Forever An Ex (25 page)

He shrugged. “No big deal. Someone called me, I thought of you, and I figured it would give me some points.” He paused. “Did it work?”

As they sat our plates in front of us, I nodded. “You have so many friendship points right now, it's not even funny.”

He laughed. “Love how you snuck that right in there. Friendship.”

“Yup, 'cause there's nothing better than that.”

“I can think of something that's a little bit better.”

Then, like he'd done at Roscoe's, he lowered his head and blessed our food, as if not a morsel passed through his lips before he raised it to God. When I looked up, he was smiling at me.

“What?” I asked as I picked up my fork.

“I was just wondering . . . what made you finally decide to go out with me?”

I thought about how Anthony had barged into my office with his demands, but I wasn't going to tell D'Angelo about that. I said, “I got tired of hearing you asking me to go out.”

D'Angelo didn't miss a beat. He shook his head. “That can't be it. I stopped asking you a long time ago.”

I frowned. “No, you didn't. We talked a few days ago and you asked.”

“That was a long time ago to me,” he said. We laughed, but then he asked again, “What changed your mind?”

I put down my fork. “I decided that you're a real nice guy. And you've done so much for me. And, I thought it would be good for us to hang out and for me to say thank you.”

“That's all this is?”

I nodded. “What else would it be?”

He shrugged. “Doesn't have anything to do with my brother, does it?”

My fork dropped out of my hand, and I moved quickly to recover, but I knew my body language had given it all away. How in the world did this guy know these things? I mean, I was beginning to understand that he had CIA-type connections, but how did he know my business?

My answer to him was, “What would make you think that?”

“You changed your mind so suddenly. The only thing I can think of is that you did this to get back at Anthony.”

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “I told you; I've forgiven them, so no need to get back at anyone.”

“No you haven't.”

“What?”

“You haven't forgiven him,” he said as if he'd searched my heart and that was a fact.

“How can you say that?” I said, beginning to feel a bit annoyed. D'Angelo sounded like my father, and my pastor, and my friends. Everyone was always talking about forgiveness as if I was the one who'd done something wrong. The onus of the breakdown of our relationship seemed to fall solely on me.

“Because I can see it. You may say that you've forgiven them with your mouth. You say that over and over again. But in your heart, nothing's changed. Because when your heart changes, your actions change.”

I frowned.

“Let me ask you this . . . have you been to see our niece yet?”

“Ciara?”

“Do we have another one?”

“Okay, let me explain this to you. I was married to Anthony,” I said, though, of course, D'Angelo knew this already. But I was thinking that maybe a history lesson was necessary here to get him off my case. “And he cheated on me with my sister.”

“Oh, don't get it twisted; I told you before that what they did was dirty to the tenth degree. I'm just sayin' that you haven't cleaned that dirt up off of you.”

“And so what if I haven't?” I said, folding my arms across my chest. He had passed my annoyance threshold. I was sick of him, of my father, of Pastor Ford, of Sheridan and everyone else who preached forgiveness to the victim.

“Don't get mad at me. I'm just trying to help you out 'cause right now you have this wall up around your heart. And it's so thick that no love can get in and none can get out. You can't even find a way to love your own niece.”

I glared at him.

“It's so thick, you'll never be able to feel love again. You won't even know when it's staring you right in the face.”

I tightened my arms across my chest even more, but he didn't seem at all fazed by my attitude.

“Like I said, I'm just trying to help you out.”

There was only one way that he could help me now. I pushed my plate aside.

D'Angelo looked over at me. “You're not hungry.”

“Not anymore.” I gave him a sista-girl glare. You know, the one that was meant to burn right through to his soul.

And even with that, all he did was shrug. “So, you ready to go?”

“I can't get out of here fast enough.”

He nodded, then raised his hand for the waiter to return. He asked the young man to pack up our dishes and then he pulled out his cell phone. “Yo, what's up?” he said.

Now, all day long, D'Angelo had impressed me with the way he'd ignored all calls. His phone had rung all day, but he'd hardly ever glanced to see who was calling. But now I guess I didn't deserve that kind of treatment anymore.

I couldn't tell if he was talking to a male or a female, and it made me mad that I even cared. His conversation was innocuous enough, sounded more like business than personal. And when the waiter brought back our packed-up meals and the check, D'Angelo signed right away. Now he seemed like the one who was in a hurry to leave and I wondered how a day so great had flipped so quickly.

There was no music on the long ride back to Redondo Beach. And there were few words. When he pulled up in front of the Woman's Place,
he slid out from his side and opened the door for me.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“No, thank you, pretty lady.” He kissed my cheek softly. “I'll see you around.”

Without another word, he jumped back into his car, and two seconds later I heard the beat and then “Straight Outta Compton”
 . . .

I watched as his car rolled out of the parking lot and sadness draped over me like a cloak. Every time he'd been in my presence and we parted, he talked about when we would get together. I guess he'd had this one time. And one time was enough for him.

