I'd Rather Be With You Read online

  I was hanging out at Carrabba’s on Kirby one day. I was sitting at the bar with my friend drinking peach Carrabbellinis, snacking on fried calamari and shrimp, when I heard his voice. I stopped breathing for a moment. Stared at Loretta.

  “What, girl?” she’d asked.

  “Please tell me that’s not him,” I said, knowing it was. My heart instantly ached. I hadn’t seen him in ten years. I’d wondered what he looked like. Was he with someone? Why did I care? It wasn’t like our relationship had ended on good terms.

  The last time we had a conversation, I’d graduated from college and was engaged to my now ex-husband. Darryl was twenty-four and single back then. Fast-forward ten years. I’d had two kids and was divorced. He’d gotten finer while away on a decade-long vacation for home invasion.

  In Texas, a criminal could get more time taking a person’s property than for attempted murder. Darryl’s charges should’ve kept me away. A man willing to steal what someone else had worked for, instead of getting a job, was and always would be a thief. I married a thief. Only now, he didn’t have to steal, because my dumb ass gave him everything he wanted. I mistakenly thought if I kept him happy, he’d do the same for me.

  Neither Madison nor Loretta knew for sure that Darryl had done time. Madison suspected. She believed that men one step away from having a Dwight Howard or Superman physique, with no verifiable income, was an ex-convict. How did I end up shackled to the same man who had cheated on me the last time we were together? Was I that desperate to have a man? Or did I believe I could save him from himself?

  Tired of sitting alone in the waiting room, talking with myself, I called my mother.

  “Hey, honey. How’s Chicago?”

  “I haven’t seen him yet.” I didn’t want to tell my mom about Loretta acting like Chicago was her husband, when I needed to tend to my own affair.

  “Well, tell him I’m praying for him,” she said.

  “I will.” I hesitated.

  “What is it, Tisha?”

  “I’m going to ask Darryl for a divorce.”

  I knew my mother would support me. One, because she never liked the way Darryl treated me. My mom never disliked people. She’d say, “Everybody can change. It’s a person’s ways you have to judge, Tisha.” Two, she always gave me her unconditional love. I think God made all moms to save the world one child at a time.

  “Good. Don’t back out this time. Darryl is a man who pisses, but never put the toilet seat down. He never puts it down, because he doesn’t like closure. Next time he’s taking a piss, you put the seat down in the middle of his stream. He’ll ask, ‘What you do that for?’ Men are like dogs. They want things to stay the way they are, as long as you’re cleaning up all their shit. Tell him he’s pissed on you enough, and that’s his last piss in your house. Mean it. Don’t ask him to get out. Don’t wait for him to decide when he’s ready to leave. Put his trifling ass the fuck out, Tisha. When you don’t like the way you’re living, you need to change who you’re loving.”

  Mom was right. She could’ve married my father, but she said he wasn’t ready for a wife. She’d been proposed to several times. Said none of those guys were ready to settle down. “When the ring is more important than the man, say ‘no’ to both,” she told me. Finally, when the right man asked for her hand, my mom was fifty; they’ve been happily married for ten years.

  “Let me call you back, Mom.” I ended the call and stared at the wall as if waiting for the wallpaper to speak to me.

  Darryl had other girlfriends in high school and women on the side now. Like most Texas men, my husband had Southern hospitality. He spent my money on the finest clothes. Used cash to pay for his sexcapades so I couldn’t verify where he was or whom he was with. If I put him out today, he probably had another place to move into tonight. Good for him.

  I should’ve never invited him to my house. When he saw all that I owned, his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas Day. I couldn’t get rid of him. He started bringing more belongings than he took, including clothes and toiletries. When he started inviting his boys over to hang out at my place, acting like what was mine was ours, I put his boys out. Should’ve saved myself the heartaches and put him out too.

  Before Darryl, I wasn’t lying awake nights, wondering where my man was or whom he was with. I should’ve stayed single. Should’ve never gone to Carrabba’s that day. Shouldn’t have given him my new number. Shouldn’t have agreed to go out with him again a year ago. And damn sure enough shouldn’t have had sex with a man who hadn’t had sex with a woman in ten years.

