Pieces of Dreams
Since the beginning, I instinctively knew I could count on Taylor, his ability to anchor me, weather the storm—the assurance that no matter what we were in this relationship together, kept me grounded, secure. Now I faced a Taylor I did not know. This new reality danced without rhythm in my head.
Disoriented from our confrontation and groggy from a lack of a decent night’s sleep, I made my way down the hall to wake Jamel for school.
“Where’s Daddy?” Jamel mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
My chest heaved. “He’s getting dressed for work, Sweetie. Come on. You need to get ready for school.”
“I’m hungry.”
“What else is new?” I teased, relishing the one thing that was familiar. It seemed as if my life was spinning out of sync, and the only thing holding me together was Jamel.
While I was preparing Jamel’s bowl of Frosted Flakes, Taylor walked into the kitchen.
“Daddy!”
Jamel sprinted from his seat at the table and jumped into Taylor’s arms.
“Hey, Buddy.” He squeezed Jamel to him.
“You was gone,” Jamel whined.
“I had some things to do, Buddy.”
“I’m eating Frosted Flakes.”
Taylor grinned, carried Jamel back to the table and deposited him in his seat.
“Make sure you eat it all so you can get big.”
“Like you.” He grinned and shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
Watching the two of them, so easy and comfortable with each other, my soul filled with so many emotions. How could I jeopardize this? Taylor, sensing my stare, looked up.
Sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, resting, it seemed, on his wide shoulders. I saw his eyes then, looking dark and distant, the shadows of a sleepless night ringing them like poorly applied mascara.
My heart thumped in my chest.
“I’m late,” was all he said to me before turning away and walking toward the front door.
“Taylor, wait.”
I followed him, but it seemed he wasn’t going to stop, as if he’d already dismissed me.
He put his hand on the door, stopped, and then turned toward me. For a moment he looked down, as if the words he was ready to speak had fallen and he was searching for them, needing to gather them up to make sense.
When he looked up at me, I knew I’d never felt such terror, such bottomless fear, that whatever was to come next would change our relationship forever.
He blew out a breath. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking Max, all night. I never deluded myself into believing that I could ever replace Quinn, be Quinn in your life, in your heart, in your body. What I believe I brought to this relationship was something real, not that make-believe bull that you had happening with him.
“I love you, and Jamel—just like he’s my own son. But he’s not, and the first time that reality scared me was last night. It shook me, Max, that you’d take yourself up to New York, work out whatever you think you need to work out with this man, and then he’d come for his son. The boy I raised.”
I saw his throat working up and down, as if he were trying to keep that knot of hurt from planting itself permanently there.
My eyes were burning, and I swore that my heart was being squeezed out of my chest. I wanted to run to him, wrap him in my arms, and make the past forty-eight hours disappear, make everything go back to the way it was. But I couldn’t—just as Taylor told me when we’d first met.
“So.” He blew out a long breath, raised his chin for a moment, and gazed up at the ceiling as if he could no longer bear to look at me. “I decided that maybe it’s best if you do go to New York, Max. Settle this thing once and for all, so that you can move on with your life.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “If there’s one thing I’ve never done, it’s stand in the of what you wanted, and apparently going to New York to be with Quinn is it. No matter what that decision will do to us. You think about it, Maxine. Really think about it. I don’t want you to go. I can’t be any clearer than that. But the ball is in your court.”
By the time I finally shook off the impact of his declaration, I heard his car pull out of the driveway.
He was gone. Out the door. And maybe out of my life.
Too many thoughts circled around me, like hungry buzzards waiting to pick apart an unlucky victim. Me.
What had I done? Better yet, what was I going to do? I was hard pressed to believe that Taylor would actually walk out on what we had simply because I elected to go to New York to be supportive of a friend during a difficult time.
But what if he did? Suppose he wasn’t simply challenging me—what then?
No. He wouldn’t do that. Not Taylor. We’d talk tonight when he came home. Really talk. I’d go to New York, come back, and everything would be as it was.
You’re fooling yourself a voice whispered. Things will never be as they were.
