CHAPTER 10
The ride back to the hotel was in relative silence, save for the voices of the newscasters relaying updates on the explosion at Xavier University and minimal comments from Kimberly and Gail.
As much as she tried to present a façade of indifference, Kimberly was deeply shaken by meeting her mother. She wasn’t sure how she would react or feel seeing Rose for the first time, but to actually stand in front of her, hear her voice, and feel her touch was beyond anything that she could have ever imagined. Her emotions seesawed between fury and rage, longing, and confusion.
For her entire life, she’d lived with the belief that her grandparents were her parents. Yet, there was a secret part of her that always felt something was missing. Why didn’t she feel loved instead of simply tolerated? She’d attributed it to Lou Ellen’s standoffish persona and Franklin’s tunnel vision about his empire, and that they were older than the parents of her classmates. It was never that.
“How could they do that to me?” she suddenly said.
Gail placed a comforting hand on Kimberly’s shoulder. “There’s no easy answer.”
“Who am I really? The man I thought was my brother was my father for Christ’s sake! Do you have any idea what that feels like, how ugly and filthy I feel?”
“This isn’t on you, Kim. It’s not. You are the victim here. But you don’t have to stay victimized. You’re stronger than that.”
Kimberly slid Gail a look. “Humph. I don’t feel strong.”
“I know you may not want to hear this right now, but you still have a family, and from what your aunt was telling me, a family that wants you to be a part of it, especially your mother. Think about what the lie has done to her. She’s your mom,” she gently added.
Kimberly sniffed back a fresh wave of impending tears and pulled into the driveway of the hotel, parked and got out. She handed over her keys to the valet then she and Gail walked inside.
“I need a drink,” Kimberly announced and walked ahead to the bar.
“Martini,” Kimberly said to the bartender. She placed her purse on the counter.
“Diet coke for me,” Gail said. She angled her body toward Kimberly. “You have some decisions to make,” she began. “Clearly the situation with your family can’t stay the way it is. You’re in limbo, and you’re the only person that can change that.”
“I . . .”She expelled a long breath fueled with sadness. “I don’t know where to even start.”
“I think you should start with your newfound family. If anyone can understand the trauma of losing a child it would be your mother. Talk to her about what has happened. Let them support you because you have to get your children back, no matter what happens with your mother . . . and grandparents.”
The bartender returned with their drinks. Kimberly took a quick swallow of her martini then set the glass down. “Dealing with them would mean having to deal with Zoie.” She spat the name as if it burned her tongue. “I’m still wrapping my head around what she did and what she was willing to do for a story. It still stings.”
Gail wrapped her hands around her glass, stared down into the cool brown liquid. “She’s your sister.”
Kimberly’s lips thinned into a solid line.
“No getting away from that. You may never have a loving sister relationship, but you’ll always be bound by blood. She’s the sister you never had. And she did some fucked up shit, but if she didn’t, you would have never known the truth about who you are and your mother may have gone to her grave believing that the daughter she gave birth to was long dead. Truth always comes to light, Kim. No matter how hard people try to hide it.”
Kimberly finished off her drink. “You make it sound so simple.”
“Look, I’ve worked side by side with you for the past five years. I know what you’re capable of and how far you’re willing to go to bat for your clients. Now it’s time to use that same tenacity for yourself. Your life, your family . . . this is the biggest case of your career, Kim. Are you willing to let the other side beat you?”
Kimberly turned to look at Gail and saw the challenge in her eyes.
“No. I’m not.”
Zoie hurried over to Jackson, who leaped to attention when he spotted her.
She held up her hands to try to keep him calm while she explained what Nurse Felix told her.
“Lena’s here,” she said calmly. She pressed her hands to his chest. “She’s in the trauma room.”
“I have to see her.” He tried to push past her.
Zoie gripped his upper arm and stood her ground, blocking him. “They’re not going to let you go back there,” she hissed through her teeth. “She’s . . . unconscious, Jax. Some burns and a broken leg.” She watched his expression shift from anticipated panic to outright fear. “They lost her once on the way over.” She heard the sharp intake of breath. “They want her stable before they move her to ICU. They need to make sure that . . . there are no internal injuries. Once she’s moved to ICU you will probably be able to see her.”
He ran his hand over his face, turned his head up to the ceiling. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist into the wall.
“Jax . . .”
He walked to the exit. Zoie followed him outside. “They’re doing everything they can. She’ll come through this.”
“What about the baby? Did she say anything about the baby?”
“No. I’m sorry. She didn’t.”
He pushed out a breath, nodded. He finally looked at Zoie. “Hey, thank you. Really.”
