Grown Folks Business (6 page)

“Come by my office when you’re done.”

Sheridan was sure all she’d want to do was crawl into her bed. But she said, “Okay,” and clicked off the phone. She took a deep breath before she stepped from her car.

Pushing back her shoulders, she strolled toward the medical building as if she weren’t terrified. She marched to the receptionist’s desk as if a cloak of confidence were wrapped around her.

The receptionist was on the telephone, and she smiled, her eyes asking Sheridan if she could please wait. Sheridan smiled back as if she had nothing but time.

But inside, Sheridan’s heart wept.
Lord, please hear my cry. This is in your hands. You know what I need. You know what my children need. I worship you, I praise you, I thank you for your favor and I pray for your blessings…

“Good morning, Mrs. Hart,” the receptionist said, stopping her prayer. “You’re a bit early, right?”

Sheridan nodded, because she couldn’t speak.

“That’s okay. You’re blessed today.”

“What?” She spoke louder than she expected. But she had just prayed for blessings.

“Dr. Hong’s first appointment canceled, so I’ll be able to get you in and out.”

Sheridan nodded again. This was a blessing because that was exactly what she wanted. To get in. To get out. To get this over with.

H
eaven wept.

The rain poured from the sky in thick sheets that blocked any view of Washington Boulevard from Kamora’s Marina del Rey office suite. It had been pouring from the moment Sheridan left the doctor’s office and slipped inside her car. The sudden storm caught everyone in the city by surprise—everyone except for Sheridan. She knew these were God’s tears for her.

The downpour had made Sheridan call Kamora. “It’s raining,” she had moaned. “I want to go home.”
And back to bed.

But her friend would not be denied. “You owe me, Sheridan. I’ve been worried about you for days.”

Sheridan begrudgingly gave in, knowing Kamora would not give up. Once she arrived, she’d been led into Kamora’s office by her assistant with the explanation that Kamora was in a meeting.

Sheridan didn’t think it was possible, but the rain poured from heaven harder. And the deluge of the sky’s water took her back to another place, another time—the day seventeen years ago.

It was a day like today. A day when everyone who relished the L.A. life scratched their heads and said, “It never rains in Southern California.” But on the day that she and Quentin had chosen to legally promise to love each other until the end of time, the sky had opened and released its water with such fury, Sheridan was sure God was telling her something.

She could imagine God’s words, not unlike the ones her mother and father and brother had uttered. It had been a battle from the moment she and Quentin had announced their intention to marry.

“You’re too young,” her father had protested. “You should at least wait until you graduate from college.”

“And why do you want to get married at the end of this month? Why are you rushing it?” was her mother’s contribution to the heated argument. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Neither had voiced what she was sure they both wondered. But while her parents maintained their decorum, her brother had not.

“You’re getting married?” her eighteen-year-old brother had asked incredulously. “Why? Are you pregnant?”

The rolling of her eyes was her only answer, but she’d wanted to shout to everyone that she hadn’t done a darn thing to get pregnant, although that had not been her will. It had been God’s…and Quentin’s.

“We should wait until we’re married,” Quentin had said the very first time their passion took them to the brink. “That’s God’s plan.”

God and His plan occupied no part of Sheridan’s mind when Quentin pressed his lips (and other parts of his body) against her. But no matter what she said, no matter what she did, Quentin never wavered.

“This is God’s plan,” he said, as if he’d been born with a triple dosage of willpower.

Sheridan had never understood Quentin. Most of her girlfriends had been having sex since high school. Although she hadn’t been ready then, now, she was a nineteen-, almost twenty-year-old college student.

She was ready, but Quentin was not willing.

So when Quentin had taken her to breakfast for what she thought was a normal date and asked her to marry him, she’d wanted to grab his hand and sprint to City Hall. She loved him and couldn’t wait to make love to him. She had no doubt they were made to be married to each other. No doubt at all—until everyone else voiced theirs.

But no one’s spoken fears had stopped them, and on that day seventeen years ago, Sheridan and Quentin had taken the step to prove the world wrong.

