Someone to Watch Over Me

by Michelle Stimpson

  “Aw, come on, Honey Bun.”

  I protested, all the while leaning in for our second kiss. My only regret was lack of lip gloss. I cut the kiss short, from sheer embarrassment. “Sorry about my lips.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “You kinda nicked me there.”

  I whacked his unyielding shoulder. “Stop.”

  “Might need stitches.”

  “Anyway!”

  Cassandra hauled me out of bed and up to the store as soon as I’d been fever-free for a day. “Look, girlie, we gotta keep it jumpin’ and humpin’. Walmart’s been open for a week already, and we’re holding our own.”

  I pulled the sheets over my head. “Who let you in here?”

  “None other than your favorite person on earth.”

  Now that Aunt Dottie could amble around the house with her scooter (she ordered a red one), she’d gotten into the habit of taking company again. We had guests galore, just like I remembered from my high school days.

  “I’m sorry about DeAndre,” Cassandra fussed, “but he’s gonna be all right. Did you talk to the caseworker lady?”

  “Yes.” I spoke into the bedding. “Ms. Gentry says he’s with a nice colored family with other colored children his age and adjusting very well. She says he’s playing baseball, too.”

  “Okay, so she was wrong for the colored thing. But this is Bayford. Look on the bright side,” Cassandra perked. “He might actually win a game or two.”

  I ignored Cassandra’s optimism. “I’ll bet she tells every family member this same story. What else can she say? She won’t tell me DeAndre’s crying his eyes out every night, that he wants to come home so he can be around other coloreds who actually love him.”

  Cassandra’s feet halted their pacing. “DeAndre is in God’s care. He always has been and he always will be. How do you think he made it to the sanctity of Aunt Dottie’s house with a momma like Zoletha Simpson and a daddy like Ray-Ray Lester? God’s protecting DeAndre for His purposes. Have a little faith.”

  I tucked the sheets under my chin and watched as Cassandra authorized herself to open my closet doors and select my clothing. She laid a pair of jeans and a baby-doll T-shirt on the end of my bed. “Now get up before I get Aunt Dottie to roll in here and pop you with her good arm. She might ziggle you with the other one, too. She’s getting pretty strong, I see.”

  Cassandra opened the top drawer of my bureau, grabbed my black hat with silver rhinestones, and tossed it to me. “Here. Take this, too. We’re going to Walmart after we close Dottie’s tonight.”

  “Why?”

  Her eyes became slits. “We need to scope out the competition. See what kind of specials they’re advertising, see which products they’ve put on their end caps. Only best-selling items get prime placement in a store, you know? I’ve been doin’ my homework, fo’ rizzle.”

  “So why the hat?”

  “Celebrity disguise. Can’t have Dottie’s customers thinking we’re Walmart groupies,” she whispered.

  “I’m not wearing this hat.”

  She took a look at my do. “You might wanna rethink your position. Your hair is straight Shaka Zulu right now.”

  “So. You got a problem with Shaka Zulu?” I objected. “There’s nothing wrong with my natural African naps.”

  “Girl, please. Shaka wouldn’t claim you. He’d say ‘she no in our tribe. Enemy afro texture. Seize her! Woolloo-woolloo-woolloo! ’”

  Cassandra’s clowning sparked a giggle deep inside me that ballooned into a full-blown guffaw. “You are crazy, for real!”

  “Woolloo-woolloo-woolloo!” she shrieked again, repeatedly tapping my afro with a hanger.

  Elbows covering my head, I surrendered. “Okay! I’m up! I’m up, Shaka!”

  I noticed Aunt Dottie parked at my doorway, her body bouncing with laughter.

  “Aunt Dottie, why did you open the door for Cassandra?”

  She waved my question away.

  Cassandra shouted, “’Cause she loves you, girl.”

  Aunt Dottie corroborated with a glint in her eyes, “Aaah luuuh you, Toor.”

  There it was, spoken from her own lips. Sometimes those three words make all the difference between a life falling apart or coming together.

  “I love you, too, Aunt Dottie.”

  “Awwwie! Group hug!” Cassandra decreed. “Group hug!”