“So, what are you going to do”? Marva asked me later that day after I’d told her about Taylor’s ultimatum.
“I’m going. Just like I planned,” I answered, trying to sound resolute. I propped my hip on the edge of her desk and crossed my arms.
“And risk what you have with Taylor? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Taylor will understand when he calms down. And if he doesn’t, maybe what we have isn’t all it’s cracked up to be if he can’t trust me.”
Marva let out a snide laugh. “If I remember correctly, it was you who said you didn’t trust yourself.”
I rolled my eyes. “That was yesterday. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“But you’re thinking clearly now?” She flashed me “that look” again.
“I can handle this, Marva. I need to handle this. And Ty’s just gonna have to give me the chance to do it.”
“Whatever you say, Maxine. And whatever it is you think you have to prove, I hope it’s worth it.”
I got up from her desk, crossed the room with plenty of attitude, and plopped down in my chair. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who said I needed to go.”
“Listen, Max—bottom line, no one can tell you anything one way or the other. Only you know what’s in your heart and mind, and what you’re up against. Yes, you do need to settle this thing between you and Quinn. Yes, he does need to be told about his son. The question becomes, are you willing to deal with the consequences?”
I bit down on my lip—a bad habit I have when I’m wrestling with a problem. I tossed around what Marva said, and replayed Taylor’s words of that morning. At some point I was going to have to come to terms with my feelings for Quinn, say all the things I never had the chance to say. And if not now, then when? But when I did, when I opened the door to the past, unlocked the secrets and spoke the words, nothing would be the same for any of us ever again.
I would be changed, and Quinn, Taylor, and Jamel. The fabric of our lives would become unraveled, and it would take everything that all of us had—what we shared—to put it together again. But what would the pattern of our lives really be? And could Taylor and I withstand the changes that my decision would evoke?
Taylor. I hadn’t heard from him all day. My calls to his office had gone unreturned. “He’s in conference,” was the first response. “He’s out of the office,” was next. “I left your messages,” was said with just a taste of, “You’re getting on my last nerve now,” underlying the receptionist’s voice. I had a good mind to call his partner CJ to find out where Taylor was, and what he was so involved in that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, return my calls. I thought better of it. No point in getting CJ involved in our drama—although he probably knew, anyway.
Ty and CJ were thicker than the mob. The tie between them unbreakable. I knew CJ wasn’t too crazy about me in the beginning. He felt I was bringing nothing but trouble and heartache into Taylor’s life and had no problem about telling me so.
“Don’t mess with my man’s head,” he’d warned me as he carried a carton of Ty’s CDs into the town house the day Ty moved in with me. “He really digs you, Maxine. Ty’s a good brother, and I don’t want to see him hurt. Not by you. Not by anybody.”
His jaw clenched and I saw the muscles in his arms flex. His nut-brown face darkened ominously.
“I wouldn’t hurt Taylor. I wouldn’t,” I swore, staring into his unflinching eyes. And at that moment, I knew CJ would have no problem making me a vague memory if I messed with his boy.
“Hey, listen, it’s not about what you wouldn’t do, Maxine. You got a lot of baggage comin’ into this thing. Ty’s not just takin’ you on—but—”
He looked down at my rounded belly with an accusing look in his eyes. And all of a sudden I felt ashamed, almost guilty, and I wasn’t sure why. There was nothing for me to be ashamed of. This baby, my baby, was conceived in love. Not some one-night stand.
“…you know what I mean,” he was saying.
“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, Calvin,” I snapped, ready for a throw-down. “But the bottom line is, this is between me and Taylor. You can have whatever opinion you want about me. That’s your business. But when it’s all said and done, it’s about us loving each other and making a life together. Now, you may not like me,” I said, getting on a serious roll. “I can’t worry about that. I’m not in this to win a popularity contest with you as the judge. The only person whose opinion matters, one way or the other, is Taylor. Period, End of story.”
We stared each other down for a minute, and then all of a sudden his expression softened and he tossed his head back and laughed.
