CHAPTER 8
Kimberly stood outside of the bar waiting for Nick to come. She wished she smoked—at least if she did, she could do something other than stand there as if she wanted to be picked up. Some remnants of propriety still lingered when she considered what it might look like to others, with her walking out with the bartender. Now she considered what she must look like standing outside of a bar at two a.m.
The glass and chrome door pushed open. Her heart jumped with anticipation. It wasn’t Nick. She tamped down her anxiety and refused to begin pacing. But the longer she stood there, the more exposed she felt.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Last minute stuff,” Nick said, coming up behind her.
Her stomach tumbled. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “No problem. Nice out.”
Nick gazed skyward. “Rain tomorrow.”
“You sound pretty certain,” she said, thankful for a topic as mundane as the weather.
They began to walk with no specific destination in mind.
He chuckled. “Grew up on a farm.”
Her brows shot up. “Really?”
“Yep. Learned early how to search the clouds, the movement of the wind, and the rise and fall of temperatures so we’d know when to plant and when to pick.”
“What did your family farm?”
“My grandparents, actually. Sugar cane was the money maker. We also had peach trees . . . and a cotton field.”
She snatched a look at his profile. “Cotton,” she said, the historical implications well understood between them.
“The irony of farming cotton for my family was that it was being done by a black family and employing black labor. From the outside, we looked like a white privileged family exploiting our position. When me and Nila would visit for the summer, Nila embraced it, flaunted all the prestige that came with having a wealthy family. Me on the other hand . . .” He gave a slight shrug. “I had a hard time wrapping my mind around it—at least when I was old enough to see the bigger picture.” He looked in her direction. “What about you?”
Her body tightened. “What about me?”
“Your ‘Nawlins drawl comes and goes. How long you been away from home?”
Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air. Her stomach clenched. “I’d rather not talk about that.”
“No problem.” He slowed. “Where are you parked?” he said over a slight chuckle. “We’re just kinda walkin’.”
“I’m staying at the Hilton. I didn’t drive.” She threaded her fingers through her strawberry blond tresses, moving the thick mane away from her face.
“Then we should head this way,” he said, lifting his chin in the direction they should follow.
“You never said what happened to your sister.”
“One day she said she was leaving. She’d met someone. She wasn’t coming back and we shouldn’t look for her.”
“Wow. Just like that?”
Nick dragged in a breath. “Naw. She’d been building toward that moment most of her life.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“Fifteen years now,” he said in a wistful voice.
She caught the shadow of sadness pass across his face. “You haven’t seen or spoken to her?” she asked, trying to imagine her twin girls living without each other. She couldn’t.
He shook his head. “No.”
She found her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He glanced down at her hand in his as if this was the way they always were with each other. “You learn to live with things. Even the unpleasant things.”
“How?” Her brows drew tight.
“One day at a time.” He gently squeezed her hand that still rested on his arm. “Find happiness where you can, mostly.”
She was no longer sure if that was a possibility for her. Not without her girls.
They made another turn and continued down the narrow streets in companionable silence, occasionally bumping elbows or thighs.
Did she know as much about her own husband as she did about this man that she’d just met—the why and the how of the man Rowan grew to become? It never occurred to her to look beneath the surface—his pedigree spoke for him. His father was a broker and his mother the director of a real estate investment firm. The Grahams were new money. New York money. He’d attended Yale for his undergrad and graduate degrees. He was a phenom, having built his tech company—InnerVision—from a two-man operation to two-hundred plus with offices in New York, Tokyo and London. But none of what was obvious about Rowan would lead her to believe that underneath all his golden glitter was aluminum foil.
“How long do you plan to stay in town?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Not sure.”
“No plans at all?”
She snapped her head in his direction. He was looking at her with such grave sincerity that the terse response that laced her tongue burned on its way down her throat. She was no different from Nila, whether consciously or not. She’d deployed her privilege with precision each time she was extended the extra courtesy or was not required to justify her existence, when men desired her, lifted her onto a pedestal simply because of how she looked. She filled an ideal—she was Nila. And like Nila, she was only a representative, a stand-in, not the real thing. Had she known of her true heritage would she have chosen the red pill or the blue—Nila or Nick?
“I didn’t know who I really was until recently,” she said with her head lowered, her words hitting the concrete and bouncing back. “My parents . . . aren’t who I thought they were. My husband left me—or forced me to leave him. I guess.” She swallowed the dry knot in her throat hoping to stem the burn in her eyes. “My girls.” Her voice broke into pieces.
Nick stopped walking, turned her toward him and pulled her gently against his chest. Without a word or any cooing and soothing sounds, he held her while her sobs shook her body.
The sea of strollers, party-goers, and city explorers parted around them. How long they stood there, Kimberly had no idea, until her tears were spent and she found herself sitting molded against Nick on a loveseat in the hotel lobby of the Hilton.
“I am so sorry.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief that Nick had miraculously produced. He didn’t seem like the handkerchief type, she mused in a moment of lucidity.
“Nothing to be sorry about. We all got laundry that tumbles out of the closet every now and then.” He offered her a smile of understanding.
She sniffed. “Thank you.”
He waved off her thanks. “No need.” He took his arm from around her shoulder and pushed to his feet. “You gonna be okay.” It was more of a statement than a question.
She nodded.
“Okay Kimberly. It was good talking with you.”
