Best Kept Secrets

by Rochelle Alers

  Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she charted a path with her mouth from his throat and through the crisp hair on his chest. At forty-eight Samuel Cole still had a body that was as firm and solid as their son’s.

  Wrapping his arms around her body, Samuel reversed their positions and worshipped his wife’s body with his mouth and hands. He cradled her face, moaning softly when her hand closed around his erection and guided his hardness into her warm, pulsing flesh. Moaning in unison, they found the tempo that bound their bodies and hearts together.

  For a few exquisite moments Samuel was able to dismiss the pain, horror and disappointment poured out on paper by a woman who’d set aside her pride and come to him not for herself, but for her son.

  Samuel wanted to stop reading, put the letters back into the carton, seal it and mail it back to Teresa, but he couldn’t. Like an addictive drug, they’d pulled him in and refused to let him go.

  One day blurred into the next as he cloistered himself behind the closed door. The decades passed by with the hours…1930, 1931, 1932, 1933…

  There were only two letters in the bundle that began in the year 1946.

  April 25, 1946

  Dear Samuel,

  Joshua turned 16 today. He did a lot of growing this past year. He is now six-one and weighs close to 170 pounds. He’s very quiet and seldom smiles. Girls come by constantly to ask for him, but he tells me to send them away because they interfere with his studies. There was a girl he seemed to like a lot, but that was more than a year ago—before we moved in with Mama and Papa.

  I know I told you in a prior letter that we moved in with my parents after Everett sold the cramped little place he bought after you fired him. It was only today that I found out why he walked out on us. Joshua confessed to me that he told Everett, “Do not sleep here tonight, because if you do, then you’ll wake up in hell.” Everett believed him, because he got up one day, put on his clothes, and that was the last time I saw him. But before he walked out he told Joshua, “I only stayed because of the money, because why else would I marry a whore?” My son was able to do what I had been unable to do for so many years—stop the physical abuse with one threat.

  I had to convince Joshua that I had gone back to Everett because I believed a boy needed a man in his life, even one as cruel as Everett Kirkland. But now I know better. I should have and could have raised my son by myself. Divorced women and widows do it all the time, but I was too much of a coward to want to do it alone.

  Joshua, who has always believed Everett was his father, wanted to know everything. I told him everything. He knows you are his father.

  I have enclosed a photograph of him for you to see what a fine young man he has become.

  I was surprised when he asked me what I wanted. And again I was forthcoming when I told him, “What I want I can’t have. What I wanted I could never have.”

  Teresa

  Samuel stared at the photograph of a tall, slender boy with hair so light in color that it appeared silver. He’d stared directly at the person who had taken the picture, with no expression on his face. Samuel couldn’t discern the color of his eyes, but probably they were the same color as Teresa’s. He looked like his mother.

  Samuel sat motionless, staring at the face of a boy he’d come to know in name only. And knowing his name had allowed him to remain detached. It did not permit him to feel anything for a human he’d helped create through the most intimate act known to a man and woman.

  Samuel was angry, angry with Teresa for thrusting the stranger into his life now that he had a face to go along with the name. A muscle twitched nervously at his jaw when he picked up the remaining envelope.

  May 18, 1946

  Samuel,

  Joshua has decided where he wants to go to college: the United States Military Academy at West Point. If he is able to gain entrance, then there is no tuition cost.

  I know he is concerned about money, but I told him that I have saved some money, and with what I earn working at the hospital I will be able to cover the costs for tuition and books at Florida A&T.

  What he doesn’t know and I will never tell him is that his mother had become a thief when she pilfered money from Everett’s pocket whenever he drank so much that he didn’t know what day it was or if it was day or night. I don’t know if it is illegal for a wife to take money from her husband when he doesn’t give her any, so maybe I am a thief, but no one judges me more severely than I do myself.

  I am going to find out what it takes to get Joshua into West Point. My son has never asked for anything, so I will do whatever it takes to grant his wish.

  Teresa

  Samuel was relieved and saddened that there were no more letters. It had been a way of spending time with Teresa that was guilt-free. He could see her, touch her and smell her without her being there.

  He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and would always want her, but not enough to risk losing his wife.

  Martin’s direct flight from San Jose, Costa Rica, landed at the West Palm Beach Airport several hours after the sun had set. He took a taxi directly to the office instead of going home. He wanted to leave the blueprints and the construction reports for his father, and he also wanted to pick up his car.

  He took the elevator to the floor housing ColeDiz, walked the length of the carpeted hallway and unlocked the door that led directly to Samuel’s private office. He was shocked to discover that his father hadn’t gone home. Samuel lay on a leather sofa, an arm over his face.

  “Dad?”

  Samuel lowered his arm, swung his legs over the side of the sofa and stared at his son as if he were an apparition. “You’re back.”

  “You sound disappointed,” Martin teased, grinning.

  “No. Not at all.”

  Martin’s gaze swung to the stack of letters on his father’s desk. “What are those?”

  Massaging his temples with his fingertips, Samuel shook his head. “It’s a long story.”

  “How long will it take to tell?”

  “All night.”

