That’s okay, Asia thought, holding her daughter as their sobs blended together. She’d survived without a father, and Angel would survive too. She’d make sure that her daughter had a wonderful life, even without Bobby Johnson.
Chapter Forty-seven
KENDALL
Kendall pressed the key on her phone to hear the voice mail again.
“Baby girl, your sister is back in the hospital, back at Cedar’s. Please baby girl, please do what’s right.”
She pressed the key, repeated the message, listened again. But there were no more words, no hints. She clicked the phone off.
Why would Daddy do that? she wondered. Why would he call and not say more? But then she wondered why she asked herself that. He wasn’t supposed to be calling her at all. She wasn’t supposed to care.
Kendall grabbed the telephone again and with a deep breath, she dialed. As the phone rang on the other end, she stared through her balcony windows at the early-morning surf.
“Cedar Sinai.”
“I’d like some information on one of your patients?”
“What kind of information?” the operator asked with a frown in her voice.
“I want to know how my…one of your patients is doing.”
“Name, please.”
“Sabrina Leigh, but I don’t want to—”
She heard a click, then a pause before another phone began to ring. She prayed that she was being transferred to a nurse’s station. Her eyes stayed on the ocean’s hypnotic rhythm, and she was reminded of the first time she’d had this view.
“We cannot afford a home in Malibu,” she’d protested when Anthony insisted there was a house on the edge of the Pacific that he wanted her to see. “And you’re talking right on the beach? You must be working too hard because surely you’ve lost your mind,” she’d kidded her husband of almost a year.
“That’s the beauty of sharing your bed with a man whose brother’s in real estate. We get first dibs on the deals.”
“This house would have to be darn near free,” she’d argued. “Our money’s tied up.”
But Anthony had ignored her. Dragged her away from the office with promises to return her to her desk within a few hours.
During the ride over, she’d recounted for Anthony all the reasons why the dream of a Malibu home could not come true. But the moment she stepped into the split-level home, she’d dropped her case. When Anthony had taken her hand and led her to the deck, she’d inhaled the fragrance of the sea and then almost begged her husband to find a way to make this wonderful place a part of their perfect life.
Her sister’s “Hello” broke up her memory.
Startled, Kendall waited to hear Sabrina’s voice again.
“Hello.”
She strained to hear what she wouldn’t ask. Did she have any pain? Did she have any hope?
Without a single word, Kendall clicked off the phone, then slipped through the balcony doors, her sister’s voice still on her mind.
The morning mist kissed her and launched her back to the last time she’d strolled along the ocean’s edge. The last time the sand had tickled her toes.
Anthony had held her hand that day. And they’d stopped every few steps to kiss.
After that, his lips had never touched hers again.
That day had flipped in just minutes, right after she’d announced that she was going back to the office.
“But I planned this evening for us since you’re leaving again, in the morning,” Anthony had said.
“I know, baby, but I’m not ready for the meeting tomorrow and I really want to line up Ozark as our beauty products supplier.”
“It’s not that big a deal. They want to do business with us.”
“But I want the best prices.”
He’d sighed.
She’d said, “Why do you always make my work a problem?”
“Why don’t you make our marriage a priority?”
“Everything I do is for us. For our future. Baby, if we work hard now, we’ll be able to play later.”
He’d waited just a moment before he said, “If you keep this up, later may never come for us.”
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer—at least not right then; she’d found out what he’d meant two days later when she’d found him in bed with Sabrina.
She shook her head now and wished that motion could toss every memory she held into the deepest part of the blue brine. Life should have been getting easier—her divorce was final and Anthony and Sabrina’s engagement had sent a stake through any hope she’d had, ending those dreams forever. Still, remnants of her love remained.
How can I get Anthony out of my heart?
She turned back to the house, stepped inside, and gasped.
“What are you doing here?” She held her chest, trying to calm her breathing.
“What are you doing here?” Anthony asked.
“I live here,” was what she said. Her tone added, You do not.
He said, “I thought you’d be at work.”
“I took the morning off.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “Why?”
“I’ve never known you to take time off from the business.”
She wanted to scream. They were divorced, but his complaints were the same. That she never had any time—for life or love. “It’s the weekend.” She shrugged. “Not a big deal if I take a couple of hours off. And that’s not the point. What are you doing here?” she repeated.
“I’m meeting with the designers of the club in Orange County and I remembered the blueprints were here.”
“I didn’t know you still had a key.”
“You never asked for it back.”
She reached her hand toward him and, after a pause, he dropped two keys into her palm. “You should have called,” she said.
“I would’ve if I’d known you were going to be here.” He pointed toward the office upstairs. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead.” She watched as he jogged up the staircase. This time, when she inhaled, it was his scent that she took in. And she hated that she was pleased.
