Scorn of Secrets

by B Truly

  Mama sighs. “Your father hasn’t been home since Friday night. I don’t know where he is. He hasn’t returned any of my phone calls or texts.”

  Tanya gasps and I drop my fork. “Have you filed a missing person’s report with the police?” I ask.

  “No, I haven’t, because I know what your father is up to—gambling the rest of our money away. This is not the first time he hasn’t come home.”

  “Has he ever been gone for this long? It’s been four days?” I question.

  Mama narrows her eyes at me. “Not this long … but from what I’m gathering, he owes a great debt.”

  “What if he’s hurt?” I try again. “We know those men threatened him.”

  “Your father is probably drunk as we speak. I’m tired of running after him. It’s exhausting.”

  Tanya bites on her thumb. “Maybe you should call the cops, Mama. Something could have happened to him. You said he’s never been gone this long.”

  “Fine.” Mama gives in. “If he’s not home by the morning, I’ll file a report.”

  Dad doesn’t come home that night or the next two. Mama filed a report the following morning and the police are supposed to be on the lookout. I overheard her explaining she hadn’t reported it initially because her husband has a drinking problem. It also isn’t the first time he’s pulled this stunt. With the knowledge of my dad’s faults, I wonder how hard the police will look. What if they think he doesn’t want to be found?

  It’s not until days later that we get answers. After hearing the doorbell ring, I’m standing at the top of the staircase. Tanya cracks the door open.

  “Mama, the cops are here!” Tanya yells.

  My heart skips a beat. It can’t be good news if the cops are on our doorstep. I ease further down the stairs as Mama goes to the door. Two male officers come into the entryway. One man is speaking in a low voice, or maybe I’m involuntarily tuning out his words. When Tanya covers her face with her hands and Mama stumbles backward, I already know the verdict.

  “We’ll still need for you to come down to identify the body, Mrs. Guillory. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I don’t realize I’m sobbing until I wonder what those awful wails are. The sounds are emerging from me. My brain slowly replays what the officer said. I heard him—my mind just didn’t want to accept what I was hearing.

  “We found his naked body on Sunday in a trash dumpster behind an abandoned building. He was shot in the head. With no identification on him, it took a few days to get an ID.”

  I remember today’s date, thinking this must just be a sick joke. It’s April 1st—April Fool’s day, and then the reality sets in as I see Tanya and Mama crying.

  The visual images invade my mind. My dad with a bullet in his head—naked and broken, abandoned. What kind of vile people would do this? They’re monsters! The images of how my father was killed become too much. Doubling over, I vomit my dinner on the entryway floor. The rest of the evening becomes a blur as I try to accept that my dad was murdered in cold blood.

  * * *

  The warm hues from the sun become obscured by misty clouds. The grayish-white masses of water vapor match my mood—gloom with an overcast of rainy days to come. With grief consuming me, will I ever feel sunny again?

  The past week went by in a haze. The funeral felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. Now, I have to grin in everyone’s face at the repast held at my grandma, Gigi’s, home. Theatre is not an art I excel in, so it will be difficult to hold a poker face. I plaster on a fake smile, accepting family and friends’ condolences. My father had a closed casket. I ponder who all knows he was shot in the head. Mama’s been very hush-hush about the topic.

  A mass of people from church where the funeral was held are here as well. Most of the family came down. Gigi’s sister made the trip, my oldest aunt, Corine, and her son from Lafayette. The eldest brother, Clemens, from New Orleans is here with his wife and my cousin, Kenya.

  My dad’s mom, Grandma Guillory, has come from Shreveport—along with his father, Papa Guillory. His brother, sister, and several cousins are also in attendance. I don’t see that side of the family often. Dad wasn’t close with his parents and his siblings live in another state. I haven’t seen Grandma Guillory in at least three years. She encases me in a bear hug, grief stricken with the loss of her son.

  “It’s good to see you, Madison.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “You too, Grandma Guillory.”

