A Scandalous Affair. Donna Hill
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carpeted floor and became enveloped in Justin’s strong embrace. Instinctively, his long fingers gently kneaded the taut muscles of her back, then her neck.
Languidly, she lifted her chin, her rich mouth eagerly awaiting to be baptized by his.
The kiss was slow and sweet, the tenderness born from years of knowing each other flowed through them.
Marriage was bliss, Vaughn thought, feeling her body warm to a sizzle, and she wouldn’t change a thing—except the loss of their baby. For that she would always blame herself—her drive and her ambition—the catalysts for her marriage. She’d known how much Justin wanted a child between them, and she’d deprived him as surely as if she’d told him no. And now it was too late, she was sure. They’d made love without protection for all the years of their marriage—and nothing.
She held him tighter, lingered over the kiss a bit longer. Every day, for the rest of their life together, she would make it up to him. That was a promise she had no intention of breaking.
Justin, with a groan deep in his throat, reluctantly moved away. He gazed down into her eyes.
“You look tired, babe.” He brushed her shoulder-length hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Rough day, huh?”
Vaughn released a heavy sigh. “That’s putting it mildly. It was totally draining.” She took a seat at her dressing table, crossed her ankles and swiveled the chair to face Justin. “There’s going to be trouble, Justin.”
He slowly nodded and lowered his muscular frame onto the edge of the bed. “I know. And it looks as if our daughters are going to be right in the front of the line.”
Vaughn pressed her lips together. “You know they’re both right. Things have gotten totally out of control. Not just here, but across the country.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. “It’s terrifying, especially for black males.”
“Believe me, I agree one hundred percent. But I guess I’m just like every other parent—why my children?” He chuckled derisively.
“I know. But I’m proud of both of them. They have the kind of values and vision that’s been lost these past generations. After the sixties, we became complacent, Justin, simply because we could drink at water fountains, sit where we wanted on a bus or in a diner, and move into neighborhoods we’d been banned from.”
“Legally mandated integration was just a Band-Aid for what really ails this country. Racism,” Justin added. “The Band-Aid covered the sore for a while, but now the decay is oozing out of the sides. The hate is still festering underneath.”
“I’m willing to do whatever is needed to support them on the congressional floor, or in the street,” Vaughn said, the fire underscoring her words.
“And so am I.”
They held each other with just a look, their commitment to themselves and their children needing no more words.
Justin pushed out a breath, and slapped his palms on his thighs. “So—what time is this shindig?”
“Nine.”
Justin checked his watch. “I promised Chad I’d pick him up at the airport. His plane lands at seven.”
Vaughn rose and gently kissed his lips. “Go take a quick shower and change. You don’t want to rush.”
Justin grinned. “Yes, dear.”
She playfully swatted his arm. “I’ll go see what Dottie planned for dinner, while you’re in the bath.”
Dorothy Beamer had been hired during Vaughn’s abbreviated pregnancy to help around the house and look after Vaughn. Dottie was more than just hired help, she was her friend. When Vaughn lost the baby, Dottie insisted on staying, and on nights like this one, Vaughn was glad for Dottie’s comforting presence.
Moments later she heard the rush of the shower as she made her way downstairs. She had a good life, she mused upon entering the high-tech kitchen. She had a great career, a fabulous husband, wonderful children and enduring friendships. Yet she couldn’t help but feel that the foundation of it all was shifting somehow, about to change. Possibly forever.
Chapter 4
Samantha pulled her candy-apple red Mustang convertible behind her sister’s Mazda just as Simone was cutting her engine. She picked up her purse and briefcase from the passenger seat and slid out of the car in concert with Simone.
The locks on both vehicles beeped simultaneously, sounding in an uncanny harmony, and the two strikinglooking young women laughed in unison.
“Hey, sis,” Samantha greeted, her wide mouth blooming into a smile. She strutted toward her sister, her sneakered feet moving soundlessly across the pavement.
Simone took in her stepsister’s carefree attire and casual attitude, both more than adequately camouflaging the keen mind and dancer’s body. Samantha Montgomery was probably one of the most powerful women in the post–civil rights movement era. At first glance, the unknowing would mistake her ingenue appearance for the actions and mannerisms of a young college coed. That was the first mistake, to underestimate her, to misjudge her by her looks. Simone always believed that her cunning sister should have gone into politics herself—made a run for public office. But Samantha insisted she’d rather fight in the trenches than from the air where you couldn’t make out your target.
“Hey, girl,” Simone greeted in return, planting a kiss on Samantha’s cheek.
“I thought I’d see your name smeared all over the papers today along with mine,” Samantha teased, slipping her arm around Simone’s slender waist as they walked toward the house. Samantha truly admired her sister and her ability to contend with all the bureaucratic bullshit and still get the job done despite the odds against her. She definitely had her mother’s warrior spirit, Samantha mused. When it came to dealing the political deck of cards, Vaughn and Simone were at the top of their game.
“I got honorable mention,” Simone joked. “I’m sure they’ll get to me before the week is over.”
Samantha tipped her head toward her sister. “Not to change the subject, but isn’t that Dad’s car?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So he must have already picked Chad up from the airport. Wasn’t his flight due in at seven?”
Simone’s pulse began to throb at her temple. Her throat was suddenly dry. She swallowed. “Yeah, I think so,” she finally uttered, trying to stay calm.
Samantha beamed. “I can’t wait to see him.” She walked faster toward the front door, nearly dragging Simone in the process.
Suddenly, what Simone really wanted to do was run back to her car, turn on the engine and speed away. For weeks, right up until a few minutes ago, she’d been living for this moment, acting it out in her head, rehearsing what she would say, how she would smile and respond when he kissed her cheek.
Samantha stuck her spare key in the door and turned the knob. Simone froze. Samantha turned her head toward her and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Simone blinked. Her smile flickered like a fading light bulb around the edges of her mouth. She shook her head briskly, the sleek, blunt-cut hairstyle rippling past her cheeks. “Thought I forgot something,” she lied smoothly and wished she hadn’t. Instead, she wished she could tell Sam about the butterflies that were rampaging around in her stomach, or the hot and cold flashes that had taken over her body. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. In all this time, she’d never said a word to anyone about that night. Not a word. It was all she had left of him after his plane soared away—her dream and her fantasy—and she hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone, not even with her sister.
So, here she was, locked in place in front of her parents’ house, her heart racing, her palms sweating, and the best explanation she could come up with was she thought she forgot something.
Simone