by RM Johnson
He ran up the stairs two at a time. “Moms,” he called out. “You home?”
He quickly walked through the dilapidated old house, checking every room. He even ran up to the second floor, but she wasn’t there. Freddy grabbed a jacket out of the front closet and stepped out onto the porch.
The sun was setting and the sky was darkening just the slightest bit. An old Impala with tinted windows sped by, the doors vibrating from the deafening bass that blared from the car’s speakers.
Freddy took the stairs down, started walking. Across the street, a group of boys wearing saggy jeans and do-rags glared at him. Freddy stared back. They looked away.
People sat on their porches, wearing house shoes and wife-beater tees, staring out into the street like it was their job. Freddy hated his neighborhood, worried every time Kia or his mother had to be out in it.
He would get them away from there, he told himself again, stopping at the sight of red and blue flashing lights down the street.
Down there, a block or so away, he saw the gathering of people, two police cars, and an ambulance.
Freddy started quickly in that direction, pulling his cell from his pocket and punching the key for his mother’s number. He hurried on, the phone pressed to his ear, seeing more of the group of people gathered around whatever had happened. Fifty feet away from the commotion, the phone stopped ringing and was picked up. There was silence on the other end. Freddy halted in his tracks, listened, then said, “Hello?”
“Hello,” a male voice returned.
“Who is this?” Freddy said, frenzy in his voice.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Who is this? Where the fuck is my mother?”
The phone hung up.
Freddy ran to the crowd before him, pushed into the row of onlookers.
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Freddy asked anybody who would listen.
“Some old lady got mugged,” a voice called out.
It couldn’t be, Freddy thought, forcing his way through the crowd. It just couldn’t. But when he had surfaced, he saw the paramedics kneeling on the ground, their supplies laid out by their sides, leaning over a lady’s body.
He couldn’t see the woman’s face, but looking down he saw her legs, her shoes. They were his mother’s. Freddy immediately went wild, trying to rush over, but was stopped by two policemen.
“That’s my mother over there! That’s my mother!”
One of the officers looked toward one of the paramedics. The blond woman nodded her head. The cops let Freddy pass.
He dropped down to his knees at his mother’s side. “Moms, you okay?”
Her hair was mussed, cuts criss-crossed her face, her jacket was torn near the shoulder, her knuckles scraped and bleeding. She wore an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, and an IV had been poked into one of her veins.
“I…I…been robbed, Fred.” She raised a hand, but one of the paramedics placed it back down.
“She’s in shock.”
Freddy felt rage burning inside him. He looked around, as if he could spot the one who’d done this to his mother, see the man turning a corner, her purse in his grasp. “She gonna be okay? She’s gonna be fine, right?” Freddy asked.
“We’re taking her in now,” the paramedic said. “You can ride in the back.”
22
That’ll be twelve thousand six hundred ninety-eight dollars and twenty-four cents,” the older, redheaded saleswoman said to Lewis and Monica. They were standing over the glass case of the Winston-Siegel jewelry store in the Water Tower Place mall. Monica had picked out the engagement ring she liked.
“How would you like to pay for that?” the woman asked.
“Credit card,” Monica said.
“Your card, please.”
Monica turned to Lewis, gave him a look as though she expected him to swing into action.
“Oh,” he said, digging into his back pocket for his wallet, slipping out the Visa debit card that had his name on it but that was linked to Monica’s account. He had tried to turn it down when she had presented him with the card a month ago.
It was after she had returned from a business trip. When she was gone, Lewis’s truck had gotten stolen while he was out shopping with Layla.
It was late. It was raining, and Lewis only had sixteen dollars on him.
A week after Monica returned, the card came in the mail, and she gave it to Lewis. It would give him access to all the money she had in her savings and checking accounts.
“I can’t take this. You don’t know if I’ll steal all your money and fly off to Mexico or something.”
“I have money all over this house. You’ve been living here for months and nothing has come up missing yet. Besides, I wouldn’t be with you if you were a thief. Take this card, boy.”
“I can’t do that,” Lewis said, crossing his arms, shaking his head. “I don’t want the responsibility. If a dollar comes up missing, I don’t even want you to think about looking at me.”
“You don’t have the choice not to have the responsibility. Layla is with you, and there may be another time when I’m not around. You need to have this card. Now take it, before I have to make you.”
“All right, all right,” Lewis said, taking the card from Monica. “Don’t hurt me.”
The card was only supposed to be for emergencies. But lately, there were times when Lewis was out and Monica wanted him to pick up groceries or wanted him to fill up her car with gas. She’d simply say, “Use the card.”
So now, when Lewis pulled out the card and gave it to the woman to make the charge, it almost seemed as though it was his card and his money he was using to purchase the ring again.
After the saleswoman finished the transaction, she asked, “Would you like this wrapped?”
“I don’t think so,” Monica said, holding out her left hand. “Give it to him.”
The woman gave the ring to Lewis. He took Monica’s hand, then gently slipped the ring on her finger. She looked down at the beautiful two-carat diamond solitaire on the platinum ring and smiled. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Lewis,” Monica said, throwing her arms around him there in the store, squeezing him tight.
