Maya’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Never taking her gaze off the plume of rising smoke, Imani nodded. “Yes, it does.”
“What about Xavier? Does he know now?”
She sighed. “Yes, and I’ll probably never see him again.”
Maya shook her head. “I’m shocked. I thought Xavier was the understanding type.”
“After he saw that article in the paper, he started making all kinds of assumptions. I probably just lost the best thing that ever happened to me, all because I held back when I should have just been completely honest.” Imani dashed away a tear.
Maya reached over the arm of her chair, clasping hands with her cousin. “I’m sorry, girl.”
“Me, too.” Lying back in the chair, Imani tried to push her thoughts of Xavier away. Because now, she saw no way they could ever mend their broken love.
Chapter 16
On the drive to First Baptist Church, Xavier looked at his eyes in the rearview. He was relieved to see the redness of the previous day gone. Satisfied, he directed his attention back to the road.
As he pulled into the church parking lot, he found a spot and slipped the truck into it. Soon, he was standing by the side door, where he’d agreed to meet Tyrone. As the minutes ticked by, he still saw no sign of his campaign manager. When Tyrone finally jogged up, thirty minutes before Xavier was supposed to speak, he gave him a look like he wanted to pop him upside the head. “You cut it way too close. Don’t pull this crap on me again.”
Tyrone nodded, looking apologetic. “Sorry about that, X.”
“And what’s your excuse for being this late? You’re usually such a stickler for the schedule.”
Tyrone didn’t bother hiding his grin as he answered. “Remember, I’m still a newlywed.”
Xavier shook his head, trying not to think about how much he missed having Imani’s body next to his. “Whatever. Let’s just get inside, so I can make my speech.”
Tyrone dialed it back. “Fine. Now let’s go in there and wow them. We’ve only got five days to convince the good citizens of this district they should let you have Givens’s seat.”
“Speaking of which, I got a call from that jerk Friday night.”
“What was he doing calling you?”
“Trying to intimidate me again into dropping out of the race.” Just remembering Givens’s snide tone and his threats made him angry all over again. Clenching his fists, he reined in his temper. They were on church ground, after all.
Tyrone shook his head. “Still up to those shenanigans.”
Xavier said, “If he calls me again, I should record it. I’m sure his constituents would be interested in hearing how childish and petty he really is.”
The thought of embarrassing Aaron Givens brought a smile to Xavier’s face. As he and Tyrone entered the church, they were shown to a room behind the pulpit, where they could wait for his turn to speak. The room, papered with children’s drawings and brightly colored Bible verse posters, reminded him of his own Sunday school days.
A ghost of a smile crossed Tyrone’s face before he shook his head. “No, Xavier. We’re running this campaign with class, remember?”
Xavier sighed, knowing his friend was right. “Yeah, I remember. Taking the high road sucks.”
Tyrone chuckled, patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Guys like Givens always step in it on their own. Always.” He handed him a folded sheet of paper. “Here’s your notes.”
Xavier opened the paper, taking a few moments to compose himself. When he looked up, he saw Tyrone eyeing him curiously. “What, man?”
“Did you ask her about the article? Give her a chance to explain?”
“T, drop it. You run my campaign, not my personal life.” He fought to keep his tone even.
Tyrone made a face but let the matter drop. “Okay, I won’t press you, then.”
He sat at the rectangular table centering the room, and Xavier followed suit. As Xavier’s eyes fell back to the notes, the door to the room swung open. Reverend Fitts, the pastor of the church, walked in. Following him was a sour-faced old woman Xavier didn’t recognize. Her bright-pink dress, with its large red-and-yellow flowers, was a direct contrast to the muted royal blue of the reverend’s pastoral robe. Even though Xavier had no idea who the woman was, he noticed she was glowering at him with a mixture of disapproval and disgust.
Tyrone asked, “What can we do for you, Reverend?”
Reverend Fitts looked decidedly nervous. “I’m afraid we’ve replaced Mr. Whitted in today’s program. I’ve only just learned of this from Marie, our church secretary.” He gestured to the mean-faced woman accompanying him.
Tyrone stood, obviously surprised. “Why is that?”
As if he’d spoken to her, the scowling Marie declared, “We only want speakers of high moral character here at First Baptist.” She reached into her gigantic brown purse and slapped a folded copy of the paper down on the table. It was open to the local section and the recent unflattering article that referenced Xavier’s association with Imani.
Xavier could feel his jaw tighten. How dare this woman judge him based on some trashy gossip in the local paper? He ignored Marie and turned his attention to the minister. “Reverend Fitts, is this what your congregation wants? To cancel my speech because of what was written in that article?”
Still looking nervous, Reverend Fitts started to open his mouth when Marie cut him off.
“Yes, Mr. Whitted. We don’t want our church associated with that kind of behavior.” She folded her arms across her chest and appeared quite satisfied with herself.
Tyrone just stood there, as if stunned by the woman’s out-and-out rudeness.
