Someone Like Me Read online

  “I’ll be sure to bring them back. I promise.”

  “I’m not worried about the earrings. I just want you to enjoy all that tonight will bring.”

  “I hope there’s dancing. I’m wearing heels, but they aren’t that high, just in case.”

  “Smart.”

  Jack walks into the office just as we get in a quick hug. “Oh goodness, I had to walk in when you two are having one of your moments.”

  “What moments?” I tease him.

  “You know, those moments when women do all that hugging and crying stuff together.”

  “We do hugging and crying stuff together,” Mary reminds him.

  “We’re married, and I’m forced to—it’s part of the job.”

  “You are a mess,” Mary says.

  “It’s taken you forty-something years to figure that out?”

  “Of course not, but I married you anyway.”

  I watch them kiss, and it warms my heart. It reminds me of that picture that Michael took—the one he calls Love Endures. I don’t know of another couple that fits that statement as accurately as Jack and Mary.

  I pray that in forty years, Michael and I have that kind of love, that kind of spark.

  He has to ask you first. Right.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Michael calls at seven o’clock, just as I walk into my bedroom. “You ready?”

  “I am. What time will you get here?”

  “I’m downstairs.”

  “Why didn’t you come up?”

  “I wanted to see you walk down the stairs.”

  I hold the phone away from me for a second and take a deep breath before pressing the phone back to my ear.

  “Are you blushing?”

  “Just a little,” I admit. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Stop it.”

  “What? What am I doing?”

  “Making me nervous.”

  I place the phone back on the hook and slip into a pair of red satin heels. They set me back sixty bucks, but considering how comfortable and cute they are, I’m happy that I purchased them. I glance in the mirror, admiring how well my dress fits me; it’s like it was tailored for my every curve. I love that it’s not too tight or too loose.

  Can I get a BAM!

  I laugh at my own antics as I give Mary’s earrings some love and then dab on my favorite gold eye shadow. Grabbing my purse, I make my way to the door, but stop and head back to my bathroom.

  I open my medicine cabinet and pull it out—the small jar of Vaseline that Michael gave me. I apply a small amount over my neutral tone lipstick and then, take one final look at myself in the mirror. All of a sudden, it hits me; I wish my mama could see me tonight. Not just because I’m all dressed up, but because when I look in the mirror, I see a woman with beautiful skin.

  “Close your mouth,” I tease Michael as I slowly walk toward him. He’s standing by his car, gaping at me.

  “I can’t. I think it’s stuck, and I can’t blame it. You look absolutely beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You look handsome in your suit. Are those for me?” I ask, pointing at the bouquet of orange lilies clutched in his hand.

  “Yes. Sorry. I’m still trying to regain my composure,” he says, handing me the flowers.

  “These are beautiful, and they smell good,” I say as he opens my door. Michael closes it behind me and then gets in the car, only to resume staring at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  I turn to my window and smile. Mary would be so proud of me.

  “By the way,” he says as we turn onto the main street. “I suggested to David that he give it six months before he makes a final decision about selling the house.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “He agreed.”

  “I know you only want what’s best for him.”

  “I do, but you were right. He shouldn’t make any major decisions right now. I moved back into my apartment last night, too.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I realized that David’s not me. When I lost my mother and my brother, I needed him and Michelle close by. I crashed at their place for weeks. David is much stronger than I am.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You have your strengths, and the two of you have different ways of dealing with situations. It doesn’t mean that one is stronger than the other.”

  “You’re right.”

  “What was that?” I joke.

  “I said, you’re right, dear.”

  “I could get used to hearing that.”

  His laughter makes my heart dream about forty years of laughter.

  Chapter Forty-three

  We stop in front of a three-story apartment building that looks very modern: crisp white paint on the outside, trimmed trees, and a lit hallway.

  “Is this your place?”

  “It is,” he says as he removes his seat belt. “I forgot something that I’m supposed to bring for my broker. It will just take a sec. Why don’t you come in?”

  “You know, I’ve never seen your apartment.”

  “Well then, I’m glad we can get that out of the way.”

  “Funny.”

  “Come on up.”

  I follow him up the stairs, but he stops when we get to his door and looks back at me.

  “Did you forget your keys or something?” I ask when I catch a glint of nervousness in his eyes.

  “No, I have them right here. I just wanted to get another quick look at you in that dress.”

  “You are a mess,” I say as he opens the door.

  Michael wasn’t kidding when he said he had no furniture. He did, however, have the chair that he mentioned, and he was right; it did match my sofa and accent chair perfectly.

  “This is nice, big. But you were right. Your place is as bare as my own.”

  “I guess I was waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “For the right designer.” The sparkle in his eyes makes me want to kiss him. I step toward him and he grabs my hand. “I want to show you something. It’s out on the balcony.”

