The Replacement Wife (5 page)

“O
kay, give me the scoop on the Chambers family.” Montana decided to grill Emoni for information on the way to the restaurant.

Emoni tapped the steering wheel and shrugged. “Well, they're filthy rich. No, let me take that back. They're wealthy.”

“And the son? There's nothing weird going on there, right? Why doesn't he come to church with the rest of the family?”

“Quentin's wife, Chandra, died from cancer five years ago. She directed the choir, and he was the minister of music. He was pretty devastated.”

Montana's lips formed a small
O
. “So that's why they need a nanny. I didn't want to ask what happened to their mother.”

“You're going to be their nanny?”

Montana nodded. “Estelle just offered me the job, and told me I could move in too.”

Emoni cheered and gave Montana a high five. “God is awesome!”

“Well, let's see how it's gonna work out first before you start testifying. What if they don't like me?”

“What's not to like? And Quentin is fine! I remember all the girls in the youth choir had a crush on him.”

Montana considered this. “But he's a widower. Too much baggage.”

“Yeah, you're right. And he's got that wretched Chloe as a girlfriend too.”

Montana scrunched her nose at the mention of the socialite, heiress, or whatever she was. Chloe pranced around the church in her designer clothes as if she was blessing everyone with her presence. Montana never could understand people who didn't come to church for God, but the pews were full of Chloe types who only cared about socializing with the wealthy members of Freedom of Life.

“Well, I wonder why she doesn't spend time with his kids,” Montana said. “Estelle acted like they needed a female role model or something.”

“Think about it. Would you want that diva being any girl's role model? Plus, you love kids.”

“I do! It just scares me to have a live-in job. If they don't like me, then I'm out on the street.”

“They will like you. I promise. And this could be great for you.”

Emoni pulled into Houlihan's parking lot. It was packed, but that was to be expected on a Saturday night. Montana almost wished she'd stuck to her guns and gone home. They had to be at church early, and she didn't want to be out all night kicking it. But since she'd let Emoni drive, she was trapped.

The guys were waiting outside the restaurant—Darrin, looking exceptional as usual, with his sidekick Trent. Trent was about five feet tall and loved to sport a tweed fedora, even if it didn't match his outfit. Instead of making him look hip and trendy, his black-rimmed glasses made him look like an extra from a civil-rights-era movie. Montana took a deep breath and prepared herself for his ridiculous attempts at flirting.

“Montana!”

The voice stopped her in her tracks. It was Rio. It was like she'd thought him up or something. She'd managed to avoid him for six months, but here he was about to witness her being set up with the man of no one's dreams.

Montana tried to wave from across the parking lot, but Rio was already jogging over. He'd even left his date standing next to his car. What kind of man does that? But then, Rio had always done exactly what he felt like doing at any given moment.

Instead of saying a polite hello, Rio scooped Montana into his arms and spun her around. The smell of his cologne was as dizzying as the spinning. He placed a soft kiss on her neck as he placed her back on the ground. It was not welcome at all. Montana hoped the scowl on her face communicated as much.

“Montana. I have missed you, girl.”

“How have you been, Rio?” Montana asked, avoiding his declaration.

He cocked his head to one side and grinned. “Lonely. Why don't you let me come and see you?”

Montana panicked and then glanced over at Darrin and Trent. “Um . . . my new boyfriend wouldn't appreciate that.”

Rio followed Montana's line of sight and focused in on Darrin. “I guess he's all right if you like that pretty model, Boris Kodjoe–lookin' type brotha.”

Emoni cleared her throat. “That is my fiancé. Montana's . . . boyfriend . . . is the other one.”

Rio's jaw dropped when he let his gaze fall on Trent. “Stop playing, Montana.”

“What? He respects my faith, so he's exactly what I need.”

Rio took Montana's hand and stroked the inside of her palm—a move that always drove her mad. She swallowed and snatched her hand away.

“Stop, Rio.”

