Grown Folks Business (29 page)

By any means necessary.
“No, it’s my way of asking if you’re going to church.”

He chuckled. “You can say it, Sheridan. It’s okay. I know you have a great time when you’re with me.”

He waited for her to answer, but when she only smiled, he jumped from the car and walked around to her side. Leaning against her open window, he said, “I want to kiss you again. But your children…”

She looked at the house. Just about every light was on, and she wondered if Tori and Christopher were crouched behind one of the windows, watching. It was only nine, much too early for them to be asleep on a Saturday night.

He walked her to the door. “I’ll see you in church,” he said, before his lips grazed her cheek.

Watching him drive away, she remembered the last time, when he hadn’t left her standing at the door.

Sheridan stepped inside and heard squeals. In the living room, Christopher, Darryl, and Tori sat Indian-style on the floor with PlayStation 2 in the middle.

“Hey, guys.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, Ms. Hart.”

Not one child glanced up, but Sheridan didn’t mind.

As she climbed the stairs, Sheridan raised her eyes skyward. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered.

She was in her bedroom for less than a minute before her phone rang. She grabbed the receiver.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey,” Sheridan said, her smile turning down just a bit.

“I was taking a chance that you’d be home this early.”

Sheridan flopped onto the bed. “Yeah, Brock knew I had to get home to be with the kids.”

“I can’t believe you’re going out with this guy. He didn’t even call you back.”

Sheridan wanted to remind Kamora how many times she’d complained about men doing that to her. Instead she told Kamora Brock’s story. By the time Sheridan finished, Kamora was almost in tears.

“Oh, that wonderful guy. Staying with his grandmother until he was sure she was okay.”

“He’s pretty terrific.”

“And he’s easy on the eyes,” Kamora said, her sadness gone. “He has muscles everywhere.”

Sheridan laughed. “I can vouch for that.”

“I know you can. But let me ask you, girlfriend. Just how old is this guy?”

Sheridan moaned inside. “Why?”

“Well, I can tell boyfriend is a bit young.”

“Does he look a lot younger than me?”

“No, not at all. Girl, you know how good we look. But don’t change the subject. ’Fess up.”

“He’s almost thirty.”

“How close to thirty is he?”

“Closer to thirty than to twenty-eight.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad. I thought you were going to tell me he was hovering around twenty-five.”

“Girl, do you think I would do that?”

“Before last week, I didn’t know you would ‘do’ any of this.” Kamora laughed. “But it’s all good. So what have you two kids decided?”

“We agreed to be friends and take it slow.”

“Now, you know that’s not what I’m asking. Come on. What about doing the do?”

“That’s personal, Kamora. You’re all up in my business.”

“As if you haven’t been in mine for all these years. Just answer the question.”

Sheridan sighed. “We’re going to give this friendship thing a go—without sex.”

Kamora screamed. “That’s impossible.”

“I know,” Sheridan groaned. “It’s going to be so hard.”

“Welcome to my world.”

Sheridan’s phone beeped, and when she looked at the number on caller ID, she rushed her friend off the phone.

“Would you look at this?” Kamora said, pretending to be offended. “The tables have turned.” She laughed. “Anyway, I’ll call you when I get out of church.”

When Sheridan clicked to the incoming call, Brock said, “I wanted to make sure you arrived home safely.”

“You walked me to my door.”

“I know, but anything could have happened before you stepped into the house. I’m glad you’re safe.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I’m safe. And the children are safe. And life is wonderful.”

“Does that have anything to do with me?”

She stayed silent.

He chuckled. “One of these days, you’re going to admit it, Ms. Hart. You’re going to admit you have a wonderful time in my company. But for now, I’ll just wish you a good night. And before you go to sleep, think about a brotha.”

He hung up before she could say good-bye. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her chest, wanting to stay in this moment for as long as she could.

After a while she opened her bedroom door and yelled downstairs, “Tori, time for bed.”

“Oh, Mom,” Tori whined her usual response.

“And Darryl, make sure you don’t miss your curfew.”

“I won’t, Ms. Hart,” Darryl shouted up.

Sheridan put her arm around Tori’s shoulders as she moped to the top of the stairs.

