Grown Folks Business (25 page)

“Fine.” He looked at her. “How was last night for you?”

She wanted to slap him; wanted to slap herself even more. Didn’t know what to say. “Christopher, I’m sorry about what happened. What you saw. I shouldn’t have…”

He held up his hands. “It’s cool, Mom. I understand. Everyone has their needs. See ya later.” He closed the door, leaving her standing alone.

“Everyone has their needs”?

Sheridan didn’t even want to imagine. With each step she took up the stairs, the dreadful moments played in her mind. Brock tiptoeing out of the room. Christopher charging out of his. The second their eyes met. Sheridan wished she could pray the last fifteen minutes from existence.

But when she entered the bedroom, the memories of the night rushed over her like a waterfall, washing away the guilt, dousing her with pleasure. She lay on the tousled sheets and bed cover, allowing her mind to revisit the hours. There were parts where she smiled, moments when she shuddered. Even as guilt crept back to her, she wished she could go back twelve hours and live inside each minute again.

She sighed as she rubbed the sheets where he’d slept.
I can’t do that again.
It was beyond her wanting to do right by her children. This was about wanting to do right by God.

She closed her eyes and prayed. Asked God for forgiveness. Asked Him for strength. Asked Him for guidance, because there was no doubt she wanted to see Brock Goodman. And she wasn’t sure what her walk with God would look like when they got together again.

“P
astor, I have to cancel tomorrow,” Sheridan mouthed as Pastor Ford stepped from the altar after the service. The pastor motioned for her to come closer, and Sheridan took a deep breath before she moved.

“You can’t make it tomorrow?” the pastor asked.

Sheridan shook her head because she didn’t want to lie out loud. Didn’t seem like a good idea—to be telling a lie, on Sunday, in God’s house, to her pastor, in front of the altar. Especially after what she’d done this weekend.

“Okay.” The pastor took Sheridan’s hand. “How are you doing?”

“Great. Well. Fine.”

Pastor Ford squinted and Sheridan held her breath, praying that her pastor wouldn’t have a vision. When Pastor Ford said, “I’ll see you in Bible study on Tuesday,” Sheridan nodded. She had no intention of seeing Pastor Ford alone for at least a week. By then, maybe God would have so many other things on Pastor Ford’s mind that she wouldn’t be able to look at her and immediately know Sheridan Hart was the church’s biggest fornicator.

As Pastor Ford walked to her office, Sheridan sauntered toward the back of the sanctuary. Her eyes continued to do what they’d been doing all morning—searching for Brock.

She’d squirmed through the entire service, barely able to keep her eyes on the scriptures, barely able to keep her mind on the pastor. Instead, her body twisted as her eyes roamed through the church.

She’d been sure he’d be in church after she hadn’t heard from him. Yesterday she’d expected him to go home, rest a while, then call to check on her and Christopher—and to remind her that he’d had a wonderful time.

But when her phone didn’t ring, Sheridan had slept, knowing she’d see Brock in church today. But he wasn’t there, and as Sheridan scanned the second-service worshippers, there was still no sign of the man she’d given herself to.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her thoughts had taken her so far away that Sheridan hadn’t seen Christopher approach her.

“Hey.” She hugged him. “I didn’t know which service you were coming to.”

“We came to the first one.”

“Okay. So, do you want to ride home with me?”

He nodded.

As they walked toward the parking lot, Sheridan couldn’t keep her eyes away from the thinning crowd.

“Are you looking for someone?” he asked, as if he already knew the answer.

She shook her head. In the car she asked, “Do you need to pick anything up from Darryl’s?”

“Naw, I’ll do it later. Darryl’s going to his father’s house today.”

Sheridan eased into traffic and hoped to find words to say.
Should I wait until we get home?
“Do you want to pick up something to eat?”

Christopher nodded. “Can we stop at McDonald’s?”

If she didn’t need a bribe, she would have made another choice for him. But if he wanted twelve Double Quarter Pounders with cheese and as many supersized fries, she was willing to buy it all if it would help her now.

The next words Christopher spoke were to the drive-thru attendant as Sheridan searched for what needed to be said. While he yelled his order, Sheridan prayed, then waited until they turned back onto Century Boulevard.

“I want to talk to you.”

Christopher popped a french fry in his mouth.

She said, “I’m really sorry—”

“I told you, Mom, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Maybe it’s not, but I can’t tell you that.”

“Yes, you can. You know right from wrong.”

“Yeah, but everyone makes mistakes. Even you, Mom.” He paused. “I’m not mad about it or anything. I understand. It was because of Dad.”

“This has nothing to do with your father.”

