Truth Be Told (7 page)

His eyes roamed back to the picture. Then he looked again at Pilar. “I'll pay, but I don't want it.”

Tears sprang into Pilar's eyes.

“It's your money,” the waitress sang. She looked at Pilar. “Do you want your salad?”

Pilar nodded, and the waitress walked away.

Conner was drawn back to the photo. “How old is he?”

Pilar tried to smile through tears that threatened to fall. “Twelve.”

Inside, Conner counted. He closed his eyes, ready to make a denial, but the truth burned his heart. How could this happen?

Now, as he sat in his office, that question continued to haunt him. He was the father of a child by a woman who was not his wife. He couldn't think of a greater offense. Nothing could be worse—except for what Pilar wanted him to do. He closed his eyes and remembered the rest of their conversation.

“Why are you coming to me now?” he had asked.

“You should know you have a son.” She spoke as if she were scolding him, then added, “It's called responsibility, and I need your help with Solomon. You need to do the right thing.”

“Wait a minute,” he had said through clenched teeth. “Don't tell me …”

She hadn't let him finish. “Conner, you have to take Solomon.” His eyes had widened, but before he could object, she added, “I have AIDS. I'm dying.”

A moment passed before he whispered, “You're HIV positive?”

She had raised her eyebrows. “That's not what I said. I have full-blown AIDS.” She paused. “You're probably wondering how.”

Conner bit his lip.

“I'm a growing statistic. Women who have unprotected sex.” Pilar chuckled, but without humor. “I don't sleep around. But I did it enough not to know who was responsible.” She shook her head. “Not that it matters. All I thought about when I was given my death sentence was Solomon.”

Conner blinked. “Is he …”

“No,” she answered before he could ask. “He's fine. Though they don't know for sure, it seems I became infected after he was born.”

Conner exhaled.

“You seem relieved,” she had said. “Although you're probably clean, you should still get tested.” Pilar paused. “You don't want to expose your wife.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I don't have sex outside my marriage.” He was sure Pilar almost laughed. He looked away for a moment, then met Pilar's glance. “I'm sorry … about what you're going through. Still, if something were to happen to you, wouldn't it be better for Solomon to be around people he knows? Others who love him?”

Even now, he remembered the anger that flashed in her eyes. “I'm praying that you will love Solomon because without you, he will have no one.” Her voice trembled so much he thought she would cry. “The Cruises of Connecticut disowned me when I returned home with Solomon. He wasn't even nine months, but when my parents saw him, my mother asked if the father was a Negro.” Pilar shook her head as if trying to dislodge the memory. “I told them it didn't matter. This was their grandson. Still, they shunned me like I had leprosy.”

Conner had not been surprised by Pilar's words. From what she'd told him years before, her Cuban parents had fled Castro's country when they were twenty and worked their way from the tip of Florida to the countryside of Connecticut. Her mother cleaned houses along the way, while her father landscaped many of those same estates.

By the time they arrived in the Constitution State five years after settling on American soil, they had metamorphosed from the Cruzes of Havana to the Cruises of Greenwich, absent of their native accents, with a plan to take advantage of America's riches.

Leonard (changed from Leonardo) Cruise landed a job at Zytec Corporation, the nation's largest pharmaceutical company. His passage from mailroom to boardroom took thirteen years. As upstanding citizens of Greenwich, Ellen (formerly Elena) sat on committees with women who would once have hired her to clean their homes. It was a rebellious Pilar who used her middle name instead of her first name, Angela, who left home at eighteen to pursue an acting career. It didn't hurt that she was leaving a family who held disdain for their second born because she refused to leave her Cuban heritage behind.

Pilar had continued, “When my parents looked at me and my child as if we were the refugees, I remembered why I moved away. I was so thankful that Solomon couldn't understand.” She had faced Conner. “Our son has only you.”

Almost nine hours had passed since Pilar had uttered those words—simple words that now complicated his life. He was the father of a child by a woman he never loved, never wanted. All those years ago, Pilar was just a convenience. She had allowed him to march through the challenges of his marriage with his head up. There weren't many he allowed into his life, but the few who knew about Grace's infidelity always said that he was so strong. Repeatedly, he'd heard how a lesser man would have left his wife. He had embraced those uplifting words, standing as the martyr who held his family together.

