by Francis Ray
After the trial, people in Little Elm had realized what kind of man hid behind the guise of a God-fearing deacon and upstanding member of the community and shunned him. He’d left town in disgrace. Rafe would have thought he would have made at least a few friends in Houston who might come and be with him during the last hours of his life.
He turned to Lilly. “He doesn’t have any friends or people from Little Elm here?”
Sadly, she shook her head. “Pastor Fowler said it’s a workday. I asked Shayla and she said there was no one. He lives here, but she and Myron didn’t see each other very much.”
Lilly didn’t have to say more. Shayla had a tendency to be selfish. She had turned her back on the very man who had always given her her way at a time when he had no one.
He was dying a lonely man.
Shayla, the one person Rafe thought his father loved, if he could love, was there out of duty. He and Lilly were there to lay the past to rest. This is what waited for a man who dispensed cruelty instead of love.
Finally releasing Kristen’s hand, Rafe walked to the side of the bed and gently closed his hand over the hand that had inflicted pain and misery on him for as long as he could remember, a hand that had scarred his body. “I forgive you.”
Myron’s eyes opened. They were deep and dull in his shrunken face. His dry lips moved, but no sound came out. Tears welled in his eyes.
Rafe didn’t know if they were from fear of dying or regret at the life he had lived. Either way, he found he could not keep from comforting the man who had given him life. He said the one word he’d sworn never to say again. “Daddy, it’s all right. You don’t have to be afraid. We’re here.”
With his gaze riveted on Rafe’s, the periods between each labored breath became longer and longer until Myron’s chest stilled. His eyelids drifted shut.
“Oh, Daddy!” Shayla cried, turning into her husband’s arms.
Rafe rounded the bed and wrapped his arms around the both of them. He remembered the little girl who had followed him everywhere, the little girl he’d carried on his back to school when she was tired, the little girl he’d once adored.
The door opened and a nurse and a doctor came in. Rafe watched the doctor check for a pulse, listen to his father’s chest with a stethoscope, then pull the sheet over his head. Rafe was surprised to feel a lump in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, then left.
Rafe held out his hand to the man with Shayla. “Rafe Crawford.”
David took his hand. “David. We’re glad you could come.”
“So am I. Take Shayla home,” he told him. “I can come by tomorrow and we can go together to make the arrangements.”
“Really?” she asked, her lashes wet. “You aren’t going to walk away again?”
He realized with a start that is what he had been doing, had kept on doing in life. “No. I’ll be here, and when I go back to New Orleans, we’ll keep in touch.”
She bit her lip. “You don’t hate me anymore?”
He searched his heart. “I hated you because you had his love and I didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I could have helped.” She wiped her face with a soggy tissue. “I was too selfish to care about anyone but me. I’m sorry, Rafe.”
“We’ll talk.”
“Come on, Shayla,” David said, leading her from the room.
Rafe went to Lilly and Kristen. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Kristen was thoughtful as they walked down the hallway of the Wyndham Hotel to Lilly and Adam’s suite. Rafe had forgiven his father, but did she dare hope that meant he was willing to give them a chance as well? She tried not to be selfish and think of herself and their baby when his father had just died, but she couldn’t help it.
Lilly opened the door and they entered the suite. Adam was sitting on the sofa helping his son read a picture book. Both looked up. Adam Jr.’s black eyes lit up in his cherubic face. Shoving the book at his father, the four-year-old, thirty-five-pound dynamo raced across the room to his brother.
“Rafe!”
Rafe scooped the little boy up and held him high over his head as he’d done since he was a baby. “Hi, Hot Shot.”
Kristen watched Rafe, but she also watched Lilly and Adam as Adam kissed Lilly on the cheek and drew her into his arms. She saw what Rafe didn’t. Complete confidence in their faces that the man holding their child would protect and keep him safe.
Adam Jr. giggled. “I didn’t know you were going to be here. I have a new word game for my computer. We can play it together.”
Rafe’s expression changed minutely as he lowered Adam Jr. to the ground. “I had to take care of some business.”
“Don’t I get a hug?” Kristen asked, leaning down with open arms to her nephew, her eyes misty. Rafe had to see that he’d make a wonderful father.
Giggling, Adam Jr. went to her. “Hi, Auntie Kristen.”
When she straightened, Adam was standing by her. “Same goes for me. Where’s mine?”
