“Girl, please. You don’t have to worry about that,” Kendall said. “Angel and her friends have probably seen much worse!”
I was horrified at that thought and Sheridan must’ve been as shocked as I was, because Kendall looked at me, then at Sheridan, and finally Kendall asked, “What? Y’all don’t really believe these kids nowadays with their iPads, and their Kindles and their Samsungs, are not watching every bit of porn that they can on YouTube?”
“No,” Sheridan said. “Because you can’t post porn on YouTube.”
“Well, maybe not on the Tube, but trust and believe they can see whatever they want on the Internet when you’re not watching.”
“Oh, God!” I moaned. I didn’t want to think of my little Angel seeing any of that stuff.
“Look, all I’m saying is that you’re acting like Angel’s ruined for life. She’s not. She’ll be fine.”
“I want to believe you. That’s why I just want to talk to her, to hear her voice and to know that she’s fine and she doesn’t hate me.”
“Hate you because you were having tech sex with Bobby?”
“Hate me because I was having tech sex with Bobby when she loves Caroline so much.”
“Girl, the only thing I’m thinking about Caroline right now is what she’s going to say when we roll up there and beat her down until she tells us where Angel is.”
That sounded like a good idea to me.
“So let me get this straight,” Sheridan began. “You want the three of us to go busting into a house in Bel Air?”
Kendall shrugged. “I’ve done it before.”
If my heart wasn’t broken inside, I would’ve laughed, jumped up, and given Kendall a high five. She was my girl—even more than I thought. We always bumped heads like we didn’t like each other, though I knew how much she loved me and I loved her.
But how she was talking now? After all of this was over, I was gonna invite Kendall to hang out with me and Noon!
Right now, though I wanted to go with Kendall’s plan, I knew that we couldn’t. “The moment we drive onto Caroline’s driveway, she’ll call the police,” I said.
“And, she’d have a right to do that,” Sheridan said, glaring at Kendall. “Especially once she found out our intentions.” Turning back to me, she said, “We do have to find Angel and make sure that you at least speak to her, but we’ve got to do this in a calm, civilized way. So, you’ve called Angel, right?”
“A million times.” On my drive over to the church, that’s all I did. I called Angel, then I called Bobby, and then Angel again. I doubted if they were together, though; I just didn’t know. All I wanted to do was speak to my child, hug her, kiss her, and tell her that we were going to be all right, together.
“Okay, so you want something calm and civilized,” Kendall said more to Sheridan than to me. “Let’s go to Bel Air, but we’ll stop short of going through the gates. We’ll have our own stakeout and wait for Angel to go back there.”
Now, that was an idea! I grabbed my purse, turned to Sheridan—I was ready to roll.
Sheridan nodded. “We might be there all night, though. Angel might not go back there until tomorrow since she’s not due home to you until tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah, but at least doing this, I’d feel like I was doing something to find Angel.”
Sheridan nodded again, though she wasn’t as enthusiastic as Kendall, and I got that. This wasn’t the way Sheridan handled things.
“You know, Sheridan, Kendall and I can do this together if you want to go back home,” I said.
“Are you kidding me? If you two are there, then I’m all in, too.”
I would’ve cried if I’d had any tears left. But since I was empty, I hugged Sheridan first, then Kendall. And as we grabbed our purses, my cell rang.
Looking down at the screen, I shrieked, “It’s Angel!”
Sheridan and Kendall stood so close to me that if anyone was watching, the three of us would have looked like one person. “Angel, baby, are you okay?”
“Hi, Mom.” She sounded so exhausted, like she hadn’t slept all night.
“Baby, I love you. Where are you?”
“I’m back at Mom Caroline’s,” she said, and I did not miss the way she didn’t mention her father. “She said that I had to call you and tell you that I was all right.”
“Oh, thank you, Jesus. Baby, I’m so sorry, but I’ll be right there—”
“Mom, no! No!”
“Please, baby.”
“No, Mom. I need a little bit of time.”
Angel was barely twelve. What did she know about needing time? Were those her words or was she saying what Caroline told her to say?
“I just want to see you, give you a hug.”
“Mom!”
“I’m coming,” I insisted.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Sheridan motioning with her hand, trying to get me to be calm. So, I took a deep breath and spoke softer, slower. “Angel, baby, I won’t come over there now.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“But I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. And then we can talk, okay?”
There was a passing moment, and then, “Okay.”
I breathed. “I’ll come and pick you up about—”
“No, send Ms. Martinez like you always do.”
“Okay,” I said, agreeing to Angel’s final term in this negotiation. All that was left to say was what was most important. “I love you, Angel. I love you so much.”
Seconds ticked and ticked and ticked. Then a soft “I love you, too, Mom.” She hung up after that, not giving me a final good-bye. But that was okay because she’d given me something better. She’d given me hope.
My eyes were still on the cell-phone screen when I felt Sheridan’s and Kendall’s arms wrap around me. They stood, one on each side, holding me up, more figuratively than literally. But it was the figurative embrace that I needed the most.
