CHAPTER 11
Kimberly pulled her rented car in behind Zoie’s on the driveway. She gripped the steering wheel when she was held in place by a series of possible scenarios that played out in front of her. In one version, she was surrounded by laughter as the family told stories about life in New Orleans, in others she was in a standoff with her mother, hurling words that she couldn’t make out, and in yet another she sat alone, the outsider, the other sister, while the family ate from overflowing dishes.
She jumped at the sudden tapping on her window. She fumbled with the key and turned off the car, snatched her purse from the passenger seat and got out.
“Sorry,” she murmured. She shut the door and began straightening her clothes and hair.
Zoie smiled, took Kimberly’s hands to stop their nervous trek through her hair. She looked her in the eyes. “It’s going to be fine,” she assured softly. “The aunties are a handful, but they mean well.” She turned toward the house with Kimberly’s hand still in hers, and they began to walk to the front door. “Aunt Hyacinth is liable to say anything, so don’t take offense. Aunt Sage is like an avocado.” She grinned. “Tough outer skin and soft on the inside. And Mama,” she angled her head toward Kimberly, “we’re going to figure her out together.”
They walked up the three steps to the front porch landing.
“Ready?” Zoie asked.
Kimberly took a breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Zoie opened the door and they were greeted by the aroma of bread baking.
“Mama is the baker in the house.” She put her bag down on the table in the hall. “I’m sure they’re in the kitchen.”
Kimberly walked two steps behind Zoie and wondered if she could hear the pounding of her heart.
They reached the entrance to the kitchen. Aunt Sage glanced up from peeling potatoes. The knife slipped from her fingers and into the bowl.
Hyacinth glanced over her shoulder. “It’s that white lady again,” she announced.
Rose turned from the sink. Her mouth opened but no words came out.
“Hope it’s okay to have a guest for dinner,” Zoie said. She turned an encouraging smile on Kimberly.
Kimberly’s eyes bounced from one shocked expression to the next. “Hello.” She gripped her purse in her hand.
Rose wiped her wet hands on a dishtowel and tentatively came over to where Kimberly stood. She pressed her hand to her heart. Her eyes glistened. “Of course it’s okay,” she said, looking Kimberly in the eyes.
Kimberly’s smile wobbled around the edges.
“Ya’ll don’t just stand there,” Aunt Sage scoffed. “Wash the street off ya hands and come help with this dinner.”
Zoie threw Kimberly an ‘I told you so’ grin, and tilted her head toward the sink.
Rose glided her hand lovingly down Kimberly’s arm. “Go on. There’s plenty to do.”
Kimberly followed Zoie to the kitchen sink. Zoie snickered. “Told ya.”
They washed their hands and Sage quickly got Zoie to finish peeling potatoes. “And you know how I like ‘em done,” she warned. She pushed to her feet. “I’m gonna sit on the porch for a few.” She wagged a finger at Zoie. “They should be done when I get back. And don’t cut ‘em all too small. And dice up an onion when you’re done. You can have her help you make the potato salad,” she added, lifting her chin in Kimberly’s direction.
“Yes, Auntie,” Zoie said, taking the seat that Sage vacated.
“And you need to tie up all that yellow hair ‘fore it get in my food. I know that much.” She pulled a headscarf out of the pocket of her shift and handed it over to Kimberly. “Here, put that on.”
Kimberly took the floral printed scarf. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“I ain’t no ma’am to you, I’m your auntie, girl.”
Kimberly blinked rapidly, a proper response stuck in her throat. She awkwardly tied the scarf around her head, making sure her mid-back length hair was well out of the way.
“You know how to wash greens?” Rose asked Kimberly, giving her a reprieve from Sage’s admonishing.
Kimberly’s brow tightened. “Um, not really.”
“Come on then. I’ll show you.”
Kimberly joined Rose at the sink.
Rose took a handful of greens in her hand and ran them under the water while she ran her fingers up and down and across the leaves and stems to rinse away any dirt and grit.
“These came right out of your grandmother’s garden,” Rose said.
“Really?” All her vegetables came with her weekly food delivery from the gourmet superstore D’Agostino’s.
She passed Kimberly a handful of greens. “You try.” Rose smiled wistfully. “Started off as a hobby, something for her to do as she got older.” She washed some more greens. “Mama, your grandmother—loved gardening. It was just tomatoes at first, then the collards, cucumbers and spices. With all the land we have out back, there was room to grow. She turned it into a full-blown profitable business.” She slowly shook her head in awe.
“That’s amazing.”
“We went from packing things up in the kitchen for our neighbors to hiring a driver and settling accounts with the local grocer. Got to be too much for us. Zoie mostly handles the business end of things now.”