Fighting tears, she let him hold her. He had always been there for her, even when she wasn’t sure of her place in the world. She knew she could count on her big brother. At times she had envied him his self-assurance and success, but she had never doubted his love.
He frowned down at her, then palmed her forehead. “You don’t look well.”
Kristen forced a smile. There was a drawback to having a neurosurgeon for a brother. “I’m just a little tired.”
“Maybe you should go lie down,” Rafe said, hovering over her. “I’ll go downstairs and get you a room.”
Adam’s frown deepened as his gaze went from Kristen, who refused to look at him, to Rafe. “That won’t be necessary.” He pulled a room key from his pocket. “Mother called and told me you were coming. I have a room for Kristen.”
“Rafe, why don’t you take Kristen to her room and let her lie down,” Lilly said, taking the key from her husband and giving it to Rafe. “She’s probably exhausted.”
“Can I go?” asked Adam Jr. hopefully.
Rafe put his hand on the little boy’s shoulder. As much as he liked having his little brother around, he needed to have some time alone with Kristen. “Not this time, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I can go with Kristen,” Adam said, his brows bunched. You could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he tried to figure out what was going on.
“No,” Lilly said, looping her arm through his. “Rafe can do it.”
From the way Adam’s gaze suddenly narrowed, Rafe knew if he didn’t take care of Kristen he’d have hell to pay. “I’ll take care of her.”
“You better,” Adam said and gave them the room number.
Gently leading Kristen from the room, he located her suite at the end of the hallway and let them inside. She was so quiet; he kept throwing glances at her. Maybe he shouldn’t have let her come with him. If anything happened to her or the baby …
Through a wide doorway he saw the oversized bed that had to be custom-made. “We’re almost there,” he said, then urged her down on the floral print bedspread. He turned on the elongated brass lamp on the nightstand, then pulled the draperies tight, shutting out the strong afternoon sun.
Kneeling in front of her, he removed her pumps. He started to ask her if she could manage the rest, saw the moisture in her eyes, and reached for the buttons on her jacket. He had more than a few bad moments as he removed her clothes, but he finally finished, leaving her in her flesh-toned bra and a scrap of lace for panties.
His mouth was as dry as a desert. “Let’s get you under the covers. It’s cold in here.” He pulled the covers over her, turned off the light, and started from the room.
A whimper had him whirling and rushing back to the bed. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Kristen sat up in bed, her arms going around his neck. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave us.”
His arms around her were no less desperate. “Oh, baby,
I’m sorry.”
Her body shook with the force of her tears. “Please.”
“No, I mean I’m not going anyplace,” he said and felt her still. With one arm remaining around her, he turned on the light again. “I was just going to find the thermostat and turn it up. I’m not leaving you or our baby.”
Hope shone in her watery eyes. He kissed the tears away from her face. “In the hospital room I realized something. I’m not like my father. I might have fought against it, but I have people who care about me.” He smiled wryly. “Although a few of them might want to hang me up by my thumbs for the way I treated you.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes, it does. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He got off the bed and went down on one knee, her hands in his.
She began to tremble.
“Kristen, I love you.”
She couldn’t quite draw in her breath.
“Will you marry me? I don’t think I can live without you. I know I don’t want to.”
She could barely breathe. She didn’t seem to be able to stop the flow of tears. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want us.”
“You’re all I want. I think I know the answer, but could you just say yes. Please?”
She grinned, free and deliriously happy. “Yes.”
He rose and leaned over her, following her back into the wide expanse of the bed, his body covering hers. “My unspoken dream, I’ll love you forever.”
“I’ll love you right back.”
His mouth covered hers and he pulled her tight. Clothes were quickly discarded. When her hand touched his scarred back and he didn’t flinch, Kristen knew that this was a new beginning for them.
The legacy of hate and cruelty was broken. In its place was one of love and undying devotion that would live on forever through their children and their children’s children, to time without end, unbroken and strong.
epilogue
The most sought-after wedding consultant in New Orleans could now breathe easier. She had done it. All three couples were married.
Plucking a glass of champagne from the wrought iron table in Claudette Thibodeaux-Broussard’s—a name she’d acquired only five hours ago—gazebo, the consultant took a long, well-deserved sip of King Clos du Mesnil champagne.
The garden wedding had been absolutely beautiful, as had the bride, in a tradition-breaking ivory pantsuit with a tailored half-skirt. Jacques hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her.