“You know something, Maxine Sherman—you’re all right.”
He strolled into the house and the topic never came up again. Over the ensuing months, CJ and I actually became friends, close. We respected each other’s boundaries and accepted the fact that we both loved Taylor.
It was CJ who took me to the hospital when I went into labor, and held my hand until Taylor arrived on a red-eye flight from Chicago. He stood as Jamel’s godfather, and I bent his ear on many an occasion planning surprise parties for Ty’s birthdays, or crazy anniversary ideas I’d come up with. And it was me he came to all love-struck and tongue-tied when he wanted to ask his longtime girlfriend, Tracy, to marry him.
“What if she says no?” he lamented.
“CJ, what if she says yes, fool? You know she will. That’s what’s scaring you.”
He grinned and kissed me on the cheek. “That’s why I dig you, Max. You don’t pull any punches. So—you gonna come with me to pick out a ring, or what?”
Sure, I could call CJ, ask him what was going on with Taylor, but I didn’t think I could stand to hear what I knew would be accusation and disappointment in his voice.
Besides, if Taylor didn’t want to talk to me, if he didn’t want to listen and try to understand, then fine. And CJ certainly didn’t need to know about that—although he probably did, already.
But in the meantime, I still had to get the ball rolling. I was going to New York, to prove something to myself, to Taylor, and to Quinn, once and for all. And, however the pieces fell, I would deal with the consequences.
I made arrangements with Marva to take care of Jamel while I was gone, especially since I had no idea what Taylor’s plans were. I didn’t want to think about it. I left work early, picked up Jamel from day care and took him to Marva’s house. The possibility of Taylor walking out on us was a concept I didn’t want to imagine. Besides, if I gave into Taylor’s real wish for me not to go to New York, what would be next? What else would he not want me to do, and hold the threat of leaving me over my head if I went against him?
That idea took root, giving me the last ounce of determination I needed to do what must be done. Yeah, he had a lot of nerve.
But even as I put my key in the door of the house that Ty and I shared, all the bravado in the world couldn’t have prepared me for what I found.
Chapter 3
The Bed You Make
The past two days were hell—it’s the only word to describe it, although I could probably think of something more graphic. The folks that worked for me were busy doing their computer thing all around me, but I wasn’t really seeing them.
I was just sitting there trying to figure out where things had gone wrong between me and Max.
I should have known this day was coming, sooner or later. I figured I’d be prepared, that’s all. But there was that part of me—maybe male ego, maybe plain stupidity—that made me think that Maxine and I had this perfect, incredible thing happening between us that would last forever. You know, like in the great American romances. Ha, what a joke. I guess she had other thoughts all along. That’s the thing that’s tearing me up inside. She was playing me.
Suddenly I felt as if I didn’t know her anymore, what she was about. That everything we’d been planning, handling, and dealing with on the day-today these past three years was all a crazy dream. It wasn’t real, not if it could crumble to pieces with one phone call—make her start lying and hiding things from me.
Naw, it isn’t right. I thought, this whole thing is wrong, and it seems there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it. So here I am, thirty-five years old, with my own business, a solid future, and it doesn’t mean a thing.
I looked up, and CJ was grinning down at me. “Hey, Man, you just going to stare at the computer screen all day, or what?” he asked me, punctuating his question with a slap on my back.
Calvin Jackson and I have been hard and fast running partners since sophomore year in high school. Man, the things we haven’t done together could fit on the head of a pin. He’s the closest thing to family I have.
“Just thinking, Man. That’s all.”
CJ pulled up a chair next to my desk and sat down. His brows knitted in concern.
“You look like a bad pot of grits, Man, all lumps and mush. I can give you a razor to get rid of that shadow, unless you’re going for a new look.”
I had to laugh. CJ came up with the most ridiculous visuals. “That bad, huh?”
“Yeah. That’s the watered down version. What’s happening? You been walking like a zombie for days. You’re not sick, are you?”
“Naw.”
“Everything cool at home? ’Cause I know that business is booming. So that ain’t it.”
