I step into my patient's room. She's seven years old, and her foster mother brought her in when she complained of a sore throat. I hadn't performed the tonsillectomy, but I'm the one taking care of her now. The little girl, Nasheka, has her hair pulled into two messy, lopsided and clumpy ponytails. Obviously, her Caucasian foster mother has no idea what to do with natural hair.
“How are you feeling Nasheka? Does your throat hurt?”
Nasheka grimaces and nods. “A little. I'm hungry too.”
“I will have them bring you some ice cream. How does that sound?” I ask as I read her chart. No fever. That's wonderful. This little baby will be going home soon.
“Will she be able to go home today?” the foster mother asks.
I scan over Nasheka's medical history. Several broken bones in the past year. A concussion and deliberately inflicted second degree burns. She's been abused, probably by her own mother, but her foster parent seems kind enough.
“I think we'll keep her overnight. It's late in the afternoon, and I'd like to make sure she doesn't show any sign of infection.”
Nasheka frowns. “I want to go home.”
“The doctor wants to make sure that you're well. Why don't I go home and bring back your pretty hair bows? We can fix you up really pretty before you go home. “
I am so glad she brought up the subject of hair, but Nasheka isn't. Her tiny face scrunches into an immediate frown.
“What are you using on her hair, if you don't mind my asking?”
“Oh, I bought a big jar of Vaseline, and I have a spray bottle of water. It gives her a great shine, don't you think?”
I shake my head. “I'm going to write down a list of products and leave it with her take home instructions. Also, you might want to run her down to Hairtastical in Lithonia. They will condition her hair and give her a style that you don't have to touch for weeks.”
The foster mother's eyes light up. I knew that Vaseline comment was a cry for help.
“Thank you so much!” she says. “I will take her tomorrow!”
“I'd let her rest a couple of days. Then take her.”
Nasheka grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Thank you!”
I want to laugh at her very adult and very serious gesture. This patient is going to be okay! I needed this win to lift my spirits, and for a moment at least, keep me from obsessing over Lucas.
I say goodbye to Nasheka and step back into the hallway. It's a quiet day at the hospital, so I'll probably be able to get some charts completed before the early evening emergency room rush. Nurse Connie is waiting for me, and she's wearing a smile.
“Guess what I just heard,” she says.
“That Dr. Jeffries just ran off to marry Ming Nah.”
Connie smacks my arm. “I wish you would stop with the Ming Nah talk. You could probably tell me what he ate for lunch, the way I saw you two canoodling a few minutes ago.”
“Um...okay...whatever. What did you hear?”
“Dr. Jeffries just got offered a position at the Mayo Clinic.”
“What? What department?” I can't hide my surprise. Lucas hadn't mentioned this to me.
“Oncology. They were impressed with that study he did on chemotherapy and stem cells.”
I remember the study. He and Ming Nah had bonded during that study - it's when they started sleeping together. I stayed as far away from that budding romance as possible. Now it seems like it all paid off. A job offer from the Mayo Clinic is all Lucas has ever talked about. He had it on his vision board at Emory.
“He accepted the offer?” I ask.
Connie cackles. “Girl, what do you think? That's why Ming Nah's been in panic mode this past week! She wants to go with him.”
I take in a deep breath and blow the air out through my nose. I can't believe he didn't tell me that he's moving to Minnesota! He's whispering sweet nothings in my ear and stealing kisses, and all the while he's planning to leave. That is so like him!
What am I supposed to be? The in-between time booty calls to tide him over until he gets to Minnesota? He's got me totally confused! He can catch fire if he thinks he's gonna get any going away nookie from me.
“Then, I guess you are gonna be planning a going away party, huh?” I ask Connie as I storm down the hall.
It feels like I just dodged a bullet. I was getting used to the idea of letting Lucas back into my heart, even fantasizing about a life with him. I am stupid, stupid, stupid! Lucas hasn’t changed one bit.
Ming Nah can fight to the death for him if she wants. I’m throwing in the towel.
~19~
Camille
I couldn’t let Dionne and Sydney know that they scared me with their talk of real estate scams. They think they’re so smart, especially know-it-all Dr. Baker. They don’t want me to walk in my destiny either. They’re no better than Bryan.
Still, I decided to get my own inspector and appraiser to look at the properties that I recently purchased. If something shady is going on, I at least want to know about it.
I watch with anxiety as the inspector points out several things I never would’ve noticed at my first house. Huge cracks in the foundation and roof damage that looks very severe.
The inspector frowns. “There are some major issues here. You say you had it inspected?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Unfortunately, they did a horrible job. I would’ve recommended some very major repairs prior to purchasing this. Did you get it at a big discount at least?”
I shake my head. “Not really. But it’s an investment property. I don’t plan to stay. Only to make some repairs and resell it.”
“I sure hope there’s enough equity, because you’ve got at least sixty thousand in repairs just from what I was quickly able to discern.”
Shoot! What if Dionne and Sydney were right? I can’t afford to make the repairs, and of course I can’t afford to pay the house notes.
