by Donna Hill
Tentatively she approached her daughter. “I was wrong. I know that now. Have known for a long time. I know I can never make it up to you.” She looked at Justin. “To either of you. But I pray that one day you can find a way to forgive me. I would just die if something happened to you, Samantha. I hope you believe that. I…I’m so sorry…for everything.” She turned away and walked out, her stride not so sure, her posture not so erect.
A heavy silence hung in the room, fell between father and daughter like a velvet drape at the end of the final act.
Samantha turned to her father, her eyes clouded with unshed tears.
“Go to her, Samantha,” he said gently. “Make things right between you.”
She hesitated, thought about all the years of lies and deceit, saw the look of sincere pain and regret on her mother’s face. She glanced toward the door.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
Chapter 28
Simone was preparing for her morning conference meeting with her staff to reconfirm the campaign strategy for the upcoming weeks and everyone’s responsibilities. With the rise in civil unrest revolving around the Roderick Fields case, and several other less deadly incidents, her plan was to take the issue directly to the people. There was a television interview scheduled for a two o’clock taping to be aired during the six and eleven o’clock news. Tomorrow morning she had an hour-long interview on the Cathy Hughes show, WHUR, then it was on to BET Tonight with Tavis Smiley. Now, if only the weather would change, but that had not been the case for much of the week. The city was seeing its share of London weather, with unusually dismal gray skies and rain, showers, cloudbursts, thunderstorms. Sometimes all on the same day.
To avoid any slipups, Simone had reviewed everything with Pam, who’d already made arrangements for transportation and meals. Picking up her leather portfolio, she flipped it open to the meticulously detailed itinerary for the next two days. She wondered how she would be able to juggle everything without Pamela Osborne. She was the most efficient and organized staffer she’d ever employed. Her powers of recall for minutiae and her research ability were phenomenal. There was not a scrap of information left to chance or a stone unturned when Pamela was involved. At some point she was going to have to take time and really thank her for all she’d done for her and the campaign. She’d hate to think of all those skills working against her for the other side. Maybe she’d take her to a nice dinner sometime within the next couple of weeks, like the old days—before everything became so crazy.
She clapped the covers of the soft leather closed and reached for her purse. Thank heavens her remarks and every manner of possible question had been addressed in the prep meetings last week. Especially since Adam had yet to show up. Which was just as well. She wasn’t quite sure how she would react if she saw him now. Her insides knotted. What an incredible fool she’d been. Damn it, she’d committed the cardinal sin—sleeping with a member of her staff, a subordinate. And for what? Sexual loneliness, a moment of feeling whole? That’s the only tag she could give it, all the acknowledgment she’d devote to it. Because to admit that it was something more, something deeper than a purely physical desire would elevate it to a level she was no longer prepared to handle. She’d thought she was. She was wrong. So very wrong.
Pam suddenly rushed into the office. “There’s a reporter outside and a cameraman,” she said a bit breathlessly. “He wants your comments on the break-in last night at your sister’s house.”
Simone’s eyes cinched in confusion. “What? What break-in?”
“I have no idea.” She shrugged helplessly. “He said he got the news from a police report.”
Simone tried to think. She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Tell him…” She stopped in midsentence. “Let me make a call. Stall him for a minute.” She reached for the phone and dialed her sister’s office, then remembered that Samantha was meeting her mother. She hung up and punched in the numbers to Justin’s office.
Justin’s private line rang. He released Samantha and crossed to his desk. “Montgomery.”
“Dad. What’s going on with Sam? A reporter is here asking questions about some break-in last night at her house.”
Justin’s gaze darted to Samantha. “Hold on.” He covered the mouthpiece. “A reporter wants to know what happened at your house last night. He’s at Simone’s office.” His hard stare held her in place, alerting her to the seriousness of the situation.
Samantha briefly shut her eyes and whispered a harsh expletive. Blowing out a short breath, she took the phone from her father. Another fire to put out. Crisis after crisis. No letup, no respite.
“Simone, listen…tell the reporter to meet me at my office in a half hour. I’ll tell him whatever he needs to know.”
“Sam, what the hell happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She paced as she talked, her thoughts racing. Later had come sooner than she’d planned. “Listen, sis, just get him out of your office. I’ll handle it.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you there.”
“Simone—”
“Don’t want to hear it. I’ll be there.” She hung up, then went out front to the waiting area where the reporter had camped out. Pam stood guard. Nettie and Steve peeked out from their cubicles. Simone relayed Samantha’s message. “And I’ll have a statement at that time as well.” She spun away, with Pam on her heels.
“What’s going on?” Pam hissed under her breath.
“That’s what I intend to find out.” She grabbed her purse and her portfolio.
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you stay here and hold down the fort.”
“What about your two o’clock interview?”
Damn, she’d forgotten. There was no way she could speed in this driving rain, but the appointment was a must. “I’m taking my car. I’ll be there. If there’s any change, I’ll call you.” She breezed by her, then stopped and turned. “Thanks.” She headed for the front door and stopped abruptly when Adam turned down the hall right in her path.