I looked away for a moment and stared at the web page design I’d been pretending to be working on for the past few hours.
CJ and I started WebMasters about five years ago, just the two of us. Now we have a staff of ten graphic designers and five technicians, and more business than we can handle. He was right. It wasn’t business.
“It’s Max,” I blurted out, as if those two words would somehow explain everything.
“Is she all right, Man? She’s not sick, or anything?”
I shook my head, almost wishing it were something that simple—that she could just take something—a pill, some cough syrup—and everything would be cool.
“No. She’s not sick.”
“Oh, that’s good.’ He waited a beat. “So—what is it?”
I shut off my computer. Couldn’t concentrate, anyway. “It’s that brother from New York, Man.”
CJ’s eyes widened, then narrowed, in that look he always has seconds before he gets really pissed off.
“What about him? Don’t tell me he’s trying to make a move on Maxine. Not after all this time. That’s bulls—”
“It’s not him. At least not like that. It’s Maxine, too.”
“What!” He sat straight up in his seat. “Naw, you’re gonna spell this one out for me, my brother. Not Max,” he hissed between his teeth, then caught himself and took a sidelong glance around the office.
CJ had been the one who’d cautioned me from day one about getting involved with Maxine—especially with her being pregnant with another man’s baby.
“Are you out of your mind, Ty?” he’d asked me one Sunday afternoon in the park after we both nearly collapsed from exhaustion after a game of one-on-one. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself involved in. What if this Quinn dude pops back up and wants to lay claim? This is all rebound, man. You deserve better than that. Just chill a minute before you rush into this thing. I don’t want to see you get all messed up.”
I hadn’t listened. I didn’t want to.
From the first moment I laid eyes on Maxine, I knew she was my soulmate, the one person, who—after years of emotional denial and detachment—turned the light back on in my world. Maxine made me want to trust in being in love and loving again, something I’d thought could never happen. She’d opened her heart to me without expecting anything in return. At the same time, she needed me—and it had been far too long since I felt needed by anyone.
It all happened so suddenly, like an accident, nothing planned—not a blind-date thing. It was as if fate had stepped in and said, “Here, Man, ‘this Bud’s for you.’”
How it went down was that we had just landed our first big client—a corporation with outlets in ten major cities across the country. They wanted us to design their website, as well as install computer systems at all of their locations. This was it. CJ and I had just hit the big time.
The CEO of the company wanted the two of us to fly down to Atlanta to meet with the execs from all of his locations, sign the deal, and start work as of yesterday.
CJ was busy pulling together our bag of tricks for our presentation, and I was assigned the task of handling the flight arrangements. Our hotel, ground transportation, and food were being taken care of on the other end, which was really cool.
There was a travel agency I passed every now and then on my way in and out of town. I believed it was black-owned, and I was all for keeping business “in the family,” so I figured I’d give it a shot.
For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the name of the place, so I went in person which was okay, too, since it was sort of on my way home.
I pulled up in front of the place about six-fifteen or so, just as a woman—who I later discovered was Marva—was hanging the Closed sign in the window.
Dashing across the street I ran up to the door and knocked on the glass.
The same woman who’d just hung up the sign came to the door and mouthed, “We’re closed.” She had the most incredible blue eyes, set against pale skin.
Just as I put on my best “begging” expression and clasped my hands in prayer, the absolutely finest woman I’d seen in a while walked up behind her.
Being what I considered a connoisseur of gorgeous women, I knew this one was way up on the Richter scale.
She was a brown, svelte beauty, the color of mouthwatering chocolate, with a close-cut hairdo that framed her near-perfect face. She had wide, expressive brown eyes and full, kissable lips. Her body was a Playboy photographer’s dream, with long dancer’s legs displayed beneath a short denim skirt that had me thinking all kinds of wild thoughts. She wasn’t busty but full, bringing to mind peaches, ripe and sweet for the picking.
She said something to the woman next to her, who stepped aside as the beauty opened the door.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
Her voice, rich and sweet as honey, slid all over me, and her smile with that little gap in front—oh, Man. I forced myself to concentrate on why I was there.
