by Kitt, Sandra
She was wearing a black winter coat that fell past her knees. He glimpsed a bulky, light-colored turtleneck sweater, jeans, and black boots. Her hair, which he’d only seen loose and undisciplined, appeared to be stuffed beneath a black velvet beret. She was stylish, yet completely unpretentious. There was also a familiarity about her that only confirmed for Lee what he’d been grappling with all along—he had developed an affinity for a black woman with whom he’d shared a life-altering experience. The question was, Was he attracted to Carol Taggart because of that? Or in spite of it?
Lee didn’t believe in fate, but there seemed to be something unique about the relationship he was developing with Carol. Would his attraction to her go away of its own accord? Through the intervention of time and their differences? Did he want it to? Or was their getting to know each other taking on a life of its own?
Lee didn’t know the answers. She had called, he had come. The rest would unfold in its own good time.
He got out of his car and called Carol’s name. She looked around blindly, trying to establish the direction of the voice. When she found him, Carol merely watched him. He walked from his car with the purposeful stride of a man who was sure of himself. Who could stay focused and determined. Whose virile male presence wasn’t obvious but established him as someone who could be trusted. He was here. It was enough. She had done the right thing in calling him.
Carol smiled.
Lee stopped in front of her. He was only an inch or so taller than she was and could look her almost straight in the eyes. For a second he felt an odd sensation akin to shyness. As if she could see past his public persona, beneath his skin. Even he was unsure of what would be revealed if she went deep enough. He liked the way Carol held his gaze, open and interested.
They stood staring at each other for several long moments. Neither felt any particular need to rush, to move along. Except that it was cold.
Carol spoke first. “Hi. Thanks for coming. I know it must have—”
“Hi, Carol,” Lee interrupted.
His greeting was slower. More personal. It succeeded in stopping her prepared opening. The familiar use of her first name put them back on a more intimate footing.
They were definitely no longer strangers.
“Hi,” Carol responded with a wry laugh in her voice.
He took his time adjusting to the physical changes in her.
“It’s good to see you again.”
“Thanks. Same here,” Carol added truthfully, while also trying not to read too much into his words.
Lee took her black leather tote bag, which, while not heavy, was packed with the daily paraphernalia of a teacher—class lists, supplies, samples, leftover food, notes, books, as well as the usual female purse items.
“I bet you’re not supposed to be carrying this,” he said, holding out his bent arm to her.
Carol accepted his offer after only a moment’s hesitation. His forearm was strong and firmly braced, clearly meant as an anchor against the possibility that she might falter. But Carol kept her touch light. She didn’t need the support, but she liked it very much that he’d offered it.
She let Lee walk her to his car. He’d left the motor running, and the exhaust told Carol that the interior would be warm. “I wasn’t able to figure out how else to get my things to class each day,” she said.
“And you need every single thing that’s in here, right?” he asked with amused skepticism.
“Well, yes, I do,” Carol insisted. “I tried my knapsack, but it pulls too much and hurts where… where… you know.”
“Why don’t you use a cab or a car service? Under the circumstances the college should pick up the tab.”
“They might,” she conceded. “I never thought to ask.”
“Afraid of being rejected?”
He opened the door for her, and she carefully seated herself. It wasn’t until he was behind the steering wheel that she finally answered.
“I don’t know. I think I overestimated how much of my strength has returned. I get tired pretty easily.”
“You’re pushing too hard. You should have given yourself more time before returning to work.”
Carol was glad that she hadn’t. Staying home, isolated with her memories, would have slowed her recovery. She reached back for the seat belt, trying not to twist her torso. Lee turned toward her from his seat, took the belt from her hand, and secured it in the clasp between their seats. It was a thoughtful gesture.
“Thank you,” Carol murmured as Lee fastened his own belt and put the car into Drive. “Did you take time off after that night?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, I did. Two days.”
“Did it help?”
He frowned as he considered the question. He really hadn’t made an evaluation. And, he thought, how odd—he probably never would have if Carol hadn’t asked. But there was now a connection between them. A sort of umbilical cord. The fact that she was black skewered things a little, but mattered for a different reason than the events of that early Wednesday morning.
“It’s hard to tell. You go back to the office, and there are things that have to be done. People need you and expect you to be there.”
“So you don’t think about the shooting at all, do you?”
Lee sat contemplating for a moment. “You’re wrong. I think about it all the time.”
They fell silent as Lee got his bearings and drove out of the campus into street traffic. Carol spent the time adjusting to the realization that she was riding in an unmarked police car. The dashboard was outfitted with a panel of buttons, speakers, and screens not available in a regular vehicle. There was a laminated list of code numbers displayed near the steering wheel and a cradle that held a cellular phone. Other than these indicators of the work Lee did, the car was an ordinary late-model sedan.
But the man seated next to Carol was not ordinary. She hazarded a quick study of his profile. Everything about him—from the way he sat, to how he drove, to the set of his mouth—suggested a man of power and authority. The truth suddenly hit her hard. She was riding in a police car with the white police officer who, by his own admission, may have been responsible for nearly killing her. Carol began to sweat. Her heart lurched into overdrive. What am I doing? went through her head. The phrase “politically incorrect” screamed at her, a reminder of how much of her life had been just that.
