Best Kept Secrets (37 page)

Miami, Florida—April 15, 1947

I
t had taken Martin Diaz Cole six months and three attempts to garner the nerve to contact his half brother. He’d arranged to meet Joshua Kirkland following his Jamaican vacation. Instead of flying into West Palm Beach, he had changed his ticket for Miami.

He’d spent more than an hour waiting in a hotel lobby filled with players from the Homestead Grays and the Philadelphia Stars. They had gathered around a radio to witness history in the making. Jackie Robinson, the first Negro to integrate major league baseball, was scheduled to play his first game for the Brooklyn Dodgers at New York’s Ebbetts Field in Brooklyn,
New York. A rousing cheer went up when Jackie Robinson’s name came through the speakers.

All the excitement paled when Martin rose to his feet on shaky legs when he spied a tall, blond boy walking across the lobby. Staring numbly, he watched Joshua Kirkland make his way toward him. There was something about him that reminded him of their father.

Martin’s relationship with Samuel had changed. The easygoing camaraderie and an openness that made them more like friends than father and son were missing, and in their place was a repressed hostility.

His enmity wasn’t the result of his father’s adultery—that was between husband and wife—but Samuel’s decision to deny the existence of a son who had as much right to the Cole legacy as Nancy, Josephine and David.

He studied his brother intently. Joshua’s hair appeared silver against his bronzed face. He had the slimness of a boy who had yet to put on the muscle of an adult male. A knowing smile creased the dimples in Martin’s cheeks. Joshua had inherited Samuel’s walk.

A shiver shook Martin as he noticed his younger half brother’s eyes. The light green eyes were cold, icy, and he wondered whether he’d made a mistake to contact him. He’d come this far, and knew he had to see it through or live the rest of his life plagued by questions that would haunt him to his grave.

He extended his right hand. “Hello. I’m Martin.”

Joshua hesitated, staring at the large, groomed hand that belonged to the tall, well-dressed man who claimed they were brothers. He shook it with a barely perceptible nod of his head.

“Joshua.”

He has Dad’s hands
, Martin mused. Those who weren’t familiar with Samuel Cole would never connect him with Joshua Kirkland, but Martin, although the similarities were subtle, knew the boy was undoubtedly his father’s son.

“Would you like to go somewhere and talk, or stay here?”

“Here is okay.”

Martin gestured to two facing chairs separated by a small round table. “We can sit over there.” He waited for Joshua to sit, then sat down opposite him. He smiled when he and Joshua crossed a leg over the other knee as if they’d pantomimed the motion. Despite their obvious physical differences, there was no doubt both inherited traits particular to Samuel Cole.

“How are you?” Martin asked, hoping to put his brother at ease when he stared directly at him, his cold gaze straining what was already an uncomfortable situation.

“Well.”

Martin frowned. It was the second one-word answer Joshua had delivered in a deep, emotionless tone.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

A pale eyebrow lifted slightly. “I only speak when I have something to say, not just to hear the sound of my own voice.”

Bristling from the reprimand, Martin lowered his leg, clasping and unclasping his hands together between his knees. “I don’t know about you, but I am just as uncomfortable as you are.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“What are you?”

“Curious as to why you’d want to meet me.”

Martin’s frown deepened to an angry scowl. “We are brothers, Joshua.”

“So you say,” he said in a voice that was as flat as his expression.

“What the hell are you so angry about? What went on between our parents has nothing to do with us.”

“You’re wrong, Martin. It has everything to do with us. You’re Samuel Cole’s legitimate son and heir. I’m his bastard.”

Joshua’s statement as to their existence was so matter-of-fact that Martin almost laughed. “You are still his flesh and blood.”

A feral grin pulled a corner of Joshua’s firm mouth up. “Why
isn’t he here saying this? Did the cowardly son of a bitch send you to extend the olive branch? Well, you can tell him that I won’t genuflect to his heir apparent because of my West Point acceptance. Tell him I would’ve made it without his interference.”

Martin reacted as if Joshua had struck him across the face. Never had he seen such bitterness in someone so young. Had his mother spewed her venom, fueling her son’s hatred for his biological father?

Struggling to control his temper, and not wanting to lash out at the brother who, up until six months ago, he hadn’t known existed, Martin sat back and folded his arms over his chest.

“Samuel doesn’t know I’m meeting with you.”

The light green eyes darkened with an unnamed emotion. “So why did you contact me?”

“I’m not certain.”

Joshua stood up in one, smooth motion. “If that’s the case, then I’m leaving. I have to study for a calculus final.”

“Sit down!” Joshua had popped up and now down again like a jack-in-the-box with Martin’s unexpected outburst. “Please,” he added softly. The command and the teenager’s obedience had established Martin’s position as Joshua’s brother, his older brother.

