Sing A New Song Read online

  A renewed vigor permeated his entire being, beseeching him to endure the rough patch in his marriage. Neil enjoyed the encouraging thoughts filling his mind as he returned home. After all, he was leaning on God’s everlasting arms, and he was safely sheltered under God’s wings.

  Neil went into his study to pray and rejoice. Then he played Yolanda Adams, allowing her voice to soothe him. He listened to her song while turning to I Samuel 17. He scanned David’s great speech to the Philistine, Goliath, until he reached verse forty-seven. King David was so right. The battle was not his or Myra’s, but it was the Lord’s.

  Chapter Twelve

  Four.

  Tiffany sat on top of the toilet with her eyes closed. That number rocked her world. She put her head back against the wall. Images from the past clouded her mind. Tiffany could not believe that she had slept with four men in one month. Who did that?

  You were young and stupid, she told herself. Tiffany shook her head. There was no excuse for her past actions. She had been only a couple years or so older than Karlie at the time. “Ugh.” Tiffany felt the old disgust stir within her belly. Well, it felt like disgust, but she was sick. Tiffany had wheezed and coughed all through the night, shivering despite the warm temperature. Feeling mucus rise, she quickly jumped off the toilet and got on her knees to cough up the contents into the bowl.

  “I can’t do it,” Tiffany whispered. “I can’t stir up the past.” She flushed the toilet and washed her hands. If only the past was that easy to wash away.

  Tiffany looked at herself in the mirror. “You slept with four men.” There, she had faced herself and had said it aloud. “Not one, not two, not even three, but four men.” She could barely stand her truth.

  It was ugly.

  It was raw.

  It was real.

  True to her word, Winona had referred her to Detective Edison Sniles. Eddie, as he preferred to be called, had gotten her all the pertinent information on each of the men. She expected the package later in the day.

  Tiffany decided to lie down to get some rest. It took some mental work, but she finally settled down. Not even ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. “Ugh, great. Isn’t that what always happens? Just when you get all comfortable . . .” Tiffany compelled herself to get up out of the bed and answer the door. The last three steps felt insurmountable, but she labored on. Sure enough, the UPS truck driver stood outside her door. Eager, Tiffany opened the door and signed for the package.

  Seeing the package gave Tiffany a burst of newfound energy. She ripped it open with a strength she did not know she still possessed. Slowly, she pulled the papers out. They held information on three of the men. She had not requested information on her ex-husband, Thomas, since she knew all there was to know about him.

  Tiffany quickly glanced through the papers and photographs before going into her kitchen to read. She still wore her red plaid Anne Klein pajamas but walked barefoot.

  Pierce Willis. A former captain of the wrestling team in high school, Pierce was now a mechanic. He owned a local auto body shop in Uniondale and, by the look of things, was knee- deep in debt.

  Tiffany wrinkled her nose and scrunched her lips in displeasure. “Pierce is probably going to jump on the offer of being Tiffany Knightly’s baby daddy. Money would be his motivation.” She read on. He was currently dating a beautician by the name of Elyse. “Typical. Let me guess. They have six kids and live with her mother in the basement apartment.”

  She was wrong. They had four children and lived in a two-bedroom apartment. “Let’s see if you have a rap sheet. Surprisingly, Pierce had not spent any time in jail or done any drugs. The only strike against him was his impending bankruptcy, and Tiffany figured that could be due to a few bad choices or investments. “Thank you, Lord, for small favors.”

  The next name on the list was Ryan Oakes. “Now, he seems like a good potential candidate,” Tiffany said aloud. Ryan was healthy, brilliant, and successful. He owned several businesses and was married to a neurosurgeon. Ryan and his wife, Patricia, lived in Garden City with their only child, Brian. If she recalled correctly, Brian should be about two years older than Karlie.

  Tiffany suddenly remembered something. When they first met in the bar, Ryan had spoken about Patricia and his son. Apparently, they had had a big fight because Ryan wanted to get married and be the sole provider for the “love of his life.” Patricia had had her own grandiose plans of finishing her residency. It took some serious flirting for Tiffany to coax Ryan into taking her to his dorm. They had done the deed, but Ryan had not been into it. Truthfully, neither had she.