“Of course. There’s no thanks needed.” She shifted the weight of her backpack. “It will be a while before you hear anything. The whole hospital is in chaos. There’s no room to really wait. Where’s your car?”
He looked around as if trying to remember. “Uh, about three blocks from here.”
“Why don’t I walk you to your car. At least you can sit down to wait. We know Lena is in good hands and there is absolutely nothing you can do right now.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets. “You’re probably right,” he conceded.
“Which way?”
“Down Orchard.”
She slid her arms through his. “Come on.”
He glanced down at her and halfway smiled.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled out her phone, saw the name and sent the call to voicemail. Mark would want an update and at the moment she didn’t have one.
“You don’t have to do this, Z. I know you’re here working.”
“As soon as I start complaining, you can send me on my way.”
“Noted.”
They stopped in front of his car. Jackson unlocked the doors and they got in.
“I’m going to try to find Diane’s contact info. Maybe she knows how to reach Lena’s mom.”
“Doesn’t Diane work at the college?”
“She does. But she’s supposed to be on vacation this week.”
“Oh.” But then the brakes screeched in her head. How would he know that if he wasn’t in contact with Lena on more than ‘how are you and the baby feeling’? Her shoulders slumped under the weight of her realization, the burn of it flared in her stomach. She resisted her innate urge to ask how he knew that. The answer was obvious, but now was not the time.
She licked her lips. “I should get back over to the hospital and see if I can get some interviews for the article.”
“Sure. Of course. Go.” He leaned across the gears for an awkward on-the-cheek kiss. “Thanks again.”
She opened her door. “I’ll check in if I hear anything.” She shut the door behind her without waiting for a response, suddenly hurt and angry, and guilty for being hurt and angry.
Halfway back to the hospital, she took out her phone to check the message from Mark. He wanted her to hook up with the local NBC affiliate news anchor on the scene, Anthony LeRoux. She shot Mark a quick text message to let him know she’d gotten the message and would look for LeRoux.
She picked up her pace, intent on leaving her shaky feelings behind.
When she returned to the vicinity of the hospital, the crowd and the controlled chaotic atmosphere had only intensified. The number of news vans seemed to have doubled, along with the on-air commentators that were broadcasting from every available spot in the area. News copters buzzed overhead. It would take a miracle to locate this LeRoux fellow. Maybe if she could get close to the WDSU van someone on the crew could point her in the direction of the anchor.
She squeezed between bodies, catching whiffs of stale sweat and coffee-tinged breaths to get to the other side of the restless crowd hoping to spot the WDSU van. She looked for the peacock-colored logo. As luck would have it, the van was at the far end of the street. “Scuse me, scuse me. Sorry. Excuse me . . .” she mumbled, moving through the gauntlet of bodies and equipment that was akin to traversing an obstacle course designed to make you fail.
“Hi,” she greeted a cameraman sitting on the side lift of the van downing a can of soda. She held up her press pass. “I work with The Recorder in New York. I got a call from my editor to connect with Anthony LeRoux. Do you know where I can find him?”
He cupped his palm over his blue eyes, shading them from the setting sun and glanced up at her, took a cursory look at her pass. “He’s in the truck.” He hooked his finger over his shoulder.
“Thanks.” She went around to the back of the truck. The door was partially opened. She stepped up on the lift and knocked.
Three heads that had been focused on transmission equipment and computer screens turned in her direction.
“Hi. I’m Zoie Crawford, with The Recorder in New York. My editor—”
“Hey,” came a voice right out of central casting from the forth head at end of the row. He pushed his chair out into view and swiveled toward her. “I’m Anthony LeRoux. Mark told me to expect you. Come on in.”
Holy ish. His smile should be patented. Anthony LeRoux was drop-your-panties gorgeous. Even in his seated position she could tell he was tall. His stark white shirt gleamed against skin that reminded her of long summer nights. She wanted to surf on the waves of his closely cut hair. Damn what time was he on the air? She needed to up her news watching game.
She stepped up into the van and inched her way to the back.
“Here, take my seat.”
Anthony stood and just as she’d imagined he was tall. “Thank you.”
He sat on the edge of the console and folded his arms. He focused on her like she was the only person in the room or the world.
“How can I help?”
“Mark wants me to team up with you, tag along for your coverage. I’ll write up the events for print in New York. I guess he’s thinking you may have more access, being local.”
Anthony nodded. “Not a problem. This is the team Marvin Vance, Holly Spence, and Javier Ramos. And Allen Walters is outside.”
They each nodded in acknowledgment.
“We have sodas, water and some sandwiches,” Anthony offered. “You’re more than welcome.”
“Water would be great.”
Javier handed her an ice-cold bottle of water from the ice chest.
