by Donna Hill
“I’ll make this brief. During the past few months, I’ve received several threatening letters, all related to my work with police reform and brutality cases. Last week I received a letter not only threatening me, but my family as well. Last night, my home was broken into and trashed. And today, my sister, Councilwoman Montgomery, was attacked on the road by another car while en route to my office.”
“Do you have any idea who’s behind these alleged attacks?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you think it’s the police?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“But why would the police attack the councilwoman?”
“I never said the police were involved,” she quickly corrected, already seeing the spin on that in tomorrow’s newspapers.
“Councilwoman Montgomery, could this have anything to do with your campaign against Vincent McCall?”
Simone stepped closer to the crowd of journalists. “As you all know, I’ve been very outspoken about the police in this district. My opponent feels just the opposite. However, I would not presume to think that Vincent McCall would have anything to do with something of this nature. And I want to be very clear that today’s incident will in no way deter me from my course of action.” Her chest seized up as she tried to suck in air, and she swore she saw Adam in the back of the crowd.
“The reason for this gathering is to put whoever this is on notice and to make the community aware of what’s going on,” Samantha added.
“There’s been talk that there is a class action suit in progress against the D.C. police department,” a reporter from the back of the crowd stated. “Spearheaded by you and your family.” Everyone turned. “Is there any truth in that and if so, how do you intend to pursue it?”
Samantha looked at Chad, then back to the crowd. She had to be careful here. “If and when the time comes we’ll share whatever information we have. Thank you all for coming.” She turned away and headed back inside, followed by the others and the shouts of more questions hurled at their backs.
As soon as they were inside Simone nearly collapsed. Chad grabbed her as instant before she fell. “Bring the car around to the side!” He lifted her in his arms and hurried toward the side door.
“Yes, Pam, I’m fine. I swear. Yes, I saw the doctor. The chest wall is bruised from the impact and my neck is a little stiff. He gave me some painkillers. No, don’t call off the interview. We’ve waited too long to get this. I’ll have someone drop me off at the studio and you can have the car pick me up as planned. Yeah, I’m glad it wasn’t worse, too. We’ll discuss…Adam later. Okay, I’ll call you.” She shut down her cell phone and tucked it back in her purse.
“Ready?” Samantha gently asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” The smell of the hospital was beginning to get to her. She looked from one concerned face to another. “I’m fine,” she reaffirmed.
“The doctor said you need to be in bed, Simone, especially when you take this medicine,” Vaughn warned her daughter. “And your blood pressure is a little high. You could black out.”
“It’s just the stress from the accident, the doctor said. I’ll be fine. I have a television interview that we’ve planned for months to secure, and I’m going. I’ll take the medication when I get home.” Her head was pounding.
“Well, you’re not driving,” Justin insisted.
“I’ll take her,” Chad offered.
“No, that’s—”
“I’ll take you.” His tone and firm expression left no room for debate.
“Fine. Then we’d best get going. I don’t want to be late.”
Chad slid his arm around her waist…and it felt all too good.
Chapter 30
When Samantha returned to her office, she was stunned to find her mother seated in the waiting area. Mia glanced up from her computer keys and shrugged apologetically. She didn’t know all the details about the rift between the two of them, but she did know that Samantha harbored some very negative feelings about her mother. She felt as if her back was against the wall when Janice suddenly appeared and insisted that she’d wait for Samantha’s return no matter how long it took. What could she do?
Samantha strutted to Mia’s desk. “Any messages?” She glanced across the room at her mother.
“I left them in your office. Mostly calls from the press. There were several from some of the clients on the ‘list.’” She said the last word as if it were holy.
“Thanks.” She lowered her voice. “How long has she been here?”
“About two hours. I told her I didn’t know when you’d be back. She wouldn’t leave. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I need you to finish up the names on the database. Chad will be here later to review them. The court papers are going to be filed next week. We’ll have to work like hell to get everything together by then, and I want to be sure not to inadvertently leave anyone out. We’ll be putting in some long hours during the next few days.”
“No problem. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” She sucked in a breath and walked toward her mother. “I thought we said all we needed to say at Dad’s office.”
Janice stood, matching her daughter in height. “No, Samantha, we didn’t. And I couldn’t go back to Atlanta knowing that. Please, can’t you give me a few minutes?”
All of her earlier bravado was gone, Samantha noted. She gritted her teeth. This was her mother, the woman who gave her birth. If her father had found a way to forgive, if not forget, why couldn’t she? “A few minutes, that’s all.” She led the way to her small office and closed the door. “Have a seat.” She extended her hand in the direction of an empty chair.
Janice looked around, noting the shabby dignity of the space. This is not what she would have expected of her daughter, not what she would have wanted. She’d envisioned her in grandeur, with a wealthy man who would do anything for her. The life she’d wanted for herself. But this was Samantha’s choice, and as difficult as it was for her to accept, she would have to reconcile with that if she ever expected to regain her daughter’s love.
“Mind if I smoke?” Janice asked.
