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  “Wait for what, Quentin?” she whispered again.

  He didn’t back away. “All I’m saying, Sheridan,” he began, matching her tone, “is there are a lot of years and a lot of love between us. We need to wait until we’re sure.”

  She stared at him for a moment before she backed away, putting as much distance as possible between the man she still loved and her heart. “I’m already sure because I’ll never be what you want. I’ll never be a man.”

  She rushed up the stairs but stopped when she heard one of the bedroom doors slam. She held her hand over her pounding chest and looked over the railing at Quentin. She could tell he had heard it too, and their fears were the same—had one of their children overheard them?

  The Harts stared at each other for a moment longer before they both turned away. Sheridan was already in her bedroom when she heard the engine of Quentin’s Mercedes. But this time she stayed away from the window. She didn’t need to see him. She already knew where he was going.

  The tears came again, but they were not the same as the ones she’d cried that morning, and yesterday, and the day before. Tonight, she cried because she couldn’t contain her rage. This time she cried because all she wanted was for Quentin Hart to get out of her life for good.

  Chapter Six

  The kitchen screamed in silence.

  The morning sounds were missing—no television blasting or siblings battling; Sheridan didn’t even hear spoons scraping against the bowls as Christopher and Tori finished their cereal. She stood outside, away from their sight, preparing herself to greet her new family—as their single mother. She took a deep breath and spread her lips into a wide smile.

  “Are you guys almost finished?”

  Neither answered her.

  “Tori, your van will be here in five minutes.” She glanced at Tori’s cereal bowl, still three-quarters filled with corn flakes, milk, and a sliced banana. “Tori, you have to get moving.”

  “I’m not hungry, Mommy.”

  Sheridan’s heart fell to her knees—just like last night when she’d found Tori sobbing in her room. She’d held her daughter until she fell asleep, then went into her own bedroom to cry. But in front of the children, she would never show her anger. “You have to eat.”

  “I don’t want to.” This time tears accompanied her words. “Mommy, can I stay home? I don’t feel well.”

  Sheridan sat next to Tori. “You’re sad, huh?”

  Tori nodded. Christopher pushed back, scraping the chair’s legs against the floor. Before she could call him, he dashed from the room.

  “I think school will make you feel better,” she said, turning back to Tori. “You’ll see your friends.”

  “But what if Joy or Lara ask me about you and Dad?”

  “Why would they ask you anything?”

  “But suppose they do? I don’t want them to know.”

  Sheridan didn’t have a response because she felt the same way. She didn’t want anyone to know. Even though she’d told Kamora, she hadn’t taken any of her best friend’s calls since. She hadn’t even spoken to her mother, even after Beatrice had left a message yesterday announcing that Cameron’s radiation treatments would begin tomorrow. Like her daughter, Sheridan wasn’t ready to share this shame.

  Tori said, “Lara’s and Joy’s mother and father live with them. I don’t want them to know that Daddy won’t be living with us.”

  Sheridan wanted to just sit in the middle of the floor and cry. This was what Tori felt now, but what would happen when the world found out her father preferred a man to his wife? She wished she could keep Tori and Christopher home. Lock the doors. Bolt the windows. Unplug the telephone. Hide inside and just pray for Jesus to return.

  “You know what, Tori? I can promise you two things. First, Lara and Joy will not ask you anything about your dad and me. And second, you’ll have a wonderful day in school.”

  Tori pushed her bowl away, nodded, and stood. Sheridan waited until she heard Tori’s steps on the stairs before she picked up the bowls Tori and Christopher had left on the table and dumped what remained into the garbage disposal.

  “I’m leaving, Mom. I’m going to catch the van over at Darryl’s house,” Christopher said.

  “Okay.” She stared at her son dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt under his jacket. She frowned. Where were his khaki pants and golf shirt? He never dressed this way for school.

  But she stayed silent and just wondered what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “Have a good day, Chris.”

  He walked out the front door, and she tried not to question why Christopher hadn’t hugged her the way he did every morning.

  He just forgot.

  “Mommy.”

  She tried to smile a little at Tori, who stood at the door with her backpack. “Yes, sweetheart.”

  “You promised I would have a good day at school, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you promise me something else?”

  Sheridan nodded.

  “Can you promise me Daddy will come home soon?”

  Sheridan swallowed the lump in her throat before she said, “I can’t do that, sweetheart, but not because I don’t want to. I just don’t know what the future will hold.”

  “But you told me I was going to have a good day.”

  Sheridan didn’t have enough words to explain this life to her daughter. “I’m absolutely sure of that. But things with your dad and me…We have a lot to figure out.”

  “Okay,” Tori said as if sadness had wrapped itself around her.

  “But there are some things I can promise you. I can promise that your dad loves you. And I love you. And in just a few days you won’t be so sad. And in a few weeks life will…feel normal again.”

  Tori inhaled as if she was going to ask a question, but the blare of the school van’s horn stopped her. Sheridan had never been so happy to hear that sound.

