Dangerously in Love

by Kimbrough, Michele

  “Thank you, Sam.”

  30

  It was the morning of the sentencing hearing. Hill had been behind bars for several months already. Now he knew what his former clients felt like. Helpless. His fate rested in the hands of his attorney and the judge. There was no jury. There wasn’t going to be a trial. Samantha, with her legal savvy and knowledge of how the state’s attorney’s office ran, was able to work out a plea deal. Hill was to plead guilty to two counts of voluntary manslaughter.

  When Judge Sterling walked to the bench, Hill felt like the heavens were smiling down on him. By the time it was all said and done, Judge Sterling said, “Ten years for each count, to be served concurrently.” When the gavel went down, Hill’s fate was sealed. It could have been so much worse.

  Hill was given a moment to say goodbye to his family and friends before being hauled off to serve his sentence. His father cried. The last time the judge had cried was when Hill’s mom died. Between the hugs and tears, Hill realized something he hadn’t before. There were a lot of people who loved and cared about him. And he had disappointed and shamed them all.

  “I want you all to know—and I truly hope you believe me—that I did not kill them. I’m innocent. Someone framed me.”

  “I believe you, son.” The judge kissed both of Hill’s cheeks, but Hill wondered if his father was telling the truth.

  Perry leaned in for a hug. Hill was a little misty-eyed but tried not to let it show. Then he turned to Samantha, giving her a long, tight hug around her very pregnant belly. She was due in two weeks. When they released, Hill cupped her belly and smiled. He kissed her lips and mouthed ‘thank you’ before being taken away.

  3

  “To exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it’s an absolute duty.” ― Stieg Larsson

  31

  Samantha was overcome with feelings of deep apprehension. She wasn’t sure if it had something to do with her sleeplessness or with having to deliver the news to Hill. She’d never really enjoyed visiting him in that awful place, but she hadn’t been apprehensive, either. She grabbed a large coffee and a bowtie from Dunkin Donuts and pushed through the six-hour drive.

  She sat in the waiting room, wearing an old pair of jeans with a DKNY T-shirt. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her makeup was minimal. She didn’t wear jewelry or carry a purse whenever she visited Hill. She traveled light. It was too much hassle to visit with anything more than her keys and ID. She always made sure the gas tank was filled before leaving Chicago, and she’d carry fifty dollars in her pocket for a meal and gas on her way back home.

  Through the guarded, heavy steel doors, Hill emerged. Samantha noticed his previously lustrous platinum blonde hair had become dingy white strands gathered into a ponytail. His physique was more muscular than she remembered, and he had a goatee, something he hadn’t had the last time she visited, which was about six months ago.

  When he saw her sitting there, he smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. She stood up and reached out for him. They hugged long. He didn’t want to let go. She was all he had, and he looked forward to her visits, no matter how few and far between they were becoming. She was the first to let go, but he held on a little while longer, enjoying the lavender scent of her hair, her floral perfume, and the warmth of her hug.

  “Let me look at you,” he said. His enthusiasm far outweighed hers.

  She smiled. He made a hand motion for her to do a spin. She smirked a little then twirled like a ballerina.

  “Wow, Sam. You look like Dorothy Dandridge. Spitting image,” he said.

  She did. She’d heard that a lot. Even her body was similar in build.

  “It’s so great seeing you. I’ve missed you. I wish you could visit more often.”

  “Me, too,” she said softly, although she didn’t mean it. She certainly could have visited more often—she just chose not to.

  Silence.

  “The years are going by quickly. Not at first, but now they seem to be passing okay.”

  She nodded. He had adapted to prison life but not without cost. He’d been disbarred—no more thoughts of practicing law when he got out. And he’d changed, too. He talked differently. He walked differently. He looked hardened. Rough. He’d served five of the ten years he had been sentenced for voluntary manslaughter, and the psychological scars were definitely evident.

  She reached her hand across the table, holding his hand in hers. “This isn’t a social visit, Hill. Not really.”

  His eyes widened as he leaned against the back of the chair.

  “I’m afraid I have some difficult news.”

  He removed his hands from hers and leaned back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs of it. He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at the table.

  She watched the second hand on the clock tick one second at a time until it reached the twelve. She sighed and shook her head, hating what she had to tell him.

  “What’s going on?” Hill leaned forward, and the two front legs dropped to the floor. He reached out, taking her hands in his, watching her chin drop to her chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dropping onto her T-shirt. “What is it, Samantha?”

  “Your father . . .”

  “What about him?”

  She could hardly get the words out. Tears streamed down her face. “Your father passed away.”

  Hill covered his head with his hands, trying to suppress a yell. He didn’t want his visit cut short, because of an outburst but it was virtually impossible to hold in his emotions.

  “Your father was so highly regarded and respected by so many,” Samantha began. “Everyone loved him. Including the warden. I was able to get you a seven-day pass so you can attend to your father’s affairs and burial.”