“But it was your money that—” Lewis tried to say, his face in her shoulder.
“Just go with it,” Monica said.
Inside the mall, taking the escalator down, Monica stood in front of Lewis on the step below him, leaning back against him. Lewis leaned over her shoulder, whispered in her ear, “I’ll pay you back every cent for that.”
“I know you will,” Monica said, seeming not to care as she held her hand at arm’s length and admired the ring.
“You really like that, don’t you.”
“What’s not to like? Tabatha is gonna flip when she sees it.”
“So will your ex-husband.”
“What did you say?” Monica said, turning, looking over her shoulder at Lewis.
“Nothing.”
On the ground floor, Monica turned to face Lewis. “I said, what did you say?”
Lewis remained silent.
Monica angrily stepped away from the escalator. She walked over to a corner of the mall, away from the people milling about.
Lewis followed her, stood in front of her.
“Is that why you were so adamant about me calling the babysitter, about us coming out here before the store closed so we could get this ring, so I’d be wearing it for the meeting tomorrow?”
“I bought a ring the other day, remember? We’re just replacing that one. This has nothing to do with your little meeting.”
“I swear if you’re lying to me, we can take this back right now.”
“I told you I’m not,” Lewis said, hoping she couldn’t see the fact that he was lying. “I’m just happy that we’re getting married and I wanted you to have the ring now.”
Monica gave him a long, scrutinizing glance. “Lewis, there’s nothing more to this meeting than I told you. Do you believe me?�
�
Lewis was silent but nodded his head, sad that she was not aware of what was going on.
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Monica gave him another hug. “You’ll see. Tomorrow will be just fine.”
23
The next night, Nate found himself in his kitchen, phone in hand, telling himself the plan was not supposed to have gone as badly as it had.
For the rest of the day yesterday, Nate had continued to drill Nathaniel, holding up the photos of Monica, asking, “Who is this, Nathaniel? Can you tell me who this is, son?” Finally, with uncertainty heavy in his voice, Nathaniel said, “Mommy?”
Nate paused for a moment, turned over the photo to take a look at it himself, and then said happily, “That’s right. That’s right! It’s Mommy!” Nate picked up another photo, held it in front of the boy. “And who is this?”
“Mommy?”
“Yes!”
“And how about this one?”
“It’s Mommy,” Nathaniel said with confidence.
“Exactly!” Nate said, grabbing his son and giving him a hug.
Maybe the first phase of his plan would work.
Earlier that day, sitting in the kitchen, he had filled in Mrs. Weatherly.
“Now you remember how this is supposed to go, right?” he asked her.
“Yes, Mr. Kenny. After I pick up Nathaniel from nursery school, I’ll take him with me to run some errands. We’ll stop at the bookstore, get him a book or two, and there I’ll wait for you to call, letting me know it’s okay for us to come home.”
“Good,” Nate said.
The idea was for Nate to be in conversation with Monica. There would be soft music playing upon her arrival, and maybe by the time Nate had made the phone call to Mrs. Weatherly, he would have offered Monica a glass of wine. His intention was not to get her drunk and into bed, but to soften her up, lower her guard just a little.
Mrs. Weatherly would walk in with Nathaniel as though she didn’t expect Nate to have company, and that’s when Monica would see the boy.
She would recognize him from when she had wanted to adopt him. It would probably pain her a bit, seeing the boy, Nate told himself. And then when Nathaniel called her Mommy, she would want to know why. Nate would tell her he always considered her the boy’s mother even though they were divorced. If nothing else, it would be a good starting point for deeper discussion.
But things were not going as planned.
Earlier tonight, when Nate heard the doorbell ring, he quickly glanced at himself in the bathroom mirror and smoothed down the front of his shirt. He was dressed casually, the shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Instead of slacks he wore jeans, and loafers instead of the dress shoes he normally wore. Passing the living room, he lowered the volume of the jazz he was playing and opened the door.
Upon seeing Monica, Nate smiled brightly. She looked even more beautiful than he had thought she would, wearing her hair down as he always loved it, and wearing only the slightest bit of makeup. But the smile fell from his face when, just beside her, Nate saw Lewis Waters.
Nate stood there, holding the door, not knowing what to say or do. He knew Monica was involved with this man, but considering the history between him and Lewis, Nate would never have thought she would have brought him along. Monica looked down at her feet, almost appearing sorry after she saw the expression on Nate’s face. “Hello, Nate. I hope you don’t mind that I brought Lewis with me?”
“No. That’s fine.” Nate’s voice was low. He stepped aside and let Monica and Lewis enter his house.
“Come into the dining room,” Nate said.
He closed the door and just stood there a moment, shaking his head. He turned off the stereo, breathed deeply, and exhaled before walking into the dining room.
“Monica,” Nate said, standing behind the head of the dining room table. “It’s good to see you.” He reached out his hand. Monica took it and they awkwardly shook.
Nate glanced in Lewis’s direction. “Lewis,” Nate acknowledged coldly.
