Queen Move

“I’m not interested in how things seem. I’m interested in how they were. How they are.”

“Your father and I were having problems,” she says, her voice shrinking. “I wanted to leave Atlanta—needed my family around me.”

“I remember.”

“And you know how badly I wanted to get you out of the South. Your father and I both wanted to expose you to broader experiences. Even I didn’t dream of going overseas, but it turned out to be good for you, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it was great for me, besides the fact that it meant I lost Kimba.”

“Yes, I’m sorry for that now. At the time, it seemed like the best thing to do.”

“What was the best thing to do? Move? Why? What happened?” I pause and then ask the question again, the one she denied before. “Were you unfaithful to Dad?”

I can practically hear her courage gathering and taking shape before she says the word.

“Yes.”

I nod and expel a sigh. Finally, the truth. “I don’t condemn you, Mom.”

“Good. Because you have no right to,” she says, defiance coming across clearly.

“Of course not. I just meant I would never judge. Can you tell me what happened?”

“We swore, the four of us, that we would never tell. We went our separate ways, and agreed we’d take it to the grave.”

“Well, two of you are already in the grave, and the truth is coming out if Kimba can’t stop this book from being published.”

“No, honey. It’s like I said before. Nothing’s as it seems. That’s not the truth.”

I frown, resting my elbows on the desk and touching my head, trying to piece her words into something that makes sense. “I don’t understand. Start from the beginning.”

“It began, like most affairs do, with loneliness. I was so lonely.” A breath catches in her throat. “We both were.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Kimba

“We’ll be in touch.”

The next day on Serena Washington’s porch, I turn to face the woman who has caused all this trouble. She looked so much like her aunt that when she answered the door, I couldn’t stop staring. I wanted to snap a picture and text it to Ezra so he could marvel, too. The woman who was always on her front porch sweeping, stealthily snooping on our entire neighborhood, has a doppelgänger niece, and she’s as worrisome as her aunt.

“You really think you can get me a book tour?” she asks as I’m leaving after hours of hashing out terms and getting things settled.

“I can, but of course we have some editing to do before the book can be released. Fortunately, the publisher hadn’t sent many early copies out yet, and we’re contacting those readers to let them know about the misinformation in the draft they read.”

“Misinformation?” Skepticism marks Serena’s expression. “Aunt Roselle had her finger on the pulse of everything. She was rarely wrong, but if you say so.”

“Well, she was wrong about my father,” I say with a confidence that can’t be real until I know more about the charm we found. “Whatever she thought she heard my parents arguing about that night, she didn’t. And writing something like that based on unconfirmed speculation is both reckless and potentially slanderous.” I offer an indulgent smile since we have come to terms that meet my satisfaction. “But lesson learned, right?”

Serena lifts her chin. “Lesson learned.”

“I want to be clear. I’ve already spoken to the publisher. The only way this book gets published is if these changes are made, and once I approve it.”

“I’m surprised you’re allowing it at all.”

“You’re a good writer and a smart journalist. That’s clear. With the exception of the erroneous information about my father being unfaithful,” I say, pausing, as if giving her the chance to contradict me, but looking at her like she better not, “we loved the book.”

“I appreciate that.”