Get You Good (25 page)

“You found her. How could you not have told me?”

There were so many things she could say to defend herself. But that wouldn't be complete honesty.

“I'm sorry,” was all she could come up with.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “Yeah. Me, too.”

He opened the door and left without looking back. Sydney curled onto her side and pulled the sheets closer around her as the coldness of his departure wrapped around her. She was almost sure, that this time he wasn't coming back.

S
ydney had always thought she would be much older before mobility would be a problem for her. It had been more than three weeks since she'd been released from the hospital, but timely movements were still difficult. With the better part of her right leg in a cast and a number of bruises on other parts of her body, she had been ordered to take it easy. But taking it easy meant a lot of downtime thinking about all the taking it easy she could do now that she didn't have a job. So she had called up Jackie and offered to make snacks for her next women's ministries meeting at church. Her mother had declined but contracted her to make hors d'oeuvres for the seniors' banquet that weekend. Sydney had nearly fallen off her crutches when Jackie told her the event would host two hundred people. She should have known better than to ask her mother for work. Jackie could always find some.

It was probably a blessing in disguise, however. The busier she was, the less time she would have to think about Hayden. At least, that was the way she supposed it should work. Instead, however, everything reminded her of him. The kitchen reminded her of when he had cooked breakfast for her and her sisters. The living room reminded her of when he had held her as she cried about Dean. The backyard reminded her of the day he had dropped everything to be with her after Dean announced he was selling the store. Her home was infested with memories of him. No matter where she turned, there was no escaping him. But at least the work would help her try.

Sydney was wrist deep in pastry dough when the doorbell rang. In a moment of impatience, she abandoned her crutches and hopped the short distance to the door on her good foot. Slightly out of breath, she pulled the door open.

“Sorry, I didn't hear the . . .”

Sydney lost the rest of her sentence when she saw him. It was the first time she'd laid eyes on him since the hospital. She had thought that time would be the last time. But here he was, standing outside her door looking incredible. The rich chocolate brown of his leather jacket and navy shirt contrasted sharply with his bronzed skin. The midday sun behind him framed his sturdy form in golden light that made him look like he had stepped out of a dream, but the scent of his sandalwood cologne confirmed that he was fully and completely real. She thanked God for the doorframe. Her good leg was completely weak.

“Hey,” was all she could manage when she finally found her voice.

She watched his eyes trip all over her face before he answered.

“Hey.”

She wasn't sure how long they stood at the door staring at each other. Sydney had always been able to read Hayden. He had been an open book from the start. Every emotion, every thought, every inclination was always right there at the surface. She had always been the one to hold back. But now the roles had been switched. Sydney felt like everything she felt for him that wouldn't go away was written all over her face. But he was unreadable.

She balanced against the wall and moved to the side. “Come in.”

He stepped in slowly and she closed the door behind him, still leaning on it for support. Now they were both standing in the entryway. Sydney knew she would look ridiculous hopping toward the couch or the kitchen, but her crutches were nowhere nearby. She saw Hayden glance at her non-functioning leg, and he seemed to pause as if contemplating his options.

“Where are your crutches?” he asked finally.

“In the kitchen, between the refrigerator and the counter.”

Without another word, he strode through the living room and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Sydney said nervously, when he returned a few moments later with her supports in his hand.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, settling the crutches under her arms and turning toward the kitchen. “Water? Soda? Juice?”

“No, I'm fine.” He followed her into the kitchen. He sat on one of the breakfast stools by the counter and watched Sydney move the huge roll of dough into a bowl and cover it with a towel.

Something that almost looked like a smile lifted the corner of his lips.

“Stressed out?” he asked.

She glanced at him and remembered how much he knew her. He knew that work was her escape.

Sydney let out a shaky breath. “A little.”

When there was finally nothing left to do with her hands, she settled onto the kitchen stool across the counter from him.

She could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet them. Every time she looked at him, she felt like she was hurting him all over again. And sorry didn't seem like enough to cover all of that.

“How's Sheree?” she asked.

“She was OK,” he said, “while she was with me.”

Sydney looked up at him.

“She was at my place for a couple days, then I came home one day and she was gone.”

Sydney looked down again. “I'm sorry.”

He shrugged. “Some birds can't be caged.”

“I'm sorry about everything,” Sydney said, looking up at him again.

He looked at her for a long moment.

“See, that's the problem,” he said finally. “I keep getting the feeling that there are parts of that everything that I don't know about.”

Sydney felt her heart beat faster and she prayed to God that he wouldn't ask her.

“I want to know, Sydney . . .”

“No, you don't,” she said, shaking her head.

“I need to know,” he said, leaning forward. “Tell me what happened with you and Sheree. Please.”

Sydney didn't want to. She really didn't want to. But she had promised herself on that bed in the hospital that she was done lying. Done keeping secrets. If she really accepted that what she had done was wrong and she was really sorry for it, then she had to be ready to be honest about it. Honest with herself and honest with everyone else.

She raised her eyes to his. “OK.”

Then she took a deep breath and told him everything: from the cell phone tap, to copying his keys; from the day in his bedroom at his house, to the day they searched Sheree's house. She told him every detail, and she watched every emotion roll over his face as she did it. When she was done, he was somewhere between disbelief and anger.

“You copied my keys?” He had gotten up off the stool and was pacing the floor. “You broke into my house? I can't believe . . . I was there, you were right there . . .”

Sydney watched him rub his hands over his head as he continued pacing. Every couple of moments, he would glance up at her. She knew what he was thinking. What kind of person could do that? How could he have loved someone as vile and deceitful as she was? She knew, because she had asked herself those same questions.