“Thanks. Totally parched.” She opened the bottle and took long, thirsty gulps nearly finishing off the bottle before putting it down. “Whew. I needed that.”
Anthony checked his watch. “We go live in ten minutes. I’m going to get set up, find a good spot.” He hunched his way down the narrow aisle to the exit of the truck. Zoie followed.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you at any ‘breaking news’ events around here,” Anthony said, once they were outside. “New to NOLA?”
“Actually, I grew up here, but I moved to New York about ten years ago. Did some stringer work for a while and then got a spot at The Recorder.”
His brows knitted just a bit. “Wait,” he pointed a slender finger at her, “you’re the same Zoie Crawford that did the World Trade Center piece,” he said, his expression brightening with the realization.
She laughed. “Yep that’s me.”
“Damn good work.” He stared at her. “Damn good work. So, what are you doing now? Connected to a paper here or what?”
“I guess you could say that.” She nodded her head. “Long story. I recently started doing a monthly column and some articles here and there, to stay in the game, keep my skills sharp.”
He adjusted his tie, just as Holly walked out of the van with the handheld microphone for Anthony and his earpiece. Marvin followed with the camera hoisted onto his shoulder.
“Gotta do my thing,” Anthony said. “But we definitely need to talk.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I want to hear this long story of yours.”
Zoie watched him take his place in front of the camera as his team prepped for his broadcast. With all that was swirling around her and them, the only thing she seemed to be able to focus on was Anthony LeRoux. There was something about him that dragged her to him. When she looked into his eyes, her heart actually raced. Maybe it was that charisma thing that a television personality had to have in spades in order to convince their audience of whatever it was they were selling.
She pulled in a long breath. Now however was not the time to muse over the merits of his appeal. She took out her camera and took pictures of the scenes in front of her just as Anthony was cued to start.
He was the consummate professional, totally focused on delivering the news to his audience, completely tuning out the tumult of activity behind and around him. Zoie found herself mesmerized by the movement of his mouth. Thankfully she’d turned on her recorder to memorialize what he’d said.
He suddenly pressed his finger to his earpiece then looked right into the camera. “We just received word that the police have a suspect in custody. He is alleged to be a student at Xavier, but the motive at the moment is unclear. Again, the police have a suspect in custody. We will continue to update this information as details become available.”
Anthony got the cue that he was off air. He plucked the earpiece out and handed off the mic to Holly. He walked over to Zoie. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted. “Quick work by NOPD.”
“For real. What drives someone to intentionally hurt innocent people? What do they hope to gain? I still can’t wrap my mind around it.”
“A twisted sense of justice, misplaced feelings of being wronged by the world, or a government or a single person.” He pushed out a breath. “Believe me, I don’t get it either.”
They stood in front of the vans taking in the activity that still swirled around them. And even with the scene’s ugliness, standing next to Anthony, doing what they loved to do, felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“So how long will you be out here?” Anthony asked, cutting off musing.
Zoie blinked. Damn. Jackson. “Actually, I need to go and check on a friend. We’re waiting on word of someone that was injured in the explosion.”
“Wow. So sorry. I hope everything will be okay.”
“Yeah,” she said, “me, too.”
“Listen, this might sound crass, but if the person you’re checking on is okay and is willing, I’d really like to interview them. First-hand account.”
Her brows rose. “Oh. Um. I’m not sure, but I can certainly find out.”
Anthony nodded. “I have one more segment before I’m done.” He held out his hand for her phone. “I’ll put in my number.”
She handed over the phone.
“Call me and we’ll figure out how we’ll work this explosion story; share notes, sources, access.” He handed back the phone.
“Absolutely.” She slipped the phone in the back pocket of her jeans and swore she felt the heat of his hand hugging her bum. “Okay,” she said on a breath. “I’m gonna find my friend.” She took the phone from her pocket, scrolled to his number and called him.
Anthony chuckled as the phone vibrated in his front pocket.
“Lock my number in. We’ll talk soon.” She turned and wove her way around the bodies and equipment, and wondered if Anthony was watching.
Jackson hung up the call just as Zoie returned. He stepped out of the car.
“Hey, sorry it took so long. I had to meet up with a camera crew. Any luck reaching Lena’s family.?”
“I actually found her friend, Diane.”
“Great. How?”
“Blackplant.com. Can you believe it?”
“Good for something,” she scoffed.
“Anyway, Diane said she’d seen the news reports and is headed right back. She’s driving from Atlanta. She said she’s about two more hours away.”
Zoie nodded. “We should probably check and see if Lena’s been put in a room.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. He locked the car. “Any updates on what happened?”
