“Vanessa will be fine.” This time it was the rhythm of her mother-in-law’s Jamaican brogue that Vanessa heard.
“She’s my daughter, Dorothy,” Wanda Fowler stated. “I know her better than you do. And I’m worried.”
Vanessa didn’t have to be in the room to see her mother’s expression. She imagined how Wanda’s lips had turned down. The way her eyes rolled. The way her cheeks were sucked in—to show her disapproval of Dorothy’s words.
“Well, your daughter is strong. My son always said so.”
With a fake smile, Vanessa sauntered into the kitchen. “I didn’t think you guys would still be here.”
“Where are we supposed to go?” her mother asked and sniffed.
Vanessa did her best not to sigh. Her grief was enough—she couldn’t carry her mother’s as well.
“I was just waiting until you woke up.” Dorothy spoke softly. “Did you rest well?”
“Of course she didn’t,” Wanda answered before Vanessa could. “How can she rest? Her husband…he’s…” She stopped; shook her head as if finishing was too painful.
“I did sleep a little,” Vanessa said, ignoring her mother’s theatrics.
Dorothy Martin smiled. While Wanda Fowler had worn her sorrow like a new suit, Dorothy, who’d lost her only son, stood anchored like the Rock of Gibraltar that she always was from the moment she’d heard the news.
“You still look tired,” Wanda said, rubbing her daughter’s arm.
Dorothy said, “Why don’t you guys come over to my house? There’s still plenty of food and I’m sure a houseful of people. You know how my people are,” she said with a chuckle.
“That’s a good idea, sweetheart,” Wanda said. “Go upstairs and change. And I’ll drive you over to Dorothy’s.”
“Or you can ride with me,” Dorothy said.
It drove Vanessa crazy, the subtle battles between her mother and mother-in-law. They’d never had an all-out war in the fifteen years of their children’s marriage, but the small clashes were just as annoying—if one said black, the other swore white. Her husband, Reed, had been the referee—she didn’t know how it would be now.
“You know,” Vanessa began, “what I really want is for you to leave so I can be alone.”
This could have been a first—mother and mother-in-law agreeing. If she’d had any joy inside her, Vanessa would have laughed at their matching expressions.
“That’s not a good idea,” her mother said.
“And it’s not necessary,” Dorothy added. “Come over to my house for a little while. Eat something, and then I’ll bring you back here.”
“No.” Vanessa lifted her mother’s sweater from the couch and handed it to her. “I really want to do this my way.” She grabbed her mother-in-law’s purse and gave it to her.
Seconds passed before Dorothy said, “Well, if this is what you want.”
Vanessa nodded, then glanced at her mother, who stood strong as if she had no plans to leave.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Wanda said, and her eyes watered.
Because you’re getting on my nerves, was what Vanessa screamed inside. “It’s been a long week, Mother,” she said. “I’m tired and I have to get used to this anyway.”
“You don’t have to get used to it all at once. All alone.”
Vanessa closed her eyes for a moment, soaked in those words: All alone.
Wanda continued, “Sweetheart, listen to me. I know.”
“Mother, you know everything.”
Wanda pressed her lips together, crossed her arms. Stood, stared, waited for her apology.
Vanessa sighed. “Just give me tonight. And if I’m not good, I promise I’ll call you.” She looked at Dorothy. “I’ll call both of you.”
“There’s no need to bother Dorothy with this,” Wanda said as she slipped into her sweater. “If you need someone to be here with you, it’ll be me.”
“Call me whenever you want to.” Dorothy hugged her daughter-in-law.
Vanessa was surprised at the way Dorothy held her. The Martins weren’t known for their affection, but she’d had more hugs from her in-laws in the week since Reed’s death than she’d had in all the years of their marriage.
Dorothy kissed Vanessa’s cheek. “I’ll call you later.”
Her mother’s hug was much warmer. The Fowlers were a touchy-feely family. And tragedy just made Wanda love harder.
Vanessa stood at the door as the mothers in her life marched to their cars. Without a word to each other, they sped away, but not before waving to Vanessa. Her mother raised her hand with her thumb to her ear and her pinky to her lips. Call me, she mouthed.
Vanessa nodded, making sure she kept her smile wide. The moment the Camry and the Explorer were out of sight, she closed the front door.
Her smile stayed as she returned to the kitchen and wiped invisible crumbs from the granite-top counters. She was still beaming as she fluffed the already plump pillows on the couch in the family room and then did the same to the ones in the living room.
As she climbed the stairs, the seventeen hundred square feet of silence screamed at her, but she ignored the quiet and kept the veneer of cheer.
In the guest bathroom, her smile dimmed a bit when she opened the medicine cabinet. There weren’t as many bottles as she thought. But she gathered the three prescriptions and then strolled toward her bedroom.
Inside the master bathroom, she lined up the bottles on the counter before she opened the cabinet. In here, her wide smile returned. As she placed these five bottles next to the other three, she wondered why she and Reed had kept these prescriptions long after their headaches and toothaches and muscle aches were gone.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she said to herself.
She leaned against the wall, folded her arms, and stared at the bottles lined side by side like soldiers.
