Second Thoughts

by Kristofer Clarke

  “I’m here,” I answered, and took a sip from my wine glass.

  In my mind, I wanted the sophisticate and delicate taste of berry and raspberry to wrap around my tongue and take me to another place, but for now, here with my thoughts was where I was going to be.

  “I know you called for a reason. Something heavy you need to get off your chest?” Jacoby asked, as if he had me figured out.

  “I think if I had been more open with you, we would’ve worked.”

  “You being with Dexter was about as open as we could get, don’t you think? And I don’t think I need to mention the women who played your fools, too.”

  With that statement, I knew there were still feelings of resentment.

  “Ok. I deserved that.”

  “You did,” Jacoby agreed, and for the first time in a long while, I heard him smile. “Where are you?”

  “Atlanta,” I answered as if I were being rushed. “I need to tell you something, Jacoby.”

  “Shit, Patrick. Should I be sitting down for this?”

  “How about I tell you what it is first and then you can decide.”

  But if he was still the same Jacoby, I knew he was already sitting, holding his breath, anticipating my disclosure.

  “My…,” I swallowed before continuing, “my father comes out of jail in the next couple days.”

  “You never told me your father was in jail,” he said almost in a whisper, as if he didn’t want me to hear.

  “I know. It wasn’t something I wanted to brag about. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to think it bothered me that his ass was there.”

  I paused and anticipated his next question.

  “So, are you going to tell me what he went to jail for.”

  “Man, you won’t believe me if you were there yourself.”

  “Try me.”

  “He raped me,” I divulged quickly, giving Jacoby no time to prepare.

  I wasn’t ready for my quick response, and I knew damn well he wasn’t ready, either. But, hell, I’ve had over ten years to prepare, and several sessions with Dr. Kendrick. I was blunt about anything that had to do with that man. My hatred for him was ripe.

  “What the hell do you mean your father went to jail for raping you?”

  “That’s what I mean, Jacoby. Please don’t make me repeat it.”

  “I’ve heard some unbelievable shit in my life, but Patrick, are you serious?”

  “Trust me. I couldn’t make up something like this. Not even for an Oscar-winning movie. I was asleep the first time it happened. Man, at first I thought I was dreaming, and when I realized it was my reality, it was too late. I remember saying to myself, this motherfucker is not climbing on top of me. But that sick-ass bastard was. He’d turned on the lights and demanded that I look at him. I stiffened to prevent him from entering me, but I soon grew tired and gave in. I couldn’t do anything else, Jacoby.”

  For the first time since taking the stand to testify against my father, I’d allowed myself to really cry.

  “I couldn’t. I lay there with my knees forced back towards my armpits, and with every thrust he cursed me. ‘Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this what faggots do?’ I wanted to answer him. Fuck, I didn’t know. My fucking father was my first sexual experience. When he was finished I lay there, still, with pain in the pit of my stomach, and tears falling from both eyes to either side of my face.”

  “Damn, Patrick. I wish you had told me this in person.”

  He paused as if he were organizing his thoughts.

  “Are you there alone, and will you be for the rest of the night? Wait! You don’t have to answer that?”

  “Yes and Yes.”

  It sounded like Coby was asking the latter part of that question for good measure.

  “If that’s your way of asking about Dexter, what we had ended shortly after you left. And Devaan…”

  “Devaan? I’m not even going to ask.”

  “Man, you kinda just did,” I said. “Anyway, she doesn’t live with me, and like I said, I’m in Atlanta…alone. And before you ask, no, I haven’t told her.”

  “Not even about what went down with your father?”

  “I haven’t told her anything, and that’s how it has to be until I’m ready.”