“Yes. While I was with the news crew he got an announcement that a suspect was in custody.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s what the police are saying.”
“Do they know who it is?”
“No names, just that he’s a student.”
He muttered a curse under his breath. “All this death and destruction for what? Bad grades. Feeling unappreciated,” he said, his words laced with contempt.
“Who knows. Whatever the reason, it will never be enough.”
Jackson glimpsed her profile. “Did you say he? I thought you were with a crew.”
She focused on the ground. “Oh, yeah. The anchor. Anthony LeRoux. He was the broadcaster. My editor back in New York wants me to work with the local television station here.”
One thing he always admired about Zoie was that no matter how hard a conversation was, she never shied away from looking you in the eye—except when it came to her feelings. Those were the times that she found difficult—like now, and he wasn’t sure why. But this wasn’t the time to pursue it. Today had everyone on edge. Probably no more than that.
They arrived at the emergency entrance and entered through the sliding glass doors. The frenzy of hours earlier seemed to have subsided somewhat, though the staff still looked stressed and harried. The corridors had fewer patients lined up on stretchers which indicated that the triage process was under control or at least manageable.
Jackson and Zoie headed straight to the main desk. The nurse behind the desk barely looked up as she juggled the phone and recited information from the computer screen.
“Yes,” she said on an exhausted breath. Her brown eyes looked swollen. “How can I help you?”
“Earlier today a woman, Lena Banks was brought in. She was in the explosion,” Jackson said. “She was to be moved to ICU. They said I could see her once she was moved.”
Zoie had her hand on his bicep and felt the tension ripple up and down the muscle.
The nurse typed some information. Her eyes roved quickly across and up and down the screen. She finally looked up. “Sixth floor in the next building over. The Pavilion.”
“Thank you.”
Zoie took his hand. “She’s going to be fine,” she assured, seeing the distress on his face. “Let’s go this way.” She led them quickly down the long corridor to the bank of elevators that would take them to the walkway that crossed to the next building.
They rode the elevator in silence, got off on the sixth floor and walked along the walkway to the Pavilion building. The telltale beep and hum of life monitoring machines and the disinfectant scent enveloped them.
“Over there,” Jackson said, lifting his chin in the direction of the nursing station.
The horseshoe desk was lined with computer screens, with additional monitors hanging from above. As much as there was obvious activity on the ward there was an eerie kind of silence even as the staff spoke in modulated whispers.
“Excuse me,” Jackson said. “I was told Lena Banks was admitted here.”
The nurse looked up. “Banks?” she repeated.
“Yes. Lena.”
“She’s in B714 at the end of the hall on the right.”
“Thank you.” He hurried off without a backward glance at Zoie.
She followed him down the corridor. He stopped in front of a door and seemed to freeze. Zoie caught up to him.
Lena was not immediately recognizable. Her face was swollen and bruised, her head was bandaged and her left leg was in traction. Wires wound like snakes around and across her body. Bags of clear liquid dripped silently through the plastic tubing. The monitors beeped, slow and steady. There was a nurse at Lena’s bedside checking the machines and the flow of fluids.
Jackson dragged in a breath, slid a quick look at Zoie, took one tentative step then another until he was fully in the room and at Lena’s bedside.
“How is she?” he quietly asked.
The nurse entered some information on her chart. “Very lucky.” She offered a tight smile. “The doctor would have to give you details. You can only stay a few minutes. Okay. She needs plenty of rest.”
Jackson nodded. “Thank you. Has . . . has she been awake?”
“Yes. She dozed off right before you came.”
He hesitated to ask, but had to know. “The baby?”
The nurse pointed to the monitor. “The heartbeat is strong.” She walked out, acknowledging Zoie in the doorway.
Jackson came up to the side of Lena’s bed. He leaned over and tenderly kissed her forehead. He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
“Lena,” he whispered. “It’s me, baby. It’s Jackson.” He ran his thumb over the hand he held, comforted by its warmth. “You’re going to be okay. Our baby is going to be okay. I’ll be right here with you.” His gaze ran over the roundness of her protruding belly. Their child. His eyes clouded. He blinked rapidly, turned behind him and pulled the chair next to the bed and sat. He gripped the cold metal railing on the side of the bed that kept him from crawling in next to her, holding her and their baby, promising them both that everything was going to be okay.
Seeing her like this, so still, so fragile was counter to everything that was Lena. Lena was vibrant, full of laughter and energy. When they were together, most weekends, they spent on the racket ball court, where she generally kicked his butt, or when they jogged along the banks of the Mississippi. Then there was their time away in the Bahamas when she’d dared him to parasail and bungee jump off a cliff. He smiled wistfully. He didn’t consider himself soft, but Lena always made him step up his game. He dragged in a breath. That’s the Lena he needed to come back to him.
