Best Kept Secrets

by Rochelle Alers

  Everett grunted. “When are they going to change? Spare me the bullshit, Samuel. No one knows when anything is going to change.” His demeanor changed, softening. “I don’t need money. I want to work. Please let me come back to the West Palm office. Teresa can stay here with her family.”

  Samuel wanted to grant his request because he and Everett worked well together, but he had no way of knowing whether Teresa would reconcile with her husband. His reconciliation with M.J. was still too tenuous to leave anything to chance.

  “I can’t, Everett. Please take it.”

  A swollen silence ensued as both men relived the good and not-so-good times they’d shared. The seconds ticked off to minutes before Everett finally accepted the envelope. He reached for his jacket slung over the back of a chair, slipped his arms into it, then giving Samuel Cole one last, lingering look, walked out of the office for the last time.

  Samuel was rooted to the spot until he heard the resounding slam of the front door. Then he sat down on a worn leather chair and waited for the movers.

  Chapter 35

  Only colored women of the South know the extreme in suffering and humiliation…

  —from a letter signed “A Southern Colored Woman,”

  in The Crisis, 1919

  West Palm Beach, Florida—October 17, 1946

  “I don’t believe it. The son of a bitch cheated the hangman when he swallowed a cyanide capsule.”

  Samuel did not glance up from the letter his secretary had just transcribed and typed for his signature. “Who cheated the hangman?” he asked his son.

  “Hermann Goering.”

  “Who?”

  “Hitler’s number-two goon. The Nuremberg Tribunal said the Nazi bastard was a ‘leading war aggressor and a creator of the oppressive program against Jews.’”

  Samuel scrawled his signature, then blotted the ink. “How many did they hang?”

  “Nine. The reporter who wrote the article said a few begged for forgiveness, while others were defiant. One bastard named Streicher shouted ‘Heil Hitler’ as the noose was tightened around his neck.”

  His head came up, and he stared at his son. Twenty-one-year-old Martin Diaz Cole, a recent college graduate, was now a ColeDiz International, Ltd., employee.

  “They should’ve doused them with kerosene, then roasted them up like pigs on a spit.”

  Martin grimaced, dimples creasing his brown cheeks. “Damn, Dad. That sounds a bit heinous, even for you.”

  “The only difference between a Nazi and a Klansman is that one wears a hood and the other a swastika.” He capped his fountain pen. “I hope you don’t use that language in front of your mother.”

  Martin stared at his father, trying not to laugh. “I’m absolving myself of any blame for bad language.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I learned it from you.”

  Samuel put down the pen and studied his firstborn. Martin’s genes had compromised: he’d inherited his mother’s dimples and delicate features. Martin’s curly hair, height and coloring had come from his father.

  “I paid for four years of college so that you could get a degree in business, not profanity.”

  Martin glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. “I suppose that’s a not-so-subtle hint for me to leave.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Samuel ran a hand over his cropped steel-gray hair. “Please don’t let me chase you.”

  “It’s time I leave anyway. I have to go home and pick up my luggage.”

  “What time is your flight?”

  “Two.”

  “Do you have the blueprints for the villas?”

  “Don’t worry so much, Dad. I have everything.” Saluting, Martin stood up and walked out of his father’s office. He was going to Costa Rica to oversee the construction of a vacation retreat.

  It had taken a world depression and a second world war within a span of twenty years for Samuel Cole’s dream to come full circle. He’d built an empire, a legacy, for his children, grandchildren, and hopefully his great-grandchildren.

  The company’s profits dropped dramatically between 1933 and 1938, resulting in a drastic decrease in coffee production. Samuel abandoned the Costa Rican coffee plantation and focused on those in Mexico, Puerto Rico and Jamaica.

  A year before Martin graduated from college, ColeDiz underwent restructuring. Samuel moved the office into a new high-rise office building, employed an in-house attorney versed in international tariffs and maritime law, increased his clerical staff, hired a chief accountant, two accounting clerks, an executive secretary and two part-time typists.

  Martin worked with him during the summer and school holidays, and had accompanied him when he visited his Caribbean holdings. His son took to business like a duck to water, exhibiting negotiating skills that made Samuel feel like a neophyte.

  Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, ColeDiz made a comeback with Roosevelt’s New Deal and an increase in the manufacture of armaments for the war in Europe.

  Crossing his arms behind his head, Samuel smiled. Life was good. Martin had become an integral part of the company, Nancy was engaged to a fellow college student, Josephine was a freshman at Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia, and nine-year-old David had been labeled a music prodigy.

  Samuel’s smile widened when he thought about his youngest son, who was the complete opposite of his older brother and sisters. He was content to spend hours by himself practicing the piano, making up lyrics for songs, and would at a moment’s notice break into song.

  Samuel doubted whether David would ever become involved with the family business, but M.J. belayed his doubts when she said all of their children had inherited the Cole gene for competitiveness, so there was hope for their youngest child.

  A soft buzz, followed by the voice of his secretary, shattered the peaceful silence. “Samuel, are you expecting a Mrs. Kirkland? Because I don’t have her down in your calendar.”