  Martin placed the cardboard tube containing the plans and a leather-bound report on a credenza. “Does Mother know where you are?”

  Samuel nodded, then rolled his head on his shoulders. “I called her a little while ago to let her know I was working late.” He had to catch up with the reports he’d neglected when the carton filled with Teresa’s letters was delivered. It had taken him four days to read everything she’d written.

  Martin placed an arm around his father’s broad shoulders. “Let’s go over to Roadie’s where we can talk and eat.”

  Samuel waited until Martin had eaten most of his dinner of oxtail stew, rice and buttered lima beans before he revealed what had remained a best-kept secret for seventeen years.

  Martin’s black eyes flashed outrage. “You cheated on my mother,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Not able to meet his son’s gaze, Samuel stared over his shoulder. “I’m ashamed to say I did.”

  “How many times? With how many women?”

  “Martin, don’t,” he pleaded softly.

  “Don’t what, Dad? Don’t make you feel guilty? What about my mother?”

  “No, Martin. Your mother had her way of punishing me for my indiscretion.”

  “You call getting another woman pregnant an indiscretion?” He pounded the table with his fist, rattling dishes and cutlery. “I have another brother, Father!”

  Samuel knew Martin was close to losing control of his quick temper. Whenever he referred to him as Father, it usually foretold a hostile encounter.

  “Yes, Martin. You have another brother. One I’ve never met. One I saw today for the first time in a photograph. A sixteen-year-old boy who wants to go to West Point, a boy whose mother thinks I have the political influence to grant him his wish.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Joshua Kirkland.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Miami.”

  Mart
in ran a hand over his face. “You’re going to help him, Dad.” He lowered his hand, glaring at Samuel. “You owe him that much.”

  Pushing back his chair, Samuel stood up, put his hand in his pocket and left a bill on the table. “I’m tired, Martin. I’m going home to my wife. Are you going to drive me home, or should I call a taxi to take me back to the office so I can pick up my car?”

  Martin came to his feet. His father had dismissed him. “I’ll drive you home.”

  Chapter 38

  The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts.

  —1 Samuel 11:6

  Miami, Florida—April 15, 1947

  It had taken Martin Diaz Cole six months and three attempts to garner the nerve to contact his half brother. He’d arranged to meet Joshua Kirkland following his Jamaican vacation. Instead of flying into West Palm Beach, he had changed his ticket for Miami.

  He’d spent more than an hour waiting in a hotel lobby filled with players from the Homestead Grays and the Philadelphia Stars. They had gathered around a radio to witness history in the making. Jackie Robinson, the first Negro to integrate major league baseball, was scheduled to play his first game for the Brooklyn Dodgers at New York’s Ebbetts Field in Brooklyn, New York. A rousing cheer went up when Jackie Robinson’s name came through the speakers.

  All the excitement paled when Martin rose to his feet on shaky legs when he spied a tall, blond boy walking across the lobby. Staring numbly, he watched Joshua Kirkland make his way toward him. There was something about him that reminded him of their father.

  Martin’s relationship with Samuel had changed. The easygoing camaraderie and an openness that made them more like friends than father and son were missing, and in their place was a repressed hostility.

  His enmity wasn’t the result of his father’s adultery—that was between husband and wife—but Samuel’s decision to deny the existence of a son who had as much right to the Cole legacy as Nancy, Josephine and David.

  He studied his brother intently. Joshua’s hair appeared silver against his bronzed face. He had the slimness of a boy who had yet to put on the muscle of an adult male. A knowing smile creased the dimples in Martin’s cheeks. Joshua had inherited Samuel’s walk.

  A shiver shook Martin as he noticed his younger half brother’s eyes. The light green eyes were cold, icy, and he wondered whether he’d made a mistake to contact him. He’d come this far, and knew he had to see it through or live the rest of his life plagued by questions that would haunt him to his grave.

  He extended his right hand. “Hello. I’m Martin.”

  Joshua hesitated, staring at the large, groomed hand that belonged to the tall, well-dressed man who claimed they were brothers. He shook it with a barely perceptible nod of his head.

  “Joshua.”

  He has Dad’s hands, Martin mused. Those who weren’t familiar with Samuel Cole would never connect him with Joshua Kirkland, but Martin, although the similarities were subtle, knew the boy was undoubtedly his father’s son.

  “Would you like to go somewhere and talk, or stay here?”

  “Here is okay.”

  Martin gestured to two facing chairs separated by a small round table. “We can sit over there.” He waited for Joshua to sit, then sat down opposite him. He smiled when he and Joshua crossed a leg over the other knee as if they’d pantomimed the motion. Despite their obvious physical differences, there was no doubt both inherited traits particular to Samuel Cole.

  “How are you?” Martin asked, hoping to put his brother at ease when he stared directly at him, his cold gaze straining what was already an uncomfortable situation.

  “Well.”

  Martin frowned. It was the second one-word answer Joshua had delivered in a deep, emotionless tone.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  A pale eyebrow lifted slightly. “I only speak when I have something to say, not just to hear the sound of my own voice.”