“Thank you so much for your time,” I tell the inspector as he leaves.
When he drives off, I call Lenora.
“Hey girl,” she says. “What are you doing? You ought to join me at the day spa.”
“What I’m doing is having one of my houses inspected. And the inspector says that there are sixty thousand dollars in repairs. How in the world am I going to pay for this?”
Lenora chuckles. “I wish you had just trusted me instead of running off to get an inspector. We’ve got this. The house was appraised at one hundred seventy five thousand dollars, and you got it for one hundred twenty five thousand. That’s fifty thousand in equity. I’ve got my lender working on your home equity loan right now. We’ll spend about ten grand patching up the house and making it really pretty, and we’ll split that forty grand four ways. Then when you sell it for two hundred thousand, we have another twenty five to split from your profit.”
I shake my head. Everything she said came out in a rush, and I’m not sure I understood it all.
“I thought I paid one hundred seventy five thousand. You told me I had to put down three percent of one hundred seventy five. Where’s the rest of my down payment?”
“Well, I’ve got to break off the lender and appraiser up front!” Lenora says. “Look, Camille, just trust me. I quit my job doing this. I’m living lavish because of this.”
“Is it...illegal?”
“Girl, naw! And if it is, rich people been doing it to us for years. It’s time for us to make a come up.”
“But what about the person who buys the house? What happens when they find out about the repairs that are needed?”
“Is it our fault if they don’t do their homework or hire an inspector? By that time, we’ll be long gone. Most of the time, it’s a wealthy land owner buying up these houses anyway. It’s not your average Joe. Trust, they’ll be able to afford the repairs.”
Now that makes me feel better. I wouldn’t want some family to think they were getting a dream home when they were really getting a money pit. But a wealthy land owner is somet
hing completely different.
“Did you mention the purchases to your husband yet?” Lenora asks.
“No. I told you we have to leave him out of this.”
“Well, the lender told me we could leave him off the loan paperwork, but that you should probably put him on the deeds. You don’t have to, though.”
“No. Bryan has nothing to do with this.”
“Okay then, just trust me Camille. God knows we deserve it. Isn’t that what pastor said last week in his sermon? We deserve to reap after years of sowing!”
I can almost shout right in the living room of this dilapidated house. It is my turn to reap. Especially if we’re selling these houses to rich people to deal with. The wealth of the wicked is laid up for the righteous anyhow.
God is good. All the time.
~20~
Dionne
I’ve been home from the hospital for two days and I have yet to see or hear from Rod. Not even a text message to see if I’m okay, not to mention his child. My doctor gave me pills to reduce any further contractions and has placed me on a moderate bed rest. That means no drives to Birmingham to confront Rod and Peach in their love shack.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that we are getting a divorce. I haven’t gone as far as getting a lawyer, but I know I’ll have to do that soon. The infidelity clause in our prenup means that I’ll be okay financially. Without “daddy’s baby” I wouldn’t have proof of Rod’s infidelity. Luckily for me, Peach’s little pay check is my guarantee to financial stability. I wonder if I can get the mansion in the settlement. It can’t hurt to try.
The doorbell rings and I let out a huge sigh. I know who is at the door. It’s the rescue squad - my mama and both my grandmothers. I’m not going to be able to deal.
I open the mansion doors, and in fly the three women. Of course, Mama and Grandmere are first. They’re both wearing stylish form fitting dresses, flaunting the famous Batiste figure. Both of them are perfectly coiffed, as if they just left the salon. Neither of them look the least bit like caretakers!
At least Grandma Baker actually looks like a grandmother, with her house dress and hair in a bun. She doesn’t really care for Mama or Grandmere Batiste, and doesn’t even try to look like she’s enjoying their company.
“Dionne, what are you doing up walking around?” Mama asks.
“If I didn’t get up, who was going to let you in?”
“Well, we’re in, so up to bed you go.”
I resist. “Mama, I’m not tired.”
Grandma Baker says, “You may not think you’re tired, but your body gave you a real warning. I want to see my first great grandbaby enter the world unharmed.”
“Okay, Grandma. You know, I am really hungry. I am craving some of your chicken and dumplings.”
Grandma Baker smiles. “Of course, baby. Whatever you want to eat for the next eight months, I’m gonna be right here to cook it.”
Next eight months?
“So you’re staying until I have the baby?” I ask.
All three of them nod.
“Oui, ma petite fleur!” Grandmere Batiste says. She’s called me her little flower since I was a baby. Sometimes she calls me her little dark flower. That’s a whole other story.
“Do you have anyone on staff to get our bags from the rental car?” Mama asks. “We’ve got quite a few.”
I shake my head. “I gave everyone a few days off. I needed some quiet.”
“Well who’s been taking care of you?” Grandma Baker asks. “Is Rod back home yet?”
I sigh again. So, either Camille or Sydney has let them know that Rod isn’t here. I didn’t want to tell them about the impending divorce. Not yet.
“Sydney has been staying with me when she’s not working.”
“Well, that’s something,” Mama says.
