Always in My Heart (2 page)

“You know what? I wouldn’t mind some tea.”

Kwame gave her a smile, and got up from the love seat. About ten seconds after he went into the kitchen, Deanna came into the living room and took the vacant seat beside her.

For a long moment, they were silent. Then Deanna sighed and said, “You know what I was kind of thinking today? Hoping…”

She didn’t finish her statement, but the lump that lodged in Callie’s throat said she knew what she’d been about to say. And while she had wanted to keep her mind from going there, she’d also had the same fleeting thought.

“Our mother,” Callie concluded. “You thought she might show up.”

“Auntie Jean
is
her sister, after all.”

Callie looked forward, her jaw tightening. She hated thinking about their mother. It always brought her down. Twenty-three years ago, she had waited by the window in this very house, day and night, for their mother to return, as she’d promised.

She never had.

“Maybe she couldn’t come,” Callie said. “I mean, maybe…”

Deanna’s eyes closed tightly, even though Callie didn’t finish her statement. But with all this time that had passed, how could either of them ignore the possibility that their mother could be dead?

Certainly, for their aunt to have died, Miriam Hart would have made it to the funeral if she could have.

So many questions where their mother was concerned, yet no answers.

Callie didn’t want to think about their mother anymore, so she said, “I know it’s been a busy day, and you and Natalie haven’t really had a chance to talk. But I’m wondering…do you think you’re going to patch things up?”

“Ten years have passed,” Deanna said.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“I know… What I’m saying is, ten years have passed. I’m willing to put the past in the past.”

Callie raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Deanna sighed softly. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but if Auntie Jean’s passing hasn’t made it clear that holding grudges is pointless…”

There had been a lot going on today, but Callie had noticed that Natalie was making sure to avoid Deanna. The funeral and the aftermath was allowing both of them to be busy and completely avoid each other.

“You’re going to have to try to talk to her soon then,” Callie said. “Because she might be getting on a plane and heading back to Texas before we know it. Isn’t her husband’s team in the NBA finals? She’ll want to be there to support him.”

“You haven’t heard?” Deanna asked.

“Heard what?”

“Natalie and Vance split up. At least, that’s the gossip. You never know if it’s true or not, but I did notice she wasn’t wearing a wedding band.”

Callie narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t noticed. All she knew—from her aunt and uncle and from various news clips about four years earlier—was that Natalie had married a basketball star who played for the San Antonio Badgers. She didn’t keep up with celebrity gossip, and hadn’t heard anything about a split.

“I had no clue,” Callie said.

“The word is, Vance couldn’t be faithful. The latest news is that they just split a few weeks ago.”

Perhaps that explained why Natalie seemed completely inconsolable. She had been crying almost constantly, and had excused herself to head upstairs and lie down once they’d gotten back to the house.

“Wow, that’s horrible,” Callie commented.

“Yeah,” Deanna said softly. She paused. “When I first heard, I couldn’t help thinking that she got what she deserved. After what she did to me… But seeing her today, seeing how much pain she’s in…well, all I could do was feel pity.”

“All the more reason to let her know that you’re willing to put the past behind you,” Callie pointed out. “Men may come into our lives for a season, but we’re blood. We never should have drifted apart.”

“I hear you,” Deanna said.

One of them would have to make the first move. If she had to, Callie would do it on their behalf, once all the visitors had left the house.

In the grand scheme of things, how stupid had the whole incident been. Ten years they had been out of each other’s lives, and for what? Natalie had seduced Deanna’s boyfriend, which had been a horrible thing to do, and the rift between Natalie and Deanna had begun.

Callie remembered getting into the middle of the conflict, trying to help both of her sisters see the light. But they’d been so absorbed in their own differences and unable to reconcile, and had gotten mad at Callie for not understanding that the other sister was at fault.

Having had a close friend who had died after a severe police beating at the time, Callie grew tired of her younger sisters’ squabble. There were far more important things to deal with in the world.

Like the fact that she’d been pregnant and confused, and had felt alone.

“Speaking of men coming into our lives for a season,” Deanna began, “guess who dropped by the funeral home last night?”

