by Donna Hill
She graciously accepted the “Welcome homes” and condolences from her co-workers as she made her way around desks and cubicles to reach Mark’s office.
She tapped lightly on the frame of the open door and finger-waved when Mark looked up from his phone call. He motioned for her to come in and sit.
Zoie stepped in and sat opposite Mark’s desk. He finished his call and focused all his attention on Zoie.
“Well, great to see you. How are you? The family?”
“I’m good, still getting things together at home but making progress.”
“Glad to hear it.” He folded his hands atop his desk. “So where are you with the story?”
Zoie brought him up to speed on what she had done so far, from meeting with Lou Ellen Maitland to her upcoming meeting with Kimberly, including the long-hidden connection between the two families.
For several moments, Mark was silent. Finally, he spoke. “This is major. I mean if all of this is true, which I take it that it is, there will be major fallout. Are you prepared for that? Your article could take down one of the most powerful families in New Orleans, not to mention what it will do to Kimberly Graham and her family.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t move forward?” she asked, a part of her looking for a way out.
“Absolutely not. I only want you to be sure you are prepared.”
She swallowed. “I’m more than prepared. What they did to my family . . .” She shook her head.
He leaned back in his chair. “So Kimberly Maitland-Graham is your half sister.” He shook his head in amazement.
“For what it’s worth,” she murmured.
Mark blew out a breath. “Go for it. Keep me posted.”
“I will.” She stood and draped the strap of her tote over her shoulder. “My meeting with Kimberly is in an hour.”
“How long are you going to be in New York?”
“Until tomorrow. I need to get back. Still a lot to take care of with my grandmother’s business.”
Mark nodded. He leaned forward and pointed a warning finger at her. “I want you to check and double-check your facts every step of the way. The last thing we need is a lawsuit. I’ll have our attorneys look everything over when you’re done, just to be sure.”
“Of course.”
“Good luck, Zoie. I mean that.”
“Thanks.”
She walked out and headed for the elevator. The doors slid open, and Brian stepped out.
“Zoie! I didn’t know you were back.”
“I’m not, not really. Just stopped in to talk with Mark.”
He bobbed his head. “Everything good?”
“Yeah.”
“My sister met a friend of yours.”
She frowned in confusion. “Lindsay met a friend of mine? Who?”
“Jackson.”
Her stomach jumped. “Jackson?”
“Yeah. And you know Lindsay; she can get anyone to talk.”
Zoie tried to keep her expression neutral but was itching to know what they talked about. “I remember that about her. How is she?”
“Good. Almost finished with her degree.”
“Tell her I said hello.”
He slid his hands into his pockets. “Says he’s a really nice guy and has a strong thing for you. Still.”
She swallowed.
“We didn’t work for a lot of reasons, Z, but I think you’re an amazing woman. Maybe when you stop pushing people away, you can see how amazing you really are.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Take care.” He walked away before she had a chance to react.
The elevator doors opened again. She stepped on, and the doors slid shut, closing her in with her swirling thoughts for fifteen floors.
CHAPTER 26
Kimberly hurried into her office. She desperately wanted to wash her face to get rid of the heavy makeup that had been applied for her public service announcement. The taping went well, and the girls were thrilled to be a part of it and couldn’t wait to tell their friends that they were going to be on television.
“Hey,” she said on a breath to Gail. “Zoie Crawford should be here—”
“She’s already here,” Gail said, keeping her voice low. “I put her in the small conference room.”
Kimberly made a face. “Eager,” she groused. “Okay, let me put my things down. Give me five minutes, and show her into my office.”
“Will do.”
Kimberly went into her office and shut her door. Her heart was pounding. Even though she knew that this woman was meeting with her today, there was a part of her that hoped she’d changed her mind or disappeared off the face of the earth. All the activity of the morning and preparing for the taping kept her mind off of the pending interview and the bomb that woman dropped at the gala.
For the entire weekend, she’d battled bouts of anxiety. Hour after hour, she ran a reel of her life in her head, trying to reconcile anything that Crawford woman told her. To believe it, to accept it, would mean that everything she knew about her life was a total and complete lie.
She paced in front of her desk to gather her thoughts and compose herself. She thought of her daughters, her husband, and what this kind of scandal would do to them. True, this wasn’t the fifties in the South, but when it came to salacious details that tore down rising politicians, time made no difference. What she must keep at the forefront of her mind was that she would not allow this woman to destroy her family. She would do whatever it took to ensure they were protected.
Drawing in a deep breath of resolve, she pressed the intercom and instructed Gail to show Zoie into her office.
Kimberly stood behind her desk. When Zoie walked through the doors, Kimberly gripped the edge of her desk; her knees suddenly felt weak. Looking at Zoie, in the broad light of day, with her accusations imprinted on her mind, she saw things she didn’t want to see—a familial resemblance that she couldn’t deny; the slope of the eyes, the forehead, the bow of the lips, shape of her face, and the dimple in her chin. Kimberly lifted her chin.
“Good afternoon,” Zoie said.
