Sins of the Mother

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Brian said, “Oh, everybody, this is Misty.” His grin was wide; his voice was full of cheer. “Misty, this is . . . everybody.” He paused and focused on the only person at the table who wore a smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said to Cabot. He held out his hand. “Brian Lewis.”

  “Cabot Adams.” He shook Brian’s hand.

  From the corner of her eye, Alexis could see Kyla staring Brian down, just like she was doing.

  Brian said, “Well, I’ll let you guys get to your dinner. Have a good night.”

  Before Brian and Misty stepped away, Cabot asked, “Would you like to join us?” Alexis gasped, but Cabot didn’t seem to notice. He continued, “I’m sure we can fit two more—”

  Kyla said, “I’m sure Brian and his . . . friend would like to be alone.”

  Brian’s smile never wavered. “Yeah, actually, Misty and I have some . . . business to discuss.”

  Alexis and Kyla rolled their eyes in unison.

  “Have a good one,” he said, taking a final look at Alexis.

  Brian and Misty had barely moved when Cabot said, “Seems like a nice man. Are those two married?”

  Alexis wanted to slap him. Hadn’t he heard Kyla call that girl Brian’s friend? And even if he hadn’t, did Cabot really think that a twenty-five-year-old (twenty-six, tops!) surfer girl would be Brian’s wife?

  But she said nothing, just lifted her eyes, made contact with the waiter, and raised her glass—a signal that more wine would be appreciated right about now.

  For the first time since she’d met him, Alexis was glad that Cabot never shut up. He kept on and on, bragging about his business, about his contacts, about things that didn’t matter to anyone except him. And she prayed that he would never stop, because if he did, she might have to talk to Kyla or Jefferson about Brian.

  By the time their dinners arrived, Alexis was ready for another glass of wine. But she switched to sparkling water tonight, remembering what had happened the last time she’d tried to find courage in a glass—Brian had ended up in her bed.

  It took a gargantuan effort to keep her eyes away from the bar. But she lost the battle and glanced over, promising herself that it would be quick. But her eyes stayed right there, right where Brian stood with Misty. Right where the two chatted and laughed and drank.

  Alexis watched Misty take sip after sip of a golden liquid. Was the girl trying to find the same courage she’d found? Would she end up in Brian’s bed tonight?

  She shook her head, not wanting that image. And why should she care anyway?

  Turning her attention back to her plate, she forced forks filled with lobster salad into her mouth, then rested her chin in her palm and pretended to hear and care about what Cabot was saying.

  But her eyes kept going back until she watched Brian walk with Misty toward the door, without a good-bye or even a glance toward their table. Clearly, he wasn’t as curious about her as she was about him.

  He’d made a fool out of her . . . again.

  The clanking of her fork on the china echoed throughout the restaurant. She wasn’t sure if the utensil had fallen from her hands or if she had thrown it, wishing her plate was the middle of Brian’s chest.

  “Sorry,” she said, when she looked up to find three pairs of eyes on her.

  Her apology didn’t stop their stares.

  Kyla said, “Are you all right?”

  No, she wasn’t. She didn’t want to play this game anymore. She shook her head. “I don’t feel well.” She pushed her chair back slowly.

  “Do you think it’s something you ate?” Cabot asked.

  “No. I’m just . . . it’s just . . .” She stopped. “Look, I don’t want to interrupt this dinner. Please,” she said, putting on her jacket, “you guys stay, enjoy, but I need to go.”

  Cabot tossed his napkin onto the table. “I’ll take you.”

  “No,” she said. “That’s not necessary. I’m well enough to drive, and I’ll feel bad if I ruin tonight for everyone.”

  This time, it was Jefferson who was shaking his head. “No, Alex.” He turned to Cabot. “We’ll make sure that she gets home.”

  But before he could stand, Kyla rested her hand on her husband’s. “Baby, I think Alex is okay enough to get home.” Looking up, Kyla said, “Just make sure you call me.”

  Only a best friend could do that, could instantly have your back. Alexis had no doubt that Kyla had figured out what was going on.

  “At least let me walk you to your car.” Cabot told Kyla and Jefferson that he would be back. In silence, he escorted Alexis to the valet stand.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” she said.

  “No problem.” He handed her ticket to the attendant. “I was glad that you wanted to get together again,” he said in a way that made Alexis think he didn’t get many chances at second or third dates.

  They stood in silence until her car pulled up. Cabot tipped the young man, then helped Alexis inside. Before he closed the door, he leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. “I really like you, Alexis. And I hope we’ll get another chance,” he said, like he knew those were words she needed to hear. “We can do this dance slowly, but let’s let the whole song play. Let’s see where this goes.”

  She nodded, so surprised.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, then closed the door.

  She waved good-bye before she sped away, still taken aback. Maybe this plan of hers had worked. Yes, Cabot was still a big bore, but he sounded as if he knew that and wanted to do better. Maybe she could talk to him, let him know what would work best for him, for them. Maybe she could give him exactly what he asked for—a chance.

  Right there she decided: she’d take Cabot’s call tomorrow and tell him that she agreed that they should pursue this . . . slowly. She definitely needed slowly.

