Driving Heat

by Day, Zuri

  After her Tuesday meeting with Tracy, she’d skillfully used a “chance” social meeting with Byron (okay, a little creative license never hurt anyone) to ask the director for clarification on the agency’s interpretation of “family” mentioned in association guidelines as it related to these potential interactions. The jury was still out on how much Tracy may have thought she knew based on whatever Margo had told her. She didn’t show her hand. Cynthia wasn’t worried. She hadn’t shown all of hers either, namely, that Byron and Ava weren’t blood-related. If Margo continued to try and use this as leverage for the promotion, Cynthia knew a better time would come for this card to be played.

  It was a quiet Friday. In what had become a Friday night ritual, Jayden was spending the night at Bobby’s house. With Bobby’s sister being so much older, his parents welcomed the company for their son. Cynthia, on the other hand, had the nerve to feel a bit hurt that he preferred doing this to spending time with her. At least that’s what she told herself. She knew the real hurt came from missing Byron, not from missing the company of an only child.

  Except . . . not really. This thought increased Cynthia’s restlessness. She walked from one room to another, her mind as cluttered as her house was clean. That Stewart had two other children was yet another bit of information that had trouble going down. During their tell-all dinner, Cynthia learned that her eight-year-old son had more than the older brother she’d known about. He also had two half sisters, aged six and four.

  “Stewart, why did you have to be married when I got pregnant with Jayden,” she whispered, opening the patio door and stepping out into the warm June air. Why did you have to stay married and father more children? The most important question came last. Why did you have to say you still love me, want to marry me, and complicate my life?

  She needed answers to so many questions. For Jayden’s sake alone, she should have already called him. Byron was one of the main reasons she hadn’t.

  Tired of thinking, Cynthia went back inside to grab her purse. If she was lucky, there’d be a halfway decent movie playing at the local theater. She exchanged her mini housedress for jeans and a simple shell, and pulled out a light jacket in case the theater was cold. Purse on shoulder, keys in hand, she headed for the door and had just closed and locked it when her cell phone rang. Byron!

  Not quite. She didn’t answer. The phone stopped ringing. Not ten seconds later, it rang again.

  Her heart clenching at the thought that something could be wrong, she answered. “Hello, Mom.”

  “How dare you!”

  Something was wrong, but not in the way she’d thought. She unlocked her door and went back inside, tossing her purse beside her as she sat on the couch and braced herself for the latest incident that had Anna Marie in a tizzy.

  “Cynthia? Hello?”

  “Mom, it’s been a tough week, so whatever you’ve called to discuss, can we do so calmly?”

  “Calm? You, the very reason for this evening’s disgrace, want me to consider your feelings and be calm?”

  “This must be about Stewart.”

  “This is about me being blindsided at a charity event and hearing for the first time—and from that social-climbing Jenny Whitman no less—about my daughter’s very public meeting with a still-married Stewart Monihan whom she’s somehow learned is the father of your child. Because of your shamelessness, Cynthia, your mistake is now public. Have you no decency at all, or at the very least, shame? You may have chosen to move to the other side of the country, but your father and I live here!”

  “How did my having dinner with Stewart reveal his connection to Jayden?”

  “The news got back to his wife, who refused to keep quiet. She told Jenny that Jayden was his son.”

  Cynthia was surprised that this news didn’t faze her. She guessed it was because of the distance between her and her mother’s super judgmental clique, and that her “mistake” was almost nine years old. Then again, it could be that her coldhearted mother who’d paid off and separated her grandson from his father had the nerve to highlight her error.

  “Cynthia, did you hear what I just said? Everyone knows!”

  “I’m sorry that this has upset you, Mother.” The sincerity didn’t show in her voice, but she meant what she’d said. “But this news becoming public is not my fault and, as far as I’m concerned, is no longer a problem.”

  “My grandson being labeled a bastard is not a problem? I cannot believe this news leaves you unperturbed.”

  “Quite frankly, I’m surprised that Stewart’s identity wasn’t revealed before now. And if anyone ever utters such a word about my son and I find out about it? They’re going to be a sorry muh-fuh.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “The scandal that’s almost a decade old has come back to ruin me. The memories alone have almost sent me to bed. His wife having just lost a baby when his mistress becomes pregnant. For shame!”

  The only thing missing from Anna Marie’s emoting was someone to catch her should she swoon.

  “I was never his mistress, not even his girlfriend. I was a young, naïve woman who got caught up with a very experienced man. I was frightened, and alone, and received very little comfort or understanding.”

  This snapped Anna Marie back into snippy character. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

  “I’m sharing this experience from my perspective, something you’ve never asked about and something I’ve never shared. Those were the loneliest nine plus months of my life, and by far the hardest. Compared to that time, bearing the brunt of people’s opinion is a cake walk.”

