She nodded. “I met my ex in high school, and we were practically inseparable. I’d just completed my second year of college when I found out I was pregnant. We married right away, and three months later I lost the baby. I’d planned to go back to college, but Samuel insisted I wait because he wanted a family. I had two more miscarriages before I finally had Samara. By that time I was almost thirty, and I knew I would never have any more children.”
“When did you go back to school?”
“Samara was school age, and by that time I knew I wanted to become a chef. My ex put up every roadblock he could to keep me from succeeding, and it got so bad, I left him, filed for divorce, and sent my daughter to live with my parents while I attended classes in Rhode Island. I missed Samara, but in the end I knew the sacrifice was worth it.”
Gage squeezed her fingers again. “Of course it was worth it, babe. You have a daughter you can be proud of, and I’m certain she’s proud of you, because you’re an incredible chef.”
Tonya averted her head at the same time she blinked back unshed tears, because she wanted to cry for Gage’s son. Once her brother started using, he alienated himself from his parents. Every once in a while Ian would call her, and they would talk for hours. He would admit going cold turkey, remain clean for months, once even for several years; but then he would relapse, because drugs took him to another place where nothing mattered. Tonya had just celebrated her thirty-eighth birthday when she got the call to come down to the coroner’s office to identify a body. The only identification the police found on him was her name and telephone number. The hardest thing she had ever had to do was tell her parents that their son had died from a drug overdose. Her father arranged for Ian to be cremated. It was years later they were able to talk about Ian and why he’d chosen the life he did, but they were still not able to come up with an answer, except that dealing drugs was exciting and his career as a therapist dull and monotonous in comparison.
Talking about their past cast a pall over the occupants of the vehicle as all conversation stopped, and there was only the sound of Maxwell’s melodious voice singing “Fortunate.” Pressing her head against the headrest, Tonya closed her eyes and listened to the music until Gage pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the jazz club. She waited for him to get out and come around to assist her after he retrieved the jacket from the rear seat. Even though she was wearing two-inch heels, he still towered over her, and she made a mental note that the next time they went out together for an evening affair she would wear stilettos.
A small crowd had gathered at the front door, waiting to gain admittance to the popular music venue. “We’re going around the back to the employees’ entrance,” Gage whispered in her ear.
Tonya smiled. There had been a time when she had been willing to wait on line for hours to get into a concert or sporting event, but those days were in her past. Holding on to Gage’s hand, she followed him around the building, where a man who’d been taking a smoke break opened the door for them. Gage led her past a kitchen and into the club, where tables were quickly filling up with those who had come to eat, drink, and listen to live music.