He shrugged. “Okay. But it doesn’t have anything to do with me either.”

“Why do you keep…” She stopped. Christopher didn’t want to have this discussion. Not about his mother—with a man who was not his father—having sex. And how could she blame him? She was almost forty and still wanted to believe her parents had had sex only twice, for the pure purpose of procreating. She’d never talked to her mother or father about sex.

Maybe I need to break this cycle,
she thought. And then the other side of her said,
Maybe this isn’t the time.

“Oh, no, what’s Dad doing here?” Christopher groaned, tugging her from her thoughts.

She turned into their driveway. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

She climbed from the SUV, but when Christopher got out, he said, “I’m going to Darryl’s.”

“I thought Darryl wasn’t home.”

“Then I’ll go to the park or see if Brendan’s home. Déjà may still be over there.”

Sheridan watched her son trot down the street, away from his home, far from his father.

Inside the house, Quentin’s jacket was tossed over the settee and he was on the couch, leaning back, his eyes closed, as Barbra Streisand sang his favorite song, “Evergreen,” to him. Sheridan paused at the entryway, staring at Quentin posed in the way she had found him so many times before.

“Quentin.”

He opened his eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

She lowered the stereo’s volume. “You can’t come in here anytime you want.”

He shrugged. “I knew you were at church. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“Well, it is a problem, because this is my home now. I don’t have a key to your house. And even if I did, I wouldn’t just barge in there.”

“Okay, but it’s not like…” He stopped.

“Not like what? Not like I may have someone here?”

A slight grin slipped over his face. “Well, I
was
going to say that,” he teased.

“Well, if you said that, you’d be wrong.”

His smile left. “What do you mean?” He looked at her as if he was trying to discover the meaning behind her words.

She crossed her arms. “Did you want anything?”

He stood. “You called me about the mail. And I wanted to see if everything was all right with you and the kids.”

“Why would something be wrong?”

“I didn’t think anything was wrong, Sheridan. I was just checking.”

“We’re all fine.”
Except for the fact that I haven’t heard from Brock.
“Although Christopher was upset when we drove up and saw your car. He took off.” As soon as the look of hurt swept over him, she regretted her words.

“Well,” he slapped his hands against his legs. “I’ll get going.”

She sighed as she watched him walk away. Yes, she felt awful not hearing from Brock, but no, she didn’t have to bring Quentin down with her.

Quentin picked up the pile of envelopes and slipped into his jacket. “Tell Tori I’ll call her tonight.”

Sheridan said, “She’ll be back from Joy’s around seven.”

“Okay.” He glanced at her. “I’m sorry about the key. Do you want it back?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. You may need it one time for the children or something. I just want you to call before you come over.”

He nodded. And then, he left.

Sheridan felt no joy as Quentin swaggered to his car. And she felt even worse when she went upstairs and waited for Brock to call.

S
heridan closed the door just as the school van pulled away. She glanced at the clock and counted again. It had been almost seventy hours since she’d seen or heard from Brock and he had consumed most of her mind for most of those hours.
If he doesn’t want to call, that’s fine,
she told herself.

But minutes later she was studying the clock, counting again, wondering if it was really approaching seventy-one hours since she’d last seen him.

“I need to do something,” she said for at least the thousandth time. She searched, seeking tasks to keep her thoughts away from a man she’d spent no more than ten waking hours with. But it was those other hours—the ones they’d spent in bed—that consumed her.

She put this morning’s plates into the dishwasher, then stood, staring out the window, until the machine stopped forty-five minutes later. Then she fluffed every pillow on the couch and chairs in the living room, changed the linen in all the bedrooms, and vacuumed the two levels of the house even though her housekeeper had done the same yesterday.

When there was nothing else to clean, she wandered into the office, praying to find peace in the midst of Hart to Heart. But in minutes, she raised herself from her executive chair and left the office without having moved one paper.

She leapt into a pair of jeans, brushed her fingers through her hair, grabbed her leather jacket, and rushed to the car. She turned on the ignition even though she had no place to go. But she had to get away—from the ticking clock that teased her with the passing of time, and the telephone that taunted her with its refusal to ring.

“Maybe this is what he does,” she spoke aloud as she maneuvered through the streets. “Maybe he preys on desperate women.” She never imagined herself to be like one of those women in those Lifetime movies. But here she was, wandering through the city like a nomad, with her mind fixed on one thing. She had turned into one of those girl-you-need-to-get-yourself-together Lifetime heroines.

“Gas is too expensive for this,” she exclaimed as she made a right onto Lincoln Boulevard.

Ten minutes later, she parked her Explorer in the no-parking zone and clicked on her cell. Once she was put through, she said, “Do you have some time for your best friend?”