But no one knew the truth—that he had tried to wash away the image of another man bedding his wife with his own indiscretion. It had never worked. He loved Grace and ended it with Pilar.

He never felt as if he'd escaped his infidelity. The memory haunted him like a recurring cancer flaring up at odd moments, like when he was holding his wife or playing tennis with his daughters. He had to work at keeping the memory in remission.

But he had kept the secret. Even when Grace had spoken honestly about her affair, he'd remained silent. Even when they became members of the church and, later, leaders of the Marriage Enrichment Fellowship, he'd kept the truth hidden. He had many justifications for his sin of omission: he had already confessed his sin to God, he didn't want to hurt Grace, they'd suffered too much, his affair had been retaliation only, not meant to cause any harm. Conner chuckled bitterly at that last thought. What Pilar told him went beyond harm. It brought his secret to light.

For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known.
The truth of God's words, he thought, as Luke 12:2 passed through his mind.

His eyes moved to the phone, and the ache in his heart became stronger. He was surprised that Grace hadn't called, though he imagined there were countless messages on his cell phone. He picked up the message sheets that Marilyn had left for him. Just one from Grace: three-fifteen—long after they were supposed to meet. Conner had wanted to call Grace the moment he left Pilar, but what would he have said? “Hi, honey, I can't come home right now.”

In an instant, Grace would have known that something wasn't right. And how was he supposed to respond when she questioned him? He feared that he would blurt out everything. Another part of him feared that he would not.

He picked up the phone, but before he dialed, he dropped the receiver back. He slipped into his jacket, then picked up his briefcase. A phone call wouldn't do. He had to see his wife.

The red digital numbers on the clock screamed at Grace: 9:57. This was not late for Conner. Many nights he hadn't come home until almost midnight.

But he always called.

She pushed back the comforter, got out of the bed, and walked to the window. The sky's blackness was interrupted by the full moon's brightness. When she was seven, her father told her that a full moon was a new moon, representing a new cycle of life. That fascinated her, and for years, she'd run to the window every night, eager to view new life. Her search for the full moon continued until she received that call in her first year in college.

“Grace, dear,” her mother had sobbed. “Your dad … Neil had a heart attack.”

She had slumped on her bed in Kelsey Hall, understanding the words in her head but having no comprehension in her heart. When she glanced up, it was through tear-filled eyes that she saw the full moon. She stared at the earth's satellite until she said good-bye to her mother. Then she stood and closed the curtains.

Now she looked at the moon a moment longer before she closed the drapes and returned to bed. Less than a second later, she heard the creaking squeak of the garage door. She jumped up, then sank back under the covers. To Grace, the minutes felt like hours as she waited, but when she heard Conner in the hallway, she glanced at the clock again: 10:04.

He walked into the room with his eyes lowered, but then he looked up and their stares held each other. He forced a slight smile. “You're still up.”

“I was worried.”

“I'm sorry.”

With heavy steps, he moved to her and allowed his lips to meet hers. It was a perfunctory kiss, and when he pulled back, the sadness in his eyes belied his smile.

Grace's glance followed Conner as he moved across the room. “So,” she called out when he stepped into his closet. “I was here this afternoon.” She waited for him to answer her unasked question.

Seconds of silence passed before he said, “I got caught up.”

She jerked a bit at his explanation. “You weren't at the office. Marilyn thought you were here.”

Again silence. Then, “I went back to the office … afterward.”

After what? she wanted to ask.

He stepped from the closet, dressed in black checkered pajama bottoms. “I'm sorry I missed our date.”

She couldn't tell if it was sadness or sincerity that veiled his eyes. She forced herself to smile. “That's okay. Whatever came up must have been important.” Her statement was a question, but he responded with just a nod before he pulled back the covers on his side of the bed.

He closed his eyes the moment he touched the pillow, and Grace wondered if he were praying. She'd sat frozen since he'd come into the room, but now she rolled onto her stomach.

“Conner, do you want to talk about it?”

His eyes opened, and he shook his head. Then he pulled her against his chest. “I just want to hold you.”

