Song of Solomon (19 page)

Neil sat back hard against the sofa pillows. He crossed his arms and stared straight ahead. CJ knew that Neil didn't like what he'd just said, but it needed to be said, and CJ had no plans to take it back. In fact, he had more to say.

“This doesn't have diddly squat to do with Shay's grief over Emmett. This has everything to do with your grief over the fact that you can't love her the way you want to love her.” When Neil turned to him, CJ leaned forward and looked his best friend directly in the eyes, holding them there for a short while, daring Neil to continue his quest to avoid the truth. When CJ felt he'd intimidated him enough, he asked, “If you don't love her, why does it matter that she's still hurting?”

In an instant, Neil was on his feet again. This time, he paced the floor, back and forth in short distances, prompting CJ's eyes to follow him as if he were watching a ping pong match. For CJ, it was painful to see his friend struggle with such difficulty regarding an issue that should have been relatively simple. In all the years he'd known Neil, ever since they met on the campus of Morehouse College, CJ had never seen him this uncertain of himself. Back then, Neil's gift for song was no secret, and even though he wasn't a member of the chorus and Dwayne wasn't even an enrolled “Morehouse Man,” the Taylor brothers were often called upon to sing at school functions, both on and off campus. Neil's voice and handsome brown eyes wooed the girls at Spelman College, the all-female campus that was located within walking distance of Morehouse. Neil wasn't a ladies' man, per se, but he wasn't shy about approaching a girl that he found himself attracted to. It wasn't until after his broken marriage to his college sweetheart that Neil took on this new role as an avowed spinster.

“Do you love her, Neil?” CJ had waited long enough. He needed to have an answer. A truthful one.

Without looking at him, Neil said, “No,” then with a sigh and a shrug, said, “I don't know.” He finished off his confusion with a solid, “No.”

“Is that your final answer?” CJ asked in his best Regis Philbin voice.

Neil eased back on the sofa. Quiet reigned again before his voice reclaimed the space. “Can I just be transparent with you?”

“I really wish you would, bruh.”

Neil placed his hands in front of his mouth in somewhat of a praying position, like he had to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to say. “I just want a fair chance, that's all.”

He paused like he was giving his friend a chance to offer a response, but CJ remained quiet.

“I haven't been in love in so long that I'm not even sure what the good part of that feels like,” Neil continued. “I remember the hurt and the anger and the betrayal and the heartbreak of being in love, but the good part is all a blur. Something's going on, but I don't think I'm in love. I mean, I think it's way too soon for that.”

“What makes you think that?” CJ threw him a look that he knew Neil would comprehend. And he did.

“Okay, well, it's too soon for most people whose names aren't Charles Loather Jr. and Theresa Rutherford. Most people don't meet and marry inside of eight months, and if they do, they don't stay married. Yours is a special case. Believe that.”

“God is good,” CJ said.

“All the time.” Neil finished with a grin that was sincere but fleeting.

“Tell me more about your desire for a
chance
with Shay.”

For the next half hour, CJ sat and listened to Neil pour out his heart in a way that he'd never before witnessed. Neil used phrases like, “I want to get to know her better,” and “She has a beautiful spirit,” and “When she's around, I don't want the moment to end.” CJ's favorite was the ending to Neil's spiel.

“She's like this angel . . . with a broken wing. I know she's wounded, but I kinda just want the chance to help her get back in the air.”

You love her
, was what CJ wanted to stress, but he didn't want to put Neil back on the defensive. “Why don't you take the chance that you keep saying that you want? Just because she's still—what's the word?—
involved
with Emmett doesn't mean you don't have a chance.”

“C'mon, CJ. She's not just still involved with Emmett, she's still
in love
with him. And I think the only way that any other man will have a chance to get any kind of relationship going with
Mrs.
Shaylynn Ford is for her to find out that her beloved husband was not all that she thinks he was.”

CJ shook his head in protest. “So you want to make him look bad so you can look good. Is that it?”

“Are you gonna help me out with this or not?” Neil stomped his foot and curled his top lip like a defiant child. “Emmett was in politics, and I ain't never seen a politician that wasn't just a little bit crooked, so I'm sure your detective friends can pull some records and check him out.”