  “We’ll talk more after school, okay?”

  She rushed Tori through the front door, kissed her, and then waved—like she did on normal mornings—as the van drove away. She closed the door and then leaned against it, praying that by the time her children returned, she’d be more prepared for their misery.

  The moment she stepped away, she heard the front door’s knob jiggle. She frowned when Christopher stepped inside.

  “Chris.”

  “Mom.”

  They spoke at the same time.

  “Did you miss the van?”

  “No.” He closed the door and dropped his bag onto the floor. “I told Darryl to have the van come here because I wanted to talk to you.”

  She glanced at the clock. “Chris, the van will be here in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Sheridan frowned. “Don’t call you what, sweetheart?”

  “Chris. I don’t want to be called Chris anymore.”

  Her frown deepened, but then she laughed. “Okay, what’s the joke? Is this something you and Darryl have cooked up?”

  “It’s not a joke, Mom. I don’t want you to call me Chris anymore. Call me Christopher.”

  Her smile left when she saw his seriousness. “Chris…what are you talking about?”

  “Mom, I’m serious.” His voice quivered. “I want to be called Christopher.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly.

  His eyes left her and he stared at the floor. “I know about Dad.”

  She barely heard his words, but his expression was enough to tell her what he’d said. When Christopher looked up, there were tears in his eyes that matched hers.

  “You know what?” she asked, although she knew what he was talking about. She remembered the sound she’d heard when she was speaking to Kamora. She remembered the slam of the door last night. She knew what he knew.

  Christopher looked into her eyes. “I know why Dad’s leaving us. I know there’s something wrong with him. I know he’s not a man.”

  She didn’t have the words to agree or disagree.
She simply wrapped her arms around his neck. “I didn’t want you to find out this way,” she whispered as she held him.

  “But I did.” His voice got louder with each word. “And I don’t want to be anything like him.”

  “Chris,” she began, but before she could continue, he interrupted her.

  “Don’t call me that, Mom. Chris could be a girl’s name, and I’m nowhere near gay.”

  “Okay, calm down, Chris…topher.” She motioned toward the living room. “Let’s go talk.”

  “I don’t want to.” And then the sound that had saved her minutes before saved him now. Christopher wiped the single tear that had rolled down his cheek. “There’s the van.” He lifted his bag.

  “It might be a good idea for you to stay home today,” she said.

  “No, I want to go to school. I just don’t want to have anything to do with Dad ever again.”

  “Don’t say that…Christopher. Your father loves you—” Before she could finish, her son rushed through the door. She hurried behind him, needing Christopher to understand that his father loved him and always would. But he jumped into the van before she could tell him that truth.

  The van eased from the curb, taking her son and his pain away. She wanted to run after the vehicle and snatch Christopher back—hold him and make his hurt disappear. But just seconds later, the van vanished from her sight.

  Minutes passed before she stepped back into the house and closed the door.

  “Girl, I was about to hurl out an all points bulletin for you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sheridan said, pushing the cell phone earpiece more securely into her ear with one hand as she maneuvered the car with the other.

  “I’ve been calling to make sure you were okay,” Kamora continued her rampage. “You could have at least returned a sista’s call.”

  “What can I say?”

  “Just say you’re okay.”

  Sheridan thought about Christopher and Tori and the pain of their morning. She wanted to tell her friend her life would never be fine again. “I’m okay.”

  “I’m glad. You’ll let me know if you need to talk, right?”

  Sheridan smiled. In her tone she heard Kamora’s love. It was great to know that whatever she went through, her best friend would be there. Just the way Kamora had been since they’d met in the first grade. Just the way she thought Quentin would be for the rest of her life.

  Kamora said, “I have a lot to tell you.”

  It wasn’t often that Sheridan was eager to hear about Kamora’s escapades as she searched for her perfect man. But this morning she couldn’t wait to hear about her friend’s latest exploits. She wanted to think about anything except where she was going and what she was about to do.

  Kamora continued, “I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

  Sheridan frowned as she turned onto La Cienega. “Working on something for the office?”

  “Girl, I ain’t hardly thinking about my company. This is about you. You will not believe the things I found out about men like Quentin.”

  Sheridan’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know,” she said, as if Sheridan should be able to decipher her thoughts, “men who are married and sleeping with other men. There’s a ton of research on this.”

  Sheridan sighed. “And why would I want to hear this?”

  “Sweetie, I know this is hard, but you’ve got to know.” Kamora spoke quickly, as if she felt a protest coming. “There is just so much of this going on. And the worst thing is women are the ones suffering.”

  I can attest to that, Sheridan thought.

