by Donna Hill
Rose sighed deeply. “I was alone, away from everything and everyone that I knew. I was so scared. Instead of those days being happy, they were some of the worst days of my life. I couldn’t enjoy the life growing inside me because of the uncertainty of my future and the fact that I was alienated from my family.”
“Mama, I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing you did. All started long before you.”
“Did you try to stay in touch with Kyle?”
“I wrote letters, but I never heard a word from him ever again.”
“I don’t understand. Nana sent you away to have the baby, so what happened when you gave birth?”
“My last month was really bad. I was so sick, big as a house, feet so swollen I could barely walk. The school was affiliated with a Catholic hospital. I was admitted, and to tell you the truth, those days in the hospital are still a blur. I was on so many medications, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I vaguely remember the sound of buzzers going off and bodies rushing around my bed. Then nothing. I guess they must have given me a sedative. When I came to, Mama was sitting at my bedside . . .”
* * *
“Mama . . .”
Claudia reached over and covered her daughter’s hand with her own. “You gon’ be alright. You just need to rest.”
“My baby . . .”
Claudia lowered her eyes then looked at her daughter. “I’m sorry, chile. Yo’ baby didn’t make it.”
“There are no words to explain the pain I felt in my soul.” She pressed her fist to her chest. “To lose a child . . .” Her eyes filled. Tears slid down her cheeks.
Zoie’s heart twisted in her chest. She could not begin to imagine what her mother had endured or the emotional scars that she still carried.
“So they told you the baby died,” Zoie said softly, as she tried to process the enormity of the lie.
Rose nodded. “I had no reason not to believe my mother. And I had no reason not to believe her when she told me that going back home would not look good, that I was to stay in New York, and that the Maitlands had generously agreed to pay for my college. I figured, at the time, that it was their way of paying us off for what happened.
“Mama insisted that going to college in New York was a wonderful opportunity, and I now had a chance that none of her other children had.”
The screen door opened, and Sage stepped out, followed by Hyacinth, who was leaning heavily on her cane.
Sage glanced from one teary-eyed face to the other. “Guess she told ya,” Sage said to Zoie.
Zoie sniffed and nodded her head.
Sage heaved a heavy sigh before helping her sister into a cushioned chair. “That family done caused so much hurt,” she said stoically. “’Bout ruined this family, caused a rift between us sisters for years.”
Zoie frowned, not understanding.
“Resented Rose. Didn’t understand why it was her that got the glory for doing wrong.”
Rose’s gaze jumped to her sister.
“I knew you was knocked up. Could see it in your face long before Mama found out. Humph. Then you get sent away.” She shook her head and puckered her lips. “What else could it be? Just never figured it was that Maitland boy.”
“No one ever questioned Kimberly’s birth, her mother’s pregnancy?” Zoie asked, amazed that a secret that big could be kept.
“There might have been someone who knew or suspected. We never knew. We didn’t travel in the same circles.”
“Grease the right hands,” Hyacinth said and chuckled. “Make things go away.”
Zoie knew that to be true. But were they powerful enough to make records disappear? “There has to be some record of the birth,” Zoie said.
“There is. I was given a birth and death certificate when I left the hospital. Unnamed baby girl.”
Zoie squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief.
“Now maybe you understand why we was so hard on you,” Sage said to her niece. “Why your mama held on so tight.”
Zoie looked over at her mother and reached out for her hand. Rose slipped her hand into her daughter’s. “I’ll make this right, Mama.”
“Best leave it alone. It’s enough to know the truth,” Sage advised.
“That family has gotten away with too much, hurt too many people, and it’s time the world saw them for who they really are.”
CHAPTER 21
Zoie pulled her rollaboard behind her as she wound her way around the disembarking passengers at LaGuardia Airport, all headed for the exit. She pushed through the revolving doors and stepped out to the passenger pickup section. She walked to the curb, took out her cell phone, and dialed Miranda.
“Hey, girl. I’m here.”
“Be there in a minute. Had to drive around in circles. You know they don’t let you sit and wait. Coming back around now.”
“See you in few.” She disconnected the call and waited, taking in the hustle and bustle of being back in New York. The energy was palpable, and the presence of armed military and patrolling police were vividly evident and would be much the same when she got back to Lower Manhattan, where she lived.
Since 9/11, as it was now officially called, security had been tightened almost to a point of suffocation. But the country was willing to relinquish levels of its privacy and freedoms in order to feel safe again.
A short horn blow drew her attention, and she waved when she spotted Miranda pulling up to the curb in her white Lexus. The trunk popped open, and then Miranda got out and came around to meet her friend.
“Welcome home,” Miranda greeted, and the friends embraced in a tight hug.
“Good to be back.”
Zoie loaded her bag in the trunk, and they got in the car.
“So how was the family when you left?”
Zoie blew out a breath. “Taking it in stride. My Aunt Sage had an idea of what had happened but never knew for sure. My mother is still numb with the idea that the child she thought was dead isn’t.”
“Hmm, I can’t even imagine.”
