The Ex Files (4 page)

S
HERIDAN

Relief swept through Sheridan as the phone shrilled. She glanced at the clock—it was barely seven. She reached for the telephone but pulled her hand back when she squinted at the caller ID.

She lay back, waiting until she was sure the message had been left. Then she called her voice mail.

“Sheridan, this is Pastor Ford. Sorry to call so early, but I was on my way to The Woman’s Place. I wanted to meet with you briefly this afternoon, but if not today, then definitely first thing Monday. Give me a call as soon as you can. Love you.”

Sheridan wasn’t returning that call—at least not today. She stayed away from Pastor Ford the morning, the day, the night…after. After what she and Brock had done yesterday.

The thought of him brought back her misery. She’d been up the entire night, spending the hours staring at the telephone, wondering why it wouldn’t ring. Wondering even more why she wasn’t dialing.

Now she still couldn’t believe he hadn’t called. Yes, he’d left angry. But they’d argued before—actually, a lot lately. Yet he always called. And he had postponed his cross-country trip to make sure she wouldn’t be alone.

She tossed the covers onto the floor. She needed to do something about this.

Thirty minutes after she jumped from her bed, she was showered and dressed. She reached for her keys and paused as her glance rested on the program that sat tucked in the corner of her dresser mirror. Her father’s face, wide with a smile, stared back at her. His photo warmed her; it was the words above his picture that made her body cold—Homegoing Celebration for Cameron Collins.

She closed her eyes—it was there inside where she could hear his voice, feel his kisses, reach out and touch his love. Grief began its swell, but with a shake of her head, she demanded that sorrow stay away. She tucked her keys in her hand, dashed out the door.

Backing out of her driveway, she realized she had no destination in mind. Her car wandered with her thoughts. She wondered what she’d be doing now if she hadn’t driven Brock away yesterday. They would have still been together—of that she was sure. They wouldn’t have made love again—they never did it twice. But he would have stayed and held her through the night. Then, this morning, she would have awakened with a smile instead of despair.

Why were they arguing so much? Sheridan tried to remember when this part of their relationship started. It seemed the closer they got, the more Brock talked about their being together permanently, the more she resisted.

“Is that what’s happening?” She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “No,” she told herself. But her eyes told a different story.

She pulled into the Starbucks’ parking lot, and grabbed her cell phone. She needed to talk. But as she dialed her best friend, Kamora, she stopped. She didn’t need to meet over coffee to know what her friend would say.

“Girl, you need to do the do. Marry that man before someone else swoops him up.”

She clicked off the phone and turned out of the parking lot. As she sped toward the freeway, she dialed again.

Brock answered on the first ring.

“I’m sorry,” were her first words.

He said nothing.

“If you want me to beg, I will. I’ll get down on my knees and—”

His chuckles stopped her. “Somehow, I can’t imagine that sight.”

“Is that what you want? For me to beg?”

“Not even close.” His smile was no longer part of his tone. “I just want…I don’t know why we fight so much recently.”

“It’s not really fighting,” she said, ignoring the fact that she’d asked the same question minutes before. “We’re just getting closer. There’s bound to be bumps in the road.”

“It feels like more than that to me.” He paused. “Like there’s another reason. Something we’re both missing.”

“Don’t look for anything, sweetheart,” she said as she exited the freeway. “I’ve just been so overwhelmed recently, especially with losing my dad. I never imagined having to live the rest of my life without him and sometimes that thought makes me crazy.”

“I know,” he said, his tone now soft with love. “And I hope you know that I’m always here for you.”

“You’ve been beyond great.” She edged her car to the curb and turned off the ignition. “Everything you’ve done—like changing your trip this weekend. All of it means a lot to me.”

“We didn’t get a great start to this weekend.”

“Actually, the start was great and we still have today and tomorrow.” She got out of the car and rushed up the sidewalk. “Let me make it up to you.”