“I don’t know,” Callie said, shrugging. Then she guessed the name of the guy Deanna and Natalie had become estranged over. “Marvin?”

“No, not Marvin, thank God. Nigel.”

Nigel!
At the sound of his name, Callie’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Nigel had come to pay his respects to Auntie Jean?

Why was she surprised? Auntie Jean had adored him when they were together, and he her. One of the reasons Callie had stayed away and not told her family the entire truth was because she couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t let her secret slip to Nigel.

“He—he did?” Callie asked, her voice a croak.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Good Lord, was he going to drop by the house today? Callie suddenly looked toward the front door, as if he might show up at any moment.

“Did you—you talk to him?” Callie asked, then swallowed.

“Briefly. He said he came in to pay respects to Uncle Dave and the family. He offered us condolences, said how sorry he was for our loss, then he left.”

Did he ask about me?
That was the next question on Callie’s lips, but somehow she stopped herself from asking it. As if she even had the right to think that after what she’d done.

Her stomach clenched, knowing that what she had planned to do was going to be excruciatingly hard. But it had to be done. As difficult as it would be to face Nigel, she knew that she had to.

She only hoped that when she dropped her doozy of a bombshell on him, he didn’t hate her forever.

Chapter 2

“D
etective Williams?”

Nigel Williams sat up straight when he heard the soft voice on the other end of the line. Was this the call he had been waiting for?

“Yes,” he said. “This is Detective Williams.”

“I hear you wanted to talk to me.”

“Dominiqua?”

“Yes,” came the low reply.

The murder victim’s girlfriend.
Thank God.
“You were there last night? When Garrett was shot?”

“Yes.” The girl began to cry.

“I need you to come in to the station,” Nigel said. “So we can talk about what happened.”

“I—I’m scared. If I talk to you, people will find out. And…”

Her voice trailed off, but her sentiment was clear. She was afraid to talk, because of the code on the streets—never snitch.

It was an all-too-common conundrum. People were afraid to come forth with information for fear of retaliation against them. But the catch-22 was that when people didn’t come forward to report the bad guys, the bad guys were still on the streets to hurt other people.

“I can come to you,” Nigel offered. “Just tell me—”

“No! No cops. I can’t be seen talking to a cop—”

“If you saw what happened, if you have information, it’s important that you tell me,” Nigel said, speaking as gently as possible. “We can figure out a spot to meet that will be safe for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dominiqua said. “I—I can’t.”

And then she hung up.

Nigel heard the dial tone, and groaned in frustration as he replaced the phone to the cradle. Damn, he’d wanted Dominiqua to give him a name. At least, however, he had been given a lead. Dominiqua
did
know something. It might take time, but he was certain she would eventually come clean and let him know who had shot down her boyfriend in cold blood.

Nigel shook his head as he thought of last night’s murder of a young male. Twenty years old, gunned down in the street. The distraught mother being held up by family members at the crime scene, where her son lay bleeding from a gunshot wound.

Murder on the streets of Cleveland and another young life lost in a senseless manner. When would people stop taking the drastic action of murder as a way to solve their disputes?

Not any time soon, Nigel knew. Ever since his move to the homicide department within the Cleveland police three years earlier, his caseload had always been full.

Marshall Jennings, his best friend of twelve years and partner on the police force, had gone out to speak to the boy’s mother once their evening shift had started, while Nigel had stayed in the office looking up information on the victim, that could possibly link to any suspects.

“Hey, Williams.”

Nigel, who had been staring at the computer screen, looked to his right. Marshall was heading toward him, his blazer wet. Clearly, he had been caught in the torrential downpour. It was the end of May, and the showers had been intense lately. Mostly because even though it wasn’t yet summer, the weather was extremely hot.

The good thing was that if the rain kept up this evening, it wasn’t likely anyone would be gunned down on the streets.

“How did it go with the mother and the family?” Nigel asked.

“They’re devastated, understandably,” Marshall said, shrugging out of his jacket. “They saw Garrett at least two hours before he was shot but don’t seem to know anything useful.” Marshall hung his blazer on the back of his swivel chair. “They gave me some names of people who might have had a beef with him. Some leads to follow.”