“Yeah, girl, what’s up?”

“Need to talk.”

“Wanna meet for dinner?”

“Look out your window.”

“What?”

“Look out your window,” Sheridan repeated.

She could hear Kamora’s pumps clicking on the hardwood floor of her office, and then Sheridan looked up through her sun roof.

“This must be an emergency,” Kamora said as she waved. “Come on up.”

Sheridan pulled her car into the underground garage and took the elevator to Kamora’s office. Once Kamora closed the door behind her, she asked, “What’s up?”

Sheridan sank onto the couch. “Thanks for seeing me. I know you’re busy.”

“This is what we do.” She sat next to Sheridan. “Is Quentin giving you a hard time?”

Sheridan almost laughed at her words. It wasn’t Quentin who had given her a hard time. She shook her head. “This isn’t about Quentin. But before I tell you, you have to promise you’ll never repeat this.”

Kamora looked at her as if she was crazy. “Who am I going to tell?”

“I don’t even want you to say anything to any of your guy friends.”

Kamora chuckled. “Girl, when I get with a man, I’m not talking or thinking about you.”

“And you have to promise…”

“Enough with the promises. Just tell me.”

Sheridan took a breath. “I had a date Friday night.”

Kamora frowned. “The night I was going to come over to your house?”

Sheridan nodded.

“So, my girl is getting out again. Well, good for you. So, who did you go out with?” And then Kamora snapped her fingers. “Oh, that guy from the recital who sounded like a black Kennedy.”

“No, not Carlton. This is a man I met at the church. Brock Goodman.”

“A church guy. Well, at least he won’t have his hands all over you.”

Sheridan wanted to explain that he wasn’t actually a church guy, but she was buckled over with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Kamora asked.

“He had more than his hands all over me. He had his hands, and his mouth, and his…” She stopped.

Kamora’s eyes widened. “Girl, don’t tell me you did the nasty,” she whispered as if they were in tenth grade exchanging secrets.

Sheridan nodded.

Kamora leapt from the couch and clapped as if she’d just won on
The Price Is Right.
“You are kidding me.”

“I wish I was kidding. I cannot believe I did that.”

Kamora rejoined her on the couch. “Why not? You’re human. And I’ve been trying to tell you, this is a hard walk.” She paused and waved her hands. “I know what you’re going to say about God not being pleased…”

“He’s not.”

“And all of that,” Kamora continued, ignoring Sheridan. “But it’s just the way things are these days. You’ve got to know the whole man—know in the biblical sense.” She bounced back on the couch and kicked her feet in the air. “I want details, girl.”

Sheridan sighed. “Well, let’s just say I know why God set it up like this. Why He says if you’re not married, no sex, period.”

Kamora closed her eyes and groaned.

“Because He knows it will end up like this,” Sheridan continued. “He knows you will give yourself to a man and then never hear from him again.”

Kamora opened one eye and peeked at Sheridan. “What you talkin’ ’bout, Willis?”

“He hasn’t called me,” Sheridan wailed. “He left Saturday morning, right after Christopher found us.”

“Christopher?” Kamora’s scream lifted her from the couch.

Sheridan grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “I’ll tell you about that later, but Brock said he would call, and I haven’t heard from him.”

“Was this the first time you guys went out?”

She nodded. “First time. We went out. We had sex. Wrong move on every level.”

Kamora paced in front of the couch. “Well, I agree. I don’t believe in first-date contact.”

“You make it sound like football.”

“Girl, with me, sometimes it is.” She waved her hands. “But don’t distract me. I’ve got to figure this out. So he said he’d call and then he didn’t. And so you called him and—”

“I didn’t call him,” Sheridan said, as if she was offended. “I don’t call men.”

Kamora laughed. “You sleep with men
on
the first date, but you won’t call them
after
the first date.”

It sounded ridiculous to Sheridan too.

Kamora continued, “Girl, welcome to the new millenium. This is how we do it.” She held her phone out for Sheridan. “Call him.”

“I’ll call him on my cell,” Sheridan said, although she had no intention of doing that.

Kamora shook her head. “No, he’ll recognize your number, and if he’s playing possum, he won’t answer. But this way you can trick his butt and catch him.”

“I don’t want him that way.”

“I know, but the point is to find out what’s going on with this bozo.”

She wanted to tell Kamora that Brock was no bozo, but somehow Kamora’s words made sense. She did want to know what was going on. With reluctance she took the phone and dialed the number she had already committed to memory.

She held her breath as it rang. And then after the fourth ring: “Hey, this is the good man. When you hear the beep, do your thing.”
Beep.

