Second Thoughts (10 page)

“What? You’re gonna stand there and act like you haven’t hurt him either?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I needed that cup of coffee Omar had asked about earlier. He was messing up my morning routine, which had already gone awry with another unexpected visit from the officers earlier. Spending time with this rapist, this ex-con wasn’t on my agenda. I stood behind the round countertop. He walked closely behind me. I could feel his hot breath on the back on my neck. He stopped and pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and sat with his chest against the back of the black leather as if he had just pulled up to a bar. 

“Did you tell him about his mother, yet?”

“I’m his mother.”

He laughed.

“You’ve been practicing that delivery. Such conviction,” he teased.  “I meant his real mother. Did you tell him you killed his parents yet?”

“Get the fuck…”

“You have blood on your hands, Colleen. What do you think Patrick will say when he finds out that blood belongs to his parents?”

“Get the hell out of my house,” I screamed. “I’m the only parent he’s known and acknowledges,” I continued, pointing to the center of my chest with my index finger. 

“Of course you are. You made certain of that, didn’t you?”

“Me? You have some nerve. The only other parent he knew fucked him like a twenty-dollar hooker, God knows how many times. No, Omar, you made sure of that. You think you have nothing to do with the despise he carries in his heart for you?”

“Still?”

His intrepid response caused me pause. He’s always had that attitude, as if anything he did could be easily swept under the rug and everyone could go on with their lives as if nothing happened. You thought ten years in prison would cause him to see the error in his ways, but all it did was make him a more arrogant bastard with the guts to show up here expecting to be put on a goddamn pedestal.  

“I hope that’s not your way of telling me you came here looking for forgiveness.”

“Did you tell him about his parents?”  Omar repeated.

He walked closer to me as if he were making sure I’d heard him.

I wanted to spit in his face. I was looking at this man and, still, I was trying to be a lady. The longer he stood there, the hotter my blood boiled. Everything I’d ever felt for him had been replaced with hate. He saw this despicable look on my face that had lasted since the moment I opened the door.

“You know damn well Kiel and Lexi’s death was an accident.”

My anger was adamant.

“I don’t know shit.”

“And I’ve raised him since birth.”

“You were guilted into raising him. What fucking choice did you have?”

“Me? Guilted? You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve loved that boy since the day he was born.”

“Bullshit!” he yelled, and even though I was standing only a few feet from him, he startled me.

“Only thing you’ve done since the day he was born was lie to him. You didn’t even expect him to live. You planned the same fate for him that you planned for his mother. You didn’t have a motherfucking choice but to take care of him. What else where you supposed do after you’ve killed your only sister? I just don’t know why you haven’t told him.”

“It’s time for you to go.”

I stood with my back to him, staring out the kitchen window. I was certain Omar was pulling this accusation of out his ass. 

“It doesn’t work like that.” 

“What the hell did they do to you in that place?”

I turned and stood with my back against the front of the kitchen sink and stared at him. I was nervous. He was a stranger to me, and after ten years, I no longer knew what he was capable of. I folded my arms across my chest and pondered my next thought.

“Did it take you all ten years to concoct this bullshit-ass story?”

“Why don’t we let Patrick decide whose story is bullshit?”

“Yes, why don’t we? You have to get close to him first. Remember, you’re not just a rapist, Omar. You’re his rapist. And he’s no longer the ten-year-old boy you raped. You think he’s going to stand there and listen to you tell him the only mother he’s ever known isn’t really his mother? Good luck with that.”

“I’ve never depended on luck for anything. And I don’t think I’ll be starting anytime soon.” He walked closer to me and stood with his hands on either side of me, trapping me. His palms were pressed against the counter top. We stood with silence and tension between us. There was devil in his eyes.

“Something tells me you’ll need that luck for yourself when Patrick hears what you’ve done.”

I removed myself from his uncomfortable closeness and began walking towards the front door. I had entertained his visit, his conversation long enough. I stood with the door opened and waited for his exit.

He stood and gazed at me with an acidic grin on his face.

“Your move,” he said, as if we had just begun a game of chess.

He motioned to kiss me, and naturally I turned my face to avoid the feel of any part of him against my skin. 

“Be sure to let Patrick know I’m out, if I don’t find him first. I’m sure it won’t be hard.”

He walked down the steps, and then turned.

“Oh, and Colleen…,” he paused. “How’s your mother?”

I closed the door on him and his question. I had no interest in anything else he had to say. I watched his image disappear in the distance through the frosted glass. What a way to start my day. I walked back upstairs to the bedroom and frantically searched for my cell phone. I guess Omar’s visit had me a little more flustered than I thought. I looked in a few places before I remembered I had left it in the back pocket of the fitted jeans I had worn to have drinks with Mya and Crystal the night before. It was late when I got home, and I was tired, so the pants had been tossed at the foot of the bed.

I removed the phone and dialed Patrick’s number, but immediately reached his voicemail.

“Rick, this is your mother. Please call me when you get this message.”

I ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. I knew Omar well enough to know whatever he had brewing in that fucked-up mind of his, it wouldn’t be long before he would put his plan into action. Whatever game he planned on playing, I had to make sure I was one step ahead of him.