“If I wasn’t in the middle of it, I wouldn’t either. But I swear, you can’t make this stuff up. Bottom line is that the Maitland family used their wealth and position to manipulate my family, rob my mother of being a mother, and who the hell knows what else—all to save their family name.”
Miranda shook her head with sadness. “Now what?”
“The family basically wants me to leave it alone. Too many years have passed. Too much loss and hurt.”
“But of course you don’t feel the same way.”
“I want to get to the bottom of it. I want them to own up to what they’ve done, and I want Kimberly Maitland to know who she really is.”
Miranda was quiet as she maneuvered along the Grand Central Parkway.
“What? Say what’s on your mind,” Zoie said, reading her friend’s silence for what it really was.
Miranda snatched a quick look at Zoie. “Fine. I have to agree with your family, Z. I really don’t think any good can come of it. And telling Kimberly Graham . . .” She shook her head. “You could ruin her entire life.”
Zoie defiantly folded her arms. “How about the lives that her family ruined?” She huffed. “It just makes me so angry.”
“I get the anger. But I think part of that anger is that you feel personally deceived by your grandmother,” Miranda said softly.
Zoie tightened her lips. She stared out of the passenger window. “There’s that, too,” she quietly confessed. “The woman I thought I knew would never take a payoff for her own child.”
“You don’t know all of the circumstances. You need to remember when this was, what the climate was in the South. I mean, let’s be for real: mixing the races was actually illegal in parts of the South.”
“I know . . .”
“Maybe your grandmother did what mothers have been doing since the beginning of time, protecting her young.” She offered Zoie a tight-lipped smile.
Damn, she hated it when Miranda was right.
* * *
Jackson hung up the phone. His conversation with Lou Ellen Maitland had been anything but cordial. In essence, she’d threatened him. True, she’d done what she’d agreed, but now it came with a price. She made it perfectly clear that if Zoie printed one disparaging word about the Maitland family or anything at all that could potentially hurt Kimberly, not only would she sue, but she would pull her funding from the Horizon Housing Complex project. Then, in true Lou Ellen Maitland fashion, she pleasantly wished him a good day.
He flopped back in his seat and ran his hand across his head in frustration. He knew that once Zoie dug her heels in, there was no pulling her out. Their last conversation had made that clear, and he had no doubts whatsoever that Lou Ellen would make good on her “promise.”
No good deed goes unpunished, as his mother always said. He didn’t quite know what that meant until now. He’d thought he was helping when he stepped in and put in a word with Lou Ellen on Zoie’s behalf. Truth was, he was angling for points with Zoie. Now that had all backfired, and he was caught in the middle.
He had a more immediate problem, because he knew Zoie would press forward. But the Maitland money was the cornerstone of the project. Without their funding, the development would come to a standstill, and all the promises made to the community would be broken and lives thrown into chaos. To complicate matters further, if the Maitlands pulled out, it would make it that much harder or impossible to get another backer of their caliber.
“Can’t be that bad.”
Jackson looked up to see Lennox standing in the doorway. “Hey, man,” he said half-hearted.
“What’s up?” Lennox stepped in.
“Close the door.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” he said while closing the door.
“It’s not. We have a problem.”
Lennox sat down, and Jackson went on to explain the untenable position they were in.
“Shit,” he sputtered. “We can’t let that happen.”
“That I know. But at the moment I have no clue what to do about it.”
“I do. You need to tell Zoie to back off.”
Jackson shot him a look. “We’re talking about Zoie, remember.”
“What choice do we have? We can’t let her implode this project. We have too much on the line—the buyers and not to mention the crew. If Maitland pulls the money, we are royally screwed.”
“We’re going to have to look for new investors.”
“Easier said than done. The whole country is still reeling from the Trade Center attack, and money is tight all over. Investors are scared.”
“I know,” he said on a breath. “But we have to try.”
“You need to talk to Zoie. Make her understand what’s at stake here.”
“She’s back in New York.”
“For good?”
“I don’t think so. She’s there for a fund-raiser for Kimberly Maitland.”
“Right. The event you were disinvited to.”
“You’re making me feel better by the minute,” he snarked.
“Being real, brother. But the fact remains, we can’t let her mess this up for us. Simple as that.”
“Yeah, if only it was that simple.”
* * *
Kimberly stood in front of the full-length mirror and slowly turned to see how her cocktail dress fit. The sleeveless, teal-colored dress, which brought out the gray-green of her eyes, had a tight bodice that dipped just enough in the front to be alluring without giving too much away, then gently hugged her hips and stopped just above the knee. But it was the detail on the fabric that was the real showstopper. Hand-sewn rhinestones encrusted the bodice and made the dress shimmer in the light.
“You look stunning.”
Kimberly whirled around with a bright smile. “I have to keep up if I’m going to be with the most handsome man in the room.” She walked over and into Rowan’s embrace.
“This is your big night. I’m just arm candy,” he teased.
Kimberly laughed. “Candy that I wouldn’t mind having a taste of,” she cooed.
Rowan stroked the faint cleft in her chin. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he said and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “When we get home. Now we need to get you to your event. The car is waiting, and Farrah said the girls are ready.”
