Forever An Ex (31 page)

That was it. Pastor Ford had spoken. And maybe this was really a good thing. Because at home, maybe I'd find a way to start this Sunday all over again. Maybe I'd get into my bed, go to sleep, and wake up from this nightmare.

Leaning over, I held my father and hugged him tight. And I pressed back tears as he whispered, “I love you so much, baby girl, and we're gonna make it through this.”

I held my father until Pastor Ford gently pulled me off of him. Then she held me, kissed my cheek, and sent me on my way.

Asia and Sheridan said their own good-byes to my father and our pastor. And Sheridan assured my dad, “We're going to take good care of her, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

I pressed my fingers against my lips and blew a kiss to my father. He raised his hand in the air, then curled his fingers as if he caught my kiss. Then he held his still-clutched hand to his chest, and his lips curved into a small smile.

And together, we remembered.

I'd taught Sabrina to blow kisses when she was just three years old. And Dad used to catch them. It tickled Sabrina so much that she walked around the house blowing kisses, and all day long, my dad, my mom, and I would catch them.

I'd blown that kiss to make my father smile. I'd blown that kiss and it cracked my heart.

It wasn't until Sheridan took my hand that I was able to shift my immobile legs and walk out of the room.

“Whew!” I exhaled once I was in the hall. I felt like I was just coming up from being held underwater. Leaning against the wall, I tried to steady my breathing.

From behind the nurses' station, Harmony rushed over to me. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just need to get home.”

“You're taking her?” Harmony asked Sheridan.

“I am. And thanks for everything. Thanks for taking care of my friend.”

“No problem. I'll be here tomorrow.”

When Harmony moved to the left, we walked to the right. And Asia whispered, “I can't believe Quentin's Harmony was taking care of your dad!”

“I know,” I said, glad to have something else to talk about for a moment. “I would've warned you,” I said to Sheridan. “But . . .”

“Well, I asked her how was Quentin and she told me she didn't know,” Sheridan said. “I didn't probe, but I don't think they're together anymore.”

I tilted my head. Sheridan sounded just a little too happy about that, and if this was any other time, any other place, I'd be all over her about it. But this was now, and we were here. And remembering all the moments of today made me sigh.

“I know, it's tough, huh?” Sheridan said as she put her arms around my shoulders.

I nodded.

“Well, I'm going to take you to your house, you can pack a bag, and then you can stay with me.”

Asia jumped in: “I think it would be better if you stayed with me since I don't have a husband and we can just do girl time.”

“But I think it would be better if she stayed with me,” Sheridan told Asia. “She'll have me, my mom, and Brock.”

In the elevator, the two of them debated, as if I wasn't there. In a way, I wasn't. So I didn't need to be part of this discussion. Especially since I wasn't going home with either of them. If I wasn't going to be with my dad, then I needed to be alone.

The two were still wrangling over me when we stepped out of the hospital.

Sheridan said, “Well, since I'm the one driving, I'm making a decision. I'm taking her.”

I was just about to shut down all of this back-and-forth when we heard, “I got her.”

The three of us looked up and there he was. D'Angelo. With his arms crossed, he leaned against his Lamborghini, which was blocking the entryway, of course.

He pushed himself off the car, nodded at Sheridan, then Asia, then turned his eyes to me.

Softly, he said, “I got you.”

I nodded and then watched as Sheridan hugged him. “Thank you,” she said. And she whispered in his ear, “Please take care of her.”

“I will,” he said. Then he took my hand and led me to his car. He helped me inside and strapped me in, before he sprinted to the driver's side. He jumped in and cranked up the engine.

And then he took me home.

 • • •

Before he took me home, though, D'Angelo drove. Just drove and drove, staying close to the coast so that I could see the view as the sun made its westward journey. And as he drove, D'Angelo just let me be.

He let me lean back and think.

No music. No conversation.

We were surrounded by silence and the magnificent artistry of the day giving way to night over the Pacific. It made me sigh. If D'Angelo was trying to remind me of God, this did it.

But neither God nor the beauty of His creation could stave off my thoughts. Or maybe, I should say thought. It was singular: Sabrina was dead. My sister was dead. I would never see her alive again.

That thought played over and over.

Another sigh, and D'Angelo rested his hand on top of mine. At that moment that was all I needed.

When the car finally stopped in front of my cottage and D'Angelo turned off the engine, I sat still for a couple of minutes, staring into the ocean. After a while I twisted so that I faced him. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “But you know you don't have to thank me, right? I'm here for you.”

I reached for the door, but in a second D'Angelo was on my side, with his hand held out to help me up. He walked me to the front door, but before I put the key into the lock, I faced him.

