The depth of Sly’s words and the length of his discourse took Francine off guard. Sly didn’t open up this way. At least, he hadn’t with her in the past. He’d kept a tight rein on his emotions, or tried to, even when it had been obvious something was bothering him. As she looked at him now she did think he looked tired. “I’m sorry, Sly. You’re right. I am being selfish. You should have let me go on up to bed and then I wouldn’t have burdened you with this.”
He sighed. “There you go again. It’s not about you going to your room or even about you burdening me. It’s about you thinking your problems are somehow more critical than others’. They’re problems and they should be acknowledged and dealt with, but problems are a part of everyday life. We face them, we learn what the Lord wants to teach us from them, and we move on.”
She didn’t say anything for a while. Then she looked back at him. “Want to tell me about your day?”
He shook his head.
“What about what you said about us being family and leaning on each other? Does it apply to everybody but you?”
“It’s not that,” he said. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
Francine shook her head. “You haven’t changed, you know that, Sly? You still keep everything all bottled inside. One day it’s going to explode on you.”
Sly smirked. “Maybe it already has.”
Francine didn’t have a response for those ominous words. She sensed that whatever was bothering Sly ran deep. Something told her that it was the funeral home, Dawn, or maybe both. She knew from past experience that trying to pry it out of him was useless, so she tried another tack. “Dawn upstairs?” she asked.
Sly shook his head. “Choir practice.”
Francine smiled. “She’s still choir director?”
“That’ll never change.”
Francine took comfort in the certainty of her sister’s musical skills. It was good to know that some things stayed the same. She slapped Sly on his knee. “Want to tell me more about this funeral-home-collective idea then? We didn’t have much time this morning.”
He sat forward, rested his hands on his knees, and looked over at her. “Maybe now’s not the time to talk about it. You’ve had a long day and so have I.”
“Humor me,” she said. “I’d rather go to bed thinking about the collective than my day.”
“You do have a point with that.”
“So?” she encouraged.
He sighed. “There’s not much to talk about. I met with Stuart Rogers today and he’s going to look over the legalities for us so we’ll know what to watch out for.” He turned to her. “He told me he met you today at the bookstore. What did you think of him?”
Francine realized she’d forgotten about Stuart, but her concern about him returned with Sly’s question. “I didn’t think much. You know him better than I do. What do you think?”
Sly shrugged. “I consider him a friend and brother. I’ve known him since he starting coming to Faith Central about five years ago, right after you left, in fact. He and his wife and Dawn and I spent a lot of time together. His wife died two years ago.”
Francine turned to him, remembering the ring Stuart still wore. She guessed he still missed his wife. That softened her heart toward him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was a rough time for him,” Sly said. “But he’s getting better every day.”
Though Francine was feeling more kindhearted toward Stuart, she wasn’t ready yet to dismiss her concerns about him. “He said he used to be the youth leader.”
“He resigned after his wife died. He says he thinks the kids need a man and a woman, a husband-and-wife team, and that he couldn’t give them what they needed alone, without his wife at his side.”
“You believe that?” Francine said, her esteem for Stuart rising.
“I don’t agree with his assessment, but I know he’s doing what’s in his heart. He loved those kids, loves them still, and only wants the best for them. There’s no question in my mind about that.”
“He’s pretty close to Monika,” she said—she hoped—casually. She didn’t want to levy any accusations at this point.
“He and Marie, that’s his wife, were close to her. He couldn’t just pull away after his wife died. He knows Monika’s needy where men are concerned, and he wants to be there for her. It’s nothing more than that.”
Though Francine still wasn’t sure, she would give Stuart the benefit of the doubt. She’d still watch him though. She had to. “So when’s this meeting to talk about the funeral home?”
“Don’t know yet. Stuart’s clerk’s gonna call tomorrow with his calendar.”
“His clerk?”
Sly nodded. “Yes, he’s a Superior Court judge in DeKalb County.”
“Youth leader and judge, what a combination.”
Sly eyed her again. “So what did you think of him, seriously?”
“He seemed to be a nice enough guy. I didn’t feel the need to arm the security system when he walked into the store.”
Sly chuckled. “He’ll be relieved to hear that. You know, a lot of women find Stuart attractive. It was pretty funny, but pitiful too, the way they ran after him after Marie died.”
“He’s not ready for a relationship—he’s still wearing his wedding ring.”
Sly elbowed her in the side. “So you noticed?”
Francine bumped his shoulder with her own. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned.
“Think about what?” he asked innocently.
Francine stood and cast him a wary eye. “I’m going to bed.”
“Hey, no need to run off just when the conversation’s getting good.”
Francine chuckled and then she leaned over and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Good night, Sly,” she said. “Thanks for being a good brother.”
Chapter 9
“One more song, Sister Dawn. Just one.”
“No way,” Dawn said, lowering the cover on the piano keys. “That’ll make it extra song number four. You may not need your sleep, but I need mine, so I’m going home.”
Her words were met with good-hearted mutterings from the members of Faith Central’s Gospel Chorus. The group had made it to the semifinals of the city choir competition for the last two years, and they were determined to make the finals this year. Therefore, Dawn never had problems getting people to practice; she had problems getting them to go home.
