Pride, p.29
Pride, page 29
“Oh, really?” She sounded amused and shook her head. “You get three calls. I don’t care if you’re talking to a live person or to a machine or to God. If you dial it, that’s a call. So you’ve just used one of yours.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “I didn’t even leave a message because I didn’t want to waste my call.”
She folded her arms. “Well, you just did. You got two more, and you have ten minutes.”
My head throbbed. I didn’t need a headache right now. Not when I had to figure out the best use of my last two calls. It wasn’t as if I had a long list, so I redialed Quincy’s number and prayed this time he’d answer. When he didn’t, I waited for the voice mail, then spoke quickly, because if his message cut me off… “Quincy, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve been arrested and I’m at the Harris County jail on Baker Street. I have to get out of here, so can you get”—I paused, not even knowing the lawyer’s name—“your friend the attorney to come down here? I’m sure he’s been calling me all morning, but my cell is at my mother’s house and…” I held back a sob. “Just get down here as soon as you can. I love you, Quincy.” I did love that man, and I knew, even with the awkwardness between us over the past few days, he loved me, too. So I repeated, “I love you,” and then ended the call. I pressed the receiver to my chest as if I were holding Quincy.
“You have one more call and about four minutes.”
Four minutes? I hadn’t been on the phone that long. But I said nothing. Even though she had on more makeup than the model on the cover of Sports Illustrated, she was still a correctional officer, and that title alone made me afraid.
I dialed Windsor’s number and was shocked when she didn’t answer. Dang! I wanted to hang up and dial again, because surely Windsor had been waiting for my call. When her voice mail came on, I said, “Windsor, I want you and Mama to know I’m fine. Quincy is on his way, and he’ll get me out of here. I’ll call you again when I can, but please don’t worry. And please make sure Mama is calm and she doesn’t worry either. I really am fine.” Because sobs began to rise within me, I hung up without saying good-bye. I couldn’t let my sister hear any weakness.
Three calls… and I’d spoken to no one. I followed the officer back to the cell, sat on the cot, pulled my legs to my chest, and just waited. Just waited and tried not to cry.
33
I held on to the bars of my cell as if standing by the door were going to bring some kind of miracle. I needed one, because an entire night had passed and I hadn’t heard from anyone… not Quincy, not the lawyer, and not even Windsor. That, I couldn’t believe, but I figured her hands were full with our mother. I couldn’t imagine all that she had to do to keep our mother calm through this.
She would call me, or probably even come down here today. But as much as I wanted to speak to my sister, Quincy was at the top of the list.
“Hey, Alexander”—my head whipped to the right—“you have an early visitor,” the guard shouted as she approached my cell.
“Thank God,” I whispered. “Quincy.”
I was talking to myself, but the guard shrugged. “I don’t know who it is,” she said. “I’m not the one who checks IDs. But you’re lucky whoever it is came right at nine, ’cause you’ll probably get a whole section of the room to yourself.”
This time I rushed behind the guard with no concern for my shoe. The officer explained the rules as we moved through what felt like a labyrinth of halls, completely confusing me, which I guessed was the point. It would definitely be hard to break out of here.
“No touching, no sharing any food, no exchanging of gifts.”
I didn’t care about any of that as we rounded a corner and I followed the guard into a large, stark room filled with six-foot-long folding tables and cheap folding chairs at each one.
There were already about a dozen people sitting at the tables, but my eyes scanned, and with a laser focus, I found him. Quincy was on the far side, away from everyone else. Inside I shouted Hallelujah as I dashed over. When I stood in front of him, it took everything within me not to break the first rule. All I wanted to do was throw my arms around him. But all I did was smile and say, “Hey, baby.”
“How are you?” he said. It surprised me that he didn’t stand. This was the man who opened every door for me, who pulled out every chair for me, who massaged every part of my body just because. But now he just sat there.
I slid into the chair across from him—my focus on the rules—and I realized from his tone and his countenance, Quincy was as shocked as I was that I was locked up.
“I’m so grateful you’re here. Finally. It’s been horrible.”
“It’s jail,” he said. “It’s not supposed to be a four-star experience.”
Again that was an unexpected response, but it was clear Quincy was traumatized. Like me, this was probably the first time he’d ever been inside a jail, and now all I wanted to do was comfort him and let him know we’d get through this.
Around us, men, women, kids, and even a couple of toddlers chatted and shared laughter. There were enough people so the guards’ eyes wouldn’t be on us, and the woman who’d brought me out was engaged with another officer. So I took my chances and reached for Quincy’s hands. I just needed to touch him; he just needed to feel me. But before our hands could connect, he pulled away.
I got it. He’d been told the rules as well, I was sure. I said, “After I left you the message yesterday, I thought you’d come down with the attorney.”
“Nah, I couldn’t do it yesterday,” he said. And the frown on his face faded a bit as the corner of his lip twitched into more of a smirk than a smile. “It took a minute for you to get processed into the system. You couldn’t have visitors before that.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. I don’t understand how any of this works.” I shook my head. “But I’m so glad to see you now.”
