Second Thoughts

by Clarke, Kristofer

  As always, whenever I go to bed with something on my mind, it was exactly what I dream about. In my dream our encounter didn’t go as I planned, and I hope that dream wasn’t a sign of things to come─foreshadowing at its worse.

  I woke earlier than usual when Friday came. I sat reclined on the couch staring at the telephone number to Dr. Vanessa DeAnn Aldridge, waiting for the clock to tick towards a decent hour to contact her. In a few weeks I would be heading back to training camp. I wanted to get this thing with Vanessa, Dillon, and Taylor over with so I could focus on training and the upcoming season. I already had losing Belinda and her pending nuptials to Shedrick occupying every space in my mind.

  I had a really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling I usually got when I was sure things weren’t going to go as planned─not that I had this all planned out. At exactly 9 a.m., I picked up my cell phone and carefully dialed. Each ring seemed to get louder than the one before.

  “Vanessa speaking,” she answered, sounding as if she were in a rush.

  I sat up quickly at the sound of her sweet, almost innocent sounding voice.

  “Dr. Vanessa DeAnn Aldridge?” I quizzed.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Look, I’m just gonna cut to the chase,” I said, ignoring her inquest. “I need to tell you about your husband.”

  “Unless you’re going to tell me you’re sleeping with him, there’s nothing you can tell me about my husband I don’t already know.”

  I laughed at her implication. Maybe if I were the one sleeping with Dillon it wouldn’t sting as much. I’m an open-minded person, but sharing my bed with another man wasn’t my idea of a good time in bed. There’s nothing you can tell me about my husband I don’t already know, I repeated in my head. I hated to think soon Vanessa would be eating those same words. For a brief moment, it bothered me that she would be a casualty of this war between Taylor and me. I thought of Taylor’s demise and agreed this was one admission that wasn’t going to leave a bad taste in my mouth.

  “I see. So you’re one of those women who thinks their husband tells them everything. Like those women, you’re also wrong. Trust me. There are some things he’s leaving out during your pillow talk.”

  Sometimes it’s the secrets us men keep that make our minds dirty. I should know. I did the same thing to Belinda. Belinda was right when she said I was just like her ex Terrence. My infidelities may have stopped with Taylor, but it definitely started long before her. Now I’ve found myself on the other side of loving Belinda, and that is feeling lonely as hell without her. Now the only thing that would make me feel better is giving Taylor just what she deserves, and watching her lose just like I lost.

  “You know, I don’t remember you telling me your name.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “So, there’s really no need to continue this conversation, now is there?” Vanessa asked. I could hear the attitude in her voice. “I have patients to see, and right now, you’re wasting my time.”

  She acted as if she weren’t interested in what I had to say, but that she had stayed on the phone this long, told me otherwise. I stood at the window in the living room, with one hand in my pocket. I enjoyed the brief silence between us.

  “You’re not the only woman in your house that has had your husband,” I revealed.

  Though my silence had been broken, she remained still on the other end.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” she confirmed. “I don’t believe you, but I heard you.”

  “Dillon would have…”

  “Told you?” I interrupted.

  “Yes. If there was something going on between Dillon and Taylor, he would have told me. I know my sister’s reputation. I know she doesn’t mind breaking up a happy home. But if she even winked at Dillon the wrong way, he would have said something.”

  “Damn, woman,” I yelled. “Dillon isn’t telling you everything. And Taylor isn’t telling you anything. Stop giving your man so much damn credit. If he doesn’t want you to know he’s fucking your sister, and she’s willing to carry that secret to her sarcophagus, you’re never going to find out.”

  “How do you know so much about Taylor?”

  “She did the same thing to…”

  Realizing I was about to reveal too much, I paused.

  “Wait. Is this DaMarcus?”

  I wasn’t going to confirm or deny my identity.

  “Who I am is not important. That I can prove to you Taylor is up to something with Dillon is.”

  “Why don’t I just ask them?”

  “Sure, because they’ve been honest with you all this time,” I said sarcastically, and then chuckled. “We both know they are going to flat out deny it. Taylor doesn’t want to hurt you, and Dillon doesn’t want to lose you, but all of that hasn’t been enough for them to leave each other alone.”

  “You know, I thought after Shelby Delgado I wouldn’t have to worry about my husband and another woman. I damn sure didn’t think I’d have to worry about Taylor─my own sister. But now it makes sense.”

  “What?”

  “She did tell me about Dillon’s fling with Shelby, but kept her own lust for my husband hidden. Taylor pretended like she was doing me a favor─looking out for her younger sister─by approaching Shelby, but any warning she gave had nothing to do with me. It was bad enough she had to live with Dillon marrying me, but she damn sure wasn’t going to compete with someone like Shelby who kept her legs open like a bar tab.”

  “So Shelby told you?”

  “Yes, but when she said Taylor only wanted Dillon to herself, I didn’t believe her. I thought she was just upset that she had been caught. So, I guess now Taylor wanted to know if what she has was still good to Dillon.”

  “I told you I can prove it to you.”

  “And how are you going to do that.”

