Grown Folks Business (21 page)

I
t was 1993 and their first marriage retreat.

“We’re going to Vail,” Quentin had said when the marriage retreat had been announced at the new church she and Quentin had just joined.

For weeks she had counted down the days to their trip. It would be their first vacation. She knew they would have a wonderful time, especially since the weekend happened to fall on their anniversary.

Sheridan was beyond happy with her life as Quentin’s wife. Her world was filled with the best of everything—a designer-decorated home, closets packed with expensive clothes, and every toy imaginable for their children. Quentin tried to pack her days with leisure, insisting they have a nanny and a housekeeper. But Sheridan wouldn’t allow that.

“The reason I’m a stay-at-home mom is because I don’t want anyone else raising our children.” Quentin had acquiesced but insisted upon the three-times-a-week housekeeper who kept their home looking as if two children didn’t live there.

But although her life overflowed with material possesions, they were secondary to Quentin’s expressions of love. From cards to flowers to the words he spoke, not a day passed when she didn’t know how much she was adored. Even in the midst of one of their rare arguments, he would declare his devotion.

“We can agree to disagree,” Quentin would say. “But never doubt how much I love you.”

It was his passion that she loved most. He worked hard but loved harder. So there was no doubt their first marriage retreat would be one of their most romantic times.

And she’d been correct. He’d held her hand in their workshops, pulled her chair close as they ate meals. And when they were alone in their suite, he made love to her as if his survival depended on their union.

On the last night of the retreat, Quentin had stood and recited a poem for her that thanked her for not only making him fall in love, but grow in love.

There was no doubt in her mind. Quentin Hart loved her and always would.

The alarm clock chirped, dragging her from the memories. Sheridan slapped the off button and then lay back in bed. Today was her anniversary. Eighteen years of marriage. The beginning of her first year as a single woman.

She waited for the feelings to come. The hopelessness. The despair. The tears.

But nothing. All she felt was peace.

She wondered if she had actually reached that place where there was no backward, only forward.

Sheridan rose, but before she could make it into the shower, the telephone rang. She smiled as she checked the caller ID.

“Hey, girl, what’s up?” Kamora shouted.

“Nothing much. What are you doing?”

Kamora sighed. “Absolutely nothing. Just wondering what I’m going to be doing tonight. Looks like I might be spending my Saturday night alone watching
Columbo.”

“What’s up with that? I can’t imagine you without a hot date.”

“Well, I told you I broke up with Clark, right?”

That lasted all of two weeks. What was there to break up?
“Yeah, you told me.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I just need a hiatus. Some me time, you know. But that’s not why I called. Tell me—was she a ghetto chick or what?”

Sheridan leaned back on the bed. “I cannot begin to tell you.” She replayed the evening for Kamora, having to stop and repeat the part about Déjà’s fingernails. Sheridan was sure Kamora was going to pass out from laughter.

“Well, girl, one thing I can say—she’s a smart cookie. Home-chick wants a good husband who can give her a house and babies. Chris is perfect. She knows how to pick ’em.”

“Well, she’s not pickin’ nothin’ over here,” Sheridan exclaimed. “I may need you to help me come up with a plan to break my son away from ghetto chick.”

“Sheridan!” Kamora feigned surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those bourgeois mothers who doesn’t think any ghetto chick is good enough for her son.”

They laughed.

Kamora said, “Just tell me what you want me to do.” A beep interrupted their talk. “Girl,” Kamora dragged out the word. “That’s Spencer.”

“Who’s…never mind,” Sheridan said, knowing she’d heard this story before. Only the names changed when Kamora was talking.

They hung up and Sheridan rushed into the shower. By the time she was out, the phone was ringing again.

“Hello, sweetheart,” her mother and father sang when she answered.

“Is something wrong?”

“Now is that any way to greet your parents?” her father asked. “We were thinking about you and wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight.”

“That sounds good, but what’s the occasion?”

