24
For Old Time’s Sake
Hope looked up from the book she was reading and cocked her head toward the front of the house. Is that Cy? Their bedroom was at the back of the house but because of how they had the security system programmed, sounds in one room could be heard in another. Even without the system, she was almost sure Cy was home. She could feel him. A good thing to, since all day she’d had the rare experience of not being able to reach him. Usually if he couldn’t talk on the phone he’d send her a text. Aside from when he was out of the country, they’d talked almost every day since they’d met. Hope hadn’t even realized how much of a comfort this was until she’d kept getting his voice mail. Breathing a sigh of relief, she bookmarked her spot in the latest Zuri Day release, eased up from the chair in the sitting area of their master suite, and walked toward the front of the house.
After she’d navigated a flight of stairs, walked down the hall, through the great room and combined kitchen/dining area, she was greeted by a sight for sore eyes. “Hey, baby.” She opened her arms. Cy walked into her embrace. She rubbed her hands across his back and shoulders as he buried his head in the crook of her neck. They stayed that way for a moment, and then a moment longer. Hope tried to pull back, but when she did, Cy intensified his hold on her. And then she felt it. The wetness. Slight yet quite perceptible... A tear, she assumed, that hit her shoulder and rolled down her arm. It was no secret that they hated being away from each other, but tears? This was something new.
Placing her hands on Cy’s broad shoulders, Hope forced a bit of distance between them so that she could look in his eyes. “What is it, baby?”
Cy avoided her eyes as he responded, wrapping his arms around her once again and holding her close. “It’s good to see you, baby,” he replied, his voice raspy with emotion. “I love you so much.”
Okay. Something was definitely wrong. Cy went out of town often; last year he’d spent almost a month in South Africa, and even then their reunion hadn’t elicited this type of emotion. Hope wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and asked again, “What’s wrong?”
Cy held her close for another moment before breaking the embrace and turning toward the stairs. “It’s a long story, baby. I’ll tell you everything. But first I want to kiss my babies and take a shower. After that, I’ll feel more like myself again, and will be ready to talk about New York.”
While Cy went to kiss the kids and then take a shower, Hope fixed chamomile tea and once done placed two mugs on a tray along with a couple of spinach popovers. As she entered the room, Cy was coming out of the dressing area, a pair of white linen shorts riding low on his hips.
“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, placing the tray on the table in the sitting area.
“Don’t really have an appetite, but tea will be nice.” Cy joined Hope, sitting in the wingback opposite her. He reached for the tea, took a slow, thoughtful sip, and then another.
Hope nibbled on a popover, trying to be patient and wait for whatever heavy story Cy had to tell her. She instinctively knew it had something to do with his meeting with Trisha. Nothing to do with business would make him act this way. And then out of the blue came a thought that took her breath away, and almost caused her to choke on the bite she’d just taken.
Did he sleep with her?
She thought back to her initial conversation with Vivian about Trisha, and remembered the first lady’s words. Cy is a stand-up man, and I think that you can trust him. This Trisha woman? I’m not so sure. On the heels of that thought came Frieda’s voice ringing in her ears. Are you crazy? What in the hell does she want? That’s exactly what Hope wanted to know. The only thing that kept her from blurting out the question that Frieda had asked was the restraint suggested by her first lady. That and the memory of the La Jolla Tea Party, when after misinterpreting a series of e-mails between Cy and Millicent, Hope had driven down to the hotel mentioned in the e-mail, finagled her way into the private room where Cy was meeting Millicent’s husband, accused him of cheating and within seconds became the poster child for the definition of the word “assume.” Hope placed the remainder of the appetizer on the plate and looked at her husband, noting the tightness of his expression. “Cy, just tell me what happened.”
“We met for lunch,” Cy finally began, wiping strong fingers over tired eyes. “It was like the years fell away when I saw her. Aside from being a bit thinner than in college, she was the same old Trisha.”
“How did that make you feel?” Hope prayed that her voice sounded casual.
“Good,” Cy instantly replied. “It’s like no time had passed. Even though we hadn’t seen each other in forever, it didn’t take long for the camaraderie we shared to return. We talked about old times and old friends.” Cy looked at Hope and then looked away.
“And then what?”
“And then she asked me to do her a favor.”
“Okay.” Hope willed herself to remain calm, to feel empathy and compassion for a man in pain. It was a Herculean task. When Cy remained quiet, she took a deep breath and then prompted, “What did she ask you?” all the while not sure that she wanted to know.
“She asked if I wanted to walk a bit, for her to show me the neighborhood. I told you that she lives in Harlem, right?”
“You said New York; I don’t remember hearing Harlem specifically.”
“Perhaps I didn’t know that then. During lunch I’d told her about my plans to buy property in Harlem. That’s when she told me that she’d lived there for ten years and that because of her love for its history, knew quite a bit about the various neighborhoods, businesses, stuff that research can’t tell you.”
So what about a tour of Harlem would put you in this horrible mood? Hope dug her fingernails into her palms, determined to wait for Cy to share whatever he wanted in his own time. Even if it killed her, which—with the rate of how long it was taking him to get to the point—it likely could.
“After walking for a while we ended up at her place.”
“How convenient,” Hope said, before she could stop herself.
“Yes, it was,” Cy agreed. “But probably not for the reasons you’re thinking. She lives in a brownstone that has been fully restored, near an area that has the same type of acclaimed history as where I’m buying property. Ironically, I’d just met with Joseph the day before, and she knew who I was talking about and pointed out some of the areas he helped redevelop.”
“That’s the guy who got you interested in Harlem properties, right?”
Cy nodded. “Joseph Holland. He began dealing with Harlem real estate back in the eighties, even wrote a book about it, which Trisha has read. It’s called From Harlem with Love. Anyway, when I learned where she lived and she offered a tour, I was definitely interested in seeing her space.”
“Oh, so going to her house was your idea.”
“She asked if I wanted to see the restoration. I said yes and we went there.”
Hope turned to face her husband fully. She was out of patience and had to cut to the proverbial chase. “Cy, with what you’ve just told me, I still don’t understand why you’re in this dark mood.”
Cy looked at Hope and then away. “It’s because of what happened afterward, what Trisha told me once we got to her house.”
Hope’s heart began an erratic beat. Scenarios of what Trisha told him popped around her head like ping-pong balls. Help her undress? Let them make love? Divorce me and the kids and move to New York? And then an even crazier thought, taken straight out of a chapter of Vivian Montgomery’s life: Does he have a child who’s like around . . . fifteen years old? “Well, what is it?” Hope hadn’t meant to jump off the chair, get in his face and speak through gritted teeth. No, she’d meant to be cool, calm, and collected, to quietly ask what his first love had requested as if she were asking him to pass the butter. But nooooo. She’d had to “go Frieda” and lose her cool. Which is why she was standing over a still-seated Cy with her hands on her hips. “So what was it, Cy? Did Trisha ask you to sleep with her, to have a little nookie for old time’s sake?” The look in Cy’s eyes should have cooled her ire, but it only fueled it. “Just say it, Cy! What did she ask you or tell you, that has you and me tripping right now?”
Cy looked Hope directly in the eye. “She told me she’s dying, Hope. And that one of her last wishes is for us to spend some time together. For old time’s sake.”