“Actually, I do. But if it will make you feel better, go right ahead.” She sat behind her desk and wondered how Simone made out with her interview, what she and Chad may have said to each other.
Janice nervously lit her cigarette and blew a thin cloud of smoke into the air. Samantha turned up her nose, covered her mouth and coughed. Janice looked around for an ashtray. Finding none, she went to the makeshift kitchen and put the butt out with a splash of water from the sink.
“Thanks,” Samantha mumbled, feeling smugly triumphant.
Janice turned to her daughter. “I know you don’t want to hear this…but I’m sorry, Sam.”
“You said that already.” She folded her arms.
“I’m saying it again. I’m saying it in the hopes that you’ll understand.”
“What else is there for me to understand? You took me from my father, you lied to me for years about why, and now you want me to understand. I don’t get it, Mother. What piece of the puzzle am I missing?”
“Samantha, I loved your father…and I still do—”
“Please.” She held up her hand, her expression twisted into a frown.
“Listen. I never left your father because I didn’t love him, or because he hurt me. I loved him too much. I saw how hard he worked, how hard he struggled and the look on his face when he would come to me and tell me there wasn’t enough money for food and bills. I saw what it was doing to him, breaking him, and I knew what it was doing to me. I know what I did was foolish, selfish. But day by day my love was turning into resentment. And I couldn’t let that happen. You and your father were the only perfect things in my life. And I saw it all coming apart. I didn’t want to wait around and have his love turn on me because he couldn’t take care of me.
“I was young. I was stupid. And if I could, I’d change it all to have the both o
f you back in my life, but I can’t. All I can ask is that you try to forgive me…somehow.”
Samantha stared at her in confusion. “That’s…that’s not what you said…this morning.”
“How could I ever tell your father, that proud black man, what I just told you?” Her voice choked. “Don’t you think I’ve done enough to him?”
“Why didn’t you work? Why didn’t you help if you were so concerned?” She had to grab for something, hurl something at her to keep the overwhelming emotion of wanting her mother from brimming to the top and spilling over.
Janice looked away. “We were married barely two months when I became pregnant with you. I was sick from the beginning. The doctors didn’t think I would be able to carry you to term. And we wanted you so desperately.”
Samantha paced back and forth.
“I was on bed rest for my entire pregnancy. I…nearly died during delivery. After you were born, I never really recovered physically. Your father would not hear of me working and didn’t want any strangers taking care of you. He did the best he could, gave everything he had, but things just kept getting worse, and I would see that look of defeat on your father’s face at the end of the day, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”
She was crying openly now, tears running steadily down her cheeks. “So I left, filed for divorce, got on public assistance and made a life from there. Your father always thought it was about another man.” She sniffed loudly. “That’s what I wanted him to believe.”
Samantha slowly shook her head in disbelief. “What do you expect me to do with all this? How am I supposed to feel?”
“I can’t tell you what to do with your feelings, Sam. I only want you to deal with them with the truth in front of you.” She crossed the room to stand in front of her daughter. “Be well, Samantha.” She turned away and walked toward the door.
“Ma.”
Janice stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“I can wait for you,” Chad offered when they’d pulled into the studio parking lot.
“I’ll be fine.” She’d spent the entire fifteen-minute drive with her eyes closed in the hope that they wouldn’t have to talk. Up until now, it had worked.
“I don’t think you should be left alone, Simone. What if you get dizzy again.”
She turned to him. “I won’t be alone. There’s a studio full of people,” she said a bit too sharply, then softened her tone, “I appreciate your concern, but I said I’m fine. Pam is sending a car to pick me up. It’s a sit-down interview, no stress, no strain involved.”
“Where’s Adam? He should be here. Isn’t he your press secretary?”
Simone inwardly flinched. “Adam doesn’t work for me anymore.” She opened her door and prepared to get out.
“Why, what happened?”
“Nothing I care to discuss.”
Chad clenched his teeth. “Exactly what is it that you do care to discuss, Simone? Anything outside of politics? What about what’s going on inside of you? Did Adam displease you in some way, too, so you dismissed him? Like you did me?”
She froze for a moment. The attack was on target. “Thanks for the ride, Chad. As for the advice, you can keep it, okay.” She got out and slammed the door, headed for the entrance, not daring to look back.
He watched her leave and felt an overwhelming urge to go after her, shake some sense into her. But he knew it would be pointless. He shook his head and pulled off. If that’s the way she wanted it, he’d leave her the hell alone. He pulled out into traffic and headed back to Samantha’s office. They had work to do, and he wouldn’t cloud his thoughts with Simone and her issues that he couldn’t get a handle on. But he couldn’t help but wonder what happened between her and Adam Parsons.
Chapter 31
The black Lincoln Town Car pulled to a slow stop in front of Simone’s house. She signed the voucher for payment and returned it to the driver, her body growing more rigid and achy by the minute from the physical aftereffects of the crash. A nice hot bath. Stiffly, she stepped from the car and ambled on leaden legs toward her front door, head bowed against the pounding rain that had picked up again during the past few hours. The heavyset hairstylist at the studio had done wonders with her damp tresses, but the unrelenting weather had taken control once again.
