Stepping to a New Day

by Beverly Jenkins

  “You’re a good kid, Eli. When we lived in Chicago I didn’t allow him outside a lot because of all the shootings and violence, so he’s more into his maps and books. Now that we’re here, I’d like for him to play outside.”

  “Is it okay if I get him a skateboard and a helmet and stuff?”

  The offer put tears in her eyes. “That’s so sweet. Yes, you may. I’ve signed him up for the Big Brother program but so far he hasn’t been matched with anyone. He needs a guy in his life, especially now that he’s getting older so, thank you, Eli.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll bring the board by when I get it.”

  “Okay.” She smiled at him and went into the house.

  Feeling pretty good about himself, Eli walked the short distance home.

  Back at the Clark house, the girls were helping TC clean up, but when Tiff began to load the dishwasher, he said, “Hold up, Tiff. Dishwasher isn’t working.”

  “Since when?” Leah asked, walking over to it and opening the door.

  “Since now. Good time to learn how to do dishes by hand.”

  Both girls stared.

  “But that’s why we have a dishwasher,” Tiff pointed out.

  TC smiled. “And when you go to college and live in a cheap apartment that doesn’t have one, what’re you going to do?”

  “Use paper,” Leah tossed back as if it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard.

  “Wrong.”

  She whined, “Aw, come on, Uncle TC. This is the twenty-first century. Nobody washes dishes by hand.”

  “How about girls in Afghanistan?”

  She blew out a breath. “Way to bring the guilt, Unc.”

  “Thank you. Now, go grab your music and let’s get started.”

  Tiff looked confused. “Music?”

  “Yes. Washing dishes and music go together.”

  Looking doubtful they trudged off to grab their phones and Bluetooth speakers and when they returned, he motioned them to the sink. “Leah, since you’re the oldest, you get to wash.”

  “Thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Watch the sarcasm,” he warned.

  Instantly contrite, she whispered, “Sorry.”

  “Lil Bit, you dry.”

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  So for the next hour, while Rihanna, Taylor Swift, and a bunch of other singers TC didn’t recognize filled the kitchen, the Clark girls learned to wash dishes the old-school way. He showed them how much water to put in the sink and how much detergent to add. When it came time to start, he told Leah to put the silverware in the soapy water first.

  “Why first?”

  “Because silverware goes in your mouth and you want the water to be clean. Some folks wash the glasses first or the plates but I raised my kids to wash the forks and spoons first.”

  “I guess that makes sense. I learned something today.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Yes.”

  So the silverware was washed first. As Tiff dried the forks and spoons and placed them back in the drawers, Leah asked, “Do I make fresh water now?”

  “No. Glasses and plates next. You can put them in separately or in together. Just be careful. You don’t want a glass to break and cut your hands in the water.”

  Her eyes widened.

  TC smiled. “There’s a lot more to this than you thought, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  He watched her wash the outside of the first glass and when she paused and stared at it as if puzzled by something, he asked, “Problem?”

  “Yes. How do I wash the inside?”

  He showed her and she said, “Duh, Leah. Simple.”

  “Not if you’ve never done it before.”

  Their dad appeared in the kitchen. “Whoa! You ladies are washing dishes? Is the dishwasher on the fritz?”

  Tiff shook her head as she dried a glass. “Uncle TC said we needed to learn because when we go to college we may live in a cheap place that doesn’t have one.”

  An impressed-looking Gary met TC’s smile. “Way to go, Uncle Bub. Any of the pizza left?”

  TC said, “Saved you some dough and the sauce is still on the stove. Cheese and meat in the fridge. You ladies think you can handle the rest of the dishes and show your dad how to make his pizza?”

  They nodded.

  “Then my work here is done. Going up to my room to watch my Oakland As play some baseball.”

  “Bye, Unc,” both girls called.

  He climbed the stairs to the laughter and voices of Gary and his daughters having a good time and said quietly, “Way to go, Uncle Bub.”