Panic exploded in her belly and she reached for his hand, grabbed it. “Please. Don’t leave. I . . . really can’t be alone tonight. I’m not asking for or expecting anything,” she implored, her eyes wide and wet. “I just don’t want to be alone.”
Nick looked down into her eyes, studied the pained expression on her face. He ran his tongue across his lips, shifted his body weight from left to right. “Only until you fall asleep, then I’ll leave. Deal?”
She nodded in agreement and stood, gazed down at her feet, suddenly shy. “Thank you.”
Kimberly slid her card key into the slot on the door to her room. The light flashed green and the locks clicked open. She pulled in a shaky breath before stepping inside. She flipped on the light and was immediately thankful that housekeeping had taken care of the mess she’d left earlier.
Nick closed the door behind him, slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and followed her into the main living space.
“Can I get you anything?” She offered a wan smile. “My turn to play host.”
“I’m good. Thanks.” He wandered over to the couch and sat.
Kimberly toed out of her shoes, took them into the bedroom and returned barefoot. She sat on the club chair opposite him, tucked one foot beneath her. She rested her arms on her thighs. “Thanks for being here.”
Nick nodded. He leaned back against the couch headrest. “Stayed in a hotel room like this once.” He glanced around from his reclined position.
“Really? Where?”
“Aruba.”
She smiled. “Never been. What was the occasion? Vacation? Business?”
He rocked his jaw. “Honeymoon.”
Her eyes darted to his hand. His ring finger was bare. “Oh.”
“Doomed to fail. I was surprised we lasted the two years. No kids, luckily.”
“What went wrong?”
“Pretty much everything.” He choked a laugh. “She was in it for the family money, or at least what she thought she could get. When she found out that my inheritance was beyond air tight, she filed for divorce.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was too, but I got over it. Never fall for a pretty face,” he warned, but only half in jest. He draped his arm along the back of the couch.
“If you don’t mind me asking—”
He held up a hand. “So why am I working in a bar?” He grinned, then put his index finger across his lips. “I own it,” he whispered. “A string of them actually. Two in NOLA and two in Baton Rouge.”
She tossed her head back and laughed, a deep belly laugh. “Guess we both got the last thing we expected.”
“Why did your husband want you gone?”
Her cheeks flushed. She blinked rapidly. “It’s a long, ugly story.”
He shrugged. “I thought that was the real reason you wanted me to stay, so you could finally tell someone.”
The tips of her fingers pressed into her thighs. She turned her face away then looked right at him. “Until a few months ago I believed that my real father, my biological father, was my brother.”
His brows shot up for an instant.
Bit by bit, she turned the pages to the sordid story of her life. “Kyle, my father, had an affair with our housekeeper’s daughter, Rose . . . I always wondered why it was so hard for my mother and father to actually love me.” She pressed her fist to her mouth. “I lived the life I thought I was supposed to live. I married Rowan, had beautiful twin girls, built my law practice, ran for office.” Her nostrils flared. “And then Zoie Crawford tore it all apart, cracked the glass of the fantasy that was my life and everything fell apart.” She got up, walked to the terrace window. “When I dropped out of the race, Rowan was livid. He couldn’t understand. I had to finally tell him the truth.”
“And he felt betrayed, couldn’t accept that he’d married a black woman.”
She turned around slowly. “No. He couldn’t. I thought our love would be enough to get us through it.” She blinked away the burn of tears. “I’m still me.”
“Not to him.”
Her insides twisted even tighter. “It’s her fault!”
“Who?”
“Zoie Crawford and her fucking snooping, investigating. If it wasn’t for her I would probably be a congresswoman, still with my husband and my children. I’d still have my life!”
Nick got up and came to her side. “You can have whatever life you want. I don’t get the feeling that you’re the kind of woman that simply backs down from a fight. You fight for your clients, don’t you? Why aren’t you fighting for yourself?”
She whirled away, stomped off to the other side of the room, away from him and the challenge of his words. “You don’t know Rowan.”
“But you do.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. Why did she tell him anything? He was a bar owner. What did he know of her life to cast judgment? She walked over to the mini fridge, tugged it open and took out the travel-sized bottle of Hennessey and quickly poured it into a glass.
“That’s not going to change anything,” he said pointing to the bottle and the glass.
“For a little while it will.”
“And then what?”
She brought the glass to her lips and stopped. “I only need a little while at a time to get from one little while to the next.”
He stood in front of her, pinched the glass from her fingers and put it on the counter.
He was so much taller than her now that she was in her bare feet. Her pulse quickened. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To succumb. To be used. To pay for her crime of false existence.
“Nila felt the same way after a while.”
She looked at the glass then at him. “You said she’s been gone for years. You haven’t seen her. How do you know?” she asked, pinning him with her stare, accusing him with her question.
“She thought she’d found someone who loved her, too, that she could live the life she believed she was entitled to, until it all fell apart.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away from her. “She called me . . . she was wasted out of her mind. I never knew who he was, only what he wasn’t. He wasn’t the man she thought he was. She didn’t tell me how he’d found out about her, only that her life was over. I begged her to come home. She said she couldn’t. She told me to tell our mother that she was sorry. The last thing I heard was the shot.”
Kimberly gasped. “My god. I . . . I’m so sorry.” She came over to him and placed her hand on his back. His muscles flexed beneath her fingertips. “That’s what you meant when you said you couldn’t save her.”
