The Ex Files

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  It was bad enough that he had to remind her that Anthony was there for Sabrina, in ways that he would never be there for her again. But then he’d added, “She’d love to see you, baby girl.”

  Well, she didn’t want to see Sabrina. At least, not up close. So, here she was, sitting low in her Jeep, behind tinted windows, with a baseball cap, wearing dark Jackie O. glasses, waiting for her father and her ex-husband and her sister.

  The scenario still played in her head—the way it was supposed to be—days ago she should have been lying on a gurney in Cedar Sinai having her blood sucked from her, saving Sabrina. Doing the job she’d been assigned all those years ago….

  From the moment Sabrina arrived in their home, Kendall had treated her as if she were the mother. In the beginning it was make-believe; Sabrina was just a live doll. Until her mother, Elena, passed away. Even in her grief, Kendall had stepped into the matriarch role, making sure that Sabrina ate well, dressed well, studied well. Their father provided the financial support, and she gave Sabrina the emotional connection that only came from a mother.

  Her young age didn’t stop Sabrina from recognizing what Kendall was doing for her.

  “I love you so much,” ten-year-old Sabrina said to her each night. “Sometimes I wish you were my mom.”

  “Isn’t it better that I’m your big sister?”

  “Yeah, way cool better.”

  It had seemed way cool to Kendall, too. She, the mother. Sabrina, the daughter. All of her maternal needs were fulfilled. So much so, that by the time she married Anthony, she had no desire for children—just another barrier between her and her husband.

  Kendall heard the rattle of the truck before she saw them, and she ducked down in her seat as they passed. She counted—one, two, three—and then sat up a bit, peeked through the windshield.

  Anthony jumped out first, then Edwin, before they both rushed to the passenger side and helped ease Sabrina from the truck.

  Kendall gasped. It had been weeks since she’d seen her sister, but the transformation was startling. She didn’t know if her five-foot-eight sister had ever weighed one hundred fifty pounds. But now she had to be down twenty pounds, at least. She moved stiffly, slowly, sickly. Her head was covered, and the tail of the floral scarf bounced with the breeze.

  Kendall wondered if her sister was in pain. Wondered if she’d lost her hair. Wondered if she was afraid.

  Then wondered why she just couldn’t get out of the car. Why she couldn’t rush over and give Sabrina a hug of hope.

  Even when her father and her sister and her ex-husband went into the house, Kendall sat before she finally turned over the engine and drove away.

  It felt as if she hadn’t breathed from the moment she saw Sabrina. From the moment that she saw with her own eyes that her sister was dying.

  She shook her head. Dying. That was just something that she couldn’t accept. She wasn’t going to let that happen. Somehow, some way, she was going to do what she always did—she was going to save Sabrina.

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  SHERIDAN

  Quentin ordered for both of them—the walnut-glazed shrimp for her, the rib-eye steak for him.

  Then he leaned back against the cushioned booth, sipped his wine. “Sure you don’t want anything stronger to drink?” He pointed to her soda.

  “What are you trying to do, get me drunk?”

  He grinned. “That’s an idea.”

  She shook her head.

  “That was a joke.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “You don’t seem very happy to be here.”

  She shrugged. “I told you I’ve been in a funk. I almost called you to cancel.”

  “Glad you didn’t.” And then his smile went away. He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. “I know this is tough, Sheridan. I miss your dad, too.”

  She glanced down to where their hands touched and then slowly, she pulled hers away. Clasped her hands in her lap. “I was moving forward. And the funeral yesterday took me all the way back.”

  “Give yourself time. Soon you’ll be smiling more when you think of your dad.”

  “I hope so.”

  Quentin leaned as close as the table allowed. “And what are your other hopes, Sheridan?”

  She turned away slightly, and wondered again what she was doing here—now—with this man. “I hope to be happy.”

  “I thought you were.” He leaned back. “How are things with you and Brock?”

  “Fine.”

  Surprise spread over his face. “That’s what you always say, but it doesn’t sound the same.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know why. We’re fine.” His stare made her shift. “Anyway, what’s going on with you?”

  “Changing the subject, huh?” He paused. “You and I have something in common. You hope to be happy, and that’s what I’m trying to be.”

  “Trying?”

  He nodded. “And I think I’ve found the way.” He stared hard, made her shift more. “Sheridan…”

  It was God—the way the waiter brought their lunch at that moment. Gave her a chance to breathe.

  She bowed her head to say grace, but he reached for her hand.

  After he blessed the food, she didn’t give him any time to speak. “Have you heard from Christopher?”

  “He e-mails me every few days.” He nodded. “I told him to make sure he calls his mother and he told me he does.”

  “Every few weeks or so. Mostly it’s e-mail for me, too. I’ve been trying to get Mom online. So that he can e-mail her, too.”

  “When will she be coming home?”

  “Not sure. Every week she extends her stay. I just hope she does come back. I need her here.”

  “You always have me,” he said. “Sheridan…” And then he stopped. Stared at the back of the room and kept his eyes there.

  Sheridan frowned. Twisted her body. Followed his glance. And there was Brock. Only he was not alone. She watched as Brock handed the waiter the bill folder and then he stood, and helped the young woman with him stand from her chair.

