Sixteen
________
What Are You Not Telling Me?
Ryle
I HELD A CUP OF FRESHLY brewed coffee in my hand. I sipped slowly, allowing the taste to tickle my taste buds. I liked having the option of heading into the office late on Mondays. There was something about the weekend that made it difficult to get your mind in work mode again, even if you spent the weekend doing nothing. It was like everyone went to work singing the Monday blues.
I sat in my home office and rested both elbows on my desk. A picture of my mother and father sat in a silver frame in one corner of the dark cherry wood desk. My grandfather stood erect in another picture mounted to the wall behind me, with the Georgetown steeple in the background. This is exactly where I wanted to be starting my morning. I wasn’t sure how this phone call would play out, but it’s one I have been putting off for years.
“Mr. Morgan Neighbors for Ms. Samantha Wells,” I announced in a hushed tone.
“Is that what you want me to tell her?”
Her voice had a childlike innocence to it.
“Are you questioning my identity? Is Ms. Wells available?” I asked, sounding a bit irritated.
“I may forget a face, but a name and a voice as distinct as yours, never. Now, please correct me if I’m wrong, but you sound like Mr. Ryle Lucas, the attorney. You were fired for charges brought against you by your own secretary, the very same person you are calling to speak with. You tried to prove your innocence but failed. Now, am I…?”
That was the case she laid out, and she waited for me to confirm.
“Are you what? Who is this?”
I had all but conceded that my cover was blown.
“Well, I did introduce myself as Ms. Felicia Hailey when I answered the phone. The question is, do you believe me?”
She waited in silence for the quiet on my end to break.
“I have no reasons not to,” I finally answered.
“You have no idea who you’re talking to, do you?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“That’s for you to decide, Mr. Lucas. It seems as though she got you good, too. She’s very good at getting obstacles out of her way, people included. She always figures out a way to make you pay for getting her burned.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Ms. Hailey,” I warned.
“What am I not to believe, that she got you good, or what she said you did to her?” Felicia asked for clarification. “Don’t worry, Mr. Lucas. I’ve met Ms. Wells, or should I say, the soon to be Mrs. F.B. Graybourne. I know she can’t be trusted. I’m just wondering how is it you didn’t see that.”
“Ms. Hailey,” he began.
“Please, call me Felicia,” I interrupted. “I have a feeling you’ll be speaking to me more often.”
“Ok, Felicia. My involvement with Ms. Wells and what transpired is...”
“None of my business?”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say, though I would be right. My involvement with Ms. Wells isn’t the easiest thing to explain. I had closed the door on what we had, and even that was ill gotten. She introduced herself in my life again, and I let her in. I assumed she had changed, and even though I believed otherwise, I gave her the benefit of all the doubt I had in my heart. Wait…”
I paused.
“You referred to her as the ‘soon to be Mrs. Graybourne’. What are you talking about, ‘soon to be’?”
I sat back in my chair and waited for Felicia to expound. I could hear crickets disturbing our silence, even though it was early morning. My heart pounded, and I concentrated on getting it to slow. I took a nervous sip from my mug and returned the half-empty cup to its place on the corner of the desk, on top of the coaster.
“Well, it’s a quiet buzz around the firm. I’m still trying to figure out how she managed to do what so many around here haven’t been able to. Yup, she got Mr. Graybourne to trade in his bachelor title,” Felicia said without hesitating.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
I was dumbfounded.
“I have plenty of work to do and no time to kid. I do have one question for you. If you were so certain of your innocence, why didn’t you go the distance to prove it? Or is that what you’re trying to do now?”
“Ms. Hailey, you said?” I asked before responding.
“That is correct,” she confirmed.
“If you had the opportunity for revenge, would you take it?“
“In a New York minute.”
Her response was firm.
“Now, Mr. Neighbors,” she added, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Would you still like to leave your message for Ms. Wells? I will make certain she gets it.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
A feeling came over me. I might be wrong, but Felicia knew more about Samantha Wells than she told in our brief exchange. She insisted she knew no more than anyone else, maybe a little bit more because she likes to research. But as far as I was concerned, her research served more than one purpose. What did she know, and was she willing to share what knew with me?
“Meet me for coffee at Constitution Café. It’s right around the corner, not too far from the office.”
“I know where it is. It’s down the street from the New York Avenue Metro station. But why am I meeting you?”
“Just meet me. I’ll answer any questions you have then.”
She sat on the phone quietly, and I listened to the clock in my office tick loudly from one second to the next. I was hoping Felicia would accept my invitation to become my collaborator in my inevitable ruin of Ms. Samantha Wells.
“What time?”
Her response surprised me.
“In an hour.”
Seventeen
________
The Meeting
Felicia
I WALKED A BLOCK TO UNION Station and hopped onto the Red Line train, heading one stop to the New York Avenue stop. It was too early and too cold to walk from my office to Constitution Café on N Street. I stood close to the door watching readers turn pages of the daily Express that was usually handed to them upon entrance to some metro stations. Others ran fingers across screens of smartphones and e-readers. Just before the door closed, he slipped in. He wore a striped navy blue suit. His long, navy blue wool coat was thrown over his arm. He stood directly across from me, so without hesitation, I forced myself to avoid eye contact with him. It’s been two years since Campbell Bates and I crossed paths. Leave it up to Angelique to speak him back into existence. I just had to make my way out of this train car without him seeing or recognizing me. I didn’t have time to entertain his twenty questions. He and Angelique seemed to agree on one thing: my life was devoid of the kind of happiness a good man could give me. They seem to have forgotten everything that I thought was the last good man gave me.
