Coming Home Page 4

  As six-fifteen approached, Dayna donned a cranberry wrap dress and a pair of black slingback sandals with a slight heel. She wore a diamond pendant necklace and diamond stud earrings. She also wore her favorite piece of jewelry, the sterling silver charm bracelet Brent’s mother had given her on their wedding day.

  To this day, Dayna hadn’t added any additional charms. The three Mama Davidson had presented with the bracelet — one bearing the word Faith, the second the word Hope, and the third the word Love — were representative all on their own of how Dayna sought to live and love others. After Brent left, wearing the bracelet had comforted her and served as a reminder of who and what she was called to honor, no matter the circumstances. Even when she’d found herself frustrated with God, somehow the words on these charms still resonated in her spirit. She wore the bracelet tonight, not to send a message to Brent, but to center herself.

  With every hair in place and her bright smile ready, Dayna took one last look in the mirror before stepping into her garage and sliding behind the wheel of her car.

  She closed her eyes and sat in silence for several minutes, summoning the courage to do what the minister at Stephanie’s church had admonished every person present yesterday to do: STG — his acronym for Simply Trust God.

  The idea felt foreign for someone who had picked up the pieces of her life and transformed herself into a top-notch corporate executive. But if she couldn’t let go with God, how would she ever manage to do so with anyone else? That was the question of the century, at least from her perspective. Trusting in small things was a good place to start, she supposed, along with talking to him like a friend.

  “I need you tonight, God, if you don’t mind showing up,” Dayna finally said aloud. “Give me the words to speak or not to speak, and somehow let this night bring peace to us all.”

  She already felt better after uttering that prayer. Warren would be proud.

  In quick calls to Vanora and to her friend Audrey on the way to the restaurant, they reassured her she was doing the right thing.

  “You’ve been waiting for years to get some of your questions answered,” Vanora said. “Don’t get caught up in the emotions of the past; just try to get at the truth. I’ll be praying on this end. Call me as soon as it’s over.”

  BeBe and CeCe Winans’ song “Still” filled the Lexus as she drove. This meeting with Brent felt like a reunion of sorts. Time would tell what kind.

  nine

  “I must love this man.”

  Tamara Davidson couldn’t stop muttering those words to herself or to her mother, who had come by to help her get ready for the dinner with Brent and Dayna this evening.

  Her mother nodded. “You do, Tam, you do. ‘Cause not many women would take what you’re going to endure tonight.”

  Endure. What a strong word Mom had chosen. But the past three months had felt like a race of endurance, perseverance, and whatever else she could summon, to keep her sanity and remain loving and patient. Brent understandably had things he wanted to take care of sooner rather than later, but tracking down and reconnecting with Dayna was almost too much.

  How in the world was Tamara supposed to sit across a table from that woman for an hour or more and look her in the eye? Brent felt the need to apologize to Dayna, but Tamara didn’t have any interest in revisiting the past. Brent had insisted that the only way he could go through with the meeting with Dayna was if Tamara came along. She had talked her way out of showing up at Dayna’s house with him, but tonight had been unavoidable.

  Tamara wrestled with the two emotions seesawing through her spirit — wanting to support her husband on one hand, and wanting to jack him up on the other.

  Who wanted to have dinner with her husband’s ex-wife, no matter how honest and sincere his motives? Yet who in her right mind would leave the two of them alone? Brent had dated Dayna six years and had been married to her an additional seven, and the history the college sweethearts shared never seemed fully part of his past.

  Calls and visits from college buddies always led to trips down memory lane that ultimately included experiences with Dayna. Hours spent reminiscing about his career-ending knee injury during a college football game weren’t complete without details about how he had been nurtured back to health by his college sweetheart Dayna, who happened to be one of the top nursing students on campus. Recollections of his first job out of college and the first home he owned included memories created with Dayna and a funny incident or two about how she had handled being a new wife and homeowner.

  Over the years, Tamara had learned to cope with the stories from his past by leaving the room or pretending to listen while allowing her mind to wander. And with Mom’s help, she had accepted that his occasional reference to experiences that included Dayna didn’t mean he didn’t love her; it just meant he had a past. Lately, however, Tamara needed Mom’s encouragement more frequently.

  “I wish you could come to dinner with us,” she told her mother tonight. “I would feel so much better.”

  Tamara’s mother left her seat at the dining room table and strolled into the living room through a shared doorway. She stood behind her daughter, who was peering at herself in the mirror that hung on the wall above the sofa.

  “You don’t need me, baby. Brent will be there, and he will be there with you. He needs to do this, for whatever reason, but he asked you to come along and support him. This is his way of showing how much he loves you, Tami. He’s not trying to hurt you or disrespect you. He wants Dayna to know that you two are solid.”

  “I hope he doesn’t expect me to go groveling to her and asking for her forgiveness,” Tamara said. “The past is the past. I repented for my part in what happened a long time ago, and I made peace with God. I’ve been forgiven and I’ve moved on. That’s enough for me.”

  Mom gazed at her, then began stroking the soft, sandy brown hair that flowed past Tamara’s shoulders.