  Sheridan whipped around when Quentin called her name. She placed her fork on her plate, and then hid her trembling hands under the table.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want to go?”

  She shook her head. “Why would I? He’s just having lunch with a friend. And it looks like they’re leaving anyway.” Only her strength of will kept her breathing, stopped her from turning around again and staring.

  “I just want to warn you, here they come.” An instant later, Quentin looked up. “Brock,” he greeted.

  Sheridan kept her eyes down until Brock said her name. She looked at him, smiled, and forced herself to keep her eyes away from the woman who stood too close to him.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  She nodded, but now, she couldn’t help it. Looked at the woman and hated her instantly. Her loathing didn’t have anything to do with the way the woman looked—about five-nine, maybe one hundred forty pounds, with cinnamon-colored skin and a perfectly styled shoulder-length pageboy. Or the way she dressed—Sheridan had seen the suit on the designer’s floor the last time she was in Saks. It was none of that. She detested the woman because she couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine—the perfect age for Brock.

  “Well, good seeing you,” he said, without making an introduction.

  Sheridan kept her eyes on the couple as they moved through the restaurant toward the door. She stayed with them until she couldn’t see them anymore.

  Only then did she turn back to Quentin. “Don’t say a word,” she warned. “Unless you want me to leave right now, don’t you dare say a word.”

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  SHERIDAN

  “Kendall, this is Sheridan again. Call me. I want to know about prayer meeting tomorrow night.”

  Sheridan couldn’t count the messages she’d left for her friend and now she was worried. If s
he didn’t hear from her by tomorrow, she would drive by The Woman’s Place.

  The phone rang and she breathed, relieved. It had to be Kendall. She looked at the caller ID. Stopped breathing. Held her hand to her chest and picked up the phone.

  “Hello,” she said, as if she didn’t already know who waited on the other end.

  “Hey, beautiful, how are you?” Brock said.

  Beautiful. “Fine. How about you?”

  “I’m hanging in there, trying to make it happen. I, uh, just wanted to call and check on you. I was thinking about you and your friend who passed away. It’s been a couple of weeks now, huh?”

  “Actually, the funeral was last Thursday.” The day before I last saw you.

  “Really? Seems so much longer than that. So, you’re doing okay?”

  I miss you so much. “Yeah. I’m fine. Tori’s fine. And…” She had to stop herself because they next words out of her mouth were going to be, Who was that skank/bimbo/hussy you were with?

  He said, “Listen, I was actually calling because I wanted to talk to you about the other day.”

  Just when she started breathing again, these words made her stop.

  He continued, “I wanted to explain.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanation.” Yes, you do.

  “Yeah, I do,” he agreed with her mind. “I want you to know that I wasn’t on a date when you saw me.”

  It took a moment, but she breathed again.

  He continued, “I was interviewing Shannon for the assistant district manager position.”

  That revelation didn’t make her feel any better; that meant the five-nine beauty would be working with him every day.

  “She’s going to be working in Westwood with Derek Moore, but the new policy is that these candidates have to interview with at least three of us.”

  “Oh,” she said casually, “so you were interviewing her for a Westwood position?” She jumped up, pumped her fist in the air. When she sat back down, she said, “That’s nice.”

  “I just didn’t want you to think that lunch was anything else.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I think it’s important that even though I’m giving you space, we keep the lines open.”

  I don’t want any space. I want you.

  He said, “I see you’re spending time with Quentin.”

  Oh, God. “It’s not what you think, Brock. He just asked—”

  “No,” he stopped her. “That’s what I suggested.”

  She pressed her ear to the phone, trying to see if she heard just a hint of jealousy. But there was nothing.

  That didn’t make her feel any better. She’d heard from the expert—Kamora—that men were much more jealous than women. Just showed that not all men were the same.

  “Well,” he began again, “I’ve gotta get back to my desk. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Brock, how much more…” She stopped. “Thanks for calling.” She exhaled, jumped in the air and kicked her leg high.

  “Oooohhhh!” she groaned when a cramp grabbed her calf. She dropped to the floor. Moaned and massaged the pain in her leg. But her smile stayed.

  She kneaded her leg for a moment longer and then, since she was on the floor anyway, she rolled over onto her knees and prayed.

  Chapter Seventy

  ASIA

  From the moment Beverly Ford graduated from being Chiquita’s pastor to being her aunt, Asia knew there wasn’t a mission the pastor couldn’t accomplish. Most times, it took just a phone call from Pastor Beverly Ford for mountains to move. She even had the mayor on speed dial. So Asia had no doubt that one call from her would stop CPS from proceeding with the Bobby Johnson case.

  But that was not going to happen. There was not an excuse she could give that would convince her aunt to drop the charges. Not even if she told her that Angel was traumatized by the ordeal.

  “We’ll handle it,” was what Asia was sure her aunt would say.

  Asia shook her head. She and her aunt would be able to handle it, but not Angel. Even now, almost a week later, she could still see her daughter’s face from the moment Ms. Lloyd mentioned her daddy. The way Angel’s lips had trembled, shoulders shook. The terror in her eyes that shrieked, “Daddy does bad things to me!”