“Thanks,” he said when he returned. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
She watched his back, and her mind scrolled through all the things she could say. “I thought you’d be at the hospital with Sabrina.”
He paused. Looked at her as if he wondered about the motivation behind her interest. “I don’t want to get into anything about your sister.”
Kendall folded her arms. “My father left a message that Sabrina was back in the hospital.”
He looked at her, eyes softer now. “Yes.” He nodded. “The fever is back and her doctors are concerned.”
“Is she all right?”
He frowned as if he didn’t understand her question. “No. She’s not. She still needs the transplant and, most likely, will die without it.”
Kendall shook her head slightly, not sure if she was trying to get rid of her guilt or her regret.
Anthony said, “You haven’t spoken to your father?”
His tone made her sink onto the couch; she shook her head.
He settled next to her. “Your father wants to be Sabrina’s donor.”
“What?!”
“Well, it’s highly unlikely he’ll be a match.” He paused. “Siblings are the best shot.”
“But isn’t this too risky for my father?” she asked, ignoring his last words. “He’s too old.”
“He knows that, but he’s not willing to wait for a donor. When he found out that over seventy percent of patients never find donors, he started talking about…”
“What?”
“He said that if he’s not a match, he’ll just have to think about having another child.”
Kendall bounced from the couch. “You’re kidding!” She laughed, but then stopped when Anthony didn’t make a move. “How can he have a child? He’s sixty-five years old.”
An
thony shrugged. “He knows how old he is. But what he knows most is that he may lose his daughter.”
“My father has lost his mind.”
“No. He hasn’t lost his mind, but he’s losing his hope. He’s desperate. And desperate people…come up with the strangest ideas.” He looked down at his hands. “Kendall, I was hoping you’d reconsider.”
“Is that what my father’s thinking? That if he comes up with enough ludicrous ideas, I’ll do it for Sabrina?”
“No, this isn’t any kind of game to him. He’s fighting to save his child. He would do the same for you.” Softly, he added, “Sabrina would do it for you, too.”
Kendall tried, but she couldn’t hold back. “She should; look what I’ve done for her.” She folded her arms. “I gave her my husband.”
Slowly, Anthony rose. “So, do you feel better now? Does the prospect of your sister dying make you feel like you’re even?”
She stood defiant.
It’s the law of the streets.
With a shake of his head, he backed up, moving fast, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her. As if staying in the same space would contaminate him too. “I feel sorry for you,” he said as he opened the door.
“Don’t feel sorry for me; I’m not dying.”
“No, you’re not dying.” He paused. “You’re already dead.” He stepped outside and closed the door of the place they had both once called home.
Chapter Forty-eight
SHERIDAN
Sheridan slowed her car and edged to the curb behind Brock’s truck. She closed her eyes and remembered Brock’s face twenty-four hours before. She tried to imagine the sight—her in Quentin’s arms—through his eyes.
She wished now that she had called last night, no matter that it was after eleven before she and Tori had returned home from dinner with Quentin. But it was because they needed time—and space—to talk that she hadn’t made the call.
She grabbed the flowers she’d purchased and stepped toward Brock’s door, her thoughts on all the words she’d say. She wondered what her friends and family would think. Her mother and Tori wouldn’t be surprised. And Kamora would think it was about time. Of course, the ladies of the prayer group would have a word or two to say.
She inhaled the floral sweetness of the bundle she held and then rang the bell. Almost a minute passed before she pressed the button again. Then, again. Again.
She held the flowers close and breathed in. Now, this gift, this offering, this pledge of their future, would have to wait until tomorrow.
Just as she turned away, the front door opened, slightly, barely enough for her to see all of him.
“Hey, you.” She smiled.
His greeting was not as warm. “I wasn’t expecting you, Sheridan.”
“I know. But I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk.”
He shrugged, kept his face empty as if he couldn’t imagine what words she’d come to say. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
She took a breath, steadied herself. “Can we do this inside?” she asked, then looked over her shoulder. “I want some privacy.”
“Sheridan…” He shook his head.
“Brock, please.”
He hesitated, then stepped aside, letting her in. Once he closed the door, Sheridan waited for him to invite her into the living room or den, or any of the rooms of his home where they’d shared hours of joy.
But he stood, his hands stuffed inside his jeans pockets.
“These are for you.” She handed him her floral offering. “It may sound corny, but I wanted you to look at these and remember us; the way our love is blooming.” She grinned.
He frowned. Looked at the flowers as if they were dead, then tossed the bundle atop the table on the week’s pile of mail.
A deep breath, and then Sheridan said, “Brock, I saw you yesterday.”
He looked straight into her. “I saw you, too.”
“I just want to make sure that you know there’s nothing between me and Quentin.”
He smiled a little, shook his head. “I don’t know why you keep denying it.”
“I deny it because it’s true. For some reason, I haven’t convinced you how much I love you. And I’m sorry for that.”
