Wallflowers:Three of a Kind

by CP Smith

  The truthfulness in that statement hit me as I defended Devin. He wasn’t the type of man to use a woman. He was the best kind of man. Principled. Dedicated. Honest. Also the kind that would be hard to get over when he left.

  “Perhaps,” he answered. “But I’d be remiss in my duties as your friend not to warn you.”

  I glanced at Bernice, who was staring at me with concern, then looked at Eunice and found her glaring at him. I had a feeling he’d be spending the night at his own place.

  Wanting more than anything to be alone with my thoughts, so I could dissect every detail of the evening, I mumbled, “Night all,” and went inside.

  Bernice followed me into their apartment and slammed the door behind her, leaving Odis and Eunice in the hall.

  “Don’t you give a moment’s thought to what he said,” Bernice called out as I opened my former bedroom door.

  “I won’t,” I lied. Odis loved me, I knew this, but it hurt deep in that hollow place we all carry within us that he assumed I couldn’t hold a man like Devin’s attention away from the city’s Bold and Beautiful.

  “Devin isn’t the type of man to entangle himself with the harpies in this town.”

  I paused at the door and asked, “How do you know?” without looking at her.

  “Only weak men want weak women. Devin’s a man’s man. He’ll want a real woman, a strong one with backbone, not some shallow marshmallow who can’t think for herself.”

  “And you think I’m a woman like that?” I questioned, glancing over my shoulder.

  She took a step closer and met me eye to eye, her expression riddled with pride. “No matter what they threw at you, you never caved, butterbean. You didn’t kowtow even as a child. You stood up to my daddy and refused to bend to his will. I’d say that’s real enough.”

  I stood a little straighter at the compliment, the hollowness inside me filling just a tad.

  “Thanks, Bernie.”

  “No thanks needed when you’re speakin’ the truth.”

  I smiled and started toward my bed. “Calla?” Bernice called out again, so I stepped back out the door and looked at her. “You deserve this.”

  My brows pulled together in confusion. “Deserve what?”

  “I know you think you don’t deserve to be happy, but you’re wrong. Preston Armstrong will do or say whatever he has to, to get his way. Even with you.”

  “You’ve lost me, Bernie.” But she’d scored a direct hit to my heart.

  “We screwed up with you, sweet girl. We didn’t force you to talk about it when it happened. We foolishly thought you’d come to us, but you never did. You were so damn strong, always were, that we thought you’d seen it for what is was.”

  “Bernie, you’re gonna have to speak English or, at the very least, like you’re talkin’ to someone who doesn’t have a clue what you’re goin’ on about.”

  Bernice looked almost scared to speak, then she straightened her shoulders and explained. “Calla, no sane adult is gonna blame a six-year-old for the death of their son. And my father is anything but crazy. He was tryin’ to manipulate you. He’d probably been savin’ that emotional blackmail for years knowin’ that you blamed yourself.”

  I blanched. I’d never told a single soul about that day. I’d wanted to forget it like yesterday’s laundry. Tried for years to stop his accusation from replaying in a loop like a song on repeat.

  “How? How did you know?”

  “Betsy, the housekeeper at the time. She called me before you left, told me about the whole sordid mess. We didn’t know what to do short of murdering our own father, so we played it by ear. We knew you’d shut down if we pushed you to talk, so we waited for you to come to us. But you acted fine when you got home, like his manipulation had rolled off your shoulders, so we misguidedly thought you saw through his bullcrap.”

  “But he wouldn’t—I mean, I’m his granddaughter, he wouldn’t . . .”

  “Wouldn’t what? Manipulate his only grandchild to further his purpose? Wouldn’t disregard an innocent child’s feelings he should have been protectin’ to get his way? Wouldn’t write off his daughters because they wanted to live life on their own terms and not some mapped-out course conceived before they were born?”

  I was taken aback. Bernice was saying my grandfather, a man who should have been looking out for my best interests, had systematically destroyed my confidence, my emotional state, and my childhood in an effort to control my life.

