Through the Fire

by Donna Hill

  “I know.”

  An unspoken understanding hung between them.

  “Uh, before I put him on the phone I wanted to talk with you about something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, the holidays will be coming up before you know it, and Taylor and I were planning on spending them in New York with my folks. We figured since Jamel will be out of school, he could spend the two-week break with you. I mean if you don’t have any plans.”

  “No, no plans. Sure he can stay.” He swallowed. “That would be great, Max, really.”

  She exhaled. “And I was hoping we could…all get together while we were there…for dinner or something.”

  “All…as in?”

  “In me, you, Taylor, and Jamel…and whoever you’re seeing.”

  “I’ll have to let you know on that one, Max.”

  “Fine. But at least think about it.”

  “Yeah. No doubt.”

  “Um, Jamel is going to have a baby sister or brother in about six months,” she said in a rush.

  If he’d been standing he would have fallen. A hundred thoughts flew through his head at once, the main one being that he never imagined Maxine as the mother of any child other than his. It was still hard for him to think of her as someone else’s woman—wife, even after all this time and everything that had happened between them.

  “Q?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He paused. “Congrats, Max. I’m…happy for you. Feelin’ okay?”

  She giggled. “Just the usual, hungry, tired, and sick.” She laughed again. “But Taylor is thrilled.”

  I bet he is, Quinn thought not unkindly. He’d never had that experience with her, with any woman. A flash of jealousy reared its green head, and the old anger that he’d felt toward her for keeping the knowledge of his son from him resurfaced—the years he’d lost.

  “Anyway, it was good talking to you, Q. Here’s Jamel.”

  If there was one thing he remembered about Maxine, she knew how to drop the bombs.

  “Hi, Daddy!”

  At the sound of his son’s voice, all thoughts of worry and regret drifted to the background, at least for the time he listened to the escapades of a six-year-old who still didn’t have a care in the world. But after the conversation, Quinn grew increasingly restless, pacing the confines of his duplex apartment like a hungry, caged tiger. It was nearly midnight. He was too wound up to sleep and couldn’t stand the silence of being with himself any longer.

  The avenues were still teeming with activity even on a Wednesday night. He drove aimlessly for a while with no particular destination in mind. He stopped for a light and noticed the sign for Encore. People moved in and out, laughing and talking, some forming a short line to get in, and he wondered if Rae was inside.

  He parked the Jeep two blocks away and walked back, figuring that would give him enough time to change his mind, but he didn’t, and found himself seated at a table shortly after. The club wasn’t as crowded as it had been on the weekend, only a few tables were filled as others sat at the bar. He placed an order for his standard Jack Daniel’s and a plate of buffalo wings and was served promptly.

  A small jazz combo held center stage, playing a medley of John Coltrane tunes and not particularly well, in Quinn’s estimation, but who could? He took a sip of his drink and finished off the last of the wings.

  He scanned the crowd, and periodically watched the door, hoping that he’d spot Rae, and hoping that he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what to say to her. Yet he needed to talk to her, tell her about Maxine and her news, how it made him feel. He frowned at a sudden realization. He’d never told Rae about Jamel, about Maxine…about much of anything. It was always easier to listen to her, go along with the program when he felt like it, and keep himself to himself. Sure he talked, but not about his life, or any of the people in it. Just about things—all the things that weren’t important.

  “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “Handsome fella like you shouldn’t be talkin’ to himself. Need to have a fine woman sitting here witchu,” came a raspy voice, reduced to a hoarse whisper from years of booze and cigarettes.

  Quinn slowly turned his head in the direction of the intruder, and gradually looked up the length of the slight frame of a woman until he reached her face and rested on her eyes. Something inside him shifted uncomfortably. In the dimness she almost reminded him of someone but he couldn’t place her.

  She was holding one of those big plastic bins that dirty dishes were loaded into, and it looked to weigh more than she did. “Seen you here once before, with a pretty thing, performs here sometimes. Right?” she asked, adjusting the weight of the bin against her narrow hip.

  “Hmm.” He didn’t feel like talking, especially to her. There was something about her that bugged him.

  “I try to notice people, remember faces,” she continued, ignoring the fact that she was being ignored. “And I’d never forget yours. Knew somebody who looked a lot like you a long time ago. But that was another life. Always wonder how he’s doing, though, what became of him.”

  Quinn looked up at her, the sudden melancholy of her voice catching him by surprise. He tried to make out her features in the dimly lit room, but couldn’t.

  “Well, you have a good evenin’.” She ambled off, and Quinn felt the urge to go after her, demand that she tell him more.

  Instead he tossed down the rest of his drink, threw some money on the table, and walked out, thankful for the rush of a cool breeze to lower the sudden rise in his temperature.

  He glanced several times over his shoulder, having the strange sensation that the woman would suddenly leap out of the shadows and whisper something he didn’t want to hear. He shuddered and headed for his car. Today was a day he’d rather forget.

  But he wouldn’t.

