Grown Folks Business (33 page)

“I was on my way home when Chris called and told me you were coming over, Mr. Hart, and I wanted to be with him.”

Sheridan moved to Quentin and they stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking at their son.

Déjà continued, “I wanted you to know that my father says it’s fine if I get married.”

Quentin crossed his arms. “That’s not an option. Christopher is a minor.” He held up his hand, stopping her protest. “I know we can give him our permission, but both of you are too young.”

His words made Sheridan freeze. Those were the words Cameron had spoken all those years ago when she and Quentin insisted on being married. Would Christopher do what she and Quentin had done? Could Déjà convince him that being married was for the best, just as Quentin had convinced her?

Sheridan exhaled when she looked at her son, his eyes full of terror. Not even she would be able to convince him that being with Déjà was for the best.

Quentin said, “But Déjà, although we won’t give our permission for Christopher to get married, we will be there for you.”

Déjà smiled. Christopher didn’t.

“I guess I understand,” Déjà said. “It’ll be better for Chris to graduate. I can wait. It’ll only be a year.”

The three Harts exchanged glances.

“Let’s just get through this part first,” Quentin said.

“Okay.” Déjà shifted her glance to Sheridan. “Ms. Hart, I know you’re not happy about this. But like I told you, I love Chris.” She paused and rested her hand on her stomach. “And I love my baby too.”

Sheridan swallowed and nodded.

Déjà continued, “I have my first appointment at the clinic and maybe…you can go with me? So I won’t have to go by myself.”

A clinic?

The three Harts looked at each other again.

Sheridan’s expression made Quentin say, “Ah, Déjà, did you know I’m a doctor? I deliver babies.”

Déjà frowned. “Yeah, but aren’t you expensive?”

“We take insurance.”

“I don’t have any.”

Sheridan said, “Déjà, we’ll handle your expenses. Don’t worry about that.”

Déjà smiled. “Okay.”

“I’ll refer you to one of the doctors in the medical center. I’ll make the appointment tomorrow, and Ms. Hart will call you.”

“Okay.” Déjà stood. “I’m late getting my dad’s truck back to him. And I’m a little tired anyway.” She took one step and then looked down at Christopher. He didn’t move.

Quentin said, “Christopher, walk Déjà to the door.”

“Thank you, Mr. and Ms. Hart.”

Sheridan waited until Déjà and Christopher were out of the room before she turned to Quentin. “I want a paternity test.”

“No doubt.” Quentin sat on the couch.

“And I’m thinking about calling the police. Christopher is a minor.”

Quentin shook his head. “Sheridan, that’s not going to change anything. It will be a misdemeanor, at best. And Déjà will still be pregnant. If Christopher is the father, do you want our grandchild’s mother to have a police record…or worse?”

Before she could answer, Christopher returned.

“Thanks, Dad.” When Quentin frowned, he continued, “For not being mad.”

“Oh, I’m upset, Christopher,” Quentin said, his voice tight. “And I’m disappointed. But we have to do what we have to do.” He paused. “Did you and Déjà talk about a paternity test?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I told her I wanted one, but she said there was no need.”

Where was I when this world changed?
Sheridan wondered. Her sixteen-year-old son was demanding a paternity test.

“We’re still going to have a test done, Chris,” Quentin said.

Christopher nodded and smiled slightly for the first time since Sheridan had come home. “Do you really think I’m not the father?”

“The only way I could say that is if you tell me you didn’t have sexual intercourse with Déjà.”

Christopher said nothing.

“Then the purpose of the test is to make sure you’re the father.”

Christopher nodded, but his smile was gone. He turned, but stopped and faced his parents. “Mom, Dad, I’m really sorry.” He paused as if he had more to say, but then he trotted up the stairs.

They were silent while they watched him, and then Sheridan fell onto the couch next to Quentin.

“Wow” was all he said.

“Christopher is just a baby himself.”

Quentin shook his head. “It’s unbelievable that this would happen…to us.”

“A lot of things have happened that I never thought would happen…to us.”

He looked away. “Do you think this happened because…”

She wished she could blame it all on him, but she had let Christopher down too. “There were a lot of things. Who knows? Even if…” She paused and sighed. “This may have still happened.”

Quentin shook his head. “I don’t think he would have met Déjà if I were still home.”

Sheridan shrugged. “All I know is that I have a baby who may be having a baby. His whole life is going to change.”