  Later that evening, Genevieve decided only an idiot like Riley would think impersonating Trent and then stealing a car was a good idea. She hoped the authorities would keep him locked up and throw away the key. According to the text she’d received earlier from Lily, Riley was being represented by one of Eustacia’s lawyers and they were scouring Europe trying to find her so she could post Riley’s bail. Why the woman continued to take Riley’s calls was something Gen didn’t understand because if he called her, even if he claimed to be on fire, she’d still hang up on him. Putting her silly ex-husband out of her mind, she took her jacket out of the downstairs closet to wait for Tamar to pick her up for the Ladies Auxiliary meeting. They usually didn’t meet on Saturdays but something must be going on for Sheila to call them together by text on such short notice. Marie was still in her room, so Gen assumed she wasn’t going. After Gen’s announcement that she was moving, Marie had even less to say, so Gen had all but given up on trying to save their friendship.

  When she and Tamar got to Lily’s house all the women in town were there. From Rocky to Gemma Dahl to Anna Ruiz to Bernadine and Kelly Douglas. Everyone except Marie.

  Tamar said, “Genevieve, please take that seat over there,” and she gestured to the beautiful purple rocker Trent purchased especially for Lily when he built the room for her.

  By the smiles on all their faces, Gen sensed this was not going to be a regular meeting. “What are you all up to?”

  Lily said, “Just sit. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  As she sat, Bernadine stood. “Genevieve Gibbs, you’ve impressed us all with your quest to remake yourself. You’ve been focused, strong and determined. You even have a new home on the way, so, to show how much we support and love you, we have decided to give you a house-warming party.”

  An amazed Genevieve watched as the women brought in gift after gift after gift and laid them at her feet. She started to cry.

  Sheila said, “Anything you don’t like you can exchange, so not to worry. Okay?”

  Hands trembling with emotion, Gen began opening her presents. There were towels and sheets, pillowcases and candles. Two sets of china. Cookware, bakeware, silverware. One box held a dozen crystal champagne flutes, another a gorgeous bathrobe in her favorite shade of gold. For the next ten minutes she opened the mountain of boxes and gift bags. Anything and everything she might have purchased for her new home, her friends supplied, and when she was done, she was a hot crying mess. Tissue in hand, she looked around at the women she loved most of all, and a part of her wished Marie had been there, too. The always intuitive Tamar said, “Don’t worry about Marie. She’ll be back with us soon.”

  Gen dearly hoped so.

  Lily said, “In the meantime, champagne from the Boss Lady’s collection.”

  “Let’s use my flutes.”

  So the flutes were washed and once they were all filled, everyone raised theirs and Bernadine declared, “To sassy women everywhere. Long may we reign!”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  The women spent the next hour mingling and talking to Gen about her new place. She looked at her bounty and asked, “Where in the world am I going to store this until the trailer arrives?”

  Lily said, “You can leave it here. We’ll bring everything to your place when you move in.”

  Gen liked the simple solution. Three y
ears ago, she had been standing on her front porch nursing her latest bite from Riley’s hog and wondering what she was going to do with her life. Now, she was stronger, better, and feeling brand-new. She’d come a long way and just as she had the day she left Riley, she had no intentions of looking back.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Although Sunday brought a cold, bone-chilling rain to Henry Adams, Reverend Paula was pleased with the turnout at church and the positive responses she’d received on her sermon. She’d stayed after the service to meet with the parents of the teens going on the mission trip to Jamaica and now, she was home. She still hadn’t heard anything about her grandfather’s funeral, so she sent a text to her uncle Calvin. His immediate reply: Funeral on Saturday. Della said she told you. Paula sighed. Della hadn’t told her a thing. Rather than expose her aunt’s lie, Paula typed back, Be there Wed. Thx!

  Putting the phone down, she walked over to the windows and looked out at the gray day. Obviously Della didn’t want her at the funeral. She’d hated Paula from the day they met and Paula still didn’t understand why. Her grandfather certainly hadn’t favored her over her aunt. In fact, he had no problem telling Paula to her face how much of a burden she was and how much he resented her presence in his life and home.

  Leaving the window, she entered her bedroom and sat down at her small desk to boot up her laptop. She needed to determine how much of her bank account the airlines would demand for a round-trip ticket on such short notice. The fare was only slightly staggering, but the idea of having to return to Blackbird continued to haunt her, so after securing her ticket, she turned on the TV, hoping the baseball game might distract her enough to keep the demons at bay. When that failed, she took down a book she’d been anxious to dive into but the memories of growing up kept playing in her head so she closed it and looked at the clock. It was half past four. She didn’t really want to cook dinner but knew she had to eat something, so she decided to brave the day’s still ugly weather and seek the balm and good food found at the Dog and Cow.

