Falling Again (A BWWM Interracial Novel)

by Tina Martin

  “Sure?”

  “Yes,” I respond. I drink some soda to help clear my passages and once I’m able to stabilize myself, I say, “Wyatt, what we had was a long time ago.”

  “I’m just answering your questions, Geneva.”

  Note to self – stop asking questions. I do not want to dredge up all of these old feelings that seem to be bothering him. I know why I left. He doesn’t. So, switching gears, I say, “So, I thought I’d sprinkle his ashes in the pond the first Saturday in October.”

  “Sprinkle, you say?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” he says, looking mildly amused. “That’s like a month away.”

  “I know, but it’ll give Darnell time to get here.”

  “Darnell?” Wyatt says.

  “Yes. My fiancé.”

  “Why does Darnell need a month in order to come and visit you?”

  “He has a very complicated work schedule.”

  Wyatt mumbled something inaudible under his breath then looks at me with cold, blue eyes and ask, “Do you love him?”

  I hold his gaze for a moment, trying to figure him out. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Just making conversation. Besides, you’ve asked me so many questions, I feel like I’m on an episode of Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” He grins. “Now that I think about it, I guess that is the game we’re playing, right?”

  I smirk, but in the midst of lighthearted humor, I see him, not just the outer shell of him, but him – the man I used to love. He’s serious and I’m amazed that, even still, he can be totally funny one minute and the next, he has the eyes of an assassin. My eyes gravitate to his mustache. He has a dimple in his chin, and a thin beard that frames his face.

  “So...do you love him?” he asks again.

  “Yes, of course. We’re getting married, so…yeah.”

  He smirks and then smiles.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “No reason,” he says. Then he stands, takes our takeout plates and toss them in the garbage.

  “No, really, Wyatt. Why are you smiling?”

  He shrugs. “Just think it’s amusing how people use the word love so loosely nowadays, so much so that its meaning seems to be dwindling down into absolutely nothing.”

  “Soo...are you telling me that I don’t love him?”

  “No. I’m telling you that people use the word love too loosely nowadays.”

  “Jeez, Wyatt...I can read in between the lines. I’m not stupid. If you have something to say to me just say it, why don’t you.”

  “There’s nothing to be said, Geneva.”

  “Apparently there is. You’ve been taking shots at me all afternoon.”

  He chuckles and a piece of silky brown hair falls in his forehead. “You’re in love. Why should you care about what I, or anyone else thinks about that?” With that, he walks away from me and moments later, I hear him jogging upstairs.

  CHAPTER 14

  After I take a shower and slide into some comfortable pajamas, I head downstairs to the family room around nine to watch TV and to call Darnell. When I don’t get an answer from him, I dial Stacey’s phone.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Stacey says.

  “Hey Stace.”

  “How is everything going?”

  “Eh...it’s going. Wyatt and I went shopping for groceries separately...still can’t believe we’re going to be here for three months.”

  “Well, you almost have one day under your belt.”

  “Gee, thanks for pointing that out, Stacey,” I quip.

  “Sorry, girl. I know it must be rough.”

  “It is. And now that I’m here, I’m beginning to think that Wyatt has it in for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I think he’s angry with me. He’s just trying to mask it. He wants to know why I left.”

  “Geneva, you owe the man the truth.”

  “I know, but I don’t know if I can tell him the truth. Pardon my movie quote, but I don’t think he can handle the truth.”

  She laughs.

  “I’m serious, Stacey. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it since I got here and I can’t tell him. I can’t.”

  I glance up and see Wyatt standing in the doorway. I freeze, feel my heart race. I don’t even know how long he’s been standing there, or why he keeps sneaking up on me like the butler in Mr. Deeds. Either way it goes, I cut the phone call short with Stacey then look up at him and say, “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” he says, walking in wearing a pair of jeans and a white tank top. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  My eyes travel from his eyes to his chest. I gaze at the parts that I’m able to see and it doesn’t disappoint. I notice sprinkles of brown hair and I don’t recall this hair on his chest ten years ago. Wyatt has matured in more ways than one which has me thinking about other parts of his body that has matured…

  He sits next to me, not too close, but close enough for me to feel my heart skip beats. And then there’s his scent...

  He smells like a man – like testosterone, soap and shampoo. His scent is so intoxicating, it’s potent enough to make a woman come out of her clothes before she ever realized she was naked. And his all-too familiar body heat has me short of breath. He takes the remote from the table, powers the TV off then looks at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You didn’t hear me? I said I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “Oh...ah...yeah. That’s not a problem. Why’d you turn off the TV?”

  “Because you weren’t watching it. You were talking to someone on the phone.”

  “My friend Stacey, in case you were wondering. She’s been kind enough to keep the spa open for me in my absence.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  “I was hoping that she could come for a visit before this arrangement is over.”

  “Yeah...it’ll be nice to meet friends from your new life.”

  I realize that this is another subtle shot at me, but I brush it off. “So did you end up staying in Winston-Salem?” I inquire, trying my hardest to keep stellar eye contact. I don’t want him to see me looking at his chest.