As an infant she’d been thrust into the middle of controversy without knowing what was happening. As a teenager aware of her history, she’d tried to run away from it. Now, she was balanced on a precipice somewhere between the two extremes, trying to stay in control of her own life. If she listened to Matt and Wesley and sued the city and the police department, she could be sucked dry by the fallout. But there really wasn’t any more safety in following her instincts to do what was right.
“I guess you’re glad to be back at work. To have your life back to normal,” Lee commented.
His voice was calm, the observation reasonable. Carol tried to relax again. Lee had hit on one of the real reasons why she’d called him.
“Do you feel as if everything’s back to normal?” she asked.
“Define ‘normal.’”
“Predictable and routine,” Carol suggested. “Safe.” She saw him smile even in the dark interior of the car.
“No, it’s definitely not normal.”
“Well, my life has never been normal. You may have noticed.”
“If you’re talking about your folks, I don’t agree. Your family may be unusual in makeup, but it’s still a family.”
“You don’t find it odd that my parents are white?”
“Should I? Look, at least you have parents who love you. I didn’t get to talk with them, but I could see their caring and concern for you.”
“Yes. They’re good people. I’ve always known that. But I’ve started to see some things a little differently since what happened.”
“You mean, since you got hurt?”
“
Right,” Carol confirmed. “Outwardly my life seems pretty much the same. But inside there are a lot of changes going on. Sometimes I feel like—” She stopped, wondering suddenly how much to tell him.
“Go on,” Lee encouraged.
“Well… it’s as if I’m living someone else’s life. Or that I’ve stepped out of my own skin and I’m looking back at myself. I see things about my past that I never understood or appreciated before. I don’t suppose that makes any sense,” she apologized with a nervous chuckle. “I find myself asking crazy questions like, Why am I teaching art? Should I leave New York? And then silly ones like, What am I going to do with my hair? And…”
“Maybe also, Why did I survive?” he suggested.
“Exactly,” Carol murmured, and fell silent.
“Any thoughts on that?” he asked.
“Plenty. But if I told you about them, you’d have me committed,” she said dryly.
“You’re wrong. I know because… I seem to be going through the same thing myself. Why did I become a cop? Did I fail my ex-wife and am I failing my daughter? What am I going to do with my life when I grow up?” She chuckled. He turned to regard her for a long moment. “Were you and I supposed to meet that early morning?”
Carol drew in her breath and looked sharply at him.
“Sounds mystical, doesn’t it? I don’t know any of the answers yet,” Lee said to her, “but I do know this: I’m not the same man I was before the shooting.”
The car came to a stop at a traffic light. Lee turned to regard Carol’s surprised countenance. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?” he asked.
“Yes. That’s part of it,” Carol replied.
“I’d like to offer my answer to one of your questions. I admit I don’t understand the hair thing—the women at the station are always comparing notes, doing things with extensions and beads, but please don’t do anything to yours. I like it the way it is.”
Carol started to laugh, then stopped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Ouch.” She absently rubbed the spot just above her left breast.
“Hurts when you laugh,” Lee guessed. “I’m sorry.”
Carol shrugged lightly, as if the slight discomfort wasn’t important. She looked at him quizzically. “So what is this thing about my hair? Do you have a fetish?”
“Maybe I do. I just like it when a woman doesn’t fuss with it a lot.”
“Easy for you to say. Black woman’s hair is a whole ’nother thing. You don’t get hat hair, or the frizzies on a humid day.”
“That’s why I wear it short.”
“Lee… this evening isn’t… official, is it?” she found herself asking, enjoying their repartee.
Lee shook his head. “No, it’s not. And I’d like to keep it that way. If that’s okay with you.”
Carol sat silently, trying to figure out what he meant by that. She wanted to be careful not to read too much into his words, but it did sound as if he was saying that whatever was said between them was not for public consumption. The idea made Carol feel special.
They were only a few blocks from her building when a call came in over the radio system in Lee’s car. She listened to the brief coded exchange that went back and forth over the line. Lee’s sudden alertness and total focus on the information being broadcast told her that this was an urgent call. He used his cellular to call in for more details.
When Lee finished the call, he made a quick turn at the next corner. Carol knew at once that he was taking a shorter route to her building.
“Carol, I’m sorry. I have to report in.”
“You can let me off here. I can walk the rest of the way,” she said, already preparing to get out of the car. She felt the sudden clasp of Lee’s hand on her arm.
“Absolutely not. Don’t move. I’ll take you home.”
She did as she was told, primarily because his voice and words suddenly evoked a very clear memory of that early morning. Of lying on the ground, and of someone in blue leaning over her and saying to her, Don’t move…
“You’re still on duty. I feel so silly for taking up your time with my—”
“Don’t apologize,” Lee cut in. He pulled the car up in front of her building, then twisted in his seat and again used his hand on her shoulder to indicate that she was to sit still a moment longer. “This wasn’t a waste of my time, Carol. I’m glad you called. I’m glad I came.”
