Prologue
Coatless and shivering, Jerome stood in his backyard facing the underdeveloped garden Renee had started last summer. His thick, wool sweater shielded his upper body from the bitter wind, but every now and then, a cool rush seeped through. In the distance, the sound of cars and buses traveling along Lake Avenue seemed closer than the three blocks that actually separated them. Normally, he’d be among the commuters heading home, but he had taken the day off. A snowstorm was headed west, and Jerome wanted to prepare himself for his first winter in Chicago. Born and raised in Philadelphia, he was used to the cold, but needed new equipment—a sturdy shovel, ice scrapers, window washer fluid, and snow boots to make the bitter Chicago winter more bearable.
Jerome rubbed his hands together until the heat from the friction warmed them. Before they started to tingle, he pulled out the letter folded in his pocket. He’d already read it several times, but its contents were still hard to digest. Taylor, the woman with whom he’d had a long-term affair, had tracked him down. Slowly, he unfolded the letter as he looked over his shoulder. Through the patio doors, he could see his children playing a video game in the living room. Renee was fast asleep in her favorite section of the chaise lounge, her delicate frame filling out from the unborn child she was carrying.
A strong wind raced through the backyard, and Jerome held the letter tight. It was difficult to read the one-page note again outside, but it didn’t matter. The letter had arrived two weeks ago, and he’d practically memorized the words.
Dear Jerome,
I pray this letter finds you in the best of health and spirits. It has taken a lot for me to put my thoughts into words, but I can no longer keep my feelings bottled up inside. Every day, I pretend that you were never a part of my life, but my heart won’t let go of the memories. I’ve tried to move on. Even started dating again, but it’s not the same. I know that you and Renee are trying to make things work. For that reason, it pains me to have to share this news. But from the first time I saw you, I knew we were meant to be together. I guess God thought we’d make a perfect match, too.
Jerome, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m pregnant and you’re the father. Please call me. My number is still the same.
All my love,
Taylor
Jerome reached into a different pocket and pulled out the book of matches he had grabbed from a kitchen drawer. Before permanently destroying the evidence in his hand, he looked back at his wife. As much as he wanted to be honest with her, he knew Renee would never forgive him for having a child outside of their marriage, especially in her current condition. How could he have been so foolish and irresponsible?
He moved closer to the garden and out of his family’s view. Then without hesitation, he ripped a match from the book. In one smooth motion, Jerome struck the match and set the letter on fire. When half of the letter was consumed with flames, he let it drop. Tapping it quickly on the cold ground with his new pair of Timberland boots, he didn’t stop until there was nothing but scattered ashes on the ground. “This can’t be real,” he said to himself. “This has to be some kind of trick.” But deep inside he knew Taylor was telling the truth. She wasn’t a devious woman.
It would’ve been easy to walk away, pretend that he never received Taylor’s letter, but Jerome knew better. If he didn’t respond, Taylor would use her last dime to fly out to Chicago from Philadelphia.
He kicked at the ground, hoping the dry, grainy soil would camouflage the ashes completely. Once he was satisfied, he took out his Blackberry. His fingers, stiff but not yet numb, automatically dialed Taylor’s number. The phone rang twice before she answered.
“Hi, Taylor. This is Jerome.”
“I knew you’d call,” she said, a hint of pleasure in her voice. “I knew you wouldn’t let me do this alone.”
“Hold on, Tay. I’m not calling for the reason you think I am,” Jerome began. He then cut straight to the point. “Are you sure you’re pregnant?”
Taylor’s attitude turned sour. “Of course I am. Why would I lie?”
“It just seems . . . well . . . it’s ironic,” Jerome stated. “You get pregnant when I tell you my wife and I are getting back together? Doesn’t that sound funny to you?”
“What are you saying, Jerome?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m saying it’s strange; that’s all.”
“It wasn’t strange when we were together four months ago, was it?”
Jerome could tell he was upsetting her. “Let’s not argue. I need to think about this some more.”
