got in for a moment. She said, “Vince?”
My voice was low. “Yeah.”
“I was sitting up eating breakfast with my momma. We were laughing, planning on going to see a play over the weekend. She was looking good, healthy, happy. The next morning she didn’t wake up. Talked to my daddy one week, the next I was getting a phone call. He was dead too.”
My eyes stayed on my palms. A little kid. That’s who I was. A kid with grown-up problems. Dana put a finger on my chin, raised my head until my eyes belonged to hers.
She whispered, “Nothing’s promised.”
“I know.”
“Not the rest of tonight, not all of tomorrow.”
In that moment I remembered that I thought my folks would be here a lot longer than they were. Thought about how this drive back to Los Angeles could be my last. And if something bad happened to me before now and whenever Malaika came to her senses, I didn’t want to have to wait for my daughter to get to heaven before I kissed her face. I still didn’t know her favorite colors. Her favorite foods. If she liked Big Bird or that purple dinosaur Barney, or if she played with whatever kids’ stuff they’re pushing at Toys “R” Us.
Dana said, “Let’s bum-rush that house.”
“Slow down. Be civilized.”
“Stop being so passive. Damn, I never realized how much you need me.”
“Dana—”
“Don’t go back home not knowing.”
In her eyes I saw some stubborn tears, saw she cared for me, and I saw she was right.
She was my second love. The one I’d live for. The one I’d always wish was there from the get-go. A diamond with a heart of gold. Her eyes told me she saw the same, felt the same undeniable magic when she gazed at me.
I opened the door. “C’mon.”
Side by side we walked up to Malaika’s porch. Didn’t muffle our steps. Dana gave me some strong eye contact. Her cat eyes were ferocious.
I said, “You’re going back to New York tomorrow.”
She ran her hands through her hair. “Only if you don’t ask me to stay.”
“It wouldn’t be a walk in the park.”
“Might be like Central Park after midnight.”
My voice wasn’t easygoing when I said, “I’d make you suffer.”
“I know. I’d suffer you back.”
Softly I said, “Stay.”
Her voice was just as tender. “Okay.”
“If it don’t work, there’s always an open door.”
“I know.”
Everything would turn around in time. That thing with Gerri would do like most news—change from news to gossip to rumor, then, except for by a few, all would be forgotten. And forgiven. Dana would sell more houses than she ever imagined. We’d share years of smiles. Arguments. Tears. Three children and years of mostly smiles. And I know we were together in a carnal way countless times, numerous ways before we stood on the beach in Malibu with twenty of our friends and faced God, but for the record, let me say that there is no better feeling than when a man makes love to his wife. Nothing compares to that union.
She’d never mention Claudio.
She’d never ask about Naiomi.
But that five minutes of pleasure, that one-time experience in a musty and dusty garage, my crime of weakness that was done in an alley behind Stocker and Degnan would come back to haunt me.
The next time I saw Naiomi Smalls would be long after Harmonica had played his last song on his magical C-band and was summoned to the Upper Room to be with Edna and my parents. He’d live a few more good years, take care of those grandchildren, take care of all of us the best he could. But his time was short, as time will be short for us all.
Anyway, when my eyes fell on Naiomi Smalls again, Dana would be at my side. Ten years down the road. Today when Naiomi packed up her Jeep and headed over the dips at Stocker and Degnan, she wouldn’t look back. She’d become a nomad and live where she stopped. Canada. Jamaica. London. South Beach. France. Living the life of a millionaire. I’d run into her again at LAX. Her hair would be longer, straight. Her skin tanned. She’d still be slim but not as tight.
Me and Dana, we’d be married, would be with Womack and Rosa Lee, Gerri and her second husband, all of us trying to catch a flight to Vale so we could tackle the slopes at the black ski summit. Naiomi would be rushing to catch a flight to Puerto Villarta, the place that