  “Just leave it up to me. Whatever you do, don’t say anything to them. Deal?”

  “I’m not sure I can make that promise. It’s not like me to know someone has been screwing my husband and not say anything, but I will try my best.”

  Truth is, I hadn’t thought about how I would bring this infidelity to light.

  Chapter 20

  Patrick…

  Tell Me

  I was already in Atlanta longer than I’d planned. I had dinner with Jacoby at Chops, which was less than seven minutes from the hotel. I didn’t tell him what had happened between Devaan and me earlier that day, just in case the night had something more in store than just dinner. After dinner, we sat up in the bed, finished a bottle of Vigneau-Chevreau and watched T.V. Jacoby and I did some catching up. He did most of the talking; I did most of the drinking. The next morning when I woke with Jacoby next to me, I decided to change my plans and stay through the weekend, just as he had asked right before falling asleep. I thought about calling Dr. Kendrick to see if she wanted to meet for lunch, but this problem with Devaan had taken care of itself, and I wasn’t in any mood to discuss Omar or my mother.

  It was late Thursday night when my grandmother’s name and phone number appeared on my phone. I hadn’t called her since Omar’s release, and I almost didn’t answer because I was certain that’s exactly what she was calling to talk about. Jacoby was in the shower after coming to the hotel again after a late evening at work. Having him here was definitely distracting my mind from Devaan. It felt like old times, and I realized old times were almost five years ago. Room service had been ordered, and I’d promised him a massage after his shower.

  After listening to my grandmother’s convincing argument to visit her in D.C., I’d purchased a ticket that night. My grandmother lived in Houston, and although I knew this fact, I didn’t ask any questions. I had nothing else planned, and it was my grandmother. She didn’t have to say much for me to jump. Although he didn’t say it, Jacoby’s silence showed how disappointed he was that I was leaving sooner, but his disappointment was short lived after I assured him I wouldn’t be gone more than a couple days.
Damn! It seemed as if Jacoby and I had picked up right where we’d left off, except this time, Dexter wasn’t around.

  My grandmother, Georgia Rosemarie Brigham, liked having company. What she liked most about her company was that when night came, she knew they would be leaving. She acted as if she had a welcome mat at the front door, and a goodbye mat at the back. She was still as sweet with her welcomes as she was with her goodbyes. I think the only people my grandmother didn’t mind having around were Chance and me. After my grandfather passed, my grandmother seemed to enjoy the time she spent alone in her house. Even though she never really said it, I could see it in her eyes that she missed her husband, especially on his birthday and their wedding anniversary, which happens to be on her birthday. She’d always told me, “Baby, after the kids are grown and gone, and the husband has gone to be with his creator, there’s nothing left to do but enjoy being old and single.” I didn’t always believe her.

  Georgia had some voids in her life. She had only given birth to two children, my mother Colleen and my aunt Lexi. My aunt Lexi and her husband died in a car accident. My mother was in that accident, too, but she survived. I was born that same day. My mother always told me Georgia loved Lexi more. Lexi was younger, smarter, and it seemed, for whatever reason, my grandmother had transferred whatever love she had for Lexi to me. Georgia would always say, “The Lord took my Lexi, but HE gave me you.” That statement always made me smile. I couldn’t sneeze and let my grandmother hear before she was ready to call Jesus and his disciples, just for a little sinus sneeze. I’d asked my grandmother if it were true that she loved my aunt more than my mother. My grandmother looked at me with those big eyes and asked, “Can you keep a secret?” When I answered “yes”, she said, “Good. So can I.” I’d never ask my grandmother what was that secret. I’d asked my grandmother that same question about three years ago when I’d realized the distance that existed between her and my mother had become greater. I never learned the truth, at least not from my grandmother. I only wanted to verify what my mother told me.

  I was six years old and would have believed anything, so it wasn’t a surprise when I assumed my mother’s explanation was the truth.

  “Georgia only liked your aunt Lexi more because she’d taken her advice and found your uncle Kiel in the church,” my mother said.

  She spoke with her face hidden behind a newspaper. It seemed my uncle was the only thing my aunt found, ‘cause the way my mother talked about her sister, she certainly didn’t find Jesus.

  My grandmother and I were very close, until Chance came into the picture. It didn’t bother me too much. I’d already concluded it was something he needed. I was eight years old then, practically a man. As far as I was concerned, Chance needed Georgia’s love more than I did.

  • • • • •

  Everything I hated about traveling on a Friday during the summer happened that morning. I’d misplaced my wallet and was late for my 7:45 early morning flight. The baby that sat four rows in front of me in his mother’s lap stopped crying only long enough for the safety demonstration and fell asleep just before landing. The male passenger who sat in the seat next to me that slept with his face in my direction did not have the ideal morning breath, and I fought the urge to nudge him and ask him to please breathe to the other side. Yes, the one hour and forty-five minute flight from Atlanta to D.C. was turning out to be the stressful part of my Friday morning.

  “Where are you?” Chance asked. “Doesn’t sound like you’re home.” I’d answered my cell phone in the middle of a loud page for a passenger to return to the check-in counter.