  Chapter 8

  For a full seven days Rae hoped that Quinn would call. Every evening when she came in from rehearsal she’d rush to her answering machine and check for his message. There were none. Each morning she’d rise and know that today was the day, and each night she’d turn out the lights—disappointed.

  She hadn’t meant to fall in love with him, but she had. There was no denying it. And the wider the chasm grew between them, the deeper she sunk back into that place she had never wanted to revisit. She’d made several attempts to call him, but backed out, sure that she’d be devastated if he didn’t say the things she needed to hear—Rae, I need you in my life, I want to live again.

  So she buried herself in her music, working grueling hours and driving everyone mad with her demands for perfection, for change, for more. Nothing seemed to work for her.

  “What is wrong with you, Rae?” her friend and music partner Gail asked as she sat opposite her at Rae’s kitchen table, watching her open and close the fridge, wipe down clean counters, and rewash dishes. “You’re acting like someone on the edge, snapping at everyone, working everybody to death. And look at you, you’re a mess.”

  It was Gail who insisted that they cut the rehearsal session short, overriding Rae’s insistence that they stay and get it right, not caring how long it took. It was Gail who drove Rae home, determined to get to the bottom of what was going on with her friend.

  “Nothing,” Rae mumbled, keeping her back to Gail as she wiped down the stovetop for the third time. “Want something to eat or drink?”

  “No. What I want is for you to talk to me. I haven’t seen you like this since…Sterling and Akia.”

  Rae’s back stiffened.

  “You did the same thing then, went into a work frenzy until everyone was leery of even being in the same room with you. All you wanted to talk about was work, music, the next project, as if that would somehow make everything go away.”

  “Well, it did.”

  “Did it? Really? I don’t think so and neither do you. If you’re honest.”

  Those were some of the most difficult days of her life, Rae thought. At the time she was certain she wouldn’t
survive. “An accident,” the police said. You don’t lose your family, your life by accident. A simple trip to the local bodega for some sandwiches and sodas had turned into a shootout that left the assailant and her husband and daughter dead.

  Sterling Lindsay had been her first love. They’d known each other since high school. She could still remember the first time he kissed her at the senior prom and she knew then and there that he was the man she would marry. He was handsome, kind, generous, and a tender lover.

  But she had to admit, they had their problems during their eight years of marriage. Sterling was from the old school that believed it was the man who was the head of the household, the breadwinner, the provider, the decision maker. Her role was simple: be happy, take care of hearth and home. Though he tolerated her musical career, he didn’t really support it. They’d had more blowups than she cared to remember regarding her steady upward climb in the entertainment field.

  “Why can’t you be as proud of me as I am of you, Sterling?” she’d ranted as she tried to get ready for the American Music Awards ceremony. The car was due to pick them up any minute.

  Sterling sat on the edge of the bed still in his work clothes, making no attempt to put on the tux she’d laid out for him. He lit a cigarette. “Of course I’m proud of you,” he said with a total lack of conviction.

  “Then why do we always have to go through this? You make me feel as if I’m doing something so horribly wrong. I love what I do. You know that.”

  “And what about Akia and me?” he tossed back. “What do you think happens to us when you spend hours at the studio, come home bone tired, and fall into bed, when you travel all over the place behind these so-called artists? You take care of everyone else, Rae. What about us?”

  “I love you and Akia,” she said, feeling totally helpless. “What can I do differently? How can I make things better?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes. Tell me.”

  “Remember why you married me,” he said simply, then got up from the bed and walked out of the room.

  She was torn. Torn between her love for her family and her love for her work. She didn’t want to give up either. Maybe Sterling was right, she thought, stepping into her gown. Maybe she did put too much effort into her work and not enough into her family. Was she depriving Akia of a real mother, and Sterling a real wife? But she couldn’t think about that now. Tonight was too important. They’d work all this out later.

  She heard the doorbell and the low voice of her husband when it was answered. She went to the top of the stairs.

  “Your car is here,” Sterling said and walked away.

  She came down to find him in the living room with Akia, seated comfortably in front of the television. Akia looked beautiful in the party dress Rae had picked out especially for the occasion.

  “So you’re not coming?”

  Sterling looked up at her dispassionately. “No.”

  Rae tugged in a breath. “Come on, sweetie, it’s time to go,” she said to her daughter.

  “She’s not going either.”

  Rae opened her mouth to protest, but knew it would be pointless, and she didn’t want to argue in front of Akia. He was just doing this to punish her, to make her feel guilty. He never could understand how important her career was to her, how hard she worked to achieve her goals. He would love it if she just stayed home and made babies and had a hot meal on the table every night. But she had a future, and she wouldn’t let his jealousy stop her.

  She walked over to where Akia was huddled on the love seat. “Listen, sweetie,” she began, adjusting her daughter’s thick pigtails behind her shoulders. “Mommy has to go, but I know Daddy has some real treats for you, and you’re going to have a great time.”

  “Why can’t I go?” Akia whined, her eyes filling with tears. “You promised.”

  “I know, baby.” She glanced up at Sterling, who stared back at her, daring her to choose. “I’m sorry. But there will be other special nights. Just me and you, okay?”

