Don't Tell A Soul (19 page)

YVONNE

 

 

 

 

W
hen Kingston and I step off the ferry at Put-in-Bay, I don't feel sick anymore. I actually feel energized and ready for fun. I don't know if Kingston has anything in mind for us, but I already know where I want to go.

“Have you ever been to Perry's Cave?” I ask.

“I don't think so,” Kingston replies. “Is that where we're going?”

I nod as Kingston absentmindedly takes my fingertips in his hand and leads me away from the ferry's dock.

He turns to me, smiles, and repeats, “Are we going to the cave?”

I'm so caught up in the tingling taking place in my fingers that I almost forget to answer him. “Y-yes. There's a butterfly house next to the cave, and we can look for precious jewels in the cave.”

“I've already got a precious jewel right here, but I'll go look for more if you want.”

I never know how to react to Kingston's flirtatious compliments. Should I say thank you? I end up making a nervous sound that is halfway between a chuckle and a hiccup.

“You okay?” Kingston asks. I guess it sounded more like a hiccup.

“Yes, I'm fine. There's the butterfly house up ahead.” Kingston leads the way and pays our admission. As we walk into the house, I inhale the fragrant scents of the bushes and flowers that they placed in strategic areas just to attract the butterflies.

“I love this place,” I say. “When I was going through some rough times, I would come out here and the butterflies would remind me that transformation is a good thing.”

“It is a wonderful thing. You've metamorphosed, Yvonne?”

I stoop down next to one of the bushes and peer at a pretty black butterfly with turquoise circles on its wings. “I believe I have. I hope so. I'm definitely not the same person I was ten years ago.”

“What's different about you?”

“I care more about myself. I never made myself a priority before. Now I take care of me.”

Kingston stoops down next to me, and the butterfly escapes into a small tree. He says, “Would you be open to someone else taking care of you, too?”

“Honestly, I don't know. This is all very nice. The dates, I mean. But I'm not sure I want to go the whole distance.”

Kingston's gaze becomes serious. I know that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but I had to be honest. I'm trying to picture forever, but I just can't wrap my head around that.

“Why aren't you sure? Do you want to be alone?”

His questions hit home. Of course, I don't want to be alone. Every now and then I think about that, but I don't
mind
being alone, and that makes all the difference.

“I enjoy your company, but I don't know what I really want in a relationship,” I explain. “I know what I don't want, but I can't define what I desire or need.”

Another black butterfly joins the first, and they fly in little circles around each other as if they're dancing. “Look,” Kingston says, “I think they're giving us a show.”

“Do you think they even notice us? Sometimes I feel like they completely ignore us, and they're just going about their daily business.”

“You may be right, but I choose to believe they're performing.”

Kingston takes my hand again, and we walk along the man-made path, enjoying the butterflies as they either perform for us or live their butterfly lives.

When we leave the butterfly house, we head to Perry's Cave. Hand in hand, we enter with our tour guide. Almost immediately, I realize that my flimsy top isn't warm enough for the cave's temperature. It can't be more than fifty degrees in here.

Kingston takes advantage of the situation by pulling me in front of him and wrapping both his arms around me. It's hard to walk this way, but we take our time so that we can remain intertwined.

We stop at the incredible underground lake. This is my favorite part of the cave, because I find it so fascinating that there is a lake beneath the ground and surrounded by rock. I always, for some reason, think about God making water come out of a rock for the Israelites. Something refreshing out of a dry place.

“This is really nice, Yvonne. I'm glad you brought me here,” Kingston says.

“I'm glad too. I've never been here with anyone. It's been my hideaway for a while.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You're welcome.”

“Even if you don't want forever.”

I snuggle against Kingston's body and sigh. “Let's not think about forever right now. Can't we just enjoy what we're feeling right now?”

Kingston bursts into laughter. “You sound like a man trying to weasel his way out of a relationship.”

“I guess I do, but I'm telling the truth.”

It suddenly becomes darker inside the cave, as if someone switched off the night-light. The tour guide says, “They said there would be a storm this afternoon. I didn't think it would come in this early.”

“My weather report said scattered showers,” I say. “It didn't mention anything about storms.”

“It was updated this morning. They're thinking it might get pretty rough for a few hours and then calm down this evening,” the tour guide replies.