  32

  Samantha rode the elevator alone to the fifteenth floor of the Marion Hotel. This day had been all about Hill—getting him a pass, telling him about his father’s death, preparing him for what awaited him. Tomorrow, Hill was to be released to her custody for seven days. They had to process his paperwork and program his ankle bracelet. Now that she had handled Hill’s legal business, she just wanted to relax. She had a six-hour drive ahead of her to get Hill to Chicago.

  Inside the hotel room, she sat in the chair rather than the sofa. On the coffee table in front of her was the local Tribune. She flipped through the newspaper, but her mind couldn’t focus on what she was reading. She kept thinking about Bill. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and called him.

  “I had to check into a hotel. They won’t release Hill until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “So why are you calling me, Samantha? I told you, I don’t want a convicted murderer in my house.”

  “My name is on the deed, too. His father died, Bill. What happened to your compassion?”

  “Look, you haven’t lived here for a year, and now you want to put on airs?”

  “Okay. This is unproductive. I’ll be home tomorrow evening with Hill. We’ll have dinner at the house, and I’ll figure things out from there.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure I’m gone. And no matter what you decide, Hillary stays with me while that murderer is out of prison.”

  ***

  Hill stood there stunned . . . and silent. Old friends, family, and colleagues hugged, kissed, slapped on the back, play-punched, and man-hugged Hill as he arrived. And real food. He hadn’t expected such a reception, especially on such a sad occasion. Samantha, who was pregnant when he was convicted, now had a five-year-old daughter who was running around somewhere.

  The weather was perfect. The welcome even more perfect. He hadn’t had a beer in five years. He took his first sip that day. He licked the barbecue from his fingers. He played catch with a couple of the kids. He played cards with his friends. He laughed, hard and often. But mostly, he wanted to cry over his father and all the lost years.

  It had gotten late, and folks were leaving. Hill stayed to help Samantha with cleanup duty, which she appreciated.
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br />   “You’re looking really good, Hill,” Samantha said as she loaded the dishwasher.

  “You are, too. I can’t believe Hillary is five years old. I can’t believe you’re a mom.”

  “Yeah, I’m an old battle axe now,” she joked.

  “I can’t imagine that. You seem happy, though.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “You are happy, right?”

  “You know, Hill, I can handle this by myself. Why don’t you just go relax until your brother calls with the details for the wake?”

  He dropped the sponge in the soapy water and leaned against the counter. “I didn’t mean to step on a landmine, Sam. It’s been a long time and . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it, Hill. But nobody’s life stopped because you were locked up. We all had lives to lead.”

  “Whoa.” He reached for her hand and pulled her close. “What’s this about? What’s wrong, Sam?”

  She broke into tears, covering her face with her hands.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “What’s going on, Sam?” He brushed the hair away from her eyes and wiped her streaming tears with his thumbs. She sniffed, wiping the tears from her nose with the back of her hand.

  “First day out of prison, and you’re already after my wife,” Bill said, half joking. Samantha quickly broke from Hill’s embrace and continued loading the dishwasher.

  Hill smiled at Bill. “How’s work?”

  “What do you care? You don’t give a shit about my work.”

  Hill laughed. “You’re right.”

  They both laughed awkwardly. Hill looked at Samantha, who glanced back at him. She seemed okay, so he excused himself from the kitchen.

  33

  The windows facing the train tracks were larger than he remembered, but the building itself was smaller than he recalled. Somehow, the warehouse looked better than it had when he’d lived there. Inside, it was warm with the fresh scent of vanilla or something sweet like that. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The blinds were in tiptop shape, and the floors, pristine. It looked as if he’d never left. He turned and looked at Samantha who seemed forlorn—her face was marred by disdain. In the living room, a vase of fresh flowers was situated in the center of the cocktail table. Its fragrant blossoms added to the overall sweetness pervading the air in the room.

  “I’ve been keeping up the place. I figured with what you spent on restoring it, you wouldn’t want it ruined. So I tended to it,” Samantha explained.

  “Thank you,” he offered as he continued looking around, trying to remember this place, observing Samantha’s improvements, her interior decor. “It was a long ride. I’m going to the head,” he announced.

  As he stood over the commode relieving himself, he noticed the floral shower curtains—no longer the sliding shower door. The tub was an antique bear claw porcelain one. He flushed the toilet and stood at the sink, washing his hands with scented soap. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and noticed the blue Tampax box, moisturizer, women’s and children’s daily vitamins, oral hygiene products, and a very purple toothbrush perched next to a pink one. None of which belonged to him. He closed the cabinet door and dried his hands on the Egyptian cotton decorative towel hanging on a circular towel holder.

  As he exited the bathroom, he saw Samantha leaning against the wall across from him, her arms folded across her chest.

  “I know you noticed.”

  “I did. What’s going on?”

  She sighed and motioned for him to follow her. She entered one of the extra bedrooms just past the one she had turned into Hillary’s room. She’d had this one converted into her own. She sat on the chaise across from her bed and patted the seat. Hill took her cue and sat beside her.

  “I’ve been living here for a year now. Well, Hillary and I have been living here. Bill and I are going through a rough patch.”

