Maxwell heard his father’s voice in his ear, though he knew it was really the Holy Spirit moving. “Walk on.” There was nothing to be gained by going at it with these yokels. Tiffany had done quite well for herself in pharmaceutical sales —hence her ability to carry the mortgage in this pricey Mason subdivision —but she was an oddity in her family. The “boys” had not transcended their parents’ limited socioeconomic status —only two had attended college at all, and none had finished. As latently racist as they were, the last thing their egos could take was an uppity black man who had both impregnated and rejected their sister. He’d never win them over.
“Daddy!” The sound of his daughter’s voice made Maxwell dizzy with warmth, and he pivoted just in time to catch Nia as the two-year-old hurled herself into his arms.
After covering her cheeks with kisses, Maxwell held her back a bit so they could converse. It was amazing how quickly her vocabulary was developing; from one weekend to the next, she was stringing more and more words together. “How’s Daddy’s baby?”
“Good.” Nia stuck three fingers into her mouth, sucking on them as she traded goofy smiles with her uncles. Tugging at Maxwell’s cheek, she said, “Go play?”
“Yes, we’re going to play,” he replied, tweaking her nose as Tiffany entered the room. “We’re going to see Uncle Forrest and your cousins, okay?”
Tiffany cleared her throat, forcing Maxwell to behold her in what had to be a newly purchased outfit from Talbots, one of her favorite stores. She was a striking woman —long legs, hips that were well endowed for a white lady’s, an hourglass but voluptuous figure, and a head of stylishly kept brunette hair.
The first day she walked into his Dallas office hawking legal drugs, Maxwell was immediately drawn to her. Tiffany had only herself to blame for their romance, however; before her, he had successfully enforced a separation between his private and professional lives.
Eyeing Maxwell and Nia from across the great room, Tiffany shook her head. “You’re spending the afternoon with Forrest’s family again? When will Nia get to see your parents, Maxwell? It’s been —what? —four months since they’ve spent time with her? Your child needs both sets of her grandparents.”
Maxwell glanced around the room, eyes resting on each brother in order to accentuate how ridiculous she was being. “Would you like to have this conversation in your kitchen, maybe?”
Nia still bouncing joyfully against him, Maxwell followed Tiffany until the three of them had some privacy. Tiffany took a seat at her kitchen island as she said, “Care to answer me now?”
Maxwell kept his eyes on Nia, whom he was tossing up and down in a game of “rocket ship,” as he said, “The antics with your brothers, really silly at this point, Tif. We’ve got to both act like grown folks about this.”
“Funny,” she replied, crossing one leg over the other and flicking a piece of dust off one of her black high heels, “if we had just stayed in Dallas, none of my family would be in our lives. Ever think about that? We could have raised Nia as one happy nuclear family, dependent on just each other. But because you couldn’t see yourself married to a white woman, here we are.”
Maxwell felt annoyance creeping into his tone. “Don’t start.” When he had finally admitted that even her pregnancy couldn’t convince him to marry her, Tiffany had fled Dallas and returned to Ohio, where her family had provided the emotional support she felt she needed for a successful delivery and adjustment to motherhood. Maxwell had tried to stop her, but he knew only one thing would have kept