“Be careful,” she warned two workers as they took up the fifty-by-fifty hardwood dance floor that had to be assembled that morning and taken down immediately afterwards so as not to damage the grass. Claudette was exacting about what she wanted, but the consultant preferred that to a bride who wasn’t. Thank goodness Jacques’s son had been the same way, since his fiancée, Dr. Angelique Fleming, was busy opening a rehab facility and he had to do most of the planning.
They’d opted for a more formal wedding at St. Louis’s Cathedral. They had needed the space. Angelique had every one of her sisters and brothers as attendants. There had been a lot of crying on that afternoon and some not out of happiness. Women were actually sobbing. Damien hadn’t noticed. The bride had been stunning and sophisticated in a strapless, champagne beige ball gown. Her matron of honor, Kristen Wakefield Crawford, had to have her dress let out twice.
She was pregnant with twins and glowing with happiness. People were counting on their fingers, but the happy expectant parents certainly didn’t appear to care. They’d been married two months earlier in St. Louis’s as well. Rafe Crawford was certainly romantic. He’d built the arch himself under which they had exchanged their vows. The arch was now in their backyard with rose cuttings he’d taken from those he’d planted for his grandmother. He had also given his bride a magnificent walnut hope chest. He was gaining quite a reputation as a furniture maker. Kristen was gaining one in the art world, after being instrumental in placing twenty-three pieces of nineteenth-century African-American art on permanent loan at the Haywood Museum.
The consultant took another sip of champagne and lifted her glass toward the heavens. “To new beginnings and love knocking at someone’s door.”
Dear Readers:
Thank you so much for your support of I Know Who Holds Tomorrow. With your help it made bestselling lists across the country.
I sincerely hope you enjoyed Somebody’s Knocking at My Door. It was a very difficult book to write, not only because of the extensive research, but because of the emotional pain Rafe endured as a child that continued to haunt him as an adult. Loving caregivers are a blessing that many of us take for granted. I hope we won’t from this moment on.
My next release is my romance, Someone to Love Me. Also planned is the continuation of the Graysons of New Mexico, with Morgan Grayson’s story, You and No Other. I’m very excited about both projects and hope you’re delighted as well.
Have a wonderful, blessed life,
Francis Ray
www.francisray.com
E-mail: [email protected]
or
P.O. Box 764423
Dallas, Texas 75376
READING GROUP GUIDE
1. In doing the research for this book the author spoke with several people who were physically and emotionally abused as children. Only a few were able to let go of their hatred and move on. Could you forgive and forget?
2. Angelique had a great deal to say about the double standards between men and women. Do you feel a woman can be intimate with a number of men and still be considered a “good woman”? Why or why not?
3. What do you think of Kristen’s decision not to expose Maurice? Is sexual harassment still as prevalent or has all the sensitivity training helped? What would you do if you were a victim of sexual harassment? Would you tell your significant other?
4. Kristen and Jacques realized how much Rafe and Claudette needed them and were willing to keep their love a secret for fear it would end their friendship. Could you be a long-suffering, “silent” lover and put the other person’s happiness ahead of your own? Why or why not?
5. Angelique’s past as an exotic dancer caused problems for her and Damien. How important is background and family when you’re dating? If you’re thinking of getting serious? Marriage? Do you think whatever happened before you met should stay in the past?
6. Kristen, Angelique, and Claudette were greatly influenced by their first love. How about your first love? Is he/she still a part of your life or do you count your blessings that you moved on?
For more reading group suggestions, visit
www.stmartins.com
St. Martin’s Griffin
ALSO BY FRANCIS RAY
I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
Turning Point
ANTHOLOGIES:
Rosie’s Curl and Weave
Della’s House of Style
Welcome to Leo’s
Going to the Chapel
Gettin’ Merry
SOMEBODY’S KNOCKING AT MY DOOR. Copyright © 2003 by Francis Ray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ray, Francis.
Somebody’s knocking at my door / Francis Ray.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-30734-9
1. Adult child abuse victims—Fiction. 2. Parent and adult child—Fiction. 3. Terminally ill parents—Fiction. 4. African American men—Fiction. 5. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 6. Family violence—Fiction. I. Title: Somebody’s knocking at my door. II. Title.
PS3568.A9214S66 2003
813'.54—dc21
2002045249
eISBN 9781466850736
First eBook edition: July 2013
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