“Thank you.” I was hoping that he'd catch my hint. That this was as far as he was going.

He said, “Don't worry. I just wanna walk you in.” He took the key from me, unlocked the door, then stepped aside so that I entered first.

I walked in, and gasped. All around were votive candles, dozens of them, perhaps even one hundred, if I took the time to count them. They were everywhere, on the tables, on the mantel, on the kitchen counter, even on the deck outside. I saw light from my bedroom and I was sure there were candles in there, too.

The room glowed as the lights flickered. This was serenity.

“You did this?” I faced D'Angelo.

He nodded.

There were so many questions—like how had he gotten into my house? But interestingly enough, I didn't feel like I really needed to know. Maybe if this were someone else . . . but this was D'Angelo. And though there was little that I was sure of at this moment, one thing I knew was that this man would make sure that I was safe.

“So, is this cool?”

“It's amazing.” But then I turned to him. Because a house full of candles meant only one thing.

As if he knew my thoughts, he held up his hands. “I know my purpose, and I play my role. This is not about anything else except making sure you came home to some kind of peace. This is all about you, not us.”

I nodded.

“Now, I will stay if you want me to; I'd like to stay.” Again, he held up his hands. “But this is up to you, pretty lady.”

I gave myself a moment, even though I already knew the answer. “Thanks, but I think I really need to be by myself.” I paused. “You understand, don't you?”

“I know you, so I do.” He kissed my cheek, turned around, and then walked out the door.

I leaned against the closed door and took in the light that glowed in the middle of the darkness. It was so peaceful, but I felt no peace.

Emotions burned deep inside of me, and I fought to squelch that flame. I didn't want to cry, didn't want to feel. I was so afraid of what that might look like if I were to just let myself go.

I had to stay strong. Be the Kendall Stewart that I always was, the woman that everyone expected me to be.

With a deep breath, I took two steps toward my bedroom. But then I stopped.

And my legs began to tremble. I spun around and ran to the door. Surely, D'Angelo was gone, but maybe, just maybe, he'd been held back by a phone call or something. Maybe he wasn't yet on Pacific Coast Highway, and he would see me running up the road chasing him.

I swung the door open. And there he stood. As if he knew I'd come back. He was just waiting for me.

Without saying a word, I wrapped my arms around his waist and he held me, too. Once again, he lifted me into his arms, this time, carrying me into my bedroom. He tossed back the duvet, and gently laid me down. Then he climbed onto the bed and held me. Just held me.

D'Angelo had been wrong. He'd set up my house so that I'd have nothing but peace. But as he held me now, what I felt was better than that. What I felt was what I needed the most. What I felt was love.

Chapter

Forty-One

I
shot straight up in bed!

Panting and trying to catch my breath. My eyes focused through the darkness.

Where was I? I scanned the room, then reached across my bed to turn on the lamp. But the lamp was not where it was supposed to be.

That was when I remembered. I wasn't in my home. For three nights now, I'd been here, in my father's house. I'd have to get out of my childhood bed to turn on the light in this bedroom.

I jumped out of the twin bed, and even though I hadn't lived in this house for way more than twenty years, I knew my way in the dark.

The switch was right at the door and I clicked on the light, then stood back and studied the room that I'd slept in until I left home for college. Even when Sabrina left home seven years later, my father never changed the room. Our twin beds, the dresser, and the rocking chair that was between our beds were still in place. As if my father hoped that one or both of us would return home one day and just resume our lives.

Slowly, I moved back to my bed and then sat on the edge. It took a moment for me to raise my head, but when I did, I stared at the bed across the room. Sabrina's bed.

I wondered when was the last time she'd stayed in this room. Had she ever come back and stayed here the way I did?

Not that I did this too often. I'd stayed in this room on the night before Christmas. And now here I was again. And it was the night before the funeral.

The funeral.

Maybe it was because of the funeral tomorrow that I couldn't sleep for more than ten minutes tonight . . . or last night . . . or the night before that. Maybe it was because of the funeral that every time I closed my eyes, I was besieged by those loud voices in my head.

The voices were as familiar as the words . . .

“You have a cancer within you that is eating you up inside . . . you have to find a way to deal with your unforgiveness.”

“This thing about your own time . . . you don't own any time. All time belongs to God . . . He wants forgiveness that He tells you to give to others to be just like the forgiveness He gives to you. Instant.”

“ 'Cause when God teaches you the lesson finally . . . I've just learned that hard hearts get the harshest lessons.”

My dad, my pastor, D'Angelo . . . all of them were shouting at me. Even now, though I was fully awake, I could still hear them, though at the moment they weren't shouting. Now their words were soft whispers, telling me over and over what I already knew.

