The Dawn of Nia

by Lauren Cherelle

  ~ * ~

  Deidra drives east, out the city, pass the suburbs and into the sticks until we reach the small, unincorporated community where Pat rests for eternity. A narrow road off the two-lane highway leads to a dilapidated one-room church. Next to the rotting wood structure is a metal fence protecting headstones of deceased Carters. I step outside the car, the warm morning breeze promising a hellishly hot day. The rustle of leaves from the brush and trees are the only sounds in the expansive, flat country land.

  I look onward at the cemetery, waiting for Deidra to exit. Eventually, I turn around and poke my head through my open door. She hasn’t removed her hand from the steering wheel. “Are you coming?”

  She gazes beyond the windshield. “This could quickly turn into an argument, so just let me be.”

  I take my frustration out on the car door and walk away.

  The quaint cemetery is a stroll through history. There’s a headstone for a male relative who died during the Great Depression, a headstone for a male relative born a year after the Civil War ended, and one for a female child who died during the polio years. Next to her is a slight hump in the earth where Pat is buried. The elements haven’t flattened her burial plot yet.

  I kneel down, running my fingertips across the engraved letters in her black slate headstone before pulling up the weeds from its perimeter. I toss the weeds beyond the fence, catching a severe whiff of burnt paper and tobacco. Deidra is leaning against the car. She takes long, satisfying drags and blows the haze from her lungs into the east-pulling wind. I hope the light-headed effect of the nicotine rush will strip her sheltered feelings just enough for her to consider joining me. I want to hold her hand while sharing memories.

  She finishes the cigarette and stays in her space. I remain in mine. I’m alone with Pat beneath my feet, regretting that I didn’t call one of my friends to accompany me. The faint sound of movement sparks a bit of hope. I look back again, but Deidra hasn’t moved one inch from the car. The rumble comes from the gray SUV approaching from the main road. This is Caroline’s SUV. We stand motionless, listening to the continuous grind of gravel as the vehicle travels the curving path to the cemetery. Deidra retreats to the car as the wheels stop.

  It’s too late to avoid Caroline and whoever else is with her. So I wait for someone to exit. Caroline gets out first and takes two steps in my direction. “Well, well, well.”

  The middle sister peers at my windshield, shaking her head and grimacing. I’ve never felt such appreciation for tinted windshields until this moment.

  As the youngest sister guides and supports Mama C’s uneven gait, I approach the SUV. I intend on an amicable greeting and fast departure. I avoid eye contact with Kayla and greet Mama C. Her sweet eyes beam as we hug. She smells like mothballs and fried food as usual. Her lips meet my cheek at the release of her gentle embrace. “How you been?” she asks.

  I answer positively despite mournful feelings.

  “What about her?” Caroline says. “She too scared to get out the car?”

  I wait until my mouth can deliver a fairly pleasant response. “Let’s not go there.”

  Mama C steals the attention by taking hold of my arm and walking me back to the gravesite. I support her weight as she takes slow, choppy steps across the grass. She stops two plots from Pat’s resting place. “It’s good to see you, Nia. I’m glad you’re here. Just wouldn’t be right without you. I’m glad Caroline called you.”

  Caroline turns her back on her mother’s words. I wish she had called to avoid this joint visit. I hold the truth and help Mama C step closer to Pat’s grave. She balances her weight and releases my arm, her face overcome with grief. She shakes her head in disbelief before seizing her pain and releasing it to the winds. Then she looks around and says, “Somebody get Deidra.”

  We share glances, but no one budges. Is Mama C senile or insensitive? Whichever the case, someone needs to say something. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say.

  She places her hands on her hips. “You already done a lot that wasn’t a good idea. Now go ahead, you hear?”

  My feet remain planted as I search for more words that will discourage interaction with Deidra. Ultimately, I fall prey to matriarchal pressure and depart the cemetery. I open the driver’s side door and kneel before Deidra to deliver the message. “Cora wants you.”

  “And?”