“I remember Ms. Claudia,” she swallowed, looked at Rose, “my grandmother,” Kimberly softly said, trying to get used to the idea. She gazed out through the kitchen window gathering the images of the past. “She was always so kind to me, took care of me and loved me in a way that my mother never did. Teased me and told me we were connected because we had the same eyes. Humph. Now I know why.” She blinked away the past and turned to Rose. “I was here all the time,” she said, her voice splintering.
Rose cupped Kimberly’s cheek in her palm. “You’re here now. Now,” she insisted. “None of us can go back and fix the past, but we can work on the right now and on tomorrow. If you want to.”
So much had happened in the past few months, few weeks. She stared down into the sink full of bright green collards, the running water swirling over them the way her mind and soul swirled in confusion. “I’ve done things . . . I never imagined I would do.” Images of waking up in bed with a stranger exploded behind her lids, shortened her breath. “I’ve lost everything; my children, my marriage, my career, right down to my sense of self.” She pressed her wet hand to her chest. “The pain—there are no words for the pain.” Her eyes clouded. Tears slid down her cheeks. “I, I’m so lost.” Her slender body shook with the force of her sobs. She gripped the edge of the sink for support.
Rose gathered her up in her arms, molding her to her body, pairing their breaths and heartbeats. “It’s gonna be all right, sweetheart,” she cooed. She stroked her back, squeezed her tighter. “You gonna be all right. You have family. Right here. Family. My baby. My girl,” she cried softly. “You have family. You have me.”
Zoie quietly watched the exchange with a mixture of happiness and envy. She picked up the bowl of potatoes and the knife and tiptoed out of the kitchen. Maybe things would somehow work out for all of them. She pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the back porch.
“Thought I should give them some alone time,” Zoie explained in response to Sage’s inquiring raised brow look.
“Hmm. All that schooling and fancy living in New York did you some good,” Sage scoffed.
Zoie responded with mock sarcasm, “Thanks Auntie.”
“And you just watch your tone, and stop cutting them potatoes so damned small.”
Zoie bit back a laugh. “Yes, Auntie.”
“You think that girl know how to make potato salad, ‘cause you know she lived like white folks and white folks got a problem making potato salad,” she said with a straight face.
Zoie burst into laughter. “I don’t know Auntie, but I guess we’re gonna find out.”
“Humph. I guess we will.”
Sitting down to dinner with the Bennett/Crawford women was an experience like no other. Kimberly was accustomed to light laughter and appropriate dinner conversation. This on the other hand was an event, from raucous laughter to ribald jokes, a parade of cuss words followed by ‘help me Jesus,’ and questionable commentary about every neighbor from here to the Mississippi. They teased each other, spilled secrets about who snored the loudest or who took the last of the jam and left the empty jar in the fridge. There was an ongoing montage of ‘do you remember whens’ that had them vacillating from tears of laughter to soft smiles of ‘yes I sure do.’ And never once in all the exchanges that flew back and forth across the table did she ever feel like an outsider. This was the part of her life that had always been missing, that she sensed in her soul but didn’t know what it was. They included her in their tales of shenanigans, and even shared how they kept the creak in the steps so that they could hear Zoie when she’d sneak in after hours. They answered her questions about ‘who was who’ in their litany of stories and made sure that she sampled everything on the table at least twice.
Never in her life had she sat down to a dinner table loaded with so much food. From one end to the other it was lined with platters of collard greens laced with smoked turkey necks, peas and rice, sweet potatoes dripping in butter and syrup, macaroni and cheese that melted in your mouth, potato salad the likes of which she’d never tasted before but was proud to have a hand in, golden fried chicken, and succulent catfish. And the biscuits! They were bites out of heaven. She was actually relieved when Sage announced that they needed to start cleaning up the kitchen because if she took another mouthful of anything she was going to pass out.
It was nearly ten by the time the whole family walked Kimberly to her car. They stood around her like sentinels ready to guard and protect her from the known and unknown as they’d always done with each other, and she was one of them now and she felt the love and protection.
“Thank you so much for today.” Her eyes danced from one to the other.
“Next time bring your own head scarf,” Sage taunted as she eyed the scarf still tied around Kimberly’s head.
“Next time I’ll bring this one back,” she rejoined.
Hyacinth burst into laughter. “I like her.”
“You be careful out there on these roads,” Sage warned, before turning back to the house and ushering Hyacinth along with her.
“When will you be coming back?” Rose tentatively asked.
“Very soon. I promise.” She leaned in and kissed Rose’s cheek.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she said, visibly relieved, then hugged her tightly before stepping back.
“I’ll get to work on what we talked about,” Zoie said. “First thing in the morning.”
