Let Me Hold You (6 page)

Chapter 6

T
ake one step forward and six steps back. That was exactly how Alana felt ever since the night of the anniversary party. She’d opened her soul to Roland because that’s what he’d said he wanted. He wanted her to talk, and she’d talked. He wanted to get to know her better, to know what made her tick, to let her know she wasn’t alone anymore. But after she’d poured out the things she’d been keeping inside her for so long, he’d bolted.

She’d asked him to stay the night with her and he’d run like he’d stolen something. Her face still got hot every time she thought about how embarrassing it was to offer herself up to him like that only to get turned down flat.

And she thought about it fairly often because it was a big thing to her, monumental, as a matter of fact. She spent her days trying to hide her anger and disappointment, and her nights staying awake. Sleep was just out of the question. It might have been her insomnia but she knew it wasn’t; it was because she was afraid of what might come to her in her dreams. The only up side was the fact that she was getting a lot of painting done.

Every night she’d go into the studio and paint until the sun came up and it was time to get ready to go to work. Yes, she was going through the motions of living, but she’d had plenty of practice doing that. Her painting had become her lifeline because it was the only way she could stop thinking about the night that Roland had left her flat.

During the day, the horrible scene was always right there, right under the surface of whatever she was doing. When she was at Custom Classics she was pleasant and professional as always and no one could sense that anything was amiss, that is except for Tolerance.

Tollie was even more intuitive than Adrienne and she could sense a big change in her friend. Alana knew that Tollie was trying to find out what was on her mind and she also knew it would only be a matter of time before she pried it out of her. Sometimes she was convinced that Tollie was a witch.

Sure enough, Tollie came into her office with a determined look on her face. “I’m taking you to lunch and we’re going to talk because there’s something on your mind and it’s making you crazy. C’mon, let’s go.”

As if she had no power over her own feet, Alana got her coat and purse and within minutes they were seated in a back booth at their favorite little sandwich shop. Tollie had already called in their orders which appeared with big glasses of sweet tea. Once their waiter left the table, Tollie leaned over and said, “Talk.”

When Alana hesitated, Tollie reached over and took her hand. “Alana, you look like you haven’t slept in three days. You haven’t been eating right, either, I can tell. A chubby chick always knows when her skinny friend has lost weight she can’t spare and your clothes are starting to hang on you. Your hair has lost its sheen and you have Lipton-sized bags under your eyes. I haven’t seen you look like this since Sam passed away.”

It was a sign of how far gone Alana was; the fact that her expression didn’t change when Tollie used Sam’s name. It was like an unspoken agreement among her friends and relatives not to talk about Sam because it always seemed to make Alana feel bad. Tollie pushed her advantage by squeezing Alana’s hand.

“Alana, I can’t let you slip back into the abyss. You can’t let whatever is bothering you make you lose yourself again. Talk to me, girl. And do it now, people are looking at us like you’re breaking up with me or something.”

Alana actually managed a laugh at that remark and she took her hand back. She took a sip of her tea and a small bite of her Cobb salad, and then she began talking. She told Tollie about the party and how Roland brought her home and urged her to unburden herself. She held back none of the details, right up until the point where she’d asked him to stay and he’d left abruptly.

Tollie looked puzzled. “So you two were kissing and getting hot and bothered and then he just turned and ran after you asked him to stay?”

“Pretty much,” Alana said grumpily.

“I need to know precisely what happened,” Tollie pressed. “What exactly went on from the time you said ‘stay with me’ until the moment he put his hand on the doorknob to leave?”

Alana stabbed a piece of avocado with her fork and put it in her mouth before answering. “We kissed some more and he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. He put me on the bed and he was about to pull off his sweater and all of a sudden he stopped. He sat down on the bed and told me it was too soon for us and that I needed to be sure that this is what I wanted. And then he left.” She shrugged to indicate it was of no importance but Tollie knew better.

“Alana, is that giant portrait you painted of Sam still hanging over your bed?”

“Yes, of course it is.”