“Your man didn't even run over here to defend your honor. I'm blatantly hitting on you. If I was him, I'd be running up on me right now, hitting me with a two-piece.”

Montana narrowed her eyes and blew an angry breath out of her nose. “He knows I can handle myself. Why don't you go take care of your date? She's waiting for you.”

Rio scoffed. “Date? She knows exactly what she is. She's a maintenance chick. I need some, she needs some, so it's on.”

“Rio, I'm gonna go now,” Montana said, frustration punctuating her words.

“Okay, babe. It was good seeing you. Don't be a stranger.” Rio said these words to Montana's back, because she'd snatched Emoni up and moved on.

Emoni whispered, “You were not believable at all. And, oh my glory, he is gorgeous. Is that your ex?”

Montana nodded. “Yep, that's Rio. The devil's nephew.”

“How did you ever get the nerve to walk away from him?” Emoni asked. “He looks like one of those men who get you strung out.”

Montana nodded in agreement. “He is one of those men, and seeing him just made me feel like I need a hit. Can you pray for me?”

“Right now?”

Montana nodded. “Yeah, now.”

Emoni glanced over at the guys, who now looked a bit impatient, but then she took both of Montana's hands in hers.

“Dear God, I ask, in the name of Jesus, that you strengthen my sister. Help her to know that the enemy only shows up right on the brink of a breakthrough. You've blessed her this evening with a job and a home, and now the enemy wants to take her testimony. We rebuke him right now in the name of Jesus. We don't know what your plan is for Montana, but we know that whatever it is, it's going to be awesome. Thank you, in advance. Amen.”

Montana nodded and whispered, “Amen.”

“Let's go get something to eat, now,” Emoni said. “I'm starved. And since you just claimed Trent as your boyfriend, maybe you spoke it into existence.”

“Boo,” Montana said.

“You could've said anything, but you claimed him. I think that was a Freudian slip. You like him, don't you?”

Montana got a really serious look on her face. “Emoni, you're going to force me to thrash you.”

Both of the young women burst into laughter at the mention of a line from Montana's favorite movie,
Coming to America
. She knew it was a comedy, but it was the only fairy tale she knew about where a random black girl marries a handsome and sweet African prince. Montana could recite the lines word for word, and she forced all of her friends to watch it with her at least once. Emoni had been a victim on several occasions.

“Okay, you better stop dissing my boy Trent. How do you know he's not from some rich kingdom in the Motherland?” Emoni asked.

Montana sighed. “Because if he was, he'd have absolutely no interest in me whatsoever.”

Emoni linked arms with Montana and pulled her toward their dates. “You have got to start thinking more positively.”

Montana grinned. She was thinking positively. She was positively sure that she was going to try her best and make the Chambers family love her. Maybe they'd give her a permanent position. Maybe living with them would give her a new sense of security and erase all the vestiges of her former life with Rio.

Q
uentin looked down at his friend Alexis as she slept. It wasn't a peaceful sleep. Her snore rattled like an old car in dire need of a tune-up. But at least she wasn't in pain, not now anyway.

There were currently five residents at Transitions; they'd had up to ten in the past. All were referrals from a social worker or agency, and all had terminal cancer in its last stages. Quentin remembered how bad it had been in Chandra's final days. She'd been in so much pain that one morphine dose barely held her over until the next.

The medical bills were very expensive, but because of his family's wealth, Chandra was as comfortable as it was possible for her to be. But there were unfortunate souls, like Alexis, who didn't have a penny to their name. Alexis's final days would've been much worse than Chandra's had been if she hadn't been referred to Transitions.

Alexis finally stirred. She squinted her eyes and said, “Q-Doggie-Dog. How long have you been here?”

“Just a few minutes. I was just about to leave with all that snoring.”

Alexis let out a weak chuckle. “Was I loud?”

“Yes. You sounded like you were hibernating.”

“Yo' mama.”

“Does absolutely snore, but not as loud as you. How are you feeling?”

Alexis sighed. “About a five.”