  When she entered, the after-church rush was over so it wasn’t as crowded as it probably had been an hour ago. Mal walked up. “Nice sermon this morning, Reverend. Table or booth?”

  “Whatever you have is fine.”

  He scanned the interior for an open spot. “Okay, this way,” and led her to one of the tables.

  “Thanks, Mal.”

  “No problem. Eli will be with you in a sec.”

  Paula used the time alone to applaud herself for having left her trailer and to look around to see who else was there. She spotted town construction boss Warren Kelly and his auburn-haired wife, Jayne. Behind them Gemma Dahl and her grandson Wyatt shared a table with Zoey and her parents, Reg and Roni. When they waved Paula’s way, she waved back. In one of the booths by the windows Sheriff Will Dalton sat eating with his wife, Vicky, who’d been diagnosed with ovarian cancer back in January and was undergoing chemo. She looked frail as a baby bird and the treatments had taken her hair but she was laughing at something her husband was saying and that made Paula smile. Behind the Daltons sat Clay Dobbs and Riley Curry wearing a pair of oversized dark glasses. Since there was no sun outside, she assumed the shades were covering the two black eyes he’d reportedly been given by Trent July. Trent’s cast-encased hand had been signed by nearly everyone during coffee hour that morning. Because she didn’t condone violence of any kind Paula hadn’t added her signature, but she certainly understood Trent’s response to Curry’s scam.

  “Hey, Reverend Paula.” Eli walked up and placed a glass of water on her table. He was wearing the black shirt and pants that were standard attire for the waitstaff.

  “Hey there, Eli.”

  “What can I get you?” he asked. “Special today is baked trout, brown rice, and asparagus almandine.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have that.”

  He wrote it down. “By the way. That special moment you told me to look out for? It came and I talked to my dad. Turned out okay. Thanks for the advice.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He continued in a softer voice. “Don’t tell anyone but Siz is going to teach me to cook. I figure I can do dinner a few times a week and give my dad a break.”

  “How thoughtful, Eli.”

  He blushed a bit. “Thanks. I’ll get your order in.”

  He left her alone and Paula beamed. Like Devon, Eli had come a long way.

  She picked up her glass to take a sip of water but paused when Clay approached her table.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute, Reverend?”

  She set her glass down. “Sure. Have a seat.”

  He took a seat opposite her and said, “Hate to bother you, but I need some advice on how to convince Genevieve to stop making a fool of herself with all this change nonsense.”

  Paula assessed him for a moment. It saddened her that he didn’t support Gen’s new view of herself so she said gently, “All I can tell you is the only person we can control is ourselves.”

  His lips thinned and he gazed off for a few seconds. She knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear but it was the truth.

  “So you don’t think a man should be head of his household?”

  Paula paused. “If he has a household to be the head of. You and Gen aren’t married, are you?”

  “No, but— Never mind. I knew I shouldn’t be talking to a woman about this.”

  And to her surprise he got up and stalked off.

  Her eye caught Mal’s and as if he knew what had been discussed, he shook his head in what looked to be disappointment, and offered a shrug as if to say: What’re you going to do?

  She shrugged in reply. She hoped Clay and Gen worked out their issues because knowing the path Gen was on, Clay was going to wind up on the curb permanently if he wasn’t there already.

  In the middle of thinking about that, Rocky appeared at her side. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure.” Paula was beginning to wonder if maybe she should’ve stayed home and had a nice quiet dinner there instead.

  “I’ve decided to tell Jack yes.”

  “Are you at peace with the decision?”

  “I am.”

  “Then congratulations,” she offered genuinely. “You’ll be good for each other.”

  “He’ll be good for me. Not sure about the other way around, but I’m going to try and make it work. Thanks for listening, Reverend Paula.”

  “No problem. Let me know if the church can help in any way.”

  “Will do.”

  Watching Rocky head back to the kitchen, Paula was happy for her and knew everyone in town would be, too. She and Jack were well loved. Paula looked around and considered hiding under the table until Eli returned with her meal in order to avoid having to counsel anyone else, but smiling at the silly thought, she took out her tablet and played a few rounds of Candy Crush instead.