  When I hung up from my three-hour conversation with Jacoby, the rain that had been falling hard for three days now was starting to fall silently outside the large living room window. I had received a text message from Devaan. We’ve done more texting recently, which I blamed on her busy schedule and me keeping so much from her. I’d noticed us drifting, but if us drifting meant keeping her in the dark, then I wasn’t bothered. Since it was late, I promised to text her first thing in the morning instead of interrupting her sleep. Damn! As much as that hurt to relive the moment, I actually enjoyed talking with Jacoby. I remembered how we would often talk late into the night before heading to sleep. Of course, all that changed after I met Dexter. Then, instead of spending late nights in conversation with him, I was spending late nights with Dexter, in Dexter, while Jacoby spent those same nights probably wishing he’d never met me.

  I walked around the Amarello Bamboo colored counter to the sink and emptied the remaining remnants of red wine. I dimmed the lights in the kitchen to off and walked up the back steps on the far side of the kitchen to the second floor. In my room, I sat on the sofa in the small sitting space outside my master bedroom and turned on my 52” 3D LED HDTV. I sat listening to a repeat of Rachel Maddow’s discussion and analysis of politics and pop culture. After a few moments, I’d walked to the bathroom, turned on the shower and began preparing for what I hoped would be a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Taylor…

  What Dreams May Come

  “Tell me this. How was my husband?”

  She sat in the middle of the bed with Quinton asleep in her arms. She stared at him. The palm of her hand delicately stroked the side of his face. Her black tears streamed down from her eyes, pain evident in them.

  “Was he as good as you remembered him to be?” I stood in the large bathroom in the mirror, looking bewildered. Her voice startled me.

  “What are you talking about?” I moved to the middle of the doorway and stared at her.

  Admitting anything to her was the last thing I was going to do.

  She gently laid Quinton on the bed and began her slow, calculating walk towards me.

  “Vanessa, you’re bleeding.”

  “Oh! This?”

  She looked down at her hands, laughing, but her laugh was silent.

  “This is not my blood,” she admitted, tilted her head towards the bed where she had laid my son, and then looked back at me from the corners of her eyes, smiling.

  I rushed passed her and held my son’s face in my hands.

  “Mommy,” he spoke in his soft, quiet voice. “You see what you did to me?” He laughed hysterically.

  I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I began wiping wetness from my face. The tears I cried in that dream were now in my reality. Damn! What the fuck was that? I thought. I had taken my guilt into my dreams. I looked down at Quinton who was still asleep in another awkward position. Even in that position, he slept beautifully. I got out of bed, picked him up in my arms, and buried my face in his neck between his head and shoulder.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  I inhaled, taking in his baby powder scent. When I exhaled, I held him even tighter. The thought of not being able to protect my own son, even in dreams, scared the hell out of me.

  I stood in the bathroom mirror, wrapping my hair and tying it in a knot. The cold water on my face felt good. I kept my face in the palm of my hands and exhaled, emptying everything in my lungs. That dream had me visibly shaken, though not seen yet by anyone else. Damn! I thought. If Quinton didn’t wake screaming, what the hell would have happened?

  “Not a damn thing would have happened,” I whispered to myself, “you have better self-control than that.”

&n
bsp; Or did I? I wiped my face with my facecloth that hung behind the bathroom door, and applied my moisturizer. I hoped the lack of sleep didn’t show on my face.

  I walked out of the bathroom and stood at the bed staring at my lil man who was still sound asleep. Usually, he would have been up at the crack of dawn, asking for milk and cereal. When I picked him up last night from his nightmare, his heart was pounding, his hair was wet from perspiration, and he was breathing rapidly. He’d held on tightly to my neck with his legs wrapped around me, like he was hanging on for life. This wasn’t like him. He’d kept his eyes tightly shut, and begged me not to leave him. When I got to my room, I’d kissed his forehead, swept his hair from his face, and planted a kiss on my angel.

  It seemed the only thing that would calm my nerves this morning was a good, hearty breakfast. I opened the door slowly as if I were breaking some curfew. The last person I wanted to run into was Dillon─last night’s run-in was enough. When I entered the kitchen, he stood with his back towards me pouring a cup full of coffee. I turned to leave, but it was like this man had eyes in the back of his head.