“See you on Sunday,” a few of them said as they left the church.
As usual, she was one of the last ones out of the building, along with a couple of choir members who hung around to keep her company while she locked the door and walked to her car. As she crossed the parking lot, she was met by a familiar but unexpected face. “Walter,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you,” he said, nodding a greeting to the others with her.
Dawn turned to her choir members and said, “You all can head on out. I’ll be fine.”
They murmured good-bye and Dawn was left standing with Fredericka’s husband, the man who had given her the news that had changed her life. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.
He fell into step beside her as she continued to her car. “Can we go somewhere for a cup of coffee?”
She turned to him. “It’s late. I have to get home.”
“It won’t take but a minute. Please.”
Dawn looked at this man, saw her pain mirrored in his eyes, and knew she couldn’t turn him down. “I’ll follow you over to Friendly’s.”
As Dawn drove to the restaurant, she thought about her own personal D-day, the day the bomb had been dropped on her marriage, her life. Walter had come up to her in much the same way he’d come up to her tonight, but then when he’d asked that she go somewhere with him, she’d turned him down out of hand. She was not in the habit of going for late-night coffee with men other than her husband, even if she did know them, and she wa
sn’t going to start that night. He’d stopped her rejection of his offer with that one fateful question: “Do you know where your husband is?”
Something about the way he’d asked the question told her that she should get in her car and leave. Instead, she’d turned to him and asked her own question, “Why?”
“Because he’s with my wife,” he’d answered.
“You’re lying.”
“No,” he’d said. “I’m not.”
At that moment, Dawn had believed him. She’d gotten in her car and followed him to a Holiday Inn Express not far away. Surprisingly, she’d seen her husband’s car parked in the lot. In their separate cars, she and Walter had watched and waited. They hadn’t had to wait for long. A hotel room door opened and Freddie and Sly walked out. Sly walked Freddie to her car, pulled her into his arms, and lowered his head to kiss her, but the kiss never happened. Walter had bolted out of his car and slammed his fist into Sly’s jaw, sending him sprawling onto the ground in surprise. Dawn hadn’t been able to move. She heard the shouting, but couldn’t make out the words. Then Walter had pointed toward her car and Sly’s head had followed the direction of his hand. Their eyes had met and life as she’d known it had ended.
She shook herself free of the past as she pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Walter waited for her at the door and escorted her inside. They quickly took a seat in the back and ordered coffee. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’ve been better,” he said.
Though his words were surely the understatement of the year, Dawn knew exactly what he meant by them. She’d definitely seen better days herself. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“Fredericka told me she saw you today.”
Dawn nodded. “At the spa. You can imagine my surprise.”
“She says she’s changed. She wants to get back together.”
Dawn didn’t believe for a minute that Freddie had changed. “You going to do it?”
He slumped back in his chair, looking older than his thirty-five years. His full cheeks hung down in a sick-puppy-dog style and his brown eyes were faded. “I’ve loved her all my life,” he said, “but I don’t know if I can.”
“Then don’t,” she said.
He was quiet for a minute, and then he said, “I see you haven’t left your husband.”
“There’s more than one way to leave.”
He grunted. “So you’ve got him on lockdown.”
Dawn refused to go into details about her relationship with Sly. She sipped her coffee.
“You know what I wish?” he asked. Then, without waiting for her answer, he said, “I wish I’d never found out. Isn’t that stupid? I should be wishing that it hadn’t happened, but what I wish is that I hadn’t found out.”
Again, Dawn knew exactly what he meant. “Wishing won’t make it so.”
He met her eyes. “How do you get past it?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. I’m doing the best I can, making it through each day.”
“She wants me to go to counseling.”
“Sly wants me to go too. Maybe they’ve been talking to each other.”
Walter leaned forward. “Do you think so?”
Dawn shook her head. “No way. Sly wouldn’t dare.”
“How can you be sure?”
Dawn sighed. “Because I believe Sly wants our marriage to work and he knows there’d be no chance of that if he even spoke to Fredericka on the street.”
“Sounds like you two are working things out.”
She sipped her coffee again. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“You know,” Walter said, rubbing his hands down the side of his coffee cup, “sometimes all I want is to pay her back. Sometimes I feel that if I slept with somebody else, then I could forgive her for doing what she did.”
Similar thoughts had crossed Dawn’s mind, but hearing the words come out of Walter’s mouth made the notion real. She’d feel better if she could pay Sly back too, or at least she thought she would. “So you’re thinking of having an affair?”
He shook his head.
“But you said—”
“Just one time so I could throw it in her face and get it out of my system.”
“Think it’ll work?”
“Can’t hurt any worse than I hurt now.”
“That’s a point.”
He studied his cup of coffee, which he hadn’t touched, then he looked up at her. “You interested?”
Dawn met his eyes. “You can’t be serious?”
He leaned forward. “You know I am. Don’t look so shocked. I know you’ve thought about getting back at your husband. This would be the perfect opportunity. One night. You and me. We do it, get it out of our systems, go home, and work on our marriages.”
