by Tina Martin
Now, it’s time for me to go back and claim what’s mine. I know it might seem cold and heartless, but telling an eighteen-year-old that her dreams were useless, that she’ll never be anything – that was cold and heartless, too.
Now, I’m looking forward to meeting with Mr. Price on Wednesday, because once I get my hands on that money, all of my financial problems will be solved. Darnell and I will get married in a fancy, expensive Hawaiian wedding and we’ll buy a house, new cars and new wardrobes. I’ll be able to hire people to work at my spa – that’s after I buy a new building to house it. I’ll completely redo it with flat screen TVs, state-of-the-art equipment, offer champagne, free Wi-Fi, coffee and snacks. My spa will be the spa to go to in Atlanta, and it would all be because I finally had the money to do it with.
CHAPTER 5
I didn’t sleep much last night. And it wasn’t because of worrying about making funeral arrangements for my dad or even thinking about what his last breaths may have been like. I wasn’t wondering if he’d died alone, or if he had anyone by his side. I couldn’t sleep because the past was beginning to haunt me all over again. I thought about other things my father had done to me – things I thought I had deleted from my mind, but the psychological abuse was so terrible, there was no way those things could ever be forgotten.
I think back to visiting my mother’s grave with him. For years, he’d drive us to her cemetery and leave flowers. And he would break down and weep. So would I. A child should never witness her father crying the way I witnessed my father cry. But a child should also never lose their mother.
After a while, we stopped going to the cemetery. That was around the time his drinking was so severe, he couldn’t drive. He could barely stand up straight, let alone operate a vehicle. I remember having to hide his keys so he couldn’t attempt to drive anywhere. One night he was on a rampage, looking for his keys because he’d run out of liquor:
“Geneva. Where you at, gul?”
I ran to my room, locked the door and sat on the bed, my hands covering my ears.
“I said where you at, gul!”
I hear him stumbling around in front of my bedroom door. “Come on outta there and give me my keys right now!”
“No, Dad. You can’t drive like that. You’re drunk.”
I glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning. I usually get up for school at 6:30 a.m., but it doesn’t look like I’m going to get any sleep tonight. I break down in tears. I wonder if there are other high school students out there who have to deal with the things I face on a daily basis.
I resort to full, why-me mode for a moment until I hear my father kicking the door, threatening to knock it down if I don’t open it. So I do what I have to do to get out of the room – I climb out of my bedroom window and crawl down the plant ladder then make my escape to the stables.
_____
I never did make it to school that day. Why? Because I was up crying most of the morning. I could have dried my eyes, put on a happy face and shown up for class, but there comes a time when a person gets tired of hiding the truth and pretending like everything is okay when it’s not. That day, I was tired.
* * *
I brew a cup of coffee and sit on the couch, staring at the muted TV while fiddling with the locket around my neck. If I tried to organize a funeral for my father, would anyone come? Probably not. He’s angered a lot of people by his words and actions, not just me. And he probably doesn’t even want a funeral.
Deciding I’ve had enough of speculating, I take my cell phone from the couch and find Mr. Price’s number. He answers almost immediately.
“Hi, Mr. Price. This is Geneva Knight returning your call.”
“Oh, yes. How are you, Mrs. Knight?”
“I’m okay.”
“Good. I’m sorry I dropped that bomb on you yesterday. It wasn’t my intention.”
“I know. I was in a state of shock. I really didn’t expect to...you know.”
“Yes. I understand.”
“So what do I need to do?”
“Well, as I stated in the voicemail, I need you to be at my office tomorrow. You do remember me, don’t you? I think I met you once or twice before.”
“Yes. I remember you.”
“Good. Do you have a pen handy so you can jot down the address to my office?”
“Oh, one sec,” I say, getting up from the couch to grab a pen from the kitchen countertop and a pad out of a drawer. “Okay, I’m ready.” I scribble the address on the notebook and then ask, “Do you know how he died?”
“It’s been ruled as natural causes.”
“Oh...ah...okay. Um, and are you going to go over his wishes as far as a funeral is concerned?”
“No. Your father wanted to be cremated and the instructions have already been given to the funeral home. The cremation is scheduled for Thursday, so if you like to see the body before then, I’ll give you the information for the funeral home when you’re here tomorrow.”
I cringe. I haven’t seen my father in ten years. I don’t even know what he might look like, and I definitely don’t want the image of seeing him lifeless burned in my memory. I have enough bad memories already.
“Okay. One more question – who else is coming to the reading of the will, or is it just me? My father didn’t have any friends and my grandparents are deceased.”
“Yes, I understood that from Alfred when he was alive, so there will be no family at the reading. It’s only going to be yourself and a mister...ah...hold on moment. Let me grab my other notebook.”
I hold on, anxiously waiting to find out who this mister might be, when I hear Mr. Price say, “Ah, yes. Here it is. There will also be a Mr. Wyatt McDowell joining us.”
