“I’m talking about the last two events you did for the campaign, since you had this argument with her. You barely smiled, and you all but growled your answers when people asked you questions.” Tyrone punched him in the shoulder. “Without Imani, you’re kind of an asshole. People don’t usually vote for assholes.”
Xavier said nothing, keeping his eyes focused on the television. He hoped that would signal his friends that he was done having this conversation.
It didn’t.
“You should know that we’re looking into the harassment suit she filed. We don’t have confirmation yet, but everything seems to be on the up and up. I don’t have any indication that she lied.”
“You don’t have any indication she’s telling the truth, either,” Xavier muttered.
Orion said, “You’re not being reasonable. You’re acting as if she was wrong to do what she had to do to take care of herself.”
Turning angry eyes on the youngest member of the group, Xavier snapped, “Who asked you, O? You’re the least experienced in the group.”
Tyrone snorted a laugh. “Well, I’m the most experienced, and I say O is right. Stop acting like your past is so perfect, like you’ve never done anything less than ideal.”
Folding his arms over his chest, Xavier lapsed into sullen silence. He kept his eyes on the television, ignoring Tyrone’s ribbing and the comments flying past him from all three of his friends. He didn’t care what they thought, which was why he hadn’t asked their opinion. All he’d wanted to do today was enjoy the football game in peace. They’d ruined that by bringing up the topic he least wanted to talk about. If he were inclined to clean up their mess alone, he’d have kicked their asses out of his house right then.
To his amazement, they continued to debate his now-defunct relationship with Imani even after the second half of the game started. Between plays, they traded barbs, and while he heard everything they were saying, he didn’t open his mouth to contribute. I don’t care what they say. I’m done talking about her.
During a commercial break, Maxwell snapped his fingers, as if to indicate a flash of inspiration. “Look, we’re getting nowhere with the lunkhead here. Why don’t we appeal to Imani? She’s got to be the more reasonable party.”
Xavier’s jaw tightened. Surely they weren’t serious about interfering in his love life.
Tyrone leaned forward in his seat. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. And I think I’ve got an approach in mind. Are you in, O?”
Orion nodded.
Oh, hell no. “Y’all can’t be serious. I don’t want anything to do with Imani, and I don’t want you meddling—”
Tyrone cut him off midsentence. “I’m going to need to stop by one of those sign places, where they make custom banners and all that.”
Xavier groaned aloud. So now they were going to ignore him. “Fine. Do what you want, but I’m a grown-ass man and I’m going to do what I want.”
His three friends paused their plotting long enough to look at him, then went right back to their conversation.
Asses. Xavier got up from his seat and disappeared into the kitchen to refill his mug.
* * *
Imani leaned down to tie one of her sneakers, then straightened. Her feet sank into the damp grass as she walked from the driveway around the side of her mother’s house. It was a bright Sunday afternoon, and her mother had asked her to come over and help clean out the garden beds in the backyard and prepare them for the coming winter. Not one to turn her mother down, Imani had dressed in a long-sleeve T and yoga pants and come prepared to work.
She swung open the chain-link gate to the backyard, letting it close behind her. Alma knelt on the ground next to one of her three raised beds, her back to her daughter.
“Hey, Mama,” Imani called.
“Hey, baby. Thanks for coming over to help me out.” The response came from beneath the wide brim of Alma’s straw sun hat.
“What do you need me to do?”
Alma used her glove-clad hands to steady herself as she stood up. “Go over to the patio and get a pair of gloves and a trowel out of the storage box there.”
Imani went to do as her mother had asked, returning a short while later wearing a pair of her mother’s floral-printed gardening gloves and carrying a plastic trowel.
Alma gestured to the left-most bed. “I need you to root up those potatoes in that bed. You can toss ’em into that plastic barrel so we can wash them off.”
“Got it.” Imani knelt in the dirt next to the bed her mother had indicated. Above the soil, the bushy leaves of the potato plant were beginning to turn brown around the edges, a sure sign that the spuds were ready for harvest. Using the trowel and her gloved hands, she dug into the depths of the soft, dark soil in search of the fingerling potatoes her mother had planted several weeks prior.
The two of them worked in convivial silence, with Alma weeding the center bed while Imani pulled heaps of the tiny potatoes from the left bed. She had the plastic barrel about three-quarters full when she heard someone opening the gate. Glancing over her shoulder, Imani saw Carol Whitted walking toward them.
Her brow furrowed. What is Xavier’s mother doing here? She’d known the two women to be social with each other, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually seen them hanging out together.
“Hello, Alma. Imani, it’s so nice to see you again.” Carol closed the gate and made her way toward them, taking small, delicate steps.
“Hey, Carol. Come on back.” Alma waved, welcoming her visitor.
As Carol drew closer, Imani noted her attire. Carol wore a melon-colored pantsuit with a pair of taupe suede flats, and she’d accented the outfit with gold jewelry in her ears and around her neck and wrist. Imani brushed the loose soil from her pants and sighed. Carol had not come here to help with the gardening; that couldn’t be more obvious. She sensed some serious meddling about to take place.