  I was so in love, I married this man three months after getting back with him.

  Unbeknownst to Darryl, Madison, Loretta, and my mom, I’d just found out yesterday that I was pregnant. I’d pissed on ten different sticks, praying for one negative. I didn’t believe in abortion, but the last thing I wanted to do was have Darryl’s baby. If I decided to keep it, Madison and I could raise our kids together. I sure hope Loretta was wrong and Madison’s baby was from her husband, not from Granville. At least I didn’t have that concern. I was 100 percent sure who the father of my unborn child was.

  Searching to find answers to why both of my marriages failed, I began pacing the floor. Loretta didn’t love Chicago. She hated that most men thought Madison was prettier. If Loretta truly loved herself, she wouldn’t be in that room with Chaz, secretly loving Chicago. But who was I to judge? I needed a friend to talk to, but my friends had their problems to solve.

  Exhaling, not knowing who needed whom more, I dialed Madison.

  CHAPTER 5

  Madison

  Relieved to hear from a person who genuinely cared about me at a time when I was feeling my lowest, speaking into my Bluetooth, I sadly answered, “Hey, Tisha. I was going to call you later. Where are you?”

  “At the hospi . . .” Her voice faded, then came in clear: “Hospital. Sitting in a visitors’ waiting room by myself. Madison, I’m so sorry things turned out this way.”

  Had she called to give me the news? Was Roosevelt dead already?

  “Me too. I mean I’m here sitting in the doctor’s office. He went to deliver the news to Roosevelt’s family and I’ve been in a daze since I,” I said, then paused. When she didn’t say anything, I continued, “I’m emotionally exhausted.”

  A tap on the door distracted me as Papa entered.

  “My dad is here. We’re actually heading out. Let me call you back.”

  She sniffled, then cried, “Madison, wait.”

  “Yes.” I held my breath. If Roosevelt had taken his last, I’d stay and arrange his funeral. I wouldn’t have to leave the country for a year with my mother. We could take a short vacation to Costa Rica or St. Lucia after my surgery.

  I could terminate my dad’s power of attorney. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Papa, but I wasn’t comfortable with what he’d do with Roosevelt’s millions if he ever had access to the accounts. Would my dad make decisions in my best interest or his?

  Papa softly asked, “Has he gone on to glory, sweetheart?”

  Papa had reassured me that some of the best surgeons were in Brazil. Maybe that was true for my augmentation. America had some of the best doctors too. I loved my dad, but I needed to do my own research before letting any surgeon cut on me.

  “Dad, give me that,” I said, taking the document from him.

  I held the power of attorney I’d signed for my father. For a moment he had the legal right to do all transactions on my behalf. Pinching the edge between my thumbs and pointing fingers, I prepared to do what I couldn’t with the authorization to take Roosevelt off the respirator. I’d started to tear it in half.

  Papa placed his hand over mine, then shook his head. I ripped it, anyway.

  Aborting the baby was rational if Roosevelt was dead. That way, I could focus on me. The paternity wouldn’t matter. I was only twelve weeks. A termination could save my unborn child from suffering through the stress of my recovery. Would the pain medication slowly kill my baby if
I didn’t? What would happen if I delayed having surgery until after the delivery? Could the cancer spread to my child and cause birth defects? I prayed my child would be healthy, but raising a miniature Granville scared the hell out of me.

  Damn, if I leave the country, I hadn’t considered who would make the funeral arrangements, choose the casket, contact the church, and pick out his suit, underwear, shoes, and plot. His mother could, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. Helen hated me, and the feeling was mutual.

  “What did you decide?” Tisha asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  That gave me the answer about my husband’s status, but I didn’t understand why she was crying. I handed the torn power of attorney to Papa. “Probably what I shouldn’t have, but it’s out of my control. If you’re here to visit Roosevelt, tell him I love him.”

