Before the waiter approached their table, Quentin waved him away. She looked at the glass of water in front of him. “Are you eating?”
“I’m not hungry.” He paused, then added, “I haven’t had an appetite for a few days. Anyway,” he said, “let’s get this over with.”
She nodded. “First, I want to tell you, Quentin, that I’m sorry for the way I’ve handled this.”
He looked as if he didn’t care about the words she spoke, as if he just wanted to get to the point.
“Are you going to let me see my children or…” His unfinished sentence made his point.
“Quentin, why are you so angry?”
He leaned forward, and the heat in his eyes made her lean away. “Why do you think? You’re trying to keep me from my children, and I won’t have it.”
She wanted to remind him that only one of his children wanted to see him, but that would only increase their divide. “I don’t want to keep the children from you, Quentin.”
Although his jaw remained stiff, his eyes softened, lightened; she could see the brown speckles once again.
She continued, “I want you to see Tori and Christopher anytime. You’re their father, and no matter what has happened between us, you’re not divorcing them. You’re divorcing me.”
Now, his eyes said, I’m sorry.
“But…”
All his hardness returned.
“Tori cannot spend the night with you…and Jett.”
He leaned back in his chair, pushing against it as if he needed to get away from her. “How can you tell me that?”
Because I’m her mother. “Because I’m responsible for her.”
“And I’m not?”
“Not the way you used to be.”
“So you’re still going to use our children to punish me.”
“It’s not about that. I want you to have a relationship with them. I just won’t allow Tori to spend the night in the house with you and Jett.”
“What do you think I’m going to do to her?” he asked, as if her words offended him.
“Nothing, but I think by her being there, we’ll both be saying we agree with the lifestyle you’ve chosen. We’ll be telling her it’s okay. And to me, it’s not.”
His was a bitter-laced chuckle. “You’re actually sitting there judging me.”
“No, I’m not. You’ve made a decision I’m not happy with and I’m working hard to live with it. But I’m still responsible for teaching my children what I think is right and wrong.”
“No matter what you call it, it’s judgment.”
“Is it judgment just because I don’t agree with you?”
He paused. “Call it whatever you want, but you’re saying it’s wrong for me to be living with a man.”
It is. “I wouldn’t feel any differently if you were living with a woman,” she said, although she wondered if her words were true. “I don’t want Tori in situations that will confuse her.”
“She’s not confused. She’s accepted this. She understands.”
“Don’t fool yourself. Tori doesn’t understand a thing. But she doesn’t have to, because no matter what, she loves you.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to allow you to tell me when I can see my children.”
With her eyes she pleaded for understanding. But with a strong voice, she said, “I’m not trying to hurt you, but I will fight to protect Tori and Christopher.”
He pushed back in his chair and raised his eyebrows, surprised by her declaration. “Fight? This doesn’t even sound like you, Sheridan. Who have you been listening to? Kamora? Your brother?”
It amazed her how he picked those two. “I talked to them, but it wasn’t until I listened to God that I made this decision.”
He sat silent, staring, waiting for her to come to her right mind.
“Quentin, I mean it when I say you can see the children anytime. Just not in the house with you overnight while you’re there with your…Jett.”
Quentin stood. “Remember one thing, Sheridan. You don’t hold all the cards. Our divorce is not final and if I wanted to play with you the way you’re playing with me, I could make things…difficult. He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table. “I’d think about that if I were you.”
She didn’t turn to watch him walk away from her. She just sat waiting until she was sure he was out of the restaurant and away from the parking lot. She just sat waiting, and knowing that this awful dream had ended. Her life had just twisted into a nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-five
There was no surprise on Beatrice’s face when she opened the door.
“Hi, Mom.”
Beatrice hugged her daughter, then followed Sheridan into the living room.
Sheridan sank into the couch, relishing the comfort of the familiar. She wanted to take a moment to remember her life here—from the time she was nine until she left for college, and all the wonderful days in between.
“Aren’t you wondering why I’m here?” she finally asked her mother.
“Do you need a reason to visit?”
Sheridan shook her head. “But I don’t just drop by.”
“Maybe you should more often.”
Sheridan closed her eyes. “Mom, life is hard.”
Beatrice chuckled. “If you’re just learning that, then you’ve had a wonderful life. Some people learn that lesson before they’re able to brush their teeth.”
“Hey, I didn’t know you were here,” Cameron said, as he entered the room and hugged his daughter.
“Hi, Daddy. How’re you feeling?”
“I’m great. Now what about you?” He sat on the ottoman facing her.
She shook her head. “I was about to tell Mom. I just left Quentin; I told him I’m not going to let Tori spend the night with him and…anyway, it wasn’t good. I’m afraid he may take me to court.”
“Did you pray about it before you talked to him?” Cameron asked.
Sheridan nodded. “For hours.”
“And this is the answer you got from God.”
“I’m sure of it, Daddy,” she said with a strength she hadn’t felt all afternoon.