He nodded.
She walked over to the couch and sat. She linked her fingers together on her lap. “And you think the same thing could happen to me.”
“Could it?”
Her lips tightened. A tear slid down her cheek. “At times . . .” Her voice cracked, “I think so.” Her shoulders shook. “I believed that I was what he wanted, that he loved me. But that was as long as I fit into the frame of his expectations. The minute I didn’t fulfill his image, he withheld love, support, understanding. That is the man I actually married, not the person he projects to the world. I guess we’re both frauds. But how could he take my children? They’re my life,” she sobbed.
Nick sat beside her and pulled her tightly against him. “Then you get yourself together, clear your head, and fight for what’s yours.”
The first beams of morning light slid between the terrace drapes. Kimberly moaned softly. Her lids lifted then closed. Her thoughts were a jumble. She opened her eyes. She was lying on Nick’s lap. He was fast asleep, head lolled to the side.
Gingerly she eased up, groaned as her stiff joints rebelled. She tiptoed away into the bathroom and quietly shut the door. In less than a month she’d spent the night with two men that weren’t her husband. What did that say about her? She stared at her reflection in the mirror. At least she hadn’t slept with Nick.
She turned on the faucets, grabbed a cloth, and scrubbed the makeup and the night from her face. She brushed her teeth, rinsed and turned off the water. She opened the bathroom door and peeked out to the living room. Nick stirred but didn’t wake. She’d told him things that she’d never told anyone, not even Rowan. Her fears, her loneliness, her doubts of self-worth. He’d listened. He didn’t judge or offer useless advice. He’d shared the guilt that lived with him about his sister Nila and what drew him to her—because of what he saw in her.
She returned to the living room. “Hey,” she said softly. She gently shook his shoulder.
His eyes cinched tight then opened. A slow smile lifted his lips. “ ’Mornin.’ ” He rotated his neck. “Did we pass out on the couch?” He covered his mouth and yawned.
Kimberly laughed lightly. “Yep. That we did. I’m going to order breakfast.”
Nick stretched his arms over his head and slowly got up. “I need a shower.” He ran his hands across his jaw. “And a shave.”
“Bathroom is all yours. Clean towels, robe.”
“Thanks. I’ll take the full monty on breakfast. Starved.”
She grinned. “Got it.”
The bathroom door closed and shortly after she heard the rush of water. She envisioned him stripping out of his clothes and wondered what his body looked like wet and soapy. She shook her head, scattering the image, but as quickly as the pieces dispersed they fused back together. Her heart beat faster and a warmth spread through her body as she found herself walking toward the bathroom. Her hand shook as it hovered above the knob. She took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob, pushed the door partly open.
The clear glass enclosure put Nick on full display. He turned, froze for an instant at the sight of her standing in the doorway. Water sluiced over the hard contours of his body. Her eyes followed the water’s path as it cascaded downward then curved into an arch when it reached his cock, which even in a flaccid state was a thrill to behold.
“Come in and close the door. You’re letting in a draft.”
She blinked. Her lips partially parted. She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Nick half smiled and continued lathering his body.
Kimberly’s heart was pounding so hard and fast she started to feel light-headed.
“Coming in?” he asked off-handedly.
She swallowed. The steam had begun to obscure him, only his outline and the sound of his voice remained. She unfastened the sash at the side of her dress that held it in place. She let the dress fall to the floor. Her bra and panties followed. Her stomach did a complete three-sixty as she reached for the handle of the shower door and pulled it open.
Nick’s hickory-brown eyes glided over her. He took a step back to give her room to get in. “I’ll do your back if you do mine,” he said, his tone casual and matter of fact. He handed her the mini bottle of shower gel and the cloth then turned his back to her.
His back was as delicious as his front. She squeezed some gel onto the cloth then in slow circular motions cleansed his back. She took her time, moving from the base of his neck down to his ankles, cleansing, massaging and exploring, letting the soap and water slip and slide between the ripple of sinew and muscle. His skin was smooth, blemish-less, and reminded her of that perfect color brown that was never in the crayon box, but only in your imagination.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled the freshly washed scent of him. She opened her eyes and found herself facing him. He looked down into what she knew must be an expression of unadulterated lust and smiled, almost shyly.
“Your turn.” He held out his hand for the cloth.
Her gaze drifted downward and her breath caught in her throat. He was fully erect, at least she hoped it was as erect as he could get. She wanted to touch him, to see if her fingers wrapped around him, and feel him pulse in her grasp. Her eyes jumped back up to his. She put the cloth in his hand and turned around.
How many showers had she taken with Rowan over the years? Too many to count, but maybe none at all. She was no longer sure, because even if they did indulge in the sharing of water, it was nothing like this. This was a performance in the art of seduction.
One hand moved down the center of her spine with the soapy cloth followed by the other—only fingertips that rose and settled the fine hairs on her body. A soft sigh slipped from her lips. Her knees weakened as the soapy cloth, guided by his sure hand slid between her thighs and down the inside of her legs. She pressed her palms against the white tiled walls to keep herself upright and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.
His arm looped around her, lathering her belly, the swell of her breasts until her nipples hardened to perfect peaks. His free hand slipped between the apex of her thighs. His finger slid along the slick folds of skin until she trembled and whimpered.