  “Yep...got a place on Polo Road. You remember where that is?”

  “Um...I think so. And you have your own business?”

  “Yep...going five years strong.”

  “That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

  He doesn’t respond. He only stares at me. For a moment, I think he’ll try to put his hand on my thigh since he’s been staring at it but instead, he says, “You remember when we first met?”

  I nod. “Yep…you were the new kid in class.”

  “And you were the only student to talk to me...I think we hit it off.”

  “Yeah, after I gave you half of my grilled ham and cheese sandwich.”

  “Ah...the infamous ham and cheese sandwich,” he says, donning an impeccable white smile. “And for four years of high school, we were inseparable.”

  I draw in a breath. My smile dissipates. “We were.”

  “Now, you’re all grown up...beautiful as you always were.”

  His words send a tingling sensation through me. “You’re pretty handsome yourself.”

  “Thanks.” He says. “You know, I don’t remember your hair ever being this long.”

  He reaches out to touch my hair and for a slight moment, I feel the warmth of his hand against my face that makes me jerk. “Um...my hair isn’t this long. This is a weave, Wyatt.”

  “Oh...you mean, like a wig?”

  “No. A weave. It’s sewn in, attached to my real hair.”

  “Oh. So how long is your real hair?”

  “It falls about to my neck. I don’t like to wear it out all the time. I like to protect my natural hair, if that makes any sense...probably doesn’t to a man.”

  “You women do some of the craziest things.”

  I laugh at him. Then, observing him a bit, I say, “You let your hair grow out a bit, I se
e.”

  “Yeah. I like this look. It doesn’t require me to visit the barber every week...don’t really have the time nor the patience for that.”

  “Well, it looks nice.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stretch my arms up in the air and yawn. “Anyway, I’m about to go to bed.”

  “Guess I will to. What do you say we throw the football around tomorrow? Like old times?”

  “Wyatt, I haven’t thrown a football in a very long time.”

  “All the more reason to do it.”

  “Okay,” I say, standing. “I’ll do it.”

  “Alright.”

  “Goodnight, Wyatt,” I say, heading for the door.

  “Hey, Geneva...”

  “Yes?” I say, turning to face him.

  “In answer to your question at dinner, the reason I sought your father out and helped him around here is because...well, he was the closest thing I had to you.”

  Wow. I feel my heart melt. Wyatt does still have feelings for me. And just what am I supposed to say to that? I can’t find any suitable words so I simply smile then walk away.

  CHAPTER 15

  Bad dreams about my father kept me up all night. After I woke up in a panic from one dream, I glanced at the clock. It was close to 4:00 a.m. It was too early to get up and, for some reason, I was scared to get out of the bed anyway. So I forced myself back to sleep, only to have another frightening dream. This time, my father was sitting on the deck out back and when he heard me in the kitchen, he rushed in, grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to the pond, saying that he was going to baptize me. Said I needed to be forgiven for my sins. Said that if my mother didn’t give birth to me, she’d still be alive.

  I’m yelling, screaming, kicking and crying, trying to get away from him but he’s so much stronger than me. Finally, we reached the pond and with a handful of my hair in his fist, he shoved my head in the murky water and held me under. I tried to pinch him, scratch him...I tried everything I could think of to free myself and he’s still holding me under. Then I feel myself dying. I can no longer hold my breath. That’s when I wake up, screaming, gasping for air.

  Wyatt must’ve heard my screams because, a few beats later, he knocked at my door, asking me if I was okay. When I lie and tell him that I’m fine, he requested that I open the door so he can see for himself that I’m okay. I refused because I look a mess and Wyatt has always been good at analyzing me. Back then, he would even know what I was thinking even when I hadn’t said a word. So I knew he would look at me, pick this situation apart and I didn’t want that. So I told him I was fine again, then rested my head against a pillow and tried to go back to sleep.

  * * *

  Now, at 9:15 a.m., I’m outside jogging near the fences becoming one with nature. I draw in a long breath of fresh air thinking about how my father’s actions have influenced my life in such a negative way. But being here doesn’t have me focused only on myself because now I feel guilt. Looking back, I wish I would’ve tried to get him some help. Maybe if he met someone special, or went to some Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, he would not have died at fifty-nine years of age. I shake my head. I hate doing this, blaming myself for the actions of another person, but somehow, I feel at fault for his death.

  I push those thoughts to the back of my mind and concentrate on jogging. I’m panting heavily and sweating profusely. My body is so clammy, I have to take another shower this morning. So I head back to the house, jog up the stairs to the deck and to the back door, huffing and puffing for water. When I open the door, Wyatt is standing there, holding a bottle of Aquafina, which he must’ve purchased on his trip to the grocery store because I completely forgot to buy some water.

  He hands the bottle to me and says, “You look like you could use a drink of water.”

  “I can. Thanks,” I tell him, then screw the cap from the bottle and take a long swig. It’s not until I quench my thirst that I notice he has cooked breakfast for us – pancakes, topped with sliced bananas, fresh strawberries and blueberries on the side.