He lowered his forehead to the side of the bed. He wasn’t a religious man. Church on Sunday was not something he’d done as an adult. It had been longer since that he’d prayed, but he whispered words for mercy and healing. He clasped her fingers. “I was so scared when I heard, afraid of what could have happened to you.” He kissed her fingers. “But you’re here, and we’re going to get through this.”
Lena’s fingers moved ever so slightly. His head jerked up. He jumped to his feet. “Lena?”
Her lashes fluttered.
“Lee, baby. Can you hear me?” He leaned over the bed.
She moaned. Her eyes opened then closed then slowly opened again.
“It’s me, baby. Jackson.”
“Jax,” her voice was cracked and raw. “Jax.” She struggled to swallow. “The baby. My baby.” Her free hand went to cover her belly.
“Sssh . . . It’s okay.” His hand covered hers atop their child. “You both are going to be just fine.” The fetal monitor beeped in apparent agreement.
A tear slid down her bruised cheek. She reached up and he pressed her hand against his lips. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, soft as a prayer. “I promise.”
Zoie had not moved from her spot in the doorway of Lena’s room. She couldn’t hear what Jackson said to Lena. She didn’t need to. It was in the way he looked at her, touched her. And it had nothing to do with Lena’s physical state or Jackson’s fears. That was real love that flowed between them. She felt it from where she stood.
Something shifted inside her, an instant where she felt unmoored, that her world shook just a bit beneath her, and then in the next moment all was righted. She took in a deep reflective breath, turned and walked away.
Zoie pulled into the driveway of her house, physically and emotionally exhausted. The devastation she’d witnessed today, compounded with her coming to terms that it was truly over between her and Jackson, left her in a space in which she was totally unfamiliar. She needed some time to process everything, and desperately wished that her best friend Miranda was down the street instead of halfway across the country. A long night of drinks and girl talk were in order.
The moment she walked into the house, her red-light senses went on alert. There was a vibe of tension in the air. She felt it, the way the hair on her arms tingled like when she was on the cusp of uncovering a major detail in a story. She shrugged out of the backpack and set it on the floor in the hall.
She walked down the short hallway and into the kitchen. The family was silently gathered around the table, a cup of tea in front of each of them. Her heart thumped. Who died was her first thought.
“What’s going on?” she asked, stepping fully into the kitchen. She caught a glance at her mother. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Ma?”
“Two white ladies were here today,” Hyacinth said with a giggle. She bobbed her head up and down. “Right in there.” She pointed to the living room.
“What? What is Auntie talking about?”
Sit down, Zoie,” her aunt Sage instructed.
Zoie’s eyes darted around the table looking for some kind of clue. She pulled out the available seat next to her aunt Hyacinth and opposite her mother. Rose wouldn’t look at her.
“Someone please tell me what’s going on.”
“Your . . . sister was here today,” Sage stated and pinned Zoie with a hard stare.
Zoie blinked in her confusion. “What? Kimberly?” She looked from one to the other.
“She was here,” Rose said, her voice thready and vacuous as if coming from some bottomless pit. She wrapped her fingers around her blue and white teacup. “She hates me. Hates you.” She lifted her eyes to Zoie. “I tried to tell her what happened, how we’d all been used and tricked and lied to.” Her throat worked up and down. She sniffed, reached for a napkin from the holder on the center of the table and dabbed at her eyes. She balled the napkin in her fist. “Worse now. Worse now. Wish I’d never known. Her too. She wishes she’d never known. Wants her life back but . . .” She pressed her fist to her lips.
“And you blame me,” Zoie said.
Rose slowly lowered her hand, looked her daughter in the eye. “No. You’re as much of a victim as I am, as she is.”
Sage tapped Hyacinth’s shoulder and helped her to her feet. “Ya’ll two needs ta talk.” She ushered Hyacinth out of the room.
Rose sat with hands still wrapped around her teacup.
“I’m so sorry, Mama.”
“I know.” She reached across the table and took Zoie’s hand. “We talked,” she began softly. “Not really a conversation. We just said things. I wanted her to understand how deep losing her affected me and how I treated you because of it. Don’t think she was really hearing me.” Her features tightened. “Her husband put her out. Kept her children.”
Zoie flinched.
“She wants her life back, ya know, but it’ll never be the same. I can’t fix it. I want to help. I know what it’s like,” her voice splintered, “to lose your child,” she focused on Zoie, “your children.”
