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“I have.”
“Just give him a chance.”
“I’ve moved on!”
“He deserves a chance.”
“For what?”
“You guys were just kids then. He was making the best decision he could. He thought he was doing the right thing,” Zola said. “And you know that.”
“What he thought doesn’t matter. What he did does.”
“He still loves you, Z,” Zola confessed.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Zola smirked at Zena’s uneasiness. “You asked if he mentioned wanting to take you on a date? I don’t remember that. But I do remember what he told me about you—about how he feels about you.”
“What?” Zena asked, and then she turned from her sister. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“He said he loves you. He still loves you, and he’d do anything to be back with you. I hope you give him that chance.”
Chapter 7
Zola stayed in Alton’s bed that night.
In the minivan on the way back to Mahatma House, Zena had watched Zola and Alton comforting each other, Zola resting her head on Alton’s shoulder, him kissing her forehead, and it was as if she was spying something new in them and really seeing their love for one another for the first time—their adult love for one another for the first time. They were no longer teens falling asleep on the phone together. They were grown folks whose love had been tested, been through some things, and there they were, still holding on to each other.
Dinner was endured in silence. No speeches. No tactics. They ate and let the ocean breeze play its melody of life moving on.
Zena could hardly look at Adan across the dinner table.
And he hardly looked at her.
The news she had, the news he knew she’d been given at the infirmary, was about to change everything. It had to. How could it not?
After dinner, Zena stood in the mirror of her black cocoon remembering the laughs she’d had with Adan before Zola’s accident. How something as simple as surfing in the Indian Ocean had become a kind of temporary peacekeeping activity between the two in a time of war. Adan hadn’t seemed like an enemy then. He didn’t seem all-powerful. Or all evil. He didn’t want to hurt her. He was just a man with brown skin and a smile she knew well.
Zena remembered his reaching for her in the barrel. Her reaching back. Him saying he hadn’t been there wrapped in water with her, and then the vision of him in the barrel being clearer than it was when it happened. Was he telling the truth about wiping out? Why would he lie? And if he wasn’t there, what had she seen? Was she seeing what she wanted to see?
“I needed you! I needed you to be there for me!” Zena was standing face-to-face with Adan at the door of his villa at Mahatma House. When she felt these words boiling in her gut in the mirror, she’d run out of her room and across the property in her panties and a tank top to say this to him—to his face. “I needed you more than anything. More than some stupid degree and some stupid dream of being a lawyer. I needed you to stay with me.”
“Zena, I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I—”
“No! Wait! I’m not here for that. I’m not here for an apology. I’m here to tell you that I know now. I know that as much as I needed you, Adan, you couldn’t be there for me,” Zena said. “It wasn’t your job to be there for me.” Zena paused as she began to cry, feeling so much hurt she’d tried to keep hidden in her hate of Adan. “You’re not my father. You can’t make up for his failures. You had your own life to live.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“What?”
“Look, why don’t you come in and we can talk about this.” Adan glanced down at Zena’s nude legs. “I can give you some pants to put on.”
“Oh, my God!” Zena was embarrassed by her lack of clothes and remembered her rush to Adan. She hadn’t felt a thing—not one chill or breeze against her legs in the heat of the night. “What am I doing? Why am I here?” She tried to turn to leave, but Adan stopped her.
“No. Don’t go. I understand.” Adan pointed down at his jeans and the flip-flops on his feet. “I was actually on my way to you. To talk to you.” He grinned at her. “But I took some time to put on the proper attire.”
Adan pulled Zena inside and gave her a pair of his jogging shorts.
