One in a Million Page 3

  Chapter Three

  "Hello, son."

  A smile, as bright as the sun, dominated Gregory's face as relief permeated his body. He fought and lost the battle with his usual stoic expression, as he no longer resisted the urge to reach for Demetrius.

  "I knew you would come. I just knew it." The child sprung up and clasped his arms around his father's neck.

  Gregory squeezed his eyes shut, but silent tears penetrated the temporary barrier with ease. Never would he forget the way his son felt in his arms at this moment.

  Demetrius’ body quaked against him with heart-wrenching sobs. Gregory held him close, while the child cleansed his agony. A miraculous sensation of fulfillment grew within Gregory and for the first time, the reality of this situation hit him. He was a father.

  Their embrace was powerful as they tightened their grip. Neither, it seemed, wanted to let go.

  Demetrius held on for a fraction of a second longer. When he pulled away, he wiped his tear-streaked face with both hands and gave a lopsided smile.

  Gregory's smile was just as crooked, his face was just as wet. My son. The phrase warmed his heart. The things he wanted to do and the time he wanted to make up had his mind ablaze with new dreams and beginnings.

  "I hope you aren't mad." Demetrius regained some of his composure. His doe-brown eyes still swam in a pool of tears.

  Gregory arched his brow in curiosity. "Mad? Why would I be mad?"

  "I mean with Mom," he said with a blunt directness that won another smile from his father. "We talked a long time about what happened between you guys," the child continued, shrugging his shoulders simply. "And I'm not mad. Are you?"

  "No. I don't think that I could ever stay mad at your mom."

  The boy smiled. "That's good." He lowered his head deep in reflection. "I don't think she could handle worrying about anything else."

  Gregory nodded. "She does seem to be carrying a heavy load."

  "Yeah, it's mainly my fault." A pale cast of sadness trickled over his Demetrius’ thoughtful expression. "Ever since I got really sick, she cries all the time." He looked up. "She tries to hide it, but I can always tell."

  Gregory repositioned himself and draped an encouraging arm around Demetrius' slumped shoulders. "I don't want you to ever think that any of this is your fault. There is no one to blame."

  "You don't understand." Demetrius ruffled the sheets idly when he spoke. "She doesn't think that I know, but we can't afford for me to be in here." He shrugged his shoulders again. "We never talk about it, but I know lots of things."

  "Listen to me," Gregory commanded softly.

  Demetrius looked up.

  "Neither of you will ever have to worry about that again. I'm here now and things are going to change."

  Demetrius tilted his head and studied his father for a long period. "Do you still love her?"

  The question surprised Gregory and his usual unreadable expression portrayed more than he intended. He knew that the damage had been done the instant Demetrius' smile sparkled with brilliance. Just as quickly as his son posed the question, he changed it.

  "Do you really own Tech Design? I read that it is one of the fastest growing architecture companies in the nation."

  "And where did you hear that?" he asked with an infectious grin.

  "Time magazine. They also said that you were a mastermind when it came to business. I think I might go into business."

  A modest blush crept across Gregory's face at such praise. "I don't know about all that, but I do what I can. So you want to be in business?"

  "Yeah, but I want to be a famous baseball player first. Then I want to play basketball...or maybe football."

  Gregory hid his amusement.

  "Anyway, I cut the article out and put it in our achievement album."

  Gregory folded his arms across his chest. "What is an achievement album?"

  Demetrius arranged his legs to sit Indian-style. "It's where Mom keeps copies of things I've done, report cards, awards, or newspaper clippings, you know, things like that."

  "Do you have many of them?"

  "Yeah, I guess so." With expertise, Demetrius changed the subject again. "Did Mom tell you my baseball team, the Giants, won our opening game with a 3-0 shutout last Saturday?" At Gregory's firm head-shake, he continued. "Yeah, my best friend, Eddie Parson, pitched. He didn't pitch too much last year because he broke his arm." His expression saddened. "I guess I can't play any this year."

