I stare at one of her evening dresses. She wore it to one of our anniversary dinners.
Which one?
The question surprises me, but on top of it comes a sense of uneasiness because, for the life of me, I can’t remember where she wore that dress. Suddenly, it’s the most important thing in the world. As if the thought of not being able to remember means I’m forgetting her. Forgetting Sarah.
Why can’t I remember?
A tightness squeezes my chest, and my heart thumps wildly. I press my fingers against both of my temples. “Which anniversary?” I cringe, racking my brain, trying to remember.
My breath comes fast. Too fast. I tug at the tie around my neck.
I can’t breathe!
Remember, Silas! Fucking remember! I mentally scold myself.
Which anniversary?
I swallow around what feels like a golf-ball-size piece of cotton in my throat. I rush to the bathroom, panting, sweat breaking out on my forehead, at the back of my neck. My pupils are tiny pinpricks of black when I catch my reflection in the mirror. Shrugging off my jacket, I let it fall to the ground in a heap. I twist the cold water on, cup water in my hands, and splash my face several times. The cold doesn’t even register against the heat engulfing me.
For a long time, I breathe in and out the way Dara taught us in her meditation class. In for five, hold at the top, out for five, release entirely.
It takes a long time, but eventually my heartbeat slows and I can breathe more evenly.
What the fuck was that?
“Hello!” a sing-song voice I recognize instantly calls out.
My sister Whitney comes into my room.
“Bro! It’s me, Whit!” she calls out. “You in the can?”
I close my eyes and smile before grabbing a hand towel and patting my face dry before exiting the bathroom.
I’m not alone.
“Just washing my face. What’s up? Why are you here?”
She tosses her purse and keys onto my big, lonely bed. “Mom said you were going through Sarah’s clothes today. As her best friend and your favorite sister, I thought I’d help you go through it. Pick out a few things we can give her mom, our sister, and of course moi, before donating the rest.”
“Give them away?” I choke out, knowing it makes sense, a lot of sense, but still hating every fucking second of the words leaving my mouth.
My baby sis nods. “Yeah. Sarah was really into helping the women’s shelter, remember? She used to volunteer all the time. And I know for a fact, that’s where she took all the fancy clothes you bought her when she was done wearing them. Those clothes help women get back on their feet, get jobs, et cetera.”
Sarah did love helping the women’s shelter. She couldn’t stand knowing what they went through. “Yeah. She’d like that.” I nod. And my Sarah would. Selfless and giving all the way. “Whit, it’s the perfect plan.”
Whitney smirks, puts her hands on her hips, and cocks her head left and right, giving serious attitude. “Don’t I know it. I’ve always been the smart one out of the sibs.”
I chuckle, put my hand to her shoulder, and squeeze. “You keep right on thinking that.”
“Oh, I will. Because it’s fact…yo! Boom!” She makes a motion of her hand exploding. “I’ll start in the closet. Why don’t you work on boxing everything in the bathroom?”
The bathroom.
So much safer than the closet.
Then I remember what’s in the closet, and my heart starts up that erratic rhythm again. I take a few steps and find my sister already putting some things on my side in a hanging pile and leaving others. The black evening gown is hanging on the right near my stuff.
She stops with a sweater in her hand.
I finger the gown. “I can’t remember what anniversary she wore this to.” My voice cracks at the admission, but I won’t be able to rest until I know.
My sister looks at me, her brown eyes revealing she knows this is important. She stares at the dress for a minute, appreciating the crystals at the top of the shoulder before she snaps her fingers. “Bro, it’s because it wasn’t an anniversary dress! She wore it to the huge album release party for the boy band Daddy signed like six years ago.”
I think back to that party. Sarah all in black, walking down the red-carpeted staircase, holding my father’s elbow, looking like a princess. That was the night we decided to start trying to get pregnant. Must be the same reason she kept the dress.