Her body became infused with the heat of anger and humiliation. She felt like cursing him out or, better yet, slapping the hell out of him, or as her grandmother used to say, slapping the taste out of his mouth. But she kept her composure, or at least tried to remain civil. Especially after what he had done. Her faithful Adam.
“Simone, I need to talk to you.”
She stared at him for an incredibly long moment, cataloging all the years they’d known each other. She replayed all the conversations they’d shared, the hopes and dreams, the secrets told…and then last night. Her head cleared. Almost nothing hurts like the betrayal of a lover who is also your most intimate friend. Almost nothing.
“I won’t be needing your services any longer,” she said in a flat, steady voice. “Neither business nor pleasure.” She tucked her hair behind her right ear, and raised her chin in challenge. “By the time I return I’ll expect your things and you to be gone, and your letter of resignation on my desk.” She walked by him. “Have a nice day, Adam.”
Adam tried to block her from moving down the hall. “You can’t dismiss me like some damn servant. We have to talk. You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Judas, nothing,” she snarled at him as she stepped around him. Their eyes locked for two beats, with her barely suppressed rage clearly visible in her glare.
“It’s not like you think, nothing is. Please let me talk to you, please.”
Defiantly, Simone whirled and stood inches from his face. “What lies can you possibly tell that would undo what has been already done? What…what?”
He was rendered mute by the force of her words, her fury, and he stammered, unable to find the words that could make things right, that could make things what they once were.
“I thought so, Judas.” The distinctive click of her heels echoed down the hallway.
By the time Simone reached her car, she was drenched from the windblown rain and shakin
g all over. In her rush, she’d left her umbrella in the office. She could barely get the key in the ignition with her wet, trembling hands. Taking a moment to steady herself, she considered what she’d done. She knew it was a hasty decision, one made out of hurt and anger. But what choice did she have, what choice had he given her? None.
She turned the key and the car hummed to life. Upon reflection, she realized she’d done the same thing with Chad. Shut him out, shut him down. Didn’t allow room for answers to the questions that burned inside her. And here again, she’d revisited her old ghosts—fear of rejection. And in doing so, she went, as always, on the defensive. Putting up the walls, the barricades to ward off any attempts at reaching her, perhaps saying things she didn’t want to hear.
She pulled out of her parking space, steered slowly out of the lot and merged with traffic. Why was she so afraid? Her stomach was in knots. But deep inside she knew the answer, had always known. Yet she couldn’t seem to shake it, live with it and move on. A part of who she was had become twisted, distorted, and all because of a past she could never hope to change. A past that compelled her to see everyone as a possible enemy, a potential Judas. Indeed, that past had left its indelible mark upon her psyche. And she knew if she ever hoped to be better, to have a life—a real one—it would mean getting it out in the open. The only person who could do that for her was her mother, and she was afraid, too, of what Vaughn would reveal.
Sighing, she pressed the CD button and the muted trumpet of Miles Davis blew a gentle breeze into the car. Samantha’s office was in the heart of downtown D.C. She’d selected the neat storefront location, amid much family protest, because of its proximity to transportation, but mostly for its visibility. The office was couched in between the Great Redeemer Baptist Church and a check cashing business, across the street from Sojourner Truth High School and two blocks away from the police precinct, with the surrounding neighborhood being a predominantly poor, crime-ridden African American community. “I want to be among the people,” she said the day she’d moved in. “I’m not interested in safety, I’m interested in connecting. How are these people going to feel I’m one of them when they have to come to my suburban office to talk with me?”
Conviction and focus, that was Samantha. Once she made up her mind, there was no turning her around. What was equally admirable was that Samantha’s youth had been manipulated as well, yet she never seemed to let that override who she was, what she was about. It didn’t seem to cloud her judgment, mar her relationships.
There was no letup with the torrential rain and it was hard to see through the windshield. Slowly Simone turned onto a wide side street, taking her favorite shortcut, hoping to avoid some of the afternoon traffic. Since the terrorist threats of last year, many of the main thoroughfares going toward Capitol Hill and the White House were blocked off and cars were diverted into several narrow side streets.
I can’t afford to be late, she was thinking when her car was suddenly slammed in the rear. The top half of her body was rammed into the steering wheel by the impact, knocking the air from her lungs. Before she could think, she was hit again.
“What the hell?” she yelled, whipping her head around to glance in the direction of the smash. This was no accident; this was intentional.
Instincts kicked in and she stepped on the accelerator, gunning the engine. Wet streets…can’t spin away from this idiot without risking a crash. Terrified, she stole a glance into her rearview mirror only to see the dark blue tail of a car turn the corner behind her. It was closing ground fast, moving into position for another assault. She looked ahead at the thick traffic in the busy intersection ahead, certain death if she was pushed into that. She waited for the next impact, afraid to turn around, to look. She waited, waited, waited. But nothing happened.