Cameron slapped his knees. “Then you did the right thing. If it’s from God, it’s right. And He’ll take you all the way through this.”
“Daddy, I never asked you, and I know Mom’s opinion, but what do you think?”
“I think you’ve done the right thing by going to God.”
“I mean about Quentin. About his being…about what has happened.”
Cameron remained silent.
Sheridan said, “Quentin says he was born this way.”
Still, silence was Cameron’s response.
“Please, Daddy. I’m not asking you what to do. I just want to know what you think.”
Finally, he spoke. “Quentin’s right. He was born that way.” His words surprised her, but then he continued. “He was born that way—just like the rest of us. Born into sin.” Cameron moved to the edge of his seat. “What I mean, Sheridan, is that Quentin wasn’t born a homosexual. But he was born into sin, and homosexuality is the sin that he struggles with. But most people struggle with some sort of sexual sin—homosexuality, fornication, adultery, pornography. The list goes on. Our challenge as Christians is to fight through that sin, whatever it is. And call the devil a liar.”
“But Quentin says it’s not sexual for him. He says that his attraction to…men is not about who he sleeps with.”
Cameron stood and waved his hand. “That’s bull.”
She sat back at his words.
He continued, as he marched in front of Sheridan and Beatrice, “It’s just Quentin’s way of justifying the sin. Just like people who say fornication is okay because times have changed. I could come up with a thousand excuses for every sin out there.”
Beatrice looked at Cameron. He took a deep breath and then sat on the ottoman in front of Sheridan again. He took her hands into his. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to go off like t
hat.”
“No,” she said softly. “I’m glad you did. I wanted to know what you thought.”
“I think Quentin needs our prayers. And I think he knows the Lord. With all of that, God will take care of the rest.”
“Do you really think so?”
Beatrice patted her daughter’s hand. “Your father’s right. Look at him and what he’s been through. You know God’s taken care of him. Doesn’t he look good?” Beatrice beamed as she looked at Cameron, and then she added, “Doesn’t he look good for an old man? You know that ain’t nothin’ but God.”
The tension in the room popped like an overinflated balloon. Sheridan laughed with her parents. There was nothing like faith, the faith that her parents had shown her rather than told her about as she grew up.
But as their cheer continued, Sheridan felt sadness inside. Not just from her father’s words, but from her parents’ lives. Next year her parents would be celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary. Forty years of love and life, not without sorrows and troubles. But forty years of making it through.
Forty years. That was something she would never have with Quentin. And she felt cheated. There was so much Quentin had taken away from her. But no matter what he did now, she would make sure that he would never take her children away.
Chapter Twenty-six
Sheridan glanced at the clock and gripped the telephone. It was almost midnight. Christopher was supposed to be home by eleven thirty. She kept her eyes on the grandfather clock until it struck midnight exactly.
She clicked on the telephone and dialed Christopher’s cell again. “Hey, this is Christopher. Holla back.”
She waited for the beep and then said, “Christopher, this is your mother. Call me.”
Sheridan hung up. She didn’t want to give room to worry, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts. He was out with his new friends, whom she still hadn’t met. She should have insisted that they come inside when they picked up Christopher. She should have insisted on getting their telephone numbers.
But she didn’t think any of that was necessary. Christopher had a cell phone. And he knew the rule: to keep his phone on when he was out. Even at the movies, his cell was to be on vibrate.
Something had to be terribly wrong.
She tried to push her uneasiness down under, but it rose in her, creeping until it captured every thought in her mind. Every scenario that could take away her son went through her mind.
She dialed Christopher’s number over and over as she paced. By the time the clock told her Christopher was an hour late, her tears had come.
It was time to call Quentin. They hadn’t spoken since their showdown, although he’d called Tori. But even though their last words were ones of war, that didn’t matter now.
She called Quentin’s cell. “This is Dr. Hart. I’m unavailable…” She hung up and almost screamed.
She dialed again. Same result.
She paged him and waited. But after five minutes he hadn’t returned her call, and she had to work to make sure hysteria didn’t overtake her.
It was more than an hour past curfew, but it might as well have been five hours. Christopher had never done this. Never had been late. Never had not called.
Sheridan tried Christopher’s cell again. Voice mail. She tried Quentin’s cell again. Voice mail. And still no response from his beeper.
Sheridan went into her office and opened the drawer—the drawer with the card. The card with the number. The number she’d taken from the caller ID. Sheridan had vowed never to use the number. Never to call it and be forced to talk to the one who had replaced her.
Fear made her heart quicken as she dialed, fear for her son and fear for what she might hear when the telephone was answered.
“Hello.” It wasn’t the voice of her husband.
Sheridan hung up. A second before she lifted the handset to call the police, the phone rang and she grabbed it without looking.
“Sheridan, did you just call here?”
Caller ID changed the world. “Yes. Christopher’s not home.”
“Where is he?”
“He went out with friends,” she said, fighting to keep her voice low so she wouldn’t awaken Tori. “To the movies.”