  We got to the store just before Cassandra released the Dottie’s Throwback text, which always brought in a rush of patrons.

  Virgie and Elgin welcomed me back, as well as the entire town of Bayford, it seemed. “We’ve been praying for you, Tori”; “We know God will work everything out for you and DeAndre”; “Missed you.”

  The support from people who didn’t know me personally lifted my spirits tremendously. Some of them probably knew me because of Aunt Dottie. Others maybe because of Jacob. Nonetheless, they cared because, in some way, we were connected.

  Almost made me forget about my problems. Almost.

  We closed the store with another successful count. Though Cassandra was supposed to go home hours ago, her dedication to the success of Dottie’s knew no end.

  Cassandra and I helped Elgin lock up, since Virgie had to work her other job that evening. “Elgin, we’ll see you tomorrow,” Cassandra discharged. “Don’t break anything on the dance floor tonight.”

  “Can’t make no promises,” he clucked.

  We made it to Walmart a little after eight. The parking lot was packed, which surprised me. I guess I figured since we were in such a small town, there wouldn’t be so many shoppers. Wrong. Super-wrong.

  “Dang!” Cassandra gawked. “Everybody and their second cousin is here! Shabooty!”

  We drove around for a while hoping for a good spot. Nothing opened after creeping up and down three aisles.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to foot it, homie,” Cassandra concluded. She gave in to a block on row H. After parking, she tapped my hat’s bill. “Pull it lower.”

  “I will not,” I griped.

  “All right,” she hissed, “if the paparazzi catches you in the enemy’s territory, don’t blame me.”

  “You are too serious about this,” I warned her. “We are not spies.”

  “I know. For real, though, I need a new kitchen rug.”

  “Get out, Sandra.”

  We entered the store. Bright lights illuminated the warehouse motif. Polished concrete floors, exposed beams high overhead, humongous signs marking the various departments.

  “We need signs in Dottie’s,” Cassandra noted on a mini-spiral she’d produced from nowhere.

  “Everyone knows Dottie’s layout,” I reminded her.

  “Doesn’t matter. The signs aren’t up to let you know where everything is—they’re suggesting things you hadn’t even thought about buying before you walked in the store,” she explained. “Suggestive selling.”

  Shut my mouth.

  “You go down the snack aisles. I’ll check the meats and produce.” She tore off a sheet of paper and handed me a pen.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Go down the aisles and see which items are at eye level and on the end caps. Write down their names and prices,” she instructed. “And if you see anything that shocks you—layout, placement, pricing—make a note.”

  I had to give it to her. “Girl, you’ve really got your stuff together.”

  “You ain’t said nothin’ but a word, double-o-seven, nothin’ but a word. One last thing.”

  “What?”

  “Keep your head low. I’ve already seen three people I know.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Pumped by Cassandra’s sense of adventure, I took off on assignment, taking notes as I perused the aisles: “Doritos—$2.99, powdered doughnuts—$2.39. Graham crackers on the bottom shelf? I definitely needed to notify Cassandra of these findings.

  I was on my second page of notes when I heard the loudest, countriest, most welcomed scream. “Miss Tori!”

  Like a mother
who recognizes her child’s voice among a sea of youth, I immediately turned toward the voice. “DeAndre?”

  He squeezed through two people’s shopping carts and hopped over a bag of fallen Tostitos to reach me. DeAndre!

  He leapt into my embrace and wrapped his arms around my neck. I spun him around twice, savoring the distinct odor of little-boy-needing-a-bath. “Hey, you! I’m so glad to see you!” I kissed his cheek.

  He wiped it off. “Miss Tori, you can’t kiss me in front of other people.”

  “But I miss you,” I laughed. In just a few weeks’ time, he looked older already. “How are you? Who are you here with?”

  “I’m fine. I’m shopping with Miss Retford. She’s my foster mother.” He pointed down the aisle toward a plump brunette woman who was temporarily blocked by other carts in maneuvering her way toward us. Two other school-age boys tagged along.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I’m working. What are you doing here?”

  “You’re always working, Cousin Tori.”

  I winked at him. “I’m sorry. I should have spent more time with you. So, how’s your foster family? Are they treating you right? Are they hitting you? Has anyone touched you where they’re not supposed to?”