A heavy wind chilled Jerome’s cheek bones, and he rubbed them with his free hand. Taylor was quiet; they both were for at least a minute.
“I’m not going to leave Renee. She’s having a baby, too,” Jerome said, breaking the deafening silence. “If your baby is mine—”
“If?” Taylor repeated, her shrill voice breaking his heart.
Jerome heard the patio door slide open and he jumped.
“Aren’t you cold, Daddy?” Jerome’s youngest son, Jerome Jr. asked, standing on the low, wooden deck in his house shoes.
Jerome lowered his cell phone and covered it with his hand. “Close the door, Junior. You don’t want to let cold air in the house.” He hoped his response was sufficient. The last thing he needed was for his inquisitive son to ask uncomfortable questions. “Go on now, Junior. I don’t want you to wake your mother. I’ll be inside in a minute.”
Oscar, the family dog, ran up to Jerome Jr.’s legs and distracted him. This was one of the few times Jerome was happy he’d bought the dog.
As soon as the patio door closed, he lifted the phone to his ear and sighed. “Okay, Taylor. If the baby is mine, I’ll send you money every month. I promise. Just please, please don’t say anything to Renee. Okay?”
The line went silent again, neither of them sure what to say next. The numbness in Jerome’s hands returned, and he blew hot air on them. In the background, he could hear Taylor sniffling, and his heart ached. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize, but the words wouldn’t escape. He wished there was something else he could do, but he’d made a promise to Renee. Under no circumstances was he to contact Taylor again. And that was one promise he wanted to keep for the sake of his marriage.
“How can you live with yourself?” cried Taylor between bouts of tears. “Don’t you worry about me or this baby. I am confident God will take care of us.”
Drenched in sweat and gasping for air, Jerome popped straight up in bed. Darkness filled the bedroom, and for a moment, he was unsure of his surroundings. He closed his eyes as he wiped his face with the edge of his damp T-shirt. When he reopened them, he turned to face the bright red lights and flashing dots on the alarm clock next to his bed. His wife’s touch was the only confirmation that the dream had ended.
“Another bad dream?” Renee asked, rubbing her husband’s arm to comfort him.
“I’m fine,” he answered, then cleared some of the grogginess from his throat. “Go back to sleep, babe.”
Since Reverend Hampton’s sermon last month, the same scene had replayed itself in Jerome’s dreams. “What’s done in the dark comes to light eventually,” Reverend Hampton had said, igniting memories from a troubling and wayward time in Jerome’s life.
Many years had passed since the guilt of his affair had affected him. And now, like a broken record, the harshness of Taylor’s voice resounded inside his head stronger than ever. “How can you live with yourself?” Taylor’s words jolted Jerome out of his sleep every morning, interfered with business meetings, and hovered over him when he made love to his wife.
Jerome swung his legs off the bed, and his feet landed on the freshly laid plush carpet. Renee stirred, kicking the cotton sheet completely off her body, then rolled onto her flat stomach.
“Where are you going, honey?” she asked.
“I need some water.”
With one eye open, Renee faced the clock. “We only have an hour left to sleep. Can’t you wait?”
“I’ll only be a minute,” Jerome promised as he pushed himself off the bed.
Renee let her head sink deeper into her goose-down pillow. “Suit yourself.”
All the way to the kitchen, Taylor’s chilling voice echoed in Jerome’s head. “How can you live with yourself?” He leaned against the sink and shook his head frenetically. A steady drip from the faucet intermingled with Taylor’s question and eventually drowned out her daunting words. Jerome turned the water on and let it sift through his fingers. Cupping his hands midstream, he lowered his face into his palms. Soon, his tears blended in with the flow of the water, allowing him to release the pain of his past. When the tears ceased, Jerome pushed down the faucet handle and fell to his knees and prayed.
For the last sixteen years, he had faithfully sent Taylor money to help raise the child they’d conceived together. But now God was calling him to do more. He needed to meet his daughter, and he needed to tell his wife about her.