  I touch her leg— a tender gesture in exchange for cooperation. “The situation is bad enough. Let’s not make it worse.”

  She clasps my hand. “Baby, you don’t owe them anything.”

  I exhale, unsure how to proceed. “Deidra,” I plead. I want her to get out and face her demons. More importantly, I don’t want her to embarrass me, especially in front of Kayla. I have to show the influence I have in this relationship. I have to flaunt our bond directly in her face. “Please. I’ll make it up to you,” I say with a merciful face.

  She fights the urge to deny my request by rolling her eyes and sliding out the car.

  I walk a step behind Deidra in shock, yet thankful that she’s uniting with the Carter clan. The tail of her maxi dress flows in the breeze. The orange and yellow pattern demands attention for miles. Her bound hair accentuates her July-kissed skin— jewelry and makeup accessorizing her beauty. There are upturned noses, but no one removes their eyes as she approaches. They can’t. Deidra is a captivating stroke in the middle of a rural canvas.

  When she enters the cemetery, Kayla turns her back. Deidra joins the group, her eyes daring them to get out of line with her. I stand by her side, waiting for someone to encroach the silence.

  Mama C breaks the barrier. “Thank you,” she says to her estranged granddaughter. Deidra moves her sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose. No words escape her mouth so I nod on her behalf. Kayla keeps her stance and the sisters attempt to overlook Deidra. With this mild behavior, maybe we can get through this awkward moment peacefully.

  “Now that we’re all here as we should be,” Mama C says, “let us pray.” The Carter clan connects hands and closes their eyes. The environment is too hostile to dare close mine. Deidra crosses her arms, her black lenses hiding any reaction to Kayla’s repeated glances.

  “Father God, we come before you with bowed heads and humbled hearts,” Mama C prays like a seasoned evangelist. “Thanking you, oh Lord, for the gift of life. Thank you for blessing us with wonderful times with Pat. Wrap us in your arms during our darkest hour. Help us Father God to understand that weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Help us live with the joy of Pat in our hearts every day. Thank you for bringing us here today, Father. We need you, Lord. We need you to restore this family. Thank you for bringing the lost home. Keep her close to your bosom, Lord. Bless our spirits so we can be whole. We—”

  “I was not lost,” Deidra says. Every eye rushes to her face. “I was not kidnapped and I did not run away. I was abandoned, and you know this.”

  “You got some nerve,” Caroline shouts and steps forward. The middle sister quickly swings her arm out to keep Caroline from charging Deidra.

  “The truth hurts,” Deidra says and steps closer to Mama C. “You should be praying for forgiveness.”

  Caroline breaks free from her sister with every intention of making Deidra pay for her disrespectful tone and the desecration of prayer on consecrated land. “Wait a minute,” Mama C shouts. Her daughter comes to a standstill. “Caroline, pull yourself together. You’re too old for that.”

  I touch Deidra’s arm to encourage her to fall back and leave with me, but Mama C has other plans. She wobbles in our direction and clutches Deidra’s hand without notice. Either Deidra is caught off guard or too focused on Caroline because she doesn’t object to the physical contact. Mama C leads her out the cemetery, just beyond the metal gate. I watch, hoping Deidra won’t say or do anything else to incite a fight and send Caroline bolting out this cemetery.

  “You shouldn’t have brought her here,” Caroline says
, keeping an eye on her mother.

  I ignore her and focus on who’s most important to me.

  “Life is too short and precious,” Mama C says. “We can move on. It’s not too late.”

  “Seven months ago you were gunning for Pat’s estate. Why the change of heart?”

  “I wanted to do right by my daughter, but we all make mistakes.”

  “And you have a lifetime of them.”

  Mama C drops her head for a moment and then speaks face to face. “I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray you forgive me. I’ll pray you come here by yourself one day and lay your burdens down right there,” she says, pointing to Pat’s grave.

  Deidra snatches the sunglasses from her face. “Get off your geriatric high horse. You were wrong! You failed me and you failed Pat, too. She wasn’t in my life because of you. You can pray all you want, but you won’t get a second thought from me.” Deidra dismisses Mama C with a scowl of disgust and walks to the car.

