The Other Sister Page 2

  “Who is that?” she’d whispered to her friend Gwynne.

  “Rowan Graham. Big tech guy. Has his money in all the right places from what I hear,” she said over the top of her champagne flute.

  Kimberly couldn’t look away.

  “I can introduce you,” she said after a while with a knowing grin.

  Kimberly felt her cheeks heat. She shook her head in an unconvincing no.

  Gwynne got up. Pushed her seat back and grabbed Kimberly’s wrist. “Come on.”

  “Gwynne,” she weakly protested, yet the flow of excitement propelled her across the room.

  Gwynne, always the outgoing one, smiled and made quick small talk as she guided Kimberly around the mingling guests until they reached the bar where Rowan was getting a drink.

  “Rowan Graham,” Gwynne said as if she’d run into an old friend.

  Rowan slowly turned around and the sea blue of his eyes settled somewhere down in her soul and she hadn’t looked away since that night.

  Now, Kimberly steeled herself against the anger she feared she would find in those eyes.

  “I thought you would be asleep,” Rowan said without turning around.

  Hesitantly she walked over and stood beside him. “I couldn’t sleep. Waiting for you.” She glanced toward him only getting his profile.

  Rowan brought the tumbler of bourbon to his lips. “I think I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

  Her stomach knotted. She wouldn’t cry. She swallowed over the dryness in her throat, started to speak but changed her mind. She knew her husband. When Rowan was in that mental space, he didn’t allow room for anything other than his own feelings and opinions until he’d worked through whatever the issue was. Then he would talk. He always did. They’d work through it. She drew in a breath and slowly exhaled.

  “Good night,” she whispered, then walked out, closing the door softly behind her. It was only then that she let the tears fall.

  It had been over two weeks since she’d withdrawn from the race. Just as long since Rowan had slept in their bed. In front of their girls they played the role of loving parents. But when they were alone, between the time the girls left for school and they left for work, utter and complete silence or one-word answers were all that passed between them.

  Once again, Rowan left for the office without a backward glance at her. This was going on longer than usual. By now, they would have been talking, laughing, making love, making plans.

  The morning copy of The New York Times was on the counter next to her cup of coffee. It had been opened, folded back to the politics page that featured a short article about how she suddenly pulled out of the New York State Senate race and the fallout as a result. She rolled her eyes in frustration. This was clearly another dig by Rowan, leaving the paper for her to see. However, it was good news for her competitor for the primary that she was no longer in line for. The words blurred in front of her.

  She picked up her purse and briefcase from the kitchen counter, tossed the paper in the trash, checked for her keys, and walked out. There were clients to see, an office to run. Kimberly Maitland-Graham, Esq. At least she still had her practice and the girls to keep her mind occupied. She checked the time. Her taxi should be there in about five minutes.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Graham,” Howard the doorman greeted. He pulled open the glass and chrome-plated door.

  “’Morning, Howard.” She crossed the threshold. “Oh no, rain,” she bemoaned. “I left my umbrella upstairs.”

  “Wait right here.” He went behind the desk, took out an umbrella, and handed it to Kimberly. “Don’t want you to get wet.”

  Kimberly smiled. “Thanks. And I promise to bring it back.” She stepped out beneath the building’s awning just as her taxicab pulled up in front.

  Settled in the back seat she mindlessly peered out at the pale gray morning, the cityscape obscured by the rain. If only she could pull a pale gray veil around her current situation, shield her spirit from it. She was exhausted, and not because she’d worked endless hours and stayed up overnight to prepare for a case. She was exhausted trying to walk the tightrope that her marriage had suddenly become, fielding and dodging phone calls from friends, frenemies, her campaign staff, and the press. Rowan insisted that he would deal with the donors, but he acted as if it was the gauntlet to hell and the attitude of it wafted around him like cheap cologne.