  “What’s this?” I inquire.

  “Just a little something I put together. Hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  When I sit down, Wyatt sits across from me, but instead of eating, he’s staring. Again. I’ve caught him staring at me so many times, I’ve lost count. I should be used to it by now. Yet it still sends shockwaves through me.

  “What?” I finally ask, then bite into a strawberry.

  “How was your run?”

  “How do you know I went for a run?”

  “You mean besides the fact that you came in the house nearly out of breath?”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “Besides that.”

  “I watched you.”

  “You watched me running?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Honestly, Geneva...because I’m a lil’ worried about you.”

  “Wyatt, there’s no need to worry about me—”

  “Oh, but there is. You woke up last night screaming.”

  I shrug it off. “So.”

  “So…you’re having a hard time dealing with this, even though you try to pretend that it’s not bothering you. Even though you keep it all inside and put on this pretentious front like you have it all under control, but the reality is that you don’t.”

  I take another sip of water.

  “Do you hear me?” he asks.

  I glance up at him. He’s gone through the trouble of making breakfast, but he’s not eating. So looking up at him again, meeting his worried gaze, I say, “I hear you, but I’m fine, Wyatt. I really am. Besides, it’s not your job to worry about me.”

  “Then whose job is it? Your boyfriend who can’t seem to clear his schedule to come here?”

  “Darnell is my fiancé, and he’ll be here in a few weeks.”

  “Yeah. Sure he will,” he grumbles. “But that’s neither here nor there. I just want to know why you were screaming last night.”

  “I was having a bad dream.”

  “Then why when I came to your door last night, you said you were alright?”

  “Because there are some things that I have to deal with on my own.”

  He nods and begins on his pancakes.

  I feel a sense of relief that he’ll lay off of me now, at least while he’s eating.

  That proves to be short-lived, however, when I hear him say, “I remember back to when you used to depend on me, confide in me and look to me for answers.”

  “I remember that, too.”

  “What happened to that?”

  “What do you mean what happened? We broke up. Things didn’t work out.”

  “I don’t recall it happening quite like that. We didn’t break up. You left me. There’s a difference. A huge difference.”

  I release a frustrated breath and say, “Are we going to spend every single day talking about how things didn’t work out between us?”

  He stares at me for a long moment, then with a clenched jaw, he says, “No. We’re not.”

  For the remainder of breakfast, we say nothing to each other. We just eat our food in mess of awkward silence.

  Remembering that Wyatt doesn’t drink coffee, I get up from the table to make myself a cup and when I’m sitting at the table again, I feel his eyes on me.

  “Are we still going to toss the football around today?” he asks.

  I smile and nod. I’m not in the mood to play catch with him, but I’m afraid that if I say no, it might spark an argument and I can’t handle that, especially after the horrible night I had.

  “Are you sure?” he asks. “I would hate for you to break a nail.”

  I hold my hands out in front of him and, with a smile on my face, I say, “These are acrylic. They won’t break.”

  He seems to be more interested in my engagement ring rather than my French-manicured nails. I watch a small frown grow on his face, then it disappears.

  “I remember the ring I gave you used
to be on that finger. I’m sure you don’t have it anymore, but it was special. To me, anyway.”

  I take a sip of coffee, then our eyes meet halfway across the table. His eyes have darkened again, I notice.

  “I’m going to say this and then I’m going to try, with everything inside of me, to leave this out of our conversations from here on out,” Wyatt says. “Back then, you meant the world to me, Geneva, and I really did think we would spend the rest of our lives together. There. I said it.”

  I didn’t say anything in response to him because I knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d say something about ‘us’. Truthfully speaking, our relationship meant a lot to me, too.

  Then, as if intentionally switching gears, he says, “Hey, I’ve been curious about this since you keep on playing with it. What do you keep inside of your little heart?”

  “You mean my locket?” I ask, touching it.

  “Yes. Your locket.”

  I smile. “Something dear to my heart.”

  “Like what?”

  I squint at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  * * *

  Once we settle down, take naps in our separate sleeping quarters and eat lunch, Wyatt is all pumped up to play a game of catch. Apparently, he keeps a football in the back seat of his jeep.

  “Ready?” he yells.

  “I’m ready. Throw it.” I say, waving my hands about in the air.

  I watch him launch the ball in my direction. His throws are very clean. He could’ve had a career in football if he wanted one. I run forward to catch the ball and I miss it. Now, the ball is rolling on the ground. I run after it, pick it up and say, “Sorry. I’m a lil’ rusty.”

  “That’s okay, angel.”

  Angel...it’s what Wyatt has called me for years. His angel. Playing football together again has him thinking about us, I assume, back to when we were an item. He told me over breakfast that he thought we would spend the rest of our lives together. I ruined that for him. I ruined it for us.

  We toss the ball back and forth to each other a few more times and I realize that I haven’t used these muscles in my arms in quite some time. I am rusty. I definitely need to exercise more.