An uncomfortable silence followed Martin’s outburst. The seconds ticked off as the two older sons of Samuel Cole regarded each other with cold stares.

Joshua broke the silence. “How long have you known about me?”

Martin told Joshua how he’d come to know of his existence. “I was so angry with Dad that I wanted to hit him. All I could think of was what he had done to my mother. What she must have gone through once she discovered her husband had fathered a child out of wedlock.

“Then I thought of your mother, her pain, the shame of having to marry a man she hated so she wouldn’t be branded with the scarlet letter.” Leaning forward on the chair, he rested
a hand over Joshua’s. “Then I thought of you, what you had to go through with Everett Kirkland, what your mother had to put up with for so many years. There are no winners, Joshua. Everyone involved with what has become a dirty little secret was a loser.”

Joshua shook off the hand covering his. “That’s where you’re wrong, Martin. The men won and the women lost. My mother was forced to marry a man she hated, a man who forced himself on her because he felt it was his right to rape her. Everett Kirkland was a selfish, manipulative, stingy son of a bitch—”

“You may not look like Dad, but there is no doubt you’re his boy,” Martin said, interrupting Joshua.

Joshua’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“You cuss like a Cole.”

A hint of a smile crinkled the teenager’s eyes before he lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize for your feelings or beliefs,” Martin chastised quietly.

Joshua’s head came up. “What about your father, Martin? Will he ever apologize to my mother for selling her into bondage? Has he apologized to your mother for being an adulterer? Has he apologized to his legitimate children that they have a half brother who might mess up their perfect little world if or when he decides he wants his rightful share of their inheritance? I thought not,” he continued when Martin’s expression did not change. “Well, you don’t ever have to worry about me telling anyone about the Coles’ dirty little secret. I’d die before I acknowledge that the blood of Samuel Cole runs in my veins.”

“You’re angry, Joshua, and you have a right to your anger. When Samuel told me about you I’m ashamed to admit that I’d grown up believing my father was the perfect husband and the perfect father.

“I stopped speaking to him. I went into the office, did my work and related to him like any other ColeDiz International
employee. Whenever we sat down to dinner together I had to pretend all was well between us so my mother wouldn’t suspect something was wrong.”

For a long moment, Joshua looked back at Martin. “Your mother doesn’t know you know?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to tell your mother about me?”

Joshua lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t know.”

“Tell her, Joshua, that you met me. Tell her that I’m going to be the older brother who will be there for you.”

Joshua shook his head. “You can’t absolve Samuel of his guilt or what should have been his responsibility by being
here
for me.”

“This had nothing to do with Samuel. This is between us. And it will remain between us.”

Joshua stared down at the toes of his shoes, then Martin’s. The difference was startling. His older brother wore a fashionable lightweight suit and highly polished leather shoes; his own shabby attire was a pair of faded cotton slacks, a white shirt, open at the throat, and a seersucker jacket, one Everett Kirkland had left behind in his haste to leave. They were as different as night and day in so many ways: appearance and temperament. And the most obvious difference was money.

His head came up and he gave his brother a long, penetrating look. “What do you want from me, Martin?”

The tense lines in Martin’s face vanished when he smiled. “I want you to give me the opportunity to become a brother to you, and I want you to learn to trust me enough to come to me if you want or need anything. And I’d like for us to get together again before you leave for college.”

Joshua’s impassive expression did not change. “What you’re asking isn’t unreasonable.”

Martin wanted to reach over and shake his brother until he showed some emotion. What type of childhood, he wondered,
had he had that would not permit a teenage boy to laugh or smile? What horrors had he endured at the hands of his stepfather? How many times had he witnessed Everett Kirkland hitting his mother?

A loud roar erupted in the lobby as the ballplayers slapped one another on the back. Jackie Robinson had gotten his first major league hit. It was official; it was history; it was a momentous day.

The brothers looked at each other and smiled. It was a great day for Jackie Robinson, but a sad one for most of the older players in the Negro Leagues who’d spent all of their lives waiting for their chance to play in the majors.

Joshua stood up, Martin following. “I have to leave now.” He extended his hand. “Thank you.”

Ignoring the proffered hand, Martin wrapped his arms around Joshua’s shoulders, kissing him on each cheek. “Take care of yourself,” he said in Spanish. “And don’t forget to call me.”

“I’ll call,” Joshua replied in the same language.

Releasing him, Martin reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, withdrew an envelope and pushed it into Joshua’s jacket pocket. “It’s a little something for your birthday and graduation.”

He didn’t give the teenager the opportunity to protest or refuse when he turned, wending his way through the throng in the hotel lobby and disappeared out a rear door where a driver waited to drive him to Miami Airport.

Joshua, tormented by confusing emotions, left the hotel. He would celebrate his seventeenth birthday in another week, he’d received his acceptance letter from West Point, and he met his brother for the first time.