The flush of anxiety creeping up the back of my neck eases. I reach out and grab my sister’s hand and squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Course. But I’m keeping the dress. Sarah said I could wear it anytime I wanted, and I plan on blowing Mack’s mind at the next launch party.”
I snicker, thinking about my sister’s poor boyfriend. “That boy needs to put a ring on it.” I frown and lean against the doorjamb.
“Mmmhmm. Don’t I know it.”
“Want me to have a talk with him?” I offer, knowing I’ve shirked my big brother duties the last couple years. Now that Dad’s gone, I need to step it up.
She nods. “Could you without scaring the bejeezus out of him?”
I scowl. “Uh, no. What’s the point of having a talk unless he’s scared shitless? Trust me, Whit. I got you, girl.” I promise.
She sighs. “At this point, I’ll take any help I can get. We’ve been dating for two years.”
“True. Except the last time we spoke, he was working really hard to set himself up. Pay off his school loans and get himself a nice pad. Has he done that?”
Whitney folds up another item and sets it on a shelf where she’s accumulating a stack. My guess, the stack is the donation pile. I refrain from looking at it because I don’t want to know what’s being donated or kept. If it were up to me, it would stay right where it is forever, but then I’ll never let her rest.
“Yeah, but get this. You know what that baller says he’s saving up his money for?” She sneers and makes an ugly face. “I’m gonna give you one guess…and it’s not a ring!” Her tone is scathing.
I gesture up with my chin, not even wanting to attempt a guess.
“Dubs. Fuckin’ rims for his ride. And why?” Her voice lowers for the rest of her tirade. “‘Oh, because I can’t be taking my shawty in a POS,’ he says. Like I care about his car!” She grumbles under her breath.
Unfortunately, I can’t help but chuckle behind my hand. Whitney sends a blast of daggers from her gaze. “Don’t you be takin’ his side! You’re Team Whit. Period. Feel me?”
“Girl, I can feel your heat a mile away. I’ll talk with him.”
“Great.” She smiles for a second before it turns into a frown, and her dark eyes assess me. “What d’you think you’re doing? Sitting on your ass watching me slave away while you do nothing? I ain’t yo mama. Get to steppin’. That bathroom’s not going to pack itself. Jeez-us.” She pushes her long braids over one shoulder and fans herself with one hand. “And turn on the air. I’m hot as hell up in here.”
“I love you too, Whit.” I laugh.
“Air conditioning, fool!” she hollers.
“Got it!” I leave her be.
I turn up the air, see a stack of boxes she must have brought with her, and grab those too, setting them on the bed.
“Oh good. You’re not blind.” She winks, grabs a box, and heads back into the closet. I take a box and head to the bathroom with a smile. First time in three weeks I’ve cracked one.
“And I love you too, Si-low!” she randomly yells across the room.
I smile into the mirror and set the box on top of the vanity. I open the first drawer and inspect the contents. All makeup. I’m not even going to look at it, instead, pulling the entire thing out and dumping it all in the box. Sarah never cared much for the stuff anyway, so why should I?
Keeping up my momentum, I take on the rest of the drawers. I’m doing fine until I chance a look at the vanity. Her perfume, brush, and daily products are sitting in an untouched basket in the corner. T
he only reason it doesn’t have years of dirt is because I have a cleaning lady come every two weeks. I grab the basket and assess that most of it can go in with the rest.
The hairbrush, though, is harder to let go of. It still has strands of long blonde hair tucked in the tines. Seeing it brings the crippling feeling crawling back up my neck. I lean over the vanity and breathe the way I did before my sister arrived.
“You done?” Whit comes into the bathroom and notices me breathing in and out. She grabs the brush. “I was coming in for that. May I have it?” she asks softly.
“You’re not going to throw it away?” My voice sounds rough, emotion spilling out with each utterance.
Whitney shakes her head. “Nope. I’m going to use it when I have my hair out of braids and think of Sarah every morning.”
I nod and swallow down the sadness. “Good.” The only word I can croak out.