“She’s coming home!”
“Yes, she is,” Sheridan and Kendall said together.
“She’s gonna be okay,” Sheridan said.
“I feel that way,” I said.
Kendall just had to add, “Of course she’s gonna be all right. I mean, how much damage can be done walking in on your mother with her legs spread wide open on a big-screen TV?”
Sheridan and I looked at Kendall.
“What?” she asked.
And then I busted out laughing. I laughed, and laughed and laughed. I laughed so hard I couldn’t stand. I laughed until I fell back onto the front pew. Then I laughed and kicked up my feet. I laughed until I cried.
Sheridan Hart Goodman
Bridges Burned
Chapter
Eighteen
Brock rolled off of me and I felt the release of his weight, but aftershocks still rolled through my body.
How did this man do it? Six years of marriage and he still had me calling out his name . . . every single time.
We were both on our backs, huffing and puffing, our eyes focused on the ceiling. As I lay there, I just hoped that the beat of my heart would soon steady, or else I was going to have to stay in this bed forever.
Minutes had passed by the time I was able to speak. “You know what that was like?” I breathed.
“What?” Brock was as out of breath as I was.
“That was like . . . having room service . . . all night long.”
He laughed and punched his fist into the air. “I’m the man!”
I propped myself up, looked down at him, and didn’t say a word. All I did was stare and think that he was still the finest man I’d ever seen. And I wasn’t saying that just because a part of my body was still shivering. Even absent the afterglow of a toe-curling orgasm, Brock Eugene Goodman was fine and I loved me some him. “So, you’re the man, huh
?”
He grinned.
“Well, good morning, Mister Man.”
He lifted his head and gave me a quick peck with his soft, full lips. “Good morning and Happy Valentine’s Day.”
I smiled. “Valentine’s Day was Friday.”
“And I told you then that we were gonna rock this bed all weekend.” He gave me a side glance. “You didn’t believe me?”
I laughed. “It wasn’t that I didn’t believe you. I just didn’t know that you meant it literally. All Friday night, all yesterday . . .”
He stopped me. “No, yesterday you got out of this bed for two hours, remember? You had to go meet Asia.”
Yeah . . . Brock and I were in the middle of doing our thing when I got the call from Asia. All she’d said was my name, and I could tell that my girl was in trouble. I was just so grateful that Brock understood. He knew that Kendall, Asia, and I were prayer partners from way back. Our friendship was unlikely, but it was the real deal. Whenever one of them called, I went. Brock would even drive me to meet them, if he had to.
But now, being reminded about yesterday and Asia took a bit of my joy away. Thinking about my friend and what she was going through . . . I just prayed that Angel went home today.
Before I became too melancholy, my husband pulled me into his arms. “So you owe me a few more hours, woman! We’re not getting out of bed today.”
“We can’t stay in bed . . . what about church?”
“I have a feeling that God is pleased with what I’m about to do to you.”
I laughed. “This is my gift for marrying a younger man.”
“And you’re my gift for living my life right.”
See? This man, our marriage . . . nothing but perfection. “So, we’re really not going to church?”
“Not today.” He lifted his head up a little and glanced down at me. “You think I’m playing? You have to make up for yesterday. And we’re gonna lose a couple of hours tonight when we go out to dinner with our son and Evon . . .”
I didn’t hear anything he said beyond “our son.” Tingles traveled through my body once again. He’d just given me another orgasm, a mental one. All night he’d shown me how much he loved me. Now he was telling me the same thing, without even mentioning my name.
He loved me and he loved my children. Before he’d even put a ring on it, he’d taken my son, Christopher, and my daughter, Tori, into his heart. He didn’t even meet Christopher until he was sixteen, and Tori when she was ten. But to Brock, Christopher was his son, Tori was his daughter.
Leaning forward, I kissed his nose. “Yes, dinner with Christopher and Evon and wedding plans. I hope they won’t be insulted when we tell them that we want to help.”
Brock shook his head. “Nope, they won’t be. They’re smart enough to take our money.”
I laughed and then swung my legs over the side of the bed. Glancing over my shoulder, I said, “I’m going to get coffee. Do you want anything?”
He gave me one of those dirty-old-man sneers.
I slapped his arm. “We just finished.”
“Yeah, but I already told you what’s about to go down. Are you telling me that you’re not up to it?” he challenged me.
“Oh, now see.” I stood and grabbed my robe from the lounger across the bedroom. “You’re gonna make me come back in here and hurt you.”
He laughed. “Bring it on. And, oh, yeah, bring me some coffee, too.”
I scampered out of the room and dashed through the cool house. Usually by now the rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the first floor of our home. My mom, one of those six a.m. risers, always got the coffee going. But my mom had gone to San Francisco to spend a few weeks with my brother and his family. So, coffee duty was on me.
Not having my coffee ready when I rolled out of bed was only one of the things that I missed when my mom was away, but I had to admit, it was wonderful having the house to ourselves this weekend. With Christopher living on his own, and Tori back at school at Hampton University, Brock and I had traipsed through the house naked all weekend. And I guess we were going to spend most of today that way, too. Maybe today we’d try to cover every single room.
