Читать книгу Single Mama Drama - Kayla Perrin, Kayla Perrin - Страница 9

Carla opened her apartment door and immediately swept me into her arms. “Vanessa!”

“Mommy!” The shriek came immediately afterward. I broke apart from Carla in time to scoop up Rayna, who was racing toward me. There’s nothing that brings a brighter smile to your face than coming home to a child who loves you so much she’ll drop whatever she’s doing to throw herself into your arms.

“Rayna, sweetie.” I planted kisses all over my daughter’s face, which had her in a fit of giggles. “I missed you, baby.”

“I miss Mommy.”

“Well, Mommy’s home now.” I held her tight, emotion welling up inside me. “Mommy’s home.”

Rayna shimmied out of my arms, then headed back to the center of the living room. She lifted a paper full of colorful swirls. “Look, Mommy.”

I walked toward her and examined the artwork she held. “Oh, wow. You made that?” Rayna beamed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Rainbow.”

“Yes, a rainbow,” I agreed, amazed at how much the picture did resemble a rainbow. “Look at all the beautiful colors.”

“This for Daddy.” Rayna lifted another picture that had a big circle colored mostly black. “A cat.”

I had to swallow back the tears. “Yes. For Daddy.”

Rayna planted herself on the floor beside Carla’s daughter, Amani, and they resumed playing with a range of colorful ponies that they were both so fond of. It was a bit of a reprieve, thankfully, because I had no clue what I was going to say to Rayna about Eli.

“It’s been all over the news,” Carla said, her tone quiet. “You must have seen the media camped outside the building.”

I nodded. “I assume they were looking for me, but I drove past them and they didn’t notice me.”

“This is crazy.”

“Tell me about it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I took a detour to the beach for a moment to clear my head, and a reporter from the Miami Herald approached me.”

Carla’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Yeah. I’d apparently met her once with Eli at an event, and she remembered me. Plus she found my name on the condo’s deed. The woman had the nerve to follow me! I saw her when I was at Bayside earlier today. Of course, I didn’t realize who she was at the time. Until she approached me twenty minutes ago and said she wanted to ask me a few questions.”

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” I sighed softly. “Hopefully by tomorrow, they’ll lose interest in this story. Staking me out like this? It’s crazy. I’m not Paris Hilton or Britney Spears. I’m a woman whose fiancé was killed by a jealous husband. Happens every day.”

“I hate to tell you this, but CNN hasn’t stopped running the story. They’re saying that neither you, his ‘live-in love—’” Carla made air quotes “—nor his family could be reached for comment.”

“What family? They tried to reach his mother in Barbados?” Eli’s father had died the year before he retired from baseball, and his mother had moved back to Barbados right after that. When we got engaged, I’d asked Eli if he would call his mother and let me say hello, but he didn’t want to. Something about her being a Christian and that she’d hate the idea of us living in sin. “I know he’s got some cousins somewhere,” I told Carla, “but I’ve never met them. Eli said I’d meet them all at a family reunion this summer, and that he was looking forward to surprising them with news of our engagement.”

“They certainly had enough to broadcast without comments from his family,” Carla said. “CNN spent the day replaying the scene outside the house where he was…well, you know. Showing the crime scene tape, and that woman’s husband in handcuffs. He wasn’t shy about talking to the press, that’s for sure. They also showed highlights of Eli’s career with the Braves, and even had people phone in to share their memories of Eli.”

“Share their memories? He hasn’t played pro ball in seven years.”

“It’s still big news. With how he was killed, and why…It’s a sensational story.”

I grew quiet. What else was there to say? Carla was right—it was the outlandish nature of Eli’s murder that had garnered such media interest. I wondered if the reporters were going to stick around until they got a statement from me.

Carla rubbed my forearm. “How are you holding up?”

“Okay. I think. But I don’t know how…” I had to stop, take a calming breath. “I’m afraid to go upstairs, Carla, and be there…knowing that Eli won’t be coming home.”

“You can stay here if you want.”

I shook my head, dismissing the idea without giving it a thought. “The routine has to be the same. For Rayna’s sake.”

Carla gripped both of my hands. “Don’t you worry about Rayna. She’s perfectly fine.”

As if to emphasize that point, my daughter’s high-pitched laughter pierced the room.

“I know,” I agreed.

“You need to take care of you,” Carla insisted. “If it’s too soon for you to go upstairs, you tell Rayna we’re having a sleepover. Trust me, she’ll think it’s fun.”

“I hear you. I do. But I can’t…” I swallowed, considered my words. “I can’t avoid this situation forever. I have to go home and deal with…with the truth. If I don’t go now, when will I? I may never be ready.”