The burn of tears that Zoie struggled to contain slipped down her cheeks. “You haven’t lost me, Mama.” She dragged in air. “God, I’m so sorry. I let what I wanted overshadow everything at any cost.” She swiped at her eyes. “I was so angry all the time. I didn’t think about what it would do to you. Maybe I didn’t care. What I wanted was more important than anything else. And now . . .” Her chest heaved.
“As much as it hurt and still hurts, I’m glad I know that my child is alive, that she had a privileged life. Can’t change none of it. All I can do now is hope that she’ll realize she isn’t the only one hurt. I want her to know that she’s loved,” Her voice hitched, “that her children, my . . . grandchildren will be loved.”
Zoie got up, came around to kneel in front of Rose. She rested her head on her mother’s lap, wrapped her arms around her mother’s thighs. Rose stroked her hair, quietly repeating that it would be all right.
She had to find a way to fix it; for her mother and her sister.
“I can’t thank you enough for coming out here, Gail. It really meant a lot to me.” Kimberly wiped her mouth with the linen napkin and reached for her martini.
“Please. I’m glad I could do it and it gave me an excuse to see New Orleans.” Gail pushed her salad around on the plate with her fork. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“My list is long. Which ‘to do’?”
“Touché. Your daughters for starters.”
Kimberly sighed. “I’m not sure yet. But I’m not going to let Rowan get away with keeping them. That much I do know.”
Gail’s eyes caught the overhead light. “Now that’s the Kimberly Maitland that I know. You’ll figure it out and you know whatever you need, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” she said on a breath.
Gail paused. “What about your mom?”
Kimberly turned her face away, gazed off into the distance. “I wish I could,” she shrugged slightly, twisted her wedding band on her finger as she searched for the right words, “just accept her and be her daughter, let her be my mother . . . but I don’t know her. As much as I abhor what my . . . grandmother did, she was the only mother I’ve ever known.”
“It’s going to take time. I’m sure she’s struggling, too. When you’re ready you should give her a chance.”
The waiter appeared at their table, the same handsome man that she’d thought was John from the other night, only to realize that he might resemble him, but his name was actually Corey. When he’d come to their table to take their order, he’d introduced himself as their server for the afternoon. Guilty consciences will do crazy things to the mind, she realized.
“Can I get you ladies anything else?” He looked from one to the other and Kimberly was once more amazed at the resemblance.
“No. Thank you. We’ll take the check,” Kimberly said.
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
She turned her attention back to Gail. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport?”
“No, no.” She waved the offer away. “I’ll take a cab.”
Corey returned with the check. Kimberly handed over her credit card.
“Any plans with Nick?” Gail asked once the waiter was gone.
Kimberly smiled shyly. “Actually, we’ll see each other later.”
Gail winked. “Just what you need to take the sting out of the day.” She turned her glass around on the table. “My only piece of advice . . . if you want it.”
Kimberly tilted her head to the side, tucked a loose strand of strawberry blond hair behind her ear. The diamond studs sparkled in the light. “I’m listening.”
“Nick seems like a really good guy, but don’t lose yourself because you’re hurt. Lust gets mistaken for something more all the time.”
Kimberly’s felt the heat rise up her neck to her cheeks. She pressed her hand to her throat. “I’ll try to remember that.”
Kimberly rested her head against Nick’s chest. The steady beat of his heart was a comfort, reassuring her even as Gail’s words of caution floated through her thoughts. There was certainly lots of lust between them, but it was more than that, and she didn’t think it was entirely due to her emotional circumstances. Nick Bordeau offered her more than mind-altering sex, he actually heard her, shared himself with her—his own fears, and doubts, and hopes.
Her relationship experience was limited, she knew that. Rowan was her first and only love. Her youthful relationships were no more than hot kisses and quick feels in the backs of cars and college dorm stairwells. She’d always been too terrified that she’d somehow ‘bring shame’ to the Maitland name that she’d avoided going too far. Rowan became her knight in shining armor, rescuing her from the strictures of her well-appointed and organized life. He had a way about him, smooth and persuasive, without being overbearing. Rowan Graham could convince a broke man to spend his last dollar and they’d thank him for it. He brought a level of excitement to her life, and most of all a way out. Their life together was to be envied by most; he a highly successful tech giant, and she a respected attorney, although Rowan did express his distaste for her choice of clientele. “Why must you be the champion of the poor and downtrodden?” he’d asked one time too many. When she’d reply that it made her feel good to use her skills to help others less fortunate, he’d scoffed and told her that ‘feel good’ careers didn’t pay the bills and it was a good thing that both of them didn’t ‘feel’ the same way, or they’d be in the street. He’d kissed her then and told her he loved her and her bleeding heart. Did he really?