  “Rough night?” he asked, removing his mug from under the spout of the stainless steel coffee maker.

  “I guess. Unlike you, I have a conscience,” I charged.

  “Is that what you call it?”

  He handed me the mug of coffee he had prepared and started to pour another for himself.

  “Was that what stopped you last night, your conscience?”

  I accepted his offering and stood beside him with my back against the counter. I kept my eyes in my mug, keeping them from straying in his direction. Though he still had on his silk pajama bottoms, he had covered his hard pectorals with a white v-neck t-shirt. It hugged every ripple in his torso and stopped just where his pajamas began.

  “Does Devine Intervention sound better?” I answered, bringing the mug to my lips.

  Though I wouldn’t look at him, I could feel him now looking at me.

  “’Cause we both knew what we were…”

  “Tell me why you won’t look me in my eyes,” he interrupted.

  “Cause you know what it does to me,” I said, finally allowing my eyes to meet his. “Wait,” I said, as if I had just been bitch-slapped back to my senses. “Look, Dillon. What happened between us last night simply cannot happen again.”

  I walked to the other side of the island to distant myself from Dillon.

  “But…”

  “What can’t happen again?” Vanessa broke in.

  She had just rounded the corner and into the kitchen. She walked over to the counter where Dillon stood and removed the second mug of coffee he had just poured for himself.

  “Thanks,” she said, and then took a sip from her mug. “So, what can’t happen again?” she continued.

  Dillon and I stood, looked each other and then at Nessa. There was so much truth in silence. Say something, fool, I thought. I wished he could read my eyes, but he just stood there. I had to think quickly, and what came out of my mouth surprised me.

  “I broke down last night telling Dillon about Mom.”

  Vanessa quickly placed her mug on the table and walked over to me. With her hands on both of my arms, she pulled me into her. I cringed. My body stiffened. I slowly brought my arms up and rested the palms of my hands on her back. This moment is going to come back and bite me in the ass, I thought, staring at Dillon.

  “What made you bring her up last night?” she asked, finally releasing me.

  She walked to the refrigerator and stood with both doors open. Dillon was still standing⎯ mute. His eyes said so much, and I prayed Nessa didn’t look at him.

  “You haven’t talked about Mommy in years.” I stared at Dillon as I contemplated an escape.

  “Every now and then, the image of her lifeless body lying in my arms comes to mind. Usually I would deal with it, but for whatever reason, last night that same image became overwhelming.”

  “You’ve been dealing with this since you were fifteen, Taylor, and you refuse to talk to anyone about it.”

  “I talked to Dillon.”

  Damn, I thought. I was lying through my teeth, and she was falling for it.

  “I meant to a professional…like I did.”

  “You never did mind telling your business to strangers.”

  My coffee had become lukewarm, and interest in finishing it had left, along with the interest of continuing this conversation with Nessa.

  “I just had a moment, that’s it.”

  “Obviously, that’s not it.”

  “Honey,” Dillon said, finally finding his words.

  “Yes,” Vanessa answered. “Why don’t you come to the hospital on Thursday? You can speak to Dr. Reeves.”

  She kept her focus on me.

  “Nessa, seriously, that’s not even necessary.”

  I despised having to use my mother’s final moments to hide my inappropriate behavior between my sister’s husband and myself. Yes, I was only fifteen years old when she passed. I’d sat on the living room floor with my mother’s head resting in my lap. I was helpless. I felt helpless. In a whisper I kept asking her, “Where is he?” But she couldn’t speak. Nothing I needed to hear came from her. The ambulance was on its way, and although I prayed they would hurry, I knew she would be gone before they arrived. I pleaded with her, “Mom, please don’t leave without telling me,” but all she did was stare up at me with big wide eyes. I’d stroked her face with the back of my hand, but I could feel her getting cold as she slipped further and further away from life. “Mom, please. Don’t leave me,” I pleaded again, but before I could complete my last plea, my mother was gone.