Nick lifted a thick handful of hair away from her neck and placed a hot kiss there. She felt the waves of desire course through her from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he whispered into her ear.
She looked at him over her right shoulder. “Yes.”
Nick cupped her chin, lowered his head and kissed her slow and deep, tasting her with his tongue.
Kimberly turned into his arms, his stiff erection jutted against her belly.
Water and steam wrapped around them. Nick opened the shower door, took Kimberly by the hand and led her across to the adjoining bedroom.
“Are you sure?” he asked again before nibbling her neck.
She sat on the side of the bed and pulled him down next to her. “Yes.”
Nick threaded his fingers through her hair, drew her to his mouth.
Their damp bodies fused, limbs entwined, and hands and mouths explored. He took his time with her as if every inch of her body was a rare find. He was gentle and insistent at the same time.
For a moment, when she lay beneath him, she hesitated. This thing with Nick was more than a fling—more than something to do. She felt something, a connection, and that realization scared her.
He stroked her hair away from her face, looked into her eyes. He leaned down and tenderly kissed her parted lips. The moment of hesitation dissipated. She wrapped her arms around him, arched her hips and enveloped him in her body.
Sighs mixed with deep groans. Kimberly held tight, needing to disappear beneath his skin, to cast the world and her troubles aside and relish being cared for body and soul, even if at the hands of a basic stranger.
“You’re incredible,” Nick whispered into her ear, still a bit breathless.
She drew in a shuddering breath. The warmth still pulsed in her veins. It could be so easy to fall for a guy like Nick—if she were someone else. She curled closer to him. The closeness somehow eased the guilt of what she’d done—broken her vows. For as much as Rowan seemed so willing to discard everything they meant to each other, even with all that had happened, she didn’t want out of her marriage. She wasn’t ready to toss it all away. There was a part of her that needed to believe that Rowan would come around and realize that their love was more important than DNA and melanin.
She squeezed Nick’s hand that rested on her stomach. “So are you.”
He kissed the back of her neck. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her lids slid closed. “I never did get around to ordering breakfast, and now I’m really starved.”
“You and me both. Want to stay in or do you feel like going out to eat?”
She shifted her body and turned around to face him. “Let’s stay in.” She frowned. “Do you have to work tonight?”
“I go in at eight. Why?”
She looked into his eyes. “My assistant from my office in New York is coming in this afternoon. Would you mind driving me to the airport to pick her up? I have a rental, but I really don’t want to drive.”
“Not a problem.” His expression softened as his gaze drifted slowly across her face. “I’m not quite ready to be away from you either.” He leaned close and kissed her.
Kimberly smiled. The simple words warmed her like a hot toddy on a winter night. She stretched out her arm, pulled the phone toward her and pressed the button for room service.
Zoie sat on the ledge of her bedroom window. The sky was overcast, pretty much a reflection of how she felt inside. Ash gray clouds hovered along the horizon. Why would she think that Jackson would believe her suspicions, especially anything having to do with Lena? She should have kept her mouth shut until she was sure. Now, she’d created a brand-new rift between her and Jackson.
She sighed heavily. Maybe they weren’t meant to be. For the duration of their relationship they’d been butting heads on one thing or the other. It seemed as if they were always standing on opposite sides of whatever the issue was, no matter how big or small. Passion drew them back together, but was passion really enough?
Whether she was ready to admit it to anyone or not, she now had options that she didn’t have this time a year ago. She had her out according to her lawyer. She could walk away and let her aunts and her mother deal with the business. She’d gotten it on solid ground, all they needed to do was maintain it. Jackson would be a father in a matter of months. She wouldn’t stand in the way of that. She’d shared her idea for the garden initiative. Jackson could run with it on his own. All the pieces were in place. Life would go on without her in the pot, stirring up conflict.
She sniffed, rested her chin on her knees. Go on without her. The gray clouds grew closer. Why did she always feel like the overcast gray cloud that always brought on the storm, the puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit? The only place that she felt whole and needed was when she was digging for information for a story. It made her feel alive, vibrant and relevant. A drumbeat of thunder rolled in the distance, punctuating her mental point. It was who she was, the only person she knew how to be.
She swung her bare feet to the floor and stood. What choice did she have? She’d tried for most of her life to fill the void that her father left behind; anger at her mother, distance from her aunts, sabotaging every relationship she’d been in as if needing to abandon them before they abandoned her. If she ever wanted to find out who and why she really was she needed to find out who Hank Crawford really was and why he left her.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, scrolled through her contacts and pressed the New York number for Brian Forde, her one-time love interest and major competitor at The Recorder. Although she and Brian were always going toe-to-toe for a byline, Brian was one of the best investigative journalists she’d ever known—other than her of course. But now that she was no longer on the desk at The Recorder, she didn’t have the same access and resources that she once did.
She pressed his name on the screen and the phone began to ring on the other end. Her romantic history with Brian was hot and intense. But he’d always believed that he was the fall back guy, the placeholder for Jackson. Maybe he was. She was never really sure. The bottom line was she didn’t know how to be in a relationship, no matter who it was. And she didn’t think she ever would be, until she wrestled the demons away.
“Forde.”
Brian’s familiar baritone drew her back. “Hey, Brian, it’s Zoie.”
“Zoie. Wow. How are you? Still in NOLA?”
“Yes. I am. Doing pretty good. You?”