Well, it was enough for me, too. This wasn't going anywhere; I didn't even want it to. I'd done the good deed, thanked him for helping me out. Now it was over, and if he wanted, we never had to talk again. That would be cool with me.

Chapter

Thirty-Three

I
'd been in Dr. Benjamin's office way too much.

I knew every certificate he had on the wall, I knew just about every title of the books that lined his shelf. I'd even studied the photos of his family on his desk.

Yeah, I'd been here too much and couldn't wait for the day I'd be told that my dad and I wouldn't have to ever come back.

“Okay, sweetheart,” my father said into his cell phone. “I'll tell Kendall, but don't you worry about me. I'll be fine.” A pause, and then, “I love you, too.” Another pause and my father glanced at me. “Yeah, I'll tell her.”

My father clicked off the phone, but I didn't ask him what the call was about. He was talking to Sabrina, so I wasn't interested.

But, of course, my father was going to tell me anyway. “Your sister said to tell you hello. She said she's been trying to reach you.”

I wondered if my father knew that “trying to reach me” meant that she'd called every day.

He said, “She wanted me to know that Anthony won't be able to come over this afternoon. He's stuck in a meeting in Orange County.”

“That's fine,” I said. “I'll stay with you.”

My dad sighed. “You know you don't have to do that. I'm a grown man and I can take care of myself.”

My father could flap his gums all he wanted, but I wasn't about to leave him alone after chemo. The treatments left him weak and dehydrated. I made sure that I was there, giving him plenty of water and trying to get him to eat. I never left until he went to bed for the night.

I had planned a meeting at the spa for later this afternoon since Anthony had confirmed in a message last night that he would cover me. But I had no problem canceling. This was my dad. He was and would always be priority number one.

Before I could tell my father that he had no choice in the matter, Dr. Benjamin stepped into his office.

“How're you doing, Mr. Leigh?” he asked my father, and then smiled at me.

“I'm good, Doc,” my father said to the older white man who looked to be as old as my dad. I was sure the doctor was in his seventies, and at first, it had concerned me. I was thinking about all the new advances that had been made in medicine since this man had graduated from medical school.

But then I'd done my research. And Dr. Benjamin was world-renowned for some of his own studies on cancer. And when I found out that he specialized in male breast cancer because he'd survived it himself, I was sold.

“So, how are you feeling?” Dr. Benjamin asked as he tapped on a tablet that he held. “Any better with the side effects?”

“I'm feeling pretty good,” my dad said.

And, I looked at him cross-eyed. “No, you're not,” I said to my father, and then turned to the doctor. “My father is still very, very tired and sometimes, right after, he's too weak to stand. And besides still being nauseous even though he's not eating much, he has headaches.” Then I turned back to my father and said, “Tell him.”

My father hunched his shoulders. “Hell, I don't have to tell him anything now. You've told it all!” he said, sounding like he was annoyed. But then he smiled when he faced the doctor. “We almost named her Chatty Cathy because I knew she was gonna grow up to be this way. But my wife liked the name Kendall better.”

Dr. Benjamin chuckled. “Well, it's a good thing that she's with you or else I wouldn't know what was going on. You've got to tell me, Mr. Leigh. I need to understand everything so that I can make any adjustments.”

“I just don't want to complain . . .”

“Not complaining. It helps me.”

I sighed and shook my head. Dr. Benjamin had been telling my father this since we first sat in his office before his surgery back in January. He'd told us then that the biweekly treatments were going to have side effects. He'd given us the list and then explained the entire procedure from the physical exam my dad would have each time before the chemo to how the IV would be inserted in his hand to how long the sessions would last, and finally to the effects afterward.

It was the doctor who suggested that not only should I be with my dad to drive him home after his treatments, but that I should stay for a couple of hours, since he lived alone.

“Well, let's see how you're doing after one more session and I will make adjustments then.”

“That's fine with me, Doc.”

“Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Benjamin asked.

My father and I shook our heads at the same time. The only question I had he couldn't answer for me yet. All I wanted to know was if my dad was in remission. The positive answer to that question was all I wanted to hear.

I helped my father stand and then, after we said our good-byes to the doctor, I slowed my pace as we strolled from the clinic to the parking lot. After I helped my father into the passenger seat, I slid into my side and took off.

“So, what do you have a taste for?” I asked my father, already knowing his answer.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Dad, you've got to eat something. What about Yee's?” That was his favorite Chinese-food place. “Even a eggroll,” I said. “Something.”

He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “I'll make a deal with you.”

I chuckled and looked at him through the corner of my eye. “I've got to negotiate with you for you to eat?”

“Yup. I'll got to Yee's if you do something for me.”

“Okay, that sounds like a deal to me!” I laughed.

“I want you to go by and see Sabrina and your niece.”

My smile faded straight away, and without thinking, I groaned. Not that I meant to . . . it was just that I hadn't expected that. But then again, I should have, because it was all anyone in my life wanted to talk about. Me. And Sabrina. And forgiveness. And oh, yeah, Anthony. And my niece.

