“Does it matter? I know you’d rather I tell you a story, but sorry, I don’t have one.”
“Sorry?You toss out the word like it means something to you.I’m sorryshould’ve been the first words out of your mouth. Not asking what I want to drink!” She couldn’t pull in her temper. It burst from her pores. “What turned you into someone else? Someone who doesn’t have the decency to give me an explanation. Someone callous and coldhearted. Someone I don’t want to know.”
He glanced up at the ceiling and seemed to count to ten before he looked at her again. “It wasn’t what happened after I left that changed me. What happened just before was the problem, Honoree.”
Every bone in her body went rigid. She feared she’d break into jagged pieces, falling to the floor like shattered glass. “Are you saying that making love to me is what changed you? Changed you into a beast instead of a man? Someone who says cruel, hateful things and doesn’t think to apologize.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Honoree, of course that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t talking about our night together. Something else happened. My leaving had nothing to do with you.”
“And it seems neither has your return.” Honoree spun away from the bar, looking for an exit, desperate to be on her way. She’d wasted too much time. She wouldn’t be late for the audition. She bent forward to pick up her shopping bag, but her coat fell off her arm, the bag came next, and sawdust rose between her and Ezekiel.
“Let me get that.” He rescued the coat, but the shopping bag had opened, and her costumes, audition outfit, and makeup bag lay scattered on the sawdust floor.
The item on top of the pile caused her the greatest concern. It was the book Ezekiel had given her,A New Negro for a New Century. Ezekiel probably thought she’d kept it as a souvenir, his last gift, a reminder of the night they’d spent together. Just this once, though, she wished she’d left it at home. But maybe he wouldn’t remember the gift, if heaven was on her side.
“Isn’t that the book I gave you?”
Of course he remembered.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve read it?”
A hundred thousand times. “Once. Twice. Maybe.”
He handed her the bag and smiled, a bright smile, and in that instant, he was the handsome boy she used to know.
Holding the book in his large hands, he examined the worn pages, the faded ink on the cover. “It’s the same copy I gave you three years ago. We were on the roof.”
Unable to find any words, she merely nodded.
“Have you read Du Bois’sThe Souls of Black Folk? I’ll buy you a copy. Du Bois has a different perspective on the path to equality for the Race than Washington.”
She took the book from him and shoved it into her bag. “What do I care about the difference between Booker T. and Du Bois?”
“Possibly nothing.” His iron gaze sunk into her flesh. “You used to enjoy talking about such matters to me.”
“That was before.”
“Yes. It was.” His smile faded, and his shoulders hunched. She hadn’t noticed how exhausted he looked, how he’d aged a decade in the three years he’d been gone.
Then Ezekiel touched her forehead.
A chill rode through her, Ben-Hur at the reins. “Why’d you do that?”
“There was a strand of hair on your—” He lowered his arm. “I couldn’t see your eyes.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
He reached for her coat and shopping bag. “Let’s dance.”
The shock had to show on her face because her eyes felt like they’d popped. “Why would I want to dance with you?”
“One dance.” His smile was sweet and tender and squeezed her chest.
“I thought we were fighting.”
“We can fight while we dance,” he said as if the words made sense.