When the train stopped and the door opened, I rushed through the doors as if someone had yelled fire. I headed down the escalator, out the station door, and then made a left down N Street. The temperature promised to reach fifty degrees by mid-afternoon, but so far, it felt like it was still struggling to break forty degrees. The breeze was calm, but I wrapped my neck in a blue, plaid cashmere scarf to block the chill. My grey twill pea coat was buttoned and belted at the waist. I walked with hurried steps in the direction of Constitution Café.
On the inside, the café was abuzz with discussions about the upcoming presidential election, which was now just one day away. It was early Monday morning, and politics was definitely on the minds of the patrons. This was a preamble to the dialogues that would be taking place once the POTUS was elected. You gotta love democracy. I stood a few feet from the door, looking left and right, hoping Mr. Lucas was already there, waiting. I looked to my left a second time and there he was. He sat in the corner, patiently waiting for my arrival. I knew he wouldn’t recognize me. I strode over and stood in front of him. He kept his focus on his breakfast bagel and a cup of cappuccino coffee.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked, removing my scarf.
“It will be shortly,” he said in a stern voice. “I’m expecting…”
“Felicia Hailey,” I interrupted, extending him my hand.
He looked up at me with a dead stare, with a smile frozen in its place. He looked bewildered, and I waited for the ghost I thought he must have seen to reveal himself.
“Felicia Hailey?” he questioned, taking my hand in his.
“Yes, we spoke this morning.”
I removed my hand from his grasp and assumed the seat on the other side of the square dinette table. I unbuttoned my coat, but kept it on until warmth found me.
“I hear the first thing to go as you age is the mind. Are you losing your mind, Mr. Lucas?” I asked, becoming more comfortable in the aluminum chair, if that was possible. I leaned back and crossed my legs. He nodded his head at the omelets on the platter in front of the seat I had just occupied.
“I wasn’t sure how pressed you were for time. That’s for you,” he said. He waited for me to take my first bite and then he continued, “Yeah, and about this morning. You asked me if I believed you when you answered the phone introducing yourself as…”
He paused. He had my attention.
“Felicia Hailey,” he continued.
I smiled.
He sounded as if it was something he had been thinking about since our conversation this morning. I wasn’t particularly fretful about my identity with Ryle. I already knew we were on the same mission: seek, which I did, and destroy. Of course, if he wasn’t so willing to help a so-called good friend, he wouldn’t have found himself in the predicament he was in. I didn’t think people were still giving second chances, but, of course, good ole Ryle Lucas had found it in his heart—I guess—to give Samantha her opportunity to hurt him again.
“Is now a good time to tell you that I don’t?”
“You don’t what?” I asked.
“Believe you. I didn’t think about it much until just now, seeing you this close. I’m surprised she hasn’t found you out yet. She must not be paying that much attention to you.”
I hadn’t yet confirmed or denied Ryle’s presumption. He didn’t need words to acknowledge he was barking up the right tree.
“How could she? She’s too busy with her head up Mr. Graybourne’s ass.”
Ryle remained quiet. He stared at the remaining half of a breakfast bagel that sat on his plate. He looked up. His eyes gleamed, as if he’d just had a revelation.
“Kennalyn Covell.” His response echoed with an unparalleled certainty. “So, I guess you think I deserved everything that happened to me.”
“I’m not one to revel in someone else’s demise, Mr. Lucas,” I said, reaching for the container of coffee.
I brought the container to my mouth and sipped cautiously, keeping watch on Ryle. The taste of Butter Toffee—one of my favorites—sent a tingling in the back of my mouth. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and enjoyed the sensation. I took another sip and then set it back on the table. Ryle waited with patience as if he knew I had something else to add. He was right.
“I leave that up to people like Samantha Wells. She’s a woman with many targets. You were just unfortunate enough to get your name on her list twice. Usually, after the first time, these men learn their lesson.”
“Were you one of her targets?”
“Me?” I asked, spreading my right hand on my chest. “Not me, my husband.”
“Your husband? I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I,” I said, and leaned forward. “But it’s quite simple, when you think about it. She wanted my husband. She teased and flaunted until she got him, and then three years into my marriage, on the night of my third anniversary, she took pleasure in bringing my husband’s infidelity to my attention. She stole my husband and robbed my children of a two-parent household, and when she was done with him, she dropped him as easily as she picked him up.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Let’s talk about why you’re here.”
“Okay, I did say I would answer any questions you had, didn’t I?” he said, smiling.
I didn’t respond. I sat back in the chair, and listened to Ryle’s story.