“I can't even believe you're asking me to do something like this.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Everything good within CJ screamed for him to decline the request in no uncertain terms, but his loyalty wouldn't allow him to be obedient. It had been years since Neil had been so consumed with a woman, and CJ reasoned with God that his investigation was only to pacify Neil. Once Shaylynn got to know his friend, she'd open her heart to him regardless. CJ rationalized with his conscience and the Holy Spirit, telling both of them that the unorthodox, immoral, invasive exploration into the dealings of Mayor Emmett Ford would be fruitless, therefore making it harmless.

CJ brushed away the voice in his head and listened to the one in his heart. “Okay,” he told Neil after a lengthy pause. “I can't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do.”

Shaylynn kicked off her shoes, stood back, and exhaled a satisfied sigh. She was more than pleased with the progress that had been made toward setting the plans in motion for Eloise's home improvements. There was no doubt about it. Eloise's would be the makeover that would define Shay Décor . . . Ford's Home Interior & Designs . . . whatever the name would ultimately be. And this one, she was sure, would be the job that would establish her as a force to be reckoned with in Atlanta, Georgia. It had taken nearly three hours of early morning shopping, but the results were worth it.

Yesterday, Shaylynn had gone by Eloise's house and convinced her and her daughter to accompany her to Patterson Furniture Company so that they could view the living room furniture that Shaylynn had found to replace the pieces that Eloise had had for thirty years. The trip to the reputable company, located on Highway 78 in Lilburn, was an entertaining one. Shaylynn found herself laughing more than she had in years as Eloise pumped her ears with stories of yesteryear, raising nine children with nine different personalities.

She described herself as being a blessed mother, praising all of her children in one way or another. “And that Chase,” Eloise added, grinning from ear to ear, “he's gonna be a good-un too. I can see it all over him. You watch and see. That's gonna be a blessed little boy.”

“A heartbreaker,” Valerie interjected. “That's what he's gonna be.”

Shaylynn thanked them for their accolades and silently prayed that their words were prophetic, but she wanted to talk more about Eloise's family. She had talked about all of her children except Dwayne, and Shaylynn hoped that she wasn't opening up painful wounds.

“Dr. Taylor told me that he had a brother who passed away. What kind of a child was he?”

“Mean,” Valerie said without skipping a beat. That one-word charge evoked laughter from her mother. Valerie joined in and they doubled over together.

Shaylynn smiled, wishing the rough times in her family life were ones that she could look back on with amusement. The things that went on in her childhood years didn't even deserve a smirk, let alone a laugh.

“That boy wasn't no such of a thing,” Eloise defended once she calmed herself, wiping water from her eyes. “You were just always in his stuff; that's why he didn't like to fool with you.” She turned and looked at Shaylynn. “Once I was done having babies, Wayne—that's what me and his daddy always called him—was the middle child, and the old folks used to say that there is always something about the middle child that's different from everybody else. Wayne was different; always had his face in the Bible, reading and studying God's Word.”

“He sure did,” Valerie echoed. “I remember that.”

Eloise continued. “If a discussion opened up about anything dealing with the Bible, I don't care what Wayne was doing at the time; he would stop and join in. He should have been a preacher. Probably
would
have been one if he'd lived a little longer.”

“And Lord, could he sing,” Valerie put in.

“Yes, he could,” Eloise agreed. “Him and Neil together could have been big time gospel recording stars if they wanted to. By now, they would have been legendary. No doubt about it.” She smiled like a proud mother, but then her eyes quickly drifted into a land of gloominess. “I wish Neil would sing more now. The power of the Lord be all over that young-un when he sings, and I know God wants him to let his voice minister to people. But after Wayne died, well, he just kind of lost some of his desire.” Eloise blew out a regretful sigh. “I still can't believe my boy is dead. Gone too soon. Gone too soon.”

“Dwayne's in heaven, Ms. Ella Mae. He's happy with Jesus.”

Both their voices were starting to tremble, and Shaylynn dropped the subject there. The last thing she wanted to do was feel responsible for rehashing memories that overwhelmed the women with grief.

They arrived at the furniture store only seconds later, giving them fresh, more pleasant matters to talk about. The pattern of the new contemporary yet comfortable three-piece set perfectly blended Eloise's favorite colors of rose and blue. The women were so impressed with the furniture and its sale price that Eloise wasted no time putting it on layaway.

“My young-un will be back to get it soon,” she promised the customer service clerk as she signed the paperwork.