  Samuel sat up; his breath solidified in his throat as he mentally replayed Charlotte Rowland’s query. She must have gotten the name wrong. He pressed a button on the intercom and picked up the telephone receiver.

  “Did you say Mrs. Kirkland?”

  “Yes. She’s been waiting almost an hour. I didn’t want to disturb you while you were meeting with Martin.”

  There was a long, brittle silence as Samuel stared at a wall covered with a soft, wheat-colored fabric. He knew one Mrs. Kirkland, and that was Teresa. What, he wondered, was she doing in West Palm Beach, and why had she come to see him after so many years? Had something happened to Everett? Her son?

  Not once, since she’d become Mrs. Everett Kirkland, had he thought of her child as his. That pain was too much for him to bear. It was cowardly, but easier to claim that he’d fathered four and not five children.

  “Is she alone?” he asked after what seemed an interminable pause.

  “Yes, she is.”

  Samuel knew he wasn’t prepared to see Teresa again after so many years, but to come face-to-face with the son he’d denied and abandoned to the responsibility of another was a weighted guilt he would carry to his grave.

  He knew he couldn’t send Teresa away without finding out why she’d come to see him. “Give me a minute, then send her in.”

  Samuel hung up the phone and reached for the jacket to his suit he’d left on one of the chairs next to his desk. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he then tightened and straightened his tie. He was standing behind his desk, ready for Teresa Kirkland, when the door to his office opened.

  He’d believed he was ready until he saw her.

  If he’d changed in seventeen years, so had she. When they’d parted she was a girl, but there was no girl left in the fashionably dressed woman staring back at him.

  Forcing his legs to move, Samuel moved from behind the desk, his gaze meeting and fusing with hers. The closer he came, the more obvious the changes. There was a minute scar on her left cheekbone that hadn’t been there before, and something told him
the slashes around her mouth were not the result of smiling.

  She tilted her head to look up at him, giving him a glimpse of the silver hair she’d pinned up under a wide natural straw hat. A slight smile softened his mouth when he recognized the haunting, sensual fragrance wafting from her body. It was Chanel No. 5. He’d bought it for her the day they’d gone shopping in St. Thomas. She also wore his other gift: the pearl necklace and earrings.

  A short, black hip-length jacket, buttoned to the neck, flared out at the hips to accommodate the fullness of a matching skirt. Wrist-length black leather gloves and high-heel, ankle-strap shoes pulled her winning look together.

  Her pale green gaze was steady before she glanced away. “I’m sorry about not calling for an appointment, but I felt if I had I wouldn’t have been granted access.”

  Cupping her elbow, Samuel escorted her across the expansive office to an area where he held small, impromptu meetings. The action gave him the time he needed to get used to seeing her again. He’d forgotten how well spoken she’d been, and still was.

  “If you’d called, I would’ve seen you,” he said, seating her on a love seat.

  A pale eyebrow lifted slightly. “Thank you. I know you’re busy, and because I don’t have an appointment, I’m going to make this visit very brief.”

  He sat down opposite her, crossing one leg over the other knee. “What can I do for you?”

  Teresa was stunned by Samuel’s cool appraisal, his impersonality. He appeared totally in control of his emotions, whereas her heart was pumping so hard her chest hurt. However, she had to admit Samuel Cole had matured exquisitely. There was no excess fat on his lean face. The new lines around his eyes added character rather than age. And the hair that had begun graying in his twenties was now a gleaming silver gray. He was impeccably groomed, as she’d expected him to be.

  “I need your influence on behalf of my son.” She was hard-pressed not to laugh when his jaw tightened when she referred to their son as my son.

  Samuel was momentarily speechless in his surprise. It had taken Teresa seventeen years to contact him, and it was not for herself but her son. But the son she spoke of was also his son.

  “What do you want from me?”

  The pulse in Teresa’s throat beat erratically at the threatening quality in his deep, drawling voice. The tense lines in her face relaxed as she called on the waning strength it took for her to travel from Miami to West Palm Beach to reunite with the man responsible for making her a mother.

  “I want you to help him get into West Point.”

  Samuel blinked once. “The military academy in New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can I help him?”

  “Use your political influence. He needs letters of recommendation from elected officials.”

  “I have no such influence.”

  Her nerves tensed immediately. “You have it, Samuel, even if you’ve chosen not to exploit it.” Opening her purse, she withdrew an envelope. “Take it.”

  He obeyed like an obedient child. “What’s in here?”

  “My son’s name, address, telephone, his school principal, and a listing of his grades and test scores. I’ve never asked anything from you in seventeen years. The least you can do is grant me this one request.”

  She stood up and walked out of the office, leaving Samuel staring at the space where she’d been.

  It was a full five minutes before he opened the envelope and read the contents. His eyes widened as he stared at the grades Joshua Kirkland had earned.

  The boy was brilliant!

  Samuel sat, losing track of time as he relived the seconds, minutes, hours and days he’d spent with a little slip of a girl on a beautiful, seemingly magical island what now seemed so long ago.