“Mom, why can’t I stay down there with Chris? We were having a good time.”

“I’m a mean mother, huh?” Sheridan said, as Tori dragged herself into her bedroom.

When Sheridan closed her bedroom door, she laughed out loud. She had Brock, and Christopher was hanging out with his old friends. Could life be any better?

She grabbed her Bible from the nightstand. She needed to spend a little time with God. Because it was obvious He had been spending quite a bit of time on her.

She couldn’t wait to get to church. There was so much she wanted to give thanks for. First, she couldn’t have been happier when Christopher yelled up the stairs to tell her he was walking Nicole to church.

How easy had that been? All this time she’d been trying to mastermind some undercover plot to rid her life of Déjà. But all she’d had to do was demand that Christopher not see her anymore. If she’d known it was going to be that easy, she would have done that as soon as she saw her son’s name sprawled across the girl’s fingertips.

But now, as she waited to give praise and thanks to God, her thoughts turned to Brock. She was surprised that he had not arrived. Through praise and worship, the offering, the sermon, and finally the benediction, Sheridan felt as if her neck were on a swivel, as she twisted in her seat in search of the man who had promised to join her this morning.

When Sheridan hugged the woman sitting next to her at the end of the service, she couldn’t even fake a smile. She stopped at the back of the church to wait for Tori, sure that Christopher would walk home with Nicole.

As Tori walked over to her, Sheridan took a step and bumped into the person in front of her. “Excuse me…Brock!”

He smiled. “Good morning.”

“Were you here? I didn’t see you.”

“I was here before the service began. I sat in the back.” He paused and looked at Tori. “This must be your daughter.”

“Yes.” She introduced the two and then watched Brock ask Tori all the questions a nine-year-old was expected to answer. She breathed with relief when Tori chatted, comfortable with the man in the navy suit.

He turned back to Sheridan. “You look good.”

His words made her notice the watching eyes. “Let’s go outside.”

In silence they walked to her car. As she opened the door, he said, “It was good to see you.”

She faced him, her smile gone. “Oh…” She had expected to spend some time with him. After all, hadn’t they agreed to give this thing a try?

He has a life beyond you, Sheridan.
She shaped her lips into a smile.

“I’ve got some things to take care of today,” he said.

Some things or someone?

He said, “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

She nodded to hide the truth of her emotions. And then she waved and drove away, without glancing back. She didn’t want to look again at the object of her disappointment.

She pulled into her driveway. The moment Tori jumped out of the car, Sheridan’s cell phone rang.

“Hello, Quentin.”

“Good morning. I was hoping you were out of church.”

“What’s up?”

“Wanted to finish what we started yesterday—talking about Chris.” He paused. “That is, if you have time today.”

“I have plenty of time,” she snapped, as she stepped from the car. “My children are important to me.”

“I was just kidding,” Quentin said. “What’s up with you?”

Brock left.
“Nothing, but I don’t think we need to talk to Christopher.” She laid her purse and Bible on the settee and kicked the front door closed. “Things are better with him.”
A lot better than they are for me.

“What happened?”

Sheridan told him about Christopher’s weekend with Darryl and then this morning with Nicole. “He hasn’t mentioned Déjà at all.”

“You mentioned that yesterday, but that seems kind of suspect to me. All of a sudden she’s gone?”

“I threatened his life. And once Christopher started hanging out with Darryl and Nicole again, he must’ve realized I was right.”

“Okay,” Quentin said, as if he wasn’t sure. “But let’s keep an eye on him.”

“I do that every day, Quentin. Every day when I’m here by myself with our children.”

His sigh made her want to apologize. To explain that her words had nothing to do with him. “Anyway, do you want to talk to Tori?”

Sheridan called her daughter from the kitchen and handed her the cell. When Tori clicked off the phone, she said, “Mom, when am I going to spend the night at Dad’s house?”

“When there’s enough ice in hell to ice skate,” Sheridan said, and stomped up the stairs. Her regret was instant. Now Tori was added to her apology list. But she would make amends later. And she would change her clothes later. Right now she just wanted to lie down and find a way to rid her head of the pounding that had suddenly overtaken her.