His chuckles were back. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’m not totally sure, but I have some ideas.”

“Hold on a sec,” he said. “Someone’s at my door.”

She was already laughing when Brock opened the door.

“Get in here.” He pulled her inside the Compton home he’d inherited from his grandmother.

She said, “I want to make yesterday up to you.”

His laughter stopped, although he still held her. “No, we’re not…”

“I’m not talking about that,” she said, kissing him. “I can love you without making love to you. Just being with you is enough.” She paused. “Is it enough for you?”

And with his lips, he told her that was more than enough for him.

K
ENDALL

Kendall couldn’t imagine where the noise was coming from. She shook her head, opened her eyes. Froze. A second later, she shot straight up.

The pounding started again. “Kendall, are you in there?”

Her heart hammered to the beat of the banging on the door. She jumped from the sofa, tossed the comforter onto the floor, and tried to stuff it and the pillow under the couch.

She glanced at the clock, couldn’t believe she’d overslept. Usually when she made The Woman’s Place her home, she was up hours before the first employee arrived—showered, dressed, and behind her desk. But last night she’d had a fitful rest. Her ex-husband had visited her in her dreams, made himself at home, and brought the memory of all that used to be right with them. It wasn’t until the first morning’s light peeked through her window that she’d finally slept.

“I’m sure she’s in there, Pastor Ford,” said Janet, the Spa’s manager. Her voice was muffled, but Kendall still heard the words.

With her hands, Kendall tried to press the wrinkles from her sweat suit.

“You have keys, right?” This time it was Pastor Ford’s voice.

“Yes.”

Kendall wiggled her fingers through her hair, wiped her eyes, and with a breath, opened the door just as she heard keys jiggling on the other side.

“Pastor Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Kendall said. “I was…in my bathroom.”

She was sorry about her words before the lie had left her lips. If there was one person who could tell a lie from the truth, it was Pastor Ford.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Pastor Ford sauntered inside.

Kendall nodded at her manager, then closed her office door. “Pastor, do you have an appointment this morning?”

“My standing Saturday-morning massage, but today, I’m going to get a pedicure and…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes wandered to the comforter only half hidden beneath the couch.

Kendall cringed. She should have taken more time to hide the signs that showed that she preferred sleeping here rather than at home alone.

“I came a bit early,” Pastor Ford continued as if she’d never stopped speaking. She sat on the sofa and pushed the comforter out of her way. “I wanted to have a couple of minutes with you. Do you have time?”

No, was what Kendall wanted to scream. But she’d never say that to her pastor. She nodded and forced her lips into a large grin.

Pastor Ford motioned for Kendall to join her. “I haven’t seen you in church in the last few weeks.”

Kendall was relieved that her pastor was too busy to keep better tabs. It had been far more than a few weeks. It was difficult to attend services under the watchful eyes of church folks who would wonder—aloud and silently—where was her husband.

“I know.” Kendall bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”

Pastor Ford waved her hand. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m not the one who expects you to be there.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

“Too busy for God, huh?”

It was the love she had for her pastor that held her back from saying what she thought about God right now. “Work, and other stuff, sometimes gets in the way.”

Pastor Ford covered Kendall’s hands with her own. “I know this has been a tough time.”

Kendall put strength into her eyes and attitude inside her voice. “The only thing that’s been tough, Pastor, is my club’s expansion—I didn’t expect all the hours. But I’ll do better. With getting to church—and everything.”

Pastor Ford’s eyes moved to the comforter again. Without looking at Kendall, she said, “I saw Anthony yesterday. He told me your divorce”—her eyes met Kendall’s—“was final.”

“Yes,” Kendall said with her biggest smile. “At least that’s one thing off my plate. Now I’ll have more time—”

“Kendall, why are you pretending?” She held up her hand. “And before you deny anything…” Pastor Ford picked up the pillow, then tossed it onto the couch. “This can’t be easy; it wouldn’t be for anyone. But you’ve got to reach out. I’m here, God’s here.”