“Can’t complain. You know in the city that never sleeps, the stories never stop.”
“I know.”
“You’re missed around here.”
Her heart thumped. “Really?”
He snuffed a laugh. “Yeah, really.”
“Guess that’s a good thing.”
There was an awkward silence.
Brian cleared his throat. “So, what’s up?”
“Well, I probably told you at some point or another about my father.”
“You mentioned him once or twice. No real details.”
She swallowed. “My dad just up and left one day and never came back. No goodbye. No calls. No explanation. Nothing. I was ten. My mother refused to tell me anything. To. This. Day. My aunts . . . same thing. He is persona non grata in the Bennett household.”
“Did anyone—”
“Nothing,” she said, cutting him off. “By the time I was really old enough to do anything, he’d been gone for so many years . . . Everyone keeps telling me to leave it alone.” Her voice trailed off. “I’m no psychologist, but I clearly have daddy issues. I know that’s why I dig so deep and so hard.” She pushed out a breath. “I want to try to find him. I need to. For all these years, my father has hovered in the back of my mind. Like a shadow. Images. Some things I wasn’t sure were real or imagined. What I do remember like it was yesterday was the last time I saw my father.” Her voice hitched. “It was a Saturday afternoon, a week after my tenth birthday. Usually on Saturdays my dad would take me into town and we would window shop, and Dad would tell me to pick out one thing I wanted more than anything else in the window and why.”
“Seems kinda tough on a kid,” Brian said.
Zoie huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I thought so too. Thought I’d have to always come up with the right answer ya know. It wasn’t until years later that I realized what he was trying to teach me. ‘You can’t just want the thing that catches your eye. What is that ‘thing’ going to bring to your life?’ he’d always say. ‘And if you really want it bad enough you gotta work to get it.’ Humph. Well, that Saturday I got up early like I always did, ya know. All prepared to convince my dad that the bike we saw the week earlier was not only something that I wanted, but with a new bike I could sell more papers on my route and it was safer than the one I had.” She smiled at the memory. “But when I got up and went to look for him he wasn’t anywhere in the house. My mom was in the backyard, just standing there, staring,” she said, her voice drifting to that morning when no one would tell her where her dad was, when he was coming back, why did he leave without taking her with him. “No one would tell me.” Her voice cracked. “Ever. Ever. I guess the only way I was able to handle the hurt was to bury it, because when I thought about him just leaving me . . .” She swallowed. “I tried intermittently to look for him over the years, but there was so little to go on and so much time had passed. I patched up the hole he’d left in my life and moved on. At least I thought I did.”
“Do you really think finding your father is going to change who you are?”
She pushed out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe. At least it would give me some answers.”
“It might not. Finding him may not be what you want it to be. There could be very good reasons why your family wants the past to stay in the past.”
“The whole legacy of my family is built on lies and deceit and secrets.”
“And you’re the one to right all the wrongs.”
“Is that a question?”
“No. Simple statement of fact. Remember, I know you Zoie. You’re always on a one-woman crusade.”
“Someone has to.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Z.”
How well she knew that axiom. She’d been down this road before. This same fire in her belly, the dog-with-a-bone tenacity fueled her when she went after Kimberly. Yes, the truth was ugly and painful and it upended lives and opened old wounds, but it had to be done. Even if she felt like crap about it in the end.
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t call to get my blessing. So . . . how can I help?”
She smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Zoie relayed all that she remembered about her father, that he grew up in Brooklyn from what she could remember, and that he’d met her mother while she was living in New York.
“Not much to go on Zoie. Do you remember ever hearing about where he went to school or who his family was?”
“No. Not really.” She frowned. “I don’t think so.” She paced the cool wood floors then went to stand in front of the window. Rain splattered against the pane.
“You remember what he did for a living?”
A streak of lightning lit up the sky. Zoie peered through the gloom. The car.
“It’s out there again.”
“What?”
“The car. It’s out in front of the house again.”
“What are you talking about? What car?”
“I’ll call you back.” She ended the call and raced downstairs. But by the time she got outside, the car was gone. Again. She was really beginning to believe that she was imagining the whole thing. That didn’t account for her aunt Hyacinth. She shut the door and returned inside.
Sage stood in front of her. “You have that look on your face again. What is it?”
“I thought I saw that car again.”
“I saw it too, the other day,” Sage admitted.
Zoie’s eyes widened. “You did? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Sage pursed her lips. “I’m fixing some gumbo. Should be ready in about an hour.” She turned and headed back to the kitchen.
“Aunt Sage!”
Sage waved her off and continued on.
Zoie released a breath of frustration. What was it with this family and secrets? She returned to her room. She needed to call Brian back. This time she got his voicemail. She apologized for cutting their call short and asked that he call her back.
She tossed her cell on the bed and her body right behind it. Prone, she stared up at the ceiling. It didn’t make sense for Lena to keep coming around, especially being pregnant and all. But, she’d always heard that hormones during pregnancy could make a woman a little crazy. Still.
Her phone chimed. She picked it up. “Hey Brian. Sorry about that.”
“Yeah. No problem. You said something about a car.”
“Hmm, yes. No big deal. You’ll think it’s crazy.”
“No crazier than any of your other ideas and hunches. Try me.”
Every time she said the words out loud she realized how ridiculous it all sounded. She tried as best she could to sound matter-of-fact as she told Brian about the car, Lena, her aunt Sage. “Crazy, right?” she asked.