By the end of their first year of marriage, it was clear that they’d known best. Although the two struggled to juggle school schedules and part-time jobs, and to pay bills that at times were overwhelming, still, they were delirious with happiness and much better together than apart. Five years into their marriage, Quentin was a licensed doctor and Sheridan was thrilled to be his wife and the stay-at-home mother of four-year-old Christopher.

“We were meant to be, Quentin,” Sheridan whispered, as she watched the rain. “What happened?”

“Hey, girl,” Kamora said, bolting into the office.

Sheridan wiped away the tears she hadn’t, until that moment, realized were there. By the time she turned to Kamora, a plastic smile spread across her face.

Kamora hugged her friend. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you too.”

Kamora stepped back, stared at Sheridan, then waved her hand in the air. “Stop lying.”

Sheridan chuckled. “No, really. I’m glad you talked me into having lunch with you.” She lifted her purse as Kamora slipped into her orange leather jacket.

“Who said we were having lunch?” Kamora gathered her hair into a ponytail and wrapped a band around it. “I never mentioned food.” She hooked her arm through Sheridan’s and led her across the floor of her spacious office. “We’re going to have a lot more fun than just throwing down some catfish and greens. We’re going shopping.”

Sheridan groaned. “Kamora, I’m not in the mood. It’s raining.”

“So? We’re going to take one of my cars.”

“I don’t like to shop,” Sheridan whined, thinking of all the times her friend had dragged her through stores looking for that perfect outfit for that perfect date with that perfect man.

“And you think I care about what you like?” Kamora joked.

“I think you’re being a bit insensitive considering what I’m going through.”

“That’s exactly why we’re going. Think about it. There are a lot of ways to get back at Quentin—”

Sheridan’s mind rushed back to last night.
“I have to give this a chance,”
was what Quentin had said.

Kamora continued, “—and we’ll think about all the ways to really give it to him later. But for now, we’re going to spend your husband’s money.”

“I never exposed you to anything, Sheridan.”

Kamora said, “Think about it. Those designer clothes waiting with your name on them. And then imagine the look on Quentin’s face when he gets the bill.” Kamora giggled.

“The things that happened between me and Jett…”

“Where are we going?”

“That’s my girl.” They stepped into the elevator. “I was thinking about Rodeo Drive. Only the best for Dr. Hart’s wife. After all, that’s where
he
shops.”

When they exited the elevator, one of the sleek black town cars from Kamora’s limousine company, Ride and Shine, was waiting for them. Before they took two steps toward the car, the driver’s door opened and a Shemar Moore look-alike jumped out. Sheridan’s eyebrows rose at the way the young man grinned at his boss and the way her friend beamed back.

“Good morning, Ms. Johnson.” Then the driver glanced at Sheridan. “Ma’am.” He tipped the hat Kamora had all of her drivers wear and then pulled the door open.

“When did you get the new guy?” Sheridan whispered, glad to have something to take her mind away from Quentin.

Kamora’s smile was still wide. “Jackson?” She said his name as if it were a synonym for
heaven.
“I hired him a week ago.” She sighed. “But there’s been a small problem.” Kamora pressed the button to close the privacy window. Still she whispered, “No matter what I do, I haven’t been able to get him to dip his pen in my inkwell.”

Sheridan slapped Kamora’s leg, but she couldn’t hold back her giggles. At least for a few moments, she could live in Kamora’s world.

Sheridan said, “I thought you had stopped dating your employees. You said it was trouble.”

Kamora nodded. “But then along came Jackson.” She peered through the glass. “Look at him; even you have to admit that Jackson could make your temperature rise a degree or two.”

Sheridan pursed her lips. “Excuse me if I don’t share your enthusiasm for men right now.”

Kamora took Sheridan’s hand, her playful tone gone. “Girl, I really want you to be okay.”

Memories returned. Of the good and the bad.

Sheridan nodded because she knew she couldn’t utter a word without crying. She had never been filled with such anger, but still, sadness lingered.

Kamora asked, “How did it go this morning?”

