by Tia Sirrah
"Eternal rest, grant unto our dear Adeline, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The priest ended his prayer with the sign of the cross, followed by most who were in attendance.
"She okay?" I whispered to Conner, who had discreetly checked his phone.
"Yeah. She hasn't texted," he whispered back. "But I'm taking her to the hospital to get checked out. I just sent a text to Dr. Shavers."
"Good idea."
"Let's go pay our respects," Conner said, as those around us began to slowly disperse back to their cars, while a few scattered around the family and coffin.
"There are so many people around him. Maybe I should wait."
"He needs you," Conner urged, jutting his chin towards Quentin.
Quentin stood motionless, staring sightlessly at the coffin while still resting his hands on his great grandmother's shoulders. His aunt looked back at him and said something, which snapped his attention back to those around him. Tears pooled in my eyes as I watched from afar as Quentin helped his great grandmother stand to her feet. Victor joined him, and with their arms firmly around her, she walked over to the casket and kissed it.
"Fatima," Conner gently called out.
"Yeah, sorry." I followed Conner's lead and headed towards the family.
The Senator noticed me first, followed by his wife, Eleanor, who stood by his side, both with unreadable expressions on their faces. "Fuck em'," Conner said, sensing my hesitation. And not too quietly, I might add, causing a look of horror to spread across my face as I looked around for eavesdroppers. Conner only shrugged as he continued to walk towards them, with me following closely behind. Gotta love Conner's zero-fucks attitude, though maybe right now was not the right time.
We were stopped along the way by a few people who knew Conner, giving me a chance to stand back and watch Quentin as he helped his great grandmother back into her wheelchair. She was crying, and rightfully so. She not only outlived her husband and sons but now she could add a granddaughter to the list. I looked on with affection as Quentin kissed her cheek, before wiping her eyes with his handkerchief. When he stood upright and adjusted the button on his suit jacket, his eyes met mine, and he froze in place.
Conner's phone vibrated at that moment, causing me to break our stare. He quickly answered it, before stepping away from me, but not before nudging me towards Quentin with a little shove. Thanks for that, Conner. He was lost in the crowd before I could call him an asshole or ask him if Novalee was okay.
I made the rest of the way towards Quentin with a purposeful stride as my Louboutin heels dug into the wet grass. I tried and failed to stifle my eye roll as I watched a young socialite press what looked like her phone number into his hand. As soon as she turned away, Quentin let the paper idly slip from his grasp. That was followed by the Governor's daughter, who had no clue on how to give a proper 'church hug.' Instead, she shamelessly pressed her breasts against him in a very inappropriate embrace. Then I heard the sound of a helicopter whirling from above, no doubt taking pictures for the world to see, and my heart lurched in my chest. They were capturing this on film. Quentin knew it. They all knew it. So he did what was expected. With a flawless fake smile on his face, he reciprocated hugs and extended firm handshakes. He conversed with some very important people, and introductions were made as if deals and connections were being sealed. He accepted condolences. He comforted those who were grieving and offered his shoulder to cry on.
Quentin was ever gracious. The perfect gentleman. The beacon of strength. But it was all an act. A mask. A scene. A script. God forbid, the indomitable Quentin James V showed any signs of fragility outside of the standard one teardrop on the cheek, that would land in magazine stands across the country by morning.
Determined to get to him, I bypassed his family, whose eyes I could feel on my back. I was ready and willing to be his rock, his friend, and his protector. And I was more than prepared to karate chop a bitch who deemed it appropriate to flirt with a man at his mother's funeral. Quentin's eyes found me once again, and I managed to smile through impending tears. But I would not cry. He would not comfort me. I would be strong for him. Not the other way around.
"Hi," was all I managed to say before Quentin pulled me into an unexpected tight hug.
I felt the weight of him as he held me close, and felt the tension in his shoulders and neck dissipate as I embraced him back. "Thank you for coming," he said against my ear.
"Of course. You know I got you," I said as I rubbed his back.