You, maybe I could trust. But, God?
“I’m not pretending, Pastor. The only thing that’s wrong is I haven’t done a good job of balancing my life. But I’ll work on that. In fact, I’ll be in church tomorrow,” Kendall said, standing.

Pastor Ford raised a single eyebrow and motioned for Kendall to sit back down. “I’ll be glad to see you in church. But, I came by to tell you that I want to see you in my office on Thursday, at seven.”

“For what?”

“I’ll explain on Thursday.” Before Kendall could tell her that she needed more than that, Pastor Ford said, “Just be there, Kendall.” This time it was the pastor who stood, signaling the meeting’s end.

Kendall was filled with a million nos, but she didn’t have the strength to battle the look on her pastor’s face—the way her brown eyes were soft with her ever-present compassion, but at the same time, the way her chin pressed forward as if she dared Kendall to say anything but yes.

Kendall nodded, but inside she was already planning the excuses she’d use when she called her pastor an hour before seven on Thursday.

The pastor said, “So, I’ll see you then?”

Again, Kendall nodded—better not to speak the lie aloud. She knew what this was about—her pastor probably had some cockamamy plan to bring her and Anthony together so that they could have an amicable divorce. Or worse, she could have arranged some kind of sick family reunion with her and her sister and Anthony. She wasn’t going to sit through either one of those scenarios.

“And, Kendall”—Pastor Ford paused for a moment—“please don’t make me come looking for you.” The smile stayed on the pastor’s lips but not in her tone.

Kendall stood in place, not moving even when she was alone. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t be able to get out of the meeting. But when she got to that church, if there was any sign of her ex-husband or her ex-sister, her pastor’s meeting would be cut short. Very short.

V
ANESSA

Another night. Alone. Another dream.

Vanessa tossed in her sleep, struggling to find Reed, needing to see his face like she had every night since he’d left for heaven. She opened her mouth, wanting to call for him. But no sound came. And neither did Reed.

But then she heard him. She dashed toward the voice. In the bathroom—that’s where he was. But when she rushed into the room, all that was there were the bottles—the orange containers that she’d lined on the counter. But now there were not six, seven, or eight bottles—there were hundreds.

The bottles moved, metamorphosing into bodies. Now the containers had ears, eyes, mouths. And the bottles laughed. And danced. And their eyes watched her, taunted and teased her.

It was a song; they sang,
If you do it, you won’t hurt anymore
. Her head ached with their mocking.

She stepped toward the counter. Reached toward one bottle—it leaped into her hand. She dumped its contents into her palm, lifted the pills to her mouth, and then…there was nothing.

Vanessa looked at her hand; the pills were gone. She frowned. She needed those pills. It didn’t matter. There were more.

But the bottles had moved, formed a new line, were now in the shape of a heart.

She grabbed the first bottle—it slipped through her hand, touched the ground, and then, poof! it was gone. The same with the second, third, fourth, fifth bottle. Each bottle fell away—until there were none.

Vanessa shouted, “I want the pills. Give me the pills!”

“No.”

It was a soft voice. Vanessa searched the bathroom—under the cabinets, inside the shower. But there was no one.

“Give me my pills!” she yelled.

“No.” Gentle. Guiding.

She stood in the center of the room, spinning, searching for the one who was speaking. “Where are you?”

“In your heart,” the voice said over and over. Again and again.

And then the pills came back. At first, the bottles just mocked her—laughed and teased. But then the containers jumped her, a vicious attack.

Vanessa screamed; bolted up straight in the bed. Her skin glistened with sweat. She panted, as if she’d just run a race, as if she’d just fought a fight. In the dark, her eyes searched for the bottles. Her ears strained to hear the voice.

Nothing.

She clicked on the lamp, turning the dark into light.

Still, nothing.

It was only a dream.