Alma’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Looks like you’ve got most of the potatoes. Let’s take a break and have a little chat with our visitor, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Imani spoke the only logical answer to her mother’s request. Removing her gloves, she set them on the rim of the bed and dusted off as best she could. With that done, she followed her mother and Carol to the round wrought-iron table on the patio. She hadn’t paid much attention to the table when she’d come, but now she saw that her mother had set out a plastic pitcher of iced tea, along with a small stack of plastic cups.
The three of them took seats around the table. Alma poured them each a cup of iced tea and passed them around.
Imani sipped from her cup, letting the sweet liquid slide down her throat while she awaited the onslaught. Her mother and Carol might consider themselves clever, but Imani knew exactly what they had up their sleeves.
Carol folded her hands on the tabletop in a demure fashion. “So, Imani, did your mother tell you I would be stopping by?”
Imani cut a look at her smiling mother, then answered, “No, I’m afraid she didn’t.”
Carol took a brief sip of tea. “Okay, then I may as well tell you and get on with it.”
Imani sighed, feeling her irritation rise. Her ire emboldened her, and she asked pointedly, “Are you two really going to tag-team lecture me about Xavier? Because I’m not interested in hearing it.”
Eyes wide, Carol stammered, “Imani, that’s not why I—”
Alma’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Now you wait just a minute, Imani.”
She stilled when she heard her mother’s stern tone and snapped her mouth shut.
“That’s more like it,” Alma groused. “I don’t know what kind of meddling old biddies you take us for, but that’s not what we are here to talk about.”
This time, it was Imani whose eyes widened. “It’s not?”
Folding her arms over her chest, Alma pu
rsed her lips. “No, it’s not. Contrary to what you might think, our lives do not revolve around you and your relationship troubles. Now you apologize to Carol for being so rude.”
Imani looked down, wanting nothing more than to have the patio open up and swallow her, chair and all. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d put her foot quite so far down her throat. “I’m so sorry, Carol.”
Carol, classy as ever, said, “It’s all right. The reason I’m here is that I’m head of the youth committee at church, and I wanted to ask you to speak to the kids about your career as a doctor.”
“Really? When?”
“The last Sunday of the month, we’re having a youth program.” Carol leaned back in her chair. “The theme of the program is Aim High, Achieve More. We want to motivate them to dream big about what they can be. Would you be willing to do it?”
“Yes, I’d be honored.” Imani didn’t hesitate to accept Carol’s gracious invitation. After the way she’d just behaved, she felt lucky Carol hadn’t rescinded the invitation before she’d given it. “And again, please forgive my incredible rudeness.”
Carol lifted a graceful hand and waved her off. “It’s not a big deal, honey. Although…”
Imani drained her tea glass, waiting for Carol to complete her sentence. “Although, what?”
“The fact that you brought Xavier up and then went immediately on the defensive does mean you still have feelings for him.”
“She’s right,” Alma said. “There’s no way you’d go off the way you did unless you still care about him.”
Dropping her head onto the tabletop, Imani sighed. She’d walked right into that one and had managed to bring up the one topic of conversation she’d been most eager to avoid.
Alma chuckled. “You might as well pick your head up before you end up with that paisley pattern imprinted in your forehead. You brought Xavier up, not us.”
Lifting her head to face her mother, Imani groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m already kicking myself for it.”
“Don’t. It’s like I told you. Carol and I are not going to lecture you about him.” Alma sat back in her chair, looking casual.
Carol added, “That’s right. There are two main reasons for that. First of all, your mother and I are active women with lives of our own. And second of all, true love will always win out in the end.”
Imani took in the older woman’s words, wishing she could be as confident. After everything that had happened between her and Xavier over the past several months, she didn’t feel any degree of certainty. Now that he knew her secret, the one she’d carried in ashamed silence for so many years, she didn’t think things could ever be the same between them. No, now there would be a new normal, and it might not be the one Imani had always wanted.
Because she didn’t want to sit and dwell on it anymore, Imani rose from her seat. “Carol, just tell me what time and I’ll be there for the church program.”
“We want the speakers there by five thirty. Program starts at six.”
“I’ll be there.” Imani pushed her chair beneath the table and reached for her gloves. “Mom, I’m going to finish rooting your potato bed, okay?”
“That’s fine, sweetie.”
Imani strode back to the potato bed, all the while feeling the heat of two sets of female eyes watching her retreat.
Chapter 18
Seated in the leather chair at his desk Monday morning, Xavier pored over the sloppily handwritten balance sheet of one of his clients. For the life of him, he couldn’t read the chicken scratch, and he set the paper aside. He’d have to call the client and tell them he needed a typed copy of the document, or they’d be out of luck. As he reached for the phone, it began ringing, the shrill sound filling the office. He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”
“Xavier, it’s Tyrone. You’ve got to get over to city hall right now.” His friend’s words came out in a rushed tumble, and he sounded out of breath.
The clock on his desk read twenty minutes until ten, and he couldn’t imagine what had Tyrone so excited this early in the day. “Why? What’s going on? You sound like you just ran there from Durham.”
“There’s about to be a press conference in fifteen minutes, and you’ll want to see this.”
