Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do (22 page)

40

I
T WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN
we finished dinner and shared clean-up chores. The Andre's was gone, the moon was out, and Peachy was more than a little high, which was fine. If you can't get a little drunk in honor of great love lost, when can you get a little drunk?

I probably should have asked myself that question a few hours earlier, because by the time Peachy hugged us both twice, said good night, and retired to his room, I had a nice little buzz myself. Sitting on the deck beside Blue, I wanted to confess something, or promise something, or claim something, not necessarily in that order, but mostly I wanted to curl up in his arms and see if we could find a shooting star to wish on. Mostly I wanted him to hold me for a while. To let me get used to the smell of his skin, the circle of his arms, the way his mustache tickled when he kissed me.

I closed my eyes and tried to see if his mind reading was working.
Hold me
, I thought.
Just hold me.

“Gina?” His voice was as warm as the soft night air.

“Yes?”

“Tell me what you want.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him, but I felt as shy as a fifteen-year-old on a high school date.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” he asked.

Be careful what you ask for. …

He smiled and reached out to touch my cheek. “We won't do a single thing that you don't want to do.”

“I want to do everything,” I whispered, holding his hand against my face, leaning toward his kiss. “Remember?”

“Then that's what we'll do.”

41

B
ETH LEFT THREE MESSAGES
on Friday night, four on Saturday, and another three on Sunday. Her tone grew increasingly annoyed, and I knew it was probably accompanied by a rise in rage at Jade for her poor judg ment in not finding out what I had to say before she let me go off God knows where for the weekend. I wondered how she'd feel if she knew I had spent the past two days falling in love with the one-hit wonder.

You know how sometimes after you make love everything gets weird? I've had that experience more than I'd care to admit. For a while, I thought it was my fault. I started believing all those frightened guys who kept telling me I was too intense or encouraging me to
lighten up
. I wondered ifI was wrong to think that sex could be something that made everything sweeter, richer, deeper. Maybe I was crazy to think there were things you could communicate through the skin that you couldn't say any other way.

Well, I didn't have to wonder anymore. Making love with Blue was the most intimate experience I've ever had with another human being. Just before dawn, I got up and opened the big windows in the bedroom to feel the breeze against my body. I could hear the ocean whispering outside, and all of I sudden I did it:
I remembered the sea.
I remembered the rhythm of it, the constant song, the power of it. I found all that in my exchange with Blue that night, and when he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, I knew he had found something, too, and even though it had taken him a couple of lifetimes, it had been worth the wait.

When we got back to Atlanta late Sunday night, playing games with Beth was the last thing on my mind. I spent the night at Blue's and told myself I was allowed to remain on “beach time” until I had to show up at Morehouse the next morning. Freeney and I were going to screen the rough cut of the biographical video, and, after that, as promised, I would call Beth. I went home in the morning to take a shower and change, kissed Blue goodbye in the hallway, and strolled up to Morehouse with that “sure-was-good” grin on my face and not a care in the world.

Freeney met me on the steps of the old library building looking stressed. When he saw me, he waved me over anxiously, as if I wasn't moving fast enough to close the distance between us.

“What's wrong?” I said. He was a friend now as well as a coworker, and I knew his partner was HIV positive and hadn't been well. “Is it Brady?”

“Bless you,” he said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “But, thank God, no. Brady's getting stronger by the day. It's
her
. She's here!”

“Who's here?”

“Ms. Davis. She's already watching the video downstairs.”

“She's
what
?” I headed for the conference room, where I knew he would have set up the video equipment. This was just a rough cut. Her suggestions at this point would just confuse the process.

“I wasn't expecting her,” he said. “But when she showed up and I told her what we were getting ready to do, she said she'd like a look herself, so I didn't know what else to do.”

I made myself slow down. Freeney was already puffing trying to keep up and what was I rushing around for? There was no problem. This was simply Beth putting me in my place for being inaccessible for two whole days. She was stamping her little feet to let me know she was displeased, and that was fine. She'd find no flaws in the video—I had made sure she was in almost every frame— and her irritation with me would pale to insignificance the minute I handed her the photograph of her beautiful little grandson.

