by Tina Martin
Andre listened at the grinding sound of the shredder, destroying the paperwork.
“Done,” Stan confirmed.
“Thanks, Stan. I appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome.”
Andre hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands. He needed answers. He needed to know why she chose to end what they had, even if it was only for a week.
“Mr. Rockwell, you have a visitor,” Andre’s assistant informed him, peeping into his office, interrupting his thoughts.
Andre looked confused. He wasn’t expecting any visitors until noon. Sitting straight up in his chair, he asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s a…Maria Davenport.”
Davenport.
Andre knew that whoever Maria was, she was some relation to Ava. “Send her in.”
He watched as an older woman step in his office wearing a flowery blouse with some fuchsia-colored pants. She looked as if she’d been crying. Her eyes were puffy, nose red.
“Hello, Mr. Rockwell,” Maria said.
His assistant left the office, closing the door behind her.
“Have a seat.” Andre gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.
Maria sat down, hung on to her purse like it was her lifeline and looked at him.
“How can I help you?” Andre asked.
“I’m here about my daughter.”
“Let me guess…Ava’s your daughter?”
“Yes, Sir. Mr. Rock—”
“Did she send you here?” Andre interrupted, folding his hands, resting his chin on them.
“No, she didn’t send me here,” Maria quickly cut in. “She doesn’t know I’m here, actually.”
That piqued his curiosity. Why would her mother come alone? Without Ava’s knowledge? “Well,” he said, interlocking his fingers together. “What can I do for you?”
“You are the man she met in Nassau, correct?”
“Yes. I vacationed there two years ago.”
Maria’s eyes watered. “My Ava fell in love with you.”
This visit from Maria is what he’d been waiting for. He tried to get some answers from Ava yesterday evening as to why she left him hanging, but she wasn’t talking. Now, he would juice her mother for information.
Shaking his head, Andre said, “I beg to differ, Ms. Davenport.”
“I’m here to tell you she did, Mr. Rockwell.”
“Do you know how many times I tried to call Ava after that vacation? How many voicemails I left for her? Text messages? I called her so many times, I lost count and she didn’t take one single call from me. Not one.”
“But—”
“Not once did your daughter reach out to me.”
“I know, but—”
“Call me crazy, but that does not sound like a woman in love.”
“She does love you.”
“Then why?” he questioned her. He intended on asking Ava the same thing the next time he saw her, but since her mother was sitting in his office, on the verge of tears, he’d planned on using it to his advantage. “I was in love with your daughter, Ms. Davenport. Before I met Ava, I didn’t believe love at first sight was possible, but she changed my viewpoint on that. And I was looking forward to spending my life with her and she broke my heart, something that’s not easy to do, but she did it. So, in my mind, I have to believe that if she loved me, we would be together right now. I would’ve been there through the pregnancy and I would’ve seen my son being born. I would’ve been right there holding her hand.”
Maria shook her head.
“You don’t think so?” Andre questioned, eyebrows raised.
“Ava didn’t want it that way.”
“Why not? That’s what I need to know.”
“She was never supposed to have Andrew. Her heart wasn’t strong enough to support a pregnancy and the doctors all wanted her to terminate the pregnancy.”
Andre frowned. Puzzled. “What do you mean her heart wasn’t strong enough?”
“Mr. Rockwell, my daughter is sick. She’s been diagnosed with heart failure and her heart is getting weaker by the day. It could stop any minute now, without any warning. She’s currently on the transplant waiting list.”
“What?” Andre grimaced, his stomach in knots as he struggled to breathe. His lips trembled. Body stiffened. To hear this news sent shockwaves through his mind. It couldn’t be.
Maria took a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed her eyes. “Ava was heartbroken when she came home from Nassau. She talked briefly about you...told me how special you were...said she couldn’t bring herself to tell you about her heart condition. Said you deserved better. So she never told you and if she knew I was here, telling you this right now, she would probably never speak to me again.” Maria sniffled more, blew her nose into a new Kleenex and continued, “I’m sorry I had to come down here like this and disrupt your day, but I beg of you, please don’t take Andrew away from her. He is all she has.”
Andre lowered his head, speechless. What could he say now? The years he’d spent hating Ava now seemed like a waste of energy. It was a waste of energy. She was sick and he was making her sicker with his blatant disrespect, showing up at her house any time of night, yelling and carrying on. Suddenly, this wasn’t just about him and his ego or how slighted he felt when she avoided his calls. It was about her health. The woman he loved was sick.
“I’m going to get out of your office now,” Maria said, standing. “Please do not let Ava know that I spoke with you.”
Andre nodded, watching her walk away.
“Ms. Davenport, before you go, can I ask you something?” Andre stood up, anticipating her response.
“Sure.”
“How close do you live to her?”
“I live in Raleigh, so about three hours.”
“Two years ago...did she live in Raleigh?”
“Yes. She lived with me. She didn’t move out until she came back from that vacation...said she didn’t want me looking after her anymore. I asked her to get one of those emergency pendants, you know, those things people who have health conditions wear around their necks, but she didn’t want that. So shortly after the vacation, she moved to Charlotte. Two months later, she saw a doctor and confirmed her pregnancy.”