Brian was quiet for a moment. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Seriously?”
“If there’s one thing I know about you, Zoie, it’s that you have great instincts and you might put a little extra sauce on things, but I’ve never known you to be wrong about your hunches. Clearly from what you’re telling me, someone, maybe Lena, maybe not, is watching your house.” He paused. “I know we’re . . . not that couple anymore but . . . how in the world did you get yourself into a relationship with a man who’s having a child with another woman? I get that you and Jackson have history.” He snorted a laugh. “He always was the third person in our relationship.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Hey. I’m sorry. That wasn’t necessary.” He blew out a breath. “I’ll see what I can find out on this end about your father. If you come across anything on your end let me know.”
“Thank you, Brian. Really.”
“I’ll be in touch. Take care.”
The call disconnected.
Zoie squeezed her eyes shut. Brian really was a decent, stand-up guy. They may have been rivals at work, but Brian put his entire self into their relationship. But she’d never given him the chance that he deserved. He was right. Jackson had been the third person in their relationship. And for the first time she fully understood how Brian must have felt.
“What time does your friend’s flight get in?” Nick asked, finishing off his western omelet with a long swallow of coffee.
“Her flight lands at three.”
“We have plenty of time.”
“I, uh wanted to show you something first.”
He angled his gaze toward her. “Show me what?”
She lifted her chin. “Where it all began.”
“The house is around this bend and then up the road. We’ll be able to see it from the street.”
“You still haven’t—”
“Right there.” She pointed to the wrought iron gates that guarded the drive to the house.
Nick slowed the car then stopped.
Kimberly gripped the handle, opened the door and slowly got out. She walked to the front of the gate. Nick followed.
“This is where I grew up.”
“Damn. This looks like one of the plantations.”
“It was a plantation. You can’t quite see it from here but over to the far left behind the main house is a row of shacks. They once were used for the slaves. I had no idea at the time. All I ever knew them to be were horse stables, storage, and places to hide.”
“When did you find out?” he asked, his voice turning distant.
The fingers of her right hand wrapped around one of the pillars of the gate. “I was about thirteen. My parents . . . were hosting one of their annual fundraising dinners. There was this couple.” She shook her head slowly as if trying to clear the images. “They were looking at one of the portraits on the wall. I heard the woman say that the history of the Maitlands goes back more than one hundred and fifty years. They were one of the early landowners and were able to buy slaves. Most of their fortune came from slave labor.” She turned away from the house. “I remember feeling . . . unsettled inside, trying to wrestle with what that all meant. When I asked my parents about it, my mother was practically indignant. She asked me how did I think the family was able to live the way they did and contribute to the community? I’d asked her wasn’t she ashamed of what the family was, what they’d done? My father told me that the Maitlands had nothing to be ashamed of. It was a way of life and it provided everything we now enjoy. He’d laughed. ‘It’s not as if we still have slaves.’ ”
The first drops of rain began to fall. Typical Louisiana spring. They started back to the car in silence.
“That’s what I have flowing through my veins,” she practically whispered. She turned to look at him and saw her sorrow and shame reflected in his eyes.
“Every family has skeletons in the closet. Some closets are bigger than others.” He offered a half-hearted smile. “Can’t change a past that you had nothing to do with.”
She lowered her head. “I know. It’s the ugly irony of it all. I’m sure that’s why Kyle did community work and ran for office, and I wound up doing pretty much the same thing. I guess subconsciously it was a way to get the stench off.” She sighed heavily. “This family has so many ugly secrets.” Her features tightened. “It’s no wonder they hid the truth about my birth, who my real parents were. It would have destroyed the image, tarnished the name. My parents were willing to do whatever it took to preserve the Maitland name. No matter the cost.” She snapped her seatbelt into place.
Nick reached over and gently squeezed her clenched fists. “None of this is your doing.”
“No. I’m just collateral damage.” She stared straight ahead.
The rain fell steady now.
“One more thing I want to show you before we go to the airport.”
They drove for about twenty minutes to the other side of town. Block by block, the landscape shape-shifted from sprawling mansions and massive weeping willows, to small gated communities, and one and two family homes some with a footprint of land, others with more.
“You can make a left. It’s the only house on that side.”
Nick made the turn onto Jessup.
She absently grabbed his thigh. “Right here,” she said on a breath. She stared at the house.
Nick peered through the pelting rain and building fog.
“That’s where my real mother lives.” The frown line between her brows deepened. “And where Zoie lives.”
Nick’s brows rose. He turned halfway in his seat. “Have you seen her since you’ve been here?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you here?” he asked, low and even.
She swallowed. “I’m not . . . sure. I think maybe I wanted someone—” she turned to him, “—you to see who I really was, what I came from.”
Nick looked at her for a long moment. “At some point, you’re gonna have to do more than sit out front of this house, cher. You’re gonna have to cross the threshold and deal with all this shit or you’ll always sit in your rage.”
He turned the key in the ignition and headed for the airport.
“I still can’t believe you came all this way,” Kimberly said, her voice breaking with gratitude as Gail embraced her.
“You sounded like you needed more than someone on the other end of a phone. Besides,” she added, “this gave me the perfect reason to visit the Crescent City.”
“Is that your only bag?”