“Well, I heard from Dominiqua, the victim’s girlfriend,” Nigel told him. “Those early leads were right—she
did
see the shooting.”

Marshall’s eyebrows rose as he took the seat at the desk beside Nigel. “All right. She name the shooter?”

Nigel shook his head. “I tried to get her to come talk to me, or to tell me something over the phone, but she hung up before she did. She’s too scared to talk.”

Marshall nodded his understanding. “She’ll probably come around.”

“I hope so. If she loved the guy, I’m thinking she’s going to want to see the shooter brought to justice.”

“No doubt,” Marshall agreed. Leaning forward, he typed something on his computer screen. Then he said, “Guess who I saw today?”

“Who?”

“Callie.”

Callie Hart…Nigel felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut with a sledgehammer. “You did?”

“Yep. I dropped by the church earlier to pay my respects on my way to the dentist. As I was leaving, I saw her getting out of an airport limo.”

Nigel turned his attention to the pile of papers on his desk. He needed something to do, a distraction. “So you didn’t talk to her?”

“Nope. But get this—she’s got a child.”

At the news, Nigel whipped his head in his friend’s direction. “What?”

“A young boy was getting out of the car with her. Maybe eight. It must be her kid.”

Nigel felt a tightening in his chest. Callie had a child? “Was she with someone?” he found himself asking. “A husband?”

Marshall’s eyebrows rose at the question. “Still carrying a torch for her, hmm? Even after how she left you?”

“Just curious,” Nigel responded. “She’s got a kid, she likely has a husband.”

“I didn’t see her with anyone. It was just her and the kid. But that doesn’t mean she’s not married. Her husband could have stayed home while she came here for the funeral.”

Nigel nodded. He hated that he felt even mildly curious to know what she was doing in her life. Once she had walked away from him, he had vowed to forget her forever.

Obviously, she had forgotten him. If it was true that she had a son around the age of eight, then she had clearly moved on from him fairly quickly. Merely a year or so after breaking his heart, she had gotten involved with someone else and created a child with him.

Well, good for her.

“Another thing,” Marshall began, “she looked like she’d been hurt. Was wearing a sling, had a bandage on her forehead. I guess she may have fallen or something.”

“Hmm,” was Nigel’s reply, a noncommittal response. But curiosity was stirring in his gut, even though he didn’t want it to.

“You gonna call her up?” Marshall asked.

“Call her?” Nigel guffawed. “Why?”

“To say hi. It’s been what, ten years?”

But the look on Marshall’s face made it clear that he was simply stirring up trouble. Nigel wondered why his best friend was goading him like this. Marshall knew how brokenhearted he had been after Callie had left town without so much as a glance backward. The last thing Nigel wanted to do now was see her, even if he was over her.

He had already paid his respects to Dave Henry and other family regarding Jean’s passing. Thankfully, he hadn’t run into Callie at the time.

“Back to the murder case at hand, my friend,” Nigel said, turning to his computer. “Because we’ve got a job to do.”

* * *

Callie awoke with a start, her eyes popping open. She was surprised to see daylight pouring into the room. It seemed as if she had only gone to bed a short while before, and that the night had whizzed by.

And though she’d clearly slept like a log, she didn’t feel well rested. Her mind had been on Nigel before she’d fallen asleep, she had even dreamed of him.

She was anxious, the plight before her weighing on her mind.

Easing her body across the bed, she reached for her phone on the night table with her good arm and checked the time. It was six fifty-two in the morning.

Then she glanced across the room to where the daybed was. Kwame, who had also been exhausted from an early start and hours of activity yesterday, lay on his stomach, his form still. He was sleeping, which didn’t surprise Callie.

Quietly, she rose from the bed and exited the room. It was quiet. Perhaps no one had woken up yet.

After using the bathroom, Callie made her way downstairs. As she neared the kitchen, she finally heard soft voices. And when she rounded the corner, she saw Natalie and Uncle Dave sitting at the small, round table.

“Morning,” Callie said, then yawned. She wrapped an arm around her uncle, gave him a warm hug. Then she did the same to Natalie.

“I made tea,” Natalie said. “But if you want coffee, I can brew a pot.”