  Tiffany continued her perusal. It seemed this Brian had been kicked out of several private boarding schools, and he was on his way to becoming a delinquent. What was up with that? Tiffany peeked at Ryan’s itinerary. He was always traveling and followed a hectic schedule. Judging by the information she was reading, Tiffany psychoanalyzed that Brian was acting out because his father was never home. So you are a licensed psychologist now, eh?

  “Now, I know I am in no position to throw stones, but I don’t know how I would feel if Ryan Oakes were Karlie’s father,” Tiffany said out loud. Tiffany figured with Brian for a brother, Karlie might get on the wrong track, or Ryan might be too busy to give Karlie the attention she needed. Anything could happen to her. Most importantly, what would happen if Ryan’s wife, Patricia, refused to accept Karlie? Patricia could make Karlie’s life a living torment.

  Tiffany sighed loudly, feeling a tension headache threatening. “I have to stop the what-ifs, or I am going to drive myself nuts. How did I get myself into this mess? Better yet, how am I going to get myself out?”

  Tiffany went to get a much-needed glass of water. Never one for praying, Tiffany declared, “I’m afraid, afraid to call these men and mess up their lives.” She returned to the kitchen table. From what she read, Ryan did not seem as if he would appreciate the news, and Pierce seemed as if he would be happy to get a money ticket.

  Tiffany took a huge gulp of water and placed both hands over her eyes. She wished she were drinking something strong. Suddenly, Tiffany slapped her legs with determination. She was dying, so there was no reason why she should not.

  With a quick mood change, Tiffany bounced to her feet. “Since I’m dying, I can drink if I want to, drink if I want to. You’d drink too, if it happened to you.” Tiffany rocked her head and sang the words while she searched the cupboards for a wine bottle. Her friends would faint if they heard Tiffany singing so raunchily about her death. Tiffany snickered as a cheeky thought occurred to her. She should sing this jig the next time Myra was present, just to see her reaction. Myra would probably douse her with some olive oil and pray some sense into her.

  But another memory gave Tiffany pause. She vividly recalled her “Karlie, if you ever in your life see me drink, then you’re free to as well” speech. Tiffany changed her mind about the wine, choosing instead to pour a small glass of grape juice, and sat down to read the last piece of data.

  When she was finished, Tiffany was smiling and hopeful. She had just found the father of her dreams for Karlie. “Darnell King.” Tiffany liked the sound of his name on her lips. “Now, Darnell King is perfect.” Darnell was a single father of two young girls, April, age four, and Amber, age six. His wife had died in a fatal car crash, and since then Darnell had tended to his children with a little help from his mother, Leona. How sad for those children, Tiffany thought.

  Darnell was now the football coach for Hempstead High School. In high school, Darnell had been an all-star champion and the captain of the football and the track team. From his dossier, Tiffany gleaned Darnell was well respected and well liked. She had only one question. Was he as fine as she remembered? She closed her eyes and remembered the boy climbing into her room sixteen years ago. Then she dug through the pictures to see what he looked like now. “Hmmm. Lord, if you were going to give me any favors, this would be the one.” She touched both her temples. “I need a massage.”

  Tif
fany gave herself a pep talk. “Tiffany Knightly, you cannot let fear keep you from your goal.” Yes, Tiffany told herself, she would break the news to all three men and set appointments for paternity tests. “Darnell King . . . I will save the best for last.” Tiffany singsonged the words in her highest falsetto voice and ended with some runs and rips.

  Tiffany knew who had to be first. Thomas. Her ex-husband.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It smells like dog’s feet in here or something close to it, Thomas Knightly acknowledged. He really needed to get this place cleaned and get some semblance of order. He was in his workroom back at his mother’s house. He had a huge house of his own, but when it came to work, Thomas could not concentrate unless he was in his old spot.

  The telephone rang. Typically, he would ignore it, but for some reason his mother did not answer. Tripping over paint cans, empty food containers, and other art supplies, Thomas grabbed the phone and answered it.