  Gregory's eyes pooled and his heart sank at Demetrius’ disappointment. "Don't worry. You'll be back in there next year."

  "You really think so?" The boy's eyes shimmered with hope.

  "I know so."

  Demetrius cheered up. "Mom says so, too, but she's supposed to say things like that."

  Gregory's rumble of laughter filled the room. When the jocundity faded, Demetrius surprised him again.

  "Does this mean that you'll stay?"

  Gregory blinked, then transformed his face back into a mask of seriousness. "What do you mean?"

  Demetrius shifted and lowered his head to study his braided fingers. "I thought--" he shrugged his shoulders. "I just thought if you really liked us, you would want to stay. Do you?"

  Gregory's heart broke as he tried to smile. "I'm not going anywhere, Demetrius. Ever." They stared at one another and shared an awkward smile.

  Demetrius' face beamed like sunshine as two dimples appeared. "Promise?"

  Gregory leaned down and kissed his son's forehead. "I promise."

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, after Demetrius gave in to his fatigue and went back to sleep, Gregory spotted Whitney in the waiting room area. She cradled her face in the palms of her hands, the slight shake of her shoulders indicated that she was crying.

  He couldn't imagine what she must have endured over the years. He wanted her to share with him why she chose to do this alone.

  Drained from the day's events, he rolled his stiff neck in a slow circular motion, then shoved both hands into his pockets as he strolled towards the waiting room.

  With each heavy step, it gave him time to reflect over what he had learned. He tried to figure out the best way to handle this situation.

  Whitney looked up when he approached, he was able to see the tired lines etched in her face.

  "How is he?" she asked, glancing towards Demetrius' room. She gave a weak smile, which made her look more fatigued.

  "He's sleeping," he assured her. His arms opened and she stepped into his embrace as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For a long time, they drew strength and comfort from each other. After they separated, they took seats opposite each other.

  So this is how much the world weighs, Gregory thought. He dropped both elbows against his kneecaps, then rubbed his face with his hands as if he just splashed cold water on it. He had to have aged ten years today.

  Whitney watched the emotions on his unguarded face. She was unaware of her hand that reached out, until she touched his closely shaven face. He closed his eyes and turned his face to kiss the palm of her hand.

  His heart lurched from the intensity of her gaze. He lowered his vision to study the ripeness of her lips and remembered with astonishing clarity of their softness and potency. He also remembered his addiction. Slowly, his head descended, he wanted the sweet taste of yesterday.

  Whitney turned away and swallowed the painful lump of regret. How could he reenter her life after ten years and still have the same effect on her senses as if it were yesterday? She stood to put distance between them.

  An elderly couple entered the waiting room. The man, whose hair was covered with gray, shuffled forward with his steel walker while the older woman helped him along. Neither spoke as they made their destination to the two chairs centered in front of the television set.

  Gregory watched how the man reached over to grab his wife's hand before he turned his attention to the CNN channel. Was that strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, envy?


  Whitney noticed the subtle smile on the older woman's face and the love that shone in her eyes before she, too, turned her attention to the TV.

  How lucky they were to have found someone to share their life with, Gregory and Whitney thought.

  I have to bridge this gap. Gregory watched Whitney from the corner of his eyes. He didn't know what had caused her to turn away from him ten years ago and, right now, it really didn't matter. They had a child together and nothing they could say or do would change the past.

  I have to bridge this gap. Whitney took a deep breath. How did she expect him to react to all of this? Did she think he would just act grateful? Of course, he would be hurt and angry. He had every right to be. This whole thing was her fault, wasn't it?

  Whitney gathered her courage and convinced herself that she needed to talk to him. She turned abruptly and slammed into his chest, but he caught and held her in his arms.

  "Are you okay?"

  She ignored the caress his voice gave her and nodded. "I'm fine," she said flustered. "You just frightened me there for a moment." She tried to laugh it off.

  Gregory retreated a step. "Whitney, we need to talk. There are too many questions that needs answers."