Sheridan wasn’t sure what day it was.

It was dark, and she wondered if she had slept through to the next day. But the black outside her window wasn’t the deep dark of night. She glanced at the clock. It was a little after six.

She sat up just as her telephone rang.

“Hello,” the voice said.

It made her mad—the way she smiled at the mere sound of his voice.

Brock said, “What were you doing?”

Thinking of you.
“Nothing.”

“I wish we could have spent some time together today, but I was with my grandmother. She’s doing better, and even though my mother is here, I’m the one who makes her smile.”

You do that for me too.
Sheridan didn’t know what made her feel worse—the fact that she’d sworn he was with another woman, or the fact that she was relieved he wasn’t.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you this morning: how is your grandmother?”

“Good; it’s taking her longer to recover than she expected, but she’s a feisty sixty-eight-year-old.”

Your grandmother is sixty-eight? My father is sixty-seven.

“But I’m grateful to God,” he said. “He’s healing her.”

How old is your mother? I could be closer to his mother’s age than his.

“Sheridan?”

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Yeah, but you sound like you’re distracted. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She wanted to tell him to stay on the line because she loved the way he made her feel. But she kept those thoughts inside—away from him. “Please tell your grandmother I wish her the best.”

When she hung up, there was still fear behind her smile. She feared all the emotions that Brock stirred in her every time she talked to him, every time she saw him. But no matter what she thought, her heart was beating on its own. She would just have to pray that her heart didn’t take her to a place where she really didn’t want to be.

T
he weeks passed like a whirlwind, and almost every other day she spent some time with Brock. At the movies, at the beach, even bowling. Their hours together taught her more about him. More about herself. More about them.

At home, life was almost as sweet. Tori didn’t ask again if she could spend the night with Quentin. Quentin didn’t ask if Tori could. And Christopher was spending his time with Darryl and Nicole, and Hannah, Darryl’s new girlfriend.

The only challenge was Hart to Heart. Even now, as she sat at her desk, she couldn’t get herself to care. Quentin had been gone for over four months, and in that time she hadn’t spent four hours on their business. The fax machine was filled with requests: for order changes, for delivery confirmations, and for the new catalogue.

She flipped through the papers but studied none of the words. When the telephone rang, she welcomed the reprieve.

“Mom, how are you?”

“Just fine, sweetheart. And before you ask, your dad is doing great too. That’s why I’m calling. You know Tori’s birthday is next weekend.”

Sheridan laughed. “How could I forget? Tori won’t let me. She’s been dropping hints on what we can do and what she wants.” She laughed. “Reminds me of when I was turning ten.”

“Well, your father and I want to give her a little party.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can have something, and you and Dad can come here.”

“No, we really want to do something. Yesterday was your dad’s third appointment since his treatments ended and it’s official. He’s cancer free.”

Her tone was so casual, Sheridan paused, but only for a moment. She jumped from her chair. “Mom, that’s terrific. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m calling you now. Your dad and I wanted some time last night to rejoice ourselves and now we want to share it with the family. And our granddaughter’s tenth birthday is the perfect time.”

“God does answer prayers,” Sheridan said.

“I could have told you that.” Beatrice laughed. “So, we want to have a party this Saturday.”

“Absolutely. Tori will be excited.”

“Great. Invite some of her friends. And tell Chris too. By the way, how’s he doing?”

“My perfect son has come back to me. He hasn’t mentioned that girl; she hasn’t called. Life is wonderful.”

“Good. Did Quentin talk to him?”

“Didn’t have to. I think Christopher decided that I could be a very dangerous mother when angry.”

“That works. You know I had you and your brother believing I was crazy.”

They both laughed.

“Mom, you’re the best.”

“I was born that way, sweetheart. See you Saturday.”

Sheridan was still laughing when she hung up. She looked around the office. Life was going too well to have to handle any of this right now. She’d work on Hart to Heart later. Much later.

Sheridan eased her car next to Brock’s Camry. She’d been disappointed when after a counseling session with Pastor Ford, she’d heard Brock’s message on her cell, canceling their lunch date. But she was more than delighted when hours later he called and invited her to Starbucks.