  “Hi, Thomas,” the caller said.

  “Tiffany?” Thomas almost dropped the phone from shock when he heard who was on the other end. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, yes, it is.”

  “Is Karlie all right?” Thomas asked the chief question on his mind. He could not think of any other reason why she would be calling him.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “So what’s up?” Thomas asked. His mind was already on his artwork. A card company had commissioned him to do several paintings, and Thomas wanted to keep working while he was feeling the momentum, and right now he was on a roll.

  “I need to see you.”

  “Well, I do not know when I can fly out,” Thomas replied, attempting to end the conversation.

  “Actually, I am here in Hempstead,” Tiffany informed him.

  “Oh.” Now curious, he set the paintbrush on the easel. “You are back at the old house?”

  “Yeah,” Tiffany replied, but she remained tightlipped.

  Something was definitely going on. Thomas flicked his tongue at the roof of his mouth, which was something he did when he was deep in thought. Intrigued, he agreed to meet Tiffany the next day, then hung up the phone.

  Seeing his mother standing in the doorway, unabashedly eavesdropping, Thomas resisted the urge to call her on it. He did not feel like having this conversation, but here it came, anyway, in five . . . four . . . three . . .

  “What did Tiffany want?”

  Didn’t even make it to one, Thomas chortled internally. He should have known Wilhelmina Knightly, known to her friends as Willie, wouldn’t let it rest. “She wants to meet with me,” Thomas replied. He had to get back to work. Thomas picked up his brush, signaling to his mother that the conversation was over, but she ignored the transparent hint.

  “I knew this day would come,” she said, raising her hands in a gesture of praise and thanksgiving.

  “Mother,” Thomas cautioned, “it’s not what you think. Tiffany is not trying to get back with me.”

  “Why else would she be calling?” Willie continued in that stubborn tone Thomas knew well. “She wants you back. She has finally come to her senses and decided to forgive you.”

  “Listen, it’s been almost thirteen years. I am quite sure Tiffany is way past all that now.”

  Agitated, Thomas silently begged for strength, patience, world peace, and all that good stuff. He was not in the mood to rehash all the past drama of his life right now. His mother just needed to leave well enough alone. Thomas remained mute until his mother shrugged her shoulders, capitulating, and left the room. He was glad that she had finally got the picture and had left him in peace. For the moment, anyway.

  Drat. Now he was too disturbed to work. Thomas had lost his flow. With consternation, he threw the paintbrush back on the easel and sat down to think. Unbidden memories flooded his mind. Thomas’s eyes squinted as he remembered when he and Tiffany ran off together. He smiled. What did they know about anything back then? They had been two hopeful teenagers who were young and in love. Well, truthfully, Thomas amended, he had been more in love than she was.

  Thomas recollected the first time he laid eyes on Tiffany Peterson. He and his mother had moved to Hempstead from Queens mid-year. He saw her in the school cafeteria and thought Tiffany was beautiful.

  Tiffany was superfine.

  Her eyes were what originally drew him to her. They were so full of life and energy that they pulled him into their depth and evident passion. “Girl, those hazel eyes could make me do anything,” he would say time and time again. “And I do mean anything for you.”

  Thomas and Tiffany quickly became an item, inseparable. The T&T Production. He had coined that moniker himself—he, the artist, with Tiffany, the singer.

  “A match made in heaven,” Tiffany would sing. She often sat, contented to watch him paint for hours on end without complaining. Thomas would return the favor by listening to her sing. He could listen to her endlessly. Her voice had an airy quality that transcended her age. Tiffany was also the most selfless person he knew. She never cared that he did not have a new car or enough money for dates. Her conscientiousness impressed Thomas so much that it motivated him to seek employment at the gas station to make some money.

  Thomas earned enough to take her to the prom in style. He shook his head, remembering his nervousness that night. Prom night, he and Tiffany were supposed to do it. Only his nervousness had botched things up. That spooked an already extremely skittish Tiffany, so they decided to wait. For some reason everything changed after that night.