“Yes. I travel light,” she said smiling. “I’m only going to stay through the weekend.” She looped her arm through Kim’s as they navigated the terminal toward the parking lot. “How have you been?” she gently asked.
“Day by day. I . . . met someone.” She snatched a quick look in Gail’s direction. “He actually brought me to the airport to pick you up.”
“He?” Her brow lifted in question.
“Yes. It’s a story for another time. His name is Nick.”
“I see.”
They crossed through the lot, winding their way around the multitude of cars until they reached Nick’s Acura. He hopped out.
“Let me get that.” He reached for her suitcase.
“Nick, this is Gail Sorenson. Gail this is Nick.” As she said the words she realized that she didn’t even know his last name.
“Nick Bordeau,” he said as if reading her mind. “Pleasure. Kim’s been looking forward to your visit.” He lifted the suitcase and placed it in the trunk.
“Nice to meet you.” She turned to Kim and gave her a wink. Gail got in back. Kim sat next to Nick.
Conversation was light, mostly about the weather in New York and how this was Gail’s first time to New Orleans.
“Safe and sound,” Nick announced when he pulled to a stop in front of the hotel.
A red-vested valet came to the car. Nick popped the trunk and the valet loaded the suitcase onto a rolling cart.
The trio got out of the car.
Kimberly stood in front of Nick. She took his hand. “Thank you. For everything,” she whispered. “For last night, this morning, for listening and not judging.”
He leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek. “You take care of yourself.”
Her throat clenched. “Will I see you again?”
“Up to you. You know where to find me if that’s what you want.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded.
Nick turned toward Gail. “Enjoy your stay.”
Kimberly released his hand and he turned and got back in his car and drove off.
Gail came to stand beside Kimberly while she watched Nick’s car until it was out of sight.
“He seems really nice,” Gail said.
Kimberly pushed out a breath. “Yes, he is.” She turned to Gail, pushed a smile onto her face. “Come, let’s get you settled.”
Kimberly went with Gail to her room.
“This is lovely, “ Gail said. She left her bag in the short hall and walked fully inside.
It was a simple one bedroom unit with a separate seating area that had a small terrace. Kimberly had a full kitchen. Gail did not, but she did have a mini bar and fridge.
“Perfect. Thanks for setting this up.”
“The least I could do with you coming all this way.”
Gail faced Kim. “I came because I care. And I was worried about you.” She drew in a breath. “I know we weren’t besties back in New York. We did keep employee, employer lines clear.” She gave a light shrug. “Now . . .”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“Don’t mention it. “
“I’ll let you get settled. I’m in 1601.”
“Give me about an hour. I want to get out of these things. Wash off the plane ride.”
“Whenever you’re ready. We can meet for drinks and dinner.” She walked to the door.
“I’ll meet you in the hotel restaurant in an hour?” Gail said.
“Perfect. See you then.”
Kimberly adjusted her chair beneath the table. Now that Gail was actually here, she’d begun to second-guess how much she wanted to reveal. She took a sip from her glass of water and absently glanced around at the stream of evening diners that had started to fill the restaurant. Her insides were still broken and her heart badly bruised but she didn’t feel as incredibly vulnerable and defeated as she had when she and Gail last spoke.
In that moment, she had been at the lowest point in her life and found herself doing and being in situations she could have never imagined. She’d wanted to destroy what was left of herself and she nearly did and probably would have, if she hadn’t met Nick. She would have wound up drunk out of her mind in the bed of another strange man who may not have been as relatively decent as John. She gave a little shiver just thinking about what could have happened to her.
She placed her small purse on top of the linen covered table and inched her chair closer.
“What can I get you to drink?”
Kimberly glanced up. Her heart slammed in her chest in that moment of recognition, pounding so fast she could barely breathe.
He smiled benignly. “Glass of wine?”
She swallowed and blinked rapidly to clear her vision.
“Are you all right miss?”
“Yes. Yes.” She forced a smile. “Sorry.” She waved her hand. Her laugh trembled along the edges. “A million things on my mind. I’m actually waiting on someone. She’s in the rest room, but a glass of wine in the meantime would be perfect.”
“Red or white?”
“White. Thank you.”
“Be right back.”
What she should do is leave before he returned and recognized her—made a scene. But maybe it wasn’t John at all, and just her imagination and guilty conscience working overtime. He didn’t act as if he recognized her.
She fidgeted with the clasp of her purse and suddenly wished that she smoked.
“There’s always a wait in the ladies’ room,” Gail announced upon her return. She pulled out her chair and sat. “Even in the best of places.” She reached for her glass of water and stopped. She leaned in. “Are you okay? You’re actually pale.” She tucked a lock of sandy blond hair behind her ear.
Kimberly blinked Gail into focus.
“Sorry. Daydreaming. I just ordered some wine. I hope you like white.”
“Sure.” She released a breath and took a slow look around. “Very nice place. And these are great seats. Get to see all the comings and goings.” She linked her fingers on top of the table. “You’ve been gone from here for what, almost twenty years, right?”
Kimberly slowly nodded. “Twenty-two to be exact. Wow.” She sputtered a laugh. “Hard to believe it’s been that long.”
“Ever miss it?”
“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “Not really. I mean not in the way most people miss home.” Her gaze wandered away. “I didn’t have any real friends. I was never close to my parents. No . . . siblings. I guess what I missed was . . .” Her eyes danced around the dimly lit room. “The culture, the mood.”