  Sending a messenger to a person on their deathbed was a bit careless, but sending one to a loving spouse that you wanted to die was viewed as ruthless. In my case I was being considerate.

  “You’ve already said good-bye?”

  “Not exactly,” I told her.

  “You are going to, aren’t you?” Tisha asked.

  I remained quiet.

  “Madison, no.”

  Silence separated our conversation.

  “Well, I don’t know him that well, but I am going to see him today. It’s the right thing to do. But I want to see you first. There’s something you should know. Wait for me in the lobby,” Tisha said.

  “If you’re trying to talk me into changing my mind, forget it. It’s too late.”

  “Just a few minutes face-to-face, Madison. I’m getting on the elevator.”

  “I can’t do this, Tisha. Not right now,” I said, grabbing Papa’s arm. I started crying. If I kept moving, there was no time to think about the fucked-up decisions I’d made.

  Papa placed his arm around my shoulders. “It’s not that bad, sweetheart. There are no mistakes. The events in our lives are predestined. I’m here for you.”

  Ending the call, I looked at my dad. “Papa, we’ve got to hurry. I don’t want to deal with Tisha right now.”

  “You don’t have to talk to her. My driver is waiting for you outside. I instructed him to take you to the house, pick up your mom and the luggage she packed for you, and take you guys to the airport. You’ll take my private jet to Miami, stay overnight at the Viceroy, then continue on to El Salvador. Give me the key to your car.”

  El Salvador? “I thought we were going to Rio,” I said, handing him my car key.

  “I never said that. Where I’m sending you is better. Rio is too distracting. Not to mention dangerous.”

  And El Salvador was safe? I stared into his eyes. “Seems like you’re taking advantage of my vulnerability. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Papa cleared his throat. His peppered hair sprinkled with scattered gray complemented his warm, walnut complexion. He stood six feet tall. Time definitely showed him favor. He was sixty, but he could easily pass for fifty.

  “You’ve entrusted me to do what’s in your best interest. Stop trying to control the outcome. You didn’t have to tear up the power of attorney. I gave life to you. I wouldn’t betray you.” He kissed me, then continued speaking. “I want the best for my little girl. Give me your house keys too. I was going to store your car at my house, but I’ll leave it at yours. I’ll go by a few times a week, check on your place, and drive the car around the block.”

  Maybe it was best that I did leave. What exactly had I signed? Regardless of the fact that I’d taken back my power, I had to read every word. Handing Papa my house keys, I said, “Fine, but if you—”

  The elevator door opened. Across from us, Tisha stepped off the opposite elevator at the same time.

  “I’m so glad I caught you,” she said. “Hi, Mr. Tyler. I need to speak with Madison in private, please.”

  “I’ll go make sure the driver is outside, sweetheart,” Papa said, walking away. “Stay inside until I come back and get you.”

  “We can sit over there on the sofa in the corner, away from the entrance,” Tisha said, leading the way.

  I sat with my back to the door, hoping no one would notice me. I heard lots of noise outside, but I couldn’t tell what was going on. It wasn’t my business.

  Tisha stared at my legs. “Girl, do you ever have a bad day? Here it is, your husband might die today, and even with your being dressed in all black, you look stunning.”

  I gave my friend a half smile. “Thanks. I wish I felt as good. Have you ever felt that all of your decisions were so bad you couldn’t find any good?”

  Tisha patted my hand. “You will.”

  “You’re saying that because you’re my friend.”

  “I’m saying it because it’s true. Good or bad. Nothing lasts. But what’s up with your dad?” Tisha asked. “He’s acting strange.”

  Why would she say that? She only saw him for less than two minutes. “I don’t have much time. Papa’s driver is waiting for me. What do you want to talk about?”

  Now that I sat with Tisha, I suddenly felt like telling her everything. I needed to purge my guilt.

  She held my hands. “Madison, you have to go back upstairs. Chicago is fighting for his life. We both know this wasn’t his fault. That man deserves to live. If he doesn’t make it, you know your face is the last one he wants to see.”

  I whispered, “He’s not going to make it. And I can’t watch him die.”