Kimberly nodded. “Thank you.” She looked from one to the other. “Good night.” She opened her car door, got in and slowly backed out of the driveway.
Zoie watched Kimberly pull off. If anyone had a reason to stalk her and her family it could easily have been Kimberly. But her car wasn’t white.
Rose slid her arm around Zoie’s waist, shorting out that line of thought, and they walked back to the house.
“What is it that you’re working on for Kimberly?” Rose asked.
Zoie opened the front door. “I’ll tell you all about it over a glass of sweet tea and a slice of your pound cake.”
Rose laughed. “I’ll get the plates.”
Zoie sat in the middle of her bed with all her notes and the original draft of the article she’d intended to write exposing the underbelly truth of Kimberly Maitland Graham and her other family’s life of lies and duplicity spread out across the white down comforter.
She ran her fingers along the handwritten words, etched into the yellow legal pad and the transcribed typed pages. Before she could dangle the story in front of Rowan Graham she needed to make a few changes and updates.
As she reread the words she’d crafted months earlier, a stabbing pang of guilt jabbed and jabbed at her. The article was probably one of the most in depth exposés she’d ever done. It ripped off so many bandaged wounds that no one would have come out other than in a bloody mess. It was so good, so thorough, so scathing, so true, that it ended the launch of a rising political star, ruined a marriage, sabotaged a legal career, and estranged a mother from her children. That’s how powerful her words were, how powerful words are.
She sat back against the headboard, tucked her legs beneath her. She had to make this right, whatever it took. She owed it to her sister. Her heart thumped in her chest. Her sister. Wow.
She reached for her phone and called Jackson. It was time she got to work on setting things straight on multiple levels.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey, babe, sorry I haven’t been in touch.”
“No worries. I totally understand. How is she?”
“Actually, I’m at the hospital.” He sighed. “Haven’t left. Anyway, the doctors say she’s doing well. They want to monitor her and the baby for another day or two and then she’ll be released.”
Her spirit twinged just a little. “That’s really good to hear, Jackson.”
“Still working on the story?”
“Yes, actually since Lena is doing better I wonder if you could get away sometime tomorrow. And would you mind asking her when she’s up to it if she would mind doing an interview with Anthony LeRoux for the television station.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure I can get away to meet you tomorrow. Lena’s friend Diane arrived, so someone will be here with her. And I’ll ask her about the interview.”
Zoie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing herself not to twist her emotions the wrong way. She’d made her decision. “If you can meet me at the park on our bench.”
He chuckled. “Okay. One o’clock good?”
“Whatever works for you. If anything changes just give me a call.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
“My best to Lena.”
“Thanks.”
Zoie disconnected the call. She drew in a long breath. No turning back now. She lifted her laptop from the nightstand and placed it on her thighs. Mr. Rowan Graham could expect a call from her in the morning.
“I had dinner with my mother tonight. My biological mother,” Kimberly said and waited for Nick’s reaction.
He stopped wiping down the bar. “Say what?” His brows rose.
Kimberly slowly nodded her head. She fiddled with her empty martini glass. “Had a long talk with my sister, too, Zoie. I told her about what me and you talked about and she agreed to contact Rowan.”
“Wait, I’m still processing the first bit of info.” He grinned broadly. “You’re serious?”
“Very.”
“You had some kinda day. So . . . how was it? How were they?”
She sucked on her bottom lip. “Better than I could have ever expected. “ She leaned forward and smiled up at him. “It felt . . . natural.”
“I don’t know what to say other than I’m happy for you, Kim. Seriously.”
“I know we all have a long way to go, but it’s a start.”
“Of course. There’s a lot of years to make up for.”
“True.” She lowered her voice then looked at him from beneath her lashes. “What time do you get off?”
“Midnight.” He angled his head to the side. “Feel like some company?”
“I think I do.” She slid off the barstool. “See you when you get there.”
He winked. “Looking forward to it.”
Walking back to her hotel, she actually began to feel some hope for her future and good inside for the first time in months. New Orleans had been home to her once, maybe it could be again. A new start. A new everything.
The morning arrived overcast. Gray clouds hung low in the sky, a prelude to a hot, rainy Louisiana day. Zoie dropped the curtain back in place. She didn’t have a Plan B for meeting Jackson if it rained, hopefully it would come and go.
She checked the time. Barely nine. Would Rowan Graham be out the door on his way to work? What about the children? Did they miss their mother? What story did he give to explain her absence? She could easily imagine their hurt and confusion. She’d been them at one time, wondering and worrying where her father had gone and why did he’d stopped loving her. If she had anything to do with it, that bit of the family legacy wouldn’t continue.