I felt him nod his head as he rested his chin on the top of my head. A nearby flash of a camera caused me to pull back from him, but he only tightened his hold on me. We stayed like that for long seconds, maybe even minutes, until the clearing of someone's throat caused us to both look up, and I reluctantly pulled out of our embrace.
"Hey, son," Senator James said.
Quentin took my hand and held it tight, pulling me to stand closer to him. I responded by lacing my fingers through his, causing Quentin to look down at me with a tender expression. The Senator saw the exchange judging by the faint nod of his head and the look of resignation in his eyes as he and Quentin shared a non-verbal exchange. "My apologies. I don't think we've met. I'm Senator James," the Senator said after a beat and extended his hand to me. He had his son's eyes and his son's smile. Literally, he had his son's whole face, but with tiny fine lines around his eyes and silver hair sprinkled in with the blond.
"Fatima McKay." I shook his extended hand and offered him a faint smile. Quentin could sense my discomfort, and wrapped an arm around me and gave my waist a little squeeze as if to say 'I got you.' I appreciated his protectiveness and thoughtfulness, but it wasn't needed. Meeting his father was necessary—for my healing and for any possibility of a future between Quentin and me.
"I'm sorry," the Senator said, shaking his head as if shaking off a memory. "You look just like her," he muttered, almost to himself. Then he smiled politely, though I could see the pain that lingered behind his eyes.
"I hear that often," I responded, returning a kind smile.
"I reckon you do." He cleared his throat and then focused on his son. "We'll meet you back at the house, son. Take your time."
"Thanks, dad."
My phone vibrated with an incoming call from Conner, and I excused myself from Quentin and the Senator and stepped a few feet away. "Hey," I answered. "Where are you?" I looked around at the few people remaining.
"Novalee's having contractions." His voice was panicked. "I kind of left you." The roaring sound of his engine rumbled through the phone. "Sorry," he added for effect.
I heard Novalee in the background. "Fatima, we're coming back to get you, right now!" She sounded pissed.
"It's okay. Don't come back here."
"Wasn't planning on it," Conner interjected. "But I'll text you my driver's number. He can be there in ten minutes to pick you up."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Give me the phone," Novalee snapped. "Fatima, I'm so sorry that Conner was such a jerk and left you." She emphasized the word jerk, and I could imagine Conner rolling his eyes, completely unbothered. I'm sure he'd been called worse.
Quentin and his dad parted ways, and he was again by my side.
I pulled the phone away from my ear. "Conner took Novalee to the hospital. She's having contractions."
"They're eight minutes apart," Novalee said, and I relayed that information to Quentin.
"I rode here with them, but I have Colin's number. Conner said he could be here in ten minutes after I call him," I told Quentin.
"Don't rush to the hospital," Novalee said. "This could take a while, and they'll probably send me home since the contractions are so far apart."
"Yeah, fuck that," I heard Conner say.
"Cousin, are you sure? I can have Colin drop me off—"
"I'm sure. Stay. Be there f
or Quentin. Conner will call my folks. If anything changes we'll call you. I promise."
"Okay. Love you."
"Love y—" her words were cut off by a painful groan, followed by heavy breathing.
Conner got back on the phone. "Gotta go. We're here." And then the line went dead.
"I can take you to the hospital if you'd like," Quentin offered.
I shook my head. "It's okay. Novalee told me not to bother. She thinks they'll send her home anyway." I looked around at the parting guests. Quentin and I were the only ones that remained. "I'm so sorry. Go be with your family. This isn't your problem." I took his hand again and offered a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine."
Quentin looked at me with skepticism. "How about I take you home."
"Your family's waiting." I gestured to the stretched black Lincoln Towncar that idled nearby with a driver standing at the closed passenger door.
"It's just me. They went in another car."
"Oh, okay."
