Love Redeemed, Book 4 (29 page)

Missing you like crazy,

A.D. Jacobs         

Then I entered the foyer of the apartment to find a decorative basket, filled with bath goods—salts, bubbles, powdered aromas—even candles and moisturizers. All of these small things that swelled my heart in total elation.

The memory even brings a smile my face while on the massage table, here in the cabin. The last time I heard from A.D. was yesterday, during the conference I worked in Dan Smith’s proxy.

I excused myself from the exam room when I heard his silky vocal chords, pouring through the phone.

“Hey to you,” I returned his greeting as I watched an attendee pass me and pace down the corridor. “How are you?” I wanted to refer to him as a stranger, but that would give away my disproval of his absence.

“I’m making it.
Tired…frustrated, but making it.” I heard him let out a long exhale from his nostrils into the phone. My eyes fluttered in comfort and exhilaration of sound of it.

How weird is that something
humdrum and common as an exhale from Azmir could summons a physiological response from me? I missed him, his calming aura. His equanimity when my nerves were atwitter. His hands, causing my body to writhe. His mouth, tickling the side of my abdomen below my breast, but above my hip.  

“Are you still bleeding?” Azmir asked, flaring my curiosity and confusion.

Out of all the topics of conversation or inquiries of deliveries to the marina, I wasn’t expecting that question. My first inclination was to play coy and ask the nature of his inquisition, but my pining of him and his firm tone advised otherwise.

I licked my lips
, all of a sudden experiencing extra moisture in my mouth as my heartbeat accelerated. “Umm…yeah,” I sputtered “Yeah…a little spotting when I woke up this morning.” My eyes closed on their own accord.

Something as little as my monthly period being a stark topic of conversation between me and Azmir was riddled in angst, which one would immediately think was absurd. But it wasn’t. It was symbolic of the undertone of finality. We were making a huge, significant, life changing, and final decision that would reshape our lives. Lives that ha
ve already been set ablaze by secrets, betrayal, games, and even lies. In that moment, we understood what was behind us as a couple. What’s absolutely vague is what waits ahead. Even with that uncertainty, we’re forging ahead, almost running to the altar; only armed with a dozen and a half pre-marital counseling sessions.   

“But I’m sure I’ll be all cleared by tomorrow,” I assured Azmir.

The phone went silent. I couldn’t even hear Azmir’s breathing in the quiet, but I felt his brooding. So badly, I wanted to ask about his apprehensions of the following day. I wanted to know if he’d been experiencing any grade of second thoughts. In my limited logic, it would have made him fallible—like me. It would have also provided me an opportunity to convince myself, as I attempted to convince him, why this marriage proposal was conceivable and solid. But my placid-CEO-mogul-thug-a-boo would never cop to any irresolution concerning me or anything else he’s passionate about.

“I’m not worried, Brimm,” he spoke softly into the phone. “I’m also not rushing mother nature. We can wait as long as we must,” I could swear to hearing his voice strain at that last word. We ha
ven’t been together in weeks. For us, that is like years. But he’s committed to my walk, and this was demonstrated by his proposal to discontinue sex until we’re married. “I’m just checking in on you.”

“I miss you, too,” rushed from my mouth, unexpectedly. And before I could help myself
, out came, “All of you,” I whispered. My eyes closed again as my head faced the floor and I found myself gripping my neck. “Desperately.”

I heard the air whistle from his teeth. I knew he was exercising rest
raint. This hasn’t been easy for him…being away from me for so long, not having touched me intimately in so long.

Then not to mention th
e whispers of pessimism that I’ve battled like hell of him seeking release elsewhere. Dawn Taylor. I’ve fought that fear many of nights. But the logical Rayna prevails most days. My mantra was if Azmir could propose it, he could sustain for the few weeks leading up to our big day. But the strain in his baritone, his inability to voice his need, and the palpable sense of him being like a spring coiled too tight, told secrets of his fidelity.

“Same here
, baby,” came out as though his voice was reduced to a tearless cry. I could barely hear him. “Until you’re Mrs. Jacobs,” he bade before ending the call.

And that is the summary of
the ghost that was Azmir
.

After my facial, I
’m whisked off to the master suite where I engage in my assigned two-hour nap. Once again, I find myself in awe of the décor and ambiance of the yacht. In this room is a king size bed, modestly dressed with earth tone beddings. There’s no headboard, the wall above it pins tan panels creating a semblance of a frame for the bed. The walls are variations of wood paneling.

There
’s a small Japanese style bathroom off the main room with a toilet room separate of the shower room and vanity. There’s a long desk that runs alongside the window that’s draped in hard plaid curtain, matching the motif of the suite. A large television faces the bed, giving the space a homely feel. It isn’t half the size of the master suite of the marina, but still possesses the quality of elegance that Azmir always achieves.  

I notice the stationary car
d against the king sized pillows almost as soon as I enter the room. However, it isn’t until I return from the shower, draped in the terrycloth robe that I tend to it.

Inside it read
s:

Ms. Brimm,

I’m thinking about you as you prep
are to become my wife. I wanted to               be sure a nap was included in your itinerary. If I know my girl, she’s               working her brain overtime about everything unessential: anxiety over the production of today, not having seen me…or felt               me…in a while, should you even be marrying someone whom you’ve not known for a number of years.

I don’t want you at the altar exhausted from stressing over something that, in your heart, has already been settled on. Something that I’d known for almost as long as I’ve known you…and that’s you being capable of being the woman I need in my crazy world. I need you by my side today…not fatigued from doubt.

Sleep and dream of me.

P.S. There is a throw blanket in the closet. Don’t get between the sheets until you’re with me. I don’t want to have to tell my wife that the woman I’d been smashing before her was in the bed we consummated our marriage.