  “No, no bad stuff.” His face shined. “Guess what!”

  “What?”

  “We get to play video games on Fridays and Saturdays.”

  “That’s great, DeAndre!”

  “But I’m not that good yet.”

  “Hey.” I squinted my eyes. “Why’d you run away from your daddy’s house?”

  “’Cause they made me sleep in the closet.”

  It took every ounce of self-control in me to remain calm. I needed to get the full story out of him without going off or breaking down. “Why?”

  “’Cause my baby sister was crying. So I was trying to wipe her tears, but I didn’t see a towel. So I used the pillow to wipe her eyes. And my stepmom said I was trying to summo . . . suffum . . .”

  “Suffocate the baby?” I finished his sentence.

  “Yeah. That.”

  I stabbed his chest with my index finger. “DeAndre, you didn’t do anything wrong. If they think you would suffocate a baby, they obviously don’t know what a wonderful, nice young man you are.”

  “Right!”

  We high-fived on it.

  As Miss Retford neared us, I set DeAndre’s feet back on the ground.

  “Miss Retford, this is my cousin Tori. Tori, this is Miss Retford. And this is Paul and Jamie. We’re brothers. Kinda.”

  “Gail,” she deformalized the conversation, shaking my hand.

  Paul and Jamie politely spoke for themselves. “Hello, Miss Tori.” I noted Paul’s curly locks and droopy eyes, traits also present in Gail’s gene pool.

  “Hello there. I hear you two are teaching DeAndre how to play video games, huh?”

  “Only on weekends,” Gail reiterated. “Homework and baseball on weekdays.”

  “Double-o-seven,” Cassandra summoned behind me. “What are you—hey, DeAndre!”

  “Hi, Miss Sandra.”

  I stepped aside, putting Gail in Cassandra’s line of sight. And then God answered my prayer right before my very eyes.

  “Hey, Gail! Haven’t seen you in a while! How’s my favorite uncle’s wife?”

  Gail and Cassandra hugged. “So you’ve got DeAndre, huh?”

  “Yes,” from Gail. “He’s an absolute joy. Fits right in, no problems.”

  “Good,” Cassandra cheered, then she turned to me. “Tori, Gail is married to my very favorite uncle on my father’s side, Uncle Stoney. He spent a lot of time in the military, been all over the world. He and Gail have been keeping foster kids for—what? Five years?”

  “Seven, actually,” Gail piped with pride. “But we only do short-term placements. It’s too hard on Paul when we keep kids for a long time and then have to let them go.”

  I feel you, Paul.

  Cassandra added, “Uncle Stoney’s a truck driver, Gail’s a full-time mom.”

  Keeping up with three boys DeAndre’s age was probably a double-time job. Everybody ain’t able. “Well, I’m glad to know DeAndre is with good people.” Understatement of the day.

  “Next to Aunt Dottie’s, this is the best place he could be,” Cassandra confirmed.

  Remembrance of a verse kindled within me. “All things work together for the good of them who love the Lord.” This time I even recalled the reference—Romans 8:28. My shoulders lightened, my heart lifted. Cassandra had been right—DeAndre was in God’s care all along.

  Gail extended, “If you’d like, we can contact Miss Gentry and arrange for visitation.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “No problem. She’s pretty good about keeping kids in touch with their families.”

  “Ooh! Momma, can we get some Gushers?” Paul pleaded.

  Gail pushed her basket forward. “No, no Gushers. Let’s get off this aisle completely.”

  “Awww,” he whined.

  “Ladies, we’ve got to get home before too late.”

  I reached down for another hug from DeAndre. He grabbed me tightly. And just before we let go of each other, he murmured in my ear, “I love you, Cousin Tori.”

  “I love you, too, DeAndre. You be good.”

  “Okay. See you later.” He took off to catch up with Gail and the boys. Before they left the snack aisle, he secretly waved good-bye to me.

  Cassandra rested her shoulder against mine. “God truly worked that out, my sister.”

  I stood in amazement, almost breathless. “I know.”

  Cassandra puckered her lips for a moment, then testified, “You know I’m pretty cautious about white folks. But I can vouch for Gail. She’s good people. My sister even takes her boys to play at Uncle Stoney’s house sometimes, when she feels like driving the distance.”