  My dad resembles his father, from his golden honey complexion to his facial features—same as mine. Grandma Guillory has smooth, flawless ebony-colored skin.

  “How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”

  “I think it was Thanksgiving three years ago.”

  Grandma Guillory shakes her head. “I probably would’ve seen you more if my son hadn’t been so absorbed in your mother.”

  My eyebrows rise. My mom, Charlotte, happens to be walking nearby and overhears her comment. Mama narrows her eyes at Grandma Guillory, who only holds her shoulders higher. I take it my grandma is not fond of Mama. Hence, why we rarely travel to Shreveport. Dad was born there. He met Mama while he was in college, and they decided to make a life in her hometown of Baton Rouge.

  I speak with Grandma Guillory for a while longer, and I tell her I’ll try to visit soon. Papa Guillory is wobbling around under the influence. I haven’t seen him without a drink in his hand since we arrived. He’s talking louder and louder by the minute. Grandma Guillory excuses herself to go chaperone her husband.

  My cousin, Kenya, approaches me while I’m hiding outside. She’s two years older. Unraveled energy rolls off Kenya. She’s always been energetic, and she has no problem speaking her mind. Dariel has nothing on her. Kenya invented the word candor.

  “How are you holding up?” Kenya asks.

  “I’m kinda operating on autopilot.”

  Kenya steps closer. “It must be difficult. I heard your dad got shot in the head. Do you know what happened?”

  I flinch. Guess that answers the question about people knowing how my dad died. Although, they may not know the underlying details—they have some insight.

  “I ... don’t know the fine details.” I change my footing. Kenya is not good at reading between the lines, because she hammers on.

  “Wasn’t he missing for a few days?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Was your dad into drugs?”

  Dari catches wind of my unease, coming outside. She swoops in to rescue me. “Kenya, your mom is looking for you.”

  Kenya bites her lips. “Do you know what she wants?”

  Dari shrugs. “Nope, but she says it’s important.”

  Kenya rolls her eyes. “I’ll be back in a minute, cuz.”

  I need to do a better job at hiding. Kenya’s interrogation is making my stomach queasy.

  “She’s clueless, huh?” Dari shakes her head when Kenya is out of earshot.

  “Yeah, she’s more outspoken than you.”

  Dari’s lips curl upward. She’s aware of my father being shot in the head and found in a dumpster. I left it at that—not wanting to dredge up the probable reason behind him getting shot. Dari didn’t ask, either—a relief.

  “The repast should be over soon. Folks are starting to leave.”

  The tension balled up inside me begins to unwind. The repast is sort of like a masquerade party. The people here are giving their condolences while secretly gossiping about my dad’s death. I have no choice but to go along with the facade. I remind myself—I only have to fake-smile and pretend everything is okay for a little longer.

  * * *

  The month of April goes by and I don’t remember much about it. I keep up appearances at school, thanking people for their condolences. When I’m alone, I try to deal with my grief. In the last month, it hasn’t gotten any better.

  Tanya’s emotions seem to run in the middle. Some days the sun is shining, and she takes plenty of selfies—her usual self. Other days, it’s
gloomy skies, and I see my reflection in Tanya’s eyes.

  Mama’s forecast does a complete one-eighty. During the month of April, I rarely see her, and when I do, she’s in her PJ’s. The first week of May, she interacts with the world again. It’s the first time since the funeral I’ve seen her in regular clothes. She goes out that weekend, followed by the next.

  Mama had started going out regularly on weekends right before dad died. I fall asleep waiting on her to come home, worried for her safety.

  When I wake on Sunday morning, I notice her bed doesn’t look slept in. The last time a parent didn’t come home, the outcome was dreadful. There haven’t been any signs of the people who committed the crime. I can only hope my dad’s debt has been paid with his death.

  My sister creeps into the kitchen, getting a glass of orange juice. “Did you know Mama didn’t come home last night?” Tanya chokes on her OJ. Apparently, she’s not aware.