  Her meal finally arrived and as always, it didn’t disappoint. The fish was flaky and well-seasoned. The rice and asparagus were superb. Rumor had it that Siz was being courted by a fancy restaurant down in Lawrence. Paula didn’t want to deny him the opportunity to advance his career but on the other hand, he could cook for her for the rest of her natural-born days.

  That night in Paula’s dream she was walking in her grandfather’s backyard. The surrounding trees were covered with thousands of black butterflies and the sound of their wings filled the air like voices moaning an old gospel hymn. Out in the middle of the yard two women were on their knees. At first, she thought they might be praying, but as she looked closer she saw that they were using their hands to dig a hole in the dirt, and that their movements matched the cadence of the butterflies’ eerie song. Just as she wondered who they might be, one of the women turned her way. The face was old, ancient, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Although she appeared familiar, Paula couldn’t place her. When the second woman turned, Paula froze. It was her mother, Patricia, and she too was weeping.

  “Mama?”

 
No response. Instead the two began digging faster and deeper. The dirge of the butterflies grew stronger. The sky darkened. Thunder boomed, lightning answered, and rising winds tore at Paula’s robe. The dirge was now so deafening she covered her ears with her hands. The butterflies suddenly peeled away from the trees and swarmed her like a malevolent cloud. Razor-sharp wings beat against her face, fouling her eyes, stealing her breath. She opened her mouth to scream. The black cloud parted just as her mother reached into the open earth and withdrew a human skull. She raised it high against the violent storm and Paula bolted awake.

  Shaking, Paula turned on the lamp on her nightstand. She dragged her hands over her eyes and felt the damp sweat on her face. Good lord! What was that? She drew in a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Aspects of the nightmare were already beginning to fade, but the skull in her mother’s hand remained. Had the nightmare been fueled by her grandfather’s upcoming funeral? And who was the old woman with her mother? Paula was sure she knew her, but her name and identity remained just out of reach.

  Having no answers, she got up, washed her face, and walked through the darkness to the kitchen for a drink of water. Returning to her bedroom, she turned off the light and scooted back beneath the covers, hoping to go back to sleep, but remnants of the disturbing dream lingered and a strong sense of foreboding kept her awake for quite some time.

  Over at the Clark house, the girls and Gary were asleep but TC was in his bedroom awake. There was a late-night NBA game on ESPN but he wasn’t paying it much attention because he had other things on his mind. Years ago, his wife Carla saw a card company’s commercial on TV about a man who couldn’t read, who’d saved all the cards he’d received from his family and friends in a box. The commercial went on to show the man getting help from a kindly tutor, and at the end, sitting down and reading the decades of cards he’d hoarded. Carla encouraged TC to start a box of his own and he had. It originally held a pair of work boots. Why he’d placed the box in the truck along with his other personal stuff when he left Oakland he had no idea, but he opened it now and looked inside. It was stuffed with cards dating back to the ’90s. Envelopes in every color of the rainbow held greetings he’d received from his kids for his birthdays, Father’s Days, and myriad holidays. When the kids were young, he’d been able to trick them into reading them by saying he wanted to hear them express the written sentiments, but once they grew up and moved away, their cards came by mail and he could only open them, look at them, and put them away. You’re pretty pitiful, he thought to himself. And he supposed he was. Lord knew he wanted to be able to read, and now that he was on the downslope of life the urge to set aside the fear and take the plunge grew stronger, but the fear was just as strong. Reverend Paula’s sermon that morning about paying homage to the ancestors struck a nerve. Carla hadn’t been an ancestor but she had been his wife, and tackling his deficiency once and for all would not only honor her but also people like his father, grandfather, and the others in his line, all the way back to slavery, who hadn’t been able to read, either. His kids were the first readers in his family. Carla’s family read of course, but not the people on his side, at least as far as he knew. He’d tried to get around his lack by embracing audio books, and over the years convinced himself that that was enough, but it wasn’t and he knew it. The face of Genevieve Gibbs floated across his mind’s eye just as it had the last time he’d had this debate with himself. Carla always strongly believed that God put people in your life when you needed them. Was that the reason he’d ended up in Henry Adams? Fate? He didn’t know but sometime soon he needed to take a trip to the wizard for some courage and find out.