Carla pulled me into her thick arms and gave me a heartfelt hug. “Oh, Vanessa. I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling right now. But you’ll get through this.”

I nodded, but I didn’t entirely believe what she was saying. As it was, I felt like I was walking an emotional tightrope. One wrong move and I could fall into a pit of despair. The only thing keeping me walking a straight line at the moment was my daughter. She was the reason I was able to summon the strength to keep moving forward.

“What can I do?” Carla asked.

“Nothing. But I love you for caring.” I’d met Carla only three months earlier, when I’d moved into the building with Eli, the first time I went down to use the pool one warm January day. Our children had brought us together, the way so many women make friends with other mothers in play groups or at the park. Rayna and Amani had hit it off playing in the water, which had led to me and Carla talking. I soon learned that she was a military wife, and that her husband, stationed at the Homestead Air Reserve Base, was deployed in Iraq. Her daughter, Amani, was a year older than Rayna, and the second cutest child in the world—after Rayna, of course.

We talked for three hours straight that day, as if we’d been friends for years. Carla confided in me her fears that her husband could die any moment, and that sometimes it was a real struggle to stay strong. She also wasn’t happy with her weight, and hoped she could lose the twenty-five pounds she’d gained during pregnancy by the time Paul returned home from his tour of duty. Her problem, I’d soon learned, was that Carla ate sweets when she was down, which negated whatever progress she made in the building’s gym.

At five foot five, she carried the extra pounds well, I thought. She was pretty, with flawless skin the color of milk chocolate, and whenever we were out together, she attracted her fair share of masculine attention. The brothas appreciated the extra pounds on her butt, something she told me her husband, who was white, didn’t at first. Until he’d seen how men had tripped over themselves to get a good look at her behind.

Carla also shared her annoyance at the fact that many of the building’s residents had made a point of asking her how she and Paul could afford to live in this building, considering she was a stay-at-home mom and he was in the military. To others, she said they’d invested well in the stock market. But she’d admitted to me that Paul’s father had died, and he and his mother, the only two heirs, had split the million-dollar life insurance policy.

I’d never met Paul, but based on everything Carla said about him, I could tell that they had what I wanted—a happy marriage. Why was that so hard to find?

“Let me at least feed you,” Carla said, interrupting my thoughts. “I made a pot of spaghetti.”

I waved off the suggestion. “No. I’m gonna take Rayna and go.”

“This isn’t about pity. You know I enjoy the company.”

Shortly before Eli and I had moved into this building, Paul had left for Iraq. He was to be gone for a year, which meant he had eight months left to serve before returning home. And ever since his departure, Carla had been lonely. She never said so, but I could tell.

“Another time,” I told her. Tonight, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Needed to be. I wasn’t interested in talking with anyone about how I felt. I simply wanted to be with my baby and act like our world was still normal.

I approached my daughter. “Rayna, sweetie. Time to go home.”

She immediately got up and came to me, still holding a pony in each fist. Before I could try to wrestle them from her—a task I knew would be difficult—Carla said, “It’s okay. Amani won’t miss them. Bring them back next time.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I got her double of each pony in case she ever lost one,” Carla explained. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“All right, then. Thanks.”

I scooped Rayna into one arm, then went back to the door, where I lifted her diaper bag with the other. Amani wrapped an arm around her mother’s leg.

Carla lifted her daughter, kissed the girl’s cheek, then gave me a look full of sympathy. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here. Like I said, the kids can have a sleepover, and we can watch a movie to take your mind off things.”

“I’ll let you know,” I murmured, but I knew I wouldn’t be taking her up on her offer. I couldn’t watch a movie and pretend everything was okay. A romantic comedy would make me cry. A murder mystery would make me cry.

Anything would make me cry.

Rayna rested her head against the crook of my neck, and I treasured the warm feeling of her little body. She seemed tired, which was good. If she went down early, she wouldn’t have a chance to ask me where Daddy was.

No sooner than I had entered my apartment, than the phone rang. Carrying Rayna on my hip, I raced to answer it.

“Hello?” I said breathlessly.

“Vanessa Cain?”

“Yes,” I answered, my tone guarded.

“This is Robert Rooney from Channel 2 News. Can I set up an interview—”

I hung up the phone. It rang again.

I picked it up, but replaced the receiver without answering.

That happened five more times. So when it rang yet again, I snatched up the receiver and put it to my ear. “No, I won’t give you an interview. Please leave me alone.”

“Baby, you know the last thing I want from you is an interview.”

My eyes narrowed—and then it clicked that Lewis Carter was on the other end of my line. Thankful that it wasn’t another reporter, I felt my body relax—then immediately tense. I hadn’t heard from Lewis in about six weeks, and the last time he’d called, he had been hoping to get me to cheat on Eli.

