Epilogue
He walked through the dark and shadowy house unable to sleep, listening to the wind whipping around the outside of the house, rattling the windows. He gave the liquor cabinet a cursory glance. How many times in the past three months had he thought about drinking himself into oblivion just to sleep through the night?
He wandered back upstairs and stopped outside her bedroom; she was the one thing that kept him from doing just that. He moved further into the room. No, he would never let things get so bad that he would let his daughter see him like that.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and listened as she murmured something unintelligible in her sleep. The pictures on her nightstand drew his attention and he picked one up to look at it more closely. It was of him, Sammie and Nana. He picked up the other picture of Minya holding Sammie on her lap, both of them laughing. He touched the image of the diva before quickly setting the picture back on the nightstand.
"I just need some air," he said out loud and headed for his Suburban. He drove with no destination and too many thoughts cluttering his brain.
Minya had kept her promise. She called Sammie every day, at a time she knew he would not be home. She sent cards and made videos for his daughter. Nana received the CD of the recording of "Jesus Loves Me" that she and Sammie had recorded together and Sammie played it daily.
Sashka had made one of the videos they received. He knew that because Minya had been on the phone talking to Sammie on the video. "How's your daddy," she had asked. "You think he does, huh? I miss him, too," the diva admitted. Then she realized Sashka had been taping. "Sashka, stop that!" she had yelled, waving her hand at her assistant. Off camera, Sashka had promised to edit it out of the tape. She didn't; perhaps she wanted him to know Minya still thought about him. But that had been almost two months ago.
Since then, her tour continued. His crew received word from her from time to time, especially Jake. The reviews of their performance at the Billboard Awards had been stellar, despite the attempt on their lives, and Minya would let him know "people" were asking about that dynamic, yet elusive, Jake Shaw. If Jake so wished, Minya could get him a contract. Jake would laugh it off and tell her no, he was best kept undercover. They would have a great laugh over that.
"Christ," he said, noting where the drive had taken him. He parked the Suburban outside the large gates of the estate. "What in the hell is wrong with you, Donovan?" He thought he had been doing a damn good job getting over his feelings for her. "No...here you are, parked outside her house like a pining teenager. Not to mention the fact that you're talking to yourself like a complete moron."
He reached for the keys to restart the engine but instead pulled them from the ignition and exited the vehicle. "What the hell, might as well add breaking and entering to your list of stupidity." He checked the security pad at the gate and entered the codes they had been given when Minya was under their protection. Why wasn't he surprised when they worked? He would have to read her the riot act for not changing those codes.
The inside of the mansion was dark, he noted, standing from the end of the driveway. It didn't take long to realize the motion detectors were working when the floodlights blinded him. "Moron," he repeated as he made his way quickly to the front door. No surprise the codes worked there, too.
He wandered around the darkened interior, still seeing spots in front of his eyes from the blinding floodlights. He bumped into the plant stand just outside of the living room and barely caught the plant before it tumbled onto the floor. "Get a grip, Donovan."
He climbed the staircase to the second floor and leisurely checked the rooms along the hallway that lead to the master bedroom. The door was closed; he turned the knob and slowly opened the door. The room was pitch black even to eyes that had adjusted to the darkness. He moved forward slowly until movement from the bed stopped him in his tracks. He must have been hallucinating.
She rolled over onto her back, releasing a heavy sigh in her sleep. Her hair was loose and laid across her face, concealing her mouth. Her right hand reposed on the pillow next to her head and he noticed, as he moved closer, that she was clenching and unclenching her fist as she did when she was in a deep sleep. He wanted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real or just his over-active imagination.
Her left hand jerked toward her face, brushing the hair that covered her mouth away. Her eyelids twitched as she dreamed. "Sing to me..." she murmured. Her hand fell away from her face and banged softly on the nightstand. He noticed a picture in the corner and picked it up. It was of him standing in the den holding Sammie. "Sammie said," she murmured. "...sing, Frank. Sing to me."
He eased himself down, sitting on the edge of the bed. He waited until he was sure he didn't wake her. His whole body ached with how much he had missed her and how he had denied himself even the most remote contact with her. He reached out for the guitar that always leaned against the nightstand. Now, if I can remember the chords, he thought to himself as he began to play the instrument softly.