She walked to her closet and took out her teal and white striped sundress and white sandals. Even though her day would be an exercise in delivering bad news, she wanted to look nice delivering it.
After she dressed, she booted up her laptop and pulled up the article that she’d spent half the night revising. She reread it one last time before she called Rowan.
She tapped her fingers against the wood of her desk as the phone rang on the other end.
“Rowan Graham.”
Her fingers froze. “Hello. This is Zoie Crawford.”
“Who?”
“Your wife’s sister,” she said, enunciating each word.
Silence.
“I’m calling because I have some information that you might like to have before I release it to the press. I’m sure you know that’s what I do.” She waited a beat. “Check your email and when you’re done reading, give me a call.” She disconnected the call. Her heart thumped so hard in her chest that her hands shook.
She jumped up from her seat and began to pace, chewing on her thumbnail. What if he didn’t call back? What if he didn’t care about the article becoming public and called her bluff. But if he was really anything like the way Kim described, and if his treatment of her was any indication, he’d call. Men like Rowan Graham thrived on the image that they presented to their colleagues, to the world and would do whatever was necessary to maintain it. She’d wait. He’d call.
Her cell phone chirped. She snatched it up from the desk.
“Jackson, hi. Is everything okay?”
“I was hoping that maybe we could meet up here at the hospital instead of the park. Weather looks kind of iffy and . . . I don’t want to be too far away from Lena. She had a pretty bad night.”
“From her injuries?”
“Nightmares about the explosion.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. So . . . you spent the night again?”
“Yeah, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving and I’m glad I didn’t. I know this is a lot, Z, but please understand.”
“I understand,” she said, her voice flat. She cleared her throat. “I’ll come to the hospital about one. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”
“Thanks, Z. I’ll see you then.”
“Bye.” Her eyes drifted closed. This only made what she needed to do that much easier and without guilt.
The phone vibrated in her hand. She looked at the screen and smiled. She pressed the talk icon. “Mr. Graham. I take it you had a chance to look at the article . . .”
Driving through the downpour, Zoie replayed her conversation with Rowan. To say that he was set back on his heels would be an understatement. She knew from his initial defiant tone that he was not accustomed to being cornered. The ‘how dare yous’ and ‘who do you think you ares’, underlined his every response, the superiority in his voice. He was the negotiator, the deal maker. She smiled. Not anymore. She’d given him forty-eight hours to decide if he was going to agree to Kimberly’s terms or she would send her story to her editor in New York.
By the time she arrived at University Medical Center, the sky had fully opened, intent on washing away anything that wasn’t nailed down.
Her umbrella was literally useless, turned inside out and dismantled within moments of her stepping out of her car. By the time she’d dashed across the parking lot and reached the sliding doors of the main entrance she was drenched from head to toe.
Shaking off the water like a wet pet, she squished across the lobby to the ladies’ room in hopes of repairing some of the damage inflicted by mother nature. She grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, wiped away the water from her face and bare hair, and dried her hair as best she could. The usually straight pixie cut had morphed into a head full of soft curls. She turned on the hand dryer and did a combination of acrobatics to get her body beneath the blasts of air to hopefully get her clothing from wet to damp. She reapplied her lipstick and donned a light sweater that she kept in her bag to ward off the chill from the hospital’s arctic AC, made worse by her wet clothes.
She took a last look in the mirror, satisfied that this was the best to be done under the circumstances, and walked out and headed for the cafeteria on the main floor.
Normally she’d turn her nose up at the thought of hospital food, but the hospital cafeteria rivaled some local restaurants and that included the meals served to patients—something she’d discovered when Nana Claudia had that first stroke a few years earlier. It was minor, the doctors had assured the family, a TMI, but Nana would need to change her diet and her lifestyle if she didn’t want another one that could be debilitating or worse.
Nana Claudia sat in her hospital bed like the queen matriarch she was, surrounded by Sage, Hyacinth, Rose and Zoie. ‘I’m damned near ninety,’ she’d scoffed while she’d cut into a succulent hunk of meatloaf surrounded by thick mash potatoes and gravy and startling green broccoli, her favorite. ‘Too old to change my ways now,’ she’d said, and that if she had to come back at least the food was good. Zoie disputed the claim only to be told that one of these days she would be ninety and then she could do what she wanted, too.
Zoie smiled at the memory as she entered the sprawling cafeteria. Tables and banquettes were dotted with equal parts hospital staff and visitors. She was a few minutes early but was glad to see Jackson waving her over.
She stopped opposite him at the table. “Hi,” she greeted, feeling oddly awkward.
He came around the table and kissed her cheek then helped her into her seat. Jackson dragged his chair closer to the table and sat. He reached across and took her hand. “Thanks for coming here.”