  “How far are they from Bayford?”

  “Well, they’re another fifteen minutes west, so I guess altogether about forty minutes from Aunt Dottie’s.”

  I marveled, “Are you related to every single person in Bayford County?”

  She tittered. “Darn near. Let’s just say my daddy got around, and so did his daddy. Tell you what, though. I ain’t marryin’ no crazy joker who can’t keep his behind in the home zone.” She turned an imaginary key. “Click! Click! Lock it down or . . .” She struggled for a rhyme.

  “Your body won’t be found . . . alive?” I tried.

  Cassandra flared her nostrils. “Dog, girl, I ain’t say nothin’ ’bout killin’ nobody.”

  “It rhymes—down, found.”

  “Nuh uh.” She snapped her fingers. “And you’re dating my second cousin?”

  “Who in this entire region of Texas isn’t your cousin?”

  She laughed. “I gotta keep my eye on you, Tori.”

  After a few more spying missions, we shopped for Cassandra’s rug and got in line. The woman two carts ahead of us, Miss Macie Corbie, a daily Dottie’s customer Cassandra and I both recognized, was in a heated argument with the cashier.

  “I thought you said y’all beat the competition’s coupons,” Miss Corbie insisted.

  “Ma’am, we do match our competitors’ advertised prices in print.”

  Miss Corbie wagged her cell phone in the cashier’s face. “Here’s the coupon from Dottie’s right here. Chicken noodle soup for a quarter a can! Can’t you read!”

  Cassandra and I turned to each other in shocked unison.

  “Ma’am, this is a text message, not a coupon.”

  “Well, I don’t want nothin’ in this basket then! Nothing!” Miss Corbie announced to everyone within hearing distance, “False advertising in here! I’m shoppin’ at Dottie’s like I always have!” She left her basket and slowly shuffled away.

  Cassandra and I high-fived. “Can’t nobody do it like Dottie’s,” she chanted. “Can’t nobody do it like Dottie’s.”

  Chapter 30

  Islept
well after learning DeAndre was in good temporary hands, but I knew Judge Kiplinger wouldn’t consider returning DeAndre to me and Aunt Dottie so long as I was technically living in sin with Kevin. I needed a new address, and this meeting with Preston weighed heavily on my residential status.

  From my perspective, there were only two options. Door number one, Preston could fire me for unsatisfactory job performance. Forget all the good things I’d done before Inner-G and while Lexa headed the account. Current bottom lines weighed more than past accomplishments.

  Door number two, Preston could save my neck but conclude that the telecommute trial had failed and kindly request/order me to hightail it back to the office, where he could micromanage me until I proved myself again.

  In either case, I’d need to move back to Houston; to find another well-paying job (which could take forever, given the economy); or maintain the one I’d been graced to keep.

  Neither scenario would satisfy Judge Kiplinger, whom I gathered wasn’t exactly gung ho about moving DeAndre out of Bayford County.

  Preston, who was scheduled to attend a weeklong summit in Dayton, Ohio, said our meeting couldn’t wait until he returned. “Could we possibly meet on a Sunday?”

  “Sure,” I replied. Sunday was just as good a day as any to get raked over the coals.

  Cassandra wanted to go along for the ride, so with Kevin safely out of state, she and I set out for Houston after closing the following Saturday night.

  She marveled at my apartment. “Oh my goody-woody! Love your floors! The architecture!”

  “All Kevin’s. I can’t wait to move.”

  She visually searched the walls. “No pictures?”

  “No,” I admitted. “This was his place, remember?” I’d filled her in on all the Kevin drama while we drove.

  “Right, right. Maybe you could stay in this complex, just move to another unit.”

  “Hmmm.” I considered. “Might not be a bad idea. Except I’m sure I’d run into Kevin here every now and then.”

  “So?” she balked. “He should be ashamed to look you in the eyes, not the other way around.”

  Good point.

  Cassandra and I spent a few hours packing up my belongings, marking and labeling boxes for storage. Kevin had promised to arrange for moving and storage when he got back in town so long as I organized my belongings.