This was enough for what she had to do.
She wondered if Reed had taken this same care when he planned his death. Knowing her husband, he’d probably spent weeks organizing it all. She closed her eyes and once again imagined his last moments. The gun to his temple. The way he’d probably looked at his watch and counted the seconds. The way she hoped he’d said good-bye to her. Then, hello to God.
“No,” she screamed, and opened her eyes.
Sadness stared back at her from the mirror and she forced the ends of her lips to turn upward. There was no need for sorrow. All she needed to do was embrace the joy that came from knowing that—as soon as she got the word from God—she and Reed would be together again, married forever.
Chapter Five
SHERIDAN
Relief swept through Sheridan as the phone shrilled. She glanced at the clock—it was barely seven. She reached for the telephone but pulled her hand back when she squinted at the caller ID.
She lay back, waiting until she was sure the message had been left. Then she called her voice mail.
“Sheridan, this is Pastor Ford. Sorry to call so early, but I was on my way to The Woman’s Place. I wanted to meet with you briefly this afternoon, but if not today, then definitely first thing Monday. Give me a call as soon as you can. Love you.”
Sheridan wasn’t returning that call—at least not today. She stayed away from Pastor Ford the morning, the day, the night…after. After what she and Brock had done yesterday.
The thought of him brought back her misery. She’d been up the entire night, spending the hours staring at the telephone, wondering why it wouldn’t ring. Wondering even more why she wasn’t dialing.
Now she still couldn’t believe he hadn’t called. Yes, he’d left angry. But they’d argued before—actually, a lot lately. Yet he always called. And he had postponed his cross-country trip to make sure she wouldn’t be alone.
She tossed the covers onto the floor. She needed to do something about this.
Thirty minutes after she jumped from her bed, she was showered and dressed. She reached for her keys and paused as her g
lance rested on the program that sat tucked in the corner of her dresser mirror. Her father’s face, wide with a smile, stared back at her. His photo warmed her; it was the words above his picture that made her body cold—Homegoing Celebration for Cameron Collins.
She closed her eyes—it was there inside where she could hear his voice, feel his kisses, reach out and touch his love. Grief began its swell, but with a shake of her head, she demanded that sorrow stay away. She tucked her keys in her hand, dashed out the door.
Backing out of her driveway, she realized she had no destination in mind. Her car wandered with her thoughts. She wondered what she’d be doing now if she hadn’t driven Brock away yesterday. They would have still been together—of that she was sure. They wouldn’t have made love again—they never did it twice. But he would have stayed and held her through the night. Then, this morning, she would have awakened with a smile instead of despair.
Why were they arguing so much? Sheridan tried to remember when this part of their relationship started. It seemed the closer they got, the more Brock talked about their being together permanently, the more she resisted.
“Is that what’s happening?” She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “No,” she told herself. But her eyes told a different story.
She pulled into the Starbucks’ parking lot, and grabbed her cell phone. She needed to talk. But as she dialed her best friend, Kamora, she stopped. She didn’t need to meet over coffee to know what her friend would say.
“Girl, you need to do the do. Marry that man before someone else swoops him up.”
She clicked off the phone and turned out of the parking lot. As she sped toward the freeway, she dialed again.
Brock answered on the first ring.
“I’m sorry,” were her first words.
He said nothing.
“If you want me to beg, I will. I’ll get down on my knees and—”
His chuckles stopped her. “Somehow, I can’t imagine that sight.”
“Is that what you want? For me to beg?”
“Not even close.” His smile was no longer part of his tone. “I just want…I don’t know why we fight so much recently.”
“It’s not really fighting,” she said, ignoring the fact that she’d asked the same question minutes before. “We’re just getting closer. There’s bound to be bumps in the road.”
“It feels like more than that to me.” He paused. “Like there’s another reason. Something we’re both missing.”
“Don’t look for anything, sweetheart,” she said as she exited the freeway. “I’ve just been so overwhelmed recently, especially with losing my dad. I never imagined having to live the rest of my life without him and sometimes that thought makes me crazy.”
“I know,” he said, his tone now soft with love. “And I hope you know that I’m always here for you.”
“You’ve been beyond great.” She edged her car to the curb and turned off the ignition. “Everything you’ve done—like changing your trip this weekend. All of it means a lot to me.”
“We didn’t get a great start to this weekend.”
“Actually, the start was great and we still have today and tomorrow.” She got out of the car and rushed up the sidewalk. “Let me make it up to you.”
His chuckles were back. “How are you going to do that?”
“I’m not totally sure, but I have some ideas.”
“Hold on a sec,” he said. “Someone’s at my door.”
She was already laughing when Brock opened the door.
“Get in here.” He pulled her inside the Compton home he’d inherited from his grandmother.
She said, “I want to make yesterday up to you.”
His laughter stopped, although he still held her. “No, we’re not…”
“I’m not talking about that,” she said, kissing him. “I can love you without making love to you. Just being with you is enough.” She paused. “Is it enough for you?”
And with his lips, he told her that was more than enough for him.