“Oh, trust and believe I was gonna come see you.”
I frowned. Quincy’s words were fine—trust and believe I was gonna come see you—but his tone… it felt as if we were having different conversations. He continued, “I was going to be here for justice.”
“I know,” I said, reaching for him again. “If there is any justice in the world, your friend will be able to get me out of here. Where is he, by the way?”
His eyes bore into me. “I think the justice you want and the justice I’ve received are two different things.”
At first, I frowned, not understanding his words. But I began to understand that this wasn’t the Quincy I’d come to love.
Before I could gather my thoughts to ask him what was going on, Quincy continued, “For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”
Those words were like a ram, thrusting me back into my chair. Those words, that scripture—that was the last text I’d received. I squinted, trying to understand.
But then, I thought, no, no, no. This wasn’t about the text; he didn’t even know about this last one. Quincy was trying to tell me something I didn’t yet understand.
That was what I said in my mind, but my heart already knew. I pushed aside the panic bubbling inside. I said, “The attorney. Did you contact him? Is he coming?” as if changing the subject would also change what I knew was happening.
“So, even with that scripture, you still don’t get it?” He leaned toward me and chuckled. “You’re a trip, sweetheart. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you in the weeks I’ve had to suffer in your presence, it’s that you’re smart. And so you already know there is no attorney.”
Suffer in my presence. What did that mean? That was a question I asked myself, but not Quincy. I didn’t want to know. Because if he told me the truth, I’d have to admit and accept how wrong I’d been. “You told me you… had a friend… who could… help me.”
He shrugged. “I’ve said a lot of things. But why would I help you when I helped the US attorney put you in here?” He motioned around the room, and every text I’d received flashed through my mind.
Vengeance is mine.
Vengeance is mine.
Vengeance is mine.
“What? Why? I don’t understand. What’re you talking about? What do you mean?” The questions spilled out of me as if I had no control.
He didn’t respond, at least not verbally. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. With care, he opened it, then flattened and smoothed it out.
As I watched him, I truly didn’t know this man sitting in front of me. Everything about Quincy looked the same: his thick eyebrows that framed his light brown eyes, his chestnut-brown complexion, his lips—oh, those full lips that had given me so many hours of so much pleasure. But this wasn’t Quincy.
Finally, he slid the paper across the table. My eyes focused on… what was this? A funeral program? Then I homed in on the photo in the middle. Of the beautiful woman. Who, when I last saw her in person, reminded me of Diahann Carroll.
Mrs. Louise Landers.
I had so many questions, and then I had none at all. My hand felt as heavy as a slab of concrete when I lifted it to slide the program back to its owner.
“No!” Quincy shouted, startling me. He lowered his voice when the guards glanced our way. “Look at this.” He opened the program and jabbed his finger on the last paragraph of the obituary. “Read this,” he said through clenched teeth. “The last sentence.”
It was hard to see through the tears I had not yet shed. But I was able to read what I had already figured out: “She leaves her beloved son, Quincy Landers, to mourn her passing.” When I closed my eyes, a tear was set free and trickled down my cheek.
He said, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
I shook my head. I had nothing to ask, nothing I wanted to know. Because the part I had figured out already hurt too much. All of this time, our whole connection—it was all a lie. But… but that couldn’t be true.
Quincy, though, had much to say. “I guess I should introduce myself.” He held his hand out to me, but I left him hanging, my only weapon in this war that he had declared against me. “I’m Quincy Landers. And who are you?”
I didn’t move.
He brought his face as close to mine as the table between us allowed. “Let me remind you of who you are,” he said, his tone filled with venom. “You’re the bitch who killed my mother.”
I shook my head and found my voice. “It… it wasn’t like that at all.”
“It was exactly like that,” he said. “My mother’s life was destroyed because of you, and since she died, I’ve done everything in my power to make sure your life would be destroyed, too.”
“So this has been”—the words squeaked from my throat—“an elaborate plan to destroy me?” Even as I asked, it didn’t seem possible.
“From day one,” he boasted. His smile returned, and he leaned back like we were just chatting. “It was easy enough to find you, although at first I was confused by Wilhelmina Jones. That’s what my mother said your name was when she called and told me how you and Simon cheated her.
“But I had Simon’s business address from the check my mother died holding. So I went to his office, hung around outside, befriended some of the women, who were willing to entertain a good guy who could change a flat tire… and I got all the information I needed to find you.
“After that, it was just about tracking you and gathering information. You’re really easy to follow because you don’t pay attention. Do you know how many times I stood behind you in line at the grocery store or Starbucks?” He paused. “You know, you may want to be more careful in here. ’Cause when I think about what these women are gonna do to you…” He laughed so loud, the guards’ attention turned to us once again.
My eyes narrowed as the past weeks replayed in my mind. There had been so many wonderful moments. It couldn’t have all been staged. “So none of this was real?” I wasn’t really speaking to Quincy; I was trying to get what I thought I knew and what was happening to come into balance.
“None of it,” he said. “I planned this for two years, taking my mother’s insurance money, living on that so that I could take a leave of absence from my school just to find you.”