Both my grandmothers head toward the kitchen. I’m afraid about what will happen in there. They’re both excellent cooks, but there will be war. I’ll put my money on Grandma Baker.
“I thought I taught you better,” Mama says when the grandmothers are gone.
I roll my eyes as I walk toward the downstairs master suite. “What do you mean?”
“You let a classless trollop steal your husband. Didn’t I teach you how to take care of home?”
I refuse to argue with my mother about what I did or didn’t do for Rod. I know I took care of him.
“Mama, I’m tired. I’m pregnant, remember?”
“Well at least you did that! Lord knows if I hadn’t had you girls, your daddy would’ve let me be homeless and in the streets. Go ahead and lie down. This baby needs to come out healthy and whole, honey.”
I hold my stomach as I walk slowly to mine and Rod’s bedroom. The pain that I feel there isn’t because of the baby or the fertility medicine. It’s from the realization that I’ve failed. I’ve become exactly what I never wanted to be. A carbon copy of my mama.
~21~
Camille
I’m at the dinner table with Bryan, and we are eating in silence. After his last explosion where he threw the plate and had his temper tantrum, we’ve barely exchanged ten words. He has absolutely not received his husbandly due, and I have no intentions on making that happen.
“How’s Dionne,” he grunts.
“Better. Mama and the grandmothers are there.”
Bryan nods and shoves a few forkfuls of food into his mouth. I guess that was the entire conversation, then.
I let out a sigh as I chew my turkey loaf with little enthusiasm. Maybe that’s because I’d rather be eating a steak, but after all my investments, turkey loaf is all we can afford.
Unfortunately, the other two houses that I purchased are in the same amount of disrepair as the first, but Lenora assured me that my troubles would all be over in a few weeks. I just have to endure the night time, because joy cometh in the morning for sure.
“What did you do with all of the money?” Bryan asks. “I’ve been meaning to question you about this, but I think I’m afraid of hearing the answer.”
“How do you know I didn’t give it to the church anonymously?”
Bryan responds with an evil cackle. “Because you are too stingy to do that. You showed your behind when I even suggested it.”
“I paid the bills.”
“There weren’t twenty five thousand dollars worth of bills, Camille. You still have some of the money.”
Actually, I have about twenty thousand left, and there is no way he’s getting his hands on it. I used the fifteen thousand I won in New Orleans for the down payments on my houses, and I took five thousand from the twenty five to get all of our utilities and credit card bills current. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest, but since it’s my money, it’s going to be what I want.
Our meal is interrupted by the doorbell. Bryan looks across the table at me.
“Are you going to get that?” he asks.
“What kind of man sends his wife to the door at night? It could be a killer or something.”
Bryan slams his fork down on the table and rises. He stomps over to the door and I keep eating my food. I guess he’s at the beginning of yet another tantrum.
I crane my neck to see who’s at the door when I hear a man’s voice. Actually, it’s two men and they’re wearing suits. Jehovah’s Witnesses this late in the evening? When did they start doing that?
Bryan lets the men in and walks back to the table with a slight grin on his face. “Camille, it’s for you.”
“What?”
“Ma’am, is your name Camille James?” the first man asks.
I nod. “Yes. Who are you?”
“My name is Detective Franco, and I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my associate, Detective Burkes.”
My stomach drops. The FBI?
“Well, Detective Franco, how can I help you?” I ask, hoping they don’t hear the tremble in my voice.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions, about an illegal house flipping ri
ng that we’re investigating in the Atlanta area.”
My eyes dart to Bryan, and I want to slap him in the head. He’s sitting at the table, enjoying his meal. And still smiling.
“What kind of questions?”
“May I sit?” Detective Franco asks. He sits before I reply and helps himself to a biscuit from the bowl in the center of the table. Detective Burkes sits on the other side.
“Mrs. James, we’ve been investigating this particular ring for about three years, and have identified many of the small players, such as yourself,” Detective Franco says.
“I’m not a player at all! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
He shakes his head. “Come on now, Mrs. James. You just purchased three houses in the last two weeks. All appraised by the same appraiser, and all of the loans through one lender. These are the signs of classic house flipping.”
Bryan is cracking up laughing now, and has spooned extra food onto his plate. “This is just like an episode of Law and Order,” he says.
Detective Franco says, “Look, we know that you’re new to this, because we have no previous file on you, nor do you have a record of any kind. We might even be inclined to believe that you were clueless, but only if you cooperate fully with our investigation.”
“I don’t know anything about any illegal activities,” I say.
“Well, we did find it curious that your husband’s name wasn’t on any of the documentation. Mr. James, were you aware of your wife’s purchases?”
“Nope!” Bryan says.
“Mrs. James, we want to take down the masterminds of this operation, and would be willing to overlook your participation and grant you immunity if you could help us bring them down.”
I close my eyes and swallow. This means I’ll have to give them Lenora’s name. She’s my sister in Christ. My co-laborer in the vineyard.
“You could spend up to eight years in prison,” Detective Franco says.
“What do you need to know?”
Lies and Alibis Page 8
