Never Say Never (29 page)

“No, but don't worry. I'll head there now.”

“That's a long drive for you. You don't have to get to the studio?” I asked, wondering if I was the one who should try to find her since I lived closer.

“I do, but I'll just swing by her place, do a sister check, make sure she's good, then call you back.”

“Okay, and tell her to call me.”

“Will do. Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Mean it.”

When I hung up, I stood still for a moment, wondering about Miriam. I pressed the button to call her, but then Dr. Caster passed by and when he turned into LaTonya's room, I followed him.

Michellelee would check on Miriam for now, and once I left here, I'd be able to check on her every day.

As I entered LaTonya's room, I dumped my cell phone into my purse. It was time to get LaTonya home, so that I could move on with my life, too.

29

Miriam

I
stared at the phone as if it were a rabid dog.

Ring!

I recognized the number, and even if I didn't, I could certainly read the name across the screen.

Ring!

Jamal Taylor.

This was the call that I'd been waiting for. All I wanted to do was snatch it up and hear his voice since I hadn't heard it for three days. Not since Michellelee had invaded our utopia and brought us crashing down to earth.

Ring!

Suppose it wasn't him, though. Last time his name came across my screen, it was Emily.

Ring!

But if it were Jamal and I let this phone ring one more time, I would miss him.

Grabbing the phone, I held my breath.

“Miriam.”

I closed my eyes and just savored his voice. “Jamal!”

“How are you?”

“I'm good,” I said, and I resisted adding, “now that you've called.”

“I wanted to know . . . if you had any time today. I wanted, needed to talk to you.”

“Okay,” was all I said, even though I had so many questions: where have you been, why haven't you called, and what do you want to talk about?

He said, “The boys are in school.”

His statement was really a question. “Yes.”

“Okay, I'm not far away.”

Then he was gone. Leaving me with nothing but questions and fear. I sat on the edge of the sofa, with my knees together and my hands clasped, feeling like I was frozen in time and space.

I'd been feeling this way since Jamal had left on Saturday. Since then, I hadn't done anything except take care of my children and breathe. I hadn't left the house, I hadn't answered the phone. I'd just stayed in bed mostly, watching the clock pass time and waiting for the right call to come.

Well, the call had come, but with the way Jamal sounded, with what he said, with what he didn't say . . .

“Oh, God,” I whispered.

If I didn't stop, I'd be a madwoman by the time Jamal arrived. I jumped up. I needed to get out of these sweatpants and T-shirt. Maybe put on a dress or fix my hair. But then I sat back down. None of that would make a difference.

So I sat and waited. Listened to the clock tick and waited. Counted the number of cars that drove by and waited.

Then I heard Jamal's car. Not that it had any special sound. It was just that I knew.

Still, I didn't move. I waited for the single honk, his signal for me
to open the garage so that our cars could change places. The honk that we'd been doing all last week. There was no honk.

I stood, closed my eyes, and wished that I could talk to God. But all I did was take a deep breath to steady myself. Then I hurried to the garage. I pushed the remote, the garage door lifted, and Jamal's car was where it normally was. But he was already out, walking toward me.

It was clear; he didn't have any plans to stay, and sadness began to rise in me. I wanted to cry already.

I managed to speak with an even voice. “Hey.” I stepped aside, letting him come in through the garage door, and when he walked past me, I remembered the last time. He'd met me right in this spot and pulled me into his arms. But today his hands were deep in his pockets like they were on lockdown.

“How are you?” he asked me once I closed the door behind him.

I nodded. “I'm good.” Again, I stopped without saying all that was on my heart.

He stood at one end of the living room and I was at the other.

“We can at least sit down, right?” I asked him.

He nodded, but when I sat on the couch, he sat across from me in the chair in front of the window.

That sent my emotions reeling, but I took charge and pressed down the fear, the regret, the rejection, and everything else that was bubbling inside.

He said, “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am—”

I didn't let him finish. “I told you before, there's nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“There is. I created a complete mess.”

“You didn't do it by yourself. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

He shook his head. “But you were vulnerable.”

“So were you.”

He held up his hands. “Please, let me talk.”

I nodded, then squeezed my knees together not only to stop them from shaking but also to squelch the desire that was building just by seeing Jamal, just by hearing him.

“I really do feel like I took advantage of you, and though I know it's no excuse, being with you made me miss Chauncey less. I've tried to really think about it, tried to understand it. All I can say is you filled that hole that was ripped into my heart the moment I dragged Chauncey out of that building.”

I couldn't keep quiet anymore. “That's how I feel about you. You took away most of my sadness.”

He shook his head. “But still, we shouldn't have been . . . doing what we were doing. I should've been the grown-up in the room.”

I leaned back, surprised by his words, but then I relaxed when the ends of his lips twitched into a slight smile.

He explained, “What I mean is, I should've been the one who kept my head.”

“I don't know why you're saying this when I wanted this as much, probably more than, you did,” I said.

Jamal covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply. “This is a mess, you know. It's a mess because”—he looked up and stared at me so intensely—“I love Emily.”

I tried not to flinch, even though if he had slashed my heart with a machete, I would've hurt less than the way I felt hearing those words.

Then he repeated it. “I love my wife.”

Why did he keep saying that? Didn't he know how much he was hurting me? But then how could I be hurt? How could I be mad? Jamal was doing what he was supposed to do: loving his wife, and telling me the truth.

“I love my wife,” he said, as if he needed to say it again, “but I don't know how to end this with you.”

Suddenly, the slashes in my heart didn't feel so deep.

I said, “Remember when you told me that we didn't have to figure this out right now? Maybe we can take our time and let this work itself out.”