  “I’ll call her,” Tanya says.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m picking at the scrambled eggs and sausage on my plate. Tanya nibbles on her bottom lip—her plate barely touched. Mama hasn’t returned her call yet.

  A couple of minutes pass, then we hear the front door open. I exhale loudly as Mama enters the kitchen.

  She takes one look at our faces and sees the worry. “Sorry I didn’t let you girls know I wasn’t coming home.”

  “Where were you?” Tanya accuses her.

  Mama places her hand on her hip. “Out, Mom. I could’ve sworn that I was your mother.”

  Tanya smirks at her. “We were worried. When dad didn’t come home....”

  Mama changes her footing. “Next time, I’ll call.”

  Next time! She must have had a ball if she plans on making this a habit.

  Tanya scrunches her nose. “What’s that on your neck?”

  I catch a glimpse of a red and blue mark on the side of her neck before she covers it with her hand, taking a step back.

  “It’s nothing.” Mama’s cheeks are scarlet. “I’m going to take a nap. You ladies can decide what you want for dinner. When I get up, we can cook.”

  She’s out of the kitchen before I can blink. I don’t know whose mouth is hanging lower—mine or Tanya’s. That looked like a passion mark on her neck. Surely, she couldn’t have been getting her groove on. My dad’s grave isn’t even cold yet.

  * * *

  Mama sits us down to go over our new norm. “You girls are old enough for me to be frank. I’ve had to get a job to help with the load. Both of you also need jobs ASAP.”

  Tanya wrinkles her nose. “I thought dad got an insurance check from his job.”

  “The insurance money barely put a dent in the debt your father put us in,” Mama sighs.

  The situation must be bad if she got a job. I’ve never seen her work—ever.

  “If I’m available, I’ll help with your transportation to work. If not, you’ll need to take an Uber.”

  “Why can’t we drive dad’s car?” Tanya asks.

  Where is dad’s car? Come to think of it, I haven’t seen it since the last time I saw him.

  “His car has been repo’d, so we only have one car. We’ll just have to make do.”

  “What if we can’t find a job?” I ask.

  “There’s still time before summer starts. I expect both of you to actively be looking and I’ll be garnishing your wages.”

  “What do you mean?” Tanya’s brow knits.

  “I’ll be taking most of your checks.”

  “We have to work to help pay the bills?” Tanya crosses her arms.

  “If you want to eat and have a roof over your head, then yes. The income from my new job won’t be enough to cover the bills alone.”

  Tanya pokes out her lips. Dari and I have been talking about getting a summer job anyway. We don’t have a choice if the money is that tight. We’ll have to pull together.

  5

  Rico Suave

  Mama continues her new weekend trend. She goes out and doesn’t come home the next two weekends in a row. The only consolation is that she informs Tanya and me beforehand.

  Memorial Day weekend cruises in and Mama promises to return by Sunday morning. “Why do you think Mama is going out every weekend and not coming home?” I huff.

  Tanya shakes her head. “Looks to me like she’s dating.”

  “But ... dad hasn’t been dead for even two months.”

  “I didn’t say I like it. I think the hickey on her neck she was sporting the other week was a dead giveaway.”

  I’ve come to the same conclusion. I just want it to be another explanation. “It’s too soon.”

  “What can we do about it?” Tanya shrugs. “Maybe she’s grieving, and this is a phase.”

  So much for Charlotte’s dating being a phase. If it is, it’s not one she’s growing out of. Sunday afternoon, Mama is scurrying around straightening up. She’s dressed in her best—a fancy, pearl-colored, knee-length dress. She must be going out again. Her long, silky black hair looks glamorous.

  “Is dinner almost done?” Mama straightens her jazzy dress.

  “Yes, just about.”

  “Good. I have a guest coming over I want you and your sister to meet.”

  My neck jerks backward. “Who?”

  “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

  My stomach roils, pondering who Mama’s mystery man is. Tanya and I are setting the fancy china on the table in the dining area. We normally only eat in this room on special occasions. Mama has given us specific instructions on setting up.