Instead of lying to my dad and telling him that we had a deal, I decided to give it to him straight. “I don't know if I can do that right now, Dad. But I'm working on it. I really am. I'm working on really understanding forgiveness, and then forgiving Sabrina. And once I do that, I think I'll be able to have a relationship with Ciara, then.”

I'd just told my dad the whole truth. Ever since I'd had that . . . little disagreement with D'Angelo, his words hadn't left my mind. I was trying to understand why everyone kept coming after me. I didn't get that part yet, but our conversation had left me thinking.

And after going over it in my head, I had to admit that D'Angelo was right. I'd said it, but I hadn't forgiven Sabrina and Anthony. Not really. Not where it counted. I hadn't forgiven them in my heart. But you know why? Because they didn't deserve it. After what they'd done to me, they didn't deserve my forgiveness.

I didn't tell my father that part, though. He already knew that's how I really felt.

My dad nodded his head and paused as if he were considering my words. “Well, that's good, baby girl. That's a start.”

“Thanks, but one thing, Dad. I don't want to talk about it all the time. That makes me tired, it wears me down. So, let me do this in my own way, let me forgive Sabrina and Anthony in my own time.”

He nodded again, and when he was silent I thought that he finally got me. But after a couple of minutes passed, my dad said, “That's not gonna work.”

“What?”

He kept on: “ 'Cause you see, this thing about your own time . . . you don't
own
any time. All time belongs to God. And He wants you to give forgiveness in the same time frame that He does. He gives it to you instantly when you ask for it. And He wants you to give it instantly when you have to give it.

“Now, I can understand how you couldn't forgive them instantly,” my dad said. “That is way beyond human. You'd need the Holy Ghost for that. But six years . . .” He shook his head. “That worries me, baby girl. I know you think that I give you a hard time about this, but it's because I'm concerned about you, not Sabrina.”

His voice was thick with sadness, and I knew what he was thinking about. He was afraid that he might pass away before Sabrina and I reconciled. I just wished there was a way for me to convince him that it wasn't going to happen and for him to be fine with that.

“I don't want you to worry. Just know that I'm really working on it.”

“That's all I can ask, baby girl. Just don't take too long. 'Cause we don't know how much of . . .
God's time . . .
that we have left.”

I wanted to rebuke him in the name of Jesus. I wanted to call the devil a liar if he thought he was going to take my dad away from me. “You're going to be fine, Daddy,” I said as I pulled into the parking lot of Yee's. “So, stop talking like that, okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and with a grin said, “So, I guess I gotta get something to eat, huh?”

“Yeah, you do.” I kissed his cheek before I turned off the car and dashed into the restaurant.

 • • •

“Give me those bags, I'll carry them inside,” my father said.

“I don't know when you're gonna get that you're not running anything up in here,” I kidded him. “I'm gonna help you get in the house first, and then I'll come back out and get our food.”

“Or I can help your dad and you can carry the food.”

I jumped at the voice behind me. “Oh, my goodness,” I said, placing my hand over my heart as I looked at D'Angelo. “You scared me.”

“Didn't mean to do that.” Then he reached around me and helped my father out of the car. “How you doin', Mr. Leigh?”

“I'm good, D'Angelo. Great to see you, son.”

“What're you doing here?” I asked him.

He and my dad were already walking away. “Sabrina called me. I'm second shift.”

“Oh,” my dad said. “So you got the call to pitch-hit for your brother.” He shook his head. “I don't know when you kids are gonna get it. I'm just fine.”

“I know you are,” D'Angelo said. “So I figured I'd come over here and beat you in a couple of games of dominoes and then I'll be on my way.”

My father laughed the way he used to. He always did that when D'Angelo was around and it made me smile. I grabbed the three bags of food from the backseat. There was no way my father was going to eat all of this; I wanted to stack his refrigerator so that when he was alone, all he'd have to do is put a couple of plates in the microwave.

Inside our house, my dad sat on the sofa, and clicked on the TV as I went into the kitchen. D'Angelo followed me.

“You didn't have to do this,” I said. “I would've stayed with my father.”

“You need to work on that. You need to find a way to accept help from family.”

“It's just not necessary. I'm able to handle my father.”

“I know you are; but when Sabrina told me what was going on, I wanted to help.”

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it. And my dad does, too.”

“No problem. Now you can go on and do what you have to do.”

I paused for a moment, and then said something that two weeks ago I never would've said: “Or, I could stay anyway.” Another pause. “And you could stay, too. We could stay together.”

“Is this your way of saying that you still love me?”

I laughed. “No, it's my way of saying that I had a great time with you last Friday and I'm sorry the day ended the way it did.”

“It was cool. I just figured if you were gonna have a heart that hard, I needed to get away from all of that. 'Cause when God teaches you the lesson finally and fully . . .” He shook his head as if he felt sorry for me.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I've just learned that hard hearts get the harshest lessons.” And then he walked away, leaving me there, wondering about his words. But before I could get too deep into his words, he said, “Oh, and yeah, stay. 'Cause even with your hard heart and your hard head, I like having you around.”

He grinned . . . and I did, too.