  Yes, she’d do that tomorrow. But there was something that she had to take care of tonight.

  Twenty-nine

  THIS WAS GOING TO END—right here, right now.

  Alexis jumped from her car, ignoring the words that screamed at her from the left side of her brain. Do not do this.

  “Can I leave my car here for a couple of minutes?” she asked Steven, the concierge who had worked in the building from the time she’d moved in years ago.

  “Sure, Mrs. Ward-Lewis.”

  She cringed. That was another thing that had to stop. When they’d divorced, she’d kept her name hyphenated with Brian’s—it was just easier. But after tonight, she didn’t want any part of him. First thing tomorrow she was going to begin the process of getting herself back totally—she would be Alexis Ward from now on.

  In front of the elevator door, Alexis paced as she planned her words. Her left brain was still screaming, now about humiliation. But she refused to listen to reason; she’d listened to reason for far too long.

  She’d listened to reason when Brian had announced that he was addicted to sex. She’d listened to reason when she’d found out that he’d slept with hundreds of women. And reason was still there when she accidentally stumbled upon the fact that he’d fathered a child with Jasmine.

  So she had no reason left. It was time for her to go off, and tonight Brian was going to hear every bit of her mind. She was going to tell him how he needed to stop sending her flowers. How he needed to lose her number. And how he needed to truly understand that she didn’t love him and would never love him again.

  As she moved to his door, she thought about the keys she still had tucked inside her purse. It would serve him right if she just let herself in and broke up his . . . tryst with his surfer girl.

  It had been, what, two days since his therapist had said he was cured? And he was right back in bed with strange women, after declaring his great love for her and his greater hope that they would once again be together.

  Yeah, right!

  Well, she wouldn’t believe his lies anymore.

  With a deep breath, she raised her hand, pressed her knuckles against the door in a no
t-so-soft tap. It was only then that she noticed how her heart raced.

  It was reason that made her mind say, Maybe this isn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done.

  What made her think that he’d be here anyway? He was probably sharing his woman’s bed, just like he’d shared hers. That thought made her knock again, harder this time.

  She had no doubt that if he was here, he’d answer. He always answered—the beeper, the telephone, the door—he was a doctor, after all.

  But still, no answer.

  Until she turned away. Then the door swung open.

  “Alexis!” Brian exclaimed, as if he was happy to see her.

  She noticed the glass he held—half empty. She noticed that he was dressed—fully.

  I guess they haven’t gotten started yet.

  “So . . . ,” he said, as if he expected her to finish the sentence.

  She opened her mouth, then stopped. She hadn’t really thought this all the way through. Was she supposed to curse him out while she was standing in the middle of this hallway with gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers? Or was she supposed to walk in and air their business in front of his woman of the night?

  She opted for the latter and marched past him, half expecting to see a naked woman leisurely lying on the couch that they had shopped for together all those years ago. But the living room was empty.

  With just the slightest bend of her head, she peeked outside, checking the balcony. Nothing. Turning around, she frowned at the way the edges of Brian’s lips twitched. As if he was holding back a huge laugh.

  She said, “I know you’re busy, but I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m not busy at all. Just surprised that you’re here.” He took a sip of whatever was in his glass, his amusement apparent. “So . . . what brings you by? I thought you’d still be on your date.”

  “I thought you’d still be on yours.”

  He put his glass down, shook his head. “I wasn’t on a date.” He stepped closer to her. “But you—”

  Taking a breath, she interrupted him. “Brian, I came by to tell you that this is—”

  She didn’t even have a chance to finish before his lips were on hers, his arms around her waist pulling her so close. It was quick, deep, filled with too much passion. And too many seconds went by before she used both hands to push him away.

  She wanted to smack him the way those starlets did in all of those old movies. But instead, she panted, “I’m not doing this with you. Not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . . because,” her voice rose with each word, “you’re obviously not cured. You’re still addicted to sex, and I’m not going to be an enabler, or a victim, or whatever.”

  He frowned, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Addicted to sex?” He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I haven’t made love with anyone . . . except for you.”

  She twisted her mouth, letting him know that she was no longer going to believe his lies. “What about that woman? Bitsy or Ditzy or . . .”

  “Misty. She’s a neighbor; her parents just bought her an apartment in this building, and she wanted some advice about becoming a surgeon.”

  Alexis laughed, remembering the chick in the too-tight top and too-short skirt. “You expect me to believe that?”

  He didn’t share her laugh, just shrugged. “I don’t really care what you believe, but I’m telling you the truth. She wanted information, and I thought tonight would be the perfect time to take her out and talk. And I decided that the Haven would be the perfect place, especially since I knew you would be there.”

  She blinked, confused. “What . . . what . . . you knew I was having dinner?”

  He chuckled. “Of course I did, Alexis. Please, don’t you think that was too much of a coincidence?”

  She absorbed his words. Was this nothing but a game to him? The emotions that had been simmering inside her exploded! The love, the hate, the jealousy. But before she could even think about raising her hand and slapping him, he grabbed her wrists, held her tight, stared her down.

  Just like before, his lips were right there. So close, too close. And she just couldn’t help herself—she leaned in and kissed him.