Xavier shook his head. “A press conference about what, T? I’ve got a ton of work to do here.”
“Givens is about to go down in flames on national television, man.”
That statement piqued his interest. Standing, he said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Dropping the phone back into the cradle, Xavier shrugged into the gray suit jacket he’d worn to work that morning, grabbed his briefcase and keys, and jogged out of the office.
In her usual manner, Rita called out to him as he dashed by the reception desk. “What’s going on, Mr. Whitted?”
With a smile, he called back, “Givens’s shit is about to catch up with him.” He didn’t stop but turned back long enough to see the satisfied smile cross his secretary’s face.
He drove the short distance to city hall as fast as the speed limit would allow. The last thing he needed was to get a speeding ticket the day before the election. He noticed several news vans from local stations parked at the curb as he circled around to park. When he found a spot in one of the downtown parking decks, he darted across the street at the earliest opportunity, then climbed the steps and entered the building.
He scanned the crowded lobby, looking for Tyrone. There were so many cameramen, reporters, and press-pass-wearing journalists milling about the lobby, Xavier wondered what was going on. Judging by the throng of press, he guessed it must be pretty damn big.
Even though Tyrone’s back was turned to him as he spoke to a group of reporters, he recognized him anyway. Striding over, he hung back a bit and waited for his campaign manager to finish what he was saying.
Tyrone noticed him and raised his hand, palm out, to deflect any further questions. “Excuse me, folks. I need to speak with my candidate.”
The gaggle of reporters around him broke up and drifted away, and Tyrone turned to Xavier. His wide smile held an edge of mischief.
Eyebrow raised, Xavier asked, “T, what is going on?”
“I got a call early this morning from a reporter at News 14,” he said, his voice hushed. “She gave me a tip that a woman was about to come forward today who claims to be Givens’s mistress.”
A rush of feeling hit Xavier at the idea that Aaron Givens was about to be exposed. “Seriously?”
Still grinning, Tyrone nodded. “Yep. The political gods have smiled on us, my brother.”
Xavier shook his head in awe. He’d made a decision at the beginning of this race to run a clean campaign. Even after what Imani had told him, he’d held fast to his integrity. Now, Aaron Givens would pay for his lack of good sense and morals, and Xavier’s hands would be clean. Knowing that filled him with glee.
A crush of people began moving toward the double doors that led to the first-floor auditorium, where public hearings were usually held. Tyrone began moving in that direction, and Xavier followed. Once they pushed their way inside and took seats near the rear, Xavier folded his hands in his lap and waited.
Cameras and microphones were trained on the main podium in the front of the cavernous room, which was already set up for television broadcasts. People milled about the room, waiting for the show to get underway.
The almost-deafening din of conversation quieted.
Xavier cast his eyes toward the front of the room in time to see a tall, dark-suited white man escorting a petite white woman with dark-brown hair to the podium. The woman, wearing a dark suit and shades that would’ve been appropriate for a funeral, stood back as the tall man adjusted the microphone. Then, the man stepped up and spoke.
“My name is Victor Young, Esquire, of Young, Turner, and Brown. This is my client, Cass
idy Lyons. Ms. Lyons will make a brief statement, and then we are leaving. There will be no questions taken, and anyone who badgers my client, know that we will consider it harassment and act accordingly.”
Xavier watched as the tall man readjusted the microphone, then Cassidy stepped up. “As my lawyer said, my name is Cassidy Lyons. I’d like to come forward with some information I have, which I believe the public should know before they cast their votes.” Her voice wavered, and she paused to compose herself. “I’m Aaron Givens’s mistress. We have carried on an affair for five years now, and he visited me regularly in Atlanta until recently, when he brought me here to North Carolina. He’s been paying rent for a townhome for me for thirteen months now.” She paused again, drew a shaky breath. “I know he’ll deny everything I’m saying, so I’ve been recording our conversations.”
Xavier turned to Tyrone, and his friend’s jaw was pretty much in his lap.
“The more I saw Aaron out on the campaign trail, touting his honesty and his perfect marriage, I knew I had to come forward. The people of Raleigh deserve better.”
A loud, gut-wrenching sob echoed in the near silence.
Xavier turned back toward the sound.
In the doorway, a stricken-looking Lorna Givens stood. Tears streamed down her face, streaks of black mascara flowing to her chin. Covering another sob with her hand, she backed out of the room and retreated.
Dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief her lawyer passed to her, Cassidy Lyons stepped back and said no more. Victor Young spirited her out a side entrance, even as the shouted questions of journalists filled the air.
Xavier turned back to Tyrone, who was now shaking his head, a look of pity on his face. “No wonder Givens didn’t show up. If he got wind of this and knew his dirty laundry was about to be aired, my guess is he hopped the first thing smokin’ out of town.”
Though he had no regard whatsoever for Aaron, Xavier did feel sorry for his wife. Such public embarrassment would be hard for anyone to deal with.
As the now-solemn crowd of people moved toward the exit, Tyrone stood. “Well, I guess that’s that. You’ll take the election now, without a doubt.”
Back to Your Love Page 26