  “Carlton said you and Stewart met by accident. Is that true?”

  Cynthia didn’t miss her mother’s abrupt change of subject. Her veering from any hint of wrongdoing on her part was nothing new. The anger that was simmering now began to boil. She took a breath. “Yes, I went to the club to see Father. It was a spontaneous decision that at the time felt horrendous, but that I now don’t regret.”

  “I don’t see why not. It has only led to disastrous complications.”

  “Really, Mother? What on earth about the supposedly sullied reputation of your grown daughter who moved away years ago is causing you such problems?”

  “Have you forgotten life in society? Did you not hear what I said occurred tonight? No doubt at this very moment they’re discussing my adulterous daughter and her illegitimate son. I can’t even think of facing the women tomorrow at the fashion show that I helped organize. I’m trying to decide whether I’ll come down with a migraine, or a fever.”

  “Why don’t you come down with a case of the truth?”

  “I beg your pardon, young lady! How dare you show such disrespect.”

  “How dare you pay off the man who disrespected me and deprive your grandson of a father!” The only sound heard was the sound of Cynthia’s breathing, sounding a bit like steam from a boiling kettle. “It is enough that you’ve labeled me all these years, as if your entire life has been flawless. But, lady, when you describe my child as something wrong and improper, you have crossed the final line.”

  She gripped the phone so hard her hand shook, and she was close to tears. But she’d stood her ground against the indomitable Anna Marie Hall. In thirty years, this was a first.

  “Very well, Cynthia.” Her mother’s tone held a perfect blend of hurt and resignation. “Since you insist on a level of insolence I would not have imagined . . . I will bid you good night.”

  The click was soft, almost imperceptible, yet in spite of how angry she’d been with her mother, it pierced Cynthia’s heart. All her life she’d tried to be the good little girl who would make Anna proud, and all her life she’d failed. With the skill honed over more than thirty years of practice, her mother had managed to unearth the child laden with such an impossible task. She sat there, her mind recalling years of blame and shame and guilt at not being as good as the daughter whom her mother had envisioned. Next would be either a call
or text from her father, who her mother would have goaded until he’d do anything to shut her up, which usually meant siding with Anna. His text came within thirty minutes. Dear, please apologize to your mother. She is completely distraught.

  Cynthia wasn’t aware of when the tears started and didn’t remember curling up on the couch. All she knew was that for one amazing moment, she’d felt proud and right for stating her truth. Now, all she felt was sad.

  The next morning, Cynthia woke up to the sound of her phone and a crick in her neck. It was the call she’d expected. “Good morning, Mother. I was expecting your call.”

  “Good morning, Cynthia.”

  Her mother was waiting for the apology she knew would come. Cynthia knew because this manipulation had been used to reign in those around her for as long as Cynthia could remember. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn her mother had begun honing them in childhood.

  “I apologize for last night’s behavior.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.”

  She wasn’t. “I am.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Cynthia, because I’ve been up all night and working half the morning for a way to rectify this situation and to repair the Hall standing in this town.”

  Cynthia sat straight up. The pseudo-silky quality of her mother’s voice so alarmed her, she forgot her neck was hurting. The last time her mother sounded like this she’d gotten shipped off to upstate New York to spend the last month of her pregnancy with an aunt she barely knew.

  “I’ll need your help, of course.”

  This was exactly why Cynthia was afraid.

  “As harshly as they were delivered, I thought long and hard on your comments regarding Jayden. I have a tremendous amount of love for that little boy and would never wish him harm. Nor will I apologize for actions taken with only the best of intentions. Everything I’ve ever done has been to secure the best future possible for Jayden . . . and for you.”

  “I’m sure you believe that.”

  “Because it’s true!”

  That her mother probably believed those words was enough to make Cynthia throw the phone. Instead, she chose to get off of it as soon as possible.

  “Okay, Mother. Since as you say, the whole town knows that Stewart is Jayden’s father, what in the world can I do to change that situation?”

  “There’s nothing we can do to change that, dear, but we can make it legal.”

  “How, by putting Stewart’s name on the birth certificate?”

  “By putting your name on a marriage certificate.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve talked to Stewart and found out that his divorce is in progress. He wants to marry you and help take care of Jayden. I’m sure you’ll agree this is the perfect solution, a quaint garden ceremony done as quietly and quickly as possible. If all goes well, this could happen as early as the fall. While not my first choice, some of the colors of this season are quite lovely. I’m thinking burgundy, deep lavender, and a tangerine orange would make a lovely tableau. Doesn’t that sound stunning? Cynthia . . . hello?”

  “Mother, I didn’t agree to marry Stewart when he asked me. I am still not agreeing to marry him.”

