Commitment

by Forrester, Nia

  “Her name’s Alma,” Shawn said quietly. “Sometimes she responds to that more than to anything else.”

  He released Riley’s hand and approached his grandmother, slowly as though concerned that she might make a dash for it. A flicker in her eyes said that she was aware of not being alone, but there was no other immediate acknowledgment of their presence.

  “Grandma,” Shawn said. “It’s Kendall.”

  She didn’t immediately turn toward him, so Shawn sat on the edge of the bed and with such tenderness it brought tears to Riley’s eyes, leaned forward and pressed his cheek against hers. Alma’s eyes closed in response, and she leaned into the contact. Shawn smiled and raised a hand to stroke her other cheek. They were still sitting like that about five minutes later when Shonda appeared with a tray carrying a teacup and a plate of butter cookies. She set the tray on the bedside table and looked to Riley, barely glancing at Shawn and his grandmother.

  “You hungry, sweetie? I have a full breakfast ready downstairs. I know y’all must’ve left at the butt-crack of dawn to get here.”

  Riley smiled at the expression but was still mesmerized by Shawn and his grandmother’s embrace. Shonda, for her part, seemed not to notice it at all until she followed Riley’s gaze.

  “They don’t always talk much,” she explained. “’Cause we’re not sure what she understands. In words anyway. But she knows when Kendall’s here that someone who loves her to pieces is with her. That’s the important thing.”

  Riley nodded her agreement.

  “And sometimes I think she gets more than we understand. Like when he was having all that trouble, one time I made the mistake of putting on the television with that on, and boy did Miss Alma cry that day . . .” She shook her head.

  Shawn turned and held out a hand to Riley who joined him sitting on the edge of the bed at Alma’s feet.

  “Grandma, this is Riley,” Shawn said. “I told you about her, remember? We got married. Riley’s my wife.”

  Riley smiled and reached out for Alma’s hand. It was cool and limp. She held it for a moment, waiting for some sign that she recognized she was being touched. There was none. But after a moment, she turned her head ever so slightly in the direction of the tea tray that Shonda had placed nearby.

  “Let me feed her. Y’all go down and get something to eat,” Shonda said with a shooing motion.

  Shawn ate with gusto, having come back to life after his contact with his grandmother, almost as though rejuvenated. It was difficult to describe. The change in him was both subtle and dramatic.

  “You think she knows you’re here?” Riley asked, cutting her Canadian bacon.

  Shawn nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I wish I could have known her. Before.”

  “She was full of beans, as they like to say down here. A firecracker.”

  “I bet she was. Does this make you sad? The way she is now?”

  Shawn chewed thoughtfully. “It used to. Now I’m just happy she’s still here.”

  “She’s your touchstone, I can tell.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know. The person who centers you. Sets the standards you try to emulate.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Thank you for bringing me.”

  They spent three hours more in Baltimore. Alma fell asleep shortly after her tea and cookies, and so they visited with Shonda awhile. Riley listened eagerly to her stories of Shawn’s teen years, when they still lived in DC and he was uncertain about the future he wanted, or could have. He sounded like most young men—unfocused and overly libidinous—which shouldn’t have been a surprise to Riley but was. Because he was so remarkable to her, she almost expected to hear something incredible about his youth that made it clear he was destined to be a cut above average. But he’d just been a kid who, through a combination of good luck, talent and being in the right place at the right time, had shot into the public eye and been placed on a path that would collide and finally unite with her own.

  After Alma awoke from her nap, Shawn went to spend some time alone with her, and from downstairs, Riley could hear the low hum of his voice. She helped Shonda cut the vegetables that would go into the Sunday dinner she was preparing and waited patiently until he finally descended the stairs and announced that it was time to leave. They hugged and kissed their goodbyes and Shonda waved at them from the front door as they pulled away. They would be home in time for their own dinner, would get to bed at a decent hour and have more than enough time to do the things they always did on a Sunday. The trip would seem like scarcely more than a blip on the radar, but Riley knew better. For her, it meant that her husband had finally let her all the way in.

  g

  Promoting a CD was no joke. The only close second to the travel schedule was a presidential campaign as far as Shawn could tell. Twenty-six cities in just over thirty days, and very little down-time. And then as summer approached, there would be a full-blown tour. Skipping the Music Awards was one thing, but passing on a summer tour was out of the question, even if it meant not seeing your wife for a month or two. For Memorial Day this coming weekend, he was performing in DC, so Riley was meeting him there and they would have a couple of days together before he hit the road again.

  She was as busy as he was, having finally given her notice at Power to the People and begun exploration meetings to see whether she could get her journal off the ground. Hip-hop publications had gotten wind of it, and were starting to refer to them as a “power couple” which she hated. She still liked to think of herself as a starving artist, which Shawn found amusing since the average daily balance in her checking account now exceeded what she used to make in a year; not to mention the other account that had caused her so much anxiety when they first got married.

  Shawn turned to gaze out the window at the tarmac as the jet made its smooth, barely perceptible landing. Across from him Brendan gripped the arms of his seat. He hated flying on small aircraft, even if it was outfitted like this one—to look and feel as comfortable as a living room in a Park Avenue apartment.

