m always trying to live up to her high standards. It’s why the other night you couldn’t be a bus driver.” One lone tear began a soulful journey down her cheek. “I was practicing the lines I’d use if you met her. I was lifting you to the standard that I know she demands.”
She rested her head against his chest. He caressed her tenderly, kissed the top of her head. She ran a hand up his arm, much as he’d earlier done to her. He inhaled her perfume, the scents of jasmine and citrus mixed with vulnerability and relief. Her hand moved to his cheek, as her lips grazed his collarbone. Her tentative movement unleashed something deep inside of him. A desire, no, a mandate that he shield her, protect her, make sure her heart was safe. His plan was to simply comfort her. Cynthia had other ideas. She turned and covered his lips with her own. The kiss was deep, wet, hungry, and haunting. Soon clothes were off and bodies touched, hands groped and found and caressed the other’s sex.
“Do you have condoms?” Byron urgently whispered.
Cynthia scrambled off the bed, retrieved the foiled protector, and returned to the bed. Byron was as impatient as she, pulling her to him, teasing his tongue over every inch of her body before lapping the nectar from her private paradise.
“Now, I need you inside me.”
Byron needed that, too. Within minutes he had her mewling. She grabbed a pillow, pressed it to her mouth to stifle the screams. He loved her once, twice, three times before morning. She woke up feeling satiated, and free.
After a quick shower, Byron and Cynthia tipped down the stairs to her front door.
She gave him a last quick kiss. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad that you called.”
She opened the door. He stepped out, then turned around. “Tell your son about his father. The circumstances can remain hidden, but the father’s identity is part of your son’s identity, and is something he needs to know.”
As he walked to his car, those words rang in his ears. Tanya continued to insist he was little Ricky’s father. Which meant there was another little boy who needed to know the truth about his father. Byron needed to know this, too.
28
It was going to be a long day. Cynthia knew it as soon as she stepped into the H.E.L.P. Agency offices, before she reached her area, turned the corner, and saw trouble. There sat Leah, an hour early for her appointment, talking to Margo, who had no business with her client. After last night’s revealing talk with Jayden, painful disclosure to Byron, and two hours’ sleep, she was not in the mood.
She walked over to Margo. “May I help you?”
Margo stood. “Good morning, Cynthia. I was walking by and saw this pretty young lady sitting here all alone. Your assistant is nowhere in sight, so I stopped to ask if I could help.”
Cynthia was about to inflict a verbal slice and dice, but she noticed the strain on Leah’s face. This young adult lived in a world of drama. She didn’t need to see it in the place she came for help. She owed Margo nothing, least of all an explanation on the goings-on of her department.
“Good morning, Leah. Let’s go in my office.”
Cynthia left Margo standing in her department’s reception area, not even looking her way as she closed the door.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine.” The troubled countenance and low, tremulous voice told Cynthia that Leah was anything but.
“You’re early.”
“Yeah, I got dropped off.”
“Okay, no problem. Rather than have you wait an hour, let’s go ahead and get started. We’ll sit over there.” Cynthia nodded to the sitting area. Leah walked over and plopped down on a tan-colored leather chair that matched a blue, tan, orange, and ivory striped love seat. Two square cubes were arranged to form a coffee table. Atop it were a small bamboo plant and a set of slate coasters boasting positive messages such as believe, dream, and gratitude. A large potted plant set in the far corner. In the corner behind Leah was a tall, three-tiered table housing magazines on the bottom, an iPod and dock on the second shelf, and a combination serenity fountain and candle holder on top. The fountain was turned on, providing the soothing sounds of a softly babbling waterfall. Leah seemed oblivious to the attention placed on providing an ambiance of peace and calm. Her eyes were glued to the cell phone she held, her thumbs in synchronized movement as she typed.
After setting down her bag and retrieving her iPad, Cynthia walked over to the sitting area. She placed her large coffee with a double shot of espresso on one of the coasters and then walked over and turned on the iPod. Soft strands of a new age instrumental played with a soothing combination of piano and strings swept through the room like a warm summer breeze. She turned and witnessed Leah’s tense shoulders relax.
Good. Cynthia took a deep, clearing breath. It was time to put aside every personal situation and focus on her client’s needs.
She sat in the middle of the love seat, close enough for their conversation to feel intimate, yet far enough away to give Leah her personal space. The iPad remained on the table. She picked up her coffee, leaned back against the sofa, and chatted as though she were talking to a friend. “So . . . how is school this week?”
“It’s all right.”
“Leah, would you please put away your cell phone and give me your undivided attention, the same as I’m giving you?”
A few more seconds
of typing, a healthy sigh, and then Leah complied with Cynthia’s request.
Aware of Leah’s need to feel in control of some aspect of her life, Cynthia took another sip of coffee, and another deep breath. “Is there anything specific you’d like to talk about today?”
“Not really.”
“Why don’t we start with what has you unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy,” she mumbled with a scowl.
“Then you should let your face know.” Cynthia glimpsed a wisp of a smile. There was hope.
“How does that woman know my uncle?”
Now it was Cynthia’s turn to scowl. “What woman?”
“The woman who was with me when you got here, trying to get all up in my business. I can’t stand when people do that, acting all fake like they really care.”
Except for a slight narrowing of the eye, Cynthia did not react. Oh, but she wanted to. She wanted to react all over Margo Edwards. Do not curse. Do not get up. Do not behave as your dear friend Lisa would, leave this office, find Margo, and slap her sideways. She looked at the coaster on the table. Breathe. She decided this was a good idea and in mere seconds could speak without yelling, which would be most uncouth.
“What did she say?”
“Something about him looking familiar. She asked where he lived.”
Why would she want to know that? “Did you tell her?”
“Why would I do that? I don’t know her. So I just said south central.”
“Hmm.”
Cynthia picked up her iPad, giving herself time to take her attention off of Margo, for the moment, and put it back on her client. And giving Leah an opportunity to gather her thoughts and take the lead in their discussion. Many counselors with whom Cynthia trained talked constantly—probing, asking, digging. These methods were often successful. But Cynthia believed that sometimes silence was the space that people needed in order to open up.
Several minutes passed. Music played. Water flowed. Cynthia sipped coffee and made notes on her pad.
“His birthday’s tomorrow.”
Wow. A breakthrough. “How old would your brother have been?”