Chapter
10

Taylor…

I’m Calling You

Privacy was the last thing I was going to trust in
my sister’s house. I didn’t need Nessa
walking
in on another conversation, just as she had done earlier when she had walked in on my exchange with Dillon in the kitchen, and then later when she walked in on me talking to myself. I was going to tell Nessa what happened, but I hadn’t quite figured out how. I’m not sure if I should be worried about whether or not my sister would believe me, but that’s what most worried me. Nessa isn’t always the most levelheaded person, and I knew the longer I waited the deeper the hole I was digging for myself.

After Quinton woke, I prepared breakfast
⎯
oatmeal and toast
⎯
and sat him at one of the stools at the kitchen counter.  I grabbed my bag and keys and started towards
Nessa
’
s
room. As I turned the corner, I bumped into her. A bit startled, I informed her I had
to run a quick errand and asked her to keep an eye on Quinton. I was out the door before she could ask any other questions.

I pulled out the driveway and started down Worcester Street before attaching my Bluetooth to my ear. I contemplated dialing his number. I knew I couldn’t talk about everything with him, but if anyone understood the emotions I felt, it would be him. 

“I figured I would hear from you when you needed something.”

That’s exactly how I
expected DaMarcus to answer his phone when he saw my number appear on his screen. Already, I was regretting this decision. I had kept my number the same just in case he wanted to reach out to Quinton, although this rarely happened. His monthly child support checks were more constant than he had been in Quinton’s life. 

“Newsflash, you selfish bastard,” I said.

I loved my son, but I hated that he reminded me of so many secrets. I never thought I would come to despise the one man I risked and lost everything for, including my fiancé and my friendship with Belinda, things I thought weren’t important at the time because I was blinded by the lust I had for this man, ‘cause it damn sure wasn’t love.

“I don’t need you or anything from you, but Quinton does.”

“Is everything ok…?”

“I’m fine,” I interrupted.

It killed me to hear him act as if he gave a damn.

“I was talking about Quinton, my son.”

“Your son,” I laughed. “Listen, DaMarcus. Why don’t we, you, stop acting as if you’ve given a damn about him in, let’s say, the last three years. You’ve been so busy chasing Belinda’s behind, trying to make amends. And to think her announced engagement to music mogul Shedrick Wise has done nothing to stop you from trying.”

“She’s only doing what she needs to get me out of her system.”

I hated to think he had made that comment with a serious face, but I know DaMarcus. I was sure he had.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“You’re chasing your tail, DaMarcus. A divorce and a new man, and might I add an even richer man. I think we can both agree there is no more of you left in Belinda’s system.”

“Taylor, do we have to do this every time you call?”

“Five phone calls in the last three years doesn’t exactly constitute every time, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sometimes DaMarcus sends chills up and down my spine for the wrong reasons, and this was one of those times. 

“I’m not going through this with you.”

“That’s just it, DaMarcus. You never want to go through anything.” I wasn’t prepared to argue with him this morning. “I need you to take Quinton for a while,” I said in one breath.

“Where am I taking him?”

“To live with you. I need to sort some things out, and I can’t do this with him around.”

“What I am going to do with him? You know I have football.”

“Be his father, DaMarcus. Raise him like I’ve been doing since birth.”

There had always been tension between DaMarcus and me whenever we talked, that was probably part of the reason we avoided each other like the plague in a small town. I hadn’t counted on our strained relationship affecting the relationship DaMa
rcus had with Quinton. The last thing I wanted to do was repeat the mistakes my mother made, but here I was following in her footsteps. My father Kendall Duncan was a happily married man until my mother weaseled her way into his bed, and like some women─if not most─she thought if her love wasn’t enough for him to leave his wife, then surely having his baby would do the trick. Apparently, she had missed one valuable lesson: A man, who doesn’t want to be caught, can’t be caught with a damned baby. When one bastard baby didn’t work─‘cause that’s what his wife called me─my mother had the gall to give birth to another. At least I can say my sister and I weren’t mistakes. No. We were deliberate consequences of my mother’s quest to become Ms. Kendall Duncan. I don’
t know what he had said to make her think that was even possible. Maybe it was a conversation she had created in her own head. I loved my mother, but not a day went by that I don’t think about the lies she told.

Between three and twelve years old, I saw my father only once. Where was my father? Every time I asked that que
stion, my mother had a different answer─and they were all convincing. As young as I was, I didn’t have any reasons not to believe her. Why would my mother lie to me about my own father?

“I’m sorry, baby. He just doesn’t want to see you.”

That was the lie that hurt the most. When my father ran into me at a local ToysRUs─’cause I surely didn’t recognize him─I’d asked him the same questions I had been asking my mother. Of course, his answers were different. I secretly built a relationship with my father. My m
other went to her grave still believing she had me convinced my father wanted nothing to do with me. Unlike my mother, I gave DaMarcus a choice. What he did with that choice was his decision and his to explain to Quinton. I wasn’t going to deny my son a father; that was part of the plan.

I was sitting in a Home Depot parking lot thinking of a way to tell DaMarcus about Dillon, what transpired, and what might have happened if Quinton hadn’t interrupted. If I didn’t have history with DaMarcus, he would have been the last person chosen as my confidant. Why did I trust a man whom I aided and abetted in cheating on his wife?  I’ll be damned if I was going to let history repeat. I knew living with Nessa and Dillon was a mistake, but I had persuaded myself that time had erased any feelings I still carried for Dillon, and the fact that he was now married to my sister was an even greater deterrent. Unfortunately, last night had illuminated the truth, and this truth was not pretty. If I couldn’t live with what I had done to Belinda, how the hell was I going to l
ive with betraying my own blood?
It was hard living with what I’d already done.