Part 22 (2/2)

”Remember how good we are,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off of her. ”Remember this, baby?” Jordan's eyes clouded over with tears. ”Remember us?”

She did remember. Lonnie dug her nails into his back and thrust her hips up to meet his. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with her? What was it about him? No other man had ever hurt her the way he had, and no other man could make her c.u.m the way he could. The room filled with sounds of her moans. She needed this! She had needed him inside her like this, and she hated herself for it.

Lonnie's tongue mated with his. The familiar flavor of Jordan made her drunk with him, and before long, she quivered, shook, and cried out as she came all over him. ”Jordan!” she gasped. Clarity came back to her almost immediately. He had no right being inside her!

”Get off!” she cried out, slapping against him, and pus.h.i.+ng him away. ”Get your hands off me!”

He pressed his weight down on top of her, thrusting and stroking, unaffected by her attack on him, holding her in place until finally, he came too. Lonnie was repulsed all of a sudden. She hated him. That hadn't changed and it never would.

”If you're going to kill me you'd better get that s.h.i.+t right this time!” she threatened. ”Make sure I'm dead, Jordan!” she said, breathless. ”Make sure you don't miss!”

Jordan caught his own breath, stood up, and adjusted his pants. Lonnie kicked at him, but he moved before she could make contact.

He laughed. ”That's my girl,” he said. ”A regular Smokin' Joe Frazier.”

She scoped the room and saw her purse lying on the floor near the door. He saw it too. Jordan walked over and picked it up, searched through it and found the gun. He looked back at her, the smile gone from his face and put it in the pocket of his sportscoat. He watched as Lonnie stood up and pulled up her jeans. Jesus! I don't want to cry! Stop it, Lonnie! she commanded herself, but she broke down. Jordan waited until she was finished and finally able to compose herself.

”Like it or not, Lonnie,” he finally said, ”you're in my soul, girl. And I am so very, very inside yours.”

She looked at him. ”f.u.c.k you, Jordan! You disgust me! You make me sick to my stomach!”

He shook his head. ”I will not apologize for this, baby.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. ”Because it's the most satisfied I've been in years.” Jordan stood up, b.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt, slipped into his sport coat, and headed for the door. He stopped and turned to her. ”Don't let what I did define you or ruin you, Lonnie,” he said remorsefully. ”Be better than that. You are better than that.” Jordan turned and left her sitting in the room alone.

There weren't enough sorrys in the world for him to make amends for what he'd done to her. But even she had to admit that he was right. Lonnie had been holding on too long to that ugly part of her past and it was time to finally let it go.

As she was making her way down the stairs, Lonnie spotted Jordan getting ready to get into his car. He'd just unlocked the door when Claire suddenly appeared in the parking lot with a gun.

”Go home, Claire,” he told her, glaring nervously over his shoulder at Lonnie.

”To what, Jordan?” Claire asked.

Jordan took a step toward his wife, but Claire pointed the gun at him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

”I never meant to hurt you, Claire. Lonnie's leaving, baby, and we'll never see each other again!”

Claire's face flushed red. ”I can smell her on you from here!”

”It's you I want, Claire! It's you I need, and we can fix this! Claire, put the gun down, baby. I want to fix this! I want to make it right again between us!” He took a step toward her.

For a moment, it looked as if Claire believed him. Claire wanted to believe him and she started to lower her gun.

For the first time, she noticed Lonnie, and a look of resolve crossed Claire's face. ”You love her the way I love you,” she said pitifully to Jordan. ”Too much.”

”I love you, Claire,” he told her.

Claire pointed that gun to where she knew it would do the most damage; a place where death would be inevitable.

The gun went off. Jordan looked back at Lonnie. Lonnie would never forget the look in her eyes.

Never be bullied into silence.

Never allow yourself to be made a victim.

Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself.

-Harvey Fierstein YOLANDA ”LONNIE” ADEBAYO September 20, 1964May 28, 2012 What If G.o.d Shuffled By?

”Momma left me this house when she died, but I only moved back into it after my husband pa.s.sed.”

Gloria Dawson was in her sixties. When Desi called and told her who she was, it was as if she'd been waiting on her.

Gloria lived in a small bungalow in the middle of town. Desi followed her through the kitchen and into a back room, filled with boxes from floor to ceiling.

”She loved Mr. Gatewood,” Gloria gushed about her mother. ”She met him before he built his company and used to come by the library all the time to do his research. Momma worked there at the time.”

Gloria found the box she was looking for, and pulled it down on top of the small table in the room. ”When he started his company, he asked her if she wouldn't mind being his secretary because he trusted her,” she said, smiling. ”Being that she was a librarian by trade, Momma had a way about filing everything that most people were clueless about. She said that if he didn't trust those people he worked with, then she couldn't trust them either.”

”Let me get that for you,” Desi volunteered, reaching for the box.

The two women went back into the kitchen, where Gloria opened the box and began thumbing through file folders until she came to one in particular.

”She made me promise never to give this to anybody else but you or your mother.” Gloria held it out for Desi. ”Mr. Gatewood made her promise to keep it safe, keep it hidden, no matter what happened.”

Desi lay the file flat on the table and carefully opened it. The first thing she saw was a lock of hair tied with a purple ribbon.

”I believe it was your mother's,” Gloria said. ”But that's just a guess.”

Desi saw an old black-and-white photograph of Ida sitting in a hospital bed, smiling, and holding a baby.

”That's you,” Gloria said with a smile.

Desi leafed through the deed to the house, some kind of land deed, and a copy of Julian's will.

”He had two.” Gloria held up two fingers. ”One was filed with the probate courts, but was pulled back, and another one was filed in its place. I don't remember which one that is.”

Desi stopped when she saw a picture of Ida in that hospital room holding Desi, with Mr. J standing beside the two of them. Gloria had nothing to say about that one.

The last doc.u.ment in the folder was Desi's birth certificate, listing Ida as her mother and Julian Gatewood as her father.

”You won't find that on file with the county. There's another one out there, I believe. But Momma said that was the real one.”

Desi looked at her. ”I can keep these things?”

”Of course, dear. After all, they belong to you.”

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