Never Say Never

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “Oh.” Michellelee toned her voice down. “Related to the fire?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s starting to look good, though. But you didn’t catch Jamal when you called my apartment? He could have told you I was working.”

  “I called a couple of times, but only got your voice mail. Did he go back to work?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Well, I only called in the mornings before I went into the studio because Craig’s been in town. But anyway, I was calling to see what you thought of the news.”

  “What? I haven’t seen CNN in days.”

  “Nothing to do with politics, dear.” Then Michellelee filled me in about the alleged arsonist’s arrest.

  “You kept saying that it was arson, but I just could not believe that someone would do this. Set fire to a school?” I shook my head. “That man has all that blood on his hands.”

  “Can you imagine what the trial is going to be like?”

  “A zoo, I’m sure.” I was still shaking my head, still unable to fathom how one person could be responsible for so much devastation.

  “But I didn’t call to bring you down. I was calling to tell you that we should have a girls’ night out to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” I frowned.

  “Yeah, catching that scum. We should take Miriam out.”

  “Michellelee, celebrate is not exactly the word I’d use. I know Miriam will be happy in some ways, but it’s going to be sad, too. It’s only going to remind her about Chauncey.”

  “Blue, let me school you about White. Yeah, she loved her husband, but she has already gotten her groove on. I just left her house five minutes ago; she’s already seeing someone.”

  “No, she’s not!”

  “Yes, she is! I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”

  “You met him?”

  “No, but his clothes were all over the floor. Leading straight to her bedroom.”

  “What!”

  “Girl, she was wrapped in a sheet and must’ve forgotten about the clothes because when I peeped them, that brown-skinned girl turned Delta red! I’m telling you.”

  “Wow!” I said.

  “It was a wow for me, too, but you know what? I’m not mad at her. She’s doing exactly what Chauncey would want, so we should take her out to celebrate that.”

  “Wow!”

  “You said that already.”

  “No, I mean, we are talking about Miriam. She’s the shy, solid one. Who’s the man?”

  “I told you—”

  “I know you didn’t meet him. I’m just thinking out loud. Well, I guess if she’s moved on like that, then I’m glad for her.”

  “So, when should we get together?”

  “Well, I’ll be working with this client until Tuesday, and when I get back to the office, I’ll have to catch up with my other files. But I can do it at the end of next week.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I miss my girls.”

  “I know. That fire wreaked havoc on everyone. With you covering the story and me with my clients.”

  “And Miriam getting her groove back.”

  Michellelee laughed, but I didn’t.

  I was happy for Miriam, I really was. But something just didn’t feel right. First of all, the only person Miriam had loved in her life was Chauncey. There was no way she’d be out searching for someone else so soon. And even if she was ready to move on, Miriam wasn’t the type to just go out and pick up someone, so she had to be seeing someone she knew. And if it was someone she knew, was it someone she’d been involved with before?

  No! See, this was the problem with this psychology degree I had. I was always looking for the “something else” and overanalyzing everything. Why couldn’t this just be what it was?

  Michellelee hung up with promises to call me over the weekend, but when I put the phone down, I still couldn’t get Miriam out of my mind. My best friend had had one boyfriend, one love, one marriage. Not that I didn’t want to be happy for her . . .

  But when I turned my car into my apartment building, by the time I got to the elevator, I was shaking with excitement. This was downright carnal. All that occupied my thoughts now was sex with my husband.

  I was moving so fast, I fumbled my keys, then busted through the door.

  “Jamal!” I screamed, hoping that I didn’t give my husband a heart attack. Then I waited by the door, expecting him to come charging out of the bedroom.

  But there was nothing. Either I had shocked him so much his heart had stopped, or he wasn’t home.

  I dropped my bag by the door. “Jamal,” I called again, this time sounding like I had some sense.

  I searched every room of our condo and discovered how much my husband had missed me. The duvet on our bed was sprawled on the floor, the cap was off the toothpaste and still on the counter, the toilet seat was up in both bathrooms, and there were more dishes and glasses in the sink than in the cabinets. And I’d only been gone for four days.

  Jamal needed me. I just wished he was home, because I needed him.

  Talk about disappointment. But in a way, I was glad, too. At least Jamal wasn’t in bed, sleeping through his depression.

  During our calls over the past few days, I couldn’t really tell how Jamal was feeling. He was so concerned about me, and never wanted to talk about himself. But him being out right now was a good sign. It was a bit after three; hopefully, he was taking a jog on the beach.

  Just as I picked up the phone to call his cell, I heard his key in the door.

  I sprinted into the living room and Jamal had barely stepped over the threshold before I jumped into his arms, pushing him backward, almost making him fall.

  “Whoa!” he said, his voice full of shock.

  But I hardly let him breathe. I planted kisses over every inch of his face, holding on to him tightly, not caring that I hadn’t had a decent shower since I’d left.

  “Oh, my God, babe,” he said, catching his breath. “You’re home.”