  “I just got to D.C. I spoke to Grams last night. She said she wanted to see me.”

  “Patrick, you just said you got to D.C. Grams is in Texas,” Chance said, sounding confused. I couldn’t see my grandmother coming to the District and not tell Chance she was there. He’d been her favorite ever since my mother brought him home. He’d bought her first luxury car, an ’05 C Class, when he was first drafted, and although she begged him not to, he upgraded it 3 years later.

  “Don’t tell me,” I paused. “She hasn’t told you?”

  “No. I guess she’s protecting me, too.”

  I paid no attention to his sarcasm.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, man. I do know that everyone has been acting strange since Omar has been released.”

  Saying his name left a horrible aftertaste in my mouth. I paused.

  “Anyway, Chance. I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you anytime soon.”

  I was walking through Reagan on my way to the rental car lot. Chance had ignored all calls and text messages. In my last voice message I’d told him the next time we spoke, he would have to be the one to reach out to me. I was tired of feeling as if I had done anything wrong. Yes, the only father he’s known had been out of his life for ten years, but that wasn’t my fault.

  “I’ve been thinking.” Chance began.

  I interrupted.

  “Oh, is that why you took so long to call me back?”

  Chance didn’t sound like his usual buoyant self. Whatever he had been thinking about had him sounding as if he had just lost his best friend. I wanted to know how Chance felt after I’d told him about what Omar had done. I even left him a message telling him I’d run into Khoury Zeller and that there was something very important I needed to tell him about her. Even that message he ignored. I remembered Khoury telling me not everyone was running away from their secrets, hoping they don’t catch up to them. As private as she was, I was pretty sure she hadn’t told Chance all her secrets.

  “How did you expect me to handle my brother telling me my father raped him? That’s not news someone hears every day. I mean, you weren’t telling me I had my shoes on the wrong damn feet, or I had my shirt on backwards, dude. And then, in the same breath, you tell me you and my mother kept if from me because you were protecting me.”

  “We were.”

  “From what, Patrick?!” he shouted.

  The woman walking beside me looked at me as if she’d heard his scream.

  “Look, Chance. Omar loved you. This was something he did to me. I didn’t want that to affect your relationship with him,” I offered.

  “Loved me?” Chance repeated. “Is that what you saw?” I was confused. “Aiight, Patrick. Since what you saw was love, tell me this. What exactly where you protecting me from? Are you sure you weren’t worried what your little brother would think about you?”

  “I didn’t think about what you would think about me,” I lied. “What happened to me wasn’t something I’d asked for. Like I told you, we kept it from you to protect you.”

  “Oh really?! Where was your protection when I was a scared little eight-year-old boy, forced to hold my father’s dick, his hand over mine, as he pleasured himself. Where were my protectors when he was touching me in places I knew I shouldn’t be touched, but couldn’t tell anyone because he said he would send me away for good. Tell me, Patrick, where was my fucking protection then?”

  I was dumbfounded. I was sitting in the garage in my rented Impala with my mouth wide open. Chance’s admission had taken my breath away.

  “What the hell are you talking about? When did this happen?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “Oh, so you don’t believe me? I just told you. I was eight years old.” Chance’s voice trembled.

  “And where was I, or Mother?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Chance answered quickly. “I do know I was alone, and scared, and neither my mother nor my brother, my protectors, were around.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  I had inserted the key in the ignition but sat back baffled by the news of what had happened to my little brother. He’d already gone through so much, and the people who should have been protecting him harmed him.

  “Why don’t you answer that question?” Chance shot back.

  I sat in the car and told Chance about Omar eavesdropping on the conversation I’
d had with Taylor one evening while we sat on the steps in our backyard. I told him Omar stood there behind the glass in the door with a mask of hatred on his face, and gave me the same penetrating stare when I’d walked into the house. He’d stood in the door between the kitchen and the dining room, with his hands in his pockets, and stared at me as if he’d never seen me before. Omar looked disappointed. I’d held my head down as I walked past him. That day, and the day after, Omar barely had two words to say to me, and then it started.

  “And you didn’t say anything to Mom?” Chance interposed.

  I finally turned on the car, geared to drive, and began my exit from the parking garage. Soon, I had exited the airport and driven on the George Washington Memorial Parkway towards 395. The D.C. area traffic was still light. It was usually like this just after the last day of the school year in June until right before the new school year began in late August. I still expected gridlock at some point with all the construction that had been happening in the District. Since Obama’s Recovery Act, it seemed every intersection and corridor was getting a facelift.

  I’d realized I had been driving in silence since leaving the airport, giving most of my attention to this tense conversation with Chance.

  “Honestly,” I responded. “For a long time I didn’t know who to tell. I thought Colleen should have known something was going on.”

  “Patrick, that’s not fair.”

  “Let’s not talk about what’s not fair, bro.”

  In that moment, I’d become mad at Colleen all over again. What wasn’t fair was how I felt whenever I thought how my own father must have hated what he created to have done something like that to his own son. What wasn’t fair was how I feared sleep because I hated the nightmares that followed.

  "I have one question for you,” Chance said.

  “Please don’t ask me what happened?” I interjected.