Whitney grabs for my wife’s perfume and opens her mouth to speak. I stay her hand and bring it to my heart. “I’m keeping that for me. My wife’s scent stays with me.”
This time, she nods, but her dark-chocolate eyes fill with tears. “You’re not the only one who misses her, Si-low. Except we’re not allowed to talk to you about her because you won’t allow it.”
I suck in a harsh breath and let it out just as harshly. “Fuck. Why does it still hurt so much?”
Whit lays a hand on my back and rubs in a calming circle. I try to focus on the soothing gesture, much like how our mother comforts us when we’re sick or hurting.
“Si, I know this is going to sound harsh, but I think you need to see someone. These steps you’re taking toward letting her go are great. Really good. I mean that.”
I narrow my eyes and clench my jaw tightly.
“It’s just, three years is a long time to hurt. Maybe you need to share some of that hurt with an impartial outlet. Give yourself some time to accept what happened and move on with your life.”
I grind my teeth hard enough to feel pain. “I don’t want to move on without them.”
“Si, I know you don’t, but you have no choice. None of us do, but we’re trying. You’re not trying as hard as you could be.”
Not being able to run or escape is making me feel cornered in the bathroom. I push back away from my sister and lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you talking about? Therapy? Like a shrink?”
She nods. “Yeah. Exactly. When I was at the studio earlier today, I saw Atlas. He gave me a card to give to you.”
“Why didn’t he give it to me himself?” I huff.
Whit purses her lips and rolls her eyes. “Maybe because you’d act all affronted, like the big man on campus who doesn’t need help from anyone. He may be your friend, but Atlas is also your employee. Don’t forget who has the ultimate say around Knight & Day Productions.”
I sigh and rub my head, allowing the tiny prickles to tickle my palms. “You think he was afraid to approach me? He hasn’t been afraid on anything else. More than that, we’re friends. Bros.”
She shrugs. “Maybe he thought the suggestion would come better from me. Whatever the reason, I think it’s a good one.”
I turn to say something and get her back, following her into the bedroom. She digs through her purse, which could easily double as a suitcase it’s so huge. “Here. Monet Hart. He claims she’s the best there is. Apparently helped a girl you know. Someone named Honor?”
“Honor Carmichael. I met her a few weeks ago. Songbird. White as a ghost but looks like an angel. She’s hooked up with Atlas’s friend Nick Salerno.”
“The guy who owns the boxing gym and fitness center, Sal’s or something?”
“Yeah. They’re all connected through Atlas, I think. Though the name Hart sounds really familiar.”
“All I know is that Atlas suggested her. What do you say?”
I flip the card over a few times before flicking it with my middle finger. “You really think it will help?” I ask, my heart laid out for her to see.
Whit holds both of my hands in hers and brings them up between us. “I do. It’s time to make changes. It’s time for you to live again and for Sarah and the baby to be free from this world. No matter how much we all wish they were still here, they’re not. But we are, big bro. What do you say? You’ll call?”
I pull my sister into a tight hug. “I’m so thankful you’re my baby sis.”
She rubs her head against my chest. “I love you, Si-low.”
“I love you too, Whitney. And I’ll make the appointment.”
Chapter Nine
The third eye chakra is the center of our divine wisdom. From here, we seek to know the truth in all things. To delve into our own spiritual and inner demons and expel them so we can live a harmonious life.
DARA
“Baby girl, I’m so excited I can hardly stand it!” Ricardo squeezes my hand with exuberance. “We’re going to see our baby today!”
Mama leans forward and tilts her head toward Ricky, sitting to my right. She’s on my left. “Calm down, boy. You’re going to frighten the girl. She’s already nervous. Chill out before I make you take a long walk off a short pier.”
I giggle, the fluttering in my stomach relaxing a little while the two of them bicker. Mama holds my other hand and brings it up to her mouth, where she places it against her lips. “Look at me, child.”
When Mama speaks, I listen. I turn my body toward hers and focus on her loving face.
