“That would be good for you and the children.”
“Definitely for Tori. But Christopher…” Sheridan sighed. “He concerns me. He won’t speak to Quentin.”
“He’ll come around. There’ll come a time when Chris will need his father, and Quentin will be right there for him. Are you having any challenges with Tori or Chris in school?”
Sheridan shook her head. “Both of them are maintaining their grades. Chris quit the golf team and…” She paused just before she told Pastor Ford about Déjà.
Christopher had been off punishment for more than a week, and from what Sheridan could see, he spent as much time with Déjà as he could. But her plan remained, and the first piece was to arrange some events he and Nicole could do together. Once Christopher started seeing Nicole again, Déjà would become a bad memory. Sheridan continued, “Except for Chris and Quentin, the children are really doing fine, Pastor.”
Pastor Ford smiled. “I am proud of you, Sheridan. You’re handling this with your head up. And with all the class that I knew you had.”
It was a small bit of guilt that rained on her when she remembered how she had called Francesca and Jane biddies. Pastor Ford wouldn’t think that was very classy.
The pastor prayed before she hugged Sheridan with admonitions that she call if she needed anything.
“See you later, Etta-Marie,” Sheridan said, as she rushed through the office. At the door she was almost knocked off her feet when she bumped into a gentleman entering.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to steady herself.
The UPS man reached out and helped her regain her balance. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Sheridan said, and finally looked up. The man held two brown packages in his hand. But even with their collision, he stood steady. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Sheridan frowned.
He continued, “You almost knocked me over a couple of weeks ago.” There was a chuckle in his voice.
“I don’t think it was me.”
“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t forget you. I think you were upset…about something.”
And then Sheridan remembered. Her first meeting with Pastor Ford. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No problem.” He held out his hand. “I’m Brock. Brock Goodman.”
“I’m Sheridan.” Still he held her hand, held her gaze. “Well,” she said, pulling away. It took her a couple of seconds to find something to say. “Have a blessed day.”
She could feel his stare as she walked away. And even when she was outside, the way he looked at her stayed in her mind.
At her car she dropped her keys, then fumbled, finally unlocking her car. At that moment, the UPS truck pulled up beside her.
“Excuse me, Sheridan?”
Oh no. She turned around and smiled. “Yes?”
“I forgot to tell you something.” He stared again, letting too many moments pass. “You look great in that suit.”
If Kamora had been standing there, Sheridan would have kissed her. She was grateful to her best friend for two reasons: this was another one of those spree outfits, and she wouldn’t have it on at all today if she weren’t meeting Kamora for dinner at Crustacean.
“Thank you,” she said. “And you look rather nice yourself—in that uniform.”
He chuckled. “You’re one of those women who love men in uniform?”
“Not until now.” Another reason to thank Kamora. It was obvious some of her friend’s best lines had stayed with her. Sheridan could almost see the heat rise under Brock’s milk chocolate skin.
“Listen, Sheridan, I was on my way to lunch. Would you like to join me?”
She stepped back a bit. “No, I’m sorry. I’m married.”
She noticed the way his eyes roamed to her left hand and he stared at her ringless fingers.
“I’m almost divorced.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to explain.
“Then you’re not married.” He grinned. “And anyway, I’m not looking for a wife. I’m not even asking you out. Just thought you had to eat lunch sometime today and so do I. So we might as well do it together.”
She couldn’t help but smile. Still, she declined.
“Okay.” He revved the truck’s engine. “Let me know if you ever change your mind.”
She watched the truck roll down the street and wondered how in the world she could let him know. Besides his name, and that he worked for UPS, she knew nothing else.
“Good thing,” she said as she got into her car. “With the way I’ve been feeling, what I could do with him over lunch would be illegal.” She giggled at the thought and looked in the rearview mirror.
That was fun.
She fluffed out her hair with her fingers and started her car. For the first time since Quentin left, she remembered that she was a woman.
Chapter Thirty-one
Jane Jones sauntered into the church bathroom, but the moment she saw Sheridan, she turned so fast, she bumped into the wall.
Sheridan bit her tongue to keep from laughing.
That’s what you get, Sheridan thought as Jane rushed away. Then another quick thought followed: Forgive me, Lord.
She’d just left church and admonished herself for laughing at Jane. But it felt delicious. The entire morning had been good—the best Sunday since Quentin had left. Sheridan was sure most people had heard something by now. Almost three months had passed and she was sure the rumor mill was churning. Although it still bothered her, she realized she couldn’t control it. So for weeks now she’d sat in the services, ignoring the real stares and the imagined whispers, and was simply grateful that God was using time to slowly heal her heart.
Sheridan wrapped her purse strap over her shoulder and rushed out of the bathroom. “Excuse me,” she said the moment she stepped into the hallway and collided with someone.
“No problem, Sheridan. I was hoping to bump into you.”