  “We’d foolishly hoped that with your daddy gone, he’d change his ways and soften with the loss. But it was apparent every time you came home after a visit that he hadn’t. But you were so strong and never conformed, no matter how much he tried to shake your confidence, that we thought you were fine in spite of him. But, Calla, in all these years, not once did it ever occur to me that you actually believed it. That you believed you didn’t deserve happiness as some sort of penance for your family’s death.”

  With that one sentence, she ripped me open like a single slice of a blade. My chest felt tight, like the air in my lungs had been knocked out of me, and no matter how much I tried to fill them, it would never be enough. “How?” I finally muttered, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “How did you know?”

  “The other night you said when he leaves not if. As if it’s a forgone conclusion. People only think that way when their mind tells them they aren’t good enough, that they don’t deserve somethin’ because of past actions.”

  She waited for me to confirm her suspicions, but I couldn’t utter a word. She’d laid my deepest, darkest secret to bear witness to the light of day, and I didn’t know how to process it.

  “That’s why you thought you should settle for a man who is safe, isn’t it? You don’t think a man like Devin will stay for the long-haul because he’ll eventually see that you’re not worth the effort.”

  “I—” I finally muttered, not sure of my response, but she cut me off.

  “You. Are. Worth it,” she bit out fiercely.

  That took the wind right out of my sails and left me adrift. My ability to hold it together was slipping fast, so I threw my hands in the air and shouted, “FINE! I’m worth it,” hoping she would let the subject drop. I needed space quickly or I’d lose control, and I’ve never, not once since my family died, cried in front of my aunts.

  Bernice smiled at my outburst. “Good. Now keep tellin’ yourself that until you believe it.”

  “Bossy old woman,” I mumbled, then kissed her on the cheek and turned to escape to my room.

  “I’m not old. Fifty-six is the new thirty-six,” she shouted through the door, but I ignored her and leaned against the door, sliding to the floor as tears welled.

  Did my grandparents truly manipulated me all these years to control me?

  I thought back to all the times I’d been with them and couldn’t recall a single instance when I’d felt loved. There was no warmth in that house, no concern for the child left behind by tragedy, only coolness that emphasized my loneliness.

  “How could you?” I hiccupped as the tears I’d been holding back flowed freely. “I trusted you.”

  Devastated and heartsick, I crawled into bed with my clothes on and turned off my lamp. I tossed and turned, replaying conversations with my grandparents over in my head while wondering where Devin was. Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, after I’d evaluated the last twenty-seven years of my life, I drifted off to sleep with my aunt’s declaration whispering softly through my mind.

  You’re worth it.

  ✿✿✿

  Devin’s hands clenched into fists as he watched Nate comfort Carmella Espinoza. Nate had viewed the body to confirm Strawn’s suspicions, then went to Carmella’s house and broke the news to her personally. She didn’t believe him, insisted on seeing Maria with her own two eyes, so he’d driven her to the morgue.

  Maria had been in the water almost a week, so any trace evidence that may have pointed them in the direction of the killer was lost in the murky wat
ers of the Savannah River.

  She’d been strangled to death, then dumped. If not for a downed tree that snagged her lifeless body, she could have washed out to sea, and they’d have never known what happened to her.

  “Bobby Jones was waitin’ for Calla when she got home last night,” Devin told Strawn.

  Turning to look at Devin, Strawn raised a brow but didn’t respond.

  “He threatened me.”

  “Verbally or physically?”

  Devin stared blankly at Strawn. “The only way men like him know how,” Devin growled.

  “He’ll ruin you?”

  “More like Preston Armstrong will.”

  “I take it he figured out Calla’s yours?”

  For the first time since he received Strawn’s call about Maria, he grinned. It was sinister. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Have you found anything that links Jones to Stutter?”

  “Not yet. I spent last night huntin’ for Calla. Give me a couple of hours, and I’ll have enough information to hang him out to dry if it’s there.”

  “Do I want to know where you’ll come by this information?”

  “Not unless you want the Feds breathin’ down your back.”

  “Connections?”

