breath rushed from her lungs, then caught and held in her throat before releasing in a nervous giggle.
Chad walked toward her, arms outstretched as he gathered her close to his body in a tight, welcoming embrace.
For an instant, Simone pressed her head against his chest, shut her eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She could have stood there forever, inhaling the scent of him, comforted by the strength of him, but of course that was a silly daydream of a one-time fantasy.
Simone stepped back, praying that her smile wasn’t as shaky as she felt. She blew out a breath. “Well, look at you. Traveling suits you.”
He bowed modestly. “Thank you, ma’am. You look great yourself.”
An awkward moment of silence floated between them as they each took an instant to revisit the past. They stood there stiffly, quietly trying to force down the uneasy surge of memories.
“I, uh, guess we can catch up later. I’d better get this food out there to the starving masses,” Simone quipped, needing something to fill the blank space between them.
Chad nodded and stepped aside. “We definitely will,” he said quietly as he watched her take the tray from Dottie and hurry back out front.
She looked good, Chad thought as he took his time entering the front room. He wondered how often, if ever, she thought about that night between them. He did. Often. It was one thing that kept him grounded as he traveled from one country to the next, sleeping in countless hotels and hamlets he’d sooner forget.
Why hadn’t they stayed in touch during the past four years? he wondered. Many times he’d considered writing to her, just to let her know she was in his thoughts. But he hadn’t and neither had she. And as the days turned to months and then years, the reasons for doing so grew dim. After all, he reasoned over and over again, they’d made no promises, had no commitments to each other. And from her reaction at seeing him again, perhaps it was just as well.
He put on his game face and joined the party.
Chapter 5
Dinner was a robust affair with flowing conversation, laughter and numerous trips down memory lane, and enough food to feed an army. Stuffed with good will and a solid meal, they collapsed into respective spots of comfort in the living room. Soft music flowed from the high-tech stereo system, adding another layer of relaxation onto the group.
Vaughn half sat, half reclined in Justin’s arms, her lids growing heavy with each passing moment, even as Justin and Chad carried on an invigorating conversation about new evidence that could totally exonerate the defamed O. J. Simpson.
“From what I’ve heard, there was suppressed evidence of a phone conversation between Nicole and her mother after the time she was supposed to be dead,” Justin stated.
“You know as well as I do that they’ll never let that brother rest in peace,” Chad responded. “It’s bad enough that they couldn’t convict him of murder. Folks are still ticked off about that.”
“You’re right about that,” Samantha chimed in. “But imagine if it could be proved he was on a plane to Chicago and she was still alive chatting with her mother? The fallout from that would be worth the price of admission and then some.”
Everyone nodded and mumbled in agreement.
“Believe me, if there really was evidence to clear him, they’d bury it until the man was six feet under.”
“The restitution, not to mention the total loss of political credibility, isn’t something they’d risk.”
“But how often have we seen this happen?” Samantha asked, her dark eyes polling the occupants of the room. “It’s going on right now, even as we speak. The black man is always assumed guilty until proven innocent. If they’re not killed first.”
Chad edged forward on the couch and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked pointedly from one to the other, making sure he had their attention. “There were several reasons why I decided to come back when I did,” he began in deep, measured tones. “One, of course, is that I missed everything and everyone.” For a breath of an instant, his gaze focused on Simone’s face, then moved away. “The other, and even more important, is that I think it’s time—past time—that we took measures into our own hands.”
Justin stiffened and Vaughn quickly put a halting hand on his arm.
“What are you saying, Chad?” Samantha asked. “We turn the clock back to the sixties and get out in the street—in force? Because if it is, I’m with you one hundred percent.” She made sure not to catch her father’s eyes, but she knew he was glaring at her.
“I was thinking about something that will provoke national attention, with no physical risk to anyone,” Chad offered.
The room fell silent, quiet enough to hear each chord of the keyboard played by Herbie Hancock on a track from his latest CD. He almost sounded like the Herbie of old, the young wizard on the ivories with Miles, stretching an old standard to its creative limits.
It was Chad who broke the spell of the music as he spoke solemnly to the others. “I want to launch a class action suit against the D.C. police department on behalf of all victims and families of victims who have been killed, beaten and unjustly jailed by police. I want it to set a precedent so that the same lawsuit can be brought in every state across the country. I want to bring all of those families together in one massive action against the Justice Department of the United States. It may not be possible to get everyone on board, but it’s worth a try.”
The silence deepened as the mammoth ramifications of Chad’s daring proposal took root. Carefully, he gauged one expression after the other, measuring their reaction. Justin looked stern and contemplative, Vaughn awed. He could see the wheels spinning in the eyes of Samantha and an awakening in the face of Simone.
“It can be done,” he added. “People engage in class action suits all the time for poor or dangerous products, illness resulting from improper medication. You name it. But no one has yet to take on the entire law enforcement apparatus, the vicious national policy of police brutality as a whole, the entire machine and mentality that oils them—the Justice Department.”
“It would be unprecedented,” Samantha finally said, fully grasping the enormity of it.
“But a massive undertaking,” Simone added, also thinking of the legal and political maneuvering involved.
“That’s why I need your help.” He looked with a plea in his eyes from Simone to Samantha. “Simone, you have a strong foothold in the community. You’re gaining a political edge and it would give your platform for the Assembly seat that much more bite and focus.”
Simone thought about it and knew it was true. This could very well be the key to seal her election run—or destroy it. Any action taken on a federal level was always risky.
“And Sam, you’re the fire. You’re out there every day, in the trenches. The press knows you, the people know you. And not just here in D.C. Your name gets noticed in the media across the country. You could easily represent the national voice of the people.”
Simone glanced briefly at her sister, who looked mesmerized by the possibility, seduced by the beam of notoriety. And in that