  “You should be by his side, not Loretta. Loretta is in love with Chicago and she’s in his room.”

  “Tell me what I don’t know. She’s always in his room.” The coldhearted me spoke. “Not my problem.”

  Tisha shook her head, then gasped. “Madison, you’re the first person I’m telling. My mother doesn’t know yet.” She squeezed my hands, then said, “I’m pregnant.”

  Where did that come from? But since she’d said it, I asked, “For that sorry-ass husband of yours? The one I told you not to marry. That’s not my problem either. I’ve got enough of my own to deal with.”

  Tisha stood. “Why did I even bother?” She turned to walk away. She paused as if she was hoping I’d apologize or ask her to wait.

  Why didn’t I have compassion for Chicago, Loretta, or Tisha? I wanted to stop Tisha, but I didn’t. I sat there and watched my last best friend leave through the revolving door. Maybe she needed some fresh air. I did.

  What is wrong with me?

  Rushing to my side, Papa said, “We have to go. Now.” He acted like the building was about to blow up.

  Exiting the lobby, I was confronted by press from every news station in Houston.

  I stood still, then mouthed, “Loretta probably leaked my decision.” I knew I shouldn’t have lingered.

  Desperately I scanned the crowd. I saw Tisha standing off to the side. Was this why she had to talk to me?

  Our eyes met. Mine filled with tears. Tisha looked away. If ever I needed a friend, this was that time. All of these people hated me.

  As my tears fell, a reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Is it true that you signed the authorization to take Roosevelt ‘Chicago’ DuBois off of life support?”

  Before I answered, another reporter asked, “Did you marry Chicago for his money? Is that why you want him dead? Is it true that Tyler Construction may file for bankruptcy? Is that why you married Chicago? To save your family’s business?”

  Fans started shouting from every direction. “Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er!”

  Someone shouted above the chanting, “You didn’t have to leave him for dead! You deserve to die!”

  Another person shouted, “Let Chicago live!” and the momentum spread instantly until the new chant of “Let Chicago live” was so loud, I couldn’t hear any questions. I only saw the reporters’ mouths moving and their microphones waving. The woman who had interviewed Roosevelt and me on the news, when we had announced our pregnancy, was desperately fighting her way to the front of the crowd.
r />   She shouted out, “Is the baby for your husband or the guy who shot him?”

  My heart pounded, and my eyes widened. Loretta definitely made the call. I now wished I hadn’t suggested that Loretta, Tisha, and I buy homes next door to one another. Loretta lived in between us. Seemed like a great idea at the time. We’d all been friends since we were five years old. Loretta’s daughter was my goddaughter. Living that close meant I had to confront Loretta eventually. I didn’t hate her, but my feelings were heading in that direction.

  My dad wrapped his arm around me. “You can’t stand here. Hurry, sweetheart.”

  He tugged in one direction. I pulled against him, staring at all of the microphones and angry faces of what I presumed to be my husband’s fans in front of me. Maybe I deserved this. If each of them had a stone they could throw at me, I was certain they would.

  Someone hurled an egg. My father blocked it. The cracking of the shell frightened me as the yolk splashed on my cheek and dress. Felt like someone had spat in my face.

  “Let Chicago live!” they yelled louder and louder.

  I covered my face and started crying. Did anyone care about me? No one came to my defense. Not even the police officers in uniform. Then I felt an arm around my shoulders. It wasn’t heavy like my dad’s.

  “Come on, honey, let’s get you out of here.”

  I opened my eyes and there was Tisha.

  “I got you,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Johnny

  Just because someone destroyed a deed to a house or a title to a car didn’t mean ownership didn’t exist. I had the original. Madison had torn up a copy.

  While my daughter was meeting with the doctor and debating whether to approve the authorization that I’d told her to sign, I was out notarizing the power of attorney.

  I thought by the time I got back, Chicago’s body would be cold and stiff, but that cat was still kicking. Hopefully, not for much longer. With Chicago out of the picture, I’d have total control over Madison’s assets and the millions she’d inherit whenever her husband died.