“It all worked out. Imagine if we’d been in the park.”
He chuckled lightly. “True.”
“How is Lena?”
He drew in a breath and slowly exhaled. “Better. Resting.” His brow knitted together in concern. “How are you? I know you must be working like crazy with all that’s going on.”
That was so like Jackson. No matter how difficult his circumstances were, he was always concerned about the other person. A twinge of sadness tugged at her heart.
“You’re right. A lot is going on Jax.” She paused a moment and linked her fingers together on the table. “Kimberly came to the house yesterday, met the family and stayed for dinner.”
Jackson’s eyes widened with surprise. “Sunday dinner!” His smile lit up his face. “That’s a big step for the Bennett clan.”
Zoie grinned. “I know right.” She glanced down at her clasped hands then back at Jackson. They’d shared so many memories like Sunday dinners, sneaking him out of her bedroom in the early morning hours, picnics in the park, late night talks. Her throat clenched. “So Kimberly asked me to release the article to Rowan.” She went on to explain the plan and Rowan’s response.
“He’s going to give up the kids?”
“Sounded like it.”
“Hmm. Hope he does for everyone’s sake. You know I was never a fan of you writing that piece in the first place.”
Zoie inwardly cringed, recalling the tension and recriminations that bloomed between her and Jackson when she went full metal jacket to uncover everything she could on Kimberly Maitland, as if doing so would somehow put a salve on her own wounded soul. Ultimately, she’d never released the exposé, realizing the devastation it would cause, but the damage had already been done.
“I can’t imagine what she must be going through,” Jackson said, cutting into her soul searching.
His gaze drifted off and she wondered if he was thinking about almost losing his own child. “Jackson . . .” she said softly.
He blinked her back into focus. “So, is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk about us.”
“Us? O-kay.” He shifted in his seat. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve been thinking about you and Lena and the baby.” She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “I thought I would be okay with it, but,” she breathed a sigh, “I can’t, or rather I shouldn’t—”
“Zoie—”
She held up her hand. “Please hear me out. The other day when I stood outside of Lena’s room and saw the two of you—how you were with each other. I knew we could never be that way. She loves you, Jax, and you love her. I could see it. The two of you need each other and your child needs you both.”
“Z—”
“It’s okay.” She touched his hand, forced a smile. “We had our time, and I’ll never forget it. But we need to move on.”
He lowered his head. “You know I’ll always love you.” He looked up into her eyes.
“I know,” she whispered. “And I’ll still help out with the community garden, get it up and running—if you still want my help.”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
She pressed her hands on the table. “So, uh, I should be going. Let you get back to Lena.” She stood, hoping to hold it together.
Jackson got up as well. “Lena agreed to the interview,” he said absently.
Zoie nodded. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll be in touch about when.”
He came around to her and gathered her in his arms. It felt so right, as it always did. They held each other, letting the years of love and the memories flow back and forth between them.
Jackson eased back then tenderly kissed her forehead.
“Take care, Jackson.” She turned and hurried away before he saw her cry.
On the drive home, she second-guessed her decision about walking away from Jackson. They had history. Maybe they could have worked through it somehow. But she knew deep in her soul that was not possible. Move on, Zoie.
She drove onto her street and slowed. The white car was parked across the street from her house. She pulled up behind it, got out but left her engine running. Whoever it was wouldn’t get away this time. As she approached the driver’s door opened and a man stepped out and turned toward her.
No!
He held up his hands—palms facing her. “Zoie—”
He can’t know my name. Blood roared in her head.
He took a step toward her.
She stopped breathing.
“It’s me, Zoie. It’s your dad.”
“You’re lying!” Her heart banged in her chest.
He stepped closer. “Your favorite dress as a little girl was that yellow one with the blue and white flowers.”
Her lids fluttered. A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. She braced her hand against the side of the car to keep from falling.
Hank Crawford reached her an instant before her knees gave out. He slid a supporting arm around her waist. “Here, sit.” He eased her onto the front seat of his car and knelt on the sidewalk in front of her.
Zoie struggled to focus on the face in front of her, that was familiar and not at the same time.
“Breathe,” he said gently, the voice taking her back.
“Daddy?” she whispered.
“Yes. It’s me. I swear it is sweetheart.”
She blinked rapidly to stem the cloud of tears that began to beg for release. “I don’t understand. Where have you been?”
“I want to explain everything to you and your mother.”
Her forehead furrowed. “It was you out here. I saw this car. Aunt Hy saw you. Why would you do that?” Her voice rose, gathering strength. “Why did you drive away that day that I spotted you? You left us! You left me,” she cried, fury and confusion battling each other. “Real fathers don’t do that.”
