Never Keeping Secrets (25 page)

O
n the entire ride home Latoya had clenched and unclenched her steering wheel until she was sure she rubbed some of the color from the leather. When she left the hotel and went to the parking deck to claim her car the first thing she did was check her phone. Not one call from Taquan. And one from Bones.

Craving a pill so bad, her body was filled with so much anxiety that she could strip and just sit in her car at the red light butt naked. She seriously felt like she was going to freak out. But she thought of Keesha and the genuine support she offered even as she knew her own world was colliding.

She had the number of the rehabilitation center Keesha went to and she was going to call it first thing in the morning. She knew that meant a long talk with both her husband and the father of her older child.

She activated the Bluetooth system of her car that was connected to her phone as she dialed Bones's cell phone number.

“Yo.”

“This Latoya. I was calling you back,” she said, forcing normalcy into her voice as she fought to control the trembling from the pills and the nerves she felt because she didn't know the reason for his call.
Has Xavier gotten to him too?

“I know I'm not supposed to get Tiffany again for another two weeks but my moms decided to go to this big family reunion in Atlanta—”

Latoya felt waves of relief course through her. “That's fine. I mean she won't miss school, right?” she asked.

“Nah, we just flying down there for the weekend.”

“Okay.”

The line went quiet.

Latoya wiped her hands over her mouth and lowered the windows to let in some of the crisp fall night air.

“You a'ight?”

Latoya jumped in surprise. She assumed he hung up. “Yes,” she said.

“A'ight then.”

The line disconnected.

They never minced words and she was surprised he even took a second out of his life to check on her.
That was a first
. But again she understood and never pressed him or his mother for more.

So far Xavier had spared her with Bones. So far.

Latoya came to a stop at another red light and stared at her phone for a long time before she finally dialed Taquan.

“Latoya,” he said, his voice filling the interior of the car.

“It's me.”

“Are you on your way home?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents are here,” he said.

She closed her eyes and hung her head so low that her chin almost hit her chest.

“Why are they there?” she asked, rubbing her forehead with her fingers.

“I called them. We are all so disappointed in you and want explanations,” Taquan said. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” she asked, intentionally stalling.

“Someone sent a box here saying you were addicted to pain pills and pretending to be sick to get them from the doctor.”

Latoya let her head fall back against the headrest. “I need help. I need your help. I need you, Taquan,” she said, her voice filled with all of her emotions.

“So it's true?”

“You don't understand how unhappy I have been. You are so caught up in building that church but you forgot about me and my dreams and my hopes and what the hell made me happy,” she said, her voice rising. “I just needed an escape. I need—”

“So it's true?” he asked again.

“Yes, Taquan. Yes. Okay,” she said with emphasis slamming her hand down onto the wheel. “I didn't know I would get hooked.”

“So you know how this will look if the church board finds out about it?”

The rest of Latoya's words faded. She sat in her car at a red light on a deserted street, shocked and hurt beyond belief. “Is that all that matters, what the church board thinks?” she snapped. “
Not
‘let me counsel my wife the way I go slave-running for everybody else in the church.'
Not
‘let me support my wife through this addiction and her recovery the same way I did my flock.'
Not
‘let me hold my wife and tell her that we are going to get through this together'?”

“You are my wife and I am the pastor of that church and you were raised to know better and do better and you know I would never abide by my wife doing drugs,” he said, his voice angry. “You have continuously tried to block my path—”

“Go to hell.”

“What did you say?”

Latoya laughed bitterly even as her heart shattered into a million pieces. The pain was so deep in her chest that she could barely breathe around it. “I said that you, Reverend Taquan Sanders, can go to hell. You are not God and you certainly are not my God and I live my life for Him—or at least I should be. I got away from that and so did you. See the body of this family is only as smart, strong, and gifted as the head. You do a great job leading your church but you are a horrible husband and I do not want to live in your life anymore.”

“You would leave me?” he asked, his voice echoing into the car after a long moment of silence.

“You left me a long time ago,” she told him, shifting her eyes to the streetlight as she willed it to turn green.

“You're not taking my son,” he said.

“He's better with you . . . for now,” she admitted, calling on every bit of strength she had. “I'm going into rehab in the morning.”

Taquan fell silent again.

“You still there, Taquan?”

“Listen we need to talk. Come home—”

“Send my parents home, this is a family matter between you and I,” she said, her voice insistent.

“Latoya—”

She shifted her eyes up to the rearview mirror as someone came up on her with their bright lights.

“Latoya, I do love you.”

Her eyes widened as the lights came closer and she could hear the squeal of tires just seconds before the car slammed into the back of her vehicle. Latoya was rammed forward against the steering wheel just before the air bag ejected. Her car went lurching forward into oncoming traffic and both a pickup truck and a car slammed into the sides of her.

“Latoya . . . Latoya . . .”