Dawn was alarmed and also frightened that she didn’t feel outrage at Walter’s suggestion. She pushed her coffee cup away. “You’re crazy,” she said, but she didn’t really think he was.
“Think about it,” he called after her as she rushed out of the restaurant.
~ ~ ~
More than an hour after Francine headed off to bed, Sylvester prowled the first floor of his home, anxiously awaiting his wife’s return. Only fifteen minutes ago, he’d called one of her choir friends and found out they’d left her standing in the church parking lot talking to Walter Andrews over an hour ago. Sly didn’t like the idea of his wife with Fredericka’s husband. Their last get-together had ended in disaster, though he really couldn’t blame Walter for that. He wished Dawn would hurry and get home. What did Walter want with her? What did she want with him?
Sylvester didn’t like the ideas floating around in his head, but he couldn’t shake Dawn’s taunts about her and another man. But Walter? No way. Not Dawn. Sly didn’t really believe she’d do anything so vicious, but he sure wished she would hurry and get home.
He sat down on the couch, propped his feet up on the ottoman that Dawn used instead of a coffee table, and told himself to wait patiently. Easier said than done. He got up and went to the windows, not knowing what he expected to see. As he turned from the window, he heard the garage door go up, and turning back, he saw the headlights of Dawn’s car. He rushed through the kitchen to the garage door to meet her.
“You’re late,” he said when she entered the house. “I was worried.”
She peered up at him. “You shouldn’t have been. I’m not that late.”
Following her up the stairs, he asked, “So how was choir practice?”
“Choir practice was choir practice,” she answered, after they’d entered their bedroom and he’d closed the door. “Francie in bed?”
“Yeah, she got in over an hour ago.” He decided not to tell Dawn about Francine’s day because he didn’t want the conversation diverted to Francine and her issues. “She wondered where you were.”
Dawn stepped out of her shoes and took them to the closet. “I was at choir practice,” she called from the closet.
“So I told her, but you’re later than usual.” He watched her go into the bathroom, just beyond the closet. “I thought you may have gone out afterwards.”
A few minutes passed before Dawn returned to the bedroom, dressed in a pair of her most revealing shorty pajamas, ready for bed. He wondered if she dressed so skimpily just to tease him. He wouldn’t put it past her.
“I went for coffee,” she said, “but it was no big deal.” She sat down on the side of the bed and looked at him, as if daring him to question her further. “You have something to ask me, Sly, ask me. Don’t keep beating around the bush.”
He turned away from her and started to unbutton his shirt.
He was not going to interrogate her. He wasn’t even sure he wanted answers. He couldn’t deal with her and another man. He couldn’t.
Dawn sighed. “Who’d you call?” she asked.
He turned to her. “What are you talking about?”
“I asked who you called. Evidently you called somebody from the choir and they t
old you that I left with Walter.”
“I called Larry,” he said. “You were late and I was worried.”
“Worried about what?”
He turned to her. “Something could have happened to you. I’m your husband. Of course I was worried.”
She laughed a harsh laugh. “So you were worried about my health? I’m not even believing that, Sly. At least be honest.”
“So what were you doing with him all this time?”
She crossed her legs and leaned back on her elbows in what Sly thought was a deliberately provocative pose. “Are you worried, Sly? Worried that maybe I was doing what you were doing?”
“Don’t play games with me, Dawn. You begged me to ask the question, so answer it. What were you doing with him all this time?”
She rocked her legs back and forth. “Maybe I’ll let you wonder. Does it bother you to think about it, Sly? Me and Walter—”
“Shut up,” he said, “just shut up.” He stomped out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He stood and stared at the closed door, his breath coming out in stiff puffs. He wanted to shake some sense into her. He really did. He started to open the door, but stopped himself. He wouldn’t play games with Dawn. He was tired of paying for what he’d done. If the only peace she could get was from hurting him, then maybe his marriage wasn’t worth fighting for. Why should he fight for a woman who only wanted to hurt him? She said she loved him, but if she did, how could she deliberately look for ways to stick the knife in his heart?
Isn’t that what you did? a soft, calm voice he knew well asked. No, he told himself. He hadn’t thrown his relationship with Fredericka in Dawn’s face. Hurting her had been the result of what he’d done, but it hadn’t been the purpose. Dawn wanted to hurt him, and she knew exactly how she could do it.
Sylvester walked to the bedroom across the hall, the one that Dawn had occupied until she decided she wanted to put on a front for Francine. Well, the gig was up. He wasn’t going to play games with her anymore. He wouldn’t pretend to be married to a loving wife so she could save face. He was more interested in saving his marriage. Since he’d been the one to do wrong, he’d allowed Dawn to use her pain as an excuse to walk all over him. Well, that ended today. He couldn’t take back what he’d done. He was willing to work to earn her trust, but he wouldn’t continue to subject himself to her abuse. He knew then that if Dawn decided to have an affair to get back at him, their marriage was over. Maybe it wasn’t fair, given what he’d done, but that was the way it was in his heart.
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