"Or… maybe you wouldn't mind accompanying me to the beach house?" He raked a hand through his hair as his eyes went from me, to his feet, back up to me. The lingering pain, apprehension, and hope in his eyes filled me warmth and sadness. My chest literally hurt for him. It was as if his pain was my pain. At my silence, he continued, "My family will be there, so I completely understand if you don't—."
"No. It's okay. I'll go with you." I swallowed back tears. Though I craved Quentin's love, I hadn't realized how much I'd missed his friendship. Even if, for some reason, we never gave our love another shot, I could find a way to be content with having him in my life as a friend. It was better than not having him at all.
Before leaving the cemetery, we stood at his mother's casket, staring at it in silence. The grave diggers patiently waited off in the distance. "It's hard to believe she's in there," Quentin said.
"She's not. That's just her shell. Her spirit is all around us."
I lifted my head to the heavens and closed my eyes. "Close your eyes," I said. Quentin took my hand and laced our fingers. "You feel that?" I asked. A cool breeze brushed along my skin as the wind began to blow. "That's your mom. That's my mom. Reminding us that they're always near. Forever loving us."
"I feel it," I heard him say.
We stood like that for a while. With our eyes closed and our heads tilted up to the heavens. We stood like that until the wind died down, and the clouds parted, unmasking rays of sunshine down on our faces. I opened my eyes first and looked up at the peaceful expression on Quentin's face. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at me. "I love you, Fatima."
"I love you too, Quentin."
Chapter 35
FATIMA
WE TOOK ADVANTAGE OF having the back of the Lincoln Towncar all to ourselves. As soon as we got in, I kicked off my heels, and Quentin discarded his jacket and tie. I sat back against the elongated bench seat, and Quentin surprised me by stretching out horizontally and resting his head in my lap. An unintended and content sigh escaped my chest as Quentin wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his face into my abdomen. We didn't speak, but it was a comfortable silence. And when I felt his tears against the thin silk of my blouse, I unhurriedly ran my fingers through his hair until his tears subsided and he fell asleep.
It took an hour to get to Quentin's beach house, and during that hour, I unabashedly stared down at his sleeping form. My heart swelled at the opportunity to comfort him, but it also broke for the reason he needed my comfort in the first place.
"Q. We're almost there," I whispered in his ear, as the driver turned into the familiar beachy neighborhood.
At the sound of my voice, Quentin sat up abruptly. "Alright," he said groggily, as he found his bearings. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Dark circles marred the delicate flesh under his eyes, and his hand had a slight tremor as he scrubbed it over his tired face.
The car slowed in front of Quentin's home as he deftly tied his tie. Then he reached for my shoes, placing them on the seat, and draping my legs over his lap. "A couple of paparazzi are across the street," he said as he massaged my aching feet absentmindedly while peering out of the window.
"Are you serious?" I followed his line of sight and immediately noticed an unmarked gray van with a camera lens peeking out of the driver's side open window. Another photographer stood boldly in front of a black Honda and took pictures of Quentin's house and our car.
"It's to be expected," Quentin said nonchalantly while slipping my high heels on my feet. "Ready?"
"One sec." I situated myself sideways onto his lap, and ran my fingers through his hair, taming the loose waves back in their proper place. His eyes bore into me as I did this, and his fingertips dug into my hip bone, causing me to swallow visibly. "Okay." I finally met his eyes. "All set."
Quentin cradled my cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb across my dimple. "Thank you for being here."
"Of course. I got you."
"I know."
"And please know that you don't have to be strong. Not today." I hesitantly reached out and ran my hand along his smooth jaw.
"Okay," he said, barely above a whisper.
Quentin slipped on his suit jacket and exited the car first before extending his hand to me. When I didn't take his outstretched hand, he leaned down and peered inside the car. "What's wrong?"
"I'm okay." I offered a soothing smile and took his outstretched hand. That did nothing to diminish his look of concern as we stood face to face. I ran my hands down the length of his tie and tried to ignore the two photographers who were now eagerly taking pictures of us.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have thought this through. I didn't think about how it might make you feel, being here with my family after what happened to Faye."