“Well, it’s Saturday and you know I’m a party animal,” Cameron said. “But your mother won’t let me go out and do my thing. So, I thought I’d ask you to bring the kids over instead.”

“Sheridan, your father hasn’t been out doing his thing since eighteen forty-two.”

“Eighteen forty-two? What are you talking about? I ain’t that old.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It was eighteen forty-three.”

They all laughed.

“So, what about it?” Beatrice asked. “We’ll see you and the kids tonight?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “But let me bring the food. I’ll pick up something.”

“Fine with me,” Beatrice said.

“I know it’s fine with you,” Cameron interjected. “You can’t find the kitchen.”

“Now you know the devil has gotten ahold of your tongue. Sheridan, ask your father who made the lasagna he ate last night.”

“You know you didn’t make any lasagna. That came from that restaurant on Pico Boulevard.”

“Bye, you guys. I’ll call you when we’re on our way.”

“Bye, sweetheart,” they said in unison. Sheridan could still hear them laughing as they hung up. She stepped into the hallway and heard the sound of television coming from both bedrooms. It was a leisurely Saturday; there was no need to disturb the children.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the telephone rang again.

“Hey, sis,” her brother bellowed.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much. Just checkin’ on you. How’re you doing?”

“Great. Just spoke to Mom and Dad.” She paused, knowing why her brother had called. Knowing why her mother and father and Kamora had called. No one wanted her to spend this first anniversary alone. “I’m going to Mom and Dad’s for dinner tonight, so I’ll be fine.”

“That’s great. How’s Dad doing?”

“You know Dad. He’s healed already. He’s just waiting for the doctors to catch up with what God has already told him.”

“In the name of Jesus. Well, sis, I gotta run.” He paused. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m better than that.”

“That’s my sister. Just let me know if you need anything.”

When Sheridan hung up, she thought about what she’d said to her brother.
“I’m better than that.”
It was true. Two months after Quentin had declared he was a different man, she was a different woman—stronger, wiser, and finding a way to be happy.

Christopher held Tori’s arm as she staggered to the door. It was almost midnight, and Sheridan couldn’t believe they’d stayed at her parents’ this late. They’d feasted on specialties from P. F. Chang’s, then played what seemed to be every board game in America, and then cheered when Cameron pulled her aside and declared that his treatments were over and in a few weeks he’d know if he was cancer free.

“Thanks for helping your sister,” Sheridan said.

Sheridan locked the door, and just as she lifted her hand to switch off the lights, she saw them—the bright red roses. There had to be at least three dozen; their fragrance filled the air.

Who…

She picked up the oversized card and read the inside: “You were my first love. Thank you for the best years of my life. Q.”

She dropped the card onto the table. He could still pull her heartstrings. But she didn’t understand it. They were no longer husband and wife. No longer celebrating their union. Why would he send her roses?

What do you want from me, Quentin?

Sheridan was too tired to figure it out, but there were two things she knew for sure. One, she would have to set up some rules for Quentin’s use of his key, and two, the roses would smell wonderful in her bedroom. She lifted the oversized vase and marched up the stairs.

“P
astor, I really appreciate this, but I don’t want to see you on your days off. Isn’t there another time?”

This was their third meeting.

“Sheridan,” Pastor Ford said, “it’s fine. And I don’t see these as real counseling sessions. It just gives us a chance to talk. So, how’re you doing?”

Sheridan smiled. “Two months ago, if you had told me I would still be alive today, I wouldn’t have believed it. I really thought my life was over.”

“Not over, just altered. A new normal.” Pastor Ford beamed. “You’re a trooper. It’s clear God is carrying you through.”

“I still have lots of moments.”

“Did you think you wouldn’t?”

“No, but I’m looking forward to the day when Quentin Hart is totally behind me.”

“That will never happen…not completely.”

“I know. Because of the children. But I want our life as man and wife behind us. I think we’re getting to the point where we could be friends.”