Kimberly gave a short nod. “Please, come in.” She extended her hand toward a chair.
She watched the way Zoie moved with controlled confidence, and she wondered if that was a family trait or something she’d developed over time. She settled in her seat, took out a notebook and what looked like a journal of some sort. Even from across the desk, she could see that it was old by the visible yellow pages and the faded floral cover. Her heart thumped.
Kimberly sat down. “Before we get started, Ms. Crawford, I want to be very clear. I won’t sit by and listen to any more of your outrageous nonsense about my family and myself. If you intend to continue to be part of the embedded press for my campaign, we are going to be clear on this from this point forward.” There, she’d established the ground rules. She watched Zoie’s eyes flash and her mouth move as if she intended to smile but thought better of it.
Zoie opened the journal to one of the many pages she’d marked off, turned it around to face Kimberly, and set it on her desk without a word.
“What is this?”
“Your grandmother’s journal.”
Kimberly felt her cheeks flush. She snorted her disbelief but still pulled the book toward her. Immediately she recognized the practiced handwriting—the same writing used on the notes that Ms. Claudia used to leave for her in her lunch bag or that she would find on her dresser in the morning to remind her how important she was and that she was loved.
She blinked rapidly to stem the well of tears that suddenly sprang up in her eyes as the memory washed over her, and the space in her heart that she thought she’d filled opened like a sinkhole.
I want to go back home. I know the Maitlands paid good money for me. My mama said so. Said the money would help the family and I would have a good life with the Maitlands in the States in return. They treat me good. I got my own room and the food is good. Not like home. I look after their boy, Mas
ter Kyle. He a good boy, not much trouble.
Kimberly felt her chest tighten. She flipped to another marked section further along in the journal.
Ms. Lou Ellen tole me today how lucky I am to be here and what a good thing I am doing for my family. I guess. Most days I don’t feel lucky. But Duncan makes it all fine. We spend time when I have a day off and he on leave. I think he gon ask me to marry him. Then maybe I can leave. Maybe I can go back home.
She turned the pages and read the periodic and scattered entries that spoke of Claudia’s life with the Maitlands, her courtship with Duncan and their tiny church wedding, little details about Kyle and how he excelled at everything and was the most important thing to his parents. Kyle could do no wrong in his parent’s eyes. She wrote about the elaborate parties that the Maitlands hosted. And her slow understanding that being married to Duncan Bennett didn’t change her life at all. If anything, it only made it more complicated.
With two young children and one more in her belly, and a man who preferred the service to being a husband and father, she didn’t see how she would ever get to leave. Housework, caregiving, and cooking were the only skills she had, and after so many years, her dreams of a different kind of life were all but forgotten.
Sometimes in my bed at night I think I’m no better than an indentured servant and my debt ain’t never gonna get paid.
Kimberly shut the journal and turned her glare on Zoie. “This doesn’t mean anything.” She pushed the journal across the desk. “Is this your proof?” She sputtered a laugh.
Zoie leaned over to the tote at her feet and pulled out another journal. “The entries in this one are about you . . . and our mother . . . and your real father.” She stretched her arm to hand the book to Kimberly.
Kimberly stared at the black-and-white notebook like it might bite her. Finally, she took it and fought to keep her hand from shaking.
Almost defiantly, she flipped the cover open. These entries spoke of Claudia’s worry about her daughter, Rose, and the closeness that she was developing with Kyle Maitland.
I keep telling Rose to stay away from him. But she stubborn. I worry every time I don’t know where she is. I bring her to the house to keep an eye on her, but she would sneak off to spend time with him whenever he home. Kyle a grown man. I knows he think he being nice to her, but Rose making more of it than it is.
Kimberly turned to one of the pages marked with a Post-it.
Dear lord, I know what we doing is wrong, but it’s best. My soul is broken. My chile. My baby. She ain’t but sixteen. I told her to stay away from that man. I warned her. Ms. Lou Ellen and Mr. Franklin almost lost their minds. Said the family would be ruined. Mr. Kyle would be ruined. They wasn’t gonna let that happen. Evah.
Rose cried and begged, but I ain’t got no choice. She gonna go to New York. Pregnant. No husband. White man’s baby. Jesus. Brought shame on both families. Broke my heart. Ms. Lou Ellen says they will take care of everything as long as Rose stays gone.
Kimberly’s hands shook as she continued to read.
Rose gonna have a good life. She don’t know it yet, but she will. Her baby girl white as snow, but she got our eyes. I scared to think what would have happened if she had been a little brown girl like her mama. She won’t know her mama, but she’ll know her grandmama. They named her Kimberly after Ms. Lou Ellen’s mother. I’m gonna watch over that baby for as long as I can.
Kimberly shut the notebook, unable to read another word. Her head pounded. She couldn’t think; a million thoughts ran through her head at once. The most horrific part of this outlandish tale was to suggest that her brother was actually her father. The very idea made her ill.
“What do you want?” she finally said, barely moving her lips.