Gingerly, she pulled the car onto the side of the road, taking deep, full breaths to calm herself. Both hands gripped the steering wheel as she looked nervously around, as if expecting someone or something to leap out of nowhere. The street was suddenly quiet. Even the intersection ahead was mysteriously free of cars. It was as if everything that had just happened was a nightmare, or at least some bizarre sort of optical illusion. With her shoulders and neck in severe pain, she finally glanced around to see where her attacker was. There was nothing but a few abandoned shells of houses and a defunct tire repair shop. She crossed her arms on the steering wheel and lowered her head on them. Once more, her body began to shake all over as if she’d been dipped in a bucket of ice.
She peeked up and looked through the windshield. What the hell had just happened?
Chapter 29
The word had gotten out. By the time Simone pulled up in front of Samantha’s local office, there were three television vans and about a dozen print reporters with photographers milling about. The rain had diminished to an annoying mist, but it hadn’t deterred the press.
The instant she stepped out of her car they descended upon her like locusts. She ducked her head and kept walking. The aftereffects of her near-fatal car ride unwilling to release their grip on her mind.
“Ms. Montgomery, Ms. Montgomery…do you have any comment on the break-in at your sister’s house? Do you believe it’s related to her fight against the police? What comments do you have? Have you been threatened? How will this affect your campaign?…Ms. Montgomery…any comment?”
The questions came in a torrent, tumbling over each other like pebbles rolling down a hill, gathering debris and speed. She pushed past the cameras and microphones, pulled open the glass doors and went inside. Her chest throbbed and she could almost see the black and blue bruise spreading across her skin.
Mia greeted her. “They’re waiting for you in the back office.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, barely able to breathe.
“How did they find out?” were the first words out of her mouth when she entered the room and shut the door behind her. “Never mind. They always do.” She dropped her purse on a chair, determined to put on a good front. “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?” Her chest tightened. Vaughn was seated next to Justin, and Samantha stood near Chad.
“When we came home from the club last night, someone had gotten there before we did,” Chad offered.
The “we came home” rang over and over in Simone’s head. She pushed it aside and looked to her sister. “Sam?”
Samantha nodded. “Trashed the living room, but not much else. We called the police.”
“And…”
“And they did what they usually do, took a look and gave us a number.”
Simone pulled in a breath and her chest constricted. Her eyes squeezed shut in pain and she blindly found her way to an empty seat, all efforts at pretense forgotten.
Vaughn rushed to her side. “Simone, what’s wrong?” She sat next to her and put her arm around her shoulder.
Simone swallowed. “Not to add more mystery to the mayhem but somebody just tried to kill me, or give me a pretty damned good scare.” She tugged in a breath.
“What?” the room chorused.
Samantha knelt in front of her, took her face in her hands. “Monie, what happened? Are you all right?” She began examining her body.
Simone explained as much of the bizarre incident as she could between gasps for air. The pain was getting worse.
Justin jumped up. “Enough,” he boomed. “No more. I want you two out of this thing once and for all. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
Samantha looked up from her spot on the floor. “This is exactly what they want, Dad, for us to pack up our marbles and go away. If we give in now, they’ve won.”
“Would you rather wind up dead!”
The harsh reality of that possibility hit each one of them with a chilling slap, settling the room in a deafening silence.
“Right now, the thing to do is exactly what Chad and Samantha have planned,” Vaughn finally said, inserting a measure of calm with her steady voice. “We go out there, face the media and put it on re
cord what has happened, what’s been happening.”
“I have to agree,” Simone said, gritting her teeth.
“That’s the master plan,” Justin said sarcastically. “Do you really think a media event is going to have whoever this is ducking for cover? Hell no! They’ll just be more careful next time.”
Mia stuck her head in the door. “They’re really getting restless and a crowd of onlookers is building up outside.”
Samantha stood. “We’ll be right there.” She looked from one to the other, letting her gaze settle on her father. “I know you want to protect me, Dad, protect us. And I love you for it. But this is something that must be done. I’m not going to back down. I told you that weeks ago when we got into this thing. I’m going to see it to the end, whatever that means.”
As much as he wanted to snatch her up and stash her away where she couldn’t be hurt, he admired her tenacity. He hated to admit it, but he knew she was right, they were all right. If he was in their place, he’d do the exact same thing. He looked at Vaughn, who returned his look with a determined one of her own, yet laced with an understanding of what he was going through.
Justin pulled in a long breath, then slowly nodded. “Let’s do this.” He turned to Simone. “And the instant that this thing is over you’re going to the hospital.”
“Fine.” She didn’t dare tell him she had an interview at two o’clock. If there was any justice in the world, maybe she’d be finished in time.
Mia opened the front doors and the Montgomery family stepped out into the late morning sunshine. Three police cars had pulled up and were stationed out front. None of the officers attempted to approach anyone in the swelling crowd of onlookers even as they were booed and hissed.
Samantha stepped up, and a dozen or more microphones were thrust in her face. The crowd silenced by degrees.