Ending the chase,

A.D. Jacobs

I c
an hardly imagine Azmir opting to consummate our marriage in a bed. That’s for traditionalist and Azmir is anything but. The last thing I recall before drifting off to sleep is the smile that plasters my face.

“
Brimm…breaker-breaker…Brimm
,” I hear as my consciousness oscillates. “
Brimm…breaker-breaker…Brimm
,”

I lift my neck to
find the walkie-talkie Tessie gave me just inches away. I raise my arm and will it over to the radio device. I didn’t realize just how exhausted I was. Seeing Azmir’s encouraging words on stationary somehow put me at ease.

“
Brimm…breaker-breaker…Brimm
,” I hear again, identifying Azmir’s light-heartedness.

I randomly pick a button to press, “Azmir?”

I get nothing. So, I go to another one, “Azmir…”

I hear a little static before he sa
ys, “There’s my sleeping bride.”

My heart skip
s a beat. “Where are you?” I ask.

“Down in one of the lower cabins, getting
trimmed up,” his Brooklyn twang is on full blast. I wonder if he’s been drinking.

Does he have to drink to exchange vows with me?

“Hey, Rayna…whadup, girl!” trills from the radio, but at a distance compared to Azmir’s voice.

“Is that Petey?” I return, feeling a smile break across my face
in spite of myself.

“Yeah,” Azmir answer
s.

“Hey, Petey! Glad you made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world, baby girl!” Petey shouts. “My duke is finally takin’ the fuckin’ plunge, yo!”

I laugh—hard into the pillow. Petey’s rarely so spirited.

“Yeah,” I eventually return. “He better be…got me up on this boat with a white gown,” I say in jest.

“Damn right…and you better b
ring all that sexy, too,” I hear from Azmir when I’m expecting a response from Petey. 

I
go silent, not exactly knowing what to say.

“See you shortly
, little girl…and don’t be a minute late. I’m timing you,” Azmir concludes, and I can hear Petey and what sounds like Kid, jeering in the background.

A regular pair of block huggers on a luxury
yacht. Only the likes of Azmir Jacobs could make that happen
.

At that, I hear a
faint knock at the door.
If this is that Azmir, I swear I’m going to purposely be late just to spite him!

I gather my disgruntled robe that
’s taken on a new form during my nap, and make my way the short distance to the door. When I open it, I find myself instinctively arching my neck up, expecting to see A.D. However, when I lower my inspection, I find a frail Samantha, dressed in a pewter mother-of-the-bride gown, sheathed in sequence.

She smile
s tightly. For her, addressing me isn’t easy, this I know. I never make it a comfortable task for her. Even after being in L.A. for almost five months, our relationship is still unsettled.

“Can I come in, baby girl?” she murmur
s with hesitation in her voice.

“Sure,” I move, inviting her into the suite.

She sits on the oval chaise that’s placed at the foot of the bed. She appears a little fatigued, but her condition does that on occasion. I take a seat on another square chaise next to her, tentatively. I don’t know what to expect, but I’ve seen enough episodes of idyllic family sitcoms to know what’s coming are her
before you take your vows, here are my parting words
talk. This
dialogue
has been delayed and to my gratitude.

But on my wedding day, Samantha?

Her eyes won’t meet mine. Tepid anger that’s been lying dormant begins to heat up, and underneath the pleasantries and faux smiles, is rising to blow the tepee. Already.

 
“I’m not gon’ keep you long. They told me you gotta lot to do ta’ get ready,” she murmurs almost solemnly, and then take a deep breath. “I know that we ain’t been…connected. Things between us just ain’t right yet, but I wanna…” she’s at a loss for words. Since being here in L.A., I can see her self-confidence still diminishes in my presence, and I’ve been the one to blame for that. I’m still not convinced of her presence. I haven’t decided her purpose in my life now. “‘Dis marriage between you and Azmir can work.”

That fumble
s me askew.
Why would I be marrying him if the odds weren’t in my favor?
I’m steadily growing impatient.

“I say that because
I see so much of Eric in you; ‘dat
me against the world
stubbornness. And I know I been the cause of it—”  

“Look…you don’t have to open up that can of worms—”

“Eric wasn’t Chyna’s father.”

W-what?
I can’t believe what I’ve just heard.

She sh
akes her head, but still rarely gives me direct eye contact. “No. Not many know.” There’s a slight pause. I guess she’s preparing her nerves for what’s to come. “He knew for years. I told him one night, feeling guilty. He stayed for a while after ‘dat. I’d been out there for a while, wildin’ out…getting high on the low. The saddest part of it all is we didn’t know if he was Akeem’s daddy when I was pregnant with him. I had a lot of church girl issues coming up. I was so restricted from life ‘dat when I gotta taste, I went wild.”

Another pause and I d
on’t know who needs it more; me or my mother. I can’t begin to process what she’s telling me.

“I know ‘dis ain’t good timing, but no matter how many years you been away from me, I still know my child. You scared and I know why.
It’s because of what you saw. ‘Da damage and confusion we caused you. You should know Eric stayed a lot of years through my addiction. I was gettin’ high long before you and Akeem caught on. I was a functioning addict for a lotta years. No, it wasn’t right for him to leave you kids, but I put ‘dat man through so much until he…just ran.” She shrugs her shoulders in defeat.

“He ran
and never turned back. Nothing changes that fact,” I challenge.

“Yeah, he did. And ‘d
at don’t change, but I wanted you to know ‘dat pain ain’t black and white. Sometimes it comes with too many colors. I colored a lot of his anger. Pushed him to ‘da point ‘dat he needed a clean break.”