“You know there was no therapy for what I was going through. I was expected to forget and move on.”
“Right.”
“Gran never even brought it up until I was just in Philly.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much, but she gave me this.” I reach into my purse that was tossed next to me on the sofa. I hold out the death announcement letter. Preston reads it and then looks up at me.
“Did she have a name?”
“I named her Angel, but I don’t know what her family called her before she died.”
He folds the letter carefully and hands it back to me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you still love him?”
“Who?”
“The man from the church.”
“God, no.” I look at him dead on. “I love you.”
Preston shuffles his feet.
“Thanks for dinner.” He walks into the kitchen and then down into the basement.
* * *
The next evening our routine is the same. Preston comes in after the kids are in bed, eats what I left him on the stove, and asks more questions about my past.
“How was it that you were seeing this man and Gran didn’t know?”
I answered him as truthfully as I could, not holding anything back. We watched House Hunters again, then he thanked me for the food and went to the basement.
When he left, I played Pandora on low, wondering when he was going to bring up the divorce or separation. I’m not moving again or giving up my children. I’ll fight him with my mouth and teeth. He’ll have to make the adjustments.
The next night he texted me before he came home.
I’m stopping for sushi. You want?
I text back. Sure.
The usual?
Yes.
When Preston walks in, I am in my favorite place, on the couch. I haven’t bothered to shower tonight or add a little conditioner to my hair.
“You look pretty,” he compliments me.
“Thanks.”
“I’m going to set up the food in the kitchen.”
I run up to check on the kids and then sit across from him at the table. I’m nervous. Like I’m sitting to eat with a stranger. Shayla’s voice, Gran’s voice, my mother’s voice are swerving through my head. Work it out.
I squeeze a bit of wasabi on my spider roll and then drop a sliver of ginger on top. Preston has set up two ramekins with soy sauce and I dip my roll before putting it in my mouth. All the flavors combine and hit my taste buds at once. I feel euphoric while I chew and swallow.
“Good, isn’t it?” Preston offers a hint of a smile. It makes me blush. “I found a new place in Union. Pretty addictive. This is my third run in a week.”
“What are we doing?” I blurt.
“Getting to know each other.”
“I already know you, Preston. Shouldn’t we be making plans trying to figure—”
“Shh. Just be here for now. Tell me something else about you.”
I slap my hand against my forehead. “I landed a commercial.”
“The one in the city?”
“No, I went to Johnson & Johnson on my way to—Philly.” I pause. “It’s for their baby powder. I’m worried sick over my hair. It was long when I went.”
“But you booked it. Your agent called and said it was yours?”
“Yes, the contracts came over but I haven’t signed them.”
“Then it’s yours. Sign them and send them back. There’s always hair extensions.”
I shake my head. “No more hiding. This is what it is. Either accept me or let me go.”
Our eyes meet, caress, and cling. I want so badly to kiss him. Tonight I’m the first to go.
“Good night. Gracias for the sushi.”
“De nada.”
“Been working on your Spanish?”
“Watching too much Dora with the kids.” He laughs and it reverberates through to my soul.
* * *
In our bed, sleep eludes me. I stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks, then counting sheep, then counting backward from ten to one over and over again, but nothing. My eyes stay wide open like a cartoon character. I picture them bloodshot. The covers are around my ankles and my mouth is dry. I look over at the clock: 3:33. I’m thirsty. I push myself from the bed, slip into my slippers, and pad softly downstairs for some water.
Preston is standing against the counter. The room is dark except for a sliver of light coming in from the side window. He is shirtless. My will feels weak as I pass him.
“Can’t sleep.” The voice coming from my throat has deepened, and my words sound husky, even to me.
“I haven’t slept since you came home. It’s like you’ve put a spell on the house.”
Goose bumps sprout on my bare arms. I get a cup from the cupboard and reach past him to the sink. I turn on the water. He’s so within reach I think I hear his heart pumping in his chest. We haven’t been this close since I shoved him in the basement. We stand side by side, near but not touching. But I could feel him. Everything has changed, but we stood connected just the same.
I lean into him, pressing my hip into his thigh. Breathing his air.
“Foxy.” He draws my name out like it’s a tune. It sounds like the sweetest melody on his lips. The greatest love song.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank God for blessing me with the gift of writing and the passion to pursue my dreams with tunnel vision. My angel in the sky, my love, Mommom. Thank you for weaving your stories into my heart and nourishing me with your humor and good will. Your memories sparked the magic and breathed life into this novel.
To a wonderful and supportive family, my parents, Nancy Murray, Tyrone Murray, and Francine Cross Murray for your amazing love and advice. My grandmother, Yvonne Clair, thanks for your effort to keep us together. To my siblings Tauja, Nadiyah, and Talib Murray for your constant companionship, it has always been us four. Twin nephews, Qualee and Quasaan you make my heart do flips. My in-laws, Paula Johnson for loving me like a daughter and Glenn Johnson Sr. for taking care of business. Pacita Perera for your wisdom, David Johnson, and Marise Johnson for always being available and lending me your children, Armani and Aarick. I have the best friends on the planet and I love you all.
To my mighty team: Cherise Fisher, I could not imagine my life without you. Wendy Sherman, Laurie Chittenden, Melanie Fried, Dawn Michelle Hardy, Mary Brown, and the amazing staff at Thomas Dunne Books. Thank you for your hard work and dedication to this book and my career. I promise you the best is yet to come.
To the numerous book clubs who have supported me, fed me, and shared my novel. I need you now more than ever. A special thank you to Sharon Lucas, Lori M. Legette, Kelly Clemens, and Max Rodriquez. So many authors inspire and take me under their wing, but especially Benilde Little, Kimberla Lawson Roby, Trice Hickman, and Curtis Bunn.
To my dynamic and talented children Miles, Zora, and Lena Johnson, you three are my greatest creation. You make it all right in my world and I love you with fever. Remember, all things are always possible. To my best friend, partner in crime, and husband, Glenn, for believing with the faith of a mustard seed, catching me when I fall, and keeping me. Your love is my oxygen.
ALSO BY SADEQA JOHNSON
Love in a Carry-On Bag
About the Author
Originally from Philadelphia, Sadeqa Johnson currently resides in Virginia with her husband and three children. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part 1
1. The Witching Hour
2. The Escape
3. The Good Husband
4. The Aftereffect
5. The Little Red School
6. The City
7. The Man, Mr. Martin Dupree
8. The Groceries
9. The Weeds Need Pulling
10. The Blasted Past
11. The Backwoods Baby
12. The Restraints
13. The Colored Museum
14. The Saturday Fever
15. The Sinners Don’t Win
16. The Something or Another
17. The Dames
18. The Pretending Game
19. The Actress Is Out
20. The In Girl
21. The Head-on Collision
22. The Aftermath
Part 2
23. The Incident
24. The Wind Blows Crystals
25. The Halfway
26. The Mountains Are High
27. The Runaround
28. The Raging War
29. The Other Side
30. The Sunday Truth
31. The Last Dance
32. The Low and Lonely
33. The Children Feel Like Christmas
34. The Reason Is Not the Answer
35. The I Don’t Know What
36. The Sift and Shift
37. The Cleansing
38. The Fan
39. The Light in the Tunnel
Part 3
40. The Five-Alarms
41. The Sweetness of Home
42. The Decision
43. The Crude Truth
44. The Last Dance
Acknowledgments
Also by Sadeqa Johnson
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
SECOND HOUSE FROM THE CORNER. Copyright © 2016 by Sadeqa Johnson. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-07414-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-8581-3 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466885813
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
First Edition: February 2016
Second House from the Corner Page 25