  That lie had become the truth to Angel. A frightening truth that Asia refused to expose her daughter to anymore.

  Her plan now was to let time pass. Children never remembered these things. By the time Angel was seven, all memory of this incident would be gone. By the time she was eight, she might even be ready to resume a relationship with her father. She would work on that. The same way she’d fed Angel the lies, she’d nourish her with the truth.

  But first she’d have to get past Child Protective Services.

  “Either you assist us with this investigation, or we will have to consider taking the child out of this home until we can conclude.”

  Those cautionary words still filled her inside.

  Asia gazed at the sign that always shined brightly—Hope Chapel. This was where she needed to be tonight—in a place where she could find hope.

  Although they’d only missed one prayer meeting, Asia felt as if months had passed. She missed this time, needed this time. Needed it to mourn Vanessa. Needed it to bond closer with Sheridan and Kendall. Needed it to figure out this situation with Angel.

  She got out of her car and prayed as she walked toward the door. By the time she left here tonight, she needed to be leaving with some answers. And with just a bit of hope.

  Sheridan sat in the center of the semicircle of empty chairs, sipping from a Styrofoam cup.

  “Hey, girl,” Asia said, stopping Sheridan from flipping another page in her magazine.

  They hugged. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Same here.” Asia flopped into a chair. Her eyes scanned the room. “This feels weird.”

  “A bit, but I’m still glad we’re back.”

  Asia nodded. “I need this. I thought my aunt was crazy in the beginning, but she was right, putting us all together.”

  “Only, it didn’t work for Vanessa.”

  Her tone made Asia pause. “You’re not blaming yourself?”

  Sheridan shrugged. “Not really. Actually, I try not to think about it. This way, I don’t have to wonder if there were any signs that I missed.”

  “Well, if you missed signs, then we all did. I would have bet any amount of money that Vanessa was the strongest one.”

  “Seemed that way.” Sheridan sighed. “Anyway, let’s get started.”

  “Where’s Kendall?”

  “I don’t know,” Sheridan sighed, “I’ve left messages and today, I even went by her office, but she wasn’t there. To be honest, I’m getting worried.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about Kendall. She’s too ornery to do something bad,” Asia said, trying to erase the concern lines in Sheridan’s forehead. But, at the same time, she made a note to call Kendall herself.

  Sheridan said, “I know everyone grieves differently, but I think this has been hardest on Kendall.”

  “I thought she didn’t want to go to the funeral because she didn’t really know Vanessa.”

  “That’s what she said, but I think it was an excuse.”

  “Maybe…” Asia stopped, although her thoughts didn’t. She wondered if she and Sheridan should drive by Kendall’s house tonight.

  Sheridan said, “I’m going to talk to Pastor.” She paused. “Speaking of your aunt, I’ve been trying to catch up with her, but she’s been busy with Vanessa’s mother.”

  “I know. Last time we talked, she said she would be spending as much time as she could with Mrs. Fowler.” She sighed. “It’s been hard with her being distracted. I haven’t even had the chance to tell her what happened with Angel and CPS.”

  “How did that go?”

  “My interview went great.” And then she filled Sheridan in on the details of what happened with Angel. “You should have seen her. I can’t subject my daug
hter to that anymore.”

  “But they have to talk to Angel to complete the report,” Sheridan said.

  Asia shook her head. “You should have seen Angel.”

  “I know it’s tough to watch her go through that. Believe me, I went through something with Tori where I wanted to go to her school and beat down every single child I could find. But sometimes, we have to love our children from afar and let them find their own way.”

  “Angel’s only five.”

  “Yes, but the counselors at CPS are trained to work with five-year-olds. They’re going to handle her as gently as they can. She’s not going to be hurt.”

  Asia shook her head. “It just doesn’t seem worth it to me, especially since I don’t think Bobby molested Angel.”

  “The mere fact that you can only say you don’t think it happened is the reason why you have to proceed.”

  “But I can protect Angel. I can make sure I’m always there with Bobby and Angel.”

  “You’ll need a court order for that—and that leads you back to CPS.”

  Asia sighed and wondered if she could chance telling Sheridan the truth. But she knew she couldn’t.

  I have to play this through. “I just don’t want to see Angel suffer.”

  Sheridan snapped her fingers. “I have an idea. I’m going to call my mother.”

  Asia frowned.

  “My mother was one of the directors with CPS before she retired. She still knows everyone over there. Maybe she can help.”

  “What do you mean? Do you think your mother could interview Angel?”

  “That’s a possibility. She’s in San Francisco, but she might come home for this. Or, she can put us with the right people. Either way, I’d like to get her involved if you don’t mind.”

  “No, definitely. It couldn’t hurt.”

  Looks like this is going to work out, Asia thought. She would feel safe with Sheridan’s mother talking to Angel. And Sheridan’s mother would tell everyone that all was well. Then the case of Bobby Johnson would be over, without anyone really getting hurt.

  She’d been right—she walked into church worried. But now, she would walk out with just a bit of the hope that she’d prayed for.