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  When the bartender walked away, the man said, “All I asked was if I could buy you a drink. I didn’t ask you to marry me.”

  “Really?” Sheridan pouted as if she was offended. She held up her left hand. “That’s too bad, because I really need a ring for this finger.” The voice was hers, but the words weren’t. That was something Kamora would say.

  The man leaned back and laughed so loud that others looked at them. Sheridan laughed with him.

  “Excuse me.”

  In the mirror she saw Quentin behind her, his face stretched with surprise. She didn’t know what shocked him more, her hair or her company. She didn’t care.

  “Hi, Quentin,” she said, spinning around on her stool. “You’re early.”

  He stared at her for a moment, but then his glance turned to the man. He held out his hand. “I’m Quentin Hart, Sheridan’s husband.”

  She raised her eyebrows but said nothing as she lifted her drink. She motioned to the bartender to bring her check to their table.

  “Nice to meet you” was all the man would give Quentin. And then he smiled at Sheridan and said, “It was really nice to meet you. And don’t worry about that drink. I’ll take care of it.”

  She smiled her thank-you and then followed the waiter to the table. Quentin held out the chair for her before he sat. She took the napkin from her glass and shook it onto her lap. When she looked up, Quentin was staring at her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You look different.”

  You think? She tilted her head. “Do you like it?”

  He nodded. “I do. I just didn’t expect…What made you cut your hair?”

  You. “I needed a change.”

  He nodded again. “Well…you look wonderful.” He looked over his shoulder. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, pointing his chin toward the bar.

  Sheridan opened her menu and didn’t even bother to look in the bar’s direction. “Someone I just met.”

  “Today?”

  Sheridan looked up with a frown.

  “I was just wondering because”—he glanced at the crystal glass in front of her—“you don’t usually drink.”

  A shrug was her response.

  Quentin cleared his throat. “What are you having? The usual?”

  She shook her head. “No, I want something different.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Do you know what you’re having?” Sheridan asked.

  He nodded. “The usual. So”—he placed his arms on the table—“you just woke up this morning and decided you wanted to do something different?”

  She allowed herself to think back to the hour when Dr. Hong had given her the report—that she would not face death, but had received life. “I got some good news and decided it was time for me to push aside the anger and get on with my life.”

  “It’s only been a week, Sheridan. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  She jerked a bit at his words. “I thought you’d be happy that I wanted to put my anger—at you—behind me.”

  “I am,” he said, and Sheridan wondered why he glanced at the bar again. “It’s just that we both need some time. This is difficult.”

  She wondered what the difficult part was for him. He’d left, moved in with Jett, and never looked back. “I want to be like you. You’re moving on.”

  Quentin’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

  She leaned forward and whispered, “Why did you do this?”

  The waiter interrupted them. Sheridan felt like she was on a ledge, waiting to be pushed.

  They gave their orders, and she held her breath until Quentin continued, “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I left because I finally loved myself.” He sighed. “My intentions were to never give in to what I truly wanted.”

  “How long have you…wanted this?”

  “All my life.”

  Three words that made her heart sink.

  He continued, “When I was a little boy, I knew I was different. I didn’t want to do the things or play the games that my friends enjoyed. And when I got older, I didn’t have the same interest in girls or sports other boys had.”

  “So you were never interested in me?”

  “Oh, no, Sheridan. I loved you. I still do. But I forced myself—”

  “To love me?”

  “No, I didn’t have to force that. But I forced myself to live the American dream. I wanted to be part of this country’s tradition. So I hid what was in my heart and molded my mind into what everyone expected. It was difficult, until I met you. I fell in love.”

  “So you didn’t have those thoughts when we met, when we got married?”

  “Not right after we got married, but soon they came back.”

  The image of Quentin with Jett at the golf course returned. And the stalker brought his other possessions: the images of them holding hands, caressing, kissing. She took another sip of her martini, hoping to drown the mental pictures.

  He said, “In the last few years, I’ve been overwhelmed with these feelings and thoughts and desires. Every time I looked in the mirror, I came face-to-face with the truth. And then I met Jett.”

  She hated the way he said his name. Hated the affection in his tone. And she wondered, had it all been there before?

  For two years they’d known Jett Jennings, a top-one-hundred player on the PGA tour. He had been a phenomenon years before Tiger. Retired, Jett moved to Los Angeles from Orlando to run the Jennings Foundation—a sports program for underprivileged children.

  Knowing no one in L.A., he’d joined Hope Chapel and, as part of the church’s Brother-to-Brother program, was paired with Quentin, who helped him get acclimated to the city.

  Sheridan had been convinced it was a perfect match. Quentin was a wannabe golf pro, and Jett had just been inducted as an honorary member into Quentin’s fraternity. A great friendship was born. Sheridan had called Jett her friend too. He’d attended family dinners, children’s parties, and holiday gatherings. But Sheridan had been unaware that as she opened her home, Jett was stealing her most valuable possession.