Eighteen
_________
And This Is What She Did
Ryle
HER NAME WAS GARI NICOLE. WE cherished that little girl, worshipped the ground her little feet walked on. I was a proud, happy, proud father. I had a family I knew I could provide for, and I knew no matter what, my little girl would always love me. Little Gari Nicole made Sam smile, but that didn’t last too long. Whatever it was that was missing from her life, I couldn’t provide. Still, I loved her until she gave me reasons not to; until the secret she carried became too overwhelming for her.
I stood in a meeting one afternoon when I received a message on my cell phone asking me to come straight home after work.
We need to talk.
I didn’t expect anything good to come from such a conversation, but fearing the worst, I hoped for the best. The message was from Samantha. I hadn’t spoken to her since I left for work that morning. That’s how the second worst day of my life began. In retrospect, meeting Samantha Wells in church, on that Sunday morning, was the first worst day of my life.
I tried calling Sam after receiving her message, but she could not be reached. As soon as I could, I rushed for the elevators, made my way down to the garage and rushed home. I drove with the music at ear-piercing level, attempting to drown any negative thought that found its way inside my head. When I entered the house and walked through the foyer, Sam was sitting on the couch in silence. Gari slept soundly in her arms. I greeted them, kissing Sam on her lips and Gari on her forehead. Sam’s eyes were red, as if she had been busy wiping tears from them all day. She didn’t respond to my affection.
After asking her if she was okay, I kissed Sam on her lips. She rose from the couch, handed Gari over to me, and walked toward the window. I stood for a moment and watched Sam as she stood there, staring into nowhere, and at nothing particular. I laid Gari on the couch very gently, trying not to wake her, and then walked over to Sam. I wrapped my arms around her waist and squeezed her tightly, hoping my hug provided whatever reassurance she needed. When she turned to face me, her eyes were damp with tears. I could see her searching for words, as if she had convinced herself that no matter what words she used, it wasn’t going to be easy.
“I love you,” Sam said, as she turned away from me again.
She gazed toward the floor and folded her arms across her chest. My mind raced as I thought about the possible disclosure that was sure to follow. Those three words, I love you, were nothing but a prelude to an eventual heart-wrenching admission, as if they would soften the blows that would come from her words.
“I know that,” I responded, and held Sam’s hand, entangling my fingers with hers.
“He said he would tell you himself if I didn’t come clean,” Sam said, turning around to face me.
“Tell me what, Sam? What are you talking about?” I asked, holding her hand tighter. “And who the hell is he?” I questioned in a perplexed tone.
“The baby’s…”
Sam paused.
“The baby’s what?” I interrupted, rushing her through her thought process.
She released her hands from mine and walked a few steps away, still searching for the words she couldn’t seem to find.
“The baby’s what, Sam?” I asked again, following closely behind her.
“You’re not Gari’s father, Ryle,” she blurted out.
Her confession floored me. My heart sank, and immediately I felt everything I loved being taken away from me.
“I’m not Gari’s what? What the hell are you talking about?”
My questions were covered in disbelief and anger. Sam’s revelation was unbearable. I knew what I’d heard, but I couldn’t bring myself to accept the words that fell from her mouth as truth. From the look in Sa
m’s eyes, I knew she wasn’t lying. I was filled with questions, and somehow I knew her responses weren’t going to provide me any reprieve.
“Gari is not your daughter. Her father wants to see her. He says he wants to be a part of her life, and that if I didn’t tell you myself, he was going to make sure he did.”
“Her father wants to see her? I’m her father,” I said, pointing at Gari who was still asleep, “She’s my little girl.”
I was hurting. I tried to be a man in front of Sam, but I couldn’t. I trembled as anger took over every fiber in my body. I was frozen. The tears flowed freely. I couldn’t wipe them away fast enough, and after a while, I just gave in.
“You cheated on me?”
“Well, I guess it’s not really cheating, since I never left him,” Sam confessed.
“How could you? Who is it? Does this him have a name?”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t know him,” Sam responded, almost sounding heartless.
I walked over to where Gari was still sound asleep, sat beside her, and began stroking her head.
“I don’t know him. That’s the best answer you can come up with? I get some out of the blue message from you, telling me to come straight home; we need to talk. I rushed home only to be greeted by a fucked up story that the baby I thought came from me loving you isn’t mine, and I’m supposed to settle with a cop-out, bullshit answer like ‘you don’t know him’? Are you fucking kidding me? You better start talking.”
I continued stroking my baby’s head. It was the only thing keeping me calm, stopping me from wrapping my hands around Sam’s neck. I refused to look at her as she thought of what to say next.
She took a deep breath and began her confession.
Samantha continued her, mostly on-again, off-again relationship with Vincent Malloy, even after we began our romantic involvement. Samantha approached Vincent with an ultimatum. That night they made love, a night of passion that resulted in Gari’s conception. She cooked up a scheme to tie herself over with me until Tyler’s hard-fought divorce was final. To me, she was Samantha Davenport-Lucas, but it was Samantha Wells that thought as long as a marriage certificate didn’t contain that name, she could walk away, and walk out of her marriage to me unscathed. Samantha and I were supposed to love each other and forsake all others, but she had a difficult time disowning the lingering desires she had for Vincent.