Keeping Secrets & Telling Lies (25 page)

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Authors: Trice Hickman

BOOK: Keeping Secrets & Telling Lies
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If I Don't Seem Myself ...
The next morning Ted rose early, as usual, but he felt as though he was recovering from a hangover. His head was pounding, and his limbs were heavy, like they had been submerged in quicksand. He didn't remember falling asleep the night before, but he'd obviously been out cold, because he awoke to find that Victoria had thrown a light blanket over him as he slept. He looked over at her and sighed, wondering how long he could keep up his stories.
After a long shower and a quick shave, he dressed and was about to head out the door when Victoria stirred. She looked at the alarm clock and yawned. Five thirty was way too early for her to do anything except make an attempt to wipe the sleep from her eyes.
“Good morning,” Ted whispered, walking over to give her a quick kiss on the forehead.
“How're you feeling?” she asked, still groggy and not fully awake.
“Good enough to start a new day.”
“It's so early. You must have a busy one.”
Ted bit his tongue, telling her another half-truth. “Yes, I have an urgent early morning meeting. That's part of the reason I came back a day early.”
Victoria nodded her head as she let another small yawn escape her mouth. Even though the room was still dark, the light beaming in from the hallway shone brightly enough for her to see Ted. He looked dapper, as usual, sporting a custom-made navy blue suit like an
Esquire
centerfold model. Physically, he looked like his old self: fresh, clean-shaven face, neatly combed hair, and stylishly handsome good looks. But there was something off-kilter in his eyes. “Are you sure you're okay?” she asked.
Ted felt like he was going to scream if Victoria questioned him again. He knew she was simply concerned, and that her love for him was the reason for her constant worry. But it was starting to wear on him, despite her good intentions. The more she asked how he was feeling and if anything was wrong, the worse he felt.
He had to lie and pretend that all was well until he could figure out how he was going to live his life knowing the truth. But he also knew that he needed to make a compelling case to his wife, convincing her that he was fine, because the last thing he wanted to do was cause her any further distress or, worse yet, feed her growing curiosity.
“V, I know you're worried about me, but I'm okay.This has been a really trying time, and I'm facing challenges that I've never dealt with before. So if I don't seem myself, it's because I'm not. But I'm dealing with it, and I know that everything is going to be all right.” Ted wanted his words to comfort and reassure Victoria, because he could see her doubts. “Knowing that you and Alexandria are by my side every step of the way is what's going to pull me through.” He reached for her hand and kissed it gently.
Victoria looked into her husband's eyes. “I love you, Ted.”
“I love you, too, V.”
They held on to each other's words, hoping their love was enough to overcome their individual deceits.
A New Awareness ...
After giving Victoria one last kiss, Ted left to start his day. He maneuvered his car down the deserted early morning streets and across town to his intended destination. He looked at his watch as he pulled up to the back entrance of a small, unassuming brick building. He parked beside the lone vehicle, which occupied one of the reserved spaces. “Thank God for small favors,” he whispered to himself as he dialed his cell phone. “I'm here.”
He climbed out of his car, taking large steps that led him up to a set of double-paned glass doors. A minute later a short, stout woman opened the back door and let him in. “Good morning,Ted. How are you?” Claire Langston, the bank president, greeted with a cheerful smile.
Ted appreciated the fact that she was pleasant, even though he was sure she knew that whatever business he'd come to do must be unscrupulous, especially since it necessitated a predawn meeting to ensure his privacy. Looking at Claire in her neatly tailored Brooks Brothers skirt and jacket, Ted could see that she was the kind of no-nonsense person who normally followed strict protocol. But she'd made an exception for him because his old friend Chip Langston, who happened to be her favorite and dearest brother, had called in the favor.
“Thank you for making this special accommodation. I greatly appreciate it,” Ted told her.
Claire nodded, then gave him a quick handshake. “Any friend of my brother's is a friend of mine.”
Ted followed her into the bank and down the hall as she led him to a small conference room. He looked at the medium-sized black metal box and the small stack of papers that sat beside it.
“Just fill out the forms, put the necessary contents in the box, and let me know when you're finished,” Claire told him before leaving the room.
Ted took a deep breath and thought about what he was getting ready to do, which was, ironically, to repeat his mother's pattern. Nearly twenty minutes later he found himself looking through the faded papers for a fifth time, straining his eyes behind the lenses of his smartly framed reading glasses. He scrutinized every line of each document, as if he were seeing it for the first time.