  “Yes, and I missed you!”

  “I missed you, too, but I didn’t know you were coming home today.”

  “I was trying to surprise you.” Finally, I stepped away, giving him some room. “But I was the one who got surprised. You were out, huh?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  “I figured you were out on the beach.”

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  “That’s a great thing.” I led him to the couch. When we sat, I couldn’t keep my hands off him.

  “I’ve been worried about you, Em.” He cupped my face between his hands and looked at me with love. “You’re tired.”

  “I am, but things are getting better.”

  “So, LaTonya, she’s good?”

  “Almost,” I said. “But tell me about you, tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  He looked away as if he didn’t want to talk about it. But then he faced me and hit me with the bombshell. “I had lunch with Donald.”

  My heart sank just a little when he mentioned his fire chief’s name. “Yeah?”

  The fear must’ve been in my voice. “Yeah, we met at the Lobster House, but you don’t have to worry. I’m not going back . . .”

  I exhaled.

  “Yet,” he added. Then he paused. “You knew that I was going to go back, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I love what I do.”

  “I know.”

  “Just like you love what you do.”

  I smiled.

  “And, I promise you, I’ll be safe.”

  “I know,” I said again, and forced myself not to say what I was thinking—that Chauncey had probably made this same promise to Miriam the morning he died. “I knew you’d be going back. Life goes on.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “I guess I wasn’t ready to start thinking about that—life moving on. Not with you and not with Miriam.”

  Jamal frowned. “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “Michellelee just told me that Mi
riam is seeing somebody. Can you believe it?”

  The way Jamal’s Adam’s apple crawled up, then down his throat, I could tell that he wasn’t ready for this news either. “Really?”

  “Yeah, Michellelee doesn’t know who the mystery man is, but their relationship has progressed to . . . being intimate.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then just nodded. This was nothing like the excitement Michellelee had. But I understood. As close as he was to Chauncey, it had to be hard for him to think about another man coming in and taking his best friend’s place.

  “But let’s not talk about Miriam or anyone else. I only have a few hours before I have to go back.”

  “Oh . . . so, you’re not home? I mean, for good?”

  I shook my head. “I wish, but I really want to keep LaTonya in therapy for the full seven days. I’ll be home Tuesday, but I do have a couple of hours now.” I leaned in so close there was barely space for air between us. “I want to do something special.”

  “Okay,” he said. He looked down at his hands. “Something special like what?”

  “Something special like spend a couple of hours in bed with you,” I whispered in his ear.

  I waited to see what my normally oversexed-couldn’t-get-enough man would say. But when he didn’t give me anything, I said, “But first, I have to take a shower.”

  “All right. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

  I stood as seductively as I could in my jogging suit that I’d worn twice since I’d been away. Taking his hand, I tried to pull him up. “Instead of waiting, why not join me?”

  He shook his head. “Uh, I just took a shower. I was on the beach, and I came back a little while ago, and I took a shower, and then went back out and then came back.”

  Why was he talking in circles? I held up my hand. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to convince me you took a shower. I can smell it on you.”

  “What?”

  I laughed out loud. “Don’t look so horrified. It’s just that you smell like my soap. You know, that perfumed soap that you hate. You must be out of your Irish Spring.” I shook my head. “You really did miss me, didn’t you?”

  He just nodded.

  I kissed his forehead. “I’m going to make this quick!” Inside the stall, I turned the knob just a few notches away from the right, wanting to get the water as hot as I could take it.

  The steam was already rising when I stepped inside, and then I leaned against the marble wall. This was just another reason to be grateful for being home. First, seeing my husband, and now being able to take a shower where I had more than enough room to turn around rather than the small stalls in the nurses’ lounge.

  I let the water’s heat soothe me, relax me, almost render me unconscious. Really, I could have lain down and just let the water caress me, but before I was really ready, I turned it off. I needed whatever energy I had for Jamal.

  The towel rack that had been stacked with towels just days ago was down to just one. I grabbed it, but didn’t bother to dry off; there was no need.

  The towel was barely around me when I rushed out of the bathroom. I was ready to jump right on my husband, but Jamal was just sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed.

  I let the towel fall away, and Jamal stared as if I was a vision. This was the reason I still worked out. I wanted my husband to look at me like that for the rest of our lives.

  “Why do you still have on all of those clothes?”

  Slowly, he stood. “Babe.”

  I didn’t like the way he said that. “What?”

  “I . . . I have to go.”

  It was my turn to stare at him. Where in the world did my husband want to go instead of being with me?

  He said, “I just got a call from Donald. He wants me to come down to the station.”

  “Why?” I dipped down, picked up the towel, and wrapped myself up.

  “There are some papers I need to sign about the fire. Someone is at the firehouse, I guess from the police investigative team, and they want to talk to the men who were there.”

  “They want to do that now? The fire was weeks ago.”