  The rain beat and slapped the windows, splashed pedestrians and limited visibility. From her spot in the back seat, the Big Apple resembled the moors of London. By the time she arrived at her downtown office, the heavens had fully opened, complete with thunder and lightning, and as she made a mad dash from the cab to the office building, she was immensely grateful to Howard for the umbrella.

  She pushed through the revolving door and shook her hair as she walked toward the security check in.

  “Good morning, Lenny,” she said to the security officer. She inserted her ID card into the scanner.

  “Real mess out there today, Mrs. Graham,” he said as he verified her information on the computer screen that projected a picture of her face. “Sorry to hear you pulled out of the race,” he said in a conciliatory voice.

  The card scanner beeped and she extracted her card. “Thanks,” she murmured, took the card, and put it back in her purse. “Have a good day, Lenny,” she said over a tight smile.

  She strutted toward the elevators and wished that she could hide behind her tumble of hair and avoid the questioning glances, or bold ‘why did you do it’ questions. Then of course there were those who gave her sympathetic puppy dog looks and sad smiles. She entered the elevator, happy to be the sole occupant, stepped to the back, and wished all the floors between the lobby and tenth, where her office was, would speed by nonstop. At least that wish came true and she didn’t have to be subjected to being enclosed with the curious.

  The doors slid soundlessly open and she crossed the short hall to her office door. Seeing her name on the door, emblazoned on the gold plate, slightly lifted her spirit. This was something that all the news stories in the world couldn’t take away from her. She’d worked her ass off to get to where she was. Maybe she wasn’t the high-priced Wall Street corporate lawyer that her husband and his associates thought she should be, but what she did mattered to her, and to all the people that didn’t matter to anyone else.

  She drew in a deep breath of resolve, prepared to be greeted by her assistant with her handful of messages from news outlets that wanted to interview her, and clients worried that her personal life had affected their cases. She mentally checked her taut expression and fixed a smile on her face.

  “Good morning, Gail.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Graham. How was the weekend?”

  “Too short,” she quipped.

  Gail’s freckled face tightened in concentration. “You look tired. I hope you’re not letting all the political noise get to you.”

  “It can be a bit much. But I’m getting through it day by day.”

  “It will ease up as soon as they find something more interesting. I put coffee on.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Messages are on your desk.”

  “Hmm.”

  Kimberly walked into her office and closed the door behind her. When she lowered herself into the chair she felt as if someone had stuck a pin in her, deflating her of any motivation or energy. She hadn’t done a thing but was already exhausted by the day ahead of her.

  Mindlessly she flipped through the half dozen or so messages. Most were, as she’d expected, calls from reporters that wanted to talk with her. The rest were from two of her clients. But the last message stopped her cold. The paper in her hand rattled. The message was from Zoie Crawford.

  Her breath heaved in and out. How dare she? Zoie Crawford was at the center of the nightmare that had become her life!

  She spun her chair so that she faced the window. Ten floors up wasn’t high enough to make everything below small and insignificant. That’s what she needed
for her soul right now, to feel big, towering, invincible. She blinked back the sudden burn in her eyes, then swung her chair back around.

  What did she want now? Hadn’t she done enough damage? She stared at the slip of paper with Zoie’s name and number, snatched it up in her fist and crushed it, then tossed it in the trash. If only it could be that easy to toss in the trash the shitstorm that had swept through her existence.

  Her intercom buzzed.

  “Yes, Gail.”

  “Your eleven o’clock is here.”

  “Thank you. Give me a minute and then send him in.”

  She opened the side file drawer and pulled out the manila folder with Jerome Washington’s name on it. She did a quick scan of the case notes and the details of what had taken place so far, the briefs that had been filed, and the upcoming court date. Jerome Washington was nineteen years old, picked up in a drug sweep, and through a series of procedural screw-ups, he wound up in a lineup for robbery suspects. The witness picked Jerome out of the lineup. He was charged with robbery and assault and sent to the infamous Rikers Island, where he’d languished for the last six months. When Mr. Washington came to her office two months earlier, he was at the end of his rope. Desperate. She’d taken the case because she believed that justice had been perverted in Jerome’s case and she could easily see him spending decades in jail without intervention. She pressed the intercom and instructed Gail to have Mr. Washington come in.