“We are working this out,” he said. “Right now. Because it's so wrong and because too many people could get hurt.” He released a quick breath. “Michellelee told Emily you're seeing someone.”

“I know. Emily called and asked me a lot of questions.” When he stared at me, I shook my head. “I didn't say anything.”

He nodded. His voice was strong when he said, “My wife can't be hurt, so this has to end.” Then he spoke in a whisper when he added, “Now.”

What I should've done was just stood up and agreed. Hugged Jamal and told him good-bye.

I just couldn't.

“But you're like a lifeline for me,” I said, hating my words, hating my emotions, hating the fact that I'd become the begging other woman.

“I'm still going to be here, still be your friend, still help you. It's going to be just like it was, just like it's always been with us . . . before we became intimate.” He paused as if he wanted me to really understand his next words. “It's the right thing to do.”

“I know, I know,” I cried.

I'd been a champion, holding my emotions back for the last three days. Pushing them down when Jamal walked through the door, knowing then that this was the end. Maybe that was why I lost it. My tears broke through and burst like a rushing river. My shoulders were heaving, my body was shaking; next, my nose would be running and snot would be coming.

Jamal stood and came to me. He reached his hand toward me and I took it. I didn't have enough energy to stand on my own, so he pulled me up and into his arms, letting me sob into his chest.

He held me and consoled me. I only stopped crying because I
got tired. I leaned away, and with the back of his hand he softly and slowly wiped away the residue of my tears.

Then, just like it always was, I don't know which came first—his lips or mine.

Our lips connected.

We kissed with passion.

Then the doorbell rang.

He pushed me away and I stumbled backward. “Were you expecting someone?”

“No! No!” Stepping across the room, I peeked through the drapes. “Oh, my God!” I whispered as if my voice could be heard outside. “It's Michellelee again.”

“You weren't expecting her?”

“No! She should be at work. Oh God. I can't answer the door. She'll see you. Or you can go hide in my bedroom,” I said, moving toward the hallway.

But he didn't follow me. “No,” he said calmly. “My car is in the driveway.”

“Oh God!” Every part of my body was trembling.

He held me by my shoulders, making me look at him. “It's perfectly normal for me to be here. To be checking on you.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Oh God!” I repeated.

He said, “You have to get it together; you have to answer the door.”

“Okay.” Using the tips of my fingers, I wiped my face, hoping to erase any of the tear tracks Jamal had missed.

I took a couple of those deep yoga breaths as I moved toward the door, wishing once again that I was talking to God, because only He could save me from this. As I put my hand on the knob, I reached inside for the acting gift I'd been given and yanked open the door with sort of a smile.

“Hey, girl!” Michellelee said, hugging me before she bounced into the house. In the living room, she greeted Jamal the same way. “What's up?”

Jamal hugged her back. “How's it going, lady?”

I stood to the side, waiting for my cue to speak my next line.

When Jamal leaned away from Michellelee, there was total silence. My best friend looked at Jamal, then stared at me.

Oh, God. Could she see that I'd been crying?

She said, “I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No!” Jamal and I spoke together, though his voice was much calmer than mine, as if he was the trained actor.

He continued, “I just came to check on Miriam and now I'm gonna turn her over to you.”

I wanted to protest, tell them that I wasn't some kind of ball that could be volleyed between my friends. But at this point, it was best that I didn't say anything.

With just two steps, Jamal was in front of me, and then he hugged me. One of those Sunday church hugs that were exchanged between Sister So-and-So and Brother What-Not, where you were so far apart your arms barely reached around each other. He held me only for a second, nothing like the embrace we'd shared just a few minutes ago.

“Take care,” he said to me. This good-bye was so different from the others. Because this time our good-bye had an audience, and this time I knew for sure that he wasn't coming back. To Michellelee, he said, “I'll check you later.”

“Okay,” my best friend and I said together.

I walked Jamal to the door. As if he needed to seal our final good-bye, he said, “I'll tell Emily that you're okay.”

“Thank you,” I said. I would've added more, but I didn't trust my voice and I certainly couldn't trust my emotions.

He walked out the door and I wanted to stand there and watch him until he drove away. But I felt the heat of Michellelee's stare.

I closed the door, closed my eyes, took a deep breath before I faced my friend. I couldn't even get a word out, though.

Michellelee marched right up to me and growled, “Are you sleeping with Jamal?”

My answer—I burst into tears.

“You are! Oh, my God!”

“No, no,” I said, finally finding my voice. “I'm not sleeping with him.” At least, that was the truth to me. I'd never been in bed with Jamal and fallen asleep.

“Well, what is that? I walk in here, your eyes are red, I ask you if you're sleeping with him—”

“I'm not sleeping with him!”

“Well, why did you start crying?”

“Because we were talking about Chauncey and that was in my head and—”

“Stop lying, Miriam!”

Her words slapped me into silence—at least for a moment.

She said, “I've known you half your life. Something's going on.” She paused and held her hands to her head. “Oh, my God. Those were his clothes the other day.”

“No!”

She looked at me and shook her head. “I don't believe you.”

“Well, I don't know what to tell you.”

“Try telling me the truth.”

I pressed my lips together. The truth would never come from me.

Michellelee took a breath, stood straighter, and calmed her voice. “Miriam, please. You've got to tell me.”

I didn't want to faint, so I sat down on the sofa and said nothing.

“What's going on between you and Jamal?”

“Nothing,” I said, sounding weak even to my own ears. But I was going to stick to this story.

Michellelee was pacing, walking from one end of the living room to the other. “This is a disaster!”

“I'm not . . . sleeping . . . with him.”