“Promise me one thing,” she said, gripping his large hand.
“Anything.”
“Don’t leave my side.”
Rowan winked. “You got it.”
They walked to the door.
“You know, it almost feels . . . sacrilegious having this big swanky event when mass destruction is only a few miles away,” Kimberly said.
Rowan slipped his arm around her waist. “That’s even more reason why tonight is important. We get to remind people that we will not be intimidated and that we are resilient. Most of all, that you are the person who will be there for them.”
She glanced up at him with love flowing from her eyes. “You want to give up that technology stuff you do and be my front man?” She adjusted his bow tie.
Rowan chuckled. “Never in front, baby. Always at your side.”
She linked her arm through his and said a silent prayer that the anxious sensation that continued to bubble in her stomach was only a sign of nervous excitement and nothing more.
CHAPTER 22
“I know you’re not going to walk right up to her and say, ‘Oh, by the way, did you know that you have a half sister—me?’” Miranda said as she leaned toward the mirror and applied her lipstick.
“I am a bit more subtle than that,” Zoie said, wiggling into the black dress that she’d borrowed from Miranda.
Miranda peeked her reflection in the mirror. “Fits perfectly.”
“Yeah, and a good thing, too. You know this”—she ran her hands down her sides—“is so not my thing.”
“Every now and then, a girl needs to dress up.” She turned away from the mirror.
“In my line of work, casual works best.”
“But doesn’t it feel good?” Miranda said. “Look at yourself. I mean the only semi-fancy thing you had in your closet was the dress you wore to your grandmother’s funeral. That. Is. Sad.”
“Very funny.” She smoothed the dress along her hips and looked at herself from the side, and for a hot minute, she wondered what Jackson would think if he saw her. She inhaled deeply and pushed thoughts of Jackson aside. “Ready?” Miranda asked.
“Yes.” She picked up her—also borrowed—rectangular, beaded clutch from the dresser and dropped her cell phone inside, along with a pen and mini notepad. She snapped the lock shut. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
There was a line of cars in the queue to be parked when Zoie and Miranda pulled up in front of the Grand Meridian Hotel.
“Fancy,” Miranda said, adding a bit of spice to the two syllables.
The Lexus was met by a red-jacketed valet who helped them from the car, handed them a ticket, took Miranda’s keys, and pulled off in a flash.
“Fancy,” Zoie repeated, mimicking her friend.
They followed the flowing crowd along the short path into the main lobby of the hotel and were met at the glittering entrance by one of several hostesses who directed them to the ballroom. Their names were checked at the door, and they were directed to their table.
The ballroom was nearly full, complete with a Who’s Who of the Manhattan elite—Wall Street tycoons, political figures, socialites, and several faces that Zoie recognized from television—and, of course, there was the press.
“I feel like a stepchild,” Miranda whispered. “Did you see Hamilton Forster and his wife? He was just in the last Furious movie.”
“There is definitely some of everybody here tonight,” Zoie said while slowly scanning the crowd. “I don’t see the lady of the hour.”
“Probably waiting to make an entrance. Oh, look there’s Congressman Reynolds, and isn’t that the anchor from NBC talking to him?�
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“Yes. Stephanie Voss. Excuse me for a minute. I’m going to say hello.” She pushed her chair back, stood, and began to wind her way around bodies and tables—and nearly ran into a waiter when she spotted Jackson standing by the entrance.
Her body vibrated. She tried to remember what they’d argued about, and why he wasn’t on her arm tonight. But she couldn’t get her thoughts in order. The shock of seeing him unraveled her resolve. He was simply gorgeous.
Jackson turned his head, and his gaze landed right on her. Air stuck in her chest.
A waiter passed, and she snatched a glass of champagne from the tray, took a sip, and walked straight for him.
Zoie stood solidly in front of him. She lifted her chin and looked him right in the eye. “What are you doing here, Jackson? How . . .”
His dark eyes roved over her like the hands of a masseuse and set off every nerve ending in her body. She concentrated on breathing.
“You look . . . incredible,” he whispered in awe. He reached out and stroked her bare arm.
Electricity shimmied down the curve of her spine. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “You didn’t answer me.”
“I came for you.”
Her breath hitched. “How did you even get in?”
“Pulled a few strings. Z, we need to talk.”
“I kind of thought you didn’t have anything else to say to me after our last conversation,” she said, her tone tinged with a sprinkle of hope.
“Some things have happened.”
“Like what?”
“I need you to really think about what you’re doing, Z. I’m asking you to let this go.”
“Did my family send you?”
“No. They don’t even know I’m here.”
“I’m doing my job. Being here is part of that job, Jax.”
“Z, all I’m asking is that you let go of your theory.”
“Theory!” Her voice rose and caught the attention of several guests nearby. She lowered her head. “This is not a theory, Jackson. You saw what I saw. I put the pieces together. My mother and my aunts confirmed everything. What they did, what those people did to my family . . .” Her voice cracked.
Jackson put his arm around her waist and ushered her out of the ballroom.