Xavier rose from the table, refolded the speech, and placed it in one of the inside pockets of his sport jacket. He shook the minister’s hand. “Reverend Fitts, I wish you the best of luck with your fund-raising.” He wanted dearly to put the smirking Marie in her place, but he’d been taught to respect his elders. To that end, he said, “As for you, sister, you might want to reread Proverbs 20 verse 19. I always try to follow it.”
The stunned expression on her face was the last thing he saw as he strode out, with Tyrone close behind him.
As they stepped into the sunshine once again, Tyrone asked, “What does the verse say?”
Gazing out at the lush, manicured grounds of the state capitol across the street, he recited the verse: “A gossip betrays a confidence; so avoid anyone who talks too much.”
A chuckling Tyrone followed him into the parking lot.
* * *
Hands wrapped around the steering wheel, Imani steered her car into the parking lot of Buttercup’s Cafe. Her eyes scanned the crowded lot for a spot.
“The doctor said my A1C was looking good today.” Alma’s voice cut into her thoughts.
“I know, and I’m happy about that.” She glanced at her mother sitting in the passenger seat for a moment before refocusing on parking. Navigating the car into a spot between a monstrous extended-cab pickup truck and a haphazardly parked motorcycle, she cut the engine. “As soon as you get your blood pressure down, you’ll be golden.”
“I’m working on it. Watch, I’m not going to be eating any salt today.” Alma grabbed her purse from the floor and opened her door.
Imani got out of the car, pleased to hear her mother’s vow. She would probably still keep an eye on her during their lunch, out of habit and concern. “All right, but I will confiscate the saltshaker if I have to.”
She linked arms with her mother. Using the remote to lock the doors, Imani then escorted Alma inside the restaurant through the double doors at the main entrance.
The place bustled with the usual lunchtime crowd, and there was a short wait for a table. Imani had anticipated that, as places with prime downtown Raleigh locations and great foo
d always filled up like this during the weekday lunch rush. Hordes of state employees, along with folks working at the civic center and the bevy of banks, colleges, and hotels in the area, flocked here to feed their faces before heading back to complete their workdays.
Once they were seated in one of the cozy booths by the window, Imani picked up the single-page menu and looked it over. Spending the morning at the doctor’s office with her mother had left her feeling a bit sleepy, so she decided to stick with something light in hopes of staving off the afternoon nap she felt coming on. It was rare that she took a day off from the practice. Today, she’d cleared her schedule so she could accompany her mother to her follow-up.
“What are you going to get, baby?” Alma casually posed the question.
“Probably a grilled chicken salad. I don’t want anything heavy.” She stifled a yawn with her open palm.
“I think I’m gonna get a grilled shrimp salad. Haven’t had any shrimp in a good little while.” Alma pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she laid her menu on the table.
The waitress came around to take their order, deposited two glasses of ice water on the table, then departed with their menus.
Alma said something, but Imani couldn’t hear her over the rising din of conversations.
Imani cupped her hand to her ear in an attempt to make out her mother’s words. “What did you say, Mama?” She glanced over her shoulder and saw the reason the space had grown so loud. A large group of suit-clad men had just entered and were carrying on a rather loud conversation at the hostess stand a few feet away.
Alma raised her voice and repeated herself. “I said, there’s Xavier. Behind you.”
When she heard that, she almost wished she hadn’t asked her mother to repeat herself. Shifting her torso, she took another look over her shoulder, hoping her mother had been mistaken. No such luck. There, in the center of the group of loudmouth businessmen who’d just entered, stood Xavier. She assumed the other men must be clients of his accounting firm, since she didn’t see Tyrone in the mix. If the other men were voters or campaign contributors he wanted to schmooze, she knew his campaign manager would have been present.
“You see him? He’s looking good, too. Then again, he always did clean up nice.”
Imani agreed with her mother. Taking in the sight of his tall, broad-shouldered handsomeness draped in a well-fitting navy-blue suit, she felt a familiar stirring in her lower regions. After everything that had transpired between them, seeing him threw her way off kilter. Her heart somersaulted in her chest, and a sound escaped her lips.
Alma’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘ugh’?”
“It’s nothing, Mama. We’re not on good terms right now.” That was a gross understatement, and she knew it. “I’m pretty sure he’s out of the running to be your son-in-law.”
“Is this about that article in the paper?”
“It’s complicated, Mama.” Imani looked down at the tablecloth, feeling the tears rising in her throat. “Basically I screwed it up, and I’m sure he never wants to have anything to do with me again.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Alma pursed her lips, folded her arms over her chest, but said nothing further.
Though she withered beneath her mother’s accusing stare, Imani felt a modicum of relief that she’d avoided a lecture, at least for the moment. If the hostess escorted Xavier and his lunch companions to the left, she could avoid all eye contact with him and continue with her day in peace. She crossed her legs and fingers beneath the table, offering a silent prayer that this potentially awkward confrontation would be avoided.
Alma’s expression brightened. Looking past Imani, she announced, “Look, they’re coming this way.”
Imani sighed. Today is just not my day. She didn’t dare turn to look behind her again. To avoid her mother’s gaze, she instead stared at the red leather of the booth next to Alma’s head.