It took her a moment to recognize the voice, then the man. “Brock, right?” she said, surprised that she remembered his name. Weeks had passed since he’d stopped her on the street. “I didn’t recognize you—”
“Without my uniform,” he said, his lips moving into a one-sided smile.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” She laughed.
He put one hand above her and leaned against the wall. “I kinda like bumping into you.”
“Really?” Her tone left no doubt she was flirting too. “Why’s that?” Sheridan, what is wrong with you? “By the way, what are you doing here? I didn’t know you attended Hope Chapel.”
“You don’t know anything about me. I think we should change that.”
Sheridan smiled and then noticed Francesca gawking from a few feet away. She tightened the strap of her purse. “Well, Brock, it was good seeing you again.”
He looked over his shoulder, following her gaze. When he looked back at Sheridan, he said, “Why don’t we grab a cup of coffee…or something.”
Sheridan’s glance moved back to Francesca, who had not taken her eyes away from them. Right now she needed her children. But both had deserted her; Tori was with Sheridan’s parents and Christopher had run off as soon as services ended.
“No, I don’t think so,” she finally answered Brock.
“What are you afraid of, Ms. Sheridan?” he asked, lowering his voice. His question felt seductive.
“Not you,” she said softly, and wondered again what she was doing.
“Then let’s meet at Starbucks. The one in Ladera. Do you know it?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you there.” Am I crazy?
“Do I have to follow you to make sure you get there?”
“Nope. I know the way.”
He nodded. “Just remember, if you don’t show up, I know where you go to church.”
She laughed and sauntered toward Francesca.
“Sheridan, good to see you.” Those were the first words Francesca had spoken to her since the biddy incident.
“Good to see you to
o,” Sheridan said, not stopping, even though Francesca tried to block her path.
“Ah, wait a minute. That gentleman you were talking to. He looks familiar…”
Sheridan walked away without responding.
During the five-minute ride to Starbucks, she continued to question her mental state. But another part of her felt as if it was being awakened from a long sleep. She was doing something she’d never done before. In the Starbucks parking lot she checked her makeup, fluffed her hair. “I’m just going to have a quick cup of coffee,” she told herself.
She slid from her SUV and noticed the men who made it their job to watch women enter the coffee shop. As she walked past the gawkers, she felt their eyes and she was pleased.
Sheridan walked in and looked around. No sign of Brock. She was surprised. She’d driven slowly and then stayed in the car for several minutes.
What if he doesn’t show up?
“This was stupid,” she whispered.
“Were you talking to me?”
Her smile was immediate when she looked up. “No, I was talking to myself.”
He laughed. “I think the two of us will make much better conversation.”
She loved his confidence—the way he asked what she wanted, then paid for her Frappuccino and carried her drink as he led the way to a table he chose.
“So, Mr. Goodman, what’s your story?” she asked, as she sat and pretended to be Kamora.
He shrugged. “I was born and raised in D.C., but my grandmother moved here, and a few years ago I followed her to make sure she was okay.”
“You came across the country to be with your grandmother?”
He sipped his coffee and shrugged. “Family is important to me.”
“Do you have one?” She twirled her cup in her hand.
“One what?”
“A family?”
“Yeah, my grandmother and my parents, who still live in D.C. I have a younger brother who visits every summer.” He paused. “But that’s not what you were asking. You wanna know if I have a wife and kids.”
“Do you?”
“No. Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“Obviously, I did. I got an answer, didn’t I?”
He nodded. “Yeah, you’re good. So what’s your story?”
She shrugged the same way he did. “I don’t have a wife.” She paused when he laughed. “But I have two children, neither old enough to vote.”
“Too bad. I’ve been working with the NAACP to register voters for this election. We’re going to need all the votes we can get to win this one.”
Sheridan put her drink down. “So you’re interested in politics?”
“Very much so. Every black person in this country should be. So much is at stake.”
As he continued to chat about what he thought about the president and the California election that recalled the governor, Sheridan sat amazed. This was not the conversation she expected from the man in the brown uniform with the shoulder-length locks and a body that looked like he spent as many hours working out as he did working. But she was engrossed in his words, sharing her opinion and debating whether one vote really counted.
“The two thousand election showed just how important each vote is. Barely five hundred votes put Bush in office.”
She nodded, but said nothing. She hadn’t known that. He said, “I like the fact that Pastor Ford mentioned the elections in her sermon today. I think churches need to take it up a notch. Become more useful to the community.”
“Pastor Ford believes in that. She’s made sure the church is more than a building.”
“I like her.”
“She’ll break it down for you and she’ll get down with you, if it’ll teach you how to stand on the word of God.” Sheridan took another sip. “So, was this your first time at Hope Chapel?”
He nodded. “I was hoping to bump into you.” She laughed. “I’m serious,” he said.
“Where do you attend church?”
“I don’t have a church home. I’ve visited a lot of the super-churches, but I can’t get into them. Too big.”
