He nodded. “He knows that.”
“Does Freedom know?”
“Not yet. I wanted Jamie to tell you first. It was one of the conditions for him to remain in the group. When he kept making excuses, I went to the records to call you myself and ask for permission on his behalf. I didn’t know you were his mother until I saw your name. That was when I made the connection and thought about certain ways Jamie spoke or smiled, which I recognized as my brother’s speech and mannerisms. Once I realized that he was my blood, I had to tell Freedom. And I want to get to know him as his uncle and not his counselor.”
“We’re supposed to tell him soon. You know he’s fragile. What if he can’t handle it?” I reached for his hand.
“Jamie is reserved and quiet because he’s fully aware of how society treats queer black men.” He squeezed my hand. “He’s not fragile, and you have to stop saying that. That boy is probably stronger than all of us.”
I sniffed. “Kody tells me that all the time.”
Peace scoffed. “I guess people can be right some of the time.”
“I know you don’t like Kody, and I get why, but he was there for me when I was a struggling single mother. He’s been a father to Jamie.”
His jaw tightened. “I can respect that. And that’s all I will respect.”
The waitress returned with our aromatic, steaming food before I could probe deeper about his animosity toward Kody.
“Everything looks good.” Peace smiled as he tucked his napkin on his collar and grabbed a fork.
I slowly picked up my fork, sensing that there was so much more to the story of what really happened between Kody and Freedom that ended their friendship.
We’re telling Jamie today that you’re his father, and we decided that if he wants to fly to see you, we would let him fly alone or with Peace, since he already trusts Peace. Just let us know when is a good time for him to visit you.
I immediately replied,
I’m in Nashville for the weekend. I can send for him and Peace to fly out tomorrow, and I’ll make sure he’s back in school on Monday morning.
Expecting her protest that it was too soon, I’d been surprised by her response.
Okay. I’ll let you know if you need to make arrangements.
My heart fluctuated between joy and pain. Joy because I would finally meet my son, and pain that her text shouted a reminder that she was a married woman who would keep her distance.
“Mr. Cade, should I park at the studio and wait for you, or do you want me to get your bags settled at the hotel?” The driver announced as he slowed to a stop in front of Alonzo Taylor’s studio in the suburbs of Vegas. He’d requested a meeting to nail down dates and plans.
“Wait for me. No need to check into a hotel. Change of plans. After I meet with Zo, I’m flying home to Nashville. Call my assistant and ask her to cancel my hotel and book me on the last flight. If she can’t find something commercial, private is fine.” I stared at his sprawling studio in the suburbs of Vegas. “We might be a minute.”
“Yes, sir.”
I opened my door and strolled up the path to the front door. Before I could knock, a clean-shaven Alonzo with wildly growing hair stepped outside with a wide smile. Living in the desert had tanned his caramel skin to bronze. He’d grown leaner with muscles, and he looked younger and healthier than when I last saw him. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammad, then Mohammad comes to the mountain.”
“Which one of us is Mohammad in this situation?” I lifted a brow.
He grabbed me into a hug. “Stop trying to hold on to anger. Yeah…yeah…I know I fucked up. We are here now. Let it go. It’s time for us to eat like the young folks say.”
“Glad you recognize you old.” Genuine happiness and love flowed from his embrace. How could I stay angry with a man who was a mentor to me when I first started out? Obviously, the years he was away from the spotlight helped him. I hugged him back, and the tension that coiled inside from the moment I stepped off the plane until now, released.
“Where’s your guitar?” He looked past me.
“In the car.”
Alonzo shoved my shoulder playfully. “Oh, you were really mad with me. The Free I know always has his guitar strapped to his back, ready to play. And I have some ideas. I made sure it’s just you and me.” Zo yelled to my driver, who stood outside the car on his cell. “Can you get his guitar?”
My driver looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. The buzz of creativity flowed between us like it always did. I was ready to see his ideas, and the dullness I’d been experiencing since I left Jamaica lifted.
Music had always been my salvation and my reason.
