Donna Hill - Pieces of Dreams

I bit down on my lip for a moment, knowing that once I said the words out loud, the words that danced around in my head they’d become real, and I couldn’t take them back. I paused, stood up, and sat back down.

“I’m…afraid I’ll realize I never stopped loving Quinn, and screw up everything I have with Taylor,” I said in a torrent of words and raw emotion. “Afraid that what I’ve built with Taylor is all a carefully constructed illusion. That it isn’t real, only a substitute for what I think I lost.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I see. And what about Jamel? Can you face Quinn and not tell him about his son? And when you do, what then?”

The noose around my neck tightened a bit more. I struggled for air. “Three years, Marva. Three years since he left and went back to New York.” I swallowed and looked over her head, focusing on the rack of travel brochures on the other side of the room. “And most days I hardly think what might have been. But then there are those days when I think how cruel it is to deprive Quinn of the knowledge of his son. Yet, Taylor is the only father Jamel has ever known. How right is that?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell Quinn? It’s not as if you didn’t have the opportunity.”

“When I found out I was pregnant, Quinn had been back in New York and with Nikita for almost three months—shortly before you started working here. They were a week away from getting married. I didn’t want him coming back to me just because I was pregnant. That’s the oldest trick in the book. I wanted him back only if he loved me, and I didn’t believe he did. Not really. Not the kind of love I needed. And then Taylor walked through that door right over there, into my life and my heart, and made all the hurt go away. He made me believe in myself again.”

“But how do you feel about Taylor, Maxine, really feel? Right now—today.”

I looked at her then, right in her midnight-blue eyes. “I love him.”

“And Quinn?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you need to go to New York. For your sake, Taylor’s, and Jamel’s. You’re never going to have peace until you finally face Quinn and either put closure to these feelings you have—”

“Or see if what I already have with Taylor is all I need.”

“Yes. My sentiments exactly.”

We didn’t talk about my “situation” any more for the balance of the morning. That’s just the way Marva was. Once she’d said what was on her mind, that was it.

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean it was off mine. Whenever there was a lull in the day’s activity, after I’d finished booking the trip of a lifetime for yet another customer, my “situation” would tiptoe up behind me and tap me on the shoulder. Hey, don’t forget me, it would whisper in my ear. I wanted to slap it away like an annoying fly, but I couldn’t. It just settled back down and waited for the next opportunity to sneak up on me again.

“I’m going to take a break for lunch,” Marva announced. “I have some errands to run. You want to come?”

“No. Go ahead.”

“Want me to bring you anything?”

“No. I’ll probably go out when you get back.”

“Okay. See you in about an hour.”

I tried to concentrate on surfing the Internet to see what kind of sales some of the other travel agencies were offering when the bell chimed over the door. I looked up and a thirtyish, good-looking man walked in. He was tall, about Taylor’s height, maybe six-two or so. He was dressed casually in one of those nylon designer jogging suits, looking ready to hang out for a minute. His dark brown skin glistened with a slight sheen of perspiration. He was pleasant enough to look at—more than once—which I did, and I caught a glint of light bouncing off the third finger of his left hand.

“Hi. How can I help you?”

He walked farther into the office, cautious, and looked around as if trying to determine if we were alone. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his electric blue windbreaker. My antennae went up, and I instantly wished I’d taken Marva up on her offer to go to lunch. I stood—ready for anything, bumping the back of my knees against the chair, my hand near the phone.

He cleared his throat. “I hope so.” He gave me a shy smile. “I, uh, wanted to book a flight to Chicago.”

Chicago. I almost said it out loud in relief. My pulse slowed down just a notch. “Of course. Why don’t you have a seat and tell me your plans?” I indicated the chair next to my desk.

He eased into the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“When were you planning to leave?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Short notice.” I started to give him my standard speech about the advantages of booking well in advance, but something told me that this trip was a last minute decision, that stopping in was on impulse. His next comment confirmed my conclusion.

“I’ve debated about going for almost a month.”

“A month? Why did you wait so long?”

He shrugged slightly. “Wasn’t sure if it was the best thing to do.”

“Book early, or take the trip?” I teased, which got a chuckle out of him. I kept typing.

“Take the trip.”

My right eyebrow arched in question. “Oh. So, what made you finally decide to go ahead with it?”

“Funny thing is, I’m still not sure.”

At that point I didn’t know whether to be curious or annoyed. I hoped he didn’t think he was going to get a refund if he changed his mind.

“Is there a problem?”

He didn’t answer.

“You are aware that this ticket is nonrefundable?”

“Yes. I know.” He stood up, walked across the room to the rack of brochures, and picked up one detailing the wonders of Hawaii. “Went here on my honeymoon,” he said, almost to himself.

I watched him for a moment threading along the crossroads of decision, and then I saw something in his eyes, a momentary flicker as if he’d seen something pleasant, and he smiled again. Just a little.

“I hear it’s beautiful.”

“More like heaven on earth,” he said.

His body seemed to relax and let go, then, as if the strain of carrying a burden had finally been removed, the tension flowed from him on a tide of expelled air, leaving him open and receptive. All of a sudden I realized he wasn’t out to give me a hard time but was really battling with his decision about the trip.

“Will your wife need a ticket as well?”

His head snapped in my direction, as if realizing he wasn’t alone.

“No. She doesn’t like to fly.”

“Is it business or pleasure?”

He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding, then blew out a long breath. “It’s a college reunion.”

I smiled, wondering what that was like. I’d never gone any further than business school, to get my agency certificate. Couldn’t see any college reunions in my future.

“That sounds like fun. How many years has it been?”

“Ten.” He turned toward me.

“I’d think you’d want to go. A lot happens to people in ten years. You can joke about folks who’ve gone bald, gotten pot bellies, and wound up with the wrong wives.” I laughed lightly at the images.

His dark eyes suddenly locked with mine, and my heart knocked. What had I said?

“That’s part of the problem,” he said out of nowhere.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Neither do I.”

He was quiet for a while as he absently fingered the brochures, looking around the office, but not really seeing. I thought that would be all he’d reveal. But then, like a young thief eager to make a confession, he let the words pour out of him.

“I just know that going back may resurrect some things that are best left buried.”

My “situation” tapped me on the shoulder again. “Then…why go?”