“With Nicole?”
“No. He’s been hanging out with a new group. He went to the movies with Brendan and Gary and some of their friends.”
“Who are Brendan and Gary?”
Just another sign that you’re not here. “Guys he’s been hanging out with since…”
“Sheridan, this is what happens when we’re not working together.”
“The last thing I need is a lecture, Quentin. I need to find Christopher. He’s not answering his cell.”
As she spoke, headlights flooded the living room through the drapes as a car eased around the cul-de-sac.
“Wait. This may be Chris now.” Sheridan opened the door as Christopher jumped from the Navigator. He shouted his good-byes to his friends.
“Where have you been?” she asked, her face and voice tight with her anger.
“We took Déjà home. She lives in Pomona and on the way back there was an accident on the sixty.”
“You’re supposed to be home by eleven thirty.”
“Mom, she’s my girl. I can’t let anyone else drop her off.”
Your girl?
“Sheridan!”
She’d forgotten Quentin. “He went to Pomona?” he asked when she put the phone to her ear.
“I guess you heard.”
“Put him on the phone,” he demanded.
Gladly. She held the handset toward Christopher. “It’s your father.” He opened his mouth, but before he could protest, Sheridan said, “And remember you just walked into this house an hour late, without a call. So understand the situation.”
He pressed his lips together and took the phone.
Sheridan crossed her arms and watched as Christopher listened, saying nothing. Minutes passed, and when he handed the phone back to Sheridan, he still hadn’t uttered a word.
“Sheridan, I want to talk to Chris,” Quentin said, as Christopher sprinted up the stairs. “We can’t let this go on. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
You’re kidding, right? “When do you want to come by?”
Quentin continued, “I told Chris I’d be there in the morning. Is that okay?”
She took a breath. There was no way she could handle Christopher alone. And if Quentin didn’t come back into his life now, one day they all might face regret.
“Tomorrow’s fine. My mother is picking Tori up about ten. So come earlier if you want to see her.”
He hesitated. “Thank you, Sheridan,” accepting her attempt at peace.
She hung up, went upstairs, and glanced at Christopher’s door before she opened her own. Part of her wanted to bust into his bedroom and beat him down for filling her with such anxiety. But tonight was not the time. Right now all she wanted to do was climb into bed. All she wanted to do was find some peace. But she had a feeling that peace was a long ways away.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Pancakes just seemed to be in order.
Sheridan couldn’t remember the last time she’d awakened on a Saturday and had the urge to prepare a full breakfast. But by nine she’d awakened Christopher and Tori with the aroma of blueberries and sausages.
As Sheridan placed the pancakes on the table, she heard it. The sound she’d listened for over the years—Quentin’s car, pulling into the driveway. Her husband coming home.
When he put his key in the door, Tori’s eyes widened. “Daddy’s here?” It was a mixture of pleasant surprise and caution.
“Yes, to see you.” She paused. “And Christopher.”
With her concern gone, Tori raced to the door.
Sheridan eyed her son. “Your father told you he was coming over, right?”
“Yeah,” he groaned.
“Christopher, lose the attitude. After last night you’re facing serious pu
nishment. Keep that in mind.”
Quentin came to the kitchen’s doorway with Tori by his side. “Good morning.”
Sheridan smiled; Christopher moaned.
In their past, at this moment he would kiss her. In the present he returned her smile and pulled out the chair next to Tori. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.” Sheridan sat and joined her family, as she’d done for years.
It was a one-sided conversation. One side of the table—Tori and Quentin—chatted about school and the dance recital and how she was beating all of her friends at chess. The other side of the table—Christopher and Sheridan—picked at the pancakes and sausages and scrambled eggs.
Quentin asked, “What’s been going on with you, Chris?” Sheridan eyed him. “I mean Christopher,” he said.
Christopher shrugged and fork-stabbed his eggs.
“How are your classes?”
“Fine.”
“How’s your golf game coming?”
It was the first time Christopher looked directly at his father. “I don’t play anymore. I’m into basketball now.”
Quentin sat back, shocked by the news. “I thought you loved golf.”
You don’t get any of this. Sheridan explained, “He plays basketball a lot…with his new friends.”
“Oh.”
Sheridan said, “Tori, go get your bag. Your grandmother will be here in a few minutes.”
“Do I have to go?” Tori whined.
“This was your idea, sweetie. You asked her to take you shopping for the recital.”
“But I didn’t know Daddy was going to be here.” She beamed at Quentin as if he were a national hero.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he said. “We’ll get together tomorrow after church.” He looked at Sheridan as he said, “I’ll take you to lunch.”
“Great.” Tori ran to her room.
Christopher stood, dumped his plate into the sink, and then moved toward the door.
“Christopher, we want to talk to you,” Sheridan said before he could disappear.
He turned, looking only at his mother. “Can I at least get dressed?” he demanded.
You’re not going to get a reduced sentence that way. “Be back here in five minutes.”
Grown Folks Business Page 19