  “Okay,” I say, a little disappointed that I didn’t get my kiss.

  Michael opens the door to his balcony, and I’m surprised to see a saxophonist seated in the corner. He begins to play “Feeling Good” as I take in the orange lilies covering the floor, the soft lights draped across the balcony railing, and the candles spread all around us.

  My eyes fill with tears. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Dance with me,” he whispers as he draws me close. I feel the gentle warmth of his fingers gracing the small of my back. “I hope you’re not too disappointed that we aren’t going to dinner.”

  I slowly shake my head as he kisses away my tears.

  “I love you, Mýa.”

  “I love you, too, Michael—with all my heart.”

  The saxophonist stops, and Michael gently pulls away. “I want to ask you something.”

  “Okay,” I say softly.

  He reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out a black velvet box. I gasp for air as tears begin to stream down my face once again.

  “From the first moment that I saw you walk into Marco’s, I knew that I couldn’t let that night slip by without approaching you. Since then, every day has been something I want more of. You were there by my side when tragedy struck. You’re beautiful, and I love you so much. David will tell you that I’m not one to move quickly, but you make me want to do just that. I want to have you forever in my arms. I want you to marry me. I want to spend every day listening to that beautiful voice of yours. I guess what I’m trying to ask you is—will you be my wife?”

  “Yes,” I whisper as he opens up the box, takes my left hand, and plac
es the one-carat engagement ring on my finger. “It’s beautiful.”

  “A beautiful ring for the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  The saxophonist begins to play again as we slow dance to the soft melody.

  “I can’t wait to tell Jack and Mary.”

  “They know.”

  I pull back slightly, staring into his eyes with open curiosity.

  “I had to ask Jack for your hand.”

  “When?”

  “Well, I was going to propose at the family dinner on Sunday, but after you and Jack had a spat, I had to come up with something else.”

  “I knew it. You were going to ask me when we were standing on the steps, weren’t you?”

  “I was.”

  “And the ring, it was in the glove compartment that night when we went to the furniture store, but you tried to pretend you’d left your cell phone at David’s house. Wasn’t it?”

  He nods and lets out a soft laugh. “But I think this way is much better, don’t you?”

  “You could have asked me covered in mud, but yes, this way is so much better,” I say.

  “Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So when are you thinking would be a good time for the wedding?”

  “Yesterday would have been perfect,” I say as I rest my head on his shoulder and listen to the saxophonist transition smoothly into a lovely rendition of “When a Man Loves a Woman” by Michael Bolton.

  Chapter Forty-four

  “Michael, where’s your restroom?” I ask when the saxophonist stops playing to take a break. “I need to go touch up my makeup after all this crying you have me doing tonight.” I reach up and dab the corners of my eyes, which are now marred by tears and smeared eyeliner.

  He brushes my cheek with the tip of his finger. “At least they’re happy tears.”

  “Yes, they are the happiest of the happy tears,” I say, glancing down at my ring again. “It is so beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you like it and I’m glad it fit. We have Mary to thank for that.”

  “Mary knows diamonds,” I say. “These are her earrings.”

  “Then Jack knows diamonds, too.”

  I laugh. “I guess that’s right.”

  “I can’t wait to buy you a pair.”

  “I don’t need diamonds. I already have you,” I say.

  “You’re not going to get to the restroom if you keep talking like that.”

  “You’re right. Which way is it?”

  “It’s through my bedroom. Take the first door on the right.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll grab our dinner.”

  “What are we having?” I ask as I walk back into the apartment.

  “You’ll see.”

  “More surprises?”

  “Of course.”

  I open the door to Michael’s bedroom and it doesn’t surprise me to see how neat and tidy it is. I turn on the light and see pictures of him and David on his dresser. My eyes gravitate toward a photo of a younger Michael looking cute in a baseball cap. Then, I pick up one of him and Michelle and laugh at the funny faces they are both making. There’s a picture of Michael holding a toddler’s hand, and I assume that’s his brother. I pick it up and stare into the toddler’s wide, brown eyes. Placing the photo back where it belongs, I catch sight of a familiar envelope peeking out from under a newspaper clipping.

  My heart freezes, and my hands begin to shake violently as I pick it up and read the headline. “Local 18-Year-Old Deaf Boy and Gas Station Owner Killed in Failed Robbery in Decatur. Suspect Also Shot and Killed.”

  It can’t be. Please.

  I read the article and my insides begin to scream uncontrollably. I can’t breathe as I place the clipping back on the dresser and pick up the unopened envelope that has my handwriting on it.

  “You get lost in here?” Michael asks as he comes into the room and sees me standing with the envelope in my hand, my whole body frozen in place by the frantic sensations zipping through me.

  I can barely get the words out. “This is from me, Michael. I wrote this letter.”