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the hammering of his heart.
What's wrong, Conner?
she pleaded inside. It was nothing more than a case, she rationalized. Conner's and Chandler's reputation brought the opportunity to litigate countless class action suits since they'd won the thirty-million-dollar settlement against the Apex Corporation for faulty hip implants that thousands had received. That case had brought professional and financial success, as well as overwhelming pressure to continue to deliver. She couldn't count the number of times Conner had come home like this. Sometimes it took him days to talk.

She held him tighter and soon felt the calm of his sleep breathing. Still, she didn't move. She needed to feel his arms, holding her as if he would never let go. Grace closed her eyes, but knew she would not rest. It wasn't that the lights were still on or that her leg had stiffened under the weight of Conner's leg over hers. It was the ache that kept sleep away. The ache that began deep and rose to her heart's center, and told her there was a reason that the full moon had come to visit her tonight.

S
tarlight was sure that there were at least ten stacks of cash and credit card slips on the conference table in her home office. Lexington sat with the piles, steadily recording. He hadn't looked up in an hour, but his smile widened with each tick of the clock.

“Have to admit, Starlight. Brilliant.”

She folded her arms across her chest. With a pencil behind his ear, a pencil in his hand, and the grin on his face, he looked like Uncle Billy from
It's a Wonderful Life
.

When she didn't respond, he looked up. “What's wrong?”

She lowered her eyes. A second later, she could feel him moving.
Probably hates leaving that money,
she thought.

The couch's violet leather squished as he sat. Their shoulders almost touched when he took her hand. “Thought you'd be happy,” he whispered. “So much money in just three hours.”

There it was again—the money was all he saw. She turned away, not hiding her disgust.

He sighed, and Starlight wanted to kick herself. She knew he was thinking this was one of those high-maintenance-chick moments that required him to talk, soothe, and carry her through some crisis that neither could identify.

She walked to the windowed wall. This view was the same as the one from her bedroom. But the ocean that settled her during the day couldn't be seen at midnight. The night sky converged with the ebony water, making it impossible to discern the ending of the sea and the beginning of the heavens. The glow of the full moon hanging in the center of her view was the sole source of light, and the vision made her smile.

Through the glass, she watched Lexington's reflection. His face was covered with confusion, but his concern was short-lived. With a shrug, he returned to the cash and credit slips and calculators and receipts and ledgers.

She sighed. Lexington thought she should be dancing in the streets. He hadn't given the final count, but she could imagine the numbers. Between their percentage from the tickets and the sales of her books and CDs, they had easily cleared one hundred thousand dollars. And as Lexington said, it hadn't taken three hours.

Speaking at Greater Faith Chapel was a major coup. Before she finished, those church women dashed to the back, eager for a piece of Starlight. She'd signed books, tapes, and CDs until her hands cramped.

At first, she'd been concerned about her church appearance. Although she'd been speaking at sold-out venues for years, she'd never been at a house of worship. In fact, many of those do-good holier-than-God pastors put her down, knocking her principles from their pulpits. She'd read about their attacks in Christian newspapers. On one occasion, Lily told her of the words of a pastor who was unaware that Starlight's mother was a visitor in his church.

Lily had repeated the pastor's words: “The Word of God warned of Starlight and others—false prophets appearing during the end times, professing enlightenment, and having some direct-channel to some higher being. I'll tell you where their direct line leads—straight to hell. As 1 Timothy 4:1 and 2 says, these people are here to lead you astray. As Christians, we must be grounded and stand with the truth. We cannot fall prey to false doctrines and teachings that are disguised in messages of self-esteem.”

The pastor had continued to quote scripture, associating her with the evil one:

“Just read 1 John 4:1:
Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.
Starlight is one of whom the Lord speaks.”

She laughed about it in public. “You know you must be doing something right when people persecute you.”

But she grieved about it in private. “Mom, why do people hate me when I'm only trying to help?”

The worst condemnation came from her sister. Grace had broken off almost all contact as Starlight became more successful.

But today was the beginning of redemption. Pastors were beginning to realize that she was a motivator, helping women to recognize their inner strength. It made her want to kick her heels; Christians were waking up.