This didn't happen during the day. Those hours had been filled with the planning of the services and I'd taken on that responsibility like I was opening a new spa. I took on every detail—from the flowers, to the music, to the scriptures, to the programs. I spoke to the police myself about the escorts, I spoke to the soloists about what key they would sing each of the three songs in, I selected the font for the program and decided that it should be filled with pictures.

The only thing that I didn't handle was Sabrina. I left everything that had to do with my sister to Anthony and my father. I didn't even go to the funeral home or the wake last night because there was still so much to do. So many people to greet, so many calls to make . . . Anthony had even asked me to speak with the insurance company and I had gotten on top of that right away.

Every day, I worked myself until I was ready to just drop. Each night, I was overcome by exhaustion.

But I guess exhaustion had nothing to do with sleeping. Especially not when your heart was being haunted.

I scooted all the way onto the bed and leaned against the wall. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I wondered if sleep would ever come again. Maybe this was my punishment. A lifetime of waking hours so that I would be conscious 24/7. So that every hour of every day for the rest of my life, I'd be aware of what I'd done.

With a sigh, I moved to stand up and do what I'd done the past couple of nights. Go check on my father, then walk through this house and remember Sabrina.

Every night, I'd had my own memorial. Of the Christmas when I'd used my own money to buy Sabrina a tricycle. Of the Christmas when she'd used her own money to buy me a lipstick holder. Of the days when she was a teenager and I'd take her on shopping sprees. And of the nights when I was preparing to leave for college and she cried and told me how much she was going to miss me.

While I cherished those memories, I was being tormented by them, too. So, I didn't want to do that tonight. I didn't want to walk through this house and remember. I just wanted to sleep and forget.

Maybe I needed to call D'Angelo since I was with him the last time I slept. But I hadn't seen him since Monday morning when he'd awakened me to a bagel and tea in bed. He'd left me with just a kiss on my forehead and told me he'd be in touch.

My father told me that he'd come by the morning that Anthony and I had gone to sign some papers at the funeral home. But he was gone by the time I came back. So, D'Angelo was not an option. I was going to have to find a way to rest my bone-tired body on my own.

Leaning over, I laid my head on my pillow. But my eyes never closed and I just stared across the room. At Sabrina's bed.

My eyes stayed on that side of the room, and I could see her sitting there when she was just four and was so determined to tie her own shoes. Or when she was six and she brushed out her pigtails, because now she wanted to wear her hair in a ponytail the way I wore mine.

I sat up, swung my legs onto the floor, and moved to turn off the light. But this time I didn't go to my bed.

It took a moment for me to sit down on Sabrina's bed, and then another moment before I pulled back the blanket and slid down beneath it. I lay on my back with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling.

My eyes didn't close, but on this side of the room, the voices had quieted. Maybe I wouldn't sleep, but in Sabrina's bed, maybe I could pretend to have a little peace.

 • • •

The ringing startled me out of my sleep.

That was my first thought. And my second: I'd been asleep.

I slipped out of the bed, then grabbed my phone from the other side of the room, hoping that it hadn't awakened my father.

“Hello,” I said, sounding like a frog.

“Kendall, this is Pastor. I'm really sorry to call this early and wake you, but I really need to see you. Can you meet me at church?”

“When?”

“Right now.”

I pulled my cell away from my ear so that I could check out the time. It was just a little after six. “Is everything okay?” I figured she needed to speak to me regarding the services today.

“I need to see you.”

“Okay . . .” Then I paused. “But I don't really like leaving my dad alone.”

“Oh, I know that. I called Blanche, and she'll probably be there before you hang up from me. She'll stay with your dad while you come over here.”

It had to be serious if Pastor had already taken care of that. “All right. I'll take a quick shower and I'll be right there.”

As I clicked off my phone, the doorbell rang and I tightened my robe as I rushed to the front of the house. Just like Pastor said, Sister Henderson was standing there with a shopping bag filled with groceries, as if we needed any more food. The refrigerator was already overstuffed with dishes and pans that would make a fabulous feast for a family of five.

“Good morning.” Mrs. Henderson stepped into the house with the kind of cheer that came from already being awake for hours.

“Good morning and thank you for coming over so early.”

“That's okay, baby. You know I was going to be here anyway to whip up breakfast for you and your dad.” She paused and took her smile away for just a moment. “You're gonna need all your strength today.”

I just smiled because I didn't want to tell her that like sleep, my appetite had failed me. Even the sight of food made me feel just a little bit sick.

But while Mrs. Henderson made her way to the kitchen, I dashed to the bathroom, showered, and slipped back into the sweatsuit that I'd worn yesterday. The entire time my head was filled with thoughts of the funeral. I scanned through the checklist in my mind and the only reason I could think of for Pastor to be calling had to be the programs. Something had gone wrong with the programs.