“That would be good for you and the children.”

“Definitely for Tori. But Christopher…” Sheridan sighed. “He concerns me. He won’t speak to Quentin.”

“He’ll come around. There’ll come a time when Chris will need his father, and Quentin will be right there for him. Are you having any challenges with Tori or Chris in school?”

Sheridan shook her head. “Both of them are maintaining their grades. Chris quit the golf team and…” She paused just before she told Pastor Ford about Déjà.

Christopher had been off punishment for more than a week, and from what Sheridan could see, he spent as much time with Déjà as he could. But her plan remained, and the first piece was to arrange some events he and Nicole could do together. Once Christopher started seeing Nicole again, Déjà would become a bad memory. Sheridan continued, “Except for Chris and Quentin, the children are really doing fine, Pastor.”

Pastor Ford smiled. “I am proud of you, Sheridan. You’re handling this with your head up. And with all the class that I knew you had.”

It was a small bit of guilt that rained on her when she remembered how she had called Francesca and Jane biddies. Pastor Ford wouldn’t think that was very classy.

The pastor prayed before she hugged Sheridan with admonitions that she call if she needed anything.

“See you later, Etta-Marie,” Sheridan said, as she rushed through the office. At the door she was almost knocked off her feet when she bumped into a gentleman entering.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to steady herself.

The UPS man reached out and helped her regain her balance. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Sheridan said, and finally looked up. The man held two brown packages in his hand. But even with their collision, he stood steady. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Sheridan frowned.

He continued, “You almost knocked me over a couple of weeks ago.” There was a chuckle in his voice.

“I don’t think it was me.”

“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t forget you. I think you were upset…about something.”

And then Sheridan remembered. Her first meeting with Pastor Ford. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No problem.” He held out his hand. “I’m Brock. Brock Goodman.”

“I’m Sheridan.” Still he held her hand, held her gaze. “Well,” she said, pulling away. It took her a couple of seconds to find something to say. “Have a blessed day.”

She could feel his stare as she walked away. And even when she was outside, the way he looked at her stayed in her mind.

At her car she dropped her keys, then fumbled, finally unlocking her car. At that moment, the UPS truck pulled up beside her.

“Excuse me, Sheridan?”

Oh no.
She turned around and smiled. “Yes?”

“I forgot to tell you something.” He stared again, letting too many moments pass. “You look great in that suit.”

If Kamora had been standing there, Sheridan would have kissed her. She was grateful to her best friend for two reasons: this was another one of those spree outfits, and she wouldn’t have it on at all today if she weren’t meeting Kamora for dinner at Crustacean.

“Thank you,” she said. “And you look rather nice yourself—in that uniform.”

He chuckled. “You’re one of those women who love men in uniform?”

“Not until now.” Another reason to thank Kamora. It was obvious some of her friend’s best lines had stayed with her. Sheridan could almost see the heat rise under Brock’s milk chocolate skin.

“Listen, Sheridan, I was on my way to lunch. Would you like to join me?”

She stepped back a bit. “No, I’m sorry. I’m married.”

She noticed the way his eyes roamed to her left hand and he stared at her ringless fingers.

“I’m almost divorced.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to explain.

“Then you’re not married.” He grinned. “And anyway, I’m not looking for a wife. I’m not even asking you out. Just thought you had to eat lunch sometime today and so do I. So we might as well do it together.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Still, she declined.

“Okay.” He revved the truck’s engine. “Let me know if you ever change your mind.”

She watched the truck roll down the street and wondered how in the world she could let him know. Besides his name, and that he worked for UPS, she knew nothing else.

“Good thing,” she said as she got into her car. “With the way I’ve been feeling, what I could do with him over lunch would be illegal.” She giggled at the thought and looked in the rearview mirror.

That was fun.

She fluffed out her hair with her fingers and started her car. For the first time since Quentin left, she remembered that she was a woman.