  Hill nodded, not seeming to be phased by any of it.

  “I didn’t have anywhere else I could go since I hadn’t been working. I really didn’t have any money. And since you were locked up, I figured you wouldn’t need the place for quite a while.”

  Hill nodded again.

  “I took your girlfriend’s picture down and put it in the garage. I figured you didn’t need the memory. I’ll put it back up if you need me to.”

  He shook his head.

  “You aren’t saying much,” she observed.

  “So why didn’t you bring Hillary with us when we left Bill’s house, then?”

  “Bill thought it would be a good idea if she stayed with him while you’re on pass, to give you a chance to do what you need to do without a kid underfoot.”

  “Oh, I see. He didn’t want his kid around a convict.”

  “Something like that,” she agreed.

  “What happened with you two? Before I went to prison, you were all giddy.”

  She sighed. “Can we talk about something else? I really don’t have the energy . . .”

  “Suits me fine. Where am I sleeping?”

  “In your room . . . where else, silly?”

  “Well, seeing that you’ve taken over my place . . .”

  “Is that what’s wrong with you? You’re mad because I moved into your home?”

  “Without ever once telling me? No, of course not. I’m not mad about that at all. My father just died, Sam. He died with me being a disappointment to him. I didn’t get to redeem myself with him. My father died thinking his son is a murderer.”

  Samantha remained silent.

  “I’m going to take a shower then hit the sack. Can I shower with this thing on my ankle?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay then.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she turned her head and planted a wet one on his lips.

  “I’m so sorry, Hill. I know how this must hurt terribly.”

  He nodded and walked away.

  ***

  Hill heard a thumping sound. He sat up on the side of the bed, trying to ascertain from where it was coming. He got up and followed the sounds, which led him into the garage.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Samantha asked.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I remembered I forgot to fix the bike rack. The trains kept jarring it loose. I needed one of these things to reinforce it.” She held up a plastic anchor. “Anyway, I was about to go to sleep, and I remembered I needed to fix it.”

  Uncharacteristically rough, Hill grabbed her by the arm and pulled her body next to his. He cupped her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs along her bottom lip, wanting to taste her, needing to feel her warmth. A freight train rumbled by, shaking the floor beneath them. Samantha looked up at the ceiling, watching the pendant light fixtures swaying slightly.

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. Like that . . . that’s how the bike rack fell.”

  “Samantha,” Hill caressed her hair, “I need you.”

  Samantha returned her focus to him, wondering what this was all about. The last time Hill had told her that he needed her, they had just started dating. And that was more than eight years ago. “Is this about your dad?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “Well, sort of. But not really.”

  “Which is it?”

  “For five years, I lay in my cell day-after-day, replaying in my mind what went wrong. Where did I make the wrong turn with my life?” He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and watched her lean into his touch. “What went wrong was that I let you walk out of my life. Since that day, I went downhill. I never realized how much you grounded me—how much I needed you. My life became nothing without you.”

  Samantha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Hill? Expressing feelings? It was so unlike him. She knew he hated talking about his feelings or even being vulnerable. Yet he stood there, staring into her eyes, telling her what she’d been wanting to hear for years—that she mattered to him.

  “When you married Bill, it killed me. Almost literally. It’s silly, I know . . .�
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  “No, it isn’t, Hill. I appreciate you sharing how—” But before she could finish, Hill had kissed her—passionately, intensely—with such an urgency that Samantha could hardly catch her breath.

  “Lay with me tonight,” he asked. “I just need to feel you beside me.”

  “I don’t want to just lay with you, Hill. I want to make love to you—not just once, but until you don’t have an ounce of energy left to give.”

  “It’s been five years, darlin’—that might take a while,” he joked.

  34

  Eugene, Hill’s oldest brother and the new patriarch of the family, called Samantha to tell her the location had been changed. The funeral home had made a clerical error and double booked for the same room at the same time. Lizzy, the judge’s wife—they were married shortly after Hill was convicted—had offered the judge’s house as the new venue. Eugene had called to tell her that. She asked if he wanted to speak to Hill, but Eugene declined. It was rare that any of the siblings spoke to Hill, especially now that he was a family disgrace.

  “I swear, Sam, if the warden wasn’t going to be there, I would just skip the memorial service and pay my respects in my own way—without my so-called family.”

  “Well, you’re going for Lizzy. Just remember that,” Samantha said as she looped his tie around the collar of his shirt.

  “Not one of them . . . as a matter of fact, Sam, you’re the only one who came to visit me. Dad came a couple of times, but when he retired and had no reason to travel to southern Illinois, he stopped coming, too. Sometimes I wondered if the only reason why you came was because you were my attorney.”

  “There,” she said, satisfied with the knot she had made. “You look very handsome.”

  “So your visits were official then?”

  “Hill, let’s not get into this today, okay? I mean, we had a beautiful night together, you’re about to say goodbye to your father, and you only have five more days of freedom. Let’s just enjoy it, okay?”