Normally, she would have jogged to the door, but this evening her body wouldn’t let her. Wouldn’t obey. A nice hot bath and medication.
A sharp breath caught in her throat when a shadow took on human form and stepped into her path from beneath the eaves.
“Simone,” Adam said.
Her heart raced in triple time and she was uncertain if it was terror or anger that had its firm grip around her throat. “What are you doing here? If you’ve come to beg about your job, forget it.” She swallowed and tried to slow down her galloping pulse. “Please move.” Water dripped from him as if he’d been standing there for hours. For an instant she felt sorry for him.
He held her shoulder, both to restrain and reassure her. “I need you to listen to me. And you need to hear what I have to say.”
“Fuck you, Adam! You don’t know jack about what I need.” She felt the hysteria building like the breathstealing sensation that rises when the roller coaster reaches the top and begins the abrupt descent—and a chilling scream rips from the rider’s throat. That’s what she felt like doing, screaming at the top of her lungs until she was silenced.
“Simone, do you remember what we once said about never letting anybody or anything threaten our friendship?” He asked her this question in a soft, soothing voice usually reserved for cops trying to talk people down from tall buildings. “Do you remember what we said?”
She corralled her rampaging emotions for a few seconds, the stance of her body offering a brief truce that would only last for several sentences. He’d better talk and talk fast. This would be the last time her defenses would be down so low.
“We said our friendship, our everything, was built on trust, and just because we slept together is no reason to throw all of that out the window.” Adam continued in that serene voice, “What did I do that was so bad? What part of us did I violate?”
“Don’t talk to me about trust,” she shot back. “I don’t want to hear it. Not after you treated me like some cheap piece of ass you picked up for a quickie. You got what you wanted, scored big time, and walked out without leaving even a note. Why didn’t you leave some money on the dresser?”
“How could you say something like that to me? How could you, Simone?”
“Because that’s how you made me feel. Like a whore flatbacking in a hot-sheet motel. Do you know how I felt when I woke up and you weren’t there? Do you have any idea how that feels?”
Adam was silent. He watched the suffering in her eyes, the vulnerability in the rushed cadence of her words, thinking how considerate he thought he had been by not disturbing her that morning. He let her sleep. Maybe he didn’t want to face up to the emotional barrier they crossed by sleeping together. Intimacy. That was about trust. And, somehow, by doing what she considered the ultimate humiliation, he’d ruined that trust—kept himself at a safe emotional distance that he could manage, but at what cost? If he ever hoped to cross that emotional barrier, he’d have to learn to trust as well, no more than he was asking of her. He’d understood how frightened and vulnerable she was before that night, but he’d allowed himself to forget it, believing that their one night was a cure-all, able to make everything better, the past go away. Stupid.
“Well…” she demanded.
“I left because…I wasn’t thinking…not because I didn’t care. I went home to get ready for work, put everything in place—for you,” he said. “If I thought my leaving—” he threw his hands up, shaking his head “—I would have stayed.” He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze pouring into hers. “Listen to me,” he said in an urgent whisper. “Don’t you think I know what you were saying about your feelings for me when we made love? Don�
��t you think I understand what a tremendous gift you gave me last night?”
She was weakening, just a bit. “You didn’t act like it. Why didn’t you leave a note?”
“I was still high on what happened with us. I just wasn’t thinking. It didn’t cross my mind. I’ve waited, Simone, waited for us to get together. Believe me, I wouldn’t do anything to put that in jeopardy. Nothing.” He paused. “I love you, Simone.”
Love. This was all too much for her to think about right now. Love. She touched him softly on the arm, then casually wiped the wetness from his forehead with a tissue retrieved from her pocket. They stood there, pushing beyond the chaos of the moment, recalling the splendor of that glorious night, before his departure, before this misunderstanding. But she couldn’t deal with this right now—deal with love right now. Before Adam could react, she was gone through the rain and mist into the house.
The rain still pattered outside, even late into the evening. It was almost soothing now, continuous, the watery drumbeat a part of the dusk’s natural rhythm. Flames flickered from white tapers on the mantel and tabletops in the semidarkened room, giving the cool evening an enchanted effect.
Samantha sat with her legs curled beneath her, Chad next to her with his arm draped casually around her shoulder. The tips of his fingers played with the strands of her hair. She took a sip of her chilled Chablis, staring into the flames. “Some day, huh?” she asked rhetorically.
Chad eased her closer. The unfolding of the day’s events seemed to have been stripped from the script of a blockbuster movie. No dramatic device was left unused, from the break-in, the return of the estranged mother, a sinister car chase, the inevitable descent of the headline-hungry press, right down to the dark and gloomy night. If it weren’t so painfully true, he would bust his gut laughing at the total absurdity of it all. Sheer melodrama. Unfortunately, it was all too true.
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it,” he said finally. He kissed her forehead tenderly. “How are you holding up?”