He held his mother's birth certificate in front of him and rubbed his forehead. According to the age-worn document, Carolyn Thornton had been born Carol Lynn Milleux. Her mother was listed as Sally May Turner, age nineteen, and her father as Jean Paul Milleux, age fifty. But what stuck out most in Ted's mind, and what still held him in a state of disbelief, was not the fact that his mother had been born in Mississippi, and not in Louisiana, as he had always believed and as the certificate plainly stated, or that there was a significant age difference between her birth parents. What made his heart race and his head pound was that Jean Paul Milleux was white and Sally May Turner was black ... or Negro, as the birth certificate read, and so was little Carol Lynn.
Along with Carolyn's birth certificate were other documents that stood as evidence that she was born of a union between a young black woman and an older white man. Ted held a near-pristine black-and-white photograph of a young black woman dressed in fine clothing, holding a white baby in her arms.The inscription on the back read:
Sally May, nineteen years old, and daughter, Carol Lynn, six months old.
He looked at the woman who was his grandmother, and although she had a young, graceful face, her eyes were layered with what looked like years of hardship and sadness. But she cradled her baby as if she was her most prized possession, hugging her close to her body.
The more he read, the more Ted felt as though he was having an out-of-body experience, and none of it seemed any more real to him now than it had when he first made the discovery two weeks ago. He picked up a slightly tattered document from the Mississippi state foster care system, listing Carol Lynn Milleux as a mixed-race child who had been orphaned at age five, when her mother developed a fatal infection after battling a month-long bout of pneumonia.
Ted looked back at the picture of a grandmother he never knew, and the mother he now realized he'd barely known, and all he could do was wonder.
He ran his fingers over the edges of the two additional photographs that lay in front of him, showing little Carol Lynn with two different black families. In one photo she appeared to be a little older than Alexandria was now. No one in the picture was smiling, and little Carol Lynn looked especially subdued. In the photo with the second family, she was clearly a pubescent young girl, probably twelve years old. She was already showing her exquisite beauty, even if it was through sad-looking eyes. Ted noticed that she carried the same burdened look on her face that her mother had borne. She was holding hands with a much shorter, but bright-eyed young girl, who he could see was none other than Hattie McPherson. In both pictures, Carol Lynn stuck out as the lone white face in a sea of deep brown ones.
Ted pushed the pictures to the side of the small conference table and picked up the long handwritten letter his mother had penned, pouring out her confession. Even though he had read every line nearly a hundred times over the last two weeks, it still seemed like a dream.
Dearest Theodore,
I am sorry that the truth had to come to you on paper, through my death, rather than from my own lips. But, dear son, please know that I kept who I was from you because I wanted to protect you from the ugliness of this world. I did what I thought was best for my family.
My mother was a young domestic who worked for the family of a prominent businessman who had his sights set on a position in the Louisiana state legislature. She lived on the property with the family, but once she became pregnant by her employer, through a relationship that was not of her own choosing, the lady of the house put her out with only the clothes on her back. Her family shunned her for bringing shame on them by carrying an illegitimate child. She was sent to Jackson, Mississippi, to live with distant relatives, and that is where I was born.
Although she died when I was a small girl, I have fond memories of my mother, and I can still see her smile when I close my eyes.You remind me so much of her. Please believe me when I say it was hard for my mother, raising a mixed-race child, especially since I didn't look colored, or black, as they say now. I was as white as snow, and it caused problems for her. She was a young, unmarried, uneducated black woman with an illegitimate baby by a white man, so opportunities were not plentiful. She scratched together a small living for us by cleaning houses and taking in laundry. But after she became ill and then died, I was all alone.
With no relatives willing to take me in, I was placed in the state foster care system. Although I looked white, black blood was in my veins, and no white family would take me once they were made aware of my background. I was placed with several black families, who took me in but treated me harshly. I never quite fit in, and my life was a living torment.
Thank God for Hattie McPherson. She was my salvation. I met Hattie when we were in second grade. While the other children in our segregated school teased me because I was different and accused me of thinking I was better than they were because of my white skin, Hattie embraced me like a sister. She was there for me through the cruelty and mistreatment I experienced. But even with Hattie's love and friendship, the weight of being mixed race in a small town in the rural South was just too much. One is a lonely number.
I had heard about fair-skinned blacks who were light enough to pass. I knew that if I left Jackson and went to a city where no one knew my background, I could live as a white woman and have a better life. So that's what I decided to do. When I turned sixteen, I left Mississippi and never looked back. I moved to Boston, changed my name, lied about my age, got accepted into Wellesley on a scholarship, and started a new life.