“Nate,” Lewis said, sounding as though he still hated the man and wasn’t trying at all to hide it.
“Can I get either of you something to drink?”
“Nothing for me,” Monica said.
“Yeah, Nate. I think I’ll have a beer. I know you got something expensive and imported in your fridge, don’t you?”
Nate tried his best to display a smile. “I’ll see what I have,” he said, turning and leaving the room.
In the kitchen, Nate picked up the phone and dialed Mrs. Weatherly.
“Don’t bring Nathaniel home yet. Not until I call you back, okay?”
“Is everything all right, Mr. Kenny?”
“Everything is fine. I’ll call you when you can come home.”
Nate hung up the phone, grabbed a beer from the fridge, along with a bottle of water for himself, and headed back into the dining room. He placed a coaster down for Lewis, then set the bottle down on top of it. Just when he was about to sit, Lewis said, “Uh, you got a glass? I stopped drinking beer from the bottle about a year ago.”
Nate gave Lewis a hateful glance, then headed back to the kitchen. The man was playing games, Nate thought as he pulled a glass from the cabinet. But Nate told himself he would be cordial, civil. He would discuss the things he had planned with Monica but make it very quick and then get them out of there. There was no way he could follow through with his original plan.
“Thanks,” Lewis said, taking the glass from Nate once he returned.
Nate sat down, and again Lewis spoke.
“Where’s your bathroom? I want to wash my hands first.”
“Down the hallway, on the left,” Nate said, pointing.
Lewis stood, but before stepping away from his chair, he leaned over and gave Monica a quick kiss on the lips. By the look on Monica’s face, she was not expecting it.
After Lewis was gone, Nate just sat and stared at his ex-wife. “And you brought him why?”
“This is a business meeting. He can be here. He can hear this.”
“But what’s the point, other than to spite me? Will he know what he’s hearing? The man can barely speak proper English. Will he understand what we’re talking about?”
“I don’t appreciate that, Nate,” Monica whispered. “I’m in a relationship with that man, and I will not allow you to sit here and talk badly about him.”
“A relationship. Of all the worthless, out of work, uneducated street people out there, you had to pick him.”
“I didn’t just pick him, Nate,” Monica said, pulling her left hand out from under the table and showing Nate the ring. “I’m marrying him.”
Nate was speechless. He understood she had probably been rebounding when she started seeing Lewis. She probably figured she knew Lewis, felt that some of the identity that Nate had created for him had to have been real. But he hadn’t thought she was foolish enough to marry the man. All Nate could do was shake his head.
“You ain’t liking that too much, huh, Nate?” Lewis said from the door of the dining room.
He took his seat beside Monica, casually draping an arm around her chair. “Nate, you ain’t saying nothing.”
“Lewis, that’s enough,” Monica said.
“Yeah, you better listen to her, or you might have to fool someone else into marrying you,” Nate said behind clenched teeth.
“You ain’t liking this ’cause you want Monica back?”
“Lewis,” Monica said, “I told you—”
“Naw, baby. I already know the deal,” Lewis said, looking around the room. “Lights all dim, too dim to be looking at paperwork. And when we came in there was soft music playing, which he quickly cut off after seeing me. What was that about, Nate? And look at him, his shirt all open. And I bet you got the fresh haircut just for this little meeting tonight, didn’t you?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nate said.
“I don’t? Tell Mo
nica you don’t want her back.”
“Lewis, would you stop this? Or maybe we just need to leave,” Monica said.
“Fine. I don’t want to be here anyway,” Lewis said, smiling. “But first I want him to look you in the face and tell you he don’t want you back.”
Monica stood, shaking her head, and grabbed her purse.
“This is my house, and what you want means nothing,” Nate said.
“Just like I thought,” Lewis said, standing up from his chair, beside Monica.
“I’m sorry, Nate,” Monica said. “But I really think we need to be going.”
“Fine,” Nate said, standing. “You know where the door is.”
Monica headed toward the door, but Lewis stopped just in front of Nate. “I ain’t no fool. I know you want her back, but you ain’t getting her.”
“Lewis, come on!” Monica called from the front door.
“You hear me,” Lewis said. “Motherfucker, you ain’t getting her.”
Nate turned to Lewis, his face calm, not at all rattled, and said very softly, “You wanna bet?”
Lewis looked shocked, as though he could not believe Nate would actually admit his intentions. He whipped his head around, as if to see if Monica had heard what Nate said, but she was still down the hall.
“I swear if you don’t come with me now, you’ll be walking,” Monica warned.
“Run along, Lewis,” Nate said, smiling. “You don’t want your free ride to leave you.”
24
On the way home, Monica drove.
Lewis tried to tell Monica what Nate had told him, explain to her that the man was really trying to steal her back, but Monica held up a hand. “Don’t say nothing to me,” was all she said.
While they put Layla to bed and showered, and while Monica dressed for bed, she was obviously still mad. She would not say a single word to Lewis.
Finally, once they were both in bed, the blankets pulled up to their chests, Monica stared up at the ceiling and said, “Why would you do that?”
“I was just trying to make you see the truth.”
“What truth?”