  “Just take a few deep breaths now — and when you get there — and you’ll be all right, baby. Everything happens for a reason, even this meeting tonight.”

  The two women turned toward the foyer when they heard Brent trotting down the stairs. He stopped when he reached the landing and his eyes grew wide. Seconds later, so did his smile.

  “You look wonderful, baby.”

  He walked over to his wife and surprised her with a deep kiss. Tamara smiled. She had purposely worn one of his favorite dresses — the coral sheath with the spaghetti straps and a length that stopped just above her knee. She had straightened her naturally wavy hair and draped it behind her ears, tucking a coral flower behind the left one, and she was wearing the perfume that stopped him in his tracks.

  Mom had taught her well — she knew that all she had done to get him were the same things she needed to do to keep him, especially this evening. “Sorry, Mom,” he said to Tamara’s mother after surfacing from the provocative kiss. “Couldn’t help myself.”

  Tamara’s mother beamed and looked from Brent to her daughter with an I-told-you-so smugness.

  “You two have a good time tonight, okay? Be good to each other.”

  Brent smiled at Mom and grabbed Tamara’s hand. He intertwined his fingers with hers. She appreciated the strong and reassuring grip and kissed him again.

  “I love you, Brent.”

  “Right back at ya. Come on, let’s go.”

  The tension in Tamara’s shoulders eased, and the vise of stress around her heart loosened its grip. Brent had calmed her once again. Tonight wasn’t about dredging up the past; it was about helping him release his long-held guilt so he could move forward with peace.

  If doing it in this fashion meant that much to him, she needed to be supportive. When he was happy, she would be too.

  Please God, let it go smoothly and quickly, and let Brent’s heart be settled.

  Funny how years ago, when she had met Dayna, the ever-faithful and optimistic preacher’s daughter, she had dismissed the value of having a connection to God and the power i
n prayer. In recent years, however, she had reached a point where prayer and her relationship with God were her primary sources of strength and peace.

  Tamara wouldn’t share any of that with Dayna tonight, because Dayna probably wouldn’t care. But it was her secret weapon, and she planned to use it to extend grace to this woman who had once hated her, and likely still did.

  ten

  The second Wharfside Restaurant came into view, Dayna’s internal “danger alert” signal veered to extreme. Every fiber of her being screamed, “Drive away!”

  Instead, she cruised deeper into the restaurant’s parking lot and found a spot a few yards from the front door. A text popped up on her cell phone just as she turned off the ignition.

  I am with u in spirit. U can do this.

  Tell Brent u have a man waiting at home … I mean at work.

  She laughed out loud and responded out loud.

  “You’re right, Warren. I can do this. I will do this.”

  Dayna took a deep breath before strolling toward the veranda that covered the restaurant entrance. A suited gentleman greeted her with a gracious smile, swung open the door, and ushered her inside where a hostess picked up by welcoming her warmly.

  “I’m here to meet the Davidson party.”

  The young woman led her around a corner to a quiet spot in the spacious, mostly empty dining area. Dayna was grateful in that moment that she had chosen to do this on a Monday night when the place wouldn’t be full.

  The hostess moved swiftly through the dining room, leading Dayna to Brent and Tamara’s table, but when Dayna spotted them in a far corner of the restaurant, she hesitated.

  There they were, Mr. and Mrs. Davidson, sitting next to each other looking like a spread in either Ebony or Jet magazine’s hottest couples issue. He, with his dark chocolate, clean-cut good looks and she with her naturally long hair, honey complexion, and a beauty that gave her the aura of a TV star. They looked good together, and they looked happy.

  Dayna’s stomach quivered. Before she could turn and flee, the hostess motioned for her to join them.

  Time to put on your game face, she told herself. You agreed to this.

  Dayna squared her shoulders and lifted her head. She caught up with the waiting hostess and was soon standing next to the table, peering down at the couple.

  Brent rose from his seat. He pulled out a chair for Dayna across from Tamara, who gave her a strained smile.

  “Dayna.”

  Dayna returned the greeting with the same reserve. “Tamara.”

  Brent looked from one woman to the other and sat down next to his wife. “Um, ma’am, can you have our waiter take our drink order?” he asked the hostess. “We’re ready now.”

  An awkward silence filled the space as they waited. Minutes later, a young man who introduced himself as Austin appeared to serve them. He took their beverage orders and shared the dinner specials for the night.

  He could have been speaking Greek for all Dayna comprehended. Her mind drifted, and she felt like she was having an out-of-body experience as he ran down the list of choices. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she was really here, and that this was really happening.

  No one could have convinced her when she was Brent’s wife that their marriage wouldn’t last, or that she would someday join Brent at a restaurant with another Mrs. Davidson at his side. Who knew she’d summon enough strength to sit across the table from the woman who had cheated with and stolen her husband, without wanting to strangle her? She didn’t want to choke Tamara anymore, but Dayna sat there wishing this woman wasn’t so pretty or so seemingly content.

