Truth Be Told (6 page)

Grace continued, speaking to her daughter's back. “I know you'll forgive me because you've had bad days.”

Jayde faced her mother. “Why are you having a bad day?” She sounded astonished. “You just won an election.” She sat next to Grace.

Grace took her daughter's hand. “I should be happy, huh?”

Jayde nodded. “You were happy yesterday, but today you seem mad.”

Grace shook her head. “I'm not mad, sweetie.” She paused as the image of Conner and Pilar flashed behind her eyes.

Jayde smiled. “I understand, Mom. You have a lot of people depending on you.”

She nodded. “But none are as important as you and Amber … and your father.” She kissed her forehead. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.”

“Okay.” Jayde wrapped her arms around her mother. “I love you, Mommy.”

Grace closed her eyes and held onto Jayde. She couldn't think of anything that she needed more at that moment. It seemed that Jayde knew everything without knowing anything. Grace kissed Jayde, then rushed from the room, not wanting her daughter to see tears that she thought might come.

Forty minutes later, she called the girls to a dinner of grilled chicken and cucumber salad. As they sat at the kitchen table and chatted about school and what they were going to do over spring break, Grace strained to press thoughts of her missing husband aside. After they cleaned up, Grace helped Amber with homework, while Jayde searched on-line for information on Zora Neale Hurston for an English report. The time almost felt normal, except for the way Grace looked at her watch every ten minutes and glanced through the window for oncoming car headlights in the time in between.

It was eight-thirty when Grace tucked Amber into bed. Amber pulled her children's Bible from under her pillow and handed it to Grace.

“Do you know what you want to read?”

Amber nodded. “About the Hebrew children. We're studying them in Sunday school.”

Grace sat on the edge of the bed. With one side of her brain, she read scriptures from the Book of Daniel, while with the other she tried to figure out where her husband could be. She was grateful when she was able to turn off Amber's light, then kiss Jayde good night with an admonition not to stay up past ten.

When Grace stepped into their bedroom, the space felt empty, so she settled into the office that she and Conner shared across the hall. She pulled her Bible from the book shelf and stretched out on the couch. She leaned back into the leather, trying to find a comfortable place, but she couldn't find any comfort tonight. Still, she was determined to read. She turned through the pages of Isaiah to the fifty-fourth chapter. She'd missed the last two Women's Fellowship meetings, but Devry told her what they were studying. Her eyes roamed the scriptures until she stopped at the last verse. This had always been one of her favorite scriptures:

No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn.

Tonight, the scripture made her heart pound. The words replayed in her mind as if they were a warning. She stood, leaving the Bible open on the couch. Downstairs, she set the alarm, closed the windows, and then checked on her daughters. Inside her bedroom, she changed into an oversized Hampton University T-shirt and climbed into bed.

No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper.

Grace couldn't count the number of times she'd stood on those words. But as she lay back in the bed, she had the feeling that she was going to need to stand on that scripture more than she ever had before.

Conner stared at the twin towers across the Avenue of the Americas. Los Angeles hadn't recovered from the energy crisis, yet the high-rise buildings were glistening as bright as Fifth Avenue at Christmas. He shook his head. His mind was filled with thoughts of Los Angeles's crisis when his own loomed ahead. Disaster had waltzed right into the middle of his life, right into the soul of his marriage. A low moan escaped from deep inside him when he thought about what this could mean to Grace's career.

But this tragedy went beyond him and Grace. There were his children. The tears almost flowed when Conner thought about his girls.

He squeezed his eyes together, wishing he could force Pilar and her words back to yesterday. But what would change? He massaged his closed eyes with his thumbs, but no matter how hard he pressed, he couldn't erase the images planted in his mind. He should have listened to his inner voice. Even as he drove to Encounters, his mind screamed, “Turn back!” The warning had tolled louder with each passing mile.

“What is wrong with me?” he had asked himself as he drove to the restaurant. There was nothing to fear. He was meeting Pilar, an old friend, acquaintance, employee—he wasn't sure what to call her. Whatever she was, she couldn't cause him harm. He held that thought until he slowed his car and saw Pilar standing stiffly straight at the restaurant's entrance. Then he knew there was much to fear.

He didn't use the valet and instead parked his car at the far end of the lot. The entire time he lumbered toward her his heart pounded like a jackhammer.

Pilar's smile was warm enough as he approached. They stood, without words, in front of each other. It was an awkward stance, neither knowing what to do.

Pilar leaned toward him. He wrapped his arms around her. They barely touched.

“How've you been, Conner?”

He stepped back, swallowed, and nodded. “Great. And you?”

“Just fine.”

Conner opened the restaurant's door, allowing Pilar to move in front of him. He frowned as she dragged inside, her steps taking effort. The hostess led them to a table near the front.

“Not here,” he said, even though Pilar had pulled out her chair. He lowered his voice. “I'd prefer one of those.” He pointed toward the tables lined against the paneled wall.

Pilar nodded as if she understood, and they followed the hostess. They waited until they were alone before they spoke.

Pilar smiled. “It is good to see you.”

He returned her smile but not her words. Conner opened his menu, and Pilar followed. Restless seconds suspended between them as they pretended to study the food choices.