K
eesha frowned as she drove up on her street and saw several of her neighbors standing on the street outside her townhouse. They eyed her as her Benz neared and she turned onto the driveway. It wasn't until she climbed from the car and locked it that she heard the crash of furniture coming from inside the house.

She went racing across the driveway and up the stairs to unlock the door and enter the house. “Oh my God,” she said, looking on as Corey stood posted up against Shawn as they circled each other like predators.

Both were shirtless and bruised, with blood coming from their noses and lips.

“Dirty trick-ass motherfucker,” Corey said, bobbing and weaving before he swung suddenly and uppercut Shawn.

“Stop,” she screamed, holding up both her hands.

They ignored her and Shawn lunged forward, wrapping both his arms around Corey's leg to pick him up and slam him over his head. Corey crashed into the wall and all of her framed pictures came crashing down to the floor with him.

“Keesha, that you?” Diane called down the stairs.

She turned and dashed up to the guest room, coming to a stop in the doorway. “How long they been going at it?” she asked, reaching in her purse for her cell phone.

Diane was sitting in the middle of the bed on a large inflated doughnut to keep her from putting pressure on her bullet wound. “About ten or fifteen minutes. Shawn went to the store to get beer and it's been on ever since he got back.”

“Why didn't you call the police?”

“Shee-it, I got a warrant for a bad check,” she said, picking up her lit cigarette from the ashtray sitting beside her on the bed.

“You just mad she was calling for this dick soon as your ass left the house.”

“That's
all
your broke ass good for,” Corey shot back.

Keesha walked into the room and picked up the ashtray to move to the bedside table. She winced at the sound of glass crashing.
This is some hood shit
.

“Two cousins, huh?” Diane asked, releasing a stream of smoke.

“I need the police sent to my house. My boyfriend and his cousin are fighting.”

“Fifty Ball Street.”

“There have been other calls placed about that residence and we already have a unit en route.”

Keesha was not surprised. She ended the call.

“So which one is the daddy?” Diane asked, motioning her cigarette toward Keesha's belly.

Keesha just sat down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. She had completely forgotten in all of the Xavier fuckery that when she left the house Shawn was there with Corey.

“Now you know how I feel, right?”

She dropped her hands to her lap and eyed her mother. “I wouldn't lie to my child for over twenty years, though,” she snapped, not in the mood for Diane's particular brand of crazy.

Keesha took no pleasure in two men fighting over her because she knew at the end of it all she would end up with neither. She had destroyed any chance with Corey and she didn't know how she was going to recover from that.

“All I'm saying is you shouldn't be so hard on me now that my shoes are on your feet,” Diane added.

Keesha reached over and took the cigarette, stubbing it out in the ashtray before she left the bedroom and went back down the stairs. It wasn't until she was halfway down that she realized the house was quiet. Too quiet.

She ran down to the living room and came to a stop at the sight of Corey's body laying in the middle of the chaos she caused with a shard of glass plunged into his heart. “Noooooooo,” Keesha screamed in high-pitched terror as she ran over to him.

Keesha fell to her knees beside him and held up her shaking hands, unsure of what to do to help him. “Oh Lord, Corey baby, please,” she said, her eyes frantic as the blood oozed from him and stained the carpet.

His eyes stared straight up to the ceiling and his chest was still.

“No, baby. No. No. No. No,” she begged, tears flowing as she rocked back and forth and picked up his lifeless hand to press kisses to it. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Keesha. Keesha, what's wrong?” Diane hollered from up the stairs.

“Co-Co-Co-Co,” Keesha tried to call his name as she shifted up to press kisses to his face, his hand still in hers tightly.

She knew he was dead. Gone from her.

And she knew that her actions had caused it. Her betrayal. Her decisions.

She lay down on the floor beside him and pressed her head to his shoulder as she planted kisses onto his chest and cried uncontrollably. “Forgive me,” she mouthed, unable to speak as panic and grief struck her to her core.

“I love you so much. I'm so sorry,” she mouthed in between her kisses.

Kisses he would never return.

She looked at the glass in his chest and her entire body literally shook with tears and deep mournful moans that could never fully release the pain she felt. The guilt she felt. The absolute loss.

Something inside of her died. A place where sanity didn't dwell took prominence. She felt completely swamped by a world that would never feel or see light and goodness. In that moment she couldn't imagine the sun ever rising again. And if it did she knew she wouldn't care.

“Keesha!” Diane continued to call.

It was all just too much to bear.

She sat up and opened the purse she dropped to the floor and pulled out the bottle she took from Latoya earlier. With one long look at Corey's dead body she emptied the pills into her hand and then swallowed them down. Gulp after gulp after gulp until there were none.

“Keesha, what's going on?” Diane screamed down again.

She lay back down next to the man she loved, pressing her head on his shoulder again and entwining her hand with his as she waited to join him in death.