Kingston says, “It's a good thing we did our roller-coaster thing this morning.”

The tour guide says, “Come on, folks. You don't want to be trapped in the cave when it starts raining. It can get pretty chilly in here.”

By the time we leave the cave and get halfway to the seafood restaurant we've chosen, the downpour has started. Once we make it to the restaurant, we settle in and order a late lunch.

“You must be pretty hungry, Yvonne,” Kingston says. “Surf
and
turf?”

I laugh out loud. “Yes, I am. I purged all of my food from earlier.”

“Order anything you want. Dessert, too, if you have room for it. I want you one hundred percent satisfied.”

I narrow my eyes at Kingston and shake my head. It feels like there was some innuendo in that “one hundred percent satisfied” comment. I'm not the kind of woman to trade flirtations of a sexual nature.

“You're getting a little bit too comfortable, aren't you?”

Kingston chuckles. “Don't close up, Yvonne. Don't throw that wall back up. I'm just having a little fun.”

“Mmm-hmm. As long as you remember that it's just fun.”

As if punctuating my thought, the sound of a loud thunder crack rocks the room. This really makes Kingston laugh.

“I guess God is on your side, huh?” he says with a laugh.

I nod. “Yes! Now, pull yourself together.”

Then there is another thunderous sound, and all the lights in the restaurant go out. Seconds later a generator kicks in, but it lights only the emergency exit signs and the baseboards along the floor.

“Can you tell God I apologize for flirting?” Kingston asks. “The power outage is a bit much.”

“You are silly!”

The manager of the restaurant walks out to the center of the dining room and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, our generator power is only enough to keep the food refrigerated. During an outage, we don't have the luxury of being able to prepare your food. We hope the power is restored soon, and we apologize for any inconvenience this might cause.”

I place a hand over my stomach as it grumbles in response to the manager's words. Guess I won't be getting my surf or my turf.

When the rain slows down just a little, Kingston and I take our chances and quickly run back to the ferry loading dock. Maybe we'll be able to get back to the mainland and find something to eat.

“How soon after this rain stops will the ferry go out on the water?” Kingston asks the ferry attendant.

“We won't go out if we're under a tornado warning or a tornado watch,” the young man behind the glass says.

I ask, “Are we under either of those?”

“We're under both.”

“Until when?” Kingston asks.

“Until eleven o'clock tonight. This storm is big and moving slowly. It's not expected to move out of the area until tomorrow.”

“So how are we supposed to get back to our car? Back home?” I ask.

The young man shrugs. “Do you want to see a list of the hotels on the island?”

“I'll take it,” Kingston says.

While we stand inside the dock shelter, the rain and wind kick up again.

“I can drive you guys over to the Put-in-Bay Resort if you want,” the young man says. “Nothing's going to be happening here.”

I look down at my very cute and very drenched outfit. “Is there anywhere we can get a change of clothes?” I ask.

“You can get sweats at the resort gift shop. I'm afraid they won't have undergarments, ma'am.”

Kingston grins as I feel my neck heat up with embarrassment. “Sweats will be fine,” I say.

“What's your name, bro? I'm Kingston, and this is my lady, Yvonne. We sure are pleased to meet you.”

“I'm Chad, sir. Nice to meet you, too.”

“Were you raised in the South, Chad?” I ask.

“Yes, ma'am. I was born and raised in Mobile, Alabama.”

I knew it! He is way too polite to have been raised in Ohio. “And you moved all the way here?” I ask.

“Yes, ma'am. I was in college at Kent State, and then I just decided to stay up here,” Chad says as he shows us to his car—a rusty Ford Escort.

We pile into the car, with Kingston in the backseat and me riding shotgun. Chad has to try a few times to get his not so gently used car to turn over, but once it does, it roars to life with the energy—or at least the noise—of a much larger automobile.

“This weather is pretty bad,” Chad says. “We haven't seen a storm like this in a while.”

I wonder if this is a bad omen for me and Kingston. Maybe God is trying to tell me that we're moving along too quickly.

We pull into the Put-in-Bay Resort's parking lot as another fierce downpour starts. I give up on my hair looking like anything other than a wet fur ball, but Kingston doesn't seem to mind. He's still grinning at me every chance he gets.