Over the top of his card, Conner assessed Pilar. He had been surprised when she said she had moved to New York, and seeing her now made him wonder why she'd left the city she once said would be the only place she'd called home. With her departure from L.A., she'd left much of herself behind. She was no longer the quintessential California girl.

At the door, he'd noticed the way her mustard brown pantsuit hung on her much thinner frame. Gone was her smooth olive complexion, which had been a mix of her ethnicity and long summer days at Venice beach. Now she looked as if her blotchy-red skin never saw sun. Her blue-black hair, which once swayed past her waist, had been traded for a short cut that bluntly ended above her ears.

But, it was her eyes that were most different. He remembered how they glittered and how he often caught himself staring just to see her irises dance. Now her eyes looked dark, almost blank, as if there was no longer any music to dance to. He wanted to ask if she were well, but it was difficult to press words through his throat.

Pilar put down her menu, and Conner returned his eyes to his card. He could feel the strong glare of her glance. Still, he waited a moment before he put down the menu. “I was surprised to get your call.”

“It's been a long time.”

He glanced around the restaurant, then rested his arms on the table. “I was as surprised as when I walked into my office that morning and found your resignation.”

She lowered her eyes. “It was the best thing.”

He nodded, though he was sure she didn't know how true her words were. It had all changed for the better the day she left. Thatmade him think of Grace. “My wife was elected to a council position last night.” He wanted her to know how good his life was.

“I was there,” she said, and paused when he fell against the back of his chair. “At the hotel.” Her words came quicker as anger filled his face. “I stayed in the back. No one saw me. I needed to see you … and Grace together.”

He frowned. He was filled with questions, but instinct kept him silent.

Pilar said, “I have to tell you what this is about.”

He nodded and pressed his lips together, thankful that she wasn't going to make him suffer through minutes of chatter.

Pilar's water glass shook in her hand as she took a short sip. Then she slid her chair closer to the table. Her glance darted from him to the other tables.

His heart returned to its frantic beat.

“Conner,” she started. “I don't know how else to say this …”

Suddenly, he didn't want to hear. “Pilar, do you want to order before we talk?” He hoped his voice didn't shake the way he trembled inside.

She shook her head. “I've come a long way. There were many times when I almost turned back, but you have to know.”

I don't want to know,
he screamed inside. His heart pounded harder. He wanted to ask how she liked New York.

“Conner, I have a son.”

He squinted, focusing on her lips. Okay, he wanted to say. Congratulations,
sustantivo,
felicitations; in any language, it added up to, “What does this have to do with me?”

“Your son.”

Her words hit him like a boxer's uppercut. He shook his head, feeling the need to regain his balance even though he was sitting. Then he looked at her, his eyes speaking for him.

“Are you ready to order?”

His head weighed one hundred pounds as he struggled to raise his glance to the waitress.
Why are you interrupting us?
he wanted to ask.
Do you know what this woman just said to me?
He shook his head. “No, we don't want to order. We're not hungry.”

The waitress raised her eyebrows. “So you're going to sit here, at the busiest time of the day, at my station, and not order anything?” Her neck swayed with each syllable.

Pilar said, “I'll have the barbecue chicken salad.” She handed her menu to the waitress and smiled at Conner.

He glared at her. How could she eat after sputtering such lies? His eyes bore into Pilar. “I'll have the soup,” he said not breaking his gaze.

The waitress looked around as if she wanted someone else to hear this madness. “What kind of soup?”

His eyes were still on Pilar. “It doesn't matter.”

The waitress shrugged her shoulders, then walked away. Conner and Pilar stared at each other, a battle of wills. It was Pilar who looked away first.

“What did you say?” His question sprang through clenched teeth.

A thin layer of water covered Pilar's eyes. “We have a son, Conner.”

He leaned forward. “How can that be?” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. “Conner, we were together for a few months.”

“We were not together.”

“Five, six, seven times …”

“We were not together.”

Pilar grimaced from the pain of his words. “I know you never considered it a relationship….”

“I was married.” Conner paused. “I am married.”

“That's why I left.” Her words were soft and sad.

“You knew this when you left?”

She shook her head. “I found out a few weeks later.”

He covered his face with his hands. When he looked up, he wondered why Pilar wasn't smiling—telling him this was a joke or a mistake. It didn't matter which to him.

“Conner, I'm sorry.”

He glared at her, understanding at last the purpose of this meeting. It was a shakedown, a demand for money. She knew how well they were doing. “How do you know the child is mine?” He spat the words across the table as if she were a hostile witness.

Her entire body shook. With her eyes still on him, she lifted her purse from the floor and took out her wallet. Her eyes were glassier than they had been just a minute before as she slid a picture across the table.

Conner folded his hands inches away from the photo and stared at the caramel-colored boy sitting on a stool with his elbow resting on his leg. He swallowed the lump that threatened to block air from reaching his lungs. The boy had the same bushy eyebrows, high cheeks, and cleft in his chin. He carried his DNA.

He looked up at Pilar, then returned his glance to the picture. Pilar's sole contribution had been the black of his eyes.

His fingers edged toward the photo, but he allowed just the tips to touch it. “What's his name?” He almost choked on his question.

“Solomon.” Her voice was low.

The waitress put a plate in front of Pilar, but before she could place the soup on the table, Conner said, “Take it back.” He stared at Pilar.

Both Pilar and the waitress frowned. “What?” the waitress asked.