by Donna Hill
She could never tell him. Never. What she had to do now was decide what she was going to do about Zoie and her story. She was a lawyer. She was trained to look at every scenario, every obstacle, and find a way through or around it to get her client clear. This time she was her own client, and she had something that she was pretty certain that Zoie Crawford didn’t have—money and power. What she needed to figure out was how to use what she had to neutralize the obstacle in her path.
* * *
Zoie shut the door to her apartment and went straight to the bathroom to splash water on her face. She snatched a towel from the rack and patted her face dry. Momentarily, she was stunned by her reflection. There was hollowness in her eyes, a dull tinge to her skin, and a downturn of her lips as if the vitality that fueled her had been drained.
She pushed away from the sink and the telltale reflection.
CHAPTER 28
Jackson walked out of the offices of Henderson and Dupont. They were the last of three possible financiers, and he’d done no better with them than the others. They all applauded what he was attempting to do but weren’t in a position to assist.
He knew what they really meant. Lou Ellen and Franklin Maitland had far-reaching arms. No one in New Orleans would go against them. If they believed that the Maitlands had doubts about the progress of the development or were pulling their funding, then no one would be willing to fill that gap.
Plan B was a failure, and if Lou Ellen did as she threatened to do, he and Horizon were finished.
Maybe he should do what Lennox said and tell Zoie the truth, try to talk some sense into her. He opened his car door and got behind the wheel. He pounded his fist into the steering column. There had to be some other way. He wasn’t going to beg Zoie to save him.
He pulled off and headed back to his office.
* * *
“I can tell by the look on your face that this meeting was a bust, too,” Lennox said, as he stood in Jackson’s open doorway.
Jackson took off his glasses. “Pretty much.” He massaged the bridge of his nose.
Lennox came in and sat down. “So now what, bro? If she prints all that mess about the Maitlands, we are royally screwed. End of story. You know that.”
Jackson frowned. “How many more units need to be completed?”
“Eighteen. That’s not including the grounds and the façade. We still have vendors to pay and the crew.”
“Right now, we’re still in good shape and on track.”
“Yeah. For now.”
Jackson slowly nodded his head and pursed his lips. “It won’t matter if Zoie prints her articles or not.”
“Say what!”
A slow smile moved across his mouth. “If there is something the Maitlands hate more than anything, it’s scandal. Right?”
“So? What the hell do you think this will be?”
“Exactly. So we head it off.” He leaned forward. “We get proactive.”
“You’re losing me.”
“I’m going to talk to Lou Ellen. Let her know that, more than likely, Zoie will go forward with her article. But we are going to head it off.”
“How?”
“By doing a preemptive strike. Set up some photo ops at the site with the Maitlands and some of the families who will be moving in. Get the local papers to do a write-up on the Maitland’s humanitarian efforts.” He lifted a finger for effect. “To try to make up for the wrongs that have been done to too many of our black citizens, even by their own ancestors. She can say the Maitlands can’t change the past, but they can help ensure a better future.”
Lennox heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, man.”
“Look, even if Zoie does publish the articles, we would have already established that they are aware of the ills of the past and are trying to do right. Then Zoie’s article will look like an attack as opposed to a balanced article. Besides, she writes for a local paper. The reach is limited.”
“Hmm, maybe so, but she’s writing about someone who’s running for office. Those things have a way of taking on a life of their own.”
“True. But at the very least, if we do it my way, she will have to seriously rethink her approach. This way, no one really gets hurt. Stung a little, but not wounded—other than pride.”
“Z is going to be pissed,” Lennox said with a chuckle.
“For a minute. But one thing I know about Zoie is that she respects guts. In the meantime, in case all of this is no more than a pipe dream, we have enough in the budget for overtime. I want the men working to get those units finished in three weeks instead of six.”
Lennox nodded. “Now that’s a plan. I’ll get with the foreman and work out a new schedule.”
“If we need to hire more crew, then do it.”
“With what?”
Jackson swallowed. “I’ll get a new mortgage on my house to cover the costs. Just get it done.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Lennox stood. “You got it. I’ll let you know how everything worked out.”
“Thanks. And Len . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Lennox saluted with a lift of his chin and walked out.
Jackson exhaled and flopped back in his chair. It all sounded good. Now if he could only pull it off.
* * *
Zoie walked into the dimly lit restaurant and went to the hostess counter.
“I’m meeting someone. Miranda Howard.”
The young woman scanned her list. “Yes. She’s here already. She’s at the bar. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll get you seated.”
“Thank you.” She walked around the tables, headed for the bar, and spotted Miranda chatting it up with a good-looking guy sitting next to her.
It had always been so easy for Miranda since their days in college. She was open and carefree. People were drawn to her, and she had a way with men. Zoie, on the other hand, always had a hard time establishing relationships. She could count the number of her female friends on less than one hand. And men . . . Jackson was her first real relationship, the first person other than Miranda that she’d let beyond the barriers, and she ran him away. Brian was a rebound, a way to prove that someone wanted her. It wasn’t fair to him. So, now all she had was her work, her career, to fall back on, to validate her. No one seemed to understand that.