  “Yeah. Went to college with him. He’s a few years older. From Savannah originally; lives in Baltimore now.”

  Movement caught Devin’s eye and he turned to watch Nate lead Carmella out of the building. “If this leads back to Armstrong, your case has to be solid before you make a move,” Devin mumbled, keeping his eyes on Carmella.

  “Agreed,” Strawn answered. “We’ll need big guns if we’re gonna accuse Armstrong or anyone connected to him.”

  “If we find enough to tie this to Armstrong, the Feds might tag along for the ride.”

  Strawn mulled that over for a moment. “You said Stutter had an offshore account and the payments were made from the Middle East?” he asked. “You think Homeland Security might be interested?”

  Devin’s attention turned to Strawn. “If they were, they’d tie up any loose ends, probably put a bow on it for good measure.”

  “I’ll make a phone call,” Strawn said, raising a hand to his neck to work out the kinks. “Find me somethin’ that links Jones to Stutter or Foo, then call me and we’ll meet at Jacobs’ bar to keep a lid on this.”

  “On it,” Devin replied and headed for the door.

  They parted ways in the parking lot, each with a fire burning in their belly to catch Maria’s killer.

  Devin waved off Strawn as he pulled out then put on his helmet and looked at his watch. It was 7:45 a.m. He knew Calla would be heading to work, so he’d wait to call her. Throwing his leg over his Harley, he started it and put on his helmet. As he adjusted his mirrors, the reflection of a man sitting in a car across the street caught his attention. It was Taft, the reporter who’d written the article about him.

  “Fuckin’ vultures,” he bit out as he opened the throttle, ripping out onto the street without yielding at the stop sign, hoping his quick exit would lose the reporter on his tail. He made a sharp right onto 66th Street then gunned the Harley to catch a green light before it changed. Twenty feet from his goal, a truck pulled out in front of him. He should have had enough time to stop safely, but his brakes didn’t react like they should. He squeezed the hand brake harder, causing his front wheel to lock up. His choices were limited as he barreled down on the vehicle, so he made the quick decision to dump his bike and launched himself toward the back of the tuck, aiming for the bed.

  Pain seared down his back when he hit the bed liner. The driver panicked with the impact, crashing into the car in front of him, propelling Devin backward to the tailgate. The gate popped open when he slammed into it and deposited him back onto the street with a jarring thud, knocking the breath out of him. Cars came to a screeching halt, the sound of metal hitting metal reverberating around him as the vehicles stopped mere feet from his head.

  Trying to catch his breath, Devin lay still for a moment, inventorying his injuries. He was damn lucky he wasn’t dead.

  Turning his head slowly, he looked at his Harley.

  It appeared to be totaled, pinned underneath a minivan.

  “Fuck.”

  “You okay?” a man shouted.

  “Define okay,” Devin grunted, sitting up slowly. He pulled off his helmet and examined the back. It was cracked.

  The clicking sound of a camera rapid-firing drew Devin’s attention. To his right, Taft stood at the curb with a camera to his eye, shooting the scene in front of him.

  Devin pushed through the pain and got to his feet, moving toward the reporter, stone-faced. Taft pulled the camera from his face and smiled, bowing once before hightailing it to his silver Camry.

  The world spun suddenly as Devin gave pursuit. He put a knee to the ground to steady himself.

  “An ambulance is on the way,” a bystander shouted. “You shouldn’t be movin’.”

  Reaching into his back pocket, Devin pulled out his cell. The screen was cracked, but it turned on. Swiping Strawn’s number, he fell to his back and closed his eyes against the headache exploding through his temples.

  ✿✿✿

  Opening my eyes, I listened to the chirping sound of my cell phone ringing. Foggy from lack of sleep, I grabbed the phone and answered it without looking at the caller ID.

  My heart raced as I put it to my ear, sure it was Devin calling to update me on Maria. I prayed silently before answering that I’d been mistaken the night before. That Maria was alive and well.

  “Devin?” I croaked out, my throat dry as a desert.