  “That will change when you hear what he’s agreed to.”

  “What? Receiving more money from you as incentive, maybe a million this time? I’ve got to go.”

  And she did. She basically hung up on Anna Marie Hall, and didn’t feel bad about it. Getting her meddling mother out of her personal affairs was long overdue. But she planned to do just that.

  40

  It hadn’t even been a week, but for Byron it felt like forever since he’d talked to Cynthia. He didn’t think it was possible to know someone for such a short time and miss them so much. Good thing he was a secure man; otherwise, this sentimentality would leave him embarrassed. As it was, he felt like Jerry Maguire. Cynthia completed him.

  It was Tyra’s weekend with Tanya, but Byron had found enough to stay busy for most of the day: breakfast at his favorite spot, car wash, haircut, a visit to the folks. Douglas was there and they ended up riding together to their brother Marvin’s house, shot the breeze for a couple hours. But as afternoon turned to evening, Marvin had plans and Douglas had a date, leaving Byron all by his lonesome. Unable to think of anything interesting to do, because all he wanted to do was see her.

  Without further thought, he picked up the phone and tapped the message app. He cleared his throat—an unnecessary move since the message would be read, not heard—and tapped the microphone.

  Cynthia: Why haven’t you called since I told you the news? Ava is not my blood sister. Even though Leah views me as her real uncle, and that’s probably why you’re still being silent, this noncommunication isn’t working for me. And it’s not like I don’t care about Leah, because I do. But the thing is, I care about you, too, and believe you feel our connection the same as I do. I understand you’ve got a job to do and rules to follow. But how does that work when it messes with your life like it’s messing with mine? We’ve got to do something about this. I miss you.

  Byron, why’d you do that? She’s going to think you’re a lovesick puppy. He was a lovesick puppy. If the fellas had any idea I am sitting here with a schoolboy crush.

  I’ve got to get out of here. Just as he was about to jump up from the couch and make a mad dash away from his thoughts, his message indicator chirped.

  The high-school crush kid was replaced by the brothah with swagger who knew she’d text back. He tapped on the icon with a megawatt braggadocios smile.

  Always the confident one. How are you so sure my life is messed up?

  He walked over and sat down on the couch, pulled off his shoes, and propped his feet on the table. Someone felt this was going to take a while.

  Because I haven’t been able to massage that spot that makes you hit high notes, and that’s a note few if any other man can make you hit.

  At the very thought of massaging and hitting, his instrument hardened in preparation for action. Byron shifted on the couch and repositioned the unruly member, even as he forced other thoughts so that they both could calm down.

  Byron Carter, you are nothing if not confident.

  He laughed out loud, sounding like a man who’d just won a bet.

  Am I wrong? You told me yourself that you’d never had multiple orgasms until I happened to you. Are you going to tell me that the man who left you hanging after one quick nut made you sing?

  The response was longer in coming this time. Have I gone too far? He refused to even worry about that. As far as anything he could say on this phone wasn’t as far as he wanted to go. Culver City is as far as he wanted to go. Cynthia’s bedroom and into her softness is the distance that was on his mind.

  I’ve thought about what you shared about you and Ava. A great deal, actually. This technicality does not change the fact that Leah views you as her very real uncle, which is why our being together continues to feel like a line of impropriety that you’re trying to make me cross.

  What’s improper about what we’re doing now? Uh-huh, thought I didn’t know that word? See why I need you around me. So I can become all edu-ma-cated. LOL.

  You’re. Silly.

  But I made you smile. I’ve got a friend over here who wants to make something else smile.

  Please don’t talk like that. There’s nothing I can do about the way you’re making me feel.

  Don’t act like you don’t have a box of toys. A big Rambo-styled dildo. Very poor substitute.

  No, I tried that once. I just couldn’t get into it.

  I wish I could get into it.

  Byron!

  Baby. I’m hurting. If I go blind, it will be your fault!

  LOL!!! Shut up!

  :)

  I should not have called you from Minnesota. That was selfish and unfair.

  You were drunk.

  I was a tad tipsy.

  As a skunk.

  Perhaps I’d had one too many.

  You know what t
hey say about drunk folk.

  What?

  That a drunk tongue speaks a sober mind.

  Meaning . . .

  When you got upset, I was the first one you called.

  Sorry to burst the bubble you’re blowing, but outside of my family, you are the only person who knows about . . . everything.

  See? Even your girls don’t know, and y’all talk about everything. See how special I am? Shoot . . . I’m going to keep on blowing. And you should come over and help me. Nobody from your company lives over here. Tyra’s with her mother. I can’t even meet your son. Who’s going to know? I’m not talking and I know you won’t tell.

  Seconds after he’d sent this one, another followed.

  Never mind. I know what you’re going to say. Disregard what I just sent.