“Who?” I ask. He didn’t just say Wyatt was going to be there did he? I must be hearing things.
“Wyatt McDowell. I was under the impression that you two knew each other.”
“Uh...um...” I stammer. “Ye-yes. I know Wyatt, but why is he going to be there?”
“Seems Alfred mentioned him in the will, Mrs. Knight.”
My father mentioned Wyatt in the will? For what purpose?
“I have to make another call,” Mr. Price says, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome.”
I’m baffled now, sitting here with this phone in my hand trying to figure out why Wyatt McDowell is going to be in attendance at the reading of my father’s will. It doesn’t make any sense. And then Mr. Price said that he was under the impression that Wyatt and I knew each other. Who gave him that impression? My father?
I still remember when Wyatt and his family moved to North Carolina from Nebraska. His father’s job was transferred to Winston-Salem so that’s where he ended up. Wyatt was tall, skinny with brown hair and deep, crystal blue eyes. He wasn’t what you would call a hunk and maybe that’s why the girls at my school didn’t pay him any attention at first. But I did. Why? Because I was one of two black students in the entire school. The other black girl was one of those preppy types who already had white besties since she pretty much grew up with them. I had no one.
That is until Wyatt came along...
Our classmates didn’t like him simply because he was new, had a country twang to his voice. They didn’t like me because I didn’t “fit in”. So Wyatt and I found each other.
Well, I sort of found him first. We shared a few classes together – homeroom, P.E. and Social Studies. When the teacher first introduced him in our homeroom class, he was pretty quiet. For the first few days, he kept to himself a lot, and I noticed at lunch that he wouldn’t eat. He would sit outside. Alone. So one day, I took my tray and went outside with him, asked him if he was hungry and shared a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with him. And just like that, we became friends.
I didn’t know it at the time, since Wyatt didn’t ride the bus, but we later found out that we didn’t live far away from each other. That worked out well for me
because I finally had someone to talk to. To confide in. I told him things that I couldn’t tell anyone else. I told him how my mother had died, how my father had a drinking problem and how, sometimes, I was afraid that something awful would happen to me and to my father. I told him about the chores my father would make me do. The cooking. The cleaning. Sometimes when my father was passed out in his truck or somewhere slouched over in the house, Wyatt would come over and finish my work for me. Then we’d study together.
When we were in the eleventh grade, something changed between us. We were still friends, but I began to notice how he’d been growing up with me, becoming a man. He’d joined the football team and was very athletic. I will never forget sitting on the bleachers, watching him practice. I went to all of his practices and games, supported him any way I could and instead of just watching him, I began fantasizing about him. Far from being an outcast now, Wyatt was a good-looking football player on the varsity team and had more girls throwing themselves at him than any other boy at the school.
I remember the day I thought our friendship was coming to an end. He’d had practice that day and for the first time since he started playing football, I wasn’t there. Immediately following practice, he came over to my house. Dad wasn’t home – I don’t recall where he was, but Wyatt had knocked on the door, calling my name:
“Hey,” he said, when the door opened.
“Hi.”
“Everything okay?” he asked. He always asked me that.
“Yeah,” I told him. “Everything’s okay.”
“You weren’t at my practice today,” he said, analyzing me. I watch him glance at my hands, my arms, making sure I didn’t have any bruises on me.
“I know. I just wanted to come home.”
“You don’t feel good?”
“I feel fine, Wyatt.”
He sighed and turned around for a moment. Then, looking at me again, he asked, “What’s going on, Geneva?”
“Wyatt...”
“Please don’t lie to me. Just...be honest.”
“Okay. I’ll be honest. I didn’t come to your practice because I didn’t think you wanted me there anymore. More like needed me...there.”
“Why would you think something silly like that?”
“Because you’re popular now. All the girls like you. Brittany is telling everyone that you’re taking her to prom.”
He laughed. I’m not taking Brittany to the prom, Geneva. I’m not even going to the prom this year. I’m waiting until our senior year so I can go with the girl who shared her ham and cheese sandwich with me.”
I smiled big and wrapped my arms around his sweaty body.
“I love you, Geneva.”
“You do?” I asked, tears falling from my eyes like heavy drops of rain. I hadn’t heard anyone say that they loved me since my mom passed.
“Yes. I do.”
“I love you too, Wyatt,” I told him.
And then he kissed me for the first time...
CHAPTER 6
“Wait, so let me get this straight...this dude you knew from high school is going to be at the reading of the will and you have no idea why.”
“I have no idea why, Stacey,” I say, throwing clothes in my suitcase. “First, Mr. Price tells me to bring some extra clothes and then he informs me that Wyatt is going to be there.”
“Maybe he just wants to see you.”
“After ten years? Why would he want to see me after ten years? I mean, even if that was the case, couldn’t we meet at a coffee shop or something?”