Sheridan did her thing and hung up. “Voice mail.”

“Try again,” Kamora encouraged. “You never know.”

Sheridan followed her friend’s advice, only to get the same message. Sheridan sighed, waiting for further instructions.

“So that didn’t work,” Kamora said. “Do you know where he lives?”

“No,” Sheridan yelled, as if she couldn’t believe the question. She could imagine what Kamora had in mind. “And even if I did, wouldn’t be going over there.”

Kamora looked as if she was disappointed. “Oh, well. We’ll figure out something.” She grabbed her jacket.

“Where are you going?” Sheridan asked.

“With you. First we’re going to do a little shopping, clear our minds enough to come up with a plan. Then we’ll go to dinner and discuss strategy.”

“I can’t. I have two children who’ll be home from school in a couple of hours.”

“Girl, please. Chris can take care of himself and Tori for a few hours. Call him, tell him to order pizza and you’ll see him later.”

Sheridan was grateful for the invitation. It would keep her away. Away from the clock. Away from the phone. “Okay, but I feel like a terrible mother. I’m always feeding my kids pizza.”

“Honey, if Chris found you and what’s-his-name doing the do, pizza is not what makes you a terrible mother.” Kamora laughed.

Sheridan sucked her teeth. “Thanks for making me feel worse.”

Kamora hooked her arm through Sheridan’s, guided her toward the elevators, and asked, “So tell me now, what exactly did Chris see?”

Sheridan parked her car in the driveway. At least Kamora had kept her entertained. Shopping, dinner, then a movie. And she’d thought about Brock no more than one hundred times.

Through the sunroof, she glanced up to the darkened heavens, knowing this was just another lesson.

“How many more of these lessons about men are there?”

She was sure she’d never trust any man besides her father, brother, and son again.

As Sheridan moved toward her front door, she was surprised that the entire downstairs was dark. She stepped into her home, flicked on the light, and shrieked.

Her scream made Christopher and Déjà jump from the couch. But not before Déjà lowered her T-shirt over her naked chest.

Sheridan inhaled as much oxygen as she could.

“Christopher,” she yelled. “What is going on?”

“Nothing.”

That word and the fact that he didn’t even look afraid fueled her fury. She marched into the living room. “What is going on? Where’s Tori?”

“She’s up in her room, Mom. I was just waiting for you.”

“This is how you wait?”

He shrugged. “Déjà’s stranded. She missed the last bus and Brendan is in Mississippi.”

Sheridan wanted to ask why Brendan hadn’t taken Déjà with him.

Christopher continued, “So I was going to drive her home. Can I borrow your car?”

She wanted to slap Christopher upside his head. “How are you going to do that? You can’t drive after dark.”

“I thought you’d let me do it this one time.”

She had no idea how she kept the rest of her screams inside. What happened to her intelligent son? The one she had thought about minutes before—the one she believed she could always trust?

Sheridan turned her glare to Déjà. The girl smiled and then blew her signature bubblegum bubble. Sheridan wanted to smash the gum in her face.

“You don’t have any way to get home?” Sheridan asked.

Déjà shook her head.

What about walking?

Déjà smiled. “I can stay here. My dad won’t mind.”

You have lost your mind.
“I’ll take you home,” Sheridan growled.

Christopher said, “I’ll ride with you.”

She needed to get away from this boy before she beat him down. “Who’s going to stay with Tori?” she asked in a tone that told him she thought he was stupid.

“She can come with us?” It was supposed to be a statement.

Sheridan didn’t even bother to answer. “Get your things, Déjà,” she demanded, looking at the girl because she couldn’t stand looking at her son.

Déjà grabbed her bag. “This is all I have.” As she held her purse up, Sheridan noticed that her nails still claimed Christopher; this time the long, curved nails were sapphire blue.

Sheridan marched toward the front door. “Christopher, check on your sister. And make sure your homework is done. I’ll speak with you when I get back.”

She rushed to her car, but when she got inside, Déjà was not behind her. Christopher and Déjà were in the doorway, standing under the light, kissing as if they’d never see each other again.

Sheridan blasted the horn, startling them both. She shook with anger as she leaned on the horn again, not caring if she awakened Mrs. James. Not caring if she awakened everyone in the entire county of Los Angeles.

Déjà jumped into the front seat and waved until Christopher was out of sight.

“Where do you live, Déjà?”

“In Pomona. On Lemon Street, right off the freeway.”

Pomona.
Sheridan had forgotten. She glanced at the clock. By the time she drove this child home and then came back, it would be after midnight.

For more than fifteen minutes they exchanged no words. Déjà chewed her gum as if it were her job, and Sheridan drove, her anger simmering.