I turned to Freeney, mopping his bald head and looking at me helplessly. “It's fine. She's entitled to see anything at any time.”

Freeney looked guardedly reassured. “Really?”

I nodded. “He was her son, remember? That's why we're doing all this.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “I just didn't want to jump the gun since we hadn't talked about her involvement at this level and I know Ms. Davis can be—” He stopped, embarrassed, searching for a polite way to say “a real bitch.”

I put him out of his misery. “Demanding,” I said. “Really
demanding
.”

He grinned at me and gave his face one more pass with that big white handkerchief. “That's it exactly.”

I opened the door of the conference room and Beth was sitting there watching the monitor in the semidarkness. On the screen was a clip of Son delivering the commencement address at Morehouse last year. He was exhorting them, in the time-honored tradition of graduation speakers, to be all they could be, but in Son's mouth, it sounded like a call to arms, an invitation to excellence and the most exciting adventure possible. That was the last of the edited footage, and, as the screen turned to snow, Freeney clicked on the light.

When Beth turned toward us, her face was wet with tears. “It's lovely,” she said softly, pulling a tissue from her purse and blowing her nose. “Absolutely perfect.”

Freeney and I were speechless. For a test screening, tears and testimonials were high praise.

“I'm glad you—” I started to say, but she waved her hand to stop me. “No, I mean it's
perfect
,” she said urgently, her eyes imploring me to understand.

I turned to Freeney. “Can you leave us alone for a few minutes?”

“Of course, of course,” he said, backing out the door, eyes wide with sympathy and surprise.

I sat down next to Beth and pulled my chair close. “You okay?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Tears were still streaming down her face. I took her hand and waited. In all the rush to finish the tasks at hand and figure out what was really going on, I had almost forgotten that Beth had lost her only child when Son died. She had handled the public requirements of her grieving with class and restraint, but in the privacy of her own heart, she had never stopped missing him.

She mopped her eyes and managed a shaky smile. “I remember that day so well. He'd never been better. The students just crowded around him afterward, Gina.” She shook her head sadly and dabbed her eyes again, then she looked at me. “I owe you an apology.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

“No, I do. I know I blamed you for some of the problems between Son and me before you left, but it wasn't your fault. He had his own ideas. He wanted his own life, his own family.”

I looked at her closely.
Did she know about the kid?

“But I didn't know how to let go.” Her voice trembled. “I was selfish. I wanted to keep him tied to the life I had created for him, for
us
, and I did that. I surely did that, but how he must have suffered trying to please me instead of being himself.” Her voice was filled with regret.

“Don't blame yourself,” I said. “Son loved you very much. You know that.”

She smiled and patted my hand gently. “Yes, I know that. I also know that you think my running for governor is a really bad idea.”

“We don't have to talk about that now,” I said.

“I want to. I think … I think Son probably would have agreed with you.” She smiled again. “I
know
he would have agreed with you, but … I think part of why running appeals to me is that it will take everything I've got, and I've got some big spaces to fill in my life, Gina, that weren't there before. It's hard to admit it, even to myself, but watching Son on that video …”

Her voice trailed off for a minute and her eyes filled up again, but she didn't break down. “I just wouldn't want to make a move like this without really thinking it through the way he would want me to.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. There was still a chance that she'd tell the draft committee to go to hell and throw her support behind Precious!

“That's all I was trying to say the other day,” I said. “I just don't want you to rush into anything that isn't in your best interests.”

“I've decided to put off any decision until after the dedication. That will be Son's day, and I don't want to mix it up with a lot of politics.”

“I think that's very wise.”

She nodded. “Good. Then that's what we'll do.”

Things were going so well, I didn't want to bring up my conversation with Precious, but I didn't have to worry. Beth had that covered. She tucked her tissue back into her pocket and sighed.

“Well, I certainly didn't mean to come in with so much drama,” she said. “I was just hoping I could catch up with you and get a report on your meeting with Senator Hargrove.”