  But I needed to think quickly, and thinking quickly meant coming up with something my sister would believe, though I wasn’t quite convinced she believed everything she heard.

  “I’ll speak to her this evening and…”

  “Nessa, stop it. There you go trying to take care of everything again.” I snapped.

  “Fine,” Vanessa agreed, looked at Dillon and then at me with curiosity, “I just don’t want last night to happen again.”

  That makes two of us, I thought.

  “It won’t,” I said aloud.

  I directed my response at Dillon. I walked out of the kitchen with my eyes fixed on him. You know what they say: If you can’t stand the heat.

  I left Dillon and Vanessa in the kitchen. I walked to my room feeling double shame. Not only had I lied to my sister again, I had used unresolved feelings about my mother’s death to worm my way out of the possibility of Vanessa finding out about the desires I still had for her husband, or the desires he still had for me.

  When I walked into the bedroom, Quinton was still asleep in the center of the bed. I walked over to the dresser and stood looking at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t like the person staring back at me. The woman who had come between DaMarcus and Belinda looked at me with menacing eyes. You’re never satisfied, I thought. Are you going to do the same thing to your sister’s marriage?

  “You had your chance with him,” I spoke aloud, trying to convince myself.

  “Taylor,” Vanessa interrupted.

  Her interruption startled me.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “Come in,” I directed, but Vanessa was already on the inside of the door, and I hadn’t even noticed.

  I tried not to look at her as if I was wondering if she were reading my thoughts, or if she had heard my last remark.

  “I wanted to talk to you last night. I knocked on your door but you never responded. It was late, so you were probably asleep. Don’t know why I thought you’d still be awake.”

  “Is everything ok?”

  I turned to face Nessa with my back towards the mirror.

  “I lost a patient last night.”

  “Oh my God, Nessa! I’m sorry.”

  I walked over to her and hugged her tightly, something I wished I had the nerve to do last night.

  She sat on the bed,
in the same place where she’d sat in my dream.

  “It’s okay. She was expected to go at anytime. I just didn’t know anytime was going to be last night.”

  I sat next to Vanessa and listened to her tell me about the patient she’d watched for years as tumors went from benign to malignant, and eventually she’d lost a hard-fought battle. I watched her tear up, and she leaned her head on my shoulder. And this was the relationship I was threatening with an infatuation I still had for Dillon. Vanessa always seemed to get attached to the patients she knew wouldn’t be around too long. I don’t know how she did it.

  “She’s in a better place now, right?” I said, hoping my words would console her.

  “God, I hope so.”

  She looked at me and laughed. “Are you able to do lunch today?”

  “Sure. I can get away from the office for a few.”

  “Good,” Nessa said.

  She got up and began walking towards the door.

  “I’ll call or text you later.”

  “Okay.”

  I sat on the bed, and with this new information, I began to plan my day. I turned looking at Quinton who should be awake by now, but he was still dead to the world.

  “Hey,” Nessa interrupted.

  I turned to look in her direction.

  “Earlier, just before I asked if I could talk to you, you said ‘you had your chance with him’. Who were you talking about?”

  I looked at her wide-eyed before responding.

  “DaMarcus.”

  “Wait, are you still thinking about him?”

  “From time to time. I mean, that is his son,” I said, tilting my head in Quinton’s direction.

  He was just starting to wake. After the night he’s had, I wasn’t surprised he had slept that long. He had tossed and turned a few times, but still, his sleep remained uninterrupted.

  “Good point,” Nessa said, closing the door behind her.

  Sometimes my mind works so fast, I can’t even keep up. I had to tell Nessa I was talking about DaMarcus. What was I supposed to do, tell her I was talking about the chance I had with her husband? I was determined to sweep my past and my present with Dillon under the rug, and if he had enough sense, he would do the same. That had been our plan. My sister may come across as the good wife or the good doctor, but she has the potential to be a vengeful bitch. Trust me. She’s my mother’s daughter and my sister. That blood is definitely in our veins.