“Hey, girl,” she said, sidling up to Miranda. She gave her a quick hug.
“Hey.” She turned to her drinking companion. “Z, this is Terrance Vaughn. Terrance, this is my bestie, Zoie Crawford.”
He stood to his full six foot three inch height. He extended his hand, and his smile could have launched a commercial. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“Well, it was good talking to you, Miranda. Call me.” He patted her shoulder and walked off.
“Who. Was. That?” Zoie asked while she watched him walk away.
Miranda giggled. “He’s a professor at the New School. Teaches film.”
Zoie hopped onto the barstool. “He could be in a film,” she said.
“I know, right.” She giggled.
“You gonna call him?”
Miranda rocked her head to the side. “You damn right I am. Wouldn’t you? Anyway, you want a drink first or get seated?”
“Let’s get our table. I need to talk.”
* * *
While they waited for their dinner, Zoie sipped on a margarita and told Miranda about her meeting with Kimberly.
“I thought confronting her was going to . . . I don’t know—make me feel good. Redeem my family.”
“And?”
“None of that.” She took another sip of her drink. “All it did was turn another woman’s life upside down. You should have seen her face, Randi.” She shook her head. “Kimberly is as much a victim in all this as everyone else. Going after her won’t change the past.”
Miranda looked at her wide-eyed. “Can somebody tell me where m
y girl Zoie Crawford went?”
“Not funny.”
“I’m serious. I—”
The waitress arrived with their dinner. Miranda waited until she was gone.
“I have to be honest with you, Z. The way you were so hellbent on getting at this woman, her family . . . even for you and your relentlessness, it was over the top. I was getting scared for you, Z. You turned into someone that I didn’t recognize or particularly like.”
“Whoa.”
“It’s true. You’d gotten so blinded by this quest that nothing else mattered. But I knew that deep inside you were acting out of hurt. Hurt by what you think your grandmother did as if she did it to you.” She shook her head slowly. “You have no idea what it must have been like for her back then.”
Zoie lowered her head.
“We do all kinds of things to protect the people we love. We don’t always make the right decisions, but we do it out of love. Sometimes that backfires.”
“I know,” Zoie said softly. “Those are all the things that have been running through my head.” She pushed her food around on her plate. “For the better part of my life, I’ve tried to fit in, to be cared for . . .” Her eyes clouded. She sniffed.
Miranda reached over and covered her hand. “It’s okay, Z. It’s okay to want to be needed. It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s cool to want to matter to someone else. And it’s okay to be scared. The thing is, sis, you can’t let the scared part ruin everything else. When you’re scared, you lash out and you run people off, instead of looking for a safe space with those who care about you.” She paused. “We’re all human. We fuck up. It’s what humans do. You gotta find a way to forgive and move on, or you’ll always be in that ‘you against the world’ position.”
Zoie reached for a napkin and wiped her eyes. “I know,” she sniffed. “I’m a work in progress,” she said, trying to make light.
“Got that right.” Miranda’s smile was filled with warmth. “So . . . what’s next?”
Zoie inhaled deeply, then finally took a forkful of her shrimp scampi. She chewed slowly. “I do want to hear what decision Kimberly makes.”
“Why? What does it matter?” Miranda’s voice rose in alarm with each word. “You’re not going through with exposing the family, are you?”
Zoie glanced away. She slowly shook her head no.
Miranda released a relieved breath.
Zoie stared Miranda in the eyes. “I only want her to recognize our mother, Randi. I want her to acknowledge the rest of her family. I know the Maitlands never will, but she should know what our mother gave up—or, better, what was taken from her.”
“You have to know that you can’t make her accept your family.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I do . . . I guess I’m hoping that she will . . . for my mother.”
Miranda raised her glass. “Here’s to hoping.”
CHAPTER 29
Kimberly went to her closet and from the top shelf took down the metal box that contained some of her important papers. She took the box to the table by the window in her bedroom.
She flipped through the plastic sleeves until she found her birth certificate. She took it out and gingerly unfolded it. There’d been plenty of times when she needed her birth certificate: her first driver’s license, at different times during college, for her passport, her life insurance policy, and her marriage license.
She’d never really paid much attention to the details before now; she’d simply accepted what was printed and stamped with an official seal to be true. There was no reason to believe otherwise.
Now she stared at the details. Name: Kimberly Alyse Maitland. Mother: Lou Ellen Maitland. Father: Franklin Maitland. Place of birth: St. Cyrian Hospital, New York. Gender: Female.
The only pieces of information that were correct were her name, gender and place of birth. How on earth did her parents manage to get her this fake birth certificate? Whose palm did they grease? She stared down at the lie.
After Kyle died and then Claudia left, she was totally alone. Her mother never treated her the way she imagined mothers treated daughters. Lou Ellen didn’t share hugs or girl talk. All her mother seemed to be concerned about was Kimberly being the best at what she did: her grades, how she dressed, the friends she chose, the boys she dated, the career she planned, the man she married.