“And all those photos and drawings of him still all over the walls?”

“Yes, they are. Ever since I moved into the house, they’ve been there.”

“Sweetie, no matter how much a man cares for you, no matter how much he loves you, he’s not gonna be able to make love to you in a shrine and that’s what your bedroom is. You can’t blame him for losing the urge to merge, honey. Once he saw that elaborate tribute to your late husband, he got out of the mood when he realized that you’re still in love with Sam.”

Alana immediately got defensive. “I can have anything I want in my bedroom,” she snapped. “And of course I still love Sam. He was my husband, my life! Am I just supposed to stop loving him because some low-down bastard killed him?”

Tollie’s face softened. “Honey baby, of course you still love him. You’ll always have love for him. But to still be in love with him is something else. That means there’s no room for someone else in your heart or in your life and from what I’ve seen of Roland, he’s not one to share. That man has real feelings for you, Alana. He wants you to share your life with him and that’s going to mean giving up the life you had with Sam. It’s time for you to start living on your own.”

Alana looked stunned at her friend’s words. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing since the minute I woke up and was told my husband was dead and I’d lost our baby,” she said bitterly.

“You’ve been living, but it’s not your life, not completely. The only reason you moved into your house was because that management company sold your apartment complex and turned it into a senior living facility. If it wasn’t for that you’d still be living there with everything in place the way it was when you lived with Sam.

“Custom Classics is a very nice business and you’ve done very well with it, but it wasn’t your chosen career. You had a totally different career mapped out for yourself and you abandoned it completely after Sam died. You can’t tell me that the way you’re living would make Sam happy. He’d want you to move on and be happy and fulfilled. I believe that from the bottom of my heart, I really do. I want you to be happy, too. And I also believe that Roland can make you happy. That is if you let him.”

“I doubt that I’ll be seeing him again, at least not on a personal basis.”

“You haven’t heard from him at all? I find that hard to believe.”

“I haven’t talked to him; I didn’t say that he hadn’t called me. I just haven’t called him back or taken his calls. He even sent me tulips,” she admitted.

“How long has it been since you had actual face time with him? The three days since the party, right? Those are the three days you haven’t slept—what a coincidence. I think you’ve made him suffer enough, Alana. And you’ve certainly suffered enough—it’s all over your face. Talk to him, go out with him, and let him hug you and hold you and make you feel better like a man is supposed to. You’ll be surprised at how much better you’ll feel when you do,” Tollie said wisely.

“Tolerance, I’m just fine,” Alana protested. “There’s nothing wrong with me or the way I live my life.”

“If there was nothing wrong, you’d be able to sleep at night. Have you ever thought about getting counseling for your depression?”

“My what? I’m not depressed; I’m always in a good mood. Do you see me dragging around town looked run-down and ratty? No, you don’t,” Alana said indignantly.

“There are all kinds of ways depression can manifest itself. It’s different for different people. And it’s not an indictment of you or your mental state, it’s a physiological thing. A chemical imbalance,” Tollie said with authority. “Did you know that lots of African-American women suffer from it? And won’t get counseling, either. There are two things most folks will not own up to—we ain’t fat, and we ain’t crazy. And because we’re in denial about these things, we don’t get help with them and we stress ourselves out needlessly. I’m not equating depressed to crazy, but you know what I mean.

“Now, me, I’m fat and I admit it. I’m fat because I eat too much, but I’m pretty so I get a pass. But even I’ve decided to take off some weight because it’s getting too hard to wear my stilettos. And it doesn’t make sense to get mad at the store because they don’t carry my size—I can either limit my shopping or limit my eating, so I guess I’ma call Weight Watchers.” She sighed heavily and ate the last bite of her key lime pie.

“I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings, Alana, because that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to shake off whatever devil has been riding you so you can be happy. And so that fine-azz Roland doesn’t go to waste. It’s not like we have a bumper crop of tall, rich, handsome, single straight men to pick from, you know. You can’t just pass him by, sister.”