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine. He turned over the wine glasses, opened the bottle and poured. “I’ll be back shortly to take your orders.”
Kimberly reached for the glass.
“You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”
Kimberly brought the glass to her lips and took a long swallow before returning the glass to the table. “I . . . know him. At least I think I do.”
Gail frowned. “Someone from when you lived here? Why are you so upset?”
“From the other night.”
“He’s someone you met the other night?”
Kimberly bobbed her head. Her eyes darted around her immediate space.
Gail reached across the table and covered Kimberly’s hand. “Do you want to leave? We can leave.”
Kimberly dragged in a shaky breath, ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “Pretending it didn’t happen isn’t going to make it go away.”
“Make what go away? What happened?” she implored, her voice low and insistent.
Kimberly closed her eyes for a moment. “I was such a mess,” she said, slowly opening her eyes. “I’d been drinking for hours . . . I think.” Her brow tightened. “When I woke up I was in bed with . . . the waiter.” Her stomach twisted. She dared to look at Gail, expecting censure, but only saw empathy in her eyes. She swallowed. “I found his wallet on the dresser. His name is John. I put fifty dollars next to his wallet, got dressed and left. I . . . didn’t think I’d ever see him again. Or maybe I just hoped that I wouldn’t.”
“Are you ladies ready to order?”
Their heads snapped up.
Kimberly’s breath hitched in her chest. She shifted in her seat.
He looked from one to the other. “Should I come back?”
“Um.” Gail took a quick look at Kimberly who gave her tight-lipped nod of approval. “No. We’re ready to order,” Gail said. “I’ll have the lump crab cakes, seasoned fries and salad.”
“And you, ma’am?”
Kimberly’s lashes fluttered. She swallowed over the knot in her throat. “Make that two,” she managed.
He took the two menus and tucked them under his arm. “Good choice. Should be about twenty minutes.” He turned and walked away.
Gail leaned in. Her fingertips pressed into the table. “Are you sure? He doesn’t seem to recognize you.”
Kimberly tucked in her lips, slowly shook her head. “I would swear it was, but maybe it’s just my conscience.”
“You did say you’d had a lot to drink. You don’t even know how you got to his apartment. You’re probably wrong.” She offered a hopeful smile.
“You’re right. I’m making myself crazy.” She finished off her glass of wine.
“I’m not going to ask you more than you’re willing to share, but whatever happened with ‘John,’ did it happen with anyone else?”
Kimberly vigorously shook her head.
Gail exhaled. “Then let it go.” She refilled their wine glasses. “Shove that skeleton in the closet and lock the door.”
Kimberly sputtered a laugh. She lifted her glass. Gail did as well.
“Thank you for being here,” she once again reiterated.
Gail touched her glass to Kimberly’s. “Now do you want to tell me what happened?”
Kimberly drew in a breath, took a sip of wine. “My parents aren’t my parents . . .”
She poured out the sordid story of the Maitland legacy, what they had done, the people they’d hurt, the secrets kept and how Zoie Crawford, who’d initially been sent by her paper to do an in depth piece on ‘the candidate’ began turning over sticks, stones and boulders and uncovered her family’s sordid history. She’d planned to print everything that she’d discovered.” She swallowed, gazed away.
Their food arrived, served by a waiter other than ‘John.’
“I couldn’t risk having my family’s dirty laundry hung out for all the world to see. That’s why I dropped out of the race, and Rowan . . . he lost it. I didn’t know how to tell him and he couldn’t understand why after all we’d been through that I would drop out without explanation.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you. The weight of it.”
Kimberly speared a forkful of salad. She chewed slowly. “When I told him the truth . . . about me, who and what I really am . . . he put me out and took my girls.” Her voice cracked as her eyes filled with tears. She reached for a napkin and dabbed at her eyes.
Gail put down her fork and wiped her mouth. She leaned forward. “Listen to me. I’m not here to judge. I got plenty of shit in my own life. Next to dysfunctional family is a picture of mine. Alcoholic, abusive father, my mother had so many ‘uncles’ and ‘prospective daddies” running though our lives it would make your head spin. My sister got pregnant at fifteen, ran away. My brother was locked up for petty theft and robberies more times than I can count. I was the youngest.” She swallowed, looked off into the distance. “I come from a long line of ignorant people, racists, rednecks. The ones you see riding in pickup trucks, shooting off rifles and chugging down jugs of moonshine. That shit is real.” She laughed derisively. “All I dreamed about was getting out of that backward ass Arkansas town and making something of myself. I did and I don’t regret a fucking thing I did to get here.” She licked her peach-tinted lips. “The way I see it, you’re a victim in all this. But don’t you reduce yourself to acting like one. You’re an amazing attorney. Use what you have. You can’t let him get away with taking your children without a fight.” She pursed her lips. “It may not be what you want, but the truth is going to have to come out if you want your girls. If your husband wants to play dirty, then you play dirty, too. He wants to use your heritage against you,” she paused, “you beat him to it and use it against him.”
Kimberly rested her slender fingers on the table. “What do you mean?”
“Obviously, your husband doesn’t want the world—or at least his circle—to know that he married a black woman, or half black, whatever.” She waved her hand. “You have nothing to lose now. This is not the 1950s. Being bi-racial is exotic, acceptable. Own it. You champion everyone else’s cause, champion your own.”