She sauntered into the shop and spotted him, still in his UPS uniform. He held up two cups and she laughed.

“You didn’t wait for me,” she said, as she slid into the chair across from him.

He kissed her cheek. “I know what you like.”

“Oh, you do,” she continued the flirtation. The sexual tension between them remained, although they’d been able to stay out of the bedroom. It was with a lot of prayer that they’d settled into a comfortable relationship, although it was not without its temptations.

He grinned and kissed her again, this time on the lips.

“Sheridan?”

His lips were still on hers when she opened her eyes.

“Francesca,” Sheridan said, as Brock backed away. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she shrieked to Sheridan, but her eyes were on Brock.

Sheridan took a sip of her coffee, not bothered by the long moments of silence that passed between them. Finally Brock introduced himself.

Francesca held his hand longer than she had to. “Haven’t we met?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think we have. I’d never forget you.” Sheridan was sure Francesca’s grimace was meant to be seductive, but instead she looked like she had to go to the bathroom.

Sheridan said, “It was nice seeing you, Francesca,” dismissing her.

Francesca stood in her place until Brock turned to Sheridan and said, “How was your day?”

Sheridan laughed as Francesca trudged away.

He asked, “What’s her story?”

“That’s the problem. She didn’t get much of a story from us. She’s the town gossip.”

“I hope I didn’t make things worse by kissing you in public.”

Sheridan sighed. “Yeah, that’s going to be tough, you know. You don’t know who might see us when we do that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think about that. That’s my problem sometimes; I go with what I’m feeling rather than…” Before he could finish, Sheridan leaned across the table and kissed him, letting her lips linger with his for an extra moment.

When she pushed back into her seat, she said, “I have the same problem.”

He laughed. “That’s a good thing. Anyway, do you have some time tonight?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Got a lot on my mind, but we’re not doing that, remember?”

She smiled. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“I want you to do something with me. It’ll only take an hour or so. You can ride with me, and I’ll bring you back here to get your car.”

“Sure.” She took the last sip of her drink and waved to Francesca. When Francesca rolled her eyes, Sheridan laughed.

She was still chuckling when Brock steered onto the 110 freeway. Ten minutes later, when he slowed his car, she asked, “Where are we going?”

He turned off the ignition in front of a 1930s-style Spanish home. “To my grandmother’s house.”

Do I look like Little Red Riding Hood?
Her eyes widened. “Your grandmother’s house? Does she live here?”

“Yeah, people usually live in their houses, sweetheart.”

“Brock, I’m not ready to meet your grandmother.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She paused. How could she explain all of the reasons?
Because I’m wearing jeans. Because I haven’t covered my gray in a few weeks. Because I’m almost forty and you haven’t even yet turned thirty.
“Because,” she continued aloud, “I’m sure she’s not ready to have visitors.”

“She loves company.”

“I’m sure she does, if they’re her friends.”

“You’re
my
friend.” He paused. “What’s the problem? My grandmother is important to me, and I want her to meet you. She knows there’s someone special in my life, and it’s about time.”

“It’s not like we’ve been seeing each other for years.”

“Doesn’t matter. I want her to meet you now.”

“What’s the hurry? You make it sound like we’re about to get married.”

“There you go again, woman,” he kidded. “I’m not looking for a wife.”

But as he got out of the car, she didn’t laugh like she always had when he’d said that before.

Sheridan stayed silent as Brock took her hand. She didn’t want to be holding on to him when they walked into his grandmother’s house, but if she let go, she was sure she’d meet the ground.

She squeezed her hands together when he released her to open the door. “Big Momma,” he yelled.

Sheridan stood on the porch, wishing she could meet his grandmother from where she was—outside, in the open. In case she had to make a run for it.

Brock pulled her into the house and then closed the door, trapping her. She looked around the living room, which was somber with heavy, dark furniture. She sat on the edge of the plastic-covered sofa and waited.

“Big Momma?”

A moment later Sheridan heard a shuffling sound. And then a woman who was the antithesis of her name inched into the room, propelled by a chrome walker.