Now, as Shaylynn remembered Eloise's smile and pulled brand new curtains, placemats, area rugs, and decorative vases from her shopping bags, she was reminded of how gratifying she found home decorating to be. Most days, she chose not to, but on those rare occasions when Shaylynn thought back to her childhood, she could easily recall the moment she became fascinated with interior design. As young as five years old, she would close her eyes and imagine that her home wasn't the farce that it was, but instead, a beautiful castle, nestled on one of the hills in the storybooks her teacher had read about.

In Shaylynn's mind, her childhood home had chandeliers and wall-to-wall plush carpet; a vanity mirror in the bathroom with beautiful wallpaper and matching towels; faucets that didn't drip, a kitchen stove with more than one functioning burner; a refrigerator/freezer that stocked more than liquor, cheap beer, frozen pizza, and generic chicken bologna; bedspreads that didn't come standard with cigarette burns; a handsome prince who would come calling on her, riding a beautiful stallion with a shiny coat, and . . .

Shaylynn flinched at the sound of her ringing doorbell. It wasn't quite eleven o'clock, so it was too early for the postman to be bringing her daily mail, and she wasn't expecting any special deliveries through the United States Postal Service or FedEx.

Too short (without her heels on) to see through the peephole, Shaylynn put her lips close to the frame and asked, “Who is it?”

“It's Neil Taylor,” the raspy voice on the other side replied.

Shaylynn gasped.
Neil?
“Just a minute.” Using her toes for added assurance, she tried to tread as softly as possible while racing to the decorative oval-shaped mirror on her living room wall and checking her image. She fluffed hair that needed no grooming, smoothed down eyebrows that were not muddled, licked lips that were already moisturized, and then rearranged the pillows on a sofa that needed no tidying. When she was convinced that everything was in order, she raced back to the door, took a quick moment to catch her breath and steady her heartbeat, and then opened it. “Dr. Taylor. Hi. What are you doing here?”

Neil's eyes immediately scanned down to her feet, and it was only then that Shaylynn realized how much taller he seemed today. In all of her rushing, she'd forgotten to put her shoes back on. But a sudden horrific thought made her sock-covered feet trivial.

“What's the matter? Is it Chase? Oh my God. What's happened to him? Is he all right?”

Neil reached out with both hands and touched her arms. “Calm down, Shay. Your son is fine. Nothing is wrong.”

“Are you telling me the truth?” She had to be sure. The tone Neil used was the same one that the authorities spoke in when they found her to tell her of her husband's plight. Then, they were deceiving her, only telling her that Emmett had been “in an accident,” but knowing full well that he had not only been shot, but was already dead. Shaylynn needed to be sure Neil wasn't doing the same. “Please don't lie to me, Dr. Taylor.” Tears were already welling in her eyes.

“Shay,” he said, lifting her chin with his index finger, “Chase is fine. I stopped in on his class during my ten o'clock rounds. I'm sorry if my unexpected appearance on your doorstep alarmed you, but I wouldn't lie to you. Chase is fine. I tried to call about half an hour ago to ask if I could drop by, but when you didn't answer, I just took the chance that you may have been on the other line or out taking care of business. So since I had to run out and take care of a few matters of my own, I decided to stop by. I didn't mean to terrorize you.” He returned a comforting hand to her arm.

Shaylynn searched his eyes for truth, and when she found it, she released a quiet sigh of relief, and then whispered the words, “I'm sorry.”

“There's nothing for you to be sorry about. I guess to some degree, it would be refreshing if all of our parents were as concerned as you.” Neil's declaration lessened her embarrassment, but his touch heightened her uneasiness. “May I come in?” His eyes darted back to her feet. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Shaylynn felt flushed with awkwardness. “Yes . . . I mean, no . . . I mean, yes.” She took a breath and stepped aside. “What I'm trying to say is yes, you may come in, and no, you didn't catch me at a bad time.” She hated it when she allowed this man to unnerve her.

Neil's eyes smiled, warming her as he stepped into her home. And while he walked past Shaylynn into her living room, she took that window of opportunity to slip her feet into the ankle boots she'd taken off earlier. For a moment, she watched him take in the view of her décor. When his focal point became the photo on her mantel, it somehow made Shaylynn uncomfortable.