When we get into the hotel lobby, it's packed with other stranded vacationers. Everyone looks damp and grumpy.

“We are getting separate rooms, right?” I ask as we get in at the end of the line.

“Of course. Unless—”

“Kingston!” I slap Kingston on the arm.

He chuckles. “I'm joking. Don't you see the smile on my face?”

“Mmm-hmm. It's an impish grin, though.”

This makes Kingston throw his head back and laugh. He's so handsome when he laughs that it makes my breath catch in my throat. I could listen to him laugh all day.

“May I help you?” the desk clerk says when it is finally our turn.

“Yes. Can I have two single rooms for one night? We'll check out in the morning,” Kingston says.

The clerk taps on her computer keyboard. She frowns, clicks some more, and then frowns again. “We don't have any more single rooms. I'm afraid we're booked up.”

“So what kind of rooms do you have?” Kingston asks.

“The honeymoon suite! It's our very best room, and since it's the last minute and all, we'll give it to you for the same rate as a double.”

“Absolutely not,” I say. “Let's go, Kingston.”

“Ma'am, everywhere on the island is booked because of the tornado warning and the ferry not running. But I can call and see if anyone has two rooms if you like.”

“Or . . . we could just take the room. Don't worry, Yvonne. I will be a perfect gentleman.”

Me and Kingston in a honeymoon suite. I don't think that's a good idea at all. I stare blankly at him, trying to communicate my disagreement to him without opening my mouth.

“I promise, Yvonne. I'll behave.”

I'm sure he will, but he's not the one waking up from steamy dreams in a cold sweat. No. The question isn't, will Kingston behave? The question is, will I?

PAM

 

 

 

 

I
t is Sunday morning, so I should be getting ready for church. But instead, I'm sitting on the couch, waiting for my husband and children to come home.

I tried to write last night, but I couldn't focus. I kept thinking about Aria knocking on Troy's hotel room door in the middle of the night, him leaving my children in that room by themselves and going with her back to her room. Dangerous thoughts, I know, but I can't keep myself from having them.

In my mind, Aria's fiancé doesn't exist; only her professed love for Troy is real to me. That's what happens when you leave a writer alone to ponder. I can create all kinds of scenarios in my mind, but for some reason, I don't see a happy ending in the future.

My stomach turns when I hear Troy's car pull into the driveway. I look down at Aria's letter in my lap. The scent of the faded perfume wafts up to my nostrils, giving me another sensory reminder that this is real. I wonder how many times Troy held the letter to his nose and inhaled. One time is too many. Twice is grounds for divorce.

My family barges into the house in a flurry of noise. Everyone is two shades darker from roasting in the summer sun all weekend. They look like perfectly bronzed turkeys on Thanksgiving.

Troy hugs me and kisses me on my neck as the children plop down on the couch next to me. I quickly cover the letter with my hand. I don't want to have this conversation in front of my children.

“Hey, Mommy!” TJ says. “We had Cracker Barrel for breakfast.”

“You did?” I ask, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.

“Pam, are you all right?” Troy asks.

I shake my head, because I'm afraid if I open my mouth to speak, the tears are going to come spilling out. With Troy here finally, and knowing that I'm about to confront him, this is now too real. All weekend there was a chance that all of this would disappear into dreamland, that I'd wake up from this nightmare.

“Kids, y'all go upstairs. We'll go to the movies later. Maybe Mommy will come with us.”

Gretchen and Cicely aren't fooled one bit. They know me well, and they usher TJ out of the room with looks of concern on their faces.

“What's wrong, Pam?” Troy asks once the children are safely up the staircase. “Did something happen when I was gone?”

I hand him the letter without hesitation. If we're going to have this conversation, I want to get it over with. As soon as Troy recognizes the letter, he frowns deeply and sighs.

“I thought I threw that away.”

I swallow a mouthful of saliva. Troy's answer is completely unacceptable. He knows it, and he knows that I know it.

“That's how you want to address this, Troy? Really?”

“It's two years old. She gave this to me right before she got serious with her fiancé.”

“And you didn't think I'd want to know about it?”

“I didn't think you needed to know about it.”

All I can see is red. Troy's cavalier attitude about another woman's declaration of love is out of line.

“I didn't
need
to know that Aria is in love with you?”

“Was. She said she was in love, but she's not anymore.”