  Two waiters returned and placed the salmon lasagna in front of Sheridan and the filet mignon with cheese potatoes in front of Quentin.

  Sheridan bowed her head, prepared to say a silent grace, when Quentin began, “Dear Heavenly Father, we come to you with praise in our mouths and thanksgiving in our hearts.” His words surprised her. Quentin always blessed their food, but she hadn’t expected him to do that now.

  He continued, “We give you thanksgiving for the food we are about to receive. We pray that all impurities will be removed for the nourishment of our bodies.”

  Sheridan was about to say, “Amen,” when Quentin added, “And Lord, we thank you for this time of healing, this time of understanding as two of your children come to you for guidance. We thank you and we bless you, Lord. We honor you and we love you. We give all praise in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  It wasn’t until Quentin had almost stuffed his first forkful of steak into his mouth that he noticed her stare.

  “What?”

  “I was a little surprised.” He frowned and she said, “When you prayed.”

  The creases in his forehead deepened. “I always pray.”

  But you weren’t always gay. Sheridan picked up her fork and took a small bite of the lasagna.

  “Do you think I love God less than I did last week?”

  She stuffed her mouth with another forkful, giving her time. Then she said, “I don’t—”

  “I prayed to God for years,” he said before she could finish, “asking Him to take this desire away from me. I prayed for Him to make me just like every other man. But although He blessed me with everything, He never answered that prayer. And I finally realized maybe no answer was the answer. Maybe He wasn’t going to change me because this was how I was born. I would have never chosen this life. I never wanted to leave you or my children. But this is not about a choice.”

  “I…
wasn’t…” she stuttered.

  He spoke over her words. “You know what gets me? People think if you’re gay, it’s about sex and you couldn’t love God. Well, I knew I was different before I knew anything about sex. By the time I understood sex, the desire to be with men was already inside of me and it wasn’t about sex alone. It was a complete attraction: emotional, physical, and, I believe, even spiritual.”

  Sheridan put down her fork and swallowed air. “You’ve had experiences…with men?” It was the question that had been incubating inside. One she was afraid to ask, but even more terrified to have answered.

  His eyes filled with her pain. “Sheridan, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She swallowed more air and nodded. “I want to know,” she said although her pounding heart told her she already knew.

  He waited for a moment, then said, “It started so long ago. Learning how to hide the desires. Being careful not to stare at the guys in the locker room, or making sure I said something when the guys talked about girls. But then in college…my roommate.” He paused and looked down into his plate. “It was the first time.” His eyes met hers and he asked if he should continue.

  She nodded.

  “I can’t explain how I felt. Except that I felt like I was home. But when it was over, I hated myself.

  “I made a promise to God never to do it again. But it happened, over and over. It was a cycle of loving it and hating me. Every time became the last time.”

  Around them, customers ordered, waiters served. Talk and laughter filled the air. Life moved as if their conversation were normal.

  Quentin shook his head as if the memories still hurt. “Whenever I was with someone, I felt free…until it was over. It was driving me crazy. I had to go to someone, but I didn’t trust my friends. So, I told my father.”

  Sheridan sat back, surprised. In the years she’d known him, she could count on one hand the times he’d mentioned his father or anyone in his family. She knew he was an only child who lost his mother before she had time to leave him memories. But all she knew about his father was that Quentin hadn’t spoken to him in all the years they’d been married. Although she probed, she’d never been able to get anything more from Quentin. She stopped when one day he’d told her in tears, “My father is dead to me, Sheridan. Leave it alone.” She’d held him then, giving comfort, grateful that he had her parents. Now, she wished she’d asked more questions.

  Quentin took a breath. “It was just me and my father for all those years. A hardworking man, a deacon in our church, who held three jobs to keep me in private school and when I told him I wanted to be a doctor…” He paused. “I will never forget the look on his face. He was so proud.” Quentin’s Adam’s apple crawled up, then down his throat. “He told me then, that whatever I needed, he would give me. He said he would make sure I made it through medical school. In all the years with my father, he never said he loved me. But I always knew he did. And those words that day assured me that he did.

  “So, although I was scared, I was sure I could talk to him. Thought I could tell him the truth.”

  She wanted to reach across the table and take his hand. But she was frozen in place.

  “I told him. Asked him for help. Wanted to know what I should do.” His lips quivered. “The man I talked to that day wasn’t the man who raised me. The man I talked to that day, who had never used a bad word in his life, cursed me until he couldn’t speak anymore. Looked at me as if I belonged on the sole of his shoe. Told me that I was the son of a man, but that I was no man and that I had better pray that devil out of me before I burned in hell. Then, he screamed at me to get out of his house, and not to come back until I could prove that I was a real man.” Quentin was silent, and then his words became softer. “All the love I thought he had for me left that day. And I promised myself two things. One, that I would be successful without him, and two, that I never wanted to see anyone look at me the way he did.” He looked at her now. “But he scared me enough to drive me to my knees.”