“I had to leave Zoie,” he said, his voice low and even. “I had no choice. The Maitlands made sure of that.” His nostrils flared.
“What?”
Hank turned the full focus of his warm brandy-colored eyes on his daughter. Eyes I could get drunk on she’d often hear her mother say all those years ago, and in that instant when he looked at her the remnants of doubt were removed. She was that little girl again, bathed in the love and protection of her father. But since the day he left, she’d never felt quite that way ever again.
“The Maitlands arranged everything because I’d found out what they’d done.”
She frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I knew what happened to Rose’s daughter.”
She gasped in shock.
“It’s a lot to explain, and your mother deserves to hear this too.”
She stared at him, trying to look beneath the veil of words for the lie. Disassembling words was what she did. She was a wordsmith. She wielded and molded words. She took them apart and put them back together. She understood their power. But these words that tumbled from his mouth, dipped in the sweet molasses of his drawl, she didn’t understand. Her father knew the truth all this time?
She managed to get to her feet, pushed away his attempt at assistance. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know if she’ll even let you in the house, and I wouldn’t blame her,” she said, the fire relit inside her. “You have no idea what your leaving did to her or to me!” She hurled the words at him. “You hurt us, your family, the people you were supposed to protect. And you show up here after all this time with some story,” she yelled. “Why now? Why bother? Why not just stay the hell away?”
“I’m sick Zoie.”
Her chest heaved, then caved, hit with the implication of all the things those words could mean. She really looked at him then, beyond the things that were familiar from his eyes, the caramel color of his skin, the waves of his hair—now shot through with gray, to see what was in front of her: the body that was maybe too thin for his height, cheekbones too sharp and a hollowness beneath his eyes.
All she could do was stare as the accumulation of her observations left her immobile.
“I’m staying at the Red Door on Pompano. I’ll be there til the end of the week.” He took out a piece of paper, wrote something on it and handed it to Zoie. “That’s my number if she wants to see me.”
She looked at the numbers. “How do I know that you won’t just up and disappear again?”
“I won’t.”
“No. I don’t believe you. You’re here now. You explain now. To all of us.” A rush of defiance pushed through her veins, stiffening her spine. He was not going to leave. Not this time. “Turn off your car,” she demanded, “and give me your keys.” She stood guard while he did as instructed, then placed the keys in her open palm. She lifted her chin toward the house. “You know where we live. Let’s go.” Walking next to this man she felt like law enforcement bringing in a prisoner instead of a daughter walking her father home.
The thumping of her heart shook her body as they crossed the street and up the walkway to the front door of Jessup Street.
Zoie walked onto the first step of the porch when she realized that Hank had stopped behind her. She spun around. His eyes were fixed on the front door, his generous mouth diminished to a barely visible line. His skin had a thin sheen of perspiration. She watched his chest heave in and out as if struggling for air. All of which could only be described as fear.
Her heart softened just enough to bring her to stand in front of him. “You came this far. You sat outside our door for weeks, watching and waiting for your chance to make things right.” She paused. “This is it!”
Hank blinked several times before focusing on Zoie. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, then slowly nodded. “All right, then.”
She waited until he moved toward the porch then walked with him to the front, but before she could open the door it was pulled open from the other side.
Rose stood framed in the doorway. In one instant there was an expression of greeting and in between that split-second shocked disbelief. She gripped the side of the door. Her lips parted but no words came out.
Zoie hurried to her. “Mama.” She put her arm around her mother’s shoulder and they faced Hank Crawford together.
“Rose . . .”
Her chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm.
“What’s going on out here? Why ya’ll standing in the door letting the flies in?” came Sage’s voice from behind them. She looked past Zoie and Rose. “Dear Lord,” she said on a breath of disbelief. She shoved Zoie and Rose aside and came up on Hank so fast that no one saw the slap coming that rocked him back on his feet. “I been waiting to do that for more than twenty years.” She shook the sting off her hand.
Hank held his hand to his left cheek. “I deserved that.”
Hyacinth ambled to the doorway, eased between the women. “Hi Hank. Where you been boy?”
Hyacinth’s innocent question broke the rope of tension that held them all in place.
“Might as well come in,” Rose finally said. “Say whatever you have to say.”
Hank sat in an armchair on one side of the room, the women on the other. He folded his hands on his thighs and turned his attention to Rose.
“You remember how we met?” he began. “At that party in Harlem.”
Rose’s lips remained pinched closed.
He cleared his throat. “I worked in the registry office of the hospital, remember?”
Rose dragged in a shuddering breath.
“I was in charge of processing all the birth and death certificates. I used to make copies of the death certs for . . . friends that needed a new life.”