The group moved closer, still chatting. The warring scents of half a dozen different colognes wafted up Imani’s nostrils, threatening to overwhelm her. One scent, familiar and altogether attractive, stood out above the rest.
When the men came abreast of her table, they moved on en masse—all except Xavier. Imani cringed when she heard his deep voice.
“I’ll be over to the table in a minute,” he said. His tall figure cast a shadow over the table as he stopped beside it.
Still staring at the red leather seat back, Imani blinked several times. She was so aware of Xavier’s eyes on her face, her cheeks burned with heat.
“Hello, Imani.” The greeting sounded stiff, formal.
“Xavier.” She gave him a brief nod, matching his tone.
He spoke again. “Hey, Ma Alma. It’s always good to see you. How are you?”
“I’m good, Xavier, but what on earth is going on between you and my daughter?”
Imani’s heart pounded in her chest like a hip-hop bass line, and she swallowed.
“It’s kind of complicated,” Xavier answered with a slight smile.
Alma offered a soft smile. “Oh, come on, now. You haven’t been over to the house to see me in a while. I miss seeing you.”
He grinned. “I’ll try to stop by this week. Have a good day, Ma Alma. Imani.” He looked at her again, then strode away.
As his heady presence moved away from the table, Imani took a long sip from her water glass, hoping to calm her frayed nerves. When she looked up, she saw her mother looking straight at her.
Her face locked in a deep frown, Alma asked, “What is going on with you two?”
Bracing herself for an epic lecture, Imani informed her mother of the fight she’d had with Xavier over the weekend. “I think it’s all over for us, Mama. I knew it was too good to be true.”
“Really? You think you don’t deserve happiness?”
“Mama, I—” Imani shut her mouth as the waitress returned with their salads. Once the plates, silverware, and the tiny containers of dressing were left on the table and the waitress left, she finished her sentence. “I don’t know. But after the things he said to me, it’s pretty clear he doesn’t trust me, and without trust, we don’t have anything.”
“Hmph.” Alma dressed her salad, her face still tight with displeasure. “The two of you were probably angry, and I’m sure you both said things you didn’t mean. The bottom line is that the two of you belong together. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”
Frustration got the better of her, and she snapped, “Why? So you could tell me how I was wrong and how I should beg his forgiveness? You always take his side.”
Alma looked up at her daughter. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind. You’d better watch that tone with me, Imani.”
Imani remembered herself and straightened up. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but I’m really frustrated. All this time I’ve been thinking of what was best for Xavier and his aspirations. I just can’t take his political future away from him. That’s why I told him.” For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why no one ever gave her any credit for taking the noble road. She was willing to set aside her own desires to do what was best for Xavier and his campaign, so why was she constantly being attacked for it? Did any of them realize how painful a sacrifice this was for her?
“Have you really been thinking of him? Or have you been thinking of how embarrassed you would be if he found out what you’d been keeping from him?”
A lump of emotion formed in Imani’s throat. With some effort, she held back her tears. Her mother’s perceptiveness had dredged up that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, that feeling she thought she’d rid herself of when she’d set fire to her journal. “It’s not as if what happened to me is something to be proud of, Mama. Can you really blame me for not wanting him to know?”
“No, I can’t. But I’ll tell you something. You overcame that. And that pro
ves you can do anything, even make things right with Xavier, if you set your mind to it.”
Imani sniffled. “I’m not sure, Mama.”
Alma reached across the table to grab her hand. “Well, I am.”
A tear escaped, sliding down Imani’s cheek. She brushed it away and took a deep breath. “Thank you for that.”
Alma offered her a teary smile. “I’m proud of you, baby. You’ve accomplished so much. I know Richard is proud of you, too.”
Holding hands with her mother, Imani felt a lightness enter her spirit.
* * *
No matter how hard he tried, Xavier couldn’t put Imani out of his mind. The last three days had been hell on earth for him—first, the fight with her, then the embarrassing incident at the church to top it all off. After the weekend he’d had, Monday didn’t seem half as daunting as it usually did. All he wanted now was to forget the events of the past several days.
A loud, obnoxious tapping broke into his thoughts.
He looked to his left and saw Tyrone tapping his metal pointer on the table. “I don’t mean to bore you, but try to pay attention, Xavier.” His annoyance was plain.
Xavier sat up straight in his seat, ran a hand over his weary eyes. He scanned the small conference room, looking at the faces of his campaign staff. They’d come today, three days before the election, to decide on a strategy for a final push. He knew they were down to their last chance to convince his fellow Raleighites that he was the best choice for the council seat.
Tyrone’s tone was terse as he spoke again. “As I was saying, the latest polls from Friday have us up two to four points.” He gestured to the image of the poll results projected on the wall next to him. “Givens is suffering because of the things that have come out about his past. That means we have a pretty good chance of winning this thing, if we can drive home that Xavier is the best candidate for the job.”
“Or if Givens does something incredibly stupid,” offered one of the volunteers.
Back to Your Love Page 24