Sheridan pulled back the image and shivered as she remembered the way Dr. Hong had smiled and politely not asked why she wanted an AIDS test. As the technician drew blood from her left arm, Dr. Hong had stood on the right and chatted about the weather. Three tubes of her life’s liquid were drained, then a cotton swab was placed in the crook of her elbow before she was told the results would be available on Monday. And then she was dismissed. She was in and out, just like the receptionist had promised.

She shrugged, bringing herself back to the present. “It was just a blood test.” She paused. “But I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s go shopping.” It was happiness that she drew on her face, but only sorrow was sketched on her heart.

Sheridan leaned back into the soft leather seat of Kamora’s limousine. She stayed that way, even when Kamora took her hand and squeezed it, wordlessly telling her that she loved her and that life would be all right.

Sheridan wanted to believe that, but first, she had to live through the AIDS test results. And she wouldn’t know that outcome until Monday.

Sheridan stared at the clothes laid out on her bed: the white satin blouses, the pearl silk pants, the ecru linen suit, the eggshell knit dress, the cream suede ankle-length coat. She sank into the chair, and her glance moved to the bags torn open and tossed across the floor: Versace, Prada, Chanel. It looked like the back room of a Paris show during Fashion Week.
What have I done?
she wondered as she kept her eyes away from the receipts stacked on the nightstand. She couldn’t bring herself to add up all she’d spent.

I’m going to take this stuff back,
she thought. She’d had her fun, running rampant through the stores with the platinum card she hardly ever used.

The slam of the front door interrupted her guilty thoughts, and she jumped up. She looked at the clock—only a bit after five. Neither of the children were supposed to be home yet. And she had not heard the normal shouts that announced her children’s arrival.

She rushed into the hallway and called out. When no one answered, she frowned. She tiptoed down the stairs, her heart pounding with each step. She moved slowly until she stood at the bottom. “Hello.” No answer. But then she thought,
How stupid is this? Greeting an intruder.

She continued toward the front door.

“Mom.”

She whipped around, her hand over her chest. “Chris, didn’t you hear me call you?”

His eyes bored into her. “I told everyone in school today to call me Christopher. The teachers said that was okay.”

His words reminded her of his demand this morning, and his sorrow made her forget the terror she’d felt. But even though hours had passed, she still didn’t have words to comfort him.

Sheridan hugged her son, the way she always did when he came home. But she kept silent, not posing the question she asked every day. She already knew how his day was. She could tell by the way he stood in place, stiff, with his leather backpack still hanging from his shoulder and his hands stuffed inside his pockets.

“Christopher,” she said his name slowly. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Dad decided it for us.”

“But I want you to understand this has nothing to do with you.”

“How you can say that, Mom? He’s leaving me and Tori and you.” When Christopher saw the look on his mother’s face, his tone softened. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ve accepted the fact that I don’t have a father anymore.”

So much of her wanted to agree with her son. But it was only what she wanted for Christopher that made her say, “Your father loves you.”

“How can he love me and a man at the same time?”

Sheridan pressed her lips together and wondered how many times she’d asked the same question.

“Anyway, Mom, I’m real sure about the way I feel. But you don’t have to worry.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “If Dad doesn’t want to be the man of the house, then I’ll take over.”

She wanted to tell him he was a man, but a young man. There was no need for him to take on responsibility he wasn’t ready to carry. She would handle their home. She would handle him. But all that came from her lips was “Christopher…,” before he turned and barged up the stairs.

“Mom, I really don’t feel like talking about this anymore.”

“Christopher.”

“I have a lot of homework,” he yelled from the top landing.

Then he was out of her sight. And she was left standing in the middle of the hallway with more to say but without a son to listen. She had learned long ago that there was nothing inside of her that could force a teenage boy to communicate when he didn’t want to.

She sighed.
Lord, you said you would never leave me,
she began the prayer in her mind.
And if there was ever a time that I needed to believe this, it’s now. Please help me. Give me the words to say to these children. To comfort them and to help them find peace.