“How do you know, huh? She's in my house, around my children, in
your
face.”

“She's getting married. She ain't thinkin' 'bout me,” Troy scoffs.

Something about Troy's tone worries me. Like Aria might not be thinking about him, but he just might be thinking of her. Did Troy turn Aria down because he didn't love her back or because he didn't want to disturb his home? I don't need him to stay with me out of obligation. That is not the marriage I want.

“Are you . . . are you in love with her?” I ask, unsure if I want to hear the answer, but desperately needing to.

“I can't believe you just asked me that.”

“Are you?” I repeat.

Troy jumps up from the couch, and the letter falls to the floor. He paces back and forth angrily. He's angry. I'm angry. His emotion is all wrong. He should be apologetic. He's the one keeping secrets.

Troy stops in front of me. “Your jealousy is going to destroy this marriage.”

“No! Your dishonesty and secrecy are going to destroy this marriage.”

“I was going to tell you, but I knew you would read it this way.” Troy sits down again and takes my hand in his. “There is nothing to worry about. I don't feel anything for her.”

Troy plants little kisses all over my face. Is this supposed to make my hurt and jealousy disappear? He's trying to kiss this away like I do one of TJ's boo-boos. But this isn't a scratch on my knee. This wound is deep. It's as if Troy's taken a dagger to my chest and touched my heart with the tip of it. This won't go away easily, but I know how to start the healing process.

“I'm glad you don't feel anything for her, because then it won't hurt at all for you to find another artist,” I say.

I feel Troy pull away from me. The quickness of his gesture communicates shock, but I can't, for the life of me, understand why he'd be surprised.

“What do you mean, find another artist?”

“You know what I mean. Aria's time is up. She's getting old, anyway. It's time for you to discover a new star.”

Troy shakes his head, then drops it down and holds his face in his hands. “We are right on the cusp, Pam. You can't ask me to do this. The last time we had a big break for Aria, you'd found out you were pregnant with TJ.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“It shows that you always put a monkey wrench in the plans when it comes to Aria. I think you've been jealous of her since she started, even before she decided to develop a crush on me.”

“What I read in that letter was not a crush. That was passion. I know the difference, and so does Aria.”

Troy sighs again. Why does he keep sighing? Is he sick of this conversation? I can keep having this conversation all night, until he agrees with what I'm saying.

I clear my throat and say, “I'm not asking, Troy. I'm telling you. I'm pulling the wife card.”

“What wife card? There is no wife card. This is my dream we're talking about, Pam.”

I remember when it used to be
our
dream. I have no idea when Troy got so possessive about the music.

“So are you saying that you're not going to find a new artist?”

Troy shakes his head. “That's not what I'm saying. If you want to come to our music sessions to make yourself feel more comfortable, then do it.”

“I won't feel more comfortable until Aria is nowhere near my family.”

Troy stares at me and then shakes his head. “I'm not letting her go, Pam. I hate that you insist on being a drama queen on this. I hope you come to your senses.”

“Just answer one question, Troy.”

“Don't ask me anything, Pam.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

Troy inhales and exhales slowly but says nothing. Why is it taking him this long to answer me?

“Pam . . .”

“Tell me the truth, Troy, or so help me God, I'm going to leave you this instant!”

“One time. Years ago, before TJ was born. It was only once, Pam.”

Something inside me shatters.

“I wish you hadn't asked,” Troy says. “It didn't mean anything to me.”

“You know what it means to me? It means you're a liar,” I say. “You lie, you lie, you lie! And she came into my home after sleeping with my husband, as if she would ever be welcome under my roof. That slut is not welcome here! If you bring her here, I don't know what I'll do.”

My body literally quakes with a combination of anger, pain, and shock. Troy tries to hug me, and I want more than anything to be able to accept his touch. But it is tainted now.

“Don't touch me!” I shout. “You keep away from me!”

“I love you and the kids. I. Don't. Want. Her. She is nothing but a meal ticket. The only reason I still deal with her is because she's going to make
us
rich.”

Before I can respond, Troy exits the room and leaves me sitting on the couch. I glance at the letter on the floor, and I feel my fury escalate. I scramble off the couch on my hands and knees and snatch the letter up into a balled fist.