She supposed he showed his form of love in other ways. They lived extremely well, traveled among the New York elite, had a beautiful home, and two amazing daughters. But all of it was smoke and mirrors, an illusion. They both lived under a cloak of deceit. He was not the Eastern liberal he pretended to be, but a closet bigot. And she was not the fair southern belle he’d swept away, but the product of an affair with a wealthy white boy and the housekeeper’s daughter.
Nick shifted, moaned softly. “What has you worried?” he murmured, his voice gravely with sleep.
“What makes you say that?” she whispered into the darkness.
“I can feel it in your breathing. Your body is tight. Talk to me.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “It’s about your mother—Rose.”
“Yes.”
“I know meeting her for the first time . . . had to be crazy. I’m not sure I would have reacted any different than you did. The thing now is what’s next? What are you going to do?”
She splayed her fingers against his chest. “I’m not sure.”
“You might not want to hear this, but I agree with Gail. You can’t stay on the sidelines when it comes to your kids. You’re a kick ass lawyer; force his hand the same way you would to an adversary in court. Plus, you now have a family that wants to embrace you—and your girls. If you let them. And you have me. You don’t have to do this alone.”
She lifted her chin to look at him. He kissed her forehead.
“I have been thinking of something.”
“What?”
“Before my life blew up in my face, Zoie had written an exposé about me, a basic tell all. The only reason she didn’t print it was because I dropped out of the race. At least I think that’s why or maybe she had a sudden attack of conscience. I don’t know. Anyway,” she pushed up on her elbow. “Maybe now is the time for the story to come to light. The same way she planned to use it before, she can do it again. The last thing that Rowan wants is for it to ‘get out’ that he’d been duped. He’d never live it down.”
She felt the rumble of his laughter.
“Nasty. But brilliant. And deserving.”
Her own smile was short-lived. In order to do that, she’d have to speak to Zoie again.
Zoie spent the morning working on her article for The Recorder. She had some pretty decent digital photos to accompany the article, but she couldn’t focus. Her writing didn’t have the punch and passion she knew it needed. She was distracted by her own real-life disasters.
She pushed back from the desk, spun her chair away from the laptop screen and got up. She walked over to the window of her bedroom. From where she stood, the sky was a cool blue, the trees were in full bloom, grass glistened on the lawns. The chirp and caw of birds filled the air. All appeared well with the world. But beyond her line of sight, life had been turned upside down. The remnants and stench of destruction were mere miles away. Her thoughts were flooded with issues much closer.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the frame of the window. For much of the prior evening, she and her mother sat side by side on the porch swing talking—really talking. After her return to NOLA following her grandmother’s death, she and her mother had tried to bridge the gulf between them. On the surface, it seemed to have worked. But all it took was her own stubborn, tunnel vision to toss them both back into that dark place.
She didn’t think she quite understood or accepted how devastated her mother had been by what had happened with the loss of her child, then a husband that walked out one day and never came back, and a daughter who seemed to want nothing more than to get away. Unlike her mother, she compartmentalized everything, placed gains and losses into boxes so that the totality of events didn’t crush her. Or so she thought. What she had come to accept was that as much as she thought that was true, she was more like her mother than she’d realized. Everything that she’d done, the actions she’d taken, the decisions she’d made, and even the lives that she’d fucked up was a sum total of things that had happened to her. Yes, she put them in their own little boxes, tried to keep them separate and at bay, but she was not as good at it as she’d believed. The evidence was the debris that surrounded her: Brian in New York, her mom, her aunts, Kimberly, and her whole family and career . . . and Jackson.
She pushed out a long breath. She couldn’t fix everything, but there were a few things she could do. At least she could try.
The buzzing of her cell phone on the desk drew her away from the window. She picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello Zoie. It’s Kimberly. We need to talk. Can you come to my hotel,” she said, all in one breath.
“Um, yes. Sure.”
Kimberly gave her the hotel information.
“In about an hour?”
“Fine. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” She ended the call.
Zoie slowly put down the phone. Her pulse was racing. Kim wanted to talk—whatever that meant. But hopefully this meeting would give her the first step she needed to make things right with Kimberly—her sister.
Zoie arrived at the Hilton. Of course, Kimberly would be housed in the most expensive hotel in the Quarter, she scoffed. Jealous much. If she was going to enter this conversation as a point of reconciliation, she would have to put her preconceived notions aside.
The valet opened the door and welcomed her. She pushed out a smile of thanks and walked into the sprawling lobby with its intimate seating, sparkling interior fountain, gleaming black marble floors, and wide-open space that led from one part of the hotel to the next.
They spotted each other simultaneously. Kimberly rose from the club chair as Zoie approached.
