Chapter 1
Two thousand miles across the country in a quest to make a new start, I lay awake listening to the sounds of the new house. Jake slept on his side with his back to me. He wasn’t really sleeping. Wide awake, same as me. I took a chance and slid my thigh against his, scooting closer and curling myself around his body. I nuzzled against his ear. He stayed still. I slid my hand between his arm and waist until he clamped tighter, blocking entry.
I whispered, “Jake.”
He said nothing, his body refusing to give way.
It was his idea to move, to get away. His choice was Atlanta, where a friend in the music industry had invited him to help produce a young unknown artist’s first album, so why not take the opportunity to make a fresh start. I agreed. I thought the change would be good for us both. We sold our house on the California coast and moved where the acreage was big but the price was small.
Atlanta wasn’t all that different from Los Angeles, something I noticed right away. Women had their fair share of enhanced breasts, Botoxed foreheads, and collagen-filled lips. Women of color proudly wore heavy weaves though it was too hot to be carrying around five packages of hair. Men had their equal share of symbolism, shiny high-end vehicles, expensive bling, and too much time on their hands. The real difference was on a piece of paper called “deed of ownership.” It was probable that there were more home owners than renters in Atlanta even though the per capita incomes were the same. The guy idling in a nice Benzo most likely owned the garage to go with it. In L.A. the cost of home ownership equaled two limbs and one’s firstborn, their brother’s firstborn, and maybe sister’s, too. Living at home with your mama wasn’t a bad thing, just a reality like earthquakes, landslides, and smog.
Our new home looked like the White House, only it was beige. Endless trees surrounded the land. It took three little brown men on riding mowers to cut the grass. Within a couple of days the grass grew back even taller. I had a theory about why the grass and trees grew so bountiful: slaves. I was sure my ancestors were buried under the ground where I slept, only adding to the many reasons I spent most nights with my eyes wide open.
Jake told me to stop being ridiculous. Million-dollar homes were not built on cemeteries. Well, that would explain everything, seeing how our people were buried right next to the cotton they picked every day. No headstone. No markings.
I was tired of the insomnia. I was tired of the loneliness. Before I could go into full-throttle whining mode, my cell phone buzzed and shook until it landed on the floor. Had to be my mother. The three-hour California–Georgia time difference had yet to sink in, resulting in a lot of midnight phone calls. She made her late-night calls after watching reruns of Magnum P.I. Tom Selleck was the only man my mother threatened to leave my father for. Twenty years after the last episode and she still had faith Tom could fit those tight-ass khaki short shorts.
I crawled over Jake feeling for the phone where it’d fallen between a box labeled bathroom and another one that said kitchen. In fact boxes surrounded us wall to wall. Two months in the new house and unpacking seemed like a waste of time. Why bother, I thought every time I went to open a box, feeling I’d soon have to pack again.
I answered with fake grogginess so my mother would get the hint it was late in our part of the country. The voice I heard in return was bad timing to say the least. “Venus.”
“What?” I foolishly tried to whisper. Jake still lay unmoved, pretending to be asleep even after my elbow landed in his rib cage.
“I want to see Mya,” the man’s voice answered back.
“How nice of you.” I tried not to sound full of hatred, but the whisper came out in a hissing sound. “Please, I mean, really. Can I call you back during daylight hours, how about that? Or will you be sleeping?” Because as far as I was concerned Airic Fisher was a vampire who’d been asleep for the last three years and was suddenly awakening with a thirst for blood. Long-lost blood, namely our daughter. He hadn’t seen Mya since the day she was born but suddenly now he needed to see her. I’d briefly guessed, or hoped, he was dying and it was his one final wish. No such luck.
I slammed the phone closed then jumped when Jake’s hand landed on my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
My heart was racing. I was about to explain when I realized these were the most words Jake had spoken to me in months, causing my anger to swell. I shook my head. “Leave me alone.”