“They’re only too big if you don’t get involved.”
“That’s never been my problem. I taught Bible study to teens when I was in D.C.”
She didn’t know why that surprised her.
As he chatted about the time he spent with the teenagers, Sheridan watched his light brown eyes glow and his face beam. He kept smiling, that crooked smile that had captured her the first time.
How old are you? she asked inside as she sipped and nodded in agreement with his words. And then she wondered why she’d asked herself that. Obviously, he was a bit younger than she was, but it didn’t matter. The last thing she wanted in her life was a man—young or old.
“What do you think about what I just said?”
“What?” She focused, bringing her mind back to the conversation.
“You weren’t listening to me.”
“Yes, I was. I heard every word you said about the teenagers. And I think what you do is terrific.”
“So you like what I said?”
She nodded.
He leaned forward, closing the gap between them. “So you agree with me? You know you are a beautiful woman?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She didn’t have one of Kamora’s ready quips. She lifted her hand to the edges of her hair. “Thank you.”
He grinned, and Sheridan was sure now: his smile was a trap, designed to capture her and make her do things she’d never dreamed of. It worked, because she said, “I think you are one fine man.”
He sat back in his chair. “Is that a physical assessment or are you talking about my socially redeeming characteristics?”
She laughed. “Both,” she said boldly.
“Then I thank you.”
“Let me ask you something.”
He leaned forward. “Anything,” he whispered in that voice.
“Why aren’t you married?”
“I haven’t found the woman to share my life with…yet,” he said.
“Are you gay?”
The words slapped away his smile and pushed him back in his chair. “Why would you ask me that?”
If only you knew. She shrugged. “I’ve just been reading a lot…”
“Oh.” He nodded. “You’ve been reading those E. Lynn Harris books.” He shook his head. “I hate that stuff. It makes it bad for the rest of us heterosexual guys.”
“So are you gay?” She had no intention of letting the question go.
He leaned forward again. “No.” He said the word as if it had five syllables.
“And you’re not married.”
“No.”
She smiled but stayed silent even though everything about her said she didn’t believe him.
“Have I passed the test?”
“I thought we were just getting to know one another.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Under getting to know each other, I want to explain.”
“You don’t have to.”
He held up his hand as if he were taking an oath. “I want to. It’s hard meeting women in a city that is filled with ladies who care more about what kind of car you drive than whether you even have a job.”
The way he spoke almost made Sheridan feel bad she’d asked.
“That’s one reason I like older women.” He returned to his flirting mode.
She chuckled. “You think I’m older.”
“I do. But it doesn’t matter. You’re just someone I’d like to get to know.”
“Why?”
He frowned. “That’s a strange question. Why wouldn’t I want to know you better?”
She lifted her self-esteem back up and asked, “So, how old do you think I am?”
He held up his hands and laughed. “You’re not going to get me. I’m not going to guess; I’m not going to ask. I told you, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Okay, so how old are you?” she asked, taking the last sip
of her coffee.
“I’m thirty,” he said, as if he were proud. Sheridan almost spit out her drink. “Actually, I’m almost thirty. I’ll be thirty in May.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re twenty-nine?”
“That’s what comes before thirty.”
Sheridan laughed and stood up. “It is definitely time to go.”
“My score just went down, huh?”
She laughed again. “You’re a nice man, Brock, but…”
He shrugged, pulled out his wallet, and handed her a card. “Call me anyway.”
“Thanks, but we won’t be getting together again.” She dropped the card inside her purse.
“I think we will.”
She wiggled her fingers in a wave, then almost ran to her car. She couldn’t stop laughing. Twenty-nine. When he was in kindergarten, I was a teenager.
Her laugh became almost hysterical. And she didn’t stop laughing until she got home.
Chapter Thirty-two
The din was almost melodic as Sheridan stepped down the stage stairs to join her parents and Kamora chatting by their front-row seats.
“Is Tori ready?” Cameron beamed as if his granddaughter was about to perform before the queen of England.
“I think so. The best part for her is wearing makeup. I put pink gloss on her lips and you would’ve thought I told her she didn’t have to go to school for a year.”
They laughed.
“I tried to watch her practice last week,” Beatrice said. “But she wouldn’t let me.”
“Tori’s been that way with me for months. In January she laid down the law. No one would see her dance until today.”
“Well, I understand,” Kamora interjected. “She’s about to be Cinderella.”
“Here comes Chris.” Cameron waved to get his grandson’s attention.
Christopher shuffled down the aisle as if his feet were shackled. When he walked up to her, Sheridan kissed him.
“Mom,” he whined, and backed away.
“Sorry, I forgot.” She wiped her lipstick from his cheek. “Did you get the balloons set up at home?”
He nodded, then scrunched his face as if he were in pain. “Why did I have to come? I don’t wanna see no little kids dancing around.”
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