  Kimberly rose from her seat, extended her hand. “Mr. Washington. Good morning. Please. Have a seat.”

  He shook her hand in a less than firm grip and lowered his hefty body into the padded seat. “Mornin’.” He swept his cap from his head.

  “I’ve gone over all the details of your grandson’s case, Mr. Washington, and I’m confident that we’ll be able to get him out on bail until his trial.” She smiled with confidence. “Things look much better for your grandson, Mr. Washington.”

  He squeezed his damp hat in his hand. “See, I’m worried that you not gonna be able to give it your best. And my grandson deserves the best. He’s a good kid.”

  Kimberly sat straighter, blinked back her surprise. “I don’t understand.”

  “I had my doubts when you were running for office and handling clients.”

  She swallowed. “That’s over now.” She felt her cheeks heat.

  He lowered his head. “I done found another lawyer. That’s what I come to tell you.”

  “Oh. I see. When did this happen?”

  “Couple of weeks.”

  Her brows rose. She pushed out a breath. “I’m sorry that you found it necessary to seek other counsel.”

  He pushed to his feet, slid his cap back on his head. “I want to thank you for your time.”

  Kimberly stood up and extended her hand. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Washington. I wish the best for you and your grandson.”

  He shook her hand, gave a short nod, turned and walked out.

  Kimberly plopped down in her seat. Under normal circumstances she would have put up a fight. She would have pulled all the stops to assure her client they’d made the right decision in choosing her, and that to leave would be a mistake because no one would fight as hard as she would. But the reality was, she didn’t care. In a way, she was mildly relieved. The only thing on her mind was this ‘new person’ she’d become, and how she would explain to Rowan that she was not the woman he married.

  The light knock on the door barely drew her attention. How long had she been sitting there staring at her framed degrees on the wall? Gail poked her head in. Kimberly blinked the room back into focus.

  “Everything okay? Mr. Washington kept saying he was sorry on his way out.”

  Kimberly glanced away. “He has decided to find other counsel,” she said on a breath.

  “Oh . . .”

  “It’s fine.” She ran her tongue along her bottom lip. She linked her fingers together and looked up at Gail. “I have some follow-up calls to make. I think I’ll do them from home.” She swallowed over the tight knot in her throat. “If you need to reach me, call me on my cell.”

  “Is there anything we need to talk about?”

  Kimberly made busywork of looking for something on her desk, anything not to look into Gail’s all-knowing eyes.

  Gail sat down in the chair that Mr. Washington had vacated. “I know we aren’t best friends or anything, but if you want to talk . . . I’m here to listen. I know things aren’t easy right now, but this will pass.” She offered a tight-lipped smile.

  “Thanks.” She opened her desk drawer and took out her purse then sat it on top of the desk. She looked Gail in the eyes. “I appreciate the offer. I really do.” Her throat clenched and her eyes were beginning to burn. If she sat there for a moment longer she knew she’d burst into tears. She pushed back from the desk and stood. “If anything comes up, you can reach me on my cell.” She walked past Gail.

  “Sure. No problem. Have some wine and put your feet up.”

  Kimberly glanced at Gail over her shoulder and smiled.

  “Works for me,” Gail added.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She left the door open on her way out.

  On the ride home, Gail’s words of comfort replayed in her head. If only a glass of wine and putting up her feet could fix all that was broken.