  He stops and stares at me for the longest time. “What are you talking about? How can that be?”

  “I was there that night.” I hold the letter out. “Here, open it. Please.”

  He pushes the envelope away.

  “Please, Michael,” I say, trembling even more as I hold it out to him once again.

  “I don’t want to read it.”

  “You have to.” I reach out and place the envelope in his hands and then step back.

  He opens the letter and begins to read it out loud. Every word, every syllable that he utters causes a fresh wave of tears to streak down my face. I watch in horror as Michael’s own tears roll down his cheeks, hitting the brown carpet under his shoes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks through quivering lips.

  “I didn’t know it was your brother. You never mentioned how he died or when. And the boy that was killed that night was named Daniel Montgomery. Your last name is Davis. How would I have known?”

  I search his face, hoping that love and reason are still evident there. But I see neither.

  “He was born my cousin. My aunt was a drug addict. She did drugs when she was carrying him, which is why he was born deaf. After she died in childbirth, my mother adopted him. But what does any of that matter now? I want to know why you failed to tell me about this.”

  “I was scared,” I whisper as fear wraps itself around my bones and holds on.

  This moment is like a bad dream that I can’t seem to wake up from. I feel like I’m fighting for my life, but the reality is that I’m fighting for my future. Our future.

  Am I the only one fighting?

  Anger sets in behind his eyes, and the sight of it cuts me to the core. My mind races to find the words that will help him understand, help him to forgive, and help me fix this so that I won’t lose him.

  “My brother is dead, and you’re standing here telling me that you were scared?”

  I take a step toward him, but he ignores my need to be close and moves away instead.

  “Michael, please.”

  “Please? Please, what? Do you think this letter makes it better? Do you think it makes it all just go away?”

  He lets go of the letter and the envelope, and we both watch them fall to the carpet next to his tears. When his eyes meet mine again, something inside me somehow understands that the idea of hope is now nothing more than a fantasy.

  “You know, every time you talked about Zee, I got jealous. And now I find out that he’s the one that took my brother’s life.” He leans up against his bedroom wall and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I feel…I feel like such a fool.”

  “I never meant for you to feel that way,” I say, desperate to touch him. My heart tells me that if my skin grazes his, even if only for a second, he’ll remember the love that he has for me.

  I stretch out my hand slowly, but when he stares down at in disbelief, I pull back.

  “Zee,” he repeats contemptuously, and my heart breaks.

  “I always called him Zee, but the name you would have seen on the police report was Zephaniah James Crawford.”

  “Do you think knowing his full name helps?”

  I shake my head and choke back tears. The fire I see in his eyes does not come from love. It comes from somewhere dark, a place that scares me.

  “I didn’t read that police report after I found out that the store owner killed Zephaniah right after a bullet struck and killed my brother,” he says, his eyes burning into me. “After that, I didn’t want to hear anything else. I had to deal with burying my brother. He was eighteen years old, Mýa. Eighteen!”

  “Michael, p
lease know that I tried to stop Zee. I said so in the letter.” I bend down to pick the letter up. My hands are shaking, and my heart is beating out of control.

  “Leave it down there.”

  “I’m just trying to explain that I didn’t know Zee was going to rob that store until we were sitting out in front of it. He was upset that Mr. Johnson had fired him for stealing. Zee insisted he never stole anything,” I say, plucking the letter from the carpet.

  “I said leave it down there, Mýa!”

  The volume of his voice rips through me and I feel my whole body tremble as I let the letter slip out of my hands and fall to the floor again. Michael turns away from me, and as I stand there feeling hopeless, I hear sobs ripping from his throat.

  “Michael, please let me—”

  “Comfort me?” he asks, turning back around as tears continue falling down his cheeks. I watch as his body tightens, and his jaw clenches again.

  I’m losing him.

  “My brother died so your stupid boyfriend could get some kind of revenge. I don’t want your comfort, Mýa.”

  I take a deep breath. “All I know for certain is that by the time I got out of the car to try and stop him, it was too late.”

  “You keep saying stuff like that, like it’s supposed to make it better. Like your words have some sort of healing power or the ability to just make everything right between us. But here’s the thing, Mýa. Right now, they don’t.” His body sinks down to the carpet and I allow mine to follow.

  “Every word is meant to try and bring you back to me. I’m fighting for us. I don’t want to lose you. I love you, Michael. Please try to see this from my perspective,” I say, reaching out and slowly placing my hand on his.

  “What perspective is that?”

  “Daniel’s death was not my fault. I made a mistake by being with Zee in the first place, and it cost me five years of my life.”

  “Don’t you dare say his name!” he says, pulling his hand away from mine and scrambling to his feet. “I can’t even say his name because it hurts too bad. I would give anything to have another five years with him.”