  Thomas never knew what happened. Tiffany dumped him the next day for no apparent reason and moved on. He had been heartbroken and had moped around the house for almost two weeks. He was equally bewildered when just as suddenly after graduation Tiffany resurfaced, wanting to pick up where they had left off.

  Young and hearty, Thomas willingly complied. Then Tiffany suggested, “Let’s blow this town. We can make it big in L.A. I know we should probably try our luck in the city, but I want to get out of New York. I’m ready to go.” Thomas was so exhilarated, he never second-guessed anything. Thomas saw stars and dollar signs and eagerly went along with the plan.

  Hopping on the first available train, they left, pursuing their dreams. Thomas insisted they get married, though, so they eloped. He must have had some powerful swimmers, because before he knew it, he heard, “Thomas, we’re having a baby.” In love, he did all sorts of little jobs until Karlie was born.

  Then Tiffany started performing in the local nightclubs. Thomas and Karlie would wait for her in the background and watch out for any men making a move on his wife. He loved proclaiming Tiffany as his, saying such things as “I was telling my wife . . . ,” “My wife was saying . . . ,” and “Let me see what my wife thinks.”

  Blah, blah, blah.

  They were a perfect team until Tiffany landed a singing contract and started gaining notoriety. It all went downhill from there.

  Thomas realized now that he was actually stupidly jealous of his wife’s sudden success. He let it get to him and started doubting his manhood. He began feeling as if he was less than a man and made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Tiffany was out promoting the album, and he was at home with Karlie. She was especially fussy one night. “Calm down, Karlie,” he begged. “What’s the matter, baby?” Karlie wouldn’t stop crying. His head pounded. He wanted to shake her—she was driving him crazy. Thomas moaned, “I don’t know what to do.” He plunked her in the crib. “Karlie, stop crying,” he bellowed. Frustrated, his temperature rising, Thomas grabbed a sweater and walked out of the house, leaving Karlie alone in her crib. He just needed air, to forget for a moment his daughter, his wife—everything.

  Thomas wandered the streets, cold and wet from the rain. He sought refuge in a bar, a seedy hole-in-the-wall. He ended up picking up some random woman whose name he could not even remember and whose face he would never be able to recall. Thomas enticed her to come home with him, convinced Karlie would be asleep by now. Rip-roaring drun
k, the two entered the small apartment, laughing over what he couldn’t even remember.

  Unfortunately, Tiffany was already there. She had come home early that night and had found Karlie alone. Thomas could paint on demand the revulsion etched clearly on her face when she saw him. He had sobered instantly, and the woman had scurried off, with an “I don’t want no drama.” That marked the beginning of the end.

  Tiffany had caught him red-handed, with his pants down, so to speak. All his “I’m sorry. Give me another chance. It won’t happen again” speeches fell on deaf ears. Tiffany sent him packing, no explanations needed or required.

  Thomas went home back to New York with his tail between his legs, feeling miserable and ashamed. He was young and immature, yes, but what he did was unforgivable. He confessed to Wilhelmina about Tiffany catching him with the other woman. Thomas never mentioned his leaving his only child unattended. His mother would have beheaded him if she knew that. That was why Thomas knew Tiffany would never forgive him. He could barely forgive himself. Thomas barely kept in touch after that. He felt he did not deserve to see Karlie or to be a father. Thomas made sure he never had another child too, but Thomas never got over Tiffany.

  Sadly, right after Tiffany kicked him to the curb, her career literally exploded. Tiffany’s records began selling like hotcakes. Thomas could have kicked his own rear end for his stupid, thoughtless act.

  His only consolation was that his pain echoed through his art. Offers began pouring in. “I connect with your pain,” people said. “It jumps at me.”

  Thomas knew Tiffany had used her influence to get him recognized. That was yet another reason why his guilt constantly overwhelmed him. Tiffany still looked out for him. She even gave him a great settlement, more than he deserved, and a house to call his own. Thomas only had to agree never to talk about her or write about her to the press. That was easy. There was nothing for him to say.