Quentin nodded. “I’ll take care of this tomorrow. But I’d better get going and pick up Tori. I don’t want to disappoint her.” He sighed. “I’m not in the mood to go out right now.”

Sheridan stood with him and sadness walked them to the door.

“I don’t plan on saying anything to Tori.”

“Ofcourse not.” Sheridan hadn’t even thought of that. “I don’t think we should say anything to anyone until we know for sure.”

He moved in slow motion, slipping the sleeves of his jacket over his shoulders. Then he reached for her and held her, trying to bring them both peace inside the embrace.

When he pulled away, he said, “We’ll get through this. Just like we’ve gotten through everything else.”

She nodded, then watched until he’d driven away.

“Mom?”

Christopher walked down the stairs and sat on the bottom step. “I’m really scared.” His voice was so soft she barely heard his words. But his expression, face tight, shoulders lifted, told Sheridan all she needed to know.

She sat next to him, and her anger fell away. All she wanted to do was hold her son. “Your father and I are here for you no matter what.”

He nodded.

“And you always have God. He’ll never let you down.”
Like your father and I did.

“God is probably mad at me.”

“I’m sure He’s disappointed, but all you have to do is pray, tell God what’s in your heart, and He’ll forgive you.”

“I never thought something like this would happen to me.”

Neither did I.

“Mom, how am I going to go to church now?”

She frowned. “You’ll go to church just like you always did.”

“But what about the people? What are they going to say?”

Sheridan remembered her same concerns. She remembered Francesca and Jane. She remembered the other comments she’d never heard but was sure were made. “It doesn’t matter what people say, Christopher. As long as you do what’s right, people’s opinions don’t matter.”

“But I know they’re going to be asking a lot of questions and talking about it.” He paused and his voice became softer. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell Nicole.”

“Why didn’t you think about any of this before?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted to feel better, and Déjà made me feel better. She said I was the first man she ever loved.”

Sheridan kept her response inside.

“I had never had a girl tell me that before.”

You’re only sixteen.

“But I guess I should have thought more about it.”

You think?
“Yes, you should have.”

With tears in his eyes, he said, “Mom, I’m sorry.”

She put her arms around him and they stayed together, marinating in the same thought: what was life going to be like now?

Finally Christopher pulled away. “Mom, there is one more thing.”

She looked at him and the shaking returned. What else could there be? She braced herself, waiting for the next words that would rock her world.

“You don’t have to call me Christopher anymore. I’m fine with being just Chris.”

Sheridan stroked his face and wished she could take him back. Back to before he knew Déjà. To the days when he was innocent. To when he was just Chris.

“You’ve always been just Chris to me,” she whispered, as she held him again.

Sheridan glanced at the caller ID. She took a breath before she answered.

“Hey, baby,” he said, after she said hello. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and she could hear his worry.

“Nothing. Just a long day.”

“You sound like it. Want me to come over? No, wait, it would be better if you came over here. I could make you forget whatever happened today.”

She sank onto her bed and closed her eyes.

Brock said, “So what do you say? Want some comfort?”

“I can’t talk right now.”

The concern was back in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She hung up, not able to talk to him. Not able to listen to his voice. Not wanting to be reminded of that day. Of her and him. Then Christopher in the hallway.

“Is this my fault?”

Sheridan lay in the bed, still in her sweat suit. Her eyelids were heavy from exhaustion, but she fought to stay awake. She didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to dream. Didn’t want her subconscious to confirm what she already knew—that even though God had forgiven her for what she’d done with Brock, what happened with Christopher proved that even forgiven sins had consequences.

“H
i, Mom.”

Sheridan turned around. “Chris, you’re going to be late…” She stopped as she took in her son. He was dressed in khaki pants and a navy golf shirt, his bomber jacket in hand and leather backpack over his shoulder. Even his loafers were back. The Chris of old. Softly she said, “You’re running late. Do you want some cereal?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat.”

“I’ll grab something at school.”

The blare of the van’s horn announced its arrival, and Christopher hugged her like he used to. He said, “Have a good day, Mom.”

After he disappeared, she was still standing, wondering what this school day was going to be like for him. How was he supposed to concentrate on English lit and chemistry and trigonometry when all he could think about was that he was going to be a father?

The telephone rescued her from more despair.