Danielle felt like she had just laid her head down on the pillow before her phone began ringing on the nightstand, not very far from where her head lay. She picked up one plush pillow and pressed it down on her head, hoping for some relief. Her plane from Newark had just landed, and all she wanted to do was sleep off the combined effects of drama, emotions, red wine, and bad kidneys.

She flung the pillow from her head and reached out in the darkness until she felt the phone and picked it up. “Hello,” she said, her voice filled with the sleep she wanted so very badly.

“Ms. Johnson, I hate to awaken you but you have a visitor—”

She frowned as she heard rustling against the phone's mouthpiece.

“Danielle, please tell your pushy doorman to let me enter, please.”

She shot straight up in bed at the sound of Mohammed's unmistakable voice. Her heart tap-danced on her ribs. “You're in Los Angeles?” she asked, sitting up on the side of the bed to turn on the light.

“Yes, and I've been traveling all day and I'm ready to see you,” he said with that Jamaica lilt that really should be criminal.

She stood up and looked down at the white silk pajamas she wore and then yanked the silk scarf from around her head as she felt her excitement completely beat out her surprise. “Let me talk to George,” she said.

The phone rustled again.

“Yes, Ms. Johnson?”

“Please direct Mr. Ahmad to my apartment,” she said, tucking the phone under her ear to smooth out the linens on her bed.

“Enjoy your night,” he said.

Danielle paused and arched her brow. “I will.”

She ended the call and placed the phone back on the base before she left her bedroom and crossed the hall into her living room. Sniffing the air she retrieved a can of air freshener from the guest bathroom and gave the room a few bursts. She looked around, assessing what he would think of it. For three times the money of her New Jersey apartment she received one half of the space. Still, she had made sure that her stylish presence of clean lines and splashes of colors against neutrals was present.

She jumped at the sound of the doorbell even though she was expecting Mohammed. She finger-combed her hair as she made her way to the door. She pulled it open with a smile, completely forgetting in her excitement that she had planned to never see Mohammed again.

As soon as she opened the door she felt nothing but wind as Mohammed stormed past her. Danielle made a face and then turned to him as she pushed the door closed. “Well, hello,” she said.

His jaw was tight.

“Do I love you?” he asked.

Danielle looked startled. “You're asking me?”

He ran his fingers through his slender dreads. “Okay, do you think I love you?” he asked, his hands now on his waist in the linen shorts he wore with a matching V-neck tee.

Neither Jamaica nor Los Angeles weather paid attention to the fall season.

Danielle took a few steps closer to him. “I
know
you love me,” she told him.

“Then why didn't you tell me about your illness,” he said.

Danielle wasn't sure if the hardness to his jaw was from anger or pain. She looked down at the terra-cotta tile of the floor as she made her way to him. She didn't look up but she was so close that the coconut oil of his braids seemed to surround her. “I didn't want you to feel like you had to take care of me. It's not your responsibility,” she said, tilting her head to the side as she looked him in his eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“That wasn't your decision to make.”

Danielle bit the inside of her bottom lip as she let him pull her into his embrace. He held her close even as her arms were pressed in between their bodies with his arms locked behind her back. She pressed her face into his neck and let her lips rest just a hair's breadth from his warm mocha skin.

“Tell me,” he guided her with kisses to her cheek.

And she did. As they stood there locked in an embrace that was everything she needed Danielle told him everything. It felt good to release it. When she was done she felt a pressure lift from her shoulders.

“So I don't want you to see me dying,” she told him truthfully, leaning back in his embrace to look up at him.

“No one knows God's plan,” he told her. “But I know an old woman and a little boy that love and miss you. You need to be around family at times like these.”

Danielle bent her head to her chest. “I don't have any. They screwed and made me and gave me this
thing
to deal with and disappeared,” she said.

“Family has nothing to do with blood. It's all about who cares about you and we care about you.”

Danielle looked up at him. “It's not gone always be easy and pretty. It could be bad. Real bad and then it will get worse,” she warned him.

“I'll be right there loving you.”

“But I am going to die, Mohammed,” she insisted, breaking his hold on her as she turned to walk away a few steps.

“And I will love you even beyond death doing us part,” he said. “Come home with me, Danielle. Get out of this rat race and let me help you.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his. She had just decided to leave Jersey for LA full-time and now this man wanted her to leave LA for Jamaica.

“My job—”

“I'll stay here in LA with you until you can resign and give them fair warning to find another smart woman with a pretty face.”

Danielle thought about that week in Jamaica. She could use a million more. Life was too short. Tonight Monica, Keesha, nor Latoya knew if their loves were still intact after Hurricane Xavier. But she still had the man she loved wanting to fight with her through whatever came.

“Okay,” she agreed with a nod.

Mohammed walked over and gathered her into his arms again. “And my mama said to tell you that you're welcome.”

Danielle just laughed and then took Mohammed's hand in hers to lead him into the bedroom for a proper welcome.