“I can do it,” Callie said.

Natalie stood. “With one good arm? Sit. Let me get you some coffee.”

Callie didn’t argue. She sat at the table beside Uncle Dave. “How are you feeling today?” she asked him.

“I keep expecting Jean to walk into this kitchen and start fussing about what she’s going to prepare.” Uncle Dave sighed. “I’m just trying to hang in there.”

Reaching across the table, Callie squeezed his hand. There were no words. She could only provide comfort.

Callie turned toward Natalie, who had spent much of the day before inconsolable. “How are you doing today?”

“Better. Definitely better.”

Natalie didn’t face her as she filled the coffee carafe with water from the sink, and Callie knew this wasn’t a good time to ask her about her husband. There would be time for that later.

“Hey, you remember Marshall, Nigel’s friend?” Natalie asked as she began to pour the water into the coffeemaker.

“Yeah,” Callie said. “Sure I do.”

“I saw him yesterday at the church.”

“Marshall was at the church?”

“Yeah. You must have just missed him, because I ran into him when I was heading down to the basement to use the bathroom. There he was, exiting the men’s room, what a surprise. He’d come to pay his respects, of course, which was nice, though he said he didn’t have much time because he was heading to an appointment. He knew Auntie Jean from her volunteer work in the community.” Natalie paused. “He mentioned Nigel. Said both of them are detectives now.”

Callie felt a spasm of alarm. If Marshall had been at the church, and at the time that Natalie said, then he could have very well seen her. And if he had seen her, he would’ve seen her with Kwame. Wasn’t it likely that he would tell Nigel about having seen her with a young boy?

“Uncle Dave, do you know if Nigel’s family still lives at the same house where he did before?” They would be able to tell her how to find Nigel.

“Actually, Nigel lives there now,” her uncle answered. “Ever since his father moved south, Nigel’s been back there. He spent a lot of time renovating his parents’ old house. I hear it’s lovely.”

If Nigel lived in his parents’ old house, that meant he was only two blocks away.

“Good.” Callie emitted a shaky breath. “I need to see him.”

“Need to see who?”

At the sound of the voice, Callie looked toward the entrance to the kitchen and saw Deanna entering. She was wearing black silk pajamas and a pair of white slippers.

“Nigel,” Callie said, then swallowed. “I need to see Nigel.”

“Why?” Deanna asked.

“Because I…I need to have an important conversation with him and I need to have it before anyone else does.” Though it could already be too late.

Both of her sisters looked at her with concern. Callie knew they were curious, but she was suddenly anxious. She had to speak to Nigel before Marshall mentioned anything to him. Not that Nigel would necessarily put two and two together, but Natalie’s news was a sign that Callie needed to get on with this sooner rather than later.

“Callie?” Natalie prompted in a cautious tone.

Callie knew that what she was about to say would be a bombshell. She hadn’t trusted her sisters with the truth at the time because all they’d been doing then was arguing with each other. Somehow, she had come to believe that there’d be no harm in keeping the secret from them.

Same as she’d kept it from Nigel.

That was going to be the hardest part. Doing the right thing and telling Nigel the truth, after all this time.

Callie’s stomach twisted. She had loved him. Lord, how she had loved him. But she’d let a disagreement—albeit a major one—come between them.

She held no illusions that she and Nigel would reconnect romantically. Too much time had passed for that to happen. She had gone on with her life, and he had gone on with his. But what she hoped most of all was that he wouldn’t be too angry with her when she let him know the truth she had kept from him all these years.

“Whatever it is, Callie,” Natalie began gently, “you know that you can trust us with it.”

Perhaps Callie should have trusted her sisters with this years ago, but she’d just been so scared. “I have something to tell you,” she said, nerves tickling her stomach as she spoke. “Something that I told no one all these years. Except for Tamara Jackson, the friend from college who I went to Florida with. And please, try to understand my reasoning and not be upset with me.”

“You’re scaring me,” Deanna said.

“It’s Kwame.” Callie looked around, making sure that her son was nowhere in earshot. He had been sleeping when she had left the bedroom, but he could have awoken by now and been on his way downstairs.