  Akia nodded numbly and curled up tighter in the chair. Rae hugged her daughter close, raining kisses on her cheeks until Akia finally giggled in delight. She gave one last look at Sterling and walked out. It was the last time she saw either of them.

  Rae breathed in deeply, trying to push the memories away. Slowly, she turned around to face Gail.

  “I think I’m in love with him, Gail, and I don’t think he can love me back.”

  “How do you know he can’t, or that he doesn’t?”

  Rae laughed halfheartedly and slowly unfolded the events of the past two months—Quinn’s physical presence but emotional distance.

  “It’s me and Sterling all over again,” Rae said. “And what makes it so sad is that for the first time since…I began to take a chance on feeling again. I get excited about each day, hearing his voice, watching his face when I tell him about some new music I’m working on. He understands how important it is to me, and at the same time he’s turned off by it. And I can’t give it up. My music is all I have. It’s what keeps me going, breathing almost.”

  “I hear a but in there somewhere.”

  “But I still want him, all of him. Not just what’s left. And I know there is so much more that he’s unwilling to share.”

  “Maybe unable, Rae. If I remember correctly the news articles said he lost his wife a few years ago, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, the same time as me. Ironic, huh?”

  “Maybe, and maybe it’s why you two stumbled across each other. The thing is, you both have found your own way to deal with your losses. You have to admit, Rae, you’re single-minded, always have been and became more so when you lost Sterling and Akia. You turned to the one thing that had always been a constant in your life—your work. Perhaps he can’t. Perhaps he associates it with the pain in his life and can’t or won’t deal with it. Men for all their outward machismo hurt a helluva lot more on the inside than we do, and it takes them longer to heal.”

  Rae was quiet for a moment, thinking back to all the times she would go on and on about what she was doing, how great things were going, and he would simply listen, maybe smile. Every now and then he would ask her to play something, but he’d never come near the piano, as if afraid of getting burned. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d asked him to come to the studio or have drinks with her and the band after a session. He’d come twice, and he’d been aloof, almost sullen. Maybe Gail was right. But she believed it was even more than that. What that something was she had no idea.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Gail probed, seeing the faraway look in Rae’s eyes.

  “Just trying to put the pieces together. Funny, it was so easy for him to let me go when I told him I couldn’t deal with what was going on with us. I told him he needed to make a choice. He chose to let me go.”

  Gail let the words hang in the air, until Rae heard them herself. I told him he had to make a choice. Realization slowly passed across her face and settled. She shut her eyes in acceptance. An image of that last night with Sterling and Akia flashed through her head like a bolt of lightning. Sterling had forced me to choose.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered weakly.

  “You have a chance to do things differently this time, Rae, if you really want to. Quinn needs to know how you feel. You need to be honest about that, not just to him but to yourself. Have you slept with him?” she asked cautiously.

  “No.”

  “That’s not a bad thing. Cuts down on the complications. Gives you the opportunity to think with your heart and not your body.”

  Rae smiled warmly. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to, believe me. The man turns me on in my sleep.”

  “So then why haven’t you two…”

  “It’s almost like we’ve been dancing around each other. Being overly polite, while staying on simmer. It’s as if we both understand that if we make love it’s not about one night. Not for us. And it’s scary as all hell.”


  Mrs. Finch had watched him over the past week sink back to that place where no one could reach him. She’d heard him walk the floors at night, had seen the hollowness return to his eyes, the look he had when they met, the look he had when he lost his wife. And no amount of running to the supermarket was going to take it away.

  “Seems like something heavy on your mind, son,” Mrs. Finch said, finding Quinn sitting on the stoop staring at nothing. She began to sweep.

  “Naw. Not really,” he said absently.

  “Hmmm. It’s a sin to lie to an old woman,” she warned.

  Quinn couldn’t help but chuckle. She knew him too well. “So you’re callin’ me a sinner now,” he teased.

  She flashed him an accusatory look. “If the shoe fits.” She swept a perfectly clean spot and scanned the quiet tree-lined block. “Funny about life, huh? On the outside things seem so plain. But that ain’t never the case. Life is complicated, full of twists and turns, surprises…people.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” he mumbled, wondering where this conversation was heading.

  “Take you, for example.”

  Uh-oh, here it comes. He glanced at her. “What about me?”

  “Look how you came into my life. Wasn’t under the best of circumstances—after losing your sister and all. But it was right here that your life took a turn. Mine, too. At the time, who knew how things was gonna work out? But they did. Always do if you give them a chance and some time. Let folks in.”

  She moved toward the gate. “For every loss something comes along to take its place. It’s just the way the world works. But you have to be ready. Or you lose that chance.”

  “Sometimes you get tired of losing, Mrs. Finch. Get tired of starting over, picking up the pieces. Ya know?”

  “I know, son.” She turned toward him. “That’s why the Lord sees fit to put folks in our way to help us.” She smiled. “If ya let ’em. Life is real hard when you live it alone, Quinten.”