“Lewis?” I asked.

“Who else, baby?”

Rayna started to squirm, so I let her down. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet me? After everything we once meant to each other?”

I rolled my eyes. If we meant so much to each other, why hadn’t he proposed? “You know exactly what we meant to each other,” I said frankly. Lewis had been, for lack of a better word, a booty call. “More importantly, I know it.”

“Baby, don’t be like that.”

“What do you want, Lewis?”

“I’m phoning to see how you’re doing. Is that against the law?”

I didn’t say anything. I wondered if the timing of his call was coincidental, or if he, like most of America, had learned about Eli’s death on CNN.

“I heard about your fiancé on the radio,” he stated, answering my question.

“Of course.”

“So how are you?”

I lowered myself onto a chair in my kitchen. “I’m hanging in.”

“You sure? Because if I was as shocked as I was to learn that Eli was killed while in the arms of some other honey, I can only imagine how you took the news. Especially after how much you raved about him being the perfect guy.”

“If you’re calling to gloat, then I’m going to hang up now.”

“No, no, I’m not,” he said hurriedly. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I know how much you cared about him.”

I waited for more, but there was none. Maybe Lewis was being sincere. “Thank you,” I told him.

“I could come over, if you like,” he murmured.

Of course. “Why?”

“To keep you company. Offer you my shoulder to cry on.”

I’ll bet, I thought. But I said, “I’m fine. I’m going to spend a quiet evening with Rayna.”

“But she’s gonna head to bed sometime soon, right? In the next hour or two. And after that, you might need someone.”

I narrowed my eyes again, wondering why I had even considered giving Lewis the benefit of the doubt. Whenever he called, it was about one thing.

Sex.

I’ll be the first to admit that my feelings for Lewis had started out as pure lust when I met him at a South Beach nightclub. I always knew he was a smooth operator, the kind of guy you can’t completely trust in terms of a relationship. And that was okay, because I didn’t want anything serious with him. He was a guy I enjoyed spending time with because he was a lot of fun. Goofy. Whether pulling off lame Michael Jackson moves on a crowded dance floor or tickling me while we were naked in bed, he never failed to make me laugh.

I loved how I felt when I was out on his arm, the way women stared at me with envy. And I loved the passion we shared in the bedroom. He treated me well, wined and dined me in style. We had an easy rapport and some serious chemistry. And he got along well with Rayna, too, on the occasions when he’d come over and spend time with both of us.

After a while, what had started as lust had turned into love.

“What time should I come over?” Lewis asked, his voice husky.

“I’ll be fine, Lewis.”

“I’m not sure you should be alone right now. The first night is always the worst after a tragedy like this. Let me come by, hold you in my arms and help you sleep.”

“I can’t believe you. You are not suggesting we hook up tonight.”

There was a moment of silence, and I fully expected Lewis to deny my accusation—if only halfheartedly. Instead, he said in a low voice, “I miss you.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“No, seriously, I do. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately, and how things ended between us. I feel really bad about that.”

I rolled my eyes. If I hadn’t moved on, Lewis’s words might actually have me taking a trip down memory lane. But I still remembered vividly how he’d told me we couldn’t be together because of Rayna. Actually, he’d used the lame excuse that Rayna’s father, my no-good ex, who only wanted to be a father when the mood struck, might come back into our lives, leaving him out in the cold, heartbroken.

Of course, he’d come up with this lame excuse after I’d found a red thong in his pocket.

At the time, I’d been crushed. Now, the absurdity of it all made me want to laugh out loud.

“Lewis, you’re a trip.”

“Let me come over.”

Because I knew him, and knew that he might just decide to drop by in hopes of seducing me, I lied. “I have plans.”

“You said you were spending a quiet evening with your daughter,” Lewis said, his voice full of doubt.

“Yeah, well…in all the chaos of the day I forgot that my sister said she was going to come over.”

“Tell her to come tomorrow.”

Something struck me, a thought I hadn’t considered before. “It can’t wait till tomorrow, because I have to contact the police about Eli. To make inquiries about his body. Nikki said she’d be there for me as I did that.”

“Oh.” Lewis sounded convinced, though unhappy. “Maybe after that?”

I heard a thud, then Rayna’s loud cry. “Lewis, I have to go. Rayna just fell.”

“Call me later,” he said quickly.

I hung up the phone and raced into the living room. My daughter was on her back on the hardwood floor, bawling at the top of her lungs.

“Oh, baby.” I lifted her into my arms and gently cooed, offering her comfort.

But as she cried, her raw emotion triggered the overwhelming sadness inside me that needed an outlet for release. It overpowered me, refusing to be contained any longer.

My own tears started to fall, my anguished cries mixing with my daughter’s.