  I drive us away with haste but my thoughts stay on Kayla. Her lack of reaction during the whole ordeal worries me. She didn’t speak or intervene. She watched us, quietly, arms crossed with calm demeanor— an alarming behavior reflective of a ticking time bomb.

  28

  HUMS FROM THE ENGINE and passing vehicles are the only sounds between us as I drive home. We planned for breakfast, but Deidra doesn’t mention it. I no longer have an appetite.

  When I pull into the garage she turns to me. “Don’t ever do that again,” she says. “I know you feel stuck in the middle, but you’re not responsible for them.”

  I hate the rift between the Carters and me and the strenuous pull between them and Deidra. She could help mitigate the strain I feel, though I can’t ask her to soften her heart to the Carters after so many years of forced separation. I don’t know what to say once we’re inside so we part ways. I need space, and I hope alone time will help her consider the possibility of reconciliation.

  A light lunch, long nap, and several hours of sitcoms help the taxing day pass. When evening arrives, I leave the bedroom and head downstairs. Traces of Deidra’s voice float from the guest bedroom. With a book and blanket in hand, I curl my legs onto the couch. I want to stay in this position lost in the pages of the thriller until midnight.

  On page seventy-three, I hear the bedroom door open. Deidra approaches and waits until I finish the paragraph and acknowledge her presence. “I know this is a strange time to ask,” she says, “but do you want anything from Pat’s estate? I won’t be mad if you do.”

  “No, I never have.”

  When I return my attention to the book, she accepts my answer and walks upstairs. I attempt to read, but I can’t follow the story. I keep wrestling with my response. I should’ve mentioned Pat’s bracelet. She’s never considerate of anything regarding Pat, and I blew her off like the moment was meaningless.

  I close the hardcover and go upstairs. When I enter the bedroom, Deidra is sitting on the bed scrolling through her phone. She puts it down when I sit next to her. “I wanted a bracelet, but I couldn’t find it.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Double-banded. Greenish on the outside. White on the inside. Kind of looked homemade.”

  “Hmm. I made that bracelet back in ninety-five for Pat’s birthday.”

  “Really? She wore it religiously.”

  I recall two occasions early last year when Pat wore the bracelet even though it didn’t match her outfit. I also tell Deidra about the time it remained on Pat’s wrist as she swam in the ocean at Anguilla. I even mention the night we got sloppy drunk during that vacation. The bracelet slid back and forth as Pat threw back shots.

  I grow excited about hearing more about her birthday gift until tears roll down Deidra’s face. It would have been nice to receive a warning sign before the tears. A sad tone, a shaky voice, red or watery eyes. I want us to talk about Pat, but I don’t want to feel guilty about it. I move closer to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sounds like the two of you had a lot of fun. You had six good years with her. I didn’t have one. Today it hit home that there are no second chances. Nia, I care about you, but sometimes I want to walk away from you because of her.” She can’t maintain a blank affect. She shields her eyes as sobs and gasps for air accompany her tears.

  I’m motionless, afraid to speak and afraid to touch her.

  She cries for a moment and gathers the breath to speak. “Sometimes I find myself being mad at you because she let you into her life but pretended like I didn’t exist.”

  “I understand,” I say to ease her sadness and my guilt. I want to apologize on my behalf and Pat’s, too, for all the unforgettable times we shared. I gather the courage to rub her back. I wish I had the power to transfer all the time, laughs, and love Pat gave me to her.

  I take Deidra’s hand and lead us to the headboard, resting against the pillows as she reclines in my arms. Though silent, her tears roll to my arm. It’s funny how I started today yearning for her empathy. But now the day is closing with tears that aren’t from me. After a while, she wiggles from my arms a bit and turns her face to mine. Tears wait cautiously in her eyes. She’s slow to do it, but I know she’ll say something.

  “That was the first time my grandmother ever touched me. At thirty-three. At a cemetery.”