  “I know . . . uh, yeah . . . but, I got the call.”

  “Oh . . . kay,” I said, peering at him, trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying.

  “If there was anything I could do, you know . . .”

  I held up my hand. “I know.” Of course I understood. Jamal had put up with far more with my career. With a sigh, I bounced down onto our bed. “So, how long do you think you’ll be?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, a couple of hours.”

  A couple of hours was all I had. I didn’t want to pout, but I couldn’t help it. Jamal took my hand, lifted me up, and wrapped me in his arms as if I was his gift.

  “I’d rather be here with you,” he whispered.

  I let him hold me for a few more moments before I said, “I know.” I stepped back so that he could walk away, but Jamal didn’t move.

  Instead, he held my face between his hands. “Do you know how much I love you, Emily?”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, really. Do you know that I truly love you?”

  “I do.”

  Then he kissed me softly, a kiss that repeated his words. A kiss that told me that I had his heart. Right now, I wanted so badly to have my husband between my legs, but in my book, love always trumped sex. Even as deprived as I was feeling right now, I’d take his love over a romp in our bed any day.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “Us. We’re going to get through all of this. You with the kids and me with . . . my grief.”

  “I know that, Jamal,” I said, trying to read between his words. There was so much more to what he was saying; my intuition told me so. But then I turned off my psychoanalysis button. I had to stop doing that.

  He kissed me again, this time a quick peck, before he turned and left the room.

  I eased down onto the bed, but kept my eyes on the bedroom door, hoping he’d come back. As I waited, my analysis button came back on. What had that exchange been about? What was Jamal trying to tell me?

  Then I jumped up. I got it! This was Jamal’s first time returning to the fire station. This would be the first time he’d be there without Chauncey. He had to be feeling overwhelmed with emotions.

  I wished he’d told me that; I would’ve been able to talk him through it. But no, maybe it was better that he was working this out himself. My husband was strong. He would handle this.

  Turning around, I faced the bed, with the tousled sheets and the duvet half-on, half-off the bed. I shook my head, making my way back to the bathroom. If Jamal wasn’t going to be here, I might as well get back to the hospital. The quicker I could help LaTonya, the quicker I could come home.

  For good.

  27

  Miriam

  I looked at the caller ID and smiled with relief.

  Jamal Taylor.

  He’d left so quickly, right after Michellelee appeared, that I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. But it seemed I’d been worried for absolutely nothing.

  I grabbed up the phone. “Hey!” I said, filled with a schoolgirlish glee.

  “Hey, yourself!”

  I froze.

  Emily said, “How you doin’?”

  It took a moment for me to find my voice. “Emily?”

  “Uh . . . yeah, who did you think it was?”

  “You. I thought it was you . . . I knew it was you,” I said, stumbling over my words. “It’s just that I haven’t heard from you.” I wobbled over to the couch and sat down since my legs had turned to mush.

  “I’ve been away from home, working on a case. That’s why I haven’t been able to call and check on you.”

  “Oh . . . you haven’t been home?”

  “No, I’ve been at the Children’s Hospital. Jamal didn’t tell you?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so. Maybe he did, I can’t remem
ber.”

  “Well, that’s where I’ve been for the last five days. Can you believe it?”

  No, I couldn’t. Was that the reason why Jamal had been here with me?

  Emily said, “So, I came home for a couple of hours to hook up with my husband. It’s been so long!”

  Emily moaned and I groaned. Was she going to tell me about being intimate with Jamal? I closed my eyes and hoped that would shut off my ears.

  She said, “But he had to go.”

  My eyes popped open. “Go where?”

  “He got called into the fire station.”

  From the moment I’d heard Emily’s voice, my heart had been beating so hard my chest actually ached. But now my heart stopped cold. “Oh, my God! Did he go back to work?”

  “No! It’ll still be a few weeks before he goes back. He needed to sign some papers and give a deposition or something like that.”

  My heart started beating again.

  “But the real question is,” Emily said, “how are you doing?”

  “I’m okay, I’m getting better—I’m really working on learning how to live without Chauncey.”

  “I guess you are. Michellelee told me.”

  Oh God!

  “So, you’re seeing someone.”

  I thought the worst moment of this call was when I first picked up. But I was wrong. Hearing her voice didn’t compare to her saying these words.

  “So, tell me about him, White,” Emily said.

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  “That’s not what Michellelee said. She told me that things had already . . . gone pretty far with you two.”

  “No, no, it’s not what it looks like. Really, it’s nothing.”

  There was a long pause, then, “Miriam, did anything happen with this guy? I mean . . .”

  If she kept talking I was going to die. “No, Emily, please don’t try to analyze this. Nothing happened. It’s just that it’s not what it seems.”

  “Oh . . . kay.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, like she finally got my message. “I’m sorry. You know how I am. I only do it because I care, but I’ll give you room and you can talk about it when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks.” Why did my voice sound like I was five years old?