In the household, Lou Ellen ran things. Everything. But she knew her father wielded a different kind of power. Together they were formidable. If they’d engineered this whole twisted scenario, they would make sure that there were no holes. From the time they purchased Claudia from her parents in Barbados right up to the truth of her birth and everything in between—they had planned it all.
What they hadn’t counted on was Zoie Crawford.
“Mom.”
She looked up from staring at her birth certificate. “Lexi. Hey, baby.” She extended her arm and motioned her to come.
Lexi loped across the room, her blond ponytail dancing behind her, and plopped down on her mother’s lap. She nuzzled her head in Kimberly’s neck. Kimberly stroked her back.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“Ryan.”
“Who is Ryan?”
“This boy in English class.”
“Okay? And is this someone that you like?”
She bobbed her head.
“Is he nice?”
“Yes. Really nice.”
“So why do you look so upset?”
“He likes Alexandra.”
Kimberly shut her eyes. “Ohhhh.”
Kimberly spent the next hour soothing the wounded heart of her twelve-year-old. She assured her that Ryan wasn’t the only fish in the sea, and even if he did like Sandi, that didn’t mean that Sandi liked him back. There would be times in her life when she and her sister would be on opposite sides, but those times should never impact their relationship because nothing was more important than family.
* * *
“When do you want me to book your flight?” Miranda asked when she pulled her car to a stop in front of Zoie’s apartment building.
“I want to give Kimberly a couple of days. See if she wants to meet again. To talk.”
“If she doesn’t?”
“I’ll let it go. Besides, I still have my grandmother’s business to look after, and whatever is left of my career at the Recorder.”
“What are you going to tell Mark?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet. Worst-case scenario is I’ll continue to follow the campaign. Give it my all.”
“What about your mom?”
She tugged at her curls. “I guess I’ll have to tell her the truth and tell her whatever Kimberly decides to do.”
“Okay, sis. You know I got your back, whatever you decide to do.” She squeezed Zoie’s upper arm.
“I know. Thanks.” She opened the car door. “Love you, girl.”
“Back at ya. Hey, Z.”
Zoie leaned down and peeked in through the window.
“Call Jackson. See him when you get home. Don’t let him get away again.” She pressed the button, and the window rolled up.
* * *
Zoie spent the better part of the morning reviewing her notes and putting together the pieces to begin writing her article, with the title “The Rise of Kimberly Maitland-Graham.”
From her research and even the limited information Lou Ellen provided, Zoie had enough to begin the introduction of her series. If, and it was a big if, she continued to follow the campaign, she would be able to flesh out her story with interviews and anecdotes from Kimberly’s staff and contributors. Her main objective now was to write a strong enough draft to appease Mark so that he would keep her on the story. With Brian now running the 9/11 series, if this one fell through, she would be relegated to cats in trees stories.
She studied her notes and the stacks of clippings and photos. She picked up one photograph of Kimberly with her husband and children. This woman was he
r sister. Rowan was her brother-in-law, and those were her nieces. She ran her thumb across the image. There had to be a way to make it right.
Rose deserved to know her daughter and her grandchildren. She set the picture down with the others. She was so torn. The journalist in her wanted to go after the Maitlands with every fiber of her being, blast their tainted history across the pages of every newspaper in America. Then there was the part of her that had spent her own life longing for the love and acceptance of family and didn’t want to see another family suffer.
She opened the cover of her laptop, clicked onto her Word program, and began her draft.
* * *
Rowan snapped open the newspaper. The main story, which had been in the news for weeks, was the sensationalized account of a young white officer alleged to have shot and killed a black teenager in a Bronx hallway. The jury had failed to indict the officer, and protests were sprouting up all over the city.
“I don’t understand what these people want,” Rowan complained with a shake of his head. “What do they expect to happen when they live like animals? I’m sure the officer was scared for his life, just like he said. I know I would be.”
Kimberly’s throat constricted. For the first time in her life, she really heard the words of her husband and their underlying meaning. Was she now “these people”? Over the years, he’d said similar things, and so had their friends, but before it didn’t matter. It didn’t affect her or relate to her. Her stomach seesawed.
“You tossed and turned all night, babe,” Rowan said. They sat at the breakfast nook, sipping coffee. “What’s going on? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” She brushed her fingers across her forehead. “A lot on my mind with the campaign, the office.” She forced a smile.
Rowan looked at her over the rim of his mug. “We’ve been married for eighteen years, Kim. I know you, and I know when you’re lying to me. What is it? Something with the girls?” He put down his mug. “Are you sick?”
Kimberly immediately held up her hand. She looked into eyes of sincere concern. Eyes of love for the woman he believed she was. “No. No. I’m not sick.” She couldn’t tell him. She could never tell him. If she had never understood it before, she understood it now. “I did have a very interesting conversation with Lexi yesterday . . . about boys.”