  Whitney began to protest but his stern look silenced her.

  "Give me your address and I'll pick you up tonight at seven-thirty."

  "Tonight?" She blinked astonished. "My address?"

  "I can't think of a better time or place. Can you?"

  "Well, yes." She tried to clear her thoughts but, try as she might, when she searched her brain for an excuse, any excuse, none came.

  "Whitney."

  "Greg, maybe we should discuss this over lunch tomorrow. I'm just not up to discussing this tonight. We both have had a trying day."

  "True, but let's make it over dinner instead."

  She huffed in irritation. "That's not a good idea."

  Dread crept through his veins. "Is there someone else expecting you for dinner?"

  Whitney wanted to laugh. She couldn't even remember the last date she had. "No," she answered in amusement. "It's nothing like that."

  "Is there someone else in your life?"

  "No," she whispered.

  "Then I'll see you at seven-thirty."

  "No," she almost shouted. "We can meet tomorrow over lunch. I know we can handle this like two civilized adults. I'll give you a call tomorrow at your office."

  With style and grace, she grabbed her purse, turned, but before she gave him her back, she added, "Thank you for agreeing to do the tests. I know that I can never repay you." She didn't wait for a response, but turned and left.

  Gregory watched her move away. "I don't know, Whitney. I could think of one or two ways," he whispered to her retreating figure.

  * * *

  Whitney stepped out of the tub. The relaxing ritual of massaging baby oil into her skin released her anxieties. Today had been one of the hardest days of her life, seeing Gregory again after all this time. She had practiced for days on the right words to say, and rehearsed an array of scenarios of his reaction. But when the time came, she still wasn't prepared.

  He had caught all of those elusive dreams and tamed them, just like she always believed he would do. A smile lined her lips. There was no denying the pride she felt for him.

  Later, she sat in front of her vanity with a blue body-length towel wrapped around her and another spiraled her wet hair. Her face, scrubbed free of makeup, looked pale and tired. Her shoulders slumped forward. She looked as bad as she felt, if that was possible.

  Looking for something to treat herself, Whitney grabbed a jar of mudd mask. What she needed was an old-fashioned facial. She applied an even coat over her skin.

  Whitney snatched her clothes from the floor, then left the bathroom to dispose them in the laundry hamper in her bedroom. Wanting to give herself the whole 'enchilada', she took her nail caddy from the top of the hall closet. It contained everything she needed to give herself a manicure and a pedicure. A half an hour later, she had cotton stuffed between her toes and both hands drying in front of a small fan.

  A light musical knock sounded at the door. It had to be her best friend, Yolanda. That was her signature thump.

  Jumping up, Whitney knocked over her nail caddy and swore under her breath. Still wearing both towels and her mudd mask, she scrambled to the door. Yolanda had promised to pick up her resumes that Whitney had spent most of last night typing. But she knew the real reason for the visit; Yolanda wanted the dirt on what happened at Tech Design.

  When Whitney swung open the door, she choke down a scream of horror.

  A pair of enticing lips curved into a smooth even smile as Gregory's dark eyes danced with merriment. "Sorry, I'm late. It's seven-thirty-five."

  Chapter Four

  The towel, wrapped snugly around Whitney's slender body, gave Gregory a glorious view of smooth tan shoulders and beautiful long legs. But it was the sight of her breasts luscious mounds that threatened to plunge from their confinement, which caught and held his undivided attention.

  Whitney, eyes wide in indignation, clasped a hand on her chest to obstruct his gaze.

  He crossed his arms and tapped a lone finger against his chin. "There is something different about you." He teased, pretending he couldn't figure out the puzzle.

  She screeched and slammed the door in his face. A heat wave of embarrassment scorched her cheeks when she turned to assess the condition of her apartment. She clutched her towel and dashed on the heels of her feet towards the bathroom. She turned the corner, faced her reflection in the mirror, and screamed.