“I don’t want to hurt you or your family, but I want your family to admit what they’ve done. I want you to admit who you really are. I want you to acknowledge your real mother. She deserves that much.” She paused. “That’s what I want.”
Kimberly stared at Zoie. Did she have any idea what this would do to her family, her husband and children? Obviously not. The only thing she wanted was some kind of twisted retribution.
She took the two books and shoved them in her desk.
“You can keep them. I made copies of the important pages. Take your time and read them.” She reached in her tote and took out a small photograph. She stood and placed the photo on Kimberly’s desk. “That’s Rose. Our mother.” She picked up her bag from the floor. You have my number. After you have a chance to think it over, call me when you’re ready to talk.” She turned and walked out.
Kimberly lowered her head, covered her face with her hands, and wept.
CHAPTER 27
Zoie held her head high as she strutted out of the office building and onto the busy Manhattan streets. It wasn’t until she reached the corner and had to wait for the light that she began to tremble. Her knees weakened, and she grabbed a pole a moment before she felt herself begin to fall.
A well-dressed young man rushed to her side. “Are you okay?” He held her arm.
Zoie slowly lifted her head and focused on the man holding her arm. She drew in long deep breaths and willed her stomach to stop turning over.
“Yes . . . thank you.” She tried to smile. “Got a little light-headed.” She straightened and noticed several passersby slowing down to see what was going on.
“You sure?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.”
He gave her one last look, then hurried across the street.
The curious moved on. She hailed a cab that screeched to a stop in front of her. She slid in, gave the driver her address, and rested her head on the leather seat back. She closed her eyes, and Kimberly’s stricken expression bloomed in front of her.
She thought she would feel some sense of ultimate satisfaction, some vindication. What she felt was sick.
* * *
“How’d the meeting go?” Gail asked when Kimberly stepped out of her office. “Hey, you okay?” She started to get up from her seat.
Kimberly motioned for her to sit. “I’m fine. Um, I’m going to take the rest of the day off. Forward any important calls.”
“What about your three o’clock with the campaign committee?”
“Please reschedule.”
“Sure,” she said slowly.
“Thanks.” She walked out, took the elevator to the underground garage, and got her car.
On the drive home, she took intermittent looks at the damning notebook and journal on the passenger seat. She didn’t want to believe it. If she did, then where did that leave her? How could she ever explain it to her husband, her children, and her friends?
Her gaze settled on her hands, which gripped the steering wheel. They looked the same. The same hands, the same face. Yet they weren’t.
For her entire life, she had believed herself to be the daughter of Lou Ellen and Franklin Maitland, pillars of southern society. But she wasn’t. They were in actuality her grandparents, and the man she believed to be her brother was her father. They’d all deceived her. Her existence was built on a mountain of lies. Her so-called family was no better than modern-day slaveholders, having “purchased” Claudia Bennett from her own family and ultimately her descendants.
Her stomach started to churn. Heat swept through her body and exploded in her head. She quickly pulled over to the side, opened her door, and threw up.
* * *
“Mrs. Graham, you’re home early. Everything okay?” Farrah asked when Kimberly walked in. She closed the oven and set it for three hundred.
“Just a headache. I’m going to take a shower and lie down for a bit. Would you still stay until the girls get home from school and get settled?”
“Of course. Do you need anything?”
Kimberly felt the sting of tears burn her eyes. She swallowed and forced herself to smile. “No just a nap. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She quickly turned away and hurried to her bedroom.
Once inside
, she shut and locked the door. She toed off her shoes, crossed the carpeted floor, and flopped face down on her bed.
The conversation, the revelations, the words, and the picture swirled in her head. What was she going to do? She couldn’t even fathom the far-reaching outcome if this story was ever revealed. She didn’t care so much about herself, but what about her children and her husband?
She turned over onto her back and draped an arm across her eyes. If Zoie wrote and printed this ugly story, this buried piece of history, her run for office would be over. That much she was certain of. The scandal alone would overshadow whatever she wanted to accomplish. Voters wouldn’t give a damn if she was the best candidate or not, only that she was mired in the kind of ugly past that the country still wanted to pretend hadn’t happened.
She needed advice, but there was no one she could turn to. No one. She pulled herself upright, swung her feet to the floor, and went to retrieve her bag with the books. She took out the photograph of her mother, Rose.
Kimberly stared at the image. Did she now know that the daughter she believed to be dead all these years was alive and well and living the life of a white woman? God, it sounded like something out of a fifties movie. But it wasn’t. It was real, and it was now, and she was the star.
Her mother was beautiful. Kimberly saw a shadow of herself in the face that looked back at her. She even saw pieces of herself in her half sister, as much as she was unwilling to admit it.
Yet none of it mattered. She could not allow her life with her husband and children to be destroyed.
Rowan wasn’t an outright racist, but he often had opinions about black people that up until now did not include her. They did have black acquaintances, but none that they could say were actual friends. They didn’t, as a couple, travel in mixed circles. And the more she envisioned the people in their immediate circle, the more she realized how sterile it actually was.