“You have to leave,” she said, disappointed.
Lee reached for his door and opened it. “Yeah, I do.”
He came around to Carol’s side and held her door open as she climbed out. He retrieved her tote bag from the back and escorted her to the entrance of the building. She faced him as he handed the bag to her.
“Still want to see me?” he asked.
Carol felt disoriented by the question. She shrugged. “It’s not really important.”
“Why don’t we try again tomorrow?” he suggested. “What’s your schedule?”
“Well… I… I only have one class, in the early morning. And a doctor’s appointment for a follow-up visit, but that should only take an hour.”
“Good. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He gave her arm a light squeeze. “You’ll be okay from here?”
“Sure. I’ll be fine.”
Lee nodded and headed back to his car.
By the time Carol entered her building lobby the unmarked car had pulled away, moving swiftly down the block and out of sight. Only then did she experience a sensation of settling back down to earth.
“Hey… you awake yet?”
“Hmmm?”
“I made breakfast. I thought you’d like to have it in bed today.”
Carol could smell the coffee and bacon and toast before she opened her eyes.
Behind her lids, her fading dream suddenly became a reconstruction of a scene around the family dining table when she was growing up. Her mother calmly serving huge amounts of food to three children while her father, equally calm, tried to get everyone’s attention so he could say grace. Wesley poring over some book or other, oblivious to the early-morning chaos around him. Her sister, Ann, only six months younger than herself, wanting to know if she could get her ears pierced like her friends. To which their mother had responded, perhaps when she turned fifteen—another five years away. Ann then reminded their mother that Carol had pierced ears, eliciting the patient response that that had happened before God sent her to the family.
Of course, there was herself. A colorful patch in this crazy quilt of a family. Sitting sullen and quiet as usual, absorbed in her own thoughts. Silently wishing that she had light brown hair like Wesley, or gray eyes like Ann. There was no way for her to appreciate what was unique and special about herself, because it only made her different from everyone else.
“Come on, get up. The food is getting cold.”
Carol let the memories drain out of her. Matt stood above her, poised with a tray.
He wore boxer shorts and an unbuttoned shirt. She’d always thought Matt had a beautiful body, athletic and brown and smooth. But he’d also always been slender, which gave the impression that he wasn’t very strong.
“All right, give me a minute,” Carol muttered, pulling herself to an upright position. She struggled to arrange the pillows behind her back, ignoring the slight tenderness of nerves and muscles in her chest and side.
Matt placed the tray over her lap and climbed onto the bed next to her. She quickly grabbed the coffee mug and the orange juice glass before they toppled over.
“Thank you.” Carol glanced sideways at him. “What’s the occasion?”
He shrugged, making himself at home. “Why does there have to be a reason? I’m here to take care of you.”
Carol inhaled the rich breakfast scents. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t sound very grateful. This is lovely, Matt.”
He took a strip of crisp bacon from her plate. “Doesn’t this bring back memories? It’s not like I’ve never cooked you anything before, or never served it in bed…”
/> Carol moved the food around with her fork. “Usually when you wanted me to do something for you,” she said softly. She glanced quickly at him. He was thoughtfully chewing on the piece of bacon and didn’t meet her gaze. He took a second strip from her plate. “What is it?” she asked.
Matt looked more annoyed than hurt. “Why do you have to be so suspicious? Don’t you trust me?”
“I’m not sure. Depends. How come you’re up so early to cook for me? I thought you had a gig last night.”
“I did. And I think you said you have a morning class.”
“And a doctor’s appointment. And I have to do some research at the American Indian Museum downtown.” She nibbled a slice of toast. “I went to bed late. I… couldn’t sleep, so I did some work.” She didn’t tell him that the reason she couldn’t sleep was because she was replaying the conversation she’d had with Lee Grafton.
“Yeah, I saw your sketchbook. Who’s the man in the drawing?”
“I was just fooling around,” she murmured evasively. She finished the toast and sat back against the pillows to sip the hot coffee, blowing across the top to cool it off. “How come you’re up?”
Matt shifted toward her and proceeded to eat the rest of the food on her plate. “I had things to do today.”
“What kind of things?”
“Appointments. People to call.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Sure. What makes you think it’s not?” he asked defensively.
“Why are you getting so worked up?” Carol asked calmly. “It was a fair question.”
“I’m okay. Don’t worry.” He looked thoughtfully at her. “I don’t remember that you used to worry about me.”
“No? What did I do?”
His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “Scream and cuss me out. The man you married was not the man you wanted,” he observed.
Carol accepted his comment. “The woman you divorced wasn’t the one you thought you’d married, either.”
His dreads moved gently as he talked. He had always been unself-conscious, totally at ease with who and what he was. But he also lacked the drive to make the most of his abilities. He seemed content to drift haphazardly in and out of opportunities that could have established him as an important musician. To Carol it was a benign passivity. Matt waited for the big break to come to him, rather than working hard to create it for himself.