He’d agreed to meet Martin Cole because he wanted answers. He hadn’t gotten the answers because he hadn’t asked the questions, but he felt something for Martin he did not want to feel: kinship.

West Palm Beach, Florida—April 25, 1947

M
artin stood in the doorway to Samuel’s office. His father sat in his chair, his back to the door. “Dad?”

Samuel swiveled in the chair. A melancholy frown flitted over his face before he concealed it with a tentative smile. “Yes, Martin?”

“May I come in?”

“Why are you asking permission to enter my office?”

Martin walked in, closing the door. “I know things haven’t been well between us for some time—”

“That was your choice,” Samuel said heatedly, interrupting him.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Why have you come, son?”

Sitting down on the chair he’d occupied countless times, Martin crossed one leg over the other. “I want to talk to you about Joshua.”

Samuel’s expression stilled, grew serious. “What about him?”

“Do you know what today is?”

“Yes, I do. It’s Joshua’s birthday.”

“Good for you,” Martin said facetiously.

“What the hell are you trying to say?”

“I met your other son. On my way back from Jamaica I stopped in Miami and we got together.” Martin ignored his father’s audible gasp. “He’s an incredible young man, Dad.”

Samuel wanted to tell Martin that Teresa, at nineteen, was incredible. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I think it’s time you tell Nancy, Josephine and David that they have a half brother.”

Samuel felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. “No.”

Martin leaned closer. “You have to, Dad.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!” Martin had raised his normally soft voice. “It would go better if you tell them rather than have a stranger uncover the truth. You’ve hidden Joshua for seventeen years. It’s time for the truth to be told.”

Samuel glared at his firstborn. It was the first time he’d challenged him, and he intuitively knew it wouldn’t be the last. “I can’t do it.”

Martin rested a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Yes, you can, Dad. Either you tell them or I will.”

He shook off the hand. “This is none of your business.”

“You think it isn’t? I have a brother, someone whom I share blood with, and you tell me that it’s none of my business? He is as much my business as David and my sisters. Mother wants us home in time for dinner because the girls are only going to
be here for the weekend. This will be your chance to put your past to rest.”

Martin gave his father a lingering glare before standing and walking out of the office.

M.J. smiled across the length of the table at Samuel. It wasn’t often that they had all of their children together nowadays. Martin spent several days each month traveling for ColeDiz, Nancy would complete her senior year at Howard University, and Josephine her freshman year at Spelman College.

M.J. had taken special care preparing her children’s favorite dishes. It had been a while since she’d enjoyed cooking in her remodeled kitchen.

Samuel cleared his voice, getting everyone’s attention. “I’d like to say something before dessert is served.” He met Martin’s unwavering black eyes. “Today marks the birthday of someone I’ve denied for more than seventeen years.”

“No, Samuel,” M.J. sobbed softly.

Everyone seated at the table turned to look at her, everyone but Martin.

“M.J., I have to,” Samuel said almost pleadingly. “I have another son.”

Nancy froze. “What are you talking about, Daddy?”

“I had an affair with—”

“You had an affair!” Josephine screamed. “You cheated on Mother with another woman?” Her dark eyes shimmered with tears.

Samuel sat up straighter, as if gathering courage to tell his family what had been kept secret for a long time. “Yes. I’m ashamed to say I did cheat on your mother.”

“Was she your mistress, Daddy?” Nancy asked.

“No, she wasn’t. We spent less than a week together.”

“I don’t care if you spent an hour together,” Nancy screamed. “The fact remains you have a bastard!”

Josephine slammed her hand on the table, rattling silver and china. “He will never be my brother.”

“Nor mine,” Nancy said, pushing away from the table.

M.J. could not stop her tears. They flowed down her cheeks unchecked.

David got up and went to his mother. “Don’t cry, Mama. Please, don’t cry.”

His sisters joined him, as they attempted to comfort M.J. They pulled her from her chair and led her out of the dining room, leaving Samuel and Martin staring at each other.

Samuel slumped in his chair, seemingly aging twenty years. He stared down at the heirloom tablecloth M.J. had brought with her from Cuba. “I just divided my family tonight. My wife and my children hate me.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Martin shook his head. “You’re wrong, Dad. You divided your family the first time you slept with Teresa Maldonado. Nothing can change what you did to my mother or to Joshua’s mother. And nothing will change the fact that Joshua Kirkland is family.”

Samuel looked up, his eyes filled with bitterness. “He will never become a part of
this
family.”

“That is your choice, Dad. But for now he is the Coles’ best-kept secret.”

Pushing back from the table, Martin walked out of the dining room and out of the house. He needed to be alone to sort out what he would have to do to heal the wounds and bring everyone together as one family—regardless of whether they were Cole or Kirkland.