“Did your father know Wyatt?”
“Yes. He knew him. Whenever he was drunk, he would call him ‘white boy’ like that was his nickname.”
“Wyatt is white?”
“Yes. He’s white.”
“And how do you know him again?”
“We were best friends in high school. He was at my house like every single day. He helped me with my chores and...he did a lot for me.”
“And the two of you were just friends?” she asks with a hint of meddlesomeness.
“Well, um...yes. We were.”
“Sounds like you’re holding out on me. Spill the beans, Geneva.”
“Okay. We were more than friends.”
“I knew it!”
“When we were juniors, we were basically boyfriend and girlfriend. Everybody knew. We were the only interracial couple in the school.”
“Wow. That must’ve been hard.”
“It was, but I didn’t care at the time because I loved him, and he loved me so what everyone else thought of us didn’t matter.”
“Wait...this wouldn’t happen to be the ex you were dreaming about now would it?”
I nod, wishing Stacey didn’t have such a good memory. “Yes. That’s him. When we were seniors, he proposed to me.”
“What!”
“You heard me. He proposed...said he wanted to get married right after graduation.”
“Don’t tell me you got married.”
“We did. We went to the courthouse and got hitched. We were both happy. It was like a dream come true for the both of us because we really did love each other. We didn’t have an apartment yet because we were both working to save up some money, but we were on track to get a place. Then it all fell apart.”
“Why?”
“I ran into his mother one day at the mall. Well, actually, now that I think about it, it wasn’t a chance meeting. She was there waiting for me...waiting to talk to me.”
“About what?”
“You won’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
I sighed heavily. “She told me that this little marriage thing I thought I had with her son is a sham. Said she went down to the courthouse and took care of everything. She proceeded to tell me how interracial relationships were nothing but trouble and that, if I really loved her son, I would give him a chance to have a normal life.”
Stacey’s mouth fell open. “Did you tell her to kick rocks?”
“I wanted to. Believe me, I did.”
“That’s what I would’ve told her.”
“I didn’t want to disrespect her, though. I mean, I knew his mother somewhat. She was very well known and respected in the community as a devout church-going woman. She even taught Sunday school and held food drives for the needy. But when it came to race, she wanted her son to be with a Caucasian woman and, unfortunately, I didn’t fit the bill.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“I cried for days...ignored Wyatt for days. And on top of it all, I still had to deal with my father. So finally I’d had enough. I left Winston-Salem and I’ve never been back.”
“But you did tell Wyatt what his mother said to you, right?”
I shake my head. “No. How was I going to walk up to my new husband and tell him that his mother is a racist? I don’t even know if that’s what she was because she likes black people. She just didn’t want her son marrying a black woman.”
“Jeez.”
“Sounds like you and Wyatt have some unfinished business to take care of.”
I zip up my suitcase, lift it from the bed and place it near the door. “I don’t think so. It has been ten years after all. I’m sure he’s married with a beautiful wife and pretty children. I don’t know why he’s going to be there tomorrow, but I’m looking forward to finding out and getting it over with.”
“I know you are, girl. Has Darnell been taking care of you?”
“He gave me a foot rub last night.”
“Good. I have to say I was shocked to see that he came by.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s so stuck on himself. I think you could do so much better.”
“Stacey...”
“I’m serious. As your friend, it is my duty to keep it one-hundred with you and that’s what I’m doing.”
I know Stacey is being truthful. Heck, there are some things I can’t stand about Darnell. And I never really felt like I was in love with him. I have a strong
like of him, but love? Nah. I haven’t been in love since...
“Geneva?”
“Oh, sorry. I have so much on my mind these days, girl. I find myself daydreaming a lot.”
“So are you driving or flying?”
“I’m going to drive. It’s only about five hours and it’ll give me some time to think.”
“Yeah, as long as you don’t start daydreaming in traffic.”
“I won’t, Stacey.”
Stacey stands and stretches. “I thought Darnell was supposed to be spending the night to see you off in the morning?”
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s close to ten and I haven’t heard a peep from Darnell. I take my cell phone from the coffee table and check the notifications to see if I have a missed call from him. There are no missed calls. No voicemails. But there is a text message:
Sorry baby. Can’t make it. Have a nice trip, and remember, you deserve that money.
I roll my eyes. The fact that he sent this text message to me the day before I’m leaving adds to Stacey’s case. Does Darnell really care about me?
“Did he call?” she probes.
“No. He sent me a text.”
“Let me guess...he ain’t coming.”
I shake my head.
“Oh my gosh. He is such a loser.”
“Stacey...”
“I’m just calling it how I see it.”
“Well, it’s not like I need his help for any of this. I’ll be just fine.”
“You sure will,” she says, sliding her purse on her shoulder. “Well, listen. Have a safe trip. If you need me, please call.”
“I will, Stacey,” I say, following her to the front door.
“Alright, well, drive safe.”
