Chapter Thirty-Six

 

Ezra

 

 

“You still mad at me?”

I force myself to focus on Mona. Through my kitchen window, I can see Kimba sitting on the trampoline in the backyard. She’s been on the phone for twenty minutes, and based on her expression, it’s not good news.

“Huh?” I ask. “Mad at you for what?”

“Busting up in here when you obviously wanted some time alone with Kimba.”

“I always want to be alone with her,” I say absently. “I’ve had to get used to sharing, though I’m still not very good at it.”

“I don’t mean to beat a dying horse,” Mona says, sipping the last of her beer, “but this won’t be as easy as you think. You’ll be asking Noah to adjust to not only the fact that you’re no longer with his mother, but that you’re now with someone else.”

“We don’t have to roll everything out at once. If Noah’s mature enough to understand why we never married, he’s certainly mature enough to understand that we never will. We’ll still be a family. It’ll just look different.”

“And you hope Kimba will be part of this new family you’re dreaming of?” Mona snorts. “Based on what I’ve seen of Kimba, a white picket fence might feel like a cage. She’s gunning for the nation’s next hottest campaign, and she’s coming off the last one. Take what you can get, but don’t expect everything from her, okay?”

I’m still turning her words over in my head, figuring out what’s true and what I can “settle” for from Kimba, when Mona yawns.

“Busting up your little love nest has worn me out,” she says, heading for the back door. “I’m going home.”

I walk with her into the yard. She waves to Kimba, who still sits on the edge of the trampoline and waves back with a small smile, her attention obviously on the phone call. I check the garden, a cover for the fact that I want to be nearby when Kimba finishes her call.

“Okay, Piers,” she finally says. “Keep me posted, and thanks.”

I cut through the squash and string beans to reach the trampoline. She extends her hand, a worried look on her face. I walk over, climb up onto the trampoline and pull her inside the net covering with me. I lay us both down and tuck her into my side, pushing the hair away from her face.

“Everything okay?” I ask after a few silent seconds.

She shakes her head and wraps an arm around my waist, squeezing tight. Angling my head down to see the frown on her face, I lift her chin with my index finger. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Piers, a guy from my team who always has his ear to the ground for me, heard something…disturbing.”

“What’d he hear?”

“He found out someone’s written an unauthorized biography about my father.”

“He was a great man. Lots of public figures have biographies written about them. Is there something bad in it? Lies?”

“Definitely lies.” She pulls away and slants a searching look up at me. “This author alleges my father had an affair.”

“What? Who do they say he had an affair with?”

“Your mother,” Kimba says, her voice quiet and questioning. “That’s ridiculous, right? My dad would never…your mom…it makes no sense.”

I don’t respond. When the rift happened, I didn’t understand anything except we were moving away and I didn’t get to see Kimba anymore. That was all I cared about. When I was older, I replayed that night over and over in my head and started assembling the fragments into something that, though horrific, made some kind of sense. Our parents had an affair. I had no idea who cheated with whom, or even if my speculation was right. But hearing Kimba say it aloud, I realize it may have been.

“It’s not true.” Kimba pushes up to sit and look down at me. “You know my father. He’d never…it’s a lie, Ezra. We have to prove it’s a lie. We have to talk to your mom so she knows they’re telling these lies about her. That they’re planning to publish these lies about my father.”

“Yeah.” I sit up and put my arm around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. “We will.”

“Why don’t you sound shocked?” She pulls away, peers into my face in the moonlight. “You don’t believe this, do you?”

I stare back, wishing I had learned to lie to her, but I never did. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Believe me.” She scrambles off the trampoline and walks swiftly back into the house. I heave a sigh and follow. She’s already up the stairs and in the guest bedroom by the time I join her. She jerks my T-shirt and boxers off, tossing them onto the bed and walking over to the chair where she draped her jumpsuit. She pulls it on and slides her feet into the high heels.

“Where are you going?” I ask, as if I don’t know.

“Home. I have to warn my family.” She stops and closes her eyes. “My mother. What am I going to tell her?”

“What did Piers say exactly?”

“He says there’s an early copy going around. Several people have read it, but it hasn’t been published yet. It paints my father as some kind of hypocrite for posturing himself as a civil rights activist and pillar of the community, which he was, while having an affair with your mother, which he wouldn’t do. I know in my bones they didn’t, Ez.”

Considering how evasive my mother has always been, I honestly don’t know what to believe. A tear slips down Kimba’s cheek, which she brushes away impatiently.

“I need to get home, tell my family, figure out a battle plan, including an injunction to shut this shit down before it hits bookstores.” She grabs her bag from the bench at the foot of the bed, pausing to look at me. “Can you talk to your mom and find out why anyone would lie about this? Help me get to the bottom of it?”

I nod wordlessly and follow her down the stairs, reaching for my keys from the dish on the foyer table. “I’ll take you home.”

“No.” She looks from my keys to my face and bites her lip. “I already called for an Uber.”

I frown and glance at the front door where, not two hours ago, we shared our bodies with each other, peeled our souls back for each other. Will it only take a rumor for us to lose that again so quickly?

Her expression is implacable, and maybe I could persuade her, but it’s obvious she wants to be alone.

“Will you please call me when you know more?” she asks. “After you talk to your mom?”

“Will you promise that we won’t allow our parents’ drama, whatever this is, to come between us? Because I’m not losing you over some stupid shit, Kimba. Not again.”

“I just don’t know what to believe.” She looks at me, uncertainty in her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you either. I do know that.”

It’s a small comfort, but I take a few steps forward and press her soft body into the door. I bend to brush her bottom lip with my thumb, and then kiss her, gently at first, and then with increasing heat and intensity. The visceral attraction, the thing that magnetizes us, that has always drawn us together, doesn’t fail me now, and she’s pliant and kissing me with unchecked hunger within seconds. Her phone dings with an alert, and she pulls back, checks her cell, and grimaces. “My Uber’s here.”

I open the door for her and she rushes down the steps toward the waiting car. Before she gets in, she turns to me one last time. “Call your mom.”

So many times I probed this issue with my mother, seeking confirmation of my suspicions and hoping I was wrong, but she always managed to shut it down, play it off or freeze out my attempts. I watch the taillights of Kimba’s Uber die, swallowed by the night.

“Not this time, Mom,” I say. “This time there’s too much at stake.”