She made me sound like a double agent or something. “It wasn't really a meeting. We had
tea
. She said she'd been trying to get in touch with you, but she hadn't gotten a response.” I reached into my briefcase for the envelope and handed it to her. “She asked me to give you this.”

Beth took the envelope and looked at the front. “It's addressed to Precious. Why would I want to read mail that isn't addressed to me?”

“It's
about
you.” “What about me?” Her voice was indignant.

I looked at her.

“All right, all right,” she said, withdrawing the note and the photograph. She looked at the picture, and I knew she saw exactly what I saw:
her grandchild.

I couldn't tell what she was feeling, but she looked at the picture for a long time, then she read the note.

“What does it mean?” she asked, her eyes flashing angrily.

“Precious thinks someone wants her to use it to get you out of the race.”

“I'm not in the race.”

“They don't want you to get in.”

She looked at the picture again. “This is not Son's child. You know this is not Son's child.”

“I don't know anything about it,” I said. “But if you do have a grandson, wouldn't you want to know?”

“I would know!”
she snapped. “Son never would have kept this from me.”

“That's the same woman who was in the other picture with him,” I reminded her gently.

“I don't care who she is!” Beth said. “And I am not going to take responsibility for a child who just happens to look a little bit like my son.”

She was in deep denial, but there was no reason for me to press her. She had already agreed not to make any kind of political announcement at the dedication. That left Precious free to participate and me to write a speech that honored my friend and completed my obligation. This was a personal crisis for Beth that did not involve me beyond the passing of the photograph as requested. There was an address on the note. She could follow up on it or not. I was out of it.

“Maybe you can have your investigator talk to the woman,” I said. “Then at least you'll know one way or the other.”

She glared at me, obviously considering her options, then she folded the note and slid it back into the envelope with the picture. “You know what this is, don't you?” she said quietly. “This is nothing but political dirty tricks.”

“I agree.”

“I wouldn't have expected it from Precious, not this early anyway, but I'm not really surprised. She's already running scared.”

“What are you talking about? She brought it to me to give to you.”

“That's the whole point, don't you see? She's acting as if she's doing me a favor, and she's really trying to scare me out of the race with a threat like this.”

I shook my head. “You're wrong. She said you were a formidable opponent and she'd rather you didn't get in the race at all, but she wasn't prepared to use dirty tricks to keep you out.”

Beth smiled at me condescendingly, as if what I was saying was hopelessly naive. “What else is she going to say? ‘Here, Gina, take this blackmail threat to Beth and tell her there's more where that came from’?”

She was picking up steam, working up into an outraged rant. “There's an unlimited pool of strippers in this town who will say anything they're paid to say!”

“That's the second time you've said she was a stripper.”

She pulled up short, instantly wary. “Is it?”

I nodded, remembering Precious's words:
It's been a long time since anything surprised Beth Davis.
Did she know this woman?

Beth busied herselfall ofsudden with putting the enve lope in her purse like that was a task that required her complete attention. “Well, that's what we've had to deal with before, like I said. That's who keeps making these outrageous claims and offering to keep quiet for money.”

She stopped herself, having said more than she had intended to say. I looked at her, and it was clear to me that she knew a lot more than she was telling. It was also clear that this conversation was over.

Beth glanced at her watch and frowned. “Is it that late?”

That was so lame I didn't even have to pretend to believe it. “It is what it is,” I said, watching her gather her things quickly.

“I've got to run. Thanks for bringing me this,” she patted her purse protectively. “And pardon me for being guilty of cutting the head off the messenger. I'm used to the scams, but this one has gone too far, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Keep me posted,” I said, walking her to the door of the conference room.

“Don't even worry about it,” she said. “I'll put somebody on this. You just keep doing the wonderful work you're doing. Son would be so proud.”

I watched her walking down the long hallway and wondered what she knew about this woman and her child. She had thrown out dirty tricks, unscrupulous strippers, and con artists as possible reasons for the appearance of the photograph. What she hadn't dealt with at all was Son staring out at her from that child's face.