  “Do you have any idea who Mama’s mystery man is?” Tanya raises her eyebrow.

  “No clue. I can’t believe she’s inviting a man over for dinner. It must be serious if she wants us to meet him.” The doorbell rings.

  “Guess we’re about to find out,” Tanya sighs.

  “My company is here, and I expect both of you to be on your best behavior.” Mama fluffs out her hair before she sashays to open the door.

  A tall, attractive man with caramel-colored skin enters. Mama loops her arm through his, walking him into the family room. Tanya shifts her weight. I suddenly find the floor more interesting. My blood’s boiling with her having the audacity to bring a strange man to our home when she’s barely been widowed for two months. If this is her grieving, why can’t she deal with it in another way? Other than running into the arms of a new man?

  Mama’s honey-colored irises dance. “Girls, I want you to meet a good friend, Regan Jenkins. Regan, this is my older daughter, Tanya and my younger, Madison.”

  “You mean, your boyfriend,” I blurt.

  Mama narrows her eyes at me. I shrink away from her piercing gaze.

  Regan’s lips curve up to the side. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  Tanya says hello, not louder than a whisper. I’m too irritated to speak, so I remain quiet.

  “Let’s eat,” Mama announces, leading Regan to the dining room.

  I push the food around my plate as Mama fills in the gaps about Regan. He’s into real estate—a broker with his own company. He lives in Houston, Texas, and they met while he was in town. Regan has been coming on the weekends to visit, which explains where she’s been.

  The way Mama is fawning over Regan, you’d swear he was The Rock or Vin Diesel. The entire time I’m thinking, it’s too soon for you to be dating. Next week is only two months since your husband’s death. The little food I’ve eaten threatens to come up when I contemplate if she’s trying to replace my father. Why else would she flaunt her new man around like everything is peachy-keen?

  Tanya has on a poker face. She smiles, pretending to be involved in the conversation. From her sarcastic comments, Tanya’s on the same page as me. She’s not happy about Mama dating, either.

  Dinner seems to drag. I tune out Mama’s epic story about Regan. The only thing I’ve caught her saying in the last twenty minutes is that he has two sons my age and his wife died three years ago.

  Regan’s plate is cle
an, so I offer to take it. Dish duty calls my name—anything to get away. I know Tanya has had her fill when she offers a hand. Tanya’s mouth is pulled into a tight line as we do the dishes. I’m washing and she’s loading the dishwasher.

  After I glance in the dining room to make sure they’re still socializing, I say, “You still think she’s going through a phase?”

  Tanya shrugs. “I hate to admit it, but it seems like she’s moved on.”

  * * *

  School ends. I made it through my sophomore year, barely remembering the past two months. I manage to find a job a week later. Dariel and I land a gig at the same store in the mall. Tanya is still applying at places.

  Working turns out to be a good thing. It helps keep my mind off my sorrow. Dari and I are on lunch break, grabbing a bite to eat from the mall food court.

  “Is your mom still acting like a teen going out every weekend?” Dari asks, taking a bite of her pizza.

  “Yep.” I throw a French fry in my mouth.

  “I can’t believe she has a boyfriend. Your dad has barely turned over in his grave.”

  My thought exactly. “I don’t know what she’s thinking. She must really be into him if she’s bringing him over for dinner.”

  “That sucks, Madison. Maybe she’s just lonely.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  * * *

  My first paycheck is almost eighty hours. Mama has timed my check like clockwork. As soon as I’m home she asks about it.

  “Madison, didn’t you get paid today?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good, I’ll cash the check for you. Let me have it.”

  Reaching in my purse, I give it to her. “How much are you taking for the bills?”

  She glances at the check. “Once I cash it, I’ll give you twenty-five dollars back.”

  My mouth falls open. I don’t mind helping. My dad left us in a bind, but she’s more than garnishing my wages. She’s taking almost my entire check.

  “Good thing I haven’t found a gig yet,” Tanya mumbles under her breath.