"No. It's not that. I just don't want to offend your mother's family by being here. Those who knew about Faye will take one look at me and know exactly who I am." I wrapped my arms around Quentin and allowed him to pull my body closer to his. "But I'm here for you. Not for them."
"You're amazing. You know that?"
"You're just now figuring that out?" I teased, as a slow grin spread across my face.
"I've known for a while now. Almost fifteen years."
"Ditto." I stood on my tippy toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
Quentin laced our fingers. "Shall we?"
"We shall," I said, and we walked up the pebbled path, hand in hand.
∞∞∞
ABOUT TWO DOZEN FRIENDS and family were scattered around the lower level of Quentin's beach house. Waiters were dispersed in the crowd with trays of finger foods and crystal glasses of various liquors. The flames in the fireplace crackled, and soft hummings of various conversations floated throughout. Our arrival caused a bit of pause, but nothing too overt. A few glanced our way with warm and sympathetic smiles towards Quentin. Some curious onlookers were very discreet with their stares and whispers, before looking away and resuming their minglings. Eleanor was the first to greet us. She was a pint-sized thing, with iridescent blue eyes and inky black hair. Her outer beauty seemed to match her inner beauty, as she hugged me like we'd known each other for years. I liked her right away. I understood why Quentin was so fond of his stepmother, and why the Senator often looked at her with such affection from across the room.
Many wanted to pay their respects to Adeline's only child, so I let go of Quentin's hand and excused myself from his side. Roaming the room, I made a few acquaintances, before settling near a window with a glass of scotch.
"Isn't this a surprise." Unfortunately, I knew that voice. I looked away from the view of the beach and turned to face Carolyn Manchester.
"Carolyn," I greeted dryly.
Her eyes quickly scanned our surroundings for eavesdroppers, and I knew it was about to get real. Just how real was left to be seen. I took a sip of my drink and patiently waited to see how she wanted to do this.
"You don't waste any time. Do you?"
I pursed my lips before asking,
"Pardon me?"
"I mean, really, Fatima." Now she knows how to pronounce my name. "Don't you think he's a little out of your league." Both our eyes went to Quentin, who was on the other side of the room, speaking with his Aunt Casey's two husbands. His eyes met mine, and he smiled at me—a tender, affectionate smile. One that made my cheeks heat. But his smile quickly faltered at the sight of his ex-mother in law. "What is it about you McKay women that make the James men throw away their beautiful wives like yesterday's trash?" She tsked. "I suppose, Faye would be proud."
I carefully set my tumbler on the window seat and casually took a step closer to Carolyn. "Jesus loves you," I said in an artificially sincere tone.
She scoffed. "Excuse me?"
I looked down at the cross hanging from her neck. "He really does. And he wants you to go in peace," I said sweetly, "the hell out of my face." I wrapped my arms around her in a hug and angled my mouth to her ear. "If we were anywhere else, I would have slapped the taste out of your mouth. Ask your daughter about me, you evil, plastic bitch." I pressed a hard kiss to her cheek, leaving the imprint of my burgundy lipstick on her face. "Keep my mother's name out of your mouth. This will be your only pass. Got it?"
Carolyn stumbled a few steps back in shock, before turning on her heels and hightailing her ass to the other side of the house. I looked over at Quentin and gave him a wink, to which he shook his head and chuckled, before resuming his conversation. Then I picked up my glass and returned my focus to the picturesque view outside.
"Well, damn. That was awesome. I feel like I should slow clap or something."
I looked at Victor's reflection in the window before turning to face him. "The bitch had it coming." I shrugged.
He pointed his finger at me and narrowed his icy blue eyes. "I Iike you."
"Oh, really?" I chuckled. "Why is that?"
"Besides the fact that you're hot as fuck?" he asked, feigning confusion.
"Boy, bye," I said, taking a sip of my scotch. Based on the few seconds of our first interaction, I could tell Victor was a flirt. There was also a high probability, based on his good looks and cockiness, that he was all kinds of trouble.