“You don’t have to apologize for what you feel, for what’s in your heart.”
She took a step closer to him. “What’s in my heart is yes.”
He frowned, leaned back a bit. “Yes?”
She nodded, widened her smile. “Yes, I want to marry you. And I want us to set a date now.”
He stared, as if trying to see her real thoughts. “That’s what you came to tell me?”
“Yes. I’ve always wanted to marry you. But I wasn’t ready….”
“And now you are.”
“Definitely.”
“I guess Quentin helped you make this decision.”
She shook her head. Spoke faster. “Quentin has nothing to do with this. What you saw yesterday, we were just talking—”
“Didn’t look like talking.”
“About Tori. She’s having a hard time in school.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“That’s all you saw.”
“So, what made you decide that now is the time?”
“I…don’t know. I just know that I’m ready.”
“Sheridan, it doesn’t even sound real.”
“But it is. So”—she pressed a smile on her face—“will you marry me?”
A moment passed. He shook his head, and pushed the word through his lips, “No.”
She squinted as if she didn’t understand. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
Sadness was inside his eyes when he said, “What I want, but it’s not what you want.”
“Yes, it is!” She took his hands.
He paused, giving thought to her words. Then shook his head more.
“Why don’t you believe me?”
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Because you’re not telling me the truth.”
“Yes, I—”
“Let’s do this from truth, Sheridan. If you can do that, we’ll set a date tonight.” He took a deep breath. “I saw you with Quentin yesterday.”
“I explained that.”
“I know what you said, but I know better what I saw.” He paused. “Tell me that Quentin is not in your heart.”
“He’s not,” she said, her voice, suddenly softer.
“Tell me you don’t think of him. Tell me you don’t wonder about the what ifs—you don’t wonder what your life would be like if Quentin had not left. If the two of you were still together.” He paused, swallowed hard. “If…you’d never met me.”
All the reassuring words were inside, but she couldn’t get them out. Couldn’t push the words past the images of Quentin—in the coffee shop, at the grocery store, last night at dinner, where they laughed and joked with Tori as if they were a family. And then, there was still that almost-kiss. Finally, “All that matters is that I love you.”
“Not enough.”
“I want to marry you.”
“That won’t make Quentin go away. He’s with you, Sheridan. Be honest and do what’s best for you and it will be best for me. Let it be what it is.”
Her lips quivered. “I came over here to fix us—to be with you.”
He pulled her into his arms before her first sob escaped. “I’m sorry,” he said. His apology sounded more like a good-bye.
She cried more. After a moment, he leaned back and kissed her forehead. Then he pulled from their embrace and opened the front door.
Sheridan stood in place, not wanting to move; not knowing what would be on the other side if she walked out that door.
“You should go, Sheridan.”
She wanted to fight, but his stance told her the battle was over. She took tentative steps, stopped in front of him. When he wrapped his arms around her, his embrace told her that what she had planned as their beginning, he had turned into their end.
&nbs
p; Then, with lips as soft as satin, he kissed her.
She stepped outside, but when she turned around, he had already gently closed the door.
She didn’t hide her tears. Couldn’t, because her cries were for much more than just this moment. She sobbed for Brock, but she wept for her history. First Quentin, then her father, and now Brock. It was official—she’d lost every man she ever loved.
Chapter Forty-nine
ASIA
Bobby’s words made Asia sink into the chair. “So, what time should I pick up Angel?”
“I’m…not sure. I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to take Angel to your house.”
“I know this is last-minute, but when Marcus said he was bringing his girls by, I thought this would be a good time for Angel to be here, too. Like I told you last night, Caroline’s in Dallas, so this works.”
Shock didn’t allow her to speak.
He continued, “And I want Angel to see where I live. I want her to spend time with me”—he lowered his voice—“and Caroline…here.”
Two voices battled inside: one side cheered—the downfall of Bobby Johnson was near. But the other side of her mind made her remember last night. After Bobby left, it had taken hours for Angel to close her eyes and finally surrender into a restless sleep. Asia had barely slept herself, watching her daughter twist and turn and thrust through the night.
This morning, Angel had not spoken any words beyond “Morning, Mommy,” her fears etched solidly inside her frown.
Asia’s heart ached with more pain than she thought possible, but she couldn’t deny that the plan was working.
But Bobby’s house? No, was what she wanted to say.
And then she remembered Caroline’s laughter.
“Okay.” Her agreement came quickly. “But only for an hour,” she said, as if it were a warning. “I’ll run by my aunt’s and then come right back for Angel.” For minutes after she hung up, she sat, thinking. Then, with heavy steps, she went to Angel’s room.
“Hey, precious.”
For the first time since yesterday, Angel smiled. “Mommy, can I take my new doll to Auntie Grammy’s house?” She held up the toy.
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