“Please, have a seat,” she invited, motioning toward the sofa that he stood near.

“Thank you.” When Neil sat, he crossed his right ankle over his left knee, showing off shoes that were either brand new or spit-shined.

“You're not working today?” Shaylynn began gathering the newly purchased items as she talked.

“Yes,” Neil revealed. She could feel his eyes following her every move. “I took an extended lunch and thought I'd see if you would join me.”

Shaylynn's movement slowed, and her eyes met Neil's for the first time since she welcomed him inside her home. “I . . . I can't. I'm working.”

Neil's observation went back to the display on her fireplace mantel, and it lingered there for a moment before he turned back to face her. Shaylynn held her breath, hoping that he didn't turn her mantel's centerpiece into a conversation piece. Not today. She wasn't in the mood to talk about Emmett right now.

After a stale silence, he pointed to the items in Shaylynn's hand. “Are these for Ms. Ella Mae?”

Smiling from relief more than anything else, Shaylynn nodded. “Yes, they are. You like?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. Very much so.”

He was looking directly at her when he responded, and Shaylynn had the feeling that Neil wasn't talking about the accessories. She swallowed the rising lump in her throat and avoided eye contact, regretting that she'd wished away a pending conversation about Emmett. Maybe changing the subject was in both their best interests. “Would you like something to drink? I have lemonade, ginger ale, milk, water—”

“I would love some lemonade.”

“Okay.”

“But . . .”

Shaylynn was preparing to place the items back on her coffee table when the simple conjunction stopped her. She looked at Neil, waiting for him to complete his sentence. “I'd like to drink the lemonade at Maggiano's. Will you come with me?”

Shaking her head, Shaylynn began, “Dr. Taylor—”

“Please, Shay. I promise I won't bite you. All I'm asking is for you to join me for lunch.” It was the same coaxing tone that had her, against her better judgment, driving through thick traffic to Sambuca in Buckhead last weekend.

“I can't, Dr.—”

“We can take this to Ms. Ella Mae while we're out if you wish. It'll save you the trouble of having to drive out on that side of town later.”

“But I'm not finished getting—” “If there are more items that you need to purchase, I can take you wherever you need to go.”
Does he have an answer for everything?
“But you have to go back to work.”

“I'm the head man on campus. I don't
have
to do anything, as long as everything is running well. And it is.”

“I have to pick Chase up from school.”

“Aw, man!” Neil said in blatant sarcasm. “We'd better hurry up then, 'cause we only have four whole hours.”

Even Shaylynn had to laugh at his melodrama. “It's the middle of the day, and—”

“And that's when lunch is generally served.”

“I know, but—”

“You owe me.”

Shaylynn stared at him. “I owe you? For what?” “For giving CJ—Pastor Loather—the request to call me up to sing last Sunday.”

“Oh.” Shaylynn was caught off guard. She had no idea that he knew. “I, uh—”

“Owe me lunch,” Neil added, finishing her sentence with words that didn't even bear a resemblance to the ones she was trying to come up with.

“Dr. Taylor—”

“Neil.”

Shaylynn sighed. “I'd rather not call—”

“I know,” he intruded again, “but humor me.”

An all-out war was going on inside of Shaylynn as she stood, staring at her coffee table and holding the packages that housed two sets of fully lined navy blue curtains. In her peripheral vision, she could see Neil stand from the couch and cautiously erase the space that had kept them at a comfortable distance. Shaylynn could smell that signature manly fragrance that had become synonymous with Dr. Neil Taylor, and the cold chill that resulted nearly made her shiver.

He reached out and took the packages from her hand. “Please.”

Still refusing to look at him, but finding the mobility that she desperately needed, Shaylynn backed away, and “Give me a minute,” came out of her mouth instead of the “I'm sorry, but you need to leave,” that she fished for.

In the secure confines of her bedroom, Shaylynn stood for many minutes with her back against the door, searching for a way out of the situation that she'd agreed to.
Why didn't you tell him no?
She would have scolded herself aloud if she didn't think Neil would hear her. In the past, Shaylynn had never had a problem turning down men and their advances, no matter how persistent, or even handsome, they were. She couldn't even count the number of dinners, movies, musicals, and even church services that she'd been invited to since Emmett's death, and with every one, she'd declined and stuck to her decision.
Why can't I say no to this man?