“Oh, my goodness, Quinton! You did this when you were eleven years old?”
“I started it when I was eleven,” he replied. “It took me almost five years to finish it, though. It’s the first mural I ever painted, and the most special.”
The mural was of an African-American family sitting around a gigantic wooden table eating dinner— everything from a big, juicy turkey to corn on the cob to collard greens. A huge fire blazed in the background, both a cat and a dog were sitting on the hearth, playing with a ball of red yarn together. The features of the people were so intense, so descriptive, right down to the wrinkles on the mother’s brow. There were five people in the picture: a man, a woman, and three beautiful children. The youngest little boy resembled Quinton so much, there was no mistaking it was him.
“Is this a mural of your family, Quinton?”
“No, my family was fucked the hell up.” I turned around in astonishment, not expecting such a negative response. The pain was written all over his face. “My father left my mother for a white woman when I was five. My mother let herself go after that until there was nothing left. When I was nine, she killed herself. She slit her wrists over the kitchen sink while she was washing dishes. Just decided she had endured enough bullshit from everyone, I suppose.”
I rushed back over to him and drew him into my arms, letting his head rest against my shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
I kissed him on the forehead and he drew away. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”
An uneasy feeling began to wash over me. There was anger in his voice, bordering on hatred. I began to wonder what I was doing there in the first place. I should’ve been home with my husband and kids, where I belonged. “Why did you bring me here, Quinton?”
“Because I wanted you to see it,” he answered in a low, husky voice. “I’ve never shown this to anyone before. Not ever.”
“It’s beautiful,” I stated cautiously. “Who are the people-in the picture?”
“They’re the family I wished I had. They’re the family I should’ve had. Instead, my older brother and sister and I ended up living with our grandmother. She tried the best she could, but her heart was broken after my mother’s suicide. I think every time she looked at us, it reminded her of her own failures. She always blamed herself for my mother, but it wasn’t her fault. It was that bitch-ass father of mine who did it.” He walked over to the wall and started fingering his mother’s eyes lightly. “Do you know that bastard didn’t even have the decency to come to her funeral? He was off in Hawaii with that white bitch of his, lying on the fucking beach!”
“I’m so sorry, Quinton!”
“Stop saying you’re sorry, dammit!” he screamed at me. I started trembling in fear. He must’ve recognized it, because he came over and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m okay,” I replied hesitantly. “I just can’t think of any other words.”
He looked me deep in my eyes. “Then don’t say any more words.”
Our kiss began, and to this day, I’m not sure where the passion in my lips came from. All I know is it did, and it was earth-shattering. Before I knew it, we were both naked, making love on the hood of his car. We didn’t say another word to each other. The whole time I kept staring into the eyes of the woman in the picture, wondering how much pain she must have been in to take her own life that way.
Quinton and I exploded in unison. I struggled to breathe because I had never had an orgasm like that before, not even when I masturbated, and trust me, I had that shit down to a science.
Quinton finally broke the silence. “Zoe, I know that this is wrong,” he whispered, sucking gently on my left nipple. “I shouldn’t have these feelings for another man’s wife, but I do.” At that point, I didn’t know what my true feelings were, so I remained mute. “I just want you
to know that I don’t have any great expectations. I just want to be with you whenever and wherever I can.”
My mind flashed back to Jason. I pictured him sitting at home in his drawing room, waiting patiently for me to come home to him. I pictured my kids tucked snugly in their beds, dreaming of faraway lands and fairy princesses. I sat up abruptly and started feeling around for my clothes so I could get dressed.
“Quinton, I don’t know what to say right now. Something special just happened between us. I realize that, and just so you know, I’ve never cheated on my husband before.”
He ran his fingers through my hair. “I know you haven’t.” He started sucking on my earlobe, and my body yearned to give in to his desires all over again. “I know this is confusing, but we can make this work, somehow.”
I got lost in his eyes and I could have sworn my heart stopped beating for a brief second. “Can we go back to the theater to get my car now? Please?”
“Sure thing.” He put on his clothes, and we rode back to the theater in silence. He rewound the Marvin Gaye tape and sang the words so low they were barely audible.
When we were pulling into the parking lot, I asked him, “What ever happened to your brother and sister, Quinton?”
“I’d really rather not discuss that right now,” he replied, taking my hand and kissing my fingers one at a time. “We’ll talk about it later.”
I let it go. He saw me to my car and made me promise to be in touch soon. I reluctantly promised. What I should’ve done is told him to stay away from me. That I was no good. That we were no good together.
When I got home, everyone was asleep. I took a quick shower to rinse away my sins and joined Jason in bed. He draped his arm and leg over me and whispered, “I love you,” in my ear, halfway between being awake and being asleep. I kept my back to him and stayed awake for the remainder of the night, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks onto the pillowcase.
chapter
fifteen