Single Mama Drama. Kayla Perrin
also shared her annoyance at the fact that many of the building’s residents had made a point of asking her how she and Paul could afford to live in this building, considering she was a stay-at-home mom and he was in the military. To others, she said they’d invested well in the stock market. But she’d admitted to me that Paul’s father had died, and he and his mother, the only two heirs, had split the million-dollar life insurance policy.
I’d never met Paul, but based on everything Carla said about him, I could tell that they had what I wanted—a happy marriage. Why was that so hard to find?
“Let me at least feed you,” Carla said, interrupting my thoughts. “I made a pot of spaghetti.”
I waved off the suggestion. “No. I’m gonna take Rayna and go.”
“This isn’t about pity. You know I enjoy the company.”
Shortly before Eli and I had moved into this building, Paul had left for Iraq. He was to be gone for a year, which meant he had eight months left to serve before returning home. And ever since his departure, Carla had been lonely. She never said so, but I could tell.
“Another time,” I told her. Tonight, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Needed to be. I wasn’t interested in talking with anyone about how I felt. I simply wanted to be with my baby and act like our world was still normal.
I approached my daughter. “Rayna, sweetie. Time to go home.”
She immediately got up and came to me, still holding a pony in each fist. Before I could try to wrestle them from her—a task I knew would be difficult—Carla said, “It’s okay. Amani won’t miss them. Bring them back next time.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I got her double of each pony in case she ever lost one,” Carla explained. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“All right, then. Thanks.”
I scooped Rayna into one arm, then went back to the door, where I lifted her diaper bag with the other. Amani wrapped an arm around her mother’s leg.
Carla lifted her daughter, kissed the girl’s cheek, then gave me a look full of sympathy. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here. Like I said, the kids can have a sleepover, and we can watch a movie to take your mind off things.”
“I’ll let you know,” I murmured, but I knew I wouldn’t be taking her up on her offer. I couldn’t watch a movie and pretend everything was okay. A romantic comedy would make me cry. A murder mystery would make me cry.
Anything would make me cry.
Rayna rested her head against the crook of my neck, and I treasured the warm feeling of her little body. She seemed tired, which was good. If she went down early, she wouldn’t have a chance to ask me where Daddy was.
No sooner than I had entered my apartment, than the phone rang. Carrying Rayna on my hip, I raced to answer it.
“Hello?” I said breathlessly.
“Vanessa Cain?”
“Yes,” I answered, my tone guarded.
“This is Robert Rooney from Channel 2 News. Can I set up an interview—”
I hung up the phone. It rang again.
I picked it up, but replaced the receiver without answering.
That happened five more times. So when it rang yet again, I snatched up the receiver and put it to my ear. “No, I won’t give you an interview. Please leave me alone.”
“Baby, you know the last thing I want from you is an interview.”
My eyes narrowed—and then it clicked that Lewis Carter was on the other end of my line. Thankful that it wasn’t another reporter, I felt my body relax—then immediately tense. I hadn’t heard from Lewis in about six weeks, and the last time he’d called, he had been hoping to get me to cheat on Eli.
“Lewis?” I asked.
“Who else, baby?”
Rayna started to squirm, so I let her down. “What do you want?”
“Is that any way to greet me? After everything we once meant to each other?”
I rolled my eyes. If we meant so much to each other, why hadn’t he proposed? “You know exactly what we meant to each other,” I said frankly. Lewis had been, for lack of a better word, a booty call. “More importantly, I know it.”
“Baby, don’t be like that.”
“What do you want, Lewis?”
“I’m phoning to see how you’re doing. Is that against the law?”
I didn’t say anything. I wondered if the timing of his call was coincidental, or if he, like most of America, had learned about Eli’s death on CNN.
“I heard about your fiancé on the radio,” he stated, answering my question.
“Of course.”
“So how are you?”
I lowered myself onto a chair in my kitchen. “I’m hanging in.”
“You sure? Because if I was as shocked as I was to learn that Eli was killed while in the arms of some other honey, I can only imagine how you took the news. Especially after how much you raved about him being the perfect guy.”
“If you’re calling to gloat, then I’m going to hang up now.”
“No, no, I’m not,” he said hurriedly. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I know how much you cared about him.”
I waited for more, but there was none. Maybe Lewis was being sincere. “Thank you,” I told him.
“I could come over, if you like,” he murmured.
Of course. “Why?”
“To keep you company. Offer you my shoulder to cry on.”
I’ll bet, I thought. But I said, “I’m fine. I’m going to spend a quiet evening with Rayna.”
“But she’s gonna head to bed sometime soon, right? In the next hour or two. And after that, you might need someone.”
I narrowed my eyes again, wondering why I had even considered giving Lewis the benefit of the doubt. Whenever he called, it was about one thing.
Sex.
I’ll be the first to admit that my feelings for Lewis had started out as pure lust when I met him at a South Beach nightclub. I always knew he was a smooth operator, the kind of guy you can’t completely trust in terms of a relationship. And that was okay, because I didn’t want anything serious with him. He was a guy I enjoyed spending time with because he was a lot of fun. Goofy. Whether pulling off lame Michael Jackson moves on a crowded dance floor or tickling me while we were naked in bed, he never failed to make me laugh.
I loved how I felt when I was out on his arm, the way women stared at me with envy. And I loved the passion we shared in the bedroom. He treated me well, wined and dined me in style. We had an easy rapport and some serious chemistry. And he got along well with Rayna, too, on the occasions when he’d come over and spend time with both of us.
After a while, what had started as lust had turned into love.
“What time should I come over?” Lewis asked, his voice husky.
“I’ll be fine, Lewis.”
“I’m not sure you should be alone right now. The first night is always the worst after a tragedy like this. Let me come by, hold you in my arms and help you sleep.”
“I can’t believe you. You are not suggesting we hook up tonight.”
There was a moment of silence, and I fully expected Lewis to deny my accusation—if only halfheartedly. Instead, he said in a