Zoie was again struck by their stark resemblance. It was like looking at a white version of her reflection. Although they had different fathers, the Bennett genes ran strong in them both.
“Hi Kimberly. Thank you for calling. I was actually going to call you,” she babbled, suddenly nervous.
“We can talk in the restaurant,” Kimberly said by way of a greeting, barely looking at Zoie.
“Sure.” She walked alongside Kimberly into the hotel restaurant.
“Good afternoon ladies. Table for two?” the hostess asked.
“Thank you, yes,” Kimberly responded.
The young woman took two menus from the holder. “Right this way.” She showed them to a table in back. “A server will be with you shortly.” She turned over the two goblets and filled them from a carafe of water. “Enjoy.”
They sat opposite each other at a small banquette. Kimberly immediately reached for the glass of water and took a long swallow then settled her gaze on Zoie.
“I asked you here because I need your help.”
Her cheeks flushed and her lips thinned as if saying the words were utterly distasteful.
Zoie linked her fingers together on top of the table. “Whatever you need.”
Kimberly cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “It’s about the article you planned to write about me . . .”
Over chicken Caesar salads and apple martinis, which they discovered was a favorite for them both, Kimberly spilled out all that had transpired since Zoie’s mining of her life; her withdrawal from the campaign, the tension between her and Rowan as a result, her revelation to him, and his subsequent retaliation.
Zoie listened, and with every word, every crack in Kimberly’s voice, every blink of her gray-green eyes to stem her tears, her soul ached. This was all her fault. Her blind sense of justice had ruined the lives of four people, maybe more. Would it have been so awful for Rose to go on believing that the child she’d given birth to in that New York hospital was dead, so that life, as it was, could continue? How much worse could it have been if she’d gone ahead and published the exposé? But it was that last call between her and Kimberly when Kimberly pleaded on behalf of her children. Zoie felt her pain, understood it in a way she hadn’t before. Perhaps it was the tenuous bond she was building with her mother and finally coming to grips on how their fractured relationship had affected them both that softened that scabbed over pain in her soul. The call was the removal of her tunnel vision. It was in that moment that she knew she couldn’t do it. All the steam, the misplaced animosity burned off like morning mist.
Kimberly lifted her glass and finished off her second martini. “So,” she said on a breath, “I want you to send the story to him.” She lifted her chin. “Let him know that you plan to release it unless he gives me my girls. And we can quietly get divorced.” She pressed her lips tightly together.
“Of course. Whatever you need. Whatever I can do to make some kind of right out of this mess that I created.”
Kimberly cut her eyes at Zoie, snorted a laugh. “You have no idea.” She reached for her glass, realized it was empty and burst into tears.
Zoie quickly slid around on the leather seating and gathered Kimberly in her arms, held her tight, and the damn broke inside her as well. They’d never touched each other, held each other, confided in each other the way sisters do, the sensation of holding her sister broke down all the walls between them.
“I never told you how sorry I am,” Zoie spoke into Kimberly’s strawberry blonde tumble of hair. “I can never make up to you what I’ve done, how I’ve hurt you . . . and your children. I am so very sorry.”
Kimberly’s shoulders shook with quiet sobs. “I never thought I could actually hate anyone, but I hated you.”
Zoie inwardly flinched, but she held her sister, knowing that she deserved her scorn.
“I hated that you’d ruined the fantasy. Maybe this would have all come out anyway, at some point. Who knows, but one thing I did learn in the midst of all this mess,” she sniffed hard and eased out of Zoie’s embrace, “Rowan is not who I thought he was, and whatever kind of love he had for me had nothing to do with who I am, only who he believed and expected me to be.”
Zoie placed her hand atop Kimberly’s. “We must definitely be related. I have come to a major realization about my relationship, too.” She gave Kimberly an edited version of the ups and downs of her relationship with Jackson and the twist in the tale, aka Lena and the baby.
Kimberly’s gray-green eyes widened. “Ouch.”
“Hmm, exactly.” She dared to look into Kimberly’s eyes. “I know I may be a long way from being forgiven. Maybe never and I’ll accept that. But . . . could you tell me a little bit about my nieces?”
A slow maternal smile of pure adoration lifted Kimberly’s mouth. She opened her purse, took out her wallet, and proceeded to regale Zoie with anecdotes about her twin girls.
Their shared sorrow and their shared tears cleansed them, bound them and began to fill that space that had been missing.
Finally spent, their souls tender from the excavation, they looked into eyes that were identical and sputtered shaky laughter.
“If you’re not busy,” Zoie said, sniffed and wiped her eyes, “the Bennett women cook a mean Sunday dinner. We’d love to have you.”
Kimberly’s lashes fluttered. She bobbed her head. “I’d like that.”