Tonight, she proved that her message and the church could coexist. Before she'd uttered her first words, she'd received a standing ovation. When she spoke, she had to pause often because of the applause that stretched her normal fifty-minute speech to ninety minutes.

“We all know there is a God,” she had said. “But the greater God resides in you.” Those words brought her second ovation.

“We have to rely on our power within. The higher being has given it to all of us.” The applause was deafening.

“It doesn't matter if you worship Jehovah, Allah, Buddha, or God. This is about the One. And, you are one with the spirit.” She'd had to walk over those words with alacrity when murmurs filled the sanctuary. “Of course, there is only one God, but what I'm talking about is the spirit within you.” The applause returned, and she sighed with relief, making a mental note. She needed to pass her words by a Christian—maybe her mother.

She hadn't changed her presentation much. She always talked about a higher being, a he/she supernatural spirit, because that appealed to all of her followers. All she had to change tonight was sprinkling God throughout her speech.

“The church is where all the money is.”

This time, she had to smile at Lexington's words. Nothing would change his thoughts. And it was his monetary focus that afforded her an ocean-front penthouse, credit cards to every Rodeo Drive boutique, a full-time housekeeper and a driver, and a staff of twelve in her Beverly Hills office.

He stood when she smiled. “That's my girl.” He swaggered toward her and stroked her cheek. “You did great tonight.”

Her smile widened.

“Wanna know how great?”

“I've been waiting for you to tell me.”

“Almost thirty-three thousand from the books and tapes. I could kill New Vision. We only had fifteen hundred books. Could have doubled those sales.” He turned back to the table. “About fifty women registered for the Sisters of the Sun conference.”

“Didn't we already have forty?”

His grin met her frown. “I think we can get two hundred and fifty there.”

“I thought we were sticking with one hundred attendees.”

He shook his head. “The response is too great. At five hundred dollars a pop, why not maximize?”

“But it's our first conference.”

“Don't worry. I'll work this. All you'll have to do is show up.” He stuffed a stack of cash into a bank bag. “I've figured that we could clear two hundred fifty thousand for the day. And it'll be good practice for the Revival in June.”

She nodded.

“Greater Faith is transferring the ticket money to our account. I expect it's well over one hundred thousand.”

She smiled. Now the talk about money didn't seem so bad. “Make sure you go over Greater Faith's records,” she said.

He looked at her as if she was speaking in tongues. “You think I'm going to trust a pastor?”

They laughed together.

“Why didn't you do the love line?” Lexington asked. “Pastor Carey suggested it. Would've been a lot more money.”

“I wanted to be careful this first time. The news will travel, and I want everything Pastor Carey says to be good.”

He gave a slow nod. “Makes sense.” He walked toward her. “I have an idea.”

Don't you always?
she wanted to say. But she smiled, her signal for him to continue.

“Next time, don't just talk about God. Talk about Jesus. Christians are so emotional. If you work them up about Jesus, then when we do the love line and get their gifts …” He stopped, but she knew inside he was singing, “cha-ching.”

“Churches are more profitable,” Lexington continued, as if he'd given this much thought. “We don't have to pay for the venue, and Christians are a giving breed. They feel guilty if they don't support whomever their pastor has brought in. We can really work this word of God into quite a profitable business.”

She bit her lip and looked away.

“Could come a time when we could make a million at one huge church event.”

When she turned back, she was sure the pupils in his eyes reflected dollar signs. “Do you think that's possible?”

“The Revival in June will give us a good start.” He laughed. “This is better than being a rock star.”

She couldn't help it—she laughed with him.

He pulled her into his arms. “Glad to see you happy.”

She hugged him, then pulled away. “It's late. I'm going to bed.” His eyes became glassy. “Alone.”

His smile disappeared. “I was hoping to stay. It's been a while.”

She stared for a long moment. “Maybe tomorrow.” She gave him a light kiss. “Lock up when you leave.” She walked down the hall to her bedroom. When she undressed and slipped into bed, she still hadn't heard Lexington leave. It would be like him to work through the night.

She snuggled under the royal purple duvet and closed her eyes. There was no way Grace or anyone else could deny her contributions now.