  It was a repeat performance—the way she wrapped her arms around him and let him carry her away, fighting all the thoughts that came from the left and right sides of her brain.

  Not a minute passed before they were in the bedroom; then, only seconds after that, he was stretched, once again, on top of her. This time, they were filled with so much passion that they couldn’t wait. A shift of her skirt, a zip of his pants—it took barely two minutes.

  And they were done.

  But there was no rest in between, no time to think about what they’d done. His lips found hers, and now they tore at each other until they were naked.

  And then they did the same thing all over again.

  Her question broke through the quiet.

  She asked, “What are we doing?” and her voice trembled.

  The way Brian held her before he spoke let Alexis know that he’d heard her fear. He lightly kissed her cheek before he said, “We’re finding our way back to each other.”

  Only a bit of light from the living room illuminated their space, but Alexis could still see the ceiling. She stayed on her back, staring at the cracks and crevices in the stucco that were so well known to her. For a moment, this felt like home, but there was no way that she could come back to the familiar.

  “I love you, Alexis,” he whispered.

  Her mind tried to close her ears, but her heart heard him and told her that his words were true. But what was she supposed to do with that?

  She told him her own truth, “You loved me before, and it wasn’t enough.”

  “I had a problem then, but I don’t anymore. And I want the chance to prove this to you.”

  A chance. Just a couple of hours before, Cabot had asked for a chance.

  She stayed silent, stared more at the ceiling. Connected the dots to see the old formations she’d created over the years whenever worries kept her awake and looking up.

  “I promise,” he began as he tightened his arms around her, “I will never lie to you again. You will never have to worry about other women . . . or anything.”

  She stared more at the crevices and wondered if there were new formations since the last time she’d lain in this bed.

  His lips moved gently against her ear when he whispered, “I will spend the rest of my life making it all up to you. Give me . . . give us this chance.”

  She said nothing.

  “We’ll do it any way you want . . . we’ll take it slow, or we’ll go down to City Hall tomorrow.”

  With those words, she rolled onto her side. Leaned back against him—her back to his front. A spoon made of skin.

  She turned her head slightly to look at the ceiling again. There did seem to be new formations, but it was still familiar.

  This was home.

  Thirty

  I AM THE MAN!

  This time, though, the words inside him were not boisterous. Instead, they were soft, sweet, almost too sweet. Made him lean over and kiss Alexis’s lips.

  She stirred but didn’t awaken, and he was glad. He wanted her to stay just like this, asleep in their bed. So that he could look at her and not have to pinch himself. So that he could thank God for this blessing.

  Everything he’d had to do—including waiting—had been worth it for this moment. Silently, he told God that he was never going to mess up again.

  “There will never be another secret. Never another lie, sweetheart,” he whispered, and hoped his words would somehow go deep into her soul so that when she awakened, she would know that his commitment, his love, was true.

  She already had to know that he would do anything for her. Like last night, with Misty. It was a shame that he’d had to use the young woman like that. But she’d been up for it. When he asked her out for drinks, he’d told her up front that he was intereste
d in getting his wife back. Misty had been surprised at first, but then agreed because he’d been “such a good neighbor.” Turned out the young woman, who was engaging and intelligent and truly interested in being a surgeon someday, was studying now at UCLA.

  Alexis moaned, stretched, then opened her eyes, looking straight into his.

  “You’re my Sleeping Beauty,” he said.

  “That is so corny.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re in love.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Alexis.” He waited for her to say the same.

  But she didn’t. Just raised herself up a bit and glanced over his shoulder. “It’s almost nine! Why did you let me sleep so late?” She fell back onto the bed. “I have to get to work.”

  “I thought it would be good if we spent the day together.” He leaned over her. “Preferably in bed.”

  She smiled.

  “And then we can get up and run down to City Hall to get married, right before we go to your town house and pack up everything—”

  She laughed. “I thought you said we were going to take this slow.”

  “Okay,” he said, feigning disappointment that wasn’t too much of a stretch. Not that he really thought she’d marry him today. But there was nothing wrong with hoping.

  When she pulled him close and kissed him, his hopes rose.

  The phone rang, and he ignored it at first. But by the third ring, he remembered he was a doctor, rolled over, and glanced at the caller ID. It was the New York City number that made him grab the receiver before the call went to voice mail.

  “May I speak to Doctor Brian Lewis?” the male voice asked.

  “Speaking,” he said, still leaning over Alexis.

  “This is Agent Ruffin from the FBI. Do you have a moment?”

  He frowned. “What is this regarding?”

  “I’m working with the NYPD regarding Jacqueline Bush.”

  Just the mention of his daughter’s name made his heart skip a couple of beats. “Ja—” Stopping himself before he repeated her name, he rolled away from Alexis and planted his feet on the floor. Why would the FBI be calling him about his . . . about Jasmine and Hosea’s daughter? “Could you hold on a moment?” he said into the phone, then, to Alexis, “Sweetheart, this is a . . . consultation.” He cringed as the first lie slipped so easily between his lips. “I’m gonna take this in the living room so you can go back to sleep.”