Andre nodded. So she was telling me the truth when she told me she lived in Raleigh.
“After we parted ways from Nassau, I tried looking for her but wasn’t successful because she told me her name was Ava Flowers.”
“Oh,” Maria smiled. “Flowers is my maiden name. Ava’s father died when she was two, and I kept my married name...Davenport.”
Andre flashed a weak smile then nodded. He joined Maria at the door, embraced her and then, releasing her from his grasp, he said, “Sick or not, I want you to know that I love your daughter and I’m still very much in love with her. But in order for me to move forward, I’m going to need her to tell me everything you’ve told me today. I need to hear it out of her mouth.”
Maria shook her head. “She won’t tell you.”
“Then I’ll have to find a way to make her then, won’t I?”
Maria smiled. At that moment, she knew her daughter would be okay in the hands of Andre Rockwell. He wasn’t as callous as she initially thought he might be.
Once Maria left, Andre took some time to research heart failure, reading all about the symptoms and the risks – familiarizing himself with the condition that the woman he loved had, and what he could do to help her.
Ava
. ~ .
TODAY, I FEEL like I’m going to pass out. A nagging, dizzy spell has been haunting me all day. In addition to feeling overworked and exhausted, I know as soon as I get home, Andre is going to show up like a raging lunatic, looking for Drew. I wish he hadn’t seen me that day.
If my mother wasn’t in town that weekend and so obsessed with going to Aria Tuscan Grill for lunch, I would’ve never seen Andre and our paths may have never crossed. My life would be normal, well as normal as it can be given my
circumstances, and I wouldn’t have to worry about being threatened with a custody battle. Now Andre wants to take Drew away from me.
I guess this is payback. In the back of my mind, I always knew there was a possibility something like this could happen, but since Andre lived in Florida and I was in North Carolina, I thought the odds were slim. Maybe I should start playing the lottery...
* * *
When I get home, I see a black sports car parked in my parking stall. I park next to it and get out of the car. I look over and see Andre, getting out at the same time. He’s wearing a tan suit, dressed nice, but looks mean. I know it’s rude, but I keep walking to avoid a parking lot confrontation with him. I don’t want my neighbors in my personal business. He doesn’t have to live here. I do.
“Ava.”
I hear him call my name as I jog up two flights of stairs. I’m not even supposed to be jogging, but I wanted to get away from him as quickly as I possibly could.
Standing at my door now, I cannot get the key in the keyhole to save my life.
“Where’s Andrew?” he asks as he breaks around the corner, with not a pinch of sweat on him.
“I’m about to go and get him.”
“Get him from where?” he asks, walking closer to me.
His scent sets my soul ablaze as I recall our bodies touching while he held me captive last night. I force the thought away from my mind to concentrate on getting the door open.
Once successful, I step into the living room with Andre right behind me, of course, like he lives here. Like he has a right to come here without being invited in because this is where his son lives.
“I asked you a question, Ava,” he says calmly.
“I heard you.” Even though his temperament seems better than it was yesterday evening, I don’t like his pushiness. And why is he here anyway? To see Drew or get more ammunition for his custody case against me?
“Um...Drew stays with a friend while I’m working,” I say. I drop my purse on the couch, along with my black waitress apron. “She lives a few doors down. If you give me a minute, I’ll go and get him, or do you want to walk with me?”
There was no reply.
Instead of answering me, he only stares blankly, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his expensive pants, eyeing me up and down. I have on my work outfit – a short-sleeved white blouse and black khakis – nothing fancy, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off of my body, like he’s reminiscing. Maybe he is.
“I’ll be right back,” I finally say to him and as I walk pass him to get to the front door, I see that he’s right behind me yet again.
Walking a few doors down, I push the doorbell at Clara’s place and she opens the door after a few moments. She looks at me and smile, but her eyes grow huge when she sees Andre standing behind me.
“Ah...um,” she begins to stutter.
I can only imagine what she must be thinking. I told her the story of Andre, the things we did on vacation and his plans to take Andrew away from me. I also told her that Drew looks just like his father. Now she sees it for herself.
“Um...Clara, this is Andre. Andre, this is my friend, Clara. She keeps Drew when I’m working.”
Andre extends his hand to her, which surprises me because the man has been spastic since our rocky reconnection. Or maybe his aberrant, condescending behavior is only directed towards me. With everyone else, he’s a gentleman – the gentleman he told me he was in Nassau.
He releases Clara’s hand after a professional businesslike shake.
“Let me get Andrew,” Clara says.
Clara walks back into her apartment and since she didn’t bother inviting us in, she must still be in a state of shock.
Meanwhile, I’m standing outside with Andre, twiddling my thumbs and avoiding eye contact with him. I can feel his eyes locked on me, staring me up and down again. I wonder what’s on his mind, and brace myself for his impending wrath. He’s probably saving it for when we get back to my apartment, so I can’t let my guard down.
“This is convenient...having her keep him,” he says.
I can’t decipher whether he’s trying to be conversational or patronizing. I’m sure he has enough money to enroll Drew in a fine establishment. But this is all I have to work with so that’s what I’m working with.