Zoie gripped her mother’s hand.
“I didn’t know you’d had a baby at that hospital. Not back then, not til long after we were married.” He shifted in his seat, ran a hand over his face as if to erase the past. “They paid me to forge a death certificate. A lot of money. So, I did it. Didn’t think much of it. Wealthy white folks was always paying people off for one thing or another.” He winced, gritted his teeth then continued. “But I always kept copies of everything—for insurance,” he added as if that made it all right. “But that whole thing never really set right with me. Why would someone want to make up a death certificate for a baby?”
“We met maybe a year later. I’d forgotten all about what happened by then. I never made the connection. I got let go from the hospital shortly after we met. Was pretty hard to find a regular job and I didn’t want to lose you because I couldn’t offer you anything.”
“That when the gambling started?” Sage’s voice sliced through the air.
Hank’s protruding Adam’s apple bobbed. “You knew?”
Sage leaned forward. “ ’Course I knew. Any man good looking as you was, throwing charm around like candy, always got a slick story and know how to tease a woman with just the right amount of laughter and compliments, got all the markings of a con man. No way you was dressing like you did, always a roll of money in your pocket on a supermarket manager job.” She sat back.
Rose looked at her sister with alarm. “You knew all this, suspected?”
Sage lifted her chin. Her lip trembled. “I figured as much. But when you came back with some handsome man on your heels, we was still so mad that you got all those years to live it up in New York after what we knew happened.” She blinked back tears and turned shining eyes on Rose. “I’m sorry, Rose. I should’ve said what I thought. But I made up in my mind that you got what you deserved.”
“Sage,” Rose whispered in pain. She pressed her hand to her chest. “Did you really hate me that much?”
“I was wrong. So wrong.”
Rose sniffed back tears, turned her attention back to her prodigal husband. “I didn’t see because I didn’t want to see. How much did they pay you?”
“Three thousand dollars. It was a lot of money back then. But I ran through it like water. When you decided to move back here I knew I needed a fresh start, loan sharks were after me, I was in debt up to my eyeballs.”
“You married me to get away from loan sharks?”
“No, Rose. No.” He shook his head. “I came here to NOLA to get away, yes, but I was already in love with you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Rose turned her face away.
“I wouldn’t lie to you about loving you, Rose.”
“What does all of this have to do with the death certificate?” Zoie asked.
“When you were born, it was the most amazing day of my life. I wanted to give you and your mama the world. But I couldn’t, not on a store manager’s salary.”
“So you went back to your old ways,” Hyacinth chimed in clear as a bell.
Hank hung his head. “At first yes. And I was doing fine, til I started losing at the tables, on bets. My debt kept growing. I was getting threatened. I needed to do something, but I couldn’t run the way I’d done back in New York. I had a family. And then one afternoon when we was sitting in the yard with Zoie, you told me what happened to you in the hospital. That you’d lost your first baby and you would move hell and high water to hold onto Zoie. It was the first time you’d talked about it.”
Rose looked away.
“And those Sunday dinners with Nana Claudia.” He smiled wistfully. “She always had a good story to tell. Mentioned working for the Maitlands a time or two. Name sort of rang a bell but I couldn’t figure the Maitlands in New York. But then I did some reading up on them—on the family, the car accident that killed Kyle Maitland, the timing, you getting shipped off to New York.”
“I never told you Kyle was the father!”
“You didn’t have to, I figured it out.” He wrung his hands together. “I was getting desperate. The creditors were threatening me, threatening to hurt me and my family. I dug through all my papers and found that fake certificate. I wasn’t sure about all the facts, but I had enough and I knew that they had a little girl that matched up with the date on the certificate. I went to the Maitlands, threatened to expose what they’d done if they didn’t pay me.”
Rose covered her face with her hands. Zoie wrapped her tighter in her arms. The man that she’d dreamed about, idolized, fantasized about—the larger than life knight—was dissolving right in front of her eyes.
“Did they . . . pay you?” Sage asked.
Hank nodded.
Zoie jumped to her feet. “Then why the hell did you leave? Why?” She slammed her foot down. “Tell me!” Rage shook her body.
“They agreed to pay off my creditors and keep them gone if I agreed to go away and not come back. If I didn’t, they were willing to take the chance with my story coming out. They would make sure that no one believed me, and I would have to take my chances with the people who were after me.”
Zoie slowly lowered herself back onto the couch.
“I couldn’t risk anything happening to either of you,” he said looking from Rose to Zoie. “I couldn’t, even if that meant giving you both up. I knew what the Maitland family was capable of.”
A heavy silence engulfed the room. Hank’s confession over the past hour, the dredging up of the painful past, rendered them all emotionally spent.