“I can't believe you did that to me.” His whole body seemed to shake with anger. “I trusted you, I loved you. How could you do that to me?”

His anger couldn't disguise the hurt that poured out of him as he questioned Sydney. It sliced her heart in two. And even though she thought she was done crying over Hayden and what she had done, she felt tears sting the back of her eyelids.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I know I was wrong. But I had to find her. And you wouldn't tell me anything. You knew and you wouldn't tell me!”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“No, I never said that.” Sydney couldn't stop herself from choking up. “But we both lied to each other, Hayden. I am sorry for what I did, but I didn't mess us up on my own.”

“I was trying to help you,” he protested. “I wanted her to give it all back. But I knew once you and your sisters got ahold of her, you would rake her over the coals.”

“And what, she didn't deserve it? For what she did to Dean?” Sydney protested. “My brother's been in a coma for weeks. He may never wake up—never come home!”

“My sister
has
no home,” Hayden said. “She never did. And I just wanted to be that one person that she could feel safe with. Can't you understand that, Sydney? She never had anyone be on her side. I wanted to be that for her. I needed to be that.”

She rubbed a hand across her face to swat away the tears that had disobeyed her. “I know we both have reasons for what we did. If I could do this all over, I would do it different. But I can't. All I can say is I'm sorry. And I know it's not enough, but . . .”

Sydney had run out of words, and the sobs choking her weren't making it any easier. She had never cried this much in her entire life. She wasn't even sure who she was anymore.

“Don't,” he said, shaking his head. “Don't do that. You don't get to cry and make me forget. You hurt me, Sydney—in ways that you can't even understand. You disrespected me, violated me, and trampled all over our relationship.”

He stepped forward, the heat in his eyes incinerating her.

“And you know what the worst part of it is?” he asked angrily. “Despite all of that, despite everything you did . . . For some reason that I don't even understand, I still love you.”

Sydney felt her heart fall to her feet. His words should have made her feel better—consoled some part of her deep inside. But instead, she felt like she wanted to die.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket for something, then dropped it on the counter in front of her without looking at it. She breathed in and got the slightest whiff of his cologne. She looked into his clear brown eyes and saw the sheen of his unshed hurt. He was so close, her fingers ached to touch him—but so far away she felt she could never reach him again.

With one last look at her, he turned and headed toward the living room. His final words cut the last cord of composure Sydney had, and echoed through the empty house even after the door slammed behind him.

“Happy birthday, Sydney.”

 

“Surprise!”

The front door to the house burst open and in flooded Sydney's mother and sisters.

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Sydney . . . happy birthday to you!”

Sydney burst into tears and buried her face in the cushions of the couch that she had been lying on for the past four hours.

“Sydney, what's wrong with you?” JJ sank into the couch beside Sydney.

“Yeah, girl,” Lissandra asked. “How long you been lying on that couch? It looks like it's starting to take shape around you.”

“Lissandra, please make yourself useful and bring me a damp cloth for your sister,” Jackie said, easing Sydney's head up and sitting before resting her daughter's head in her lap.

“Geez, is turning thirty that depressing?” Zelia asked.

“OK, the rest of you with nothing useful to say can go find something else to do somewhere else.” Jackie laced the group with her no-nonsense look.

When the crowd had finally cleared, only Jackie and JJ were left.

“What happened, sweetheart?” Jackie stroked her grown daughter's head, which was wrapped in a scarf.

But Sydney wasn't up for talking and only started sobbing again.

“Maybe it has something to do with that gift she's holding on to like a lifeline,” Lissandra said upon her return. She handed the damp cloth to her mother before taking a seat in the empty armchair.

“Can I?” JJ reached for the partially unwrapped gift.

When Sydney relinquished it, Lissandra immediately moved to JJ's side to get a closer look.

“What is it?” Lissandra asked impatiently.

“It's a card,” JJ said. “And a whole stack of papers.”

“Happy Birthday, baby,” Lissandra read out over JJ's shoulder. “Here's to your dream coming true. Dub.”

“Oh.” A mutual sound of understanding went up from the three women.

“Oh hell no,” Lissandra said as she took the papers from JJ and began flipping through the stack. “No, he didn't.”

“He didn't what?” JJ asked. “What is it?”

“It's a deed,” Lissandra said. “To a property on College Street. And it's in Sydney's name. Both their names, actually.”

JJ let out an appreciative whistle. “He bought you real estate for your birthday? What a man.”

“What number?” Jackie asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“What number College Street?”

JJ and Lissandra peered back at the paper.

“It's 572,” JJ said finally.

“Dang,” Lissandra said with a laugh. “That Negro knew what to do.”

Jackie shook her head and smiled. “Five seventy-two College Street.”

“I don't get it,” JJ said, looking from her sister to her mother.

“That was where Decadent used to be,” Lissandra said.

“What?” JJ exclaimed.

“We weren't always over on Queen,” Jackie said with a smile. “When Leroy first opened his bakery, it was just that. A little bakery and pastry shop. And it was at 572 College Street. That was the first Decadent. You're probably too young to remember, JJ.”

“I remember,” Lissandra said wistfully. “It was small and narrow, with only space for a few tables and chairs down the side. But Daddy loved it.”

“We had good memories there,” Jackie said, nodding.

Sydney began to sob again and Jackie looked down at her.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jackie stroked her daughter's head. “He knew this would mean a lot to you, didn't he.”

Sydney nodded against her mother's lap.

“Dang.” Lissandra glanced over at the pile of gifts on the floor. “None of us can top that.”

“It's OK, sweetheart,” Jackie said. But Sydney sat up, pulling herself away from her mother's touch.