Alana smiled at Tollie’s outspoken frankness and they ended their lunch with laughter and a big hug. She’d had something besides food for lunch; she’d gotten a lot of food for thought. She went back to work and found it was difficult to keep her mind off the things she and Tollie had talked about, or the things she’d listened to, since Tollie had done most of the talking. She decided to leave work early, which meant that she left at five, leaving her assistant manager to lock up, something she also never did. She thought about going over to Adrienne’s or to Alexis’s but instead of seeking out company, she went home.

* * *

She took a shower and put on a pair of pajama pants and an old denim shirt that she used for painting and went to the studio to paint. But her muse had deserted her for the night; she couldn’t get started. She’d prepared the palette and brushes and was ready to work on Adrienne’s portrait but her hand just wouldn’t cooperate.

Forcing herself to add some detailing only resulted in a slight mess that she had to clean up with a rag dampened in linseed oil. It was obviously a fruitless effort so she abandoned it.

She turned off the lights and went to the bathroom to wash her hands, staring in the mirror as she did so. Tollie was right; she did look haggard and wrung-out. Taking a deep breath, she applied more of the expensive eye cream her mother had given her and decided to go to bed.

Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, she looked at the decor with new eyes. Despite what Tollie had said, there were some new things in the room.

The furniture was new, a gift from her mother. An ivory French country queen-size bed with a matching armoire and dresser graced the space, with nightstands on either side of the bed. The duvet and curtains were beautiful, a gift from Adrienne who’d made them from a floral cotton sateen. The chair, in a coordinating color, had been contributed by Aunt BeBe. She’d found it at a yard sale and Alexis had refinished it, painted it and Adrienne had made the cover for the cushions. There was a lot of love in the room and not all of it was from Sam.

But Tollie was right about the portrait.

It was beautifully done, showing him standing against a background of trees and flowers and it was all Sam. His fair skin with the freckles that dusted his face, his curly black hair and green eyes and the smile that was for her eyes only; no one else ever saw that smile. He wasn’t a big man, like Roland. He’d been about five-ten, wiry and muscular and full of energy. Her eyes went to the other walls and true enough, there were more pictures of Sam; some had been photographed by Alana and some were her drawings and paintings.

He’d been one of her favorite subjects during their short, happy marriage and she saw no reason not to display them. Why shouldn’t they be there? It didn’t make the room a shrine, it was just the way she wanted it and if Roland couldn’t deal with it, it was his issue, not hers, she thought with a burst of anger.

Surprisingly, she drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t a restful sleep; it was fitful and full of dreams. It ended with the worst dream she’d had, ever. She saw Sam, standing at the foot of her bed, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a familiar and usually endearing pose.

But the expression on his face was totally out of character. He was frowning at her as though she’d done something wrong. He’d never looked at her like that, ever. She sat up and asked him why he was looking at her like that. He shook his head and turned to leave the room without speaking.

Both frightened and angry, she jumped out of bed and went after him, yelling his name over and over.

“Sam, come back here! You can’t just walk out on me! What’s the matter with you, have you lost your mind? You already left me once and now you have the nerve to leave again without even saying a word to me? What’s the matter with you?”

He didn’t even turn around, he just kept moving through the house and she chased after him, getting angrier and angrier. Her voice got louder and higher until she was screaming at him, cursing him for all she was worth. She started hurling things at him, anything she could get her hands on.

He started walking to the front door and she knew she had to catch him or she’d never see him again. Her eyes were blurred with tears and she tripped over a low pillowed ottoman which made her fall, but she was close enough to grab his pants leg. His hand was on the doorknob and she tightened her grip. He turned around and said, “Let me go. Let me go, Allie. Let me go.”

The sound of her own moaning woke her; she jerked awake and threw off the covers. Her head moved back and forth as she tried to remember where she was. She fully expected to be in the living room by the door, but she was in bed. She was both hot and cold and sopping wet from sweat. Her hair was soaking wet, and so was the pillow and the sheets.