  Tears stung behind her eyes. She didn’t know why she wanted to cry. Didn’t know if it was because his pain was now hers or because his history was news to her. “Why did your father react that way?”

  He shrugged.

  “You never asked him?”

  He shook his head. “I called him. Told him I was sorry. That I would do whatever he wanted.” He paused. “He told me I could come home if I would confess my sin in front of the congregation at church and allow the people to pray for me. Told me I had to stand up in front of five hundred people and tell them I had sinned; that I was a homosexual.”

  “Did you do it?” Sheridan whispered.

  “No. I hung up and never called my father again. But I did pray. Prayed for hours at a time, for days, and within a few weeks, I met you. I knew God sent you. You were the answer to every prayer. And for a long time, I was right.”

  Her mouth felt as if it were filled with hundreds of cotton balls. “But soon, I wasn’t enough.”

  “You were always more than enough of a woman. You were just never a man.”

  She’d said those words to him, but it hurt when he said them to her.

  “I’m sorry.” He pushed back his chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  She didn’t follow him with her eyes. Didn’t do anything except stare at the knife that sat atop his steak, ready to cut away another piece of meat. She stared at the knife and then lifted her martini glass, swallowing all that remained of the drink.

  When Quentin returned, Sheridan pushed her plate away, motioned to the waiter. Ordered another chocolate martini.

  “I’m sorry, Sheridan.”

  “I’m glad I know.”

  He took a long breath. “I never wanted you to know. Never wanted to see that look—the one my father gave me—again. But today, I felt I owed you.”

  She nodded and sat in silence until the waiter returned with her drink.

  “I hope you understand,” he said.

  She took a sip of the martini. “I don’t, not really.” She took another sip, waited a second, and drank again. “But I have to accept that this is you. And I have to learn to live with this and without you.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have to live without me. I will always be there for you.”

  “But you will never again be there as my husband.”

  He opened his mouth, but said nothing; he cut a piece of steak and then looked at her with sad eyes. “I hope you believe I’m sorry.”

  “I do…now.”

  He nodded, and silence stayed with them for the rest of the meal. Sheridan kept her eyes on her plate, but she stole glances at the man across from her. It had only been a week since he’d told her who he was, but this revelation today put years between them. Quentin looked the same; his speckled brown eyes still devoured her. But his words and his thoughts were alien to her. Secrets that he’d kept made her realize she’d been sleeping with a stranger.

  The silence stayed until the table was cleared.

  Quentin said, “I want you to know I’ll take care of everything—the mortgage, the car, all the bills. You won’t have to worry about any of that.”

  She nodded, deciding it wouldn’t help if she told him she hadn’t expected it to be any other way.

  “I’ll put money into the account like I always did.” He lowered his voice. “You will never want for anything, I promise. And the business—I hope you’re going to keep it. We worked hard on Hart to Heart.”

  Again she nodded. This wasn’t the time to tell him she got sick every time she went into the office and saw his words of love.

  He said, “I’d like to be able to continue the business with you.”

  Not a chance.

  “Maybe we can set up a schedule. I can come over once a week or so and we can work together. You think that might work?”

  No. “I’ll think about it.”

  He continued, talking about the children and how he wanted what was best for all of them. Sheri
dan nodded, as if she were listening, but her mind had left long ago. As she looked at him, Sheridan tried to erase him—from her mind and her life. But no matter what, he was still there. It was then that she realized she’d have to erase him from her heart first.

  “So, does this sound okay to you?”

  She shrugged because she hadn’t been listening.

  He said, “And I agree with you. We can take our time talking to Tori.”

  “Okay.”

  The silence that returned was heavier this time. Sheridan couldn’t remember a day when they two didn’t have words to share. But tonight proved their life as husband and wife, partners and lovers, was over.

  “I need to get home to the children,” Sheridan said as she slipped her purse onto her shoulder.

  “I’d love to see them.”

  In his words, Sheridan saw some of his pain—the sting of not seeing his children every day.

  “If you want to come by to see the children…”

  His face brightened, but only for a moment. “No. But I would like to start calling them every day. This last week…it’s been so hard.”

  She nodded. “Call them tonight.” She bit her lip. “But I don’t know about Christopher.”

  He nodded. “I have to talk to him.”

  “Let me talk to him first, and then I’ll call you.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled back her chair as she stood. More silence accompanied them as they stepped outside and handed their tickets to the valet. It was a relief to Sheridan when the Explorer came first.

  When she turned to Quentin, all the days of their lives stood between them until Quentin leaned forward, closing that space. He kissed her cheek. “It was good to see you like this.”

  She didn’t say the same but tried to smile as she stepped into her car. Quentin closed the door and wiggled his fingers in a wave good-bye.

  As she pulled slowly from the lot, she watched in her rearview mirror the vision of the man she had once loved completely and still loved deeply. He stood in a navy blazer and tan pants; she wanted to keep that image in her mind forever. She kept her eye on him until her car rolled from the lot and she turned to the right.