  Bristling from the reprimand, Martin lowered his leg, clasping and unclasping his hands together between his knees. “I don’t know about you, but I am just as uncomfortable as you are.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable.”

  “What are you?”

  “Curious as to why you’d want to meet me.”

  Martin’s frown deepened to an angry scowl. “We are brothers, Joshua.”

  “So you say,” he said in a voice that was as flat as his expression.

  “What the hell are you so angry about? What went on between our parents has nothing to do with us.”

  “You’re wrong, Martin. It has everything to do with us. You’re Samuel Cole’s legitimate son and heir. I’m his bastard.”

  Joshua’s statement as to their existence was so matter-of-fact that Martin almost laughed. “You are still his flesh and blood.”

  A feral grin pulled a corner of Joshua’s firm mouth up. “Why isn’t he here saying this? Did the cowardly son of a bitch send you to extend the olive branch? Well, you can tell him that I won’t genuflect to his heir apparent because of my West Point acceptance. Tell him I would’ve made it without his interference.”

  Martin reacted as if Joshua had struck him across the face. Never had he seen such bitterness in someone so young. Had his mother spewed her venom, fueling her son’s hatred for his biological father?

  Struggling to control his temper, and not wanting to lash out at the brother who, up until six months ago, he hadn’t known existed, Martin sat back and folded his arms over his chest.

  “Samuel doesn’t know I’m meeting with you.”

  The light green eyes darkened with an unnamed emotion. “So why did you contact me?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  Joshua stood up in one, smooth motion. “If that’s the case, then I’m leaving. I have to study for a calculus final.”

  “Sit down!” Joshua had popped up and now down again like a jack-in-the-box with Martin’s unexpected outburst. “Please,” he added softly. The command and the teenager’s obedience had established Martin’s position as Joshua’s brother, his older brother.

  An uncomfortable silence followed Martin’s outburst. The seconds ticked off as the two older sons of Samuel Cole regarded each other with cold stares.

  Joshua broke the silence. “How long have you known about me?”

  Martin told Joshua how he’d come to know of his existence. “I was so angry with Dad that I wanted to hit him. All I could think of was what he had done to my mother. What she must have gone through once she discovered her husband had fathered a child out of wedlock.

  “Then I thought of your mother, her pain, the shame of having to marry a man she hated so she wouldn’t be branded with the scarlet letter.” Leaning forward on the chair, he rested a hand over Joshua’s. “Then I thought of you, what you had to go through with Everett Kirkland, what your mother had to put up with for so many years. There are no winners, Joshua. Everyone involved with what has become a dirty little secret was a loser.”

  Joshua shook off the hand covering his. “That’s where you’re wrong, Martin. The men won and the women lost. My mother was forced to marry a man she hated, a man who forced himself on her because he felt it was his right to rape her. Everett Kirkland was a selfish, manipulative, stingy son of a bitch—”

  “You may not look like Dad, but there is no doubt you’re his boy,” Martin said, interrupting Joshua.

  Joshua’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

  “You cuss like a Cole.”

  A hint of a smile crinkled the teenager’s eyes before he lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Never apologize for your feelings or beliefs,” Martin chastised quietly.

  Joshua’s head came up. “What about your father, Martin? Will he ever apologize to my mother for selling her into bondage? Has he apologized to your mother for being an adulterer? Has he apologized to his legitimate children that they have a half brother who might mess up their perfect little world if or when he de
cides he wants his rightful share of their inheritance? I thought not,” he continued when Martin’s expression did not change. “Well, you don’t ever have to worry about me telling anyone about the Coles’ dirty little secret. I’d die before I acknowledge that the blood of Samuel Cole runs in my veins.”

  “You’re angry, Joshua, and you have a right to your anger. When Samuel told me about you I’m ashamed to admit that I’d grown up believing my father was the perfect husband and the perfect father.

  “I stopped speaking to him. I went into the office, did my work and related to him like any other ColeDiz International employee. Whenever we sat down to dinner together I had to pretend all was well between us so my mother wouldn’t suspect something was wrong.”

  For a long moment, Joshua looked back at Martin. “Your mother doesn’t know you know?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “I don’t know. Are you going to tell your mother about me?”

  Joshua lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell her, Joshua, that you met me. Tell her that I’m going to be the older brother who will be there for you.”

  Joshua shook his head. “You can’t absolve Samuel of his guilt or what should have been his responsibility by being here for me.”

  “This had nothing to do with Samuel. This is between us. And it will remain between us.”

  Joshua stared down at the toes of his shoes, then Martin’s. The difference was startling. His older brother wore a fashionable lightweight suit and highly polished leather shoes; his own shabby attire was a pair of faded cotton slacks, a white shirt, open at the throat, and a seersucker jacket, one Everett Kirkland had left behind in his haste to leave. They were as different as night and day in so many ways: appearance and temperament. And the most obvious difference was money.

  His head came up and he gave his brother a long, penetrating look. “What do you want from me, Martin?”

  The tense lines in Martin’s face vanished when he smiled. “I want you to give me the opportunity to become a brother to you, and I want you to learn to trust me enough to come to me if you want or need anything. And I’d like for us to get together again before you leave for college.”