  The sound rumbled through the front door as Gregory laughed, then entered the small but cozy apartment. There were pieces of furniture in every corner, a picture on every wall along with big, wide wicker fans that hung diagonally across from one another. Shelves of 'what-not’s', crystal bells, and porcelain dolls sat on étagères and glass tables, while a macramé owl hung over an old turntable record player. In front of it were stacks of timeless records, eight-tracks, and cassette tapes.

  He heard a cough at the door and turned to wave in an assembly of men before he continued his walk around the room.

  Also on the floor were several bean-bags of different shapes and sizes. The floor model television set resembled the one his parents' owned when he was a child. He looked up and noticed philodendrons in macramé holders. Their long vines were pinned up to spray a brilliant array of color along the walls.

  Gregory approached, then took a closer look at the pictures that decorated a nearby desk. Demetrius smiled at him from every photograph. There were some from Boy Scouts, sports activities, and parties. But also posed in the pictures was a stranger. A man who kissed, hugged and celebrated with mother and child as if he belonged.

  Another cough sounded from behind Gregory. He turned to tip the men, then told each of them thank you. As quickly as the men entered, they exited the apartment.

  Whitney emerged through long strings of multicolored beads that were draped across an entryway to the hall. She wore a pair of old, navy-gray sweat pants and a white T-shirt. Her damp hair was pulled back in a clip, but a few strands escaped to frame her oval face, which remained scrubbed clean of makeup. She glanced over into the dining room where a magnificent gift stole her breath: a beautiful candlelight dinner for two.

  "I apologize for being late."

  Whitney gave him a suspicious look. "What's all this?"

  "It's dinner." He walked over to the vacant chairs, pulled one out, and gestured for her to take a seat.

  She hesitated, then walked to the table with slow deliberate strides and sat down. But before he pushed in her chair, he caught her smiling to herself.

  "How did you find my apartment?"

  His eyes sparkled with devilment. "Why, I just asked our son."

  Whitney shook her head. "You're incorrigible."

  "I never take 'no' for an answer." The seriousness in his expression and tone added to his aura of power and
mystique.

  "I remembered that motto of yours but apparently, I'd forgotten your insistence." She couldn't pretend to be angry by his actions and gave into the romantic mood that he had went through great pains to stage for her.

  The atmosphere was warm and inviting as they eased into casual conversation. Whitney inhaled and let the mixture of aromas seduce her senses. Her empty stomach growled and embarrassed her.

  "I guess I'm a little hungry." She flushed a deep color of burgundy.

  "You're not by yourself." He opened one of the trays and revealed a beautiful pot roast. "If I recall correctly, this is one of your favorite meals."

  Whitney moaned as her self-control collapsed. "Actually, I'm trying to become a vegetarian."

  Gregory's expression twisted in amusement.

  "I can start tomorrow," she added quickly, her gaze feasted on the tray. She looked up when his laughter, rich in its bass, reverberated from his chest.

  He picked up one of the caterer's hand-crafted dishes and piled on a hearty serving. The other trays contained different vegetables and rolls, which he also packed on the plate before he handed it to her.

  "Everything smells wonderful," she cooed, closing her eyes.

  Gregory fixed his plate then reached across the table. "Shall we?"

  They held hands, and bowed their head while Gregory said Grace. When he finished, she closed with an 'Amen.'

  Both picked up their napkins and spread them over their laps, each in sync with the other.

  Whitney cut a morsel of the pot roast and sank her teeth into its heavenly taste. Her moan of pleasure was noticeably long as she continued to chew.

  "I take it, you're enjoying the meal?"

  As soon as she was able, she swallowed and confessed. "Everything tastes divine." She looked up at him. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  He shifted his weight as he looked and admired her sovereign beauty that was silhouetted by candlelight. She didn't need makeup to enhance what he viewed as perfection. He continued to watch her as he, too, started his meal.

  "Do you remember when we used to hang out at Zesto's? We used to split one hamburger and an order of fries," she smiled.