“Sheridan, I’ve made the appointment,” Quentin said. “Can you bring Déjà this afternoon?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know you were going to do it this soon.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Sheridan wondered if he had even slept. She was sure he was in the office before anyone else, just waiting until he could arrange the appointment. She almost smiled. Last night her son had returned. And now here was the man who was once her husband. The man who took charge and controlled their home.

“Chris just left for school.”

“Not a problem. I’ll pick him up this afternoon and bring him for his tests. But I want to get Déjà in here this morning.”

“Okay. I’ll call her.”

“One thing, do you know how far along she is?”

Sheridan tried to remember if Déjà had said. “I don’t know. I guess a couple of months. She can’t be too far along.”

Quentin released a long breath of air. “She has to be at least ten weeks for a CVS. But just get her down here; we’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll call you when we’re on our way.” It took only seconds for her to hang up and call the Blue household. At first the phone rang ten times, with no answer. Still, she hung up and dialed again. This time the phone was answered on the first ring.

“May I speak to Déjà, please?”

“Hold on,” a female voice said.

Sheridan heard the scream that beckoned Déjà to the phone and then the same sounds that had met her the night she took Déjà home—the squeals of toddlers, the roar of the television, the blasting of a CD.

“Hello.”

“Déjà, this is Ms. Hart.” Sheridan paused and wondered what Déjà would call her if it did turn out that she was the mother of her first grandchild. She shuddered. “My husband…Dr. Hart scheduled an appointment for this morning. Can you make it?”

“I don’t know. My father was supposed to be home, but he traded times with one of his friends. He’ll be home tomorrow, and I can use the truck then. Can we do it tomorrow?”

“I’ll come and get you right now.” Today Sheridan had no concern about the distance. She’d drive five times those miles to get this done.

“But I’m so far away.”

“It’s fine. What time can you be ready?”

“Ms. Hart, can you hold on a sec?”

Sheridan paced as she listened to the muffled conversation before Déjà said, “My sister can take me. Where’s the clinic?”

“Have your sister drop you off here. We’ll ride together.”

“Okay.” The cheer in Déjà’s voice told Sheridan she thought that this was a peace offering. But it was far from that. Sheridan was not taking any chances with misread directions; she would get Déjà to the hospital herself.

Déjà promised to be there within two hours. Sheridan took a shower, dressed, grabbed her purse, then the phone, and went downstairs. She sat on the settee by the door, with her purse by her side and the phone in her lap. And she waited. And thought about the future that sprawled in front of them.

The telephone rang and made her jump. But when she looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Kamora, she didn’t answer. Then, minutes later, when she saw Brock’s number, she let the phone ring again. Even when her parents’ number showed up, Sheridan let voice mail greet them. There was no one she wanted to hear from right now. Except for Déjà. And all she wanted to know from her was that she was on her way.

Inside Quentin’s office, Sheridan paced.

Hours had passed since Quentin had called this morning. It had taken Déjà and her sister more than three hours to get to Los Angeles, but Sheridan had been ready. When Déjà and her sister rounded the cul-de-sac, Sheridan was sitting in front of the house, in her car, with the engine running.

Now it was almost one and the waiting was beyond painful. She just wanted to know—wanted to know if her son was going to be a father.

“It normally takes two weeks to get the paternity results, but we’ll rush it,” Quentin had told her and Déjà when they arrived. “We’ll still have to wait a day or two though.”

Sheridan grimaced as she remembered Déjà’s response. She sat calmly, as if she had expected the request for the paternity test. As if the joke was on them if they wanted to waste time and money.

The door opened and Sheridan stopped moving. She watched Quentin take slow steps to his desk.

“Well, she is pregnant,” he said.

“I never doubted that. She’s too smart to tell that lie.”

“But we have a problem. She’s only eight weeks.”

Sheridan frowned.

He continued, “We have to wait at least two, possibly three weeks to do the paternity test.”

Sheridan groaned.

He said, “It’s not that long.”

“It’s a lifetime to me.”

“Sheridan, you need to prepare yourself, because Déjà is insisting that Chris is the father.”

“How many girls say that?”

“There’s something about the way she says it. Maybe she does love Chris.”

Is every man this gullible?
“And that would mean what?”

Quentin stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head.

Sheridan sank into the chair across from Quentin. “How am I supposed to wait three weeks?” She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the time. The minutes, the days, the weeks of nothing but waiting. And worrying. And wondering. Sheridan leaned back in her chair. There was no way. She would never make it.