“Yeah. It’s very convenient for me,” I say. “But I’m sure you have a problem with it…just one more thing to add to your custody case, huh?”
I didn’t bother to look at him for a reaction.
After a few moments, Clara comes back to the door with my baby in her arms. He has his favorite, orange sippy cup in his hand and when he sees me, he smiles, showing all his little teeth. Without warning, he springs forward, jumping into my arms. He’s such a sweetheart. Apparently, he gets that from me...
“Thanks, Clara. See you tomorrow.”
“Okay, girl. It was nice to meet you, Andre.”
“You as well,” he responds.
Back at my apartment now, I slide off my shoes, give my baby more kisses and watch Andre silently study us as he sits on the couch.
Now what does he have up his sleeve?
His silence is more intimidating than his feverish and constant ranting about how much he hates me.
“Can I hold him?” he asks.
For a moment, I thought I was hearing things. He actually asked to hold Drew. Then I feel a sudden bout of guilt because he shouldn’t have to ask to hold his own son.
With Drew in my arms, I give him a few more pecks on his cheek while I’m walking over to Andre. Then I lower Drew to Andre’s lap.
“Hey, lil’ man,” he tells Drew, then kisses his little cheek. Drew decides to grab a fistful of his father’s face. Then he takes a swipe at his lips.
“Be careful,” I say. “Drew loves to scratch and grab stuff. I can’t tell you how many earrings he’s snatched out of my ears.”
Andre doesn’t acknowledge what I say, but I know he hears me. I hear him say a few things to Drew.
“Hi Andrew. Can you say daddy?” he asks.
Drew stares at his father’s lips then smiles.
So does Andre.
Contrition consumes me as I watch this father-son exchange because I could’ve told Andre about his son. I should’ve done a lot of things differently, but I didn’t. I made some bad choices. Young, inexperienced choices. Mom was right. I was being selfish and my son deserved to have his father in his life. What right did I have to take that away?
“How long do you plan on staying?” I ask, hoping he’d stay for a while. Even if he gave me another tongue lashing, I wanted him to stay for his sake and for Drew’s.
“Why? Do I have a time limit?”
The way he looks at me sends a chill down my spine. If Drew wasn’t here, he’d probably have me pinned to the wall again. “No. You don’t have a time limit.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Never mind,” I respond. I was initially asking him the question to see if he wanted dinner, but I’m sure he doesn’t eat ordinary people food. He probably wants caviar with a custard soufflé for dessert.
Andre keeps Drew occupied and I proceed with warming up dinner. I only cook one day a week, on Saturdays, then I store the food in the fridge and warm it up throughout the week as needed. That’s the only way I can cook while still being able to work two jobs and keep up with a one-year-old.
Once the food is hot, I make a plate for myself and Drew. I tell Andre to bring him over.
“You can strap him in the high chair,” I tell him.
Andre looks at me, giving me a hard, pointed, heated stare-down.
“What?” I ask, trying to determine why he’s looking at me like I did something offensive.
He says, “I’m a guest in your home, and you don’t offer me anything to eat or drink?”
“I just assumed you didn’t want anything,” I say, standing.
“That’s your problem, Ava. You assume a lot of things when all you have to do is spea
k up and say something or ask.”
Was that jab directed at me not offering him food, or something else?
Avoiding a confrontation, I say, “Keep an eye on Drew while I fix you a plate.”
Andre takes Drew out of the high chair and begins bouncing him on his left thigh.
I walk over to the table, place Andre’s food in front of him and asks him what he wants to drink. He requests some of the lemonade he sees on the counter.
After I find a glass, fill it with ice, I pour some lemonade for him and set his glass next to his plate.
There’s silence between us adults in the kitchen, but Drew is babbling and whining as he tries to take a roll out of Andre’s plate.
“Can he have some bread?” Andre asks.
“Yes. He loves bread.”
Andre picks up a roll, holds it in front of Drew’s face, watching him bite a piece. Drew looks at his father as if to say ‘thank you’.
Andre’s face lights up in satisfaction. Drew seems pretty comfortable with him now and he likes that. I can tell. Andre has had the same smile on his face for five minutes now, showing all his beautiful, white and perfectly aligned teeth.
“I want a key to your place,” he says out of nowhere.
I frown. Where did that come from?
“What?” I ask. Maybe I didn’t hear him correctly.
“A key...I want one. Don’t you have a spare key to this place?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Give it to me before you leave,” he demands.
“Why?”
“Because I want it.” He takes a bite from a piece of chicken and I remember how direct he was at the beach...how straightforward he can be. But I also recall how he had a softer side, a caring one.
“Ava.”
I hear him say my name, but I’m trying to figure out why he wants a key. What right does he have to even request one?
“Ava, did you hear me?”
I blink out of my trance and look at him. I do not want him to have a key. This little apartment ain’t much, but it’s my personal oasis to unwind – not to be shared with a man who intends on taking my son away from me, making pop-in visits to see Drew at any time, day or night, and taunt me. I can’t have that. So standing my ground, I say, “No. I will let you see Drew whenever you want, but—”