Big Momma was quite petite. The five-foot-three beauty could probably still hang out at a club or two, with her silver-black pixie haircut and green eyes that brightened her face. And Sheridan was sure the sixty-eight-year-old woman could still slip into a pair of size six jeans. All that aged Big Momma was the thin cotton, flowered housecoat of the type that Sheridan was sure only grandmothers wore. And the tattered slippers that looked as if they had seen more earthly days than her grandson.

Brock hugged his grandmother and helped her into a chair. Sheridan studied the way he handled her—with gentleness. Tenderness. And love. Kamora had told her she measured a man by the way he treated his mother. She wondered what her friend would say about Brock and his grandmother.

“How’re you, Big Momma?”

“Boy, if you don’t stop asking me…I told you I was fine when you called. I’m wonderful in the Lord. Now tell me,” she said, and poked his arm, “where’re your manners?” Big Momma looked at Sheridan and folded her hands in her lap. Her smile made Sheridan’s anxiety thaw—just a bit.

Brock grinned. “This is my friend, Sheridan Hart.”

She stepped forward when the woman reached for her. It was another of the few signs of Big Momma’s age, the weathered skin, the soft touch.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms….”

“Everyone calls me Big Momma.” His grandmother chuckled. “At least everyone who is friend or family.” She tilted her head. “And the way my boy here talks about you, you’re a friend.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Sheridan smiled. Her apprehension continued to melt as the woman warmed her with her eyes.

“And the way my boy here talks about you,” Big Momma continued, “I suspect you’ll soon join the ranks of family.”

“Big Momma!” Brock exclaimed.

“Why you yelling like that, boy?”

“’Cause not only are you talking about me like I’m not here, but you’re talking about things that are none of your business.”

Big Momma twisted her lips. “At my age, everything is my business.” Then she grinned at Sheridan. “If we waited for these men, none of us would ever be married.” She rocked back in her chair. “So I’m just moving along the inevitable.”

Brock shook his head and then sat on the couch next to Sheridan.

“So, Sheridan,” Big Momma continued, “my boy here tells me you have two children.”

Her uneasiness returned, and an image came to her mind—Déjà and Christopher sitting in front of her, prepared for their interrogation. Sheridan scooted a few inches away from Brock.

I am too old for this.
“Yes, ma’am, I have two children.”

“And how old is your oldest?”

Here it comes.
“Sixteen.”

“Boy or girl?”

“A boy. Christopher.”

Big Momma leaned back and nodded. She continued staring, as if she were studying more than Sheridan’s words. When the old woman’s eyes narrowed, Sheridan could imagine Big Momma’s thoughts.
“What do you want with my boy?”

What goes around…

“You got your hands full,” Big Momma said. “A sixteen-year-old boy. He’s probably smelling himself, giving you all kinds of trouble.”

“No, ma’am. He’s a good kid.”

“I’m sure he is in front of you, but you know kids these days. They’ll tell you one thing, then do another. Tell you they’re going to school, but never make it to class. Be doing all kinds of things you don’t know about.”

Big Momma’s words made Sheridan pause. She swallowed the fear that came with the memories of what they’d been through with Christopher. Big Momma shook her head. “Did my boy here tell you he has a younger brother?” She didn’t wait for Sheridan to affirm. “Brock has done wonders with his brother, and now he works with other young men. Even brought a few ’round here for me to meet.” She peered at Sheridan another moment. “I know you’re good for him. Making him smile all the time and taking his behind to church. But he can be good for you too. My boy here can help you raise your boy.”

“Big Momma,” Brock called, in a tone that was a plea for silence. “You shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“Why not? You won’t.”

“Big Momma,” Sheridan interrupted both of them. “Christopher is a normal teenager and his father is very active in his life.”

“Is his father living with you?”

None of your business.
“No, ma’am, but—”

“Then it ain’t good enough.” Big Momma shook her head. “That’s part of the problem. These boys on the streets with no direction from their fathers. Many don’t even know who their fathers are.”

Brock stood. “Okay, time for us to go.” He took Sheridan’s hand.

“Why you leavin’ so soon?” Big Momma asked.

“Because if you keep talking, Sheridan may never go out with me again.”