After several moments, Sage got to her feet. “I’m gonna set out some cobbler and sweet tea on the back porch. Come out when you’re ready.” She helped Hyacinth up and left them alone.
“Get the hell outta here,” Miranda shouted into the phone. “We don’t talk for a few days and all hell breaks loose. Damn. I need a drink.”
Zoie burst out laughing. “You and me both.”
“So you and Kimberly are on the same team. Who woulda thought. Humph.”
“I know right. But I needed to do right by her, and I want to get to know her. If I’ve learned nothing else from being back here it’s that family is what matters more than anything.” She stretched out on her bed, tucked her hand behind her head and let her gaze follow the slender crack that ran along the ceiling. “There’s more,” she said on a breath.
“All ears.”
Zoie spilled out the encounter with her father and the duplicity of the Maitland family that had all but torn her family apart.
“Oh my god, Zoie. Your dad!”
“Yeah, my dad,” she said, still processing everything that had transpired. “Crazy.”
“How are you with all that?”
“I don’t even know.” She sighed. “Part of me gets why he did things the way he did. He thought he was protecting us. But those fucking Maitlands. . . .” She clenched her teeth. “All the years I lost with my dad, the years my mom lost all because some privileged family didn’t want their precious name muddied. And now he’s sick. Told us that the doctors said maybe he has a year.” Her voice broke. “It’s so unfair! I finally get him back and . . .”
“I know. I know sis,” she soothed. “I swear I wish there was something I could do.”
“You are. You’re listening.” She paused a beat, sniffed back her frustration. “I’m just going to try to make the best of what time we have. Make up for what we lost.”
“That’s all you can do. I mean, maybe he could have done things differently but he’s here now before it was really too late and the truth disappeared with him.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I have something to tell you.”
“You mean there’s more?” she teased.
“Actually, yeah. I . . . met someone.”
“Met someone? Wait. What happened to Jackson?”
“Well, there’s that story too . . .” She shared with her friend what she’d finally come to accept about her and Jackson—they’d reached the end of their long winding road. She’d help where she could to get the fresh vegetable market up and operational at his new development until it could function without her. It was important for all of them that she fade into the background so that Jackson and Lena could make things work. She cared enough about him to want him to be happy and she knew he would be with Lena. “He’s gonna make a great dad,” she said.
“Wow. Just wow. Look at you, all grown up and shit.”
Zoie cracked up laughing. “I know right. Feels kinda good.”
“So, tell me all about this new guy.”
“Well, his name is Anthony LeRoux . . .”
The friends talked for another half hour, rehashing, adding new stuff and ending with a promise to see each other soon.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, just as her phone rang. She smiled when the name flashed on the screen.
“Mr. LeRoux. How are you? Have an assignment for me?”
“Actually, I was hoping we could talk about how we can continue to work together. The piece you wrote on the University bombing was great journalism. My producer is going to make arrangements to get me to interview Ms. Banks. I want to thank you for that.”
“Not a problem.”
“I was, uh, wondering if you’re free for drinks, maybe dinner. We could discuss some options.”
She bit back a whoop of delight. “Um, yeah. Actually I am.”
“I can pick you up or we can meet if you prefer.”
She quickly debated the implications of him picking her up versus her meeting him. Option two gave her independence and mobility. “I can definitely meet you. Did you have someplace in mind?”
“You like authentic creole and good music?”
“I wouldn’t be a NOLA girl at heart if I didn’t.”
“Perfect. Say eight at Fritzel’s Jazz Club on Bourbon Street?”
“Great. I know the place.”
“So I’ll see you at eight. Meet you in front.”
“See you then.”
“Your sister came through,” Nick said while he washed her back. The suds slid down the column of her spine.
“Yes. She really did.”
“You think the two of you can have a real relationship?”
“I’d like that.” She turned to him, pressed her hands against his chest. “I always wanted a sister, and now I have one,” she said, the wonder of it lightening her voice. “And an extended family. I want you to meet them.”
His eyes widened. “You do?”
She smiled. “Yeah, I do. My aunts and my mom make a mean Sunday dinner.” She dragged the tip of her finger across his lips. “You’re invited.” Her eyes danced over his face.
“I’d like that.” He used the bath sponge to bathe her breasts.
“What about your husband?”
She sighed. “He won’t be for long, but the ball is in his court now. The choice is his—easy or ugly.”
“You think he’ll come through?”
“I have to believe that.”
He leaned in and kissed her. She ran her fingers down the length of him. “Did I tell you how glad I am that you came into my life?”
“No.” He groaned as her fingers encircled his erection. He kissed her again. “But I’d love to hear all about it.”