Chapter Six
KENDALL
Kendall couldn’t imagine where the noise was coming from. She shook her head, opened her eyes. Froze. A second later, she shot straight up.
The pounding started again. “Kendall, are you in there?”
Her heart hammered to the beat of the banging on the door. She jumped from the sofa, tossed the comforter onto the floor, and tried to stuff it and the pillow under the couch.
She glanced at the clock, couldn’t believe she’d overslept. Usually when she made The Woman’s Place her home, she was up hours before the first employee arrived—showered, dressed, and behind her desk. But last night she’d had a fitful rest. Her ex-husband had visited her in her dreams, made himself at home, and brought the memory of all that used to be right with them. It wasn’t until the first morning’s light peeked through her window that she’d finally slept.
“I’m sure she’s in there, Pastor Ford,” said Janet, the Spa’s manager. Her voice was muffled, but Kendall still heard the words.
With her hands, Kendall tried to press the wrinkles from her sweat suit.
“You have keys, right?” This time it was Pastor Ford’s voice.
“Yes.”
Kendall wiggled her fingers through her hair, wiped her eyes, and with a breath, opened the door just as she heard keys jiggling on the other side.
“Pastor Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Kendall said. “I was…in my bathroom.”
She was sorry about her words before the lie had left her lips. If there was one person who could tell a lie from the truth, it was Pastor Ford.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Pastor Ford sauntered inside.
Kendall nodded at her manager, then closed her office door. “Pastor, do you have an appointment this morning?”
“My standing Saturday-morning massage, but today, I’m going to get a pedicure and…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes wandered to the comforter only half hidden beneath the couch.
Kendall cringed. She should have taken more time to hide the signs that showed that she preferred sleeping here rather than at home alone.
“I came a bit early,” Pastor Ford continued as if she’d never stopped speaking. She sat on the sofa and pushed the comforter out of her way. “I wanted to have a couple of minutes with you. Do you have time?”
No, was what Kendall wanted to scream. But she’d never say that to her pastor. She nodded and forced her lips into a large grin.
Pastor Ford motioned for Kendall to join her. “I haven’t seen you in church in the last few weeks.”
Kendall was relieved that her pastor was too busy to keep better tabs. It had been far more than a few weeks. It was difficult to attend services under the watchful eyes of church folks who would wonder—aloud and silently—where was her husband.
“I know.” Kendall bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”
Pastor Ford waved her hand. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m not the one who expects you to be there.”
“I’ve just been busy.”
“Too busy for God, huh?”
It was the love she had for her pastor that held her back from saying what she thought about God right now. “Work, and other stuff, sometimes gets in the way.”
Pastor Ford covered Kendall’s hands with her own. “I know this has been a tough time.”
Kendall put strength into her eyes and attitude inside her voice. “The only thing that’s been tough, Pastor, is my club’s expansion—I didn’t expect all the hours. But I’ll do better. With getting to church—and everything.”
Pastor Ford’s eyes moved to the comforter again. Without looking at Kendall, she said, “I saw Anthony yesterday. He told me your divorce”—her eyes met Kendall’s—“was final.”
“Yes,” Kendall said with her biggest smile. “At least that’s one thing off my plate. Now I’ll have more time—”
“Kendall, why are you pretending?” She held up her hand. “And
before you deny anything…” Pastor Ford picked up the pillow, then tossed it onto the couch. “This can’t be easy; it wouldn’t be for anyone. But you’ve got to reach out. I’m here, God’s here.”
You, maybe I could trust. But, God? “I’m not pretending, Pastor. The only thing that’s wrong is I haven’t done a good job of balancing my life. But I’ll work on that. In fact, I’ll be in church tomorrow,” Kendall said, standing.
Pastor Ford raised a single eyebrow and motioned for Kendall to sit back down. “I’ll be glad to see you in church. But, I came by to tell you that I want to see you in my office on Thursday, at seven.”
“For what?”
“I’ll explain on Thursday.” Before Kendall could tell her that she needed more than that, Pastor Ford said, “Just be there, Kendall.” This time it was the pastor who stood, signaling the meeting’s end.
Kendall was filled with a million nos, but she didn’t have the strength to battle the look on her pastor’s face—the way her brown eyes were soft with her ever-present compassion, but at the same time, the way her chin pressed forward as if she dared Kendall to say anything but yes.
Kendall nodded, but inside she was already planning the excuses she’d use when she called her pastor an hour before seven on Thursday.
The pastor said, “So, I’ll see you then?”
Again, Kendall nodded—better not to speak the lie aloud. She knew what this was about—her pastor probably had some cockamamy plan to bring her and Anthony together so that they could have an amicable divorce. Or worse, she could have arranged some kind of sick family reunion with her and her sister and Anthony. She wasn’t going to sit through either one of those scenarios.
“And, Kendall”—Pastor Ford paused for a moment—“please don’t make me come looking for you.” The smile stayed on the pastor’s lips but not in her tone.
Kendall stood in place, not moving even when she was alone. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t be able to get out of the meeting. But when she got to that church, if there was any sign of her ex-husband or her ex-sister, her pastor’s meeting would be cut short. Very short.
The Ex Files Page 3