  “Holy shit,” he said out loud now. “I can’t remember what city we’re in.”

  As if on cue, the pilot announced their arrival in Nashville, and Shawn yawned. Dirty South. The south was always more raucous than most places—the groupies down here dressed and acted like strippers, hanging around the hotel and near the underground entrances to the venues. It made him tired thinking about it. He yawned again.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” he asked Brendan who was just beginning to relax as the jet slowed.

  “Radio, industry press. And your mother-in-law’s in town because she has something at Vanderbilt, so you’re having dinner with her.”

  Shawn sat up. “Good. That’s something to look forward to. For a change.”

  Lorna was waiting for him in the restaurant when he arrived later that evening. She was wearing a cream pantsuit, and looking like every bit the university professor. He almost didn’t recognize her. She stood as he came toward her and held out both her hands, presenting him a cheek and kissing his own, lookin every bit as happy to see him as he was to see her. The restaurant was a barbecue joint that Brendan had suggested because it had been written up in national press as one of the area’s best, and because it was just the kind of unpretentious place where they wouldn’t be bothered.

  “You’re going to get sauce all over that outfit,” Shawn said spreading his napkin on his lap. “You know that right?”

  Lorna laughed. “Who cares? I’m ready to throw down. I am starving.”

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  Shawn scanned the menu and quickly settled on a special that had samples of just about every kind of barbecued meat—kielbasa, beef ribs, pulled pork, and chicken. Along with the side of cornbread and baked beans, he would be good to go for hours. When they’d placed their orders, including a pitcher of beer, Lorna leaned forward and patted Shawn on the side of the face affectionately, the way she always
did when she saw him after a long time.

  “You look good,” she said. “A little tired, but good.”

  “I’m a lot tired,” he said.

  “Well, you could always take some time off,” she said breezily.

  Shawn laughed. “I did that, remember?”

  “Oh Shawn, that doesn’t count,” Lorna said. “You were fighting for your life then. It was hardly restful.”

  “Yeah . . . true.”

  “Anyway, just a thought. Tell me what’s going on. How’s work?”

  “It’s going. I see Riley this weekend, so . . .” he trailed off.

  Lorna smiled. “That’s funny.”

  “What is?”

  “I asked you about work and you said: I see Riley this weekend.”

  “I don’t like being away from her,” he shrugged. “But I have a CD to promote.” Shawn took a sip of his water.

  “Of course. And business commitments are important to keep.”

  “This summer Riley’s coming with me for the European and Asian legs of the tour,” he said.

  He sounded defensive even to his own ears, answering an objection she hadn’t even voiced. In fact, Lorna was probably more understanding of his having to be away from Riley than he was.

  She shrugged. “Good. She’s always wanted to go to Asia.”

  “You could come too,” he offered.

  “I write my best stuff in the summer,” Lorna demurred. “But thank you.”

  “So what’re you up to in Nashville?”

  “Lecture series at Vanderbilt.”

  The waitress brought over their cornbread, so they were distracted for a few minutes breaking off chunks of the warm, grainy dough.

  “I actually got a couple of questions about you,” Lorna continued. “And I shot them down right away. And in merciless fashion, I might add.”

  “You must be sick of that right about now. Talking about me.”

  “No. I just want to permit you to speak for yourself, that’s all. Tell your own story. Don’t forget my offer. To do a guest lecture at the college.”

  “I didn’t forget.”

  “Good.”

  The food was better than rumored, and Shawn ate well past the point of satiating his hunger, wanting to sample every meat that was placed on the massive cast iron skillet in the center of the table. He and Lorna talked about a lot of things, but not nearly as much about Riley as he would have expected. They’d fallen right back into the comfortable, easy rhythm they’d developed when he’d spent those weeks under her roof last year. He’d missed it; this effortless conversation.

  They talked a lot about a certain young senator from Illinois who might make history if his bid for the presidency was successful. They both thought it was a long-shot, and were amused because Riley was convinced that it was not and planned to volunteer for his campaign.

  When the meal was over, Lorna called for the tab and waved away his attempts to pay.

  “I’m expensing it,” she explained, impatiently.

  “Lemme at least take you back to your hotel,” Shawn said. “I have a driver outside.”

  “Works for me. I’d planned on walking the ten blocks but after that meal I’m not sure I can make it to the curb.”

  As she climbed out of the SUV at her hotel, Lorna turned one last time.

  “Kiss Riley for me. You’ll see her again before I do.”

  “I will.”

  “And get some rest,” she shook a finger at him and was gone.

  He felt her absence immediately and leaned back into the plush leather seat. He never rode in the backseat, but had only done so tonight because Lorna was riding with him. Now occupying the expansive space by himself, he felt more than alone. Shawn pulled out his mobile and called home, calculating quickly that at this time, Riley would probably be watching her favorite cable news program, feet up on the four-thousand-dollar coffee table that she had declared a “colossal waste” of money.

  “Hey baby,” she picked up right away, sounding as though her mouth was full. “Where are you?”