“Everything’s going to be okay. No matter what happens in there today. I’m here, Ricky’s here, and we’re going to take this step together. You hear?”
I nod and snuggle against her soft curves, not caring about the armrest digging into my ribcage. The need to be near her love is more important right now. I can tell from her aura she’s frightened but putting on a big front. This can’t be easy for her. My mom and dad had a hard time getting pregnant and suffered a series of miscarriages and painful fertility treatments before they chose the adoption route.
“I’m scared,” I admit. Since the moment I found out I was pregnant, I’ve wanted this baby. More than anything else in the world. Even with Silas not in the picture, I still want to have his child. My child.
My mom pulls both of my hands up to her mouth and kisses each one of my fingers. “Me too. Jacksons can brave anything as long as we’re together, right?”
“Right!” I grin at my mom.
Every day I thank the good Lord for Vanessa and Darren Jackson. They’ve given me the perfect life. I couldn’t have asked for more loving parents.
“Dara Jackson?” a nurse calls, holding a clipboard and flipping through the pages.
All three of us stand up and head that way.
“Dara?”
I nod, unable to speak through the fear coating my throat.
“Follow me,” she says cheerily.
The nurse leads us through what feels like a maze of hallways and doors before stopping at one that has a number flag on the top labeling it room number three.
“Lucky number three.” Mom smiles happily. It’s her favorite number. She says because when she got me, her family of three was complete.
I smile and enter with my peeps behind me. Ricky is about to jump out of his skin, all smiles and positive energy. His aura is beaming a healthy orange. At least one of us is putting out the positivity. My mother and I are too worried about whether or not the baby is okay, is alive, and has a heartbeat.
“Grandma and Dad, you want to step out of the room so Dara can get undressed?”
Ricky grins wildly at the dad comment. He’s still convinced he’s going to be the baby’s male influence. I have hope Silas will eventually come around and do the right thing. Once I get around to telling him he’s going to be a father. Well, a father again, since he likely has a little girl.
Still, there is that niggling fear because he never mentioned his daughter, and I didn’t see even one picture around his house among those of him and his wife…
> I shake my head. I can’t think about that right now. This is about me and the little life I’m carrying inside of my womb.
Mom and Ricardo leave the room while I change into a dressing gown with the extra-long paper blanket to place over my lap. A machine with a penis-shaped wand sits beside the bed, a TV monitor on the wall.
The doctor comes in, followed by my mother, who instantly takes up her position at my side, holding my hand. Ricardo stands to the back where my head is. Far away from where my unmentionables will be showing at the other end.
The doctor introduces herself as Dr. Hathaway.
“All right, let’s see what we’ve got. The urine test you took tested positive for pregnancy. And you said your last period was supposed to arrive how many weeks ago?”
I clear my throat and squeeze my mama’s hand. “Uh, around seven weeks ago.”
“Then we should be able to get a good visual. Lie back, put your feet in the stirrups, and bring your bottom to the end of the table.”
I follow along with her directions and push down the insecurity of being in such a vulnerable position. This is about seeing my baby and making sure it’s healthy. I can survive any amount of embarrassment for that outcome.
The doctor gels up the wand with what I can only assume is lube before inserting it inside me. It feels like a huge dildo but really hard. As she maneuvers the wand a little inside me, she taps at a keyboard and stares at the monitor.
“Yes. Right there.” She holds the placement and points to the monitor. “See the black circle and that white blob?”
All three of us stare at the screen. “Yeah,” I answer.
“That’s your baby.”
Tears fill my eyes. I hold my breath as a cold sensation runs down my arm. I glance at my mother, and she’s crying outright, tears running down her face and falling onto my arm.
The doctor continues. “And see that flicker right there.” She does all of this one-handed, which is beyond impressive, but I imagine she’s had a lot of practice. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”
I focus on that flicker and let out the breath I’d been holding. It blinks on and off so fast. “His heartbeat?” I choke out.
Intimate Intuition Page 10