I shuddered just thinking about it, but then the ringing telephone broke through my moment. I didn’t even realize I’d left my cell in the kitchen, and I grabbed it from the counter.
“Sheridan?” the woman said right after I said hello.
Since I didn’t recognize the voice, I said, “Who’s speaking?” before I committed myself. Not that I was hiding from anyone. All of our bills were paid, no one in the family was running from the police. But if someone was calling my house, they needed to identify themselves first.
“This is Harmony.”
Her image came right to my mind. The voluptuous woman who’d come to my home on Christmas and just about ruined our Christmas brunch. Not that it was her fault. I didn’t know her, and she didn’t know me.
But she’d shown up at Christmas with my ex-husband, Quentin. And that had been a shocker. I couldn’t get over the fact that Quentin had come to my home with a woman that he introduced as his fiancée. Not that I didn’t want happiness for Quentin, but with a woman?
The man was gay!
At least that’s what he told me when he walked out of our seventeen-year marriage, back in 2004, leaving me to pick up the emotional pieces.
But he’d come here on Christmas professing that he was no longer gay. Well, he didn’t exactly say that. That was my guess since he was talking about marrying this much younger woman as soon as this coming June.
“Sheridan?” she called my name.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Harmony. I’m just surprised . . .”
“I’m sure you are. I’m probably the last person you expected to hear from.”
“That’s true,” and then I paused, stopping myself from asking, What in the world do you want?
“I hate to bother you so early on a Sunday,” Harmony said.
“That’s fine, we’re awake.”
“Good.” I heard her relief-filled exhale. “I’ve been thinking about calling you for the last few weeks . . . I just kept changing my mind. But today I decided to just do it.”
“Okay?” That word came out like a question instead of a statement, but that was because truly, I just wanted her to get to the point.
“I’m hoping . . . I would like . . . Sheridan, can we get together for lunch? There are some things . . . I would just like for us to talk.”
There was not one thing that Harmony and I had to talk about. And then I put that thought in reverse. There was something—Quentin Hart.
Yeah, we could talk about Quentin because I had some questions myself. I’d tried to get my questions answered at Christmas. All through our brunch, I’d asked Harmony if she’d known that Quentin was gay, I’d asked if Quentin had really changed, I’d asked if she really expected to have children with this man. But from my mother to my children, everyone had jumped all over me, saying that what was going on with Quentin was none of my business. And so none of my questions had been answered.
But if it was just me and Harmony, maybe I’d be able to find out the whole truth. Because my gut told me something was going on.
When I hesitated, she hurried to say, “I mean, I know you probably think it’s crazy, the fiancée calling the ex-wife, and it’s probably a dumb idea because we don’t even know each other. You must think I’m foolish. You know what? I’m sorry to disturb you and—”
“No,” I inserted, stopping her jabbering. “It’s fine. I would love to get together with you.”
“Oh, thank you!” she said as if she’d been holding her breath. “Thank you so much.”
“When do you want to do it?”
“I was thinking the sooner the better, if that’s all right with you.”
I wanted to tell her to
come right over now, but the problem was that my husband was here. And he’d already told me his plans for today.
“Can I call you back tonight or tomorrow? I have to find out my work schedule for the week.”
“Sure,” I said, and then, with a few more words, we said good-bye. I dropped the phone back into the receiver and stood there, leaning on the counter, thinking about every word she’d said. She’d given me no clue about what she wanted, but that didn’t matter. I had enough questions for the both of us.
After our fiasco at Christmas, everyone asked me why did I care about Quentin? It wasn’t that I cared about him. It was just that for the life of me, I couldn’t understand. Even after all of these years, I couldn’t wrap my mind around what had happened. When after all those years of a wonderful marriage, he’d told me that while he loved me, he’d fallen in love with Jett Jennings, one of our friends.
With one of my best uppercuts from kickboxing, I’d knocked him down, and then kicked him out that same day. Then I went to work to heal my heart and I met Brock during that time. So, I was good. My life was great and I was fine.
There was just that one nagging, lagging question that had been in my mind since the moment Quentin had looked me in the eye and told me he was gay . . . did I do anything to make my husband switch teams?
And then, just when I was beginning to finally dismiss my question as ridiculous, Quentin shows up with a woman that he wants to marry. Now I couldn’t stop asking myself what part did I play in Quentin being gay?
I know, I know . . . that question was stupid, absurd, preposterous. But that question was in my heart and everyone knows that the heart isn’t always smart.
So meeting Harmony . . . maybe talking to her would help me. If I could get my questions answered, I’d be able to move on. I’d never look back at Quentin or our life together.
Forget about the coffee! I scurried back into the bedroom to tell Brock.
• • •
“No!”
“What?”
“No,” Brock repeated, even after I’d asked him for clarification. Then he continued, “I mean it, Sheridan, don’t do it.”
Forever An Ex Page 13