  CHAPTER 2

  Zoie Crawford checked her voicemail. Still no response from Kimberly. It was going on two weeks since she’d swallowed her pride and made the first of several calls. She’d been doubtful that Kimberly would respond, but there was an inkling of hope. She totally understood why Kimberly wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her, but now that she knew who she really was and who her family was . . . Anyway, it was in Kimberly’s ballpark now. She’d done all she could to mitigate the emotional damage that she’d inflicted on Kimberly by unearthing the dark family secret. The entire family was still navigating the repercussions.

  She tossed the cell phone on the bed and walked over to her closet to find something to wear. She had her own set of issues to deal with, which seemed to mount by the day.

  When she’d returned to Louisiana for her Nana Claudia’s homegoing, she had no intention of staying in the toxic household from which she’d fled to New York years earlier. But she had; first because of the stipulations in her Nana’s will, and then because she’d truly wanted to. The fractured road between her and her mother Rose was slowly on the mend. She’d also discovered that not only was she an outstanding journalist, but she had a head for business, which had helped her to grow her grandmother’s small enterprise exponentially in the time since she’d taken over. And she’d stayed for Jackson. Now she wasn’t sure what would happen between them. Jackson was going to be a father—and not the father of their child, but the father of a child he’d conceived with his ex, Lena. How fucked up was that?

  She pulled on a bright white blouse and watched her reflection button the tiny white buttons. It was the same blouse she’d worn that afternoon two weeks ago when Jackson came over to tell her about Lena. Déjà vu? Freudian slip? Who knew? What she did know was that she still loved Jackson. As crazy as that may seem under the circumstances. What she was unsure of was whether she was cut out to be the woman that had to deal with baby mama drama. Lena insisted to Jackson that she could handle it, that she was going through with the pregnancy not because she wanted him back but because she wanted to have her baby. She wasn’t looking for him to come back to her.

  That all sounded good, but Zoie knew of too many relationships that went down the drain because reality seeped into everyone’s life. After Jackson’s heartfelt confession, she told him that she needed some time to think things through. Today was the day and she still wasn’t sure if she could separate what was on her mind from what was in her heart. But before that she had to meet with the distributors for her grandmother’s fruits and vegetables.

  Rose glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps. “Hey.” She dried her hands on a red-and-w
hite striped hand towel and turned off the faucets.

  Zoie walked over to the sink and gave her mother a soft kiss on the cheek.

  Rose tenderly stroked Zoie’s back. “Hungry? There’s some fresh biscuits until dinner.”

  Zoie flashed a sheepish grin. “Starving, as usual. I swear Mama, since I’ve been back here, I musta gained at least ten pounds.”

  Rose waved off Zoie’s complaint. “Chile, it’s the air, and the genes.”

  If it was the air, she was going to have to start holding her breath. Genes on the other hand—there wasn’t much to be done about that. The Bennett women were endowed with cat-calling hips and thighs, and bosoms that you wanted to sink your hopes and dreams into. The kids would call the Bennett women ‘thick.’

  Zoie poured a cup of coffee and plucked a fresh-baked biscuit from the wicker basket on the table. “This right here,” she mumbled as she chewed on the heavenly soft, buttered biscuit, “is the reason. If you and my aunties would stop with all this baking, I could get my figure back.”

  Rose smothered a chuckle. She turned from the sink and faced her daughter. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, her voice slightly wobbly. She blinked rapidly, pressed her lips together, and turned back to the sink.

  Zoie froze before taking another bite of her biscuit. Her heart beat faster. To say that she and her mother had a rocky relationship would be a world class understatement. Years of miscommunication, accusations, and emotional wounds had done decades of damage that they were both working to heal. Finding out the truth about her grandmother Claudia, who’d been the keeper of the family secret, and then locating that secret—Kimberly, who turned out to be her half-sister—had been major turning points for mother and daughter, a point where they could move forward together. But twenty plus years of animosity and misunderstandings didn’t vanish in a matter of months. They were still a work in progress. Her mother was the one moving fast, and as much as she wanted to keep pace with her mother, she wasn’t there yet and she knew it affected her mother.