  If she wants a response, she doesn’t wait for one. She grabs my arm and inches her way back into my protective hold. I’m glad she’s allowing my loving embrace to remind her that I am not the enemy.

  29

  THE FIRST WEEKEND of September brings in a major storm system with record-setting rainfall. The two-day storm causes flooding and deaths. Unfortunately, four feet of grimy water damages the first level of my best friend’s townhome. Without question, I welcome Tasha into my home while she transitions to a new residence.

  Tasha has too many concerns to tackle— from work demands to insurance claims— to maintain a grudge with Deidra. “The thing with K.D. was almost ten months ago. That’s water under the bridge,” she tells Deidra the night she arrives. “And girl, to be honest, you did me favor.”

  By the second weekend of September, the two are well on their way to becoming fast friends. While I’m spending my days monitoring frail hearts, they’re in my living room watching chick flicks on my flat screen, dropping popcorn morsels between the cushions of my couch.

  I walk in after a tiresome day to find them watching Just Wright. They’ve moved the ottoman to stretch the crochet blanket that my grandmother gave me across the rug. They’re lying on their bellies in matching pink pajamas and polka dot socks.

  “Y’all went shopping for that shit?” I complain. And they both have a ponytail dangling from the right side of their head. “I’m gonna start charging y’all assess rent.”

  They keep straight faces for a split second and then laugh at my threat. “Baby,” Deidra says, rising from the floor to look at me. “Come chill with us.”

  I roll my eyes and march upstairs.

  Tasha moves into her new place over the fourth weekend. When I come home from work the following Tuesday, the savory aroma of home cooking greets me at the door. I almost smile. Finally, things are back to normal. I’m not surprised that Deidra is standing at the dining room table with my favorite meal plated. However, I am surprised by the bouquet of orange roses in the center of the table. She steps forward and grabs my purse. “Wash your hands and have a seat.”

  Whiffs of fried pork chops, rice, beans, and cornbread taunt my taste buds. She also prepared fresh brewed tea with lemon slices. “What’s going on?” I can’t take a bite until I know whether this is a celebratory meal or a please-forgive-me meal.

  “I got a job. Eat first.”

  I want to rush just so I can hear the details of her announcement. But the food is cooked to perfection, causing me to savor each umami-laced bite. I even postpone the details for seconds. When I’m stuffed, I sink into the seat and say, “I didn’t even know you were looking for a job.”

 
“I know. I wanted to surprise you. I started looking a month ago… I can’t let a man take care of me forever.”

  “He wants to.”

  “He won’t.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “Me. I’m changing. I just want to thank you for opening your home and being patient with me.”

  “You thank me by making me fat?”

  “And other ways.” She smiles and winks. “You can actually stand to gain a few pounds, especially in the hips.”

  I’ve tried calories for curves before and it didn’t work. “What’s the position?”

  “Marketing Coordinator. I basically assist the Marketing and Catering Manager with promotions, events, press, social media. Stuff like that.”

  “Social media?” I’ve yet to see or hear of Deidra partaking in social media. She doesn’t like, share, tweet, post, follow, hash tag, pin, or comment on anything.

  “I have social media accounts,” she says. “I just don’t use them. Too many of Eric’s family and military cronies are connected to them. But I login sometimes to stalk Shannon.” She grabs my glass of tea and steps into the kitchen for a refill. “I don’t have my own office. Just a laptop and desk in the corner of someone else’s junky office, but I can work from home sometimes.”

  “Sounds good. What’s the pay?”

  “Starts at nineteen an hour.”

  Wow! I swallow tea, attempting to swallow the pay. “There are people with legit master’s degrees that ain’t making nineteen dollars an hour, Deidra. How do you get a marketing position with no marketing experience?”

  “You see this ass and mouth? They go a long way.” She grins, leading me to think the worst.

  “I don’t even wanna know what that means.”

  “It means I wore the right outfit, said the right things, and most importantly, I know the right people. Dezza pulled some strings for me.”

  Nepotism. I’m relieved. “So, where she got you working?”