  Hot tears burned his eyes when he realized that even though he loved his wife, he still loved Teresa. She’d had his child, but what she did not know was that he’d kept a small piece of her inside him, a small piece he would treasure forever.

  Chapter 36

  How easy for man to break what never was bound—our song together.

  —Anonymous

  Two days following Teresa Kirkland’s startling appearance, Samuel entered his office and saw a large box sitting in a corner. He read the note taped to a side: This was delivered last night—Charlotte.

  He stared at the mailing label. It was from Teresa. Lines creased his forehead and he wondered what it was that she’d sent him.

  The full impact of her visit did not sink in until later that night. Everything about her washed over him in vivid clarity as he recalled the exact color of her eyes—a frosty, cold green, the determined set of a mouth that was no longer lush and smiling, and the stiffness in her spine when she’d sat on the edge of the love seat. She hadn’t even bothered to remove her gloves.

  Reaching for a letter opener, he slid it along a flap on the box. He went completely still when he saw the contents. The carton was filled with letters, hundreds of them bundled with narrow red ribbons.

  Samuel picked up a stack, staring at Teresa’s small, slanting writing. The envelopes were addressed to him at his home. Untying the bundle, he realized none were sealed. He removed the first letter, his gaze racing over the fading blue ink. It was a handwritten birth announcement. He felt his knees buckle, and had to sit down before he fell.

  Samuel couldn’t read any more—at least not now. Teresa had poured out her heart to him on paper, yet could not summon the nerve to mail her letters.

  Would he have answered her? Would he have gone to her when she pleaded for him to help her?

  Samuel knew the answers to those questions as soon as they were formed in his head.

  Yes, he would have.

  He’d given her to his friend to protect, and he had beaten her. It was good he didn’t know Everett’s whereabouts, because he knew without a doubt that he would hurt the man—severely.

  Chapter 37

  Men are beasts and even beasts don’t behave like them.

  —Brigitte Bardot

  Samuel forced himself to put one foot in front of the other as he climbed the winding staircase like someone in a trance. His mind was reeling from the cruelty and physical abuse Teresa had suffered from the man he’d trusted to take care of her. If he’d known Everett was going to treat her as he had, then he never would have sanctioned their marriage.

  He hadn’t lied to Teresa when he told her he would never leave M.J., but he would have provided handsomely for her and their child. He didn’t know whether he would’ve continued to sleep with her, but knew without a doubt he’d do everything within his power to keep her safe and content.

  The house was quiet with Martin in Costa Rica and his daughters away at college. He walked past his youngest son’s room. There were times when he forgot there was still a child in the house.

  David was born the year he turned thirty-nine. After he and M.J. “reconciled” he hadn’t used any form of contraception with her. And when the years passed without M.J. conceiving, both of them thought their family complete with a son and two daughters.

  Once her pregnancy was confirmed, M.J. doubted whether she would be strong enough to survive another. She’d spent the entire confinement in bed, and after she delivered her fourth child, a boy, the doctor confirmed her uncertainty with a hysterectomy. And like their other children, David was more Diaz than Cole, and Samuel wondered whether Joshua Kirkland was a Cole or a Maldonado.

  He entered his bedroom suite, and went through the motions he’d done countless times, undressing and showering before climbing into bed next to M.J.

  Her warmth and scent washed over him as she pressed her breasts against his back. “I thought you were coming home early tonight.” Her voice was low, husky. There was no doubt she’d fallen asleep waiting for him.

  Samuel closed his eyes. “Why did you think that?”

  “It was you who said we were going to take David to that new restaurant everyone’s bragging about.”

&n
bsp; “Damn it! I forgot. Why didn’t you call and remind me?” He’d been so engrossed in Teresa’s letters that he’d lost track of time.

  He had instructed his secretary to cancel all of his meetings for the rest of the week, then locked the door to his office and sat down to read as many of the letters as he could before his eyes began burning.

  Her letter of May 18, 1933, confirmed what Everett had told him the day he’d come to Miami to close the office, that she had left her husband after he spanked Joshua because the child had touched his watch. She’d left Everett, but come back to him later that year when he’d promised never to hit her or the child again.

  M.J. draped an arm over his waist. “I figured you had become involved in something that you couldn’t get out of.”

  He covered the hand resting on his belly. “You shouldn’t have made that decision, baby. You know when I promise my children something, they take precedence over everything else. Was David disappointed?”

  “If he was, then he didn’t show it. You know nothing bothers him too much. Most of the time he acts as if he’s in another world. I’m beginning to worry about him.”

  “Why, M.J.?”

  “Because he spends hours playing the piano.”

  “It’s all your fault.”

  She stiffed. “Why my fault, Sammy?”

  “You were the one who wanted to expose your children to music. And now that you have one who’s just as obsessed as you are, you think there’s something wrong with him. Leave the boy alone, M.J.”

  “Oh, now they are my children?”

  He smiled. “They were always your children, Mrs. Cole. You’ve reminded me of that fact more times than I’ve been able to count these past twenty-two years.”

  She pressed a kiss on his shoulder before rising slightly to kiss the back of his neck. Her kisses and mouth became bolder as she moved over him and gently pushed him onto his back.