By the time I met your father, I had managed to graduate from college and had been living as a white woman for over six years. I loved him so much, too much to continue lying to him. I knew he deserved the truth, especially considering the reputation his last name carried. So I took a chance and told him. To my surprise, he still wanted me to be his wife. The only thing I asked was that he agree to keep my secret, which he did. Your father even helped me get official-looking documents and craft a better story than the one I had made up. So we settled here in Boston, started our life together, and raised our family.
The only other person who knew our secret was Hattie. She and I never lost contact over the years. She is one of the best people I know and was a genuine and trusted friend, as I am sure you will soon discover.
You are probably asking yourself why I am telling you this now, if at all. Honestly, I planned to carry my secret to my grave, but from the moment Victoria became your wife, I knew that I couldn't. You needed to know for reasons that neither Lilly nor Charlie will ever struggle with.
I know that over the years Victoria felt as though I did not care for her, but I want you to know that was never the case, and in fact, it was just the opposite. I always liked her very much. She is a good mother to Alexandria, a good wife to you, and a smart and kind young woman. Most of all, I have seen with my own eyes how much she loves you. But I had to keep my distance from her. I couldn't allow myself to get close to her or her family. As I said, she is a smart young woman, and very inquisitive. She asks many questions.
Theodore, this information is for you and you alone. What you choose to do with it will be your decision. But if you want to learn more about my life, about who I was, contact my friend Hattie McPherson in Jackson, Mississippi, and she will lead you to the answers.
 
With All My Love,
Your Mother
Ted shook his head, remembering something his mother had said when he first told her that he was in love with Victoria. “It's hard for blacks and whites when they decide to intermingle. . . to marry. I've seen things in my day. The road you'll travel won't be an easy one, not even in today's time,” Carolyn had said. Now he knew that she'd been speaking from direct experience.
He tucked the letter back in between the pictures and other documents he'd been keeping in his attaché. For the time being, they would find a secure resting place within the safe-deposit box in front of him.
After Ted completed the paperwork and left the bank, he headed to his office, with thoughts of Victoria heavy on his mind. He could feel in his bones that something was slipping away between them. Normally, after returning home from a trip, especially if they were lucky enough to have the house to themselves, they would make love that very night. But when he returned home yesterday, they had barely kissed. When she had asked him questions about his visit to Boston, it had taken the wind out of his sails. His guilt and stress over lying to her had left him so deflated that instead of joining her for a pleasure-filled bubble bath, as he had wanted, he fell into a deep sleep, not waking until early the next morning.
He felt awful about the recent decisions he had made, all the lies he had told, and the secret he was keeping. Even though there were certain things he didn't discuss with Victoria and never planned to, like the complex and often ruthless business deals he crafted at ViaTech, as well as while pursuing some of his entrepreneurial ventures outside the company, this was a situation that he knew he needed to share with her. Their relationship had been built on trust, and now he was tearing down the very fabric of what held them together.
But telling Victoria the truth was more difficult than it seemed. He didn't know how or even where to begin, because he would have to explain why he hadn't told her from the beginning, and why he'd found it necessary to continually lie, even after she'd questioned him several times.
He wanted to tell her that he'd kept his mother's secret from her because of the unbelievable shock that still seemed to grip him. But deep down, he knew it was because he had yet to reconcile the jarring reality of who he really was. And deeper still, he'd have to admit a very sobering truth—that he wasn't ready to acknowledge the black blood running through his veins.
What kind of awful hypocrite does that make me?
he asked himself. Victoria had often told him that he'd never know what it felt like to be black, and now that he had the opportunity, he wasn't sure that he wanted to live the experience.
He thought about the sometimes heated words that he and Victoria had exchanged over the years, whenever they approached the subject of race. He shook his head, thinking about the irony of the situation. The tension they had gone through over race and raising a biracial child had all been a waste of time, because in essence, he and Victoria were both black.
But after living life as a white man since the day he was born, Ted didn't know any other way to think of himself, and he had never even pondered the issue of racial identity until he met Victoria. But for the last two weeks, race had been the one thing he couldn't get out of his mind.
When he looked in the mirror, he saw himself with a new awareness. He'd begun to study his features more closely. He knew that his strong jawline; straight, angular nose; and piercing blue eyes were imprints that his father had passed on to him. But when he peered deeper, he noticed something he had never paid much attention to: his smooth, wrinkle-free skin had a slight olive-colored undertone that always tanned to a beautiful toasted perfection during the summer. He thought about how all his life he had heard people say with envy, “I'd kill for a tan like yours.” And he thought about the off-hand comment he had overheard Victoria's cousin Patsy make last Christmas. “Girl, Ted's aging really well for a white man. There's hardly a wrinkle on his face. He's smooth, and he's got rhythm. You sure he's not an undercover brotha?” she had teased.

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