  “Just left dinner with Lorna.”

  “Good. How was she?”

  “She looked good.”

  “And you? How’re you?”

  “A’ight.”

  There was a brief silence. “You don’t sound it. Everything okay?”

  Shawn took a deep breath. “Just missing home, I guess.”

  “I know. I miss you too,” Riley said her voice lower. “We’ll see each other this weekend though.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you want to come home, don’t you?” she asked. “Not just see me, but come home?”

  Yes, that was what he wanted. His own place, his own bed. The smells, the sounds, the rhythms of his life that he had become accustomed to when he’d had no choice but to slow down. He wanted to know what Riley’s meetings had been today, and how they’d gone. He wanted to know whether she wore her hair up or down when she left home that morning, whether the entrance to Central Park that was opposite their building had been reopened, and whether the pigeons that lived in the turrets had been removed as the management company had promised.

  All of these things—admittedly little things—were the landscape of his life. And he didn’t like being away from them anymore. Not for this much time.

  “I’m just tired,” he said finally. “Tomorrow I’ll be a’ight.”

  “So you’re there for how long?” Riley asked.

  “I have a show tomorrow night, and then we leave the next morning for Memphis.”

  “I want you to try to get some sleep, then,” Riley said. “Some good, restful sleep, okay?”

  “I'll try,” Shawn said.

  What he didn't say was that sleep was much harder to summon without her next to him; he’d been spoiled for any way to drift off other than to the sensation of her fingers, lightly caressing the back of his neck.

  g

  The next morning was back-to-back meetings and appearances. He hit four radio stations before ten a.m. and before two p.m. had three photo-ops and a high school anti-drug rally. The high school was Brendan’s idea because he had the notion that Shawn needed to rehabilitate his image among the parents of school-aged fans because of the whole Keisha mess.

  Unfortunately, high school crowds were hard to control and he was mobbed getting out of the SUV. It took a half hour to clear the kids, and then another fifteen minutes to get him into the auditorium. It was only when he was headed to the next gig that he realized a pocket had been ripped from the rear of his jeans and his shirt torn at the sleeve.

  “How much time have I got?” he asked Brendan. “I need to change.”

  “You have . . .” Brendan glanced at his watch, “. . . forty-five minutes. But don’t take that long.”

  “Any chance I can cancel?”

  “Nope. Not only does it make you look bad, it makes me look bad,” Brendan said. “And I’m not about to look bad.”

  He was answering email on his Blackberry and didn’t even look up.

  “Remind me of what it is again?”

  “Shawn, Brendan looked up, exasperated. “For the hundredth time, it’s a fifteen-minute segment with a local television station.”

  “Shit, man. I can’t keep all this crap straight. That’s what your ass is here for.”

  Brendan shook his head but said nothing.

  He refused to run when he got to the hotel. He would take his time changing. So what if he was late for the interview? This was Nashville. Country music was king here. No one gave a rat’s ass about him. Hell, he doubted the show tonight was even sold out. He’d asked Brendan for the numbers about six times and every time there was an excuse he didn’t get it. That was probably Brendan’s way of protecting his ego before his performance which would be cool, if he gave a crap right now.

  As soon as he opened the door to the suite, he heard the water. The shower was running. It took only a moment to process that the cleaning cart wasn’t outside, and the door
had been locked. Grinning, he headed for the bathroom and shoved open the door. Just then, the water stopped and Riley stepped out, dripping wet, and reaching for a towel. She shrieked when she caught sight of him.

  “Oh my god, you scared me!” she said placing a hand over her heart.

  The towel had fallen to the floor, so she was completely naked before him, her hair in wet ringlets and falling about her face. She knelt to retrieve the towel just as he was doing the same and they hugged, holding each other silently and for a long time.

  “What’re you doing here?” he asked.

  “Is it okay I came?”

  Shawn looked at her and Riley laughed.

  “I didn’t like how you sounded last night,” she explained. “And I could tell what you were thinking. About ditching everything and coming home. So I thought maybe I should just come to you.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Shawn said quietly.

  They’d come a long way from the days when she used to ask him what he was thinking all the time. Now, she understood even the things he didn’t say.

  “I had this whole elaborate plan for surprising you and you ruined it,” she mock-pouted as headed into the walk-in closet.

  By the time Riley re-emerged dressed in jeans and a blue tank, he remembered why he’d come to the suite in the first place.

  “Shit. I have an interview in about a half hour,” he said heading for the closet himself. “Brendan’s waiting out front.”

  “Can you be a little late?” she asked.

  Shawn grinned at her. “Why? You have something in mind?”

  She peeled her tank off again. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Shawn stared at her breasts.

  God, she was perfect.

  “Maybe. Do you?”

  Shawn backed her into the bedroom until she fell backwards onto the king-size bed. He peeled his shirt over his head and began working on his belt when his phone rang.

  Riley laughed. “Uh oh. Brendan’s spidey sense is telling him that you plan to leave him hanging.”

  “Better him than you,” Shawn said, continuing to work on his belt.

  Riley raised herself up onto her knees and stopped him, re-fastening his belt buckle.