“You went through all of that?” It seemed impossible that anyone would spend that kind of time to come after me.
“Yup!” he said with glee. “Joined the gym, got to know you, made you trust me.” He shrugged. “And when I saw you were about to make a play for Ethan, I moved in. He didn’t even know he was playing for my team, but he made it easier because you were so jealous of him being with Ivy that any man changing a tire would do.”
“My God.”
“I know,” he said, “impressive, right? From driving that wedge between you and Ethan to talking you into doing the interview and then feeding information to your little reporter friend to recording your confession—which was helpful to the feds, by the way. It was all so easy.” He held up his hands in victory as if he was proud of everything he’d done.
I fell back in the chair and groaned.
Quincy sighed, a sound of satisfaction. “And it was all worth it just to sit here and tell you everything.”
I shook my head, defying him and his words. “I know how it was when we were together. It wasn’t all a lie.”
He laughed in my face. “Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. It was an epic lie. All of it. You were nothing more than a decent lay that I screwed to get what I wanted. And it didn’t cost me too much. A couple of meals and you moved me into your condo.”
A sob soared inside me, rising from my soul.
But Quincy wasn’t done slashing my heart to shreds. “There was one thing I said that was the truth.” His jaw clenched and he leaned forward. “I told you my feelings for you ran deep. That’s the truth. Because the hatred I have for you gets deeper every day. You took away the most precious gift I had in my life. And I’m so grateful you will rot in prison, because if you weren’t going to, I would have found justice for my mother myself.” He stood suddenly, pushing his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. He grabbed his mother’s funeral program and stuffed it back inside his pocket. “Enjoy your life, because now that you’re in here, I will certainly enjoy mine.”
My eyes stung with tears as I watched him stroll toward the exit. How long was that visit? Ten minutes, maybe? That was all it had taken. The words he’d spoken, the way he’d humiliated me—all of that was crushing. But the image of the man I loved walking away without a second glance, leaving me deserted and trapped in jail after he’d set me up… this was something I would see in my mind’s eye for the rest of my life.
But just before he stepped out, he turned back. My heart quickened as he moved toward me and I held my breath. Had this been a bad joke, or had he realized he couldn’t do this because he did love me?
“Oh, yeah, there was something I forgot to tell you.” With his thumb, he gestured toward the door. “Your sister’s out there. She came into the waiting area hysterical, begging the guards to let her see you before I did. But I shut that down. I was here first. She’d just have to wait.
“I didn’t even care that she said she came to tell you something important. But now that I’m leaving, she can come on back and tell you what she told me.” He paused, and his face brightened with his grin. “Your mother’s dead,” he said, then spun around, leaving me buried in an avalanche of grief.
34
My eyes fluttered open, and a dull light shone above me. I blinked, trying to focus. Where was I? Twisting my head to the right, then to the left, I took in the two cots on either side of me. I was in the hospital… no, it was too sparse. A clinic, maybe?
My mouth was so dry, and as I tried to lift my hand to wipe my lips, I couldn’t move it—I was shackled.
Reality rushed back to me. I was in jail… the infirmary, I supposed. And now I remembered why.
I didn’t know whether it had happened an hour, a day, or a week ago, but I did remember how I’d sat frozen when Quincy had walked out of the visiting area. Frozen because I didn’t want to move a single muscle that would take away from the energy I needed to make sense of Quincy’s lie. Why would he say that my mother had died? Did he believe that lie would hurt me somehow?
But just minutes after Quincy stomped on my heart, my sister rushed in, eyes swollen, face flushed. And she told me Quincy’s lie was the truth.
My mother was dead.
That was all I remembered, though. How long ago did that happen? Taking a deep breath, I called out, “Hello.”
Footsteps, then a voice. “Ah, so you’re awake,” a nurse said as she approached the cot where I was handcuffed.
“What happened?” I asked as she checked my pulse.
“A little fainting spell.” She made a note on a chart. “Probably stress-induced, since your sister told us she gave you some bad news.”
Bad news? Was that what the death of a parent was called? I moaned at that thought, and for some reason that made the nurse chuckle.
“That’s not gonna get you out of going back to your cell,” she said, amused. “You’re fine now, so don’t try to pretend you’re sick in order to get more time in here.”
Why would anyone want to spend time in here, with mattresses that were as hard as concrete and nurses who had the bedside manner of Frankenstein? I asked, “How… long have I been in here?”
“Just a few hours. We brought you in here this morning. You were talking to your sister and fainted.”
I closed my eyes. Oh, God. After the death of our mother, I could not imagine what the sight of my passing out had done to Windsor. I had to get to her.
“Can I call my sister?”
The nurse frowned and shook her head. “No special privileges in here,” she scolded, as if she thought I should know the rules. “Talk to…”
As if on cue, a correctional officer entered. She addressed the nurse, then turned to me but didn’t speak a word. She uncuffed me from the bed. Then “Let’s go” was all she said after she signed a paper. She shackled my hands and feet before she led me down a narrow hallway.