Well, I know it's kind of late...I hope I didn't wake you
He watched as a small smile formed on her lips while she dreamed.
But what I've got to say can't wait...I know you'd understand
"Nice," she murmured, still asleep.
Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong
So, I'll have to say I love you in a song.
She stirred when he sang the last part of the verse and rubbed a hand over her face. "Frank? Is that really you?"
He didn't answer her; instead he continued the song.
Yeah, I know it's kind of strange...every time I'm near you
I just run out of things to say...I know you'd understand
Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong
So, I'll have to say I love you in a song
She stared unbelievingly at him as if he was a ghost or a figment of her imagination, a dream that had somehow manifested itself.
Every time the time was right...all the words just came out wrong
So, I'll have to say I love you in a song.
"Frank?" she asked again, her voice barely a whisper as she reached out to touch his leg and jumped when she contacted unyielding flesh, muscle and bone.
He almost chuckled when she jumped, but held it at bay. He wanted to finish the song...finish some of the things he wanted to tell her that last day in Los Angeles.
Yeah, I know it's kind of late...I hope I didn't wake you
But there's something that I've just got to say...I know you'd understand
Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong
So, I'll have to say I love you in a song.
He placed the guitar back on the floor and waited for her to speak. She shook her head as if to clear the fog of sleep, still not quite sure if she was seeing things.
"Frank," she said, reaching out as if to touch his cheek, but instead pulled the hair of his short goatee.
"Ouch!" he cried, rubbing his chin.
"Well, that's what you get for not answering me," she replied. "How'd you get in here and how'd you know I was here?"
"I didn't know and you didn't change the security codes. You should be more careful."
"Why'd you come here if you didn't know I was here..." she trailed off, remembering something more important. "You sang for me. It was beautiful."
"I hope you enjoyed it, because it won't happen again any time soon," he laughed.
She repositioned herself on her knees, sitting on her legs that were tucked underneath her. "How's Sammie?"
"You talk to her every day, you know she's fine."
"I know...just small talk. I..." she noticed him looking at the picture on the nightstand. "Did you mean it...what you sang?"
He shrugged. "It's just a song."
"True, and yet, you could have sung, 'You Don't Mess Around With Jim' if it was a Jim Croce song you were after." She smiled mischievously as she wrapped her arms around his neck and touched her forehead to his. "Yeah, you got it bad for me, don'tcha?"
"Yeah, I do," he admitted, pulling her into a crushing embrace. "I've missed you, Diva. When did you get back?"
"Just a few hours ago. I was going to come see you in the morning. Now, tell me again...what you sang," she insisted. "Tell me like you mean it."
"I think it's your turn to tell me how you feel," he said, turning the tables on her.
"I feel like I died inside the day you left Los Angeles. I feel like it took all my strength not to come running to your door every day, begging you to give us a chance. I feel like I love you more than life itself. And I feel like if you don't kiss me right now, I'll go insane."
He laughed. "I always said you were touched."
"Crazy," she reminded him, slapping him playfully.
"Crazy...yes, you are. And I'm crazy about you," he admitted, as his lips captured hers in an all-consuming kiss that left them both breathless. "Where's Marvin Gaye when you need him," he teased.
"Tell me again what you sang, and trust me...you won't need Marvin Gaye's help," she said with a wink.
He faked an irritated sigh. "Okay, if that's what it takes."
"Frank!"
"What?" He asked, easing her backward onto the bed, nuzzling her neck.
"Be serious," she admonished, tugging his earlobes.
"Who me? I have no sense of humor, remember." He eased back to look into her eyes. Eyes that shone with desire, need and, yes, love. The time for joking was over. "I need you, Diva." He felt her hand cup the back of his neck and pulled his head down to brush her lips against his. "And, yes, I am in love with you."
Minya raised her head to sing softly in his ear, "Let's get it on..."
"Bless you, Marvin Gaye," he said with a smile.
Finis
Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed yet another of my mushy fics. I live for romance...can't help myself. Still, I hope you enjoyed it! :)
***Lyrics to "I'll Have to Say I Love You In A Song" written by Jim Croce. Published by DenJac Music Co, ASCAP/MCA Music