  “Let me read you something: ‘Women are being victimized spiritually, emotionally, socially, but most importantly, physically by men who say they are straight but sleep with other men. Women are living with and dying for men who subsist inside a secret world, having sex with men and then running home to have sex with their girlfriends, fiancées, and wives. The tragedy lies not in the denial of these men to accept the fact that they are gay; the tragedy lies in the fact that the denial is so deep, very few insist on practicing safe sex, exposing themselves and their unsuspecting female partners to the deadliest of diseases.’ ”

  Sheridan wanted to close her eyes but instead swallowed hard as she eased from the freeway and turned onto Cloverdale Boulevard.

  Kamora continued, quoting statistics on the number of men suspected of living on the down low. “And now black women are the fastest-growing group contracting AIDS.” Kamora paused for just enough time to inhale. “Honey, I hate to say this, but”—she lowered her voice—“I think you should have an AIDS test.”

  Sheridan stayed silent as she pulled into the Saint John’s Medical Center parking lot and turned off the ignition.

  “Sheridan, did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes.”

  “You may not want to, but an AIDS test is necessary because—”

  “I agree with you,” Sheridan interrupted.

  “Really?” Kamora said, as if she hadn’t expected her agreement so quickly.

  “Yes.” Sheridan’s lips trembled as she stared at the two-story medical building. She could see the windows of Dr. Hong’s second-floor examination rooms. “I need to protect myself and my children. I have to make sure I’m healthy.”

  “That’s right, girl. I’m so glad you’re looking at it this way.” Kamora’s voice softened. “Make the appointment and I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I’m not going to let you go through this alone. Just tell me when you’re going and I’ll be there.”

  “Now.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going now.”

  “Don’t you have to make an appointment?”

  “My doctor will see me. I’m sure of it,” Sheridan said, not bothering to explain that she’d made the appointment yesterday.

  “O…kay. Well, I have some meetings this morning, but if you can go at about one…”

  “No, I’m going right now. You’ve convinced me.” She paused and blinked to keep back her tears of fear. “I’ll just call you when it’s over.”

  “I wish you’d wait for me.”

  “I have to do this now…before I change my mind.”

  Kamora paused. “Okay, but when you finish, we’ll spend the afternoon hanging out. I have some plans for you.”

  Plans. Sheridan wondered what kind of plans she’d have to make after today. Would her doctor tell her that her children were not only losing their father but that their mother was a victim of more than their father’s verbal deception?

  “Come by my office when you’re done.”

  Sheridan was sure all she’d want to do was crawl into her bed. But she said, “Okay,” and clicked off the phone. She took a deep breath before she stepped from her car.

  Pushing back her shoulders, she strolled toward the medical building as if she weren’t terrified. She marched to the receptionist’s desk as if a cloak of confidence were wrapped around her.

  The receptionist was on the telephone, and she smiled, her eyes asking Sheridan if she could please wait. Sheridan smiled back as if she had nothing but time.

  But inside, Sheridan’s heart wept. Lord, please hear my cry. This is in your hands. You know what I need. You know what my children need. I worship you, I praise you, I thank you for your favor and I pray for your blessings…

  “Good morning, Mrs. Hart,” the receptionist said, stopping her prayer. “You’re a bit early, right?”

  Sheridan nodded, because she couldn’t speak.

  “That’s okay. You’re blessed today.”

  “What?” She spoke louder than she expected. But she had just prayed for blessings.

  “Dr. Hong’s first appointment canceled, so I’ll be able to get you in and out.”

  Sheridan nodded again. This was a blessing because that was exactly what she wanted. To get in. To get out. To get this over with.

  Chapter Seven
/>   Heaven wept.

  The rain poured from the sky in thick sheets that blocked any view of Washington Boulevard from Kamora’s Marina del Rey office suite. It had been pouring from the moment Sheridan left the doctor’s office and slipped inside her car. The sudden storm caught everyone in the city by surprise—everyone except for Sheridan. She knew these were God’s tears for her.

  The downpour had made Sheridan call Kamora. “It’s raining,” she had moaned. “I want to go home.” And back to bed.

  But her friend would not be denied. “You owe me, Sheridan. I’ve been worried about you for days.”

  Sheridan begrudgingly gave in, knowing Kamora would not give up. Once she arrived, she’d been led into Kamora’s office by her assistant with the explanation that Kamora was in a meeting.

  Sheridan didn’t think it was possible, but the rain poured from heaven harder. And the deluge of the sky’s water took her back to another place, another time—the day seventeen years ago.

  It was a day like today. A day when everyone who relished the L.A. life scratched their heads and said, “It never rains in Southern California.” But on the day that she and Quentin had chosen to legally promise to love each other until the end of time, the sky had opened and released its water with such fury, Sheridan was sure God was telling her something.

  She could imagine God’s words, not unlike the ones her mother and father and brother had uttered. It had been a battle from the moment she and Quentin had announced their intention to marry.

  “You’re too young,” her father had protested. “You should at least wait until you graduate from college.”

  “And why do you want to get married at the end of this month? Why are you rushing it?” was her mother’s contribution to the heated argument. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  Neither had voiced what she was sure they both wondered. But while her parents maintained their decorum, her brother had not.