The Transitions residents had a pain scale from one to ten, with one being a great day, and ten being a steady morphine drip. Alexis's doctor had given her a three-month prognosis, and she'd been at Transitions for two months. Her condition hadn't worsened, but it hadn't improved, either.

“You need meds?” Quentin asked.

She shook her head. “No. I'm writing in my journal this afternoon. I have some stuff I need to get on paper today.”

“Make sure you ask for them before the pain gets too bad.” Alexis gave him her lopsided smile. “Hey, if I'm in pain, it means I'm still alive.”

“But don't suffer, okay? That's why you're here.”

“I think I'm here because God wanted me to have a caramel angel at my bedside while I waste away.”

Quentin shook his head and grinned. Alexis had no problem openly flirting with him or talking about God like He was someone who actually cared about their day-to-day lives. Quentin was convinced that God paid as much attention to humans as humans did to ants building an anthill.

“I'm at your bedside because I want to be. God didn't tell me to do this.”

Alexis shrugged. “Okay then. I was just giving you an excuse for your little girlfriend about all the time you spend with me. But you can keep it real if you want. Tell her you just can't get enough of me.”

“You are a mess, Alex.”

“Where is she anyway? Why haven't I met Miss Thang? Is she too good to visit us?” Alexis covered her mouth with her hand to contain her giggle.

“Maybe I haven't invited her.”

Alexis laughed out loud. “Why wouldn't you invite your fiancée here?”

“Because she's not my fiancée. Where'd you get that from?”

Alexis shrugged. “I guessed because you've been dating her for a long time that you'd marry her. Maybe you don't have the nerve to propose to her.”

“Nerve?” Quentin said with attitude. “You don't think I have the nerve to propose to Chloe?”

“Terminally ill people are pretty candid. Don't take it personal.”

“It has nothing to do with nerve.”

“Then why haven't you asked her yet? You're not getting any younger.”

Quentin said, “Maybe I'm waiting on you to get better, so I can leave her and we can run away together.”

“Shoot, we can do that now. Where you wanna go?”

“I don't know,” Quentin said. “Barbados?”

Alexis pressed the remote control next to her bed and the television came to life. She clicked through the channels—all with some peaceful scene—until she got to the channel with the white sand beach and waves crashing over the shore.

There were about twenty channels for the residents to choose from as a form of pain management. It was all about meditation and relaxation. Alexis used the television more than the other ladies, but then she also used less morphine.

“You know, on a serious note,” Alexis said, “why don't you get a couple dudes up in here? It gets pretty boring with all this cancer-ridden estrogen floating around.”

“I'm not enough man for you?” Quentin asked, as he stood up from his chair. He kissed Alexis on the top of her head. It wasn't something he did with all the residents, but he and Alex had become close. If he'd ever had a little sister, he imagined she'd be like Alex.

“You're about to make me blush,” Alexis said. “Don't go home smelling like me; your girlfriend might get mad.”

Alexis burst into laughter at her own joke. She smelled like a mixture of menthol, oatmeal, and sickness. There was nothing appealing about the scent of decay.

“I'll be back to see you tomorrow. I've got to meet some new nanny my mother hired.”

Alexis raised her sparse eyebrows. “I'll be counting the seconds until you return. Except after I take my meds. Then I'll be out like a light until your return.”

“Yes, you better take your medication, Alex.”

“I will. I promise.”

Quentin squeezed her hand. “Don't suffer.”

“You either.”

Quentin kissed Alexis's head once more before he left the room. He couldn't promise her he wouldn't suffer, though. Quentin witnessed the pain of every resident at Transitions and felt an emotional drain every time one of them passed on.

Sometimes Quentin asked himself how many times he would watch someone die before he stopped feeling guilty for being alive. And he couldn't answer the question. He didn't know when it would be enough, or if it would ever be enough. As long as his pain enveloped him like a woolen shawl, he'd continue to watch their transitions, while he stayed the same.