Before I left, I peeked in on my father, and then asked Mrs. Henderson to let him sleep as long as possible.

“Okay, baby,” she said.

But she already had the skillet sizzling on the stove and I knew by the time she dropped strips of bacon in there, my dad would be up and on his feet. He had to watch his diet while he was on chemotherapy, but I figured I wouldn't talk to him about diet. Not today.

Even for a Thursday, this was early, and so with the before-seven traffic, I made it to the church in just a little over fifteen minutes. It was easy to park right across from Hope Chapel, something that I was never able to do since Kelso Street was always filled with cars.

I turned off the engine, then stared at my home church. It wasn't hard for me to imagine the scene that would unfold here in just a few hours. I could see the hearse and the two limousines that would be following Sabrina to her resting place.

And I wondered . . . was there any way for me to get out of attending the funeral? I'd been able to work it with the wake last night—I'd told everyone that I was waiting for an important call from the insurance company. Of course, that wasn't true, but no one knew it. Would anyone believe that lie today?

I'd have to think about that some more, but I couldn't handle it right now. I had to get in to see Pastor Ford.

The door to my pastor's outer office was open, and when she heard my footsteps, she called out, “Kendall?”

“Yes, Pastor.”

I had barely stepped into her office before she rushed around her desk and squeezed me in a tight embrace.

“How are you?” she asked as she held my hand and led me to her sofa.

“I'm good. I was just worried that something had happened with Sabrina's services. I was thinking the programs?”

Pastor shook her head. “Everything is fine. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Pastor Ford said as she stood and walked toward the brewer that she had in the corner of her office.

I shook my head. Really, I would never be rude to my pastor, but I hoped that she didn't call me over here to have a little chat. I mean, didn't she know all that I had to do? My plan this morning was to do all the follow-up, call the florist, call the police escorts, check in with the cemetery. I had to make sure that everything went as smoothly as any other event that I was responsible for.

But either my pastor didn't know my schedule or she didn't care. She took her time pouring her coffee, took her time coming back to the sofa, and took her time sitting down.

I was just about to scream when she said, “Have you been to the funeral home?”

“What?” I blinked. I was so tired I couldn't even hear what my pastor was saying. It sounded like she'd asked if I'd been to the funeral home. What did that have to do with anything?

And then she repeated her question and I was shocked that I had heard her right. “To the funeral home?” I asked, because I needed some kind of explanation to understand this question.

She took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “To the funeral home to see Sabrina.”

Why in the world would she ask me this? “No,” I said. “I've been busy handling other things.”

“Too busy to see your sister?”

What is the point?
I wanted to ask her. Was seeing her going to bring Sabrina back? Was seeing her going to give me a chance to make it all right? But I reeled in my attitude and said, “There's been a lot for me to do, Pastor.”

Pastor Ford sipped more coffee, then placed the cup and saucer on the table beside us.

Turning back to me, she took my hands inside of hers. “I love you, Kendall.”

And the burning began in my stomach.

“I love you and I know you. I know that you spent six years in a very dark place.”

The burning began to rise inside of me.

“And I'm not going to let you do that again.”

Now she lost me. If she were to just ask me whether or not I'd forgiven Sabrina, I would've told her that I had. Death fixed all of that. Her death had punished me.

Pastor said, “You went through something awful, and I know that you were beginning to move forward, and so there is no way that I'm going to let you go back.” She let go of my hands and then held my face, forcing me to look straight at her. “No more unforgiveness in your heart. Now you must forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself for what, Pastor?” I asked, snatching myself away from Pastor Ford. I stood and looked down at her. “For never forgiving Sabrina?”

“No,” she said calmly, staying on the sofa. “That's not what I'm talking about, because you
have
forgiven Sabrina, haven't you?”

“Yes!” I cried. “But only because she died and now it's too late. Because I never got to tell her that. She doesn't know that I've forgiven her.”

“But that forgiveness was never for Sabrina.” Pastor Ford moved her hands, punctuating each word. “That forgiveness was always for you. That was something that I was trying so hard to get you to understand. That a heart that was hardened with unforgiveness only hurt you. It never hurt Sabrina.”

I covered my face with my hands, hoping that I could hold back the burning emotions that swelled inside of me.

Pastor Ford said, “Yes, she loved you and wanted a relationship with you. But in spite of how you felt about her, in spite of how you treated her, Sabrina moved on with her life. With joy and happiness. You were the one who suffered. You were the one who was left with that bitter pill you swallowed every day. You are the one who hasn't experienced complete joy in your life. And that's why I'm not going to let you go down this road again.