I take my cell phone out of my pocket and dial Taylor's number. She answers on the first ring. “Taylor, c-can I stay with you for a couple of days?”

“Pam, what's wrong? Did Troy do something to you?”

“No, but I can't stay in this house. I might do something to him.”

“You showed him the letter,” Taylor says.

“Yeah. And he admitted to sleeping with her before TJ was born.”

Taylor pauses for a long moment. “Oh my God. Stay right where you are. I'm coming to get you.”

“Okay,” I say in a tiny shaking voice.

“Don't hang up the phone, okay? Just leave it on while I drive over. I'm leaving right now.”

I listen to Taylor pray victory over my marriage. I hear her plead the blood over my mind and heart. I only feel numb.

“Mommy, what's wrong?” It's Cicely.

I don't want her to see me like this. “Baby, go on back upstairs.”

“But, Mommy . . .”

“I said
go!
”

She scampers out of the room, and my sobs take over. How could Troy do this to our family? Why did he tell me the truth? Why did he pick today to stop lying?

Why didn't he take it to his grave?

I will never, ever believe that it was only one time. I remember when my intuition first alerted me to Aria. I can recall the day, the hour, the very moment even, when I knew she had designs on my man. I remember walking into Troy's studio and seeing her sitting on his desk like the hood ornament on a luxury car.

I let everyone tell me what a good, good man Troy was, and how much he loved me. I pushed every little doubt and every little fear out of my mind. Told myself that Troy would drink, he might even smoke marijuana, but he would never, ever give himself away to another woman.

Even then, I knew. I
knew!

Taylor says, “Pam, honey, I'm outside your house. You can come on out.”

I look down at what I'm wearing. A nightgown with a robe and slippers. And I need my purse. I didn't think this escape through really well.

“I need you to come in, Taylor. Please, come in.”

I drag myself to my feet and go to the front door to open it. Taylor runs up the front stairs and catches me in her arms as I start to crumble again. It seems that my legs just don't want to hold me right now.

Taylor walks me over to the living room couch and helps me sit.

“Troy!” she yells.

Troy appears at the top of the stairs. “I wondered if it would be you or Yvonne.”

“Can you please pack her a bag?”

“Where's she going?” Troy scoffs. “She's got three children to look after.”

Taylor narrows her eyes at Troy. “Don't do that. Don't. Let her have some space.”

Troy laughs out loud. “And you should be the one she runs to? 'Cause you just really know how a married woman feels when her man steps out on her, huh?”

“Yeah, actually, I do. I know too well the damage my sin caused. So can you please get her a bag?”

“She can get it herself.”

Troy walks away from the stairs and slams the door at the end of the hall. That is his entertainment room—his man cave. I guess he's letting me know that I can get what I need from our bedroom in peace.

I look up at Taylor. “I'll get the bag. Do you think I should bring the kids with me?”

She shakes her head. “No, ma'am. You are gonna leave them crumb snatchers right here with their daddy. He doesn't have a job.”

My first thought is to defend Troy. He does have a job—music is his job. But I don't open my mouth. He doesn't deserve my defense.

“You know what, I think I might need my car while I'm at your house,” I say. “Can you just follow me?”

“Do you think you'll be okay to drive?” Taylor asks.

I nod as I ascend the stairs. When I get to the top of the stairs, Troy opens the door to his man cave. “Pam, please don't leave. We can get past this.”

I give him an unblinking stare, take in everything I love about the way he looks. His strong, broad chest and, almost, six-pack. His arms. The warmth in his eyes. Then I imagine Aria loving the same things.

“I really wish you hadn't told me.”

“I'm telling you the truth. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

“Too many years have gone by since I first asked you about Aria. I don't know if I can get past this.”

“So you're leaving your family.”

“If I do leave for good, my children come with me.”

“If you leave.”

I nod slightly. “I need some time. But don't bring that home wrecker in my house while I'm gone.”

“We've already got her vocals done for this project. I won't need her to come here.”

I shake my head. He still has no intentions of dropping her as an artist, even with me packing my things to leave.

“Don't
ever
bring her here.”

Troy sighs and looks at the floor. “I can't promise you that.”

I spin on one heel and storm into our bedroom. The bed we share is neatly made, with Troy's stack of pillows on his side. I shudder at the thought that I may never share this bed with Troy again.