His hand trailed down my back. “Tell me,” he said, sounding like the voice of comfort.
“So now you want to be my friend?” I pulled my knees to my chest. “That was Airic. He wants to see Mya.”
The comforting hand fell away.
Jake said nothing. Shocked. Confused. Stunned back into silence. I knew the feeling. Airic’s messages, which I refused to answer, had started weeks before with a gentle Hello, how are you, wishing you well. Then shortly after, How’s Mya, I bet she’s beautiful just like her mother. Then came the real reason for the calls, I think it’s time I become a father to my daughter.
But Mya already had the father position filled quite nicely. Didn’t matter if Jake and I weren’t getting along. Didn’t matter that we regularly said no more than three words to each other in a full day. There was a method to our madness and being responsible parents was the one thing we took seriously.
I closed my eyes. “He wants to see Mya.”
“What the hell does that nig—” He rethought his choice of noun. “Why out of the blue does he want to see Mya? Did you call him? Have you been talking to him?”
“Are you serious?” I attempted to get up. Jake’s grip kept me from moving. “Excuse you.” I eyeballed his hand. He kissed my shoulder instead.
“Look, I’m just saying, this makes no sense. Not one word, then all of a sudden he pops up out of thin air, calling here in the middle of the night like he’s got a right to. It doesn’t make sense.”
Jake snatched the phone out of my hand.
“No . . . uh-uh.” I snatched it right back. “You are not calling him.”
“Then tell me something. A simple answer. I’ll help you; you just fill in the blanks. Airic wants . . .” he sang out and waited for my answer.
“He started calling a few weeks ago. I ignored him and thought he’d go away. But I think he’s serious. He wants to see her.”
“This is bullshit.” He leaned back against the pillows.
“Jake, I’m just as upset as you are.”
“I’m not playing this game. I’m not. He needs to put it on the table. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
And there it was.
“What you’re dealing with?” The words danced and sputtered against my ears. “What you’re dealing with . . . is that what you just said?” By this time I was standing, pacing back and forth. If Airic’s intrusion was what it took, the catalyst for the wall to come down, then so be it. “How is this all about you? Why is this only Jake’s problem? I’ll tell you—”
“Keep your voice down.” That was Jake’s tactic when he was being out-talked or out-debated, usually followed by, Mya’s in the next room, only this time she wasn’t. She was five doors down, courtesy of our new southern manor with its nine bedrooms and four baths. I hadn’t thought about who was going to be scrubbing all those toilets when I signed on the dotted line. Space. Jake needed space. I needed space. Yet here we were with nothing between us but animosity.
“No . . . I will not keep my voice down. I’ve been walking on eggshells around you for months, and I’m sick of it. Now you want to know what’s going on. Well guess what, so do I.”
Together four years, Jake and I had our share of ups and downs. The last half of the year registered as a definite downer. Back in Los Angeles, Jake had been charged and arrested for murdering a man. Byron Steeple had stolen millions and nearly bankrupted JP Wear right under Jake’s nose. After finding out about the embezzlement Jake fired him, but the damage was already done. JP Wear was left in a miserable spot forcing Jake to sell off half his company or lose it all. He sold it and eventually lost the other half out of sheer bitterness.
The night Jake was taken away in handcuffs was the night a part of me died, a part of us both. Right then I knew what was meant by “hell on earth,” summed up in one word, fear. Constant unnerving fear. Jake hired a very expensive lawyer, Georgina Michaels, famous for celebrity cases including Guy Richardson, better known as Big Pimpin’, the music producer charged with racketeering, IRS fraud, and manslaughter, just to name a few. If she could get Big Pimpin’ off, Jake would be a cakewalk, especially since he was innocent. She happily took his case, not because he was still a celebrity but because he could afford to pay and in the land of bling, money is the answer to everything.
The lawyer fees could have bought a midsize country, say, Paraguay.
There was no proof, no physical evidence. There was no ...