  The three of them eased into conversation by discussing the menu options and choosing their meals. Dayna ordered shrimp and mussels over pasta, Tamara chose salmon, and Brent settled on soup and a house salad. He looked into Dayna’s questioning eyes after handing Austin his menu and chuckled. “Watching my diet these days. It’s okay if you ladies eat more than I do.”

  He and Tamara exchanged a knowing glance that Dayna pretended to ignore. As they waited for their food to be served, they chatted about the central Florida humidity, the latest news with Congress, and a couple of Hollywood scandals. The fact that Warren didn’t come up until half an hour into the dinner meeting clued Dayna in that despite his confident demeanor, Brent found this nerve-racking too.

  “By the way, where is he this evening? I was expecting him.”

  “He’s the marketing director for Chesdin Medical and had a dinner meeting with the CEO. He sends his regards.”

  Brent chuckled. “I bet he does. I could see all over his face on Saturday what those regards entail.” He cocked his head to one side. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as one to date interracially.”

  Dayna shrugged. “I wouldn’t have either. But as Warren always says, color is just skin deep — he’s more concerned about his faith than his ethnicity, and since we’re both Christians, we’re part of the same family.”

  Brent laughed. “Amen, then. That’s a good thing. I wish you both well.”

  “Thank you, Brent.”

  Austin and another waiter arrived with their piping-hot dishes, and the table fell silent while each of them tasted their selections. Dayna was finally able to enjoy the restaurant’s live pianist, but before long, Brent had more questions.

  “So tell me about your work,” he said to Dayna between bites. “I read in the Alabama U alumni magazine a few years ago that you’d left nursing for the administrative side of hospital care. To discover that you were living in Florida was amazing, since we also live here.”

  Dayna didn’t think their winding up in the same state was “amazing” — just ironic. She took a sip of water to quell the urge to speak. Now it was beginning to make sense how he’d been able to find her. She received that same magazine every quarter, and each issue included news about graduates’ promotions, job changes, and personal accomplishments.

  “Yep,” she finally responded. “I decided to go back to school to get my master’s in health administration. Being an RN and knowing how to better help patients and keep good nurses on staff left me frustrated when none of those things were happening. By bringing my nursing background and perspective to the administrative side of health care, I’m in a position to make a difference for patients and for the health care providers. I love it.”

  “What’s your official title?” Brent asked. “All I can remember is that it’s long!”

  Brent seemed to have researched her like a job applicant trying to impress an employer. She wasn’t.

  “I’m Vice President of Patient Care/Chief Nursing Executive.”

  Dayna glanced at Tamara, who was toying with her hoop earrings and seemed to be struggling to maintain an interest in the conversation. She wondered how Tamara felt about the effort Brent had put into finding her.

  “So you read about my career change in the alumni mag, but how did you get my home address?” Dayna asked Brent.

  He shrugged. “Your address and phone number weren’t listed in any online public information directories, but the more I searched your name, the more I was able to track down charitable donations and other information for which your address is recorded. You know you can pay for some of this information too, right? And I have to be honest … the Alabama U alumni association helped. I called and reminded them who I was, and you know, they helped me find you through their database.”

  Dayna frowned. “I may have to reduce my alumni contribution this year.” She made a mental note to use her work address in the alumni directory going forward.

  Brent grew concerned. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Don’t take it out on the school. I had to do a lot of arm twisting. It wasn’t easy information to get. Promise.”

  Dayna pursed her lips. She’d address that issue later. At this point, she was reaching her limit on politeness. She didn’t know if she’d be able to sit through dessert; Brent needed to get to the point.

  “Tell me what brought you … and Tamar
a, to Florida, and how long you’ve been here.”

  “I got a great offer five years ago to work for a company that has a contract with Kennedy Space Center, similar to the company I worked for when you and I were in Alabama. This job actually allows me to work on-site, at Cape Canaveral.”

  Dayna nodded, but inside, she was yelling, “And?”

  Maybe if she diverted the conversation to Tamara this would end sooner.

  “And you?” She looked at Tamara, who had begun to squirm.

  “Me? I’m a teller for a local branch of BankOne. I’ve been doing that since we’ve been here. It gives me steady hours and allows me to be home when Brent’s there.”

  Aha. Though he had denied it all those years ago when she asked, maybe Dayna’s inability to be readily available to meet Brent’s needs had been the issue all along. The realization that he had married a woman who was doing just that unsettled her. Her nursing career required long hours and odd shifts; she couldn’t be the happy homemaker to accommodate Brent’s nine-to-five schedule. Sometimes he’d had to cook his own meals or meet her for dinner out. Sometimes she’d worked twelve-hours shifts and he’d had to occupy himself.

  Dayna had always thought that was a good thing. It gave him space to spend time with his friends or to give attention to his hobbies without her being underfoot, but maybe he had felt differently.

  “I’m proud of her,” Brent said. He reached for Tamara’s hand under the table. “She has been taking college classes off and on for years and will get her bachelor’s degree in business administration from the University of Central Florida in May.”

  “That’s great, Tamara,” Dayna said and smiled at her. “You should be proud.” She was surprised that she really meant it. It didn’t hurt to offer the compliment.

  Tamara seemed relieved. “Thanks, Dayna. I appreciate that.”