“I hope so. I know you’re closed, but I’m desperate.”
“We can’t have that.” She grinned. “Come in and let’s see what we can work out. I’m Maxine Sherman,” she said, leading the way into the small, but cozy office.
“Taylor Collins.”
“I’m going to head home, Maxine. Will you be okay?” Blue eyes gave me a sideways glance.
“Sure, Marva. Go on. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” she said to both of us.
“Night,” we harmonized, and turned to each other and laughed.
“So, where are you so desperate to go, Mr. Collins?” Maxine asked, taking a seat behind a cluttered desk.
“Atlanta. Day after tomorrow.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. It’ll just cost you a bit more. The short notice,” she added by way of explanation.
“No problem, as long as I get there.”
“Please, have a seat,” she said, indicating a chair next to her desk, and I noticed the slenderness of her long fingers—and no rings.
She shuffled some papers around, actually moving them from one pile into another, and turned on her computer. With a few quick strokes of those lovely fingers she had the reservation screen up. She bit down on her lip in concentration as the information scrolled in front of her.
“There’s a seven a.m. flight available through American Airlines. Is that okay?”
I forced myself to concentrate on what she was saying to keep from focusing on the smoothness of her skin, the sensual movement of her bare fingers, and the way her mouth became an erotic orifice every time she spoke.
“Uh, sure. That sounds fine. I’ll need two tickets. For my partner and me, Calvin,” I added, for some reason, needing her to know that a woman wasn’t involved.
She smiled. “When will you be returning?”
“At least a week. It’s a business trip.”
“Really? I can get you a good rate.” She keyed in some more information. “What kind of business are you in?”
“Web design and computer installation and maintenance.”
“That must keep you busy.”
“Very.” I smiled. “As a matter of fact, this trip is to close a deal with one of the first big clients we’ve had.”
“Congratulations. I hope everything works out for you.”
She continued to type in the information. “Can I arrange for hotel, or car rental?”
“No. The people we’re going to see are taking care of that.”
She smiled again, and I thought my heart had stood still.
“Aren’t you lucky?”
“We’ve worked hard. It’s been a struggle but things are finally coming together.”
She leaned back a bit and looked at me. “I know the feeling.” Her eyes roamed the space. “There were days when I first opened the agency that I thought I’d made a major mistake. But it was my dream, and I was determined to make it work.”
I nodded, experiencing the same thought myself on too many occasions. If not for CJ convincing me to hang in there, I might have given up. Who did she have to cheer her on?
“You’re not from here,” I said after a moment, the rapid pronunciation of her words finally settling in.
“New York. I’ve been here about four years.”
“No kidding? I visited there a couple of times. Tough city.”
“That it is,” she said in what sounded like a faraway voice.
“Miss it?”
“At times.”
She looked away then, but not before I caught the flicker of some painful shadow in her eyes. Her open demeanor seemed to shut down, her body tense every so slightly. I was pretty good at reading body language. That said more to me than anything that came out of folks’ mouths, which was generally whatever they wanted you to believe. But the body—now, that didn’t lie—and Maxine’s body was speaking all the words her lips refused to say. There was a history in New York, one which she’d chosen to put behind her, or so she thought.
She cleared her throat. “How will you be paying for your ticket—cash or charge?” she asked, now all business, the easy banter of moments ago gone in a key stroke.
“Charge. Visa.” I reached into my back pocket, a bad habit, and pulled out my wallet. I handed her my credit card.
“What’s the last name of the other party, your partner?”
“Jackson. Calvin Jackson.”
She processed the card without another word and handed it back. Moments later my tickets were printed out.
“Here you are.”
She smiled, but the sparkle was gone from her eyes. I wanted to ask her what was wrong. Was it something I’d said? But some instinct told me to leave it alone.
And then all of a sudden she looked at me, her eyes glistening as if she were about to cry.
“You ever wish you could go back and do something over?” she asked, suddenly. “Something you’d really screwed up, something that maybe if you’d said something, had done something, everything would have been different?”