  “I have a car downstairs waitin’ for you,” my grandfather stated, his tone angry and deadly serious. “I expect to see you within the hour,” he ordered and then hung up without waiting for my reply.

  I fell back onto my pillow and groaned.

  Then I got angry.

  Ten years I’d carried around the guilt of his accusation. Ten years I’d I fought with the pain that nothing I did would ever atone for the part I played in my family’s death, even when I knew deep down I shouldn’t blame myself for the actions of a child. But that little girl had ruled my emotions like a puppet master, directing my actions with practiced ease, and no matter how many times I told myself it was an unfortunate accident, the stubborn child whispered inside my head that I was wrong.

  Today, she was silent, the strings she’d pulled severed permanently because Bernice’s words had curled around me like a suit of armor, deafening the voice.

  For the first time since my family died, the pain I’d been holding on to, governing my life so I was only breathing, not actually living, was gone.

  You’re worth it!

  Throwing the covers back, I marched to my bedroom door and flung it open.

  My aunts’ apartment was huge compared to mine. Decorated in muted tones of green and beige, their style was relaxed. A brown leather sofa and loveseat were the focal points in the living room, arranged so you could see the TV hanging over the old brick fireplace. The kitchen opened to the living room, and a large center island separated the two spaces.

  Eunice was sitting at the bar when I walked in. As I approached, she lifted a mug of coffee to her lips then paused and smiled sadly at me.

  “You know something?” I asked, rushing to her. “Did you hear about Maria?”

  “No,” she sighed, returning her mug to the counter then raising her hands to her face to give it a good rub in frustration. “About Odis Lee,” she said after pulling her hand from her face. “Butterbean, I’m sorry about what he said last night. I want you to know if I’d had any inklin’, I would have ended the relationship with him years ago.”

  “Sorry?” I asked, confused.

  She turned in her seat and took my hands. “Odis, you see, has been keepin’ an eye on things.”

  “On what things?”

  “On you.” Her voice faded away, her focus drifting over my shoulder at some unknown point as pain etc
hed her face.

  I felt my anger spike as what she said filtered through my brain and locked in tight. “Granddaddy,” I bit out.

  She nodded, then rubbed her chin against her shoulder—an action I was accustomed to when she was upset—looking older than she had the day before.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Odis showed up last night after I’d already said good night to him for no other reason than to see me, he said. I found it odd, but invited him in. He was actin’ funny, pacin’ the floor, then asked how you were doin’. I told him I hadn’t spoken with you this evenin’, and he blurted out we should go downstairs and check on you. It was close to midnight, so I blew him off, sayin’ you were probably asleep. He said he swore he saw you enter the buildin’ just before him and that we should check on you. He wasn’t makin’ any sense at all, and I was about to ask him if he was on a new medication that caused hyperactivity, but then you called before I could.

  When you came upstairs and he said what he said, I was angry and confronted him about it. In the course of the argument, it all clicked into place. He got agitated and defensive at first then spit out he was just doin’ his job. When I pressed him for an explanation, he backtracked suddenly as if he had said somethin’ he shouldn’t have. Somethin’ about the way he said job, coupled with his earlier behavior, hit home and I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  Eunice’s bottom lip began to quiver, so I reached up to cup her cheek for strength. I knew what was coming had to be bad for her to lose her composure in front of anyone.

  “That fifteen years ago when Odis started flirtin’ with me, weavin’ his way into my life, into my heart, he’d been sent by my father to keep an eye on what happened under this roof. To keep an eye on his only grandchild.”

  I shook my head in disbelief, shocked, yet again, that my grandfather could be so heartless. “No way. I can’t believe that Odis would give up fifteen years just because Granddaddy wanted to know what I was up to at all times. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Neecy. He loves you.”

  “He does,” she confirmed. “You can’t fake love. I would have known. He confessed, because he was tired of bein’ blackmailed by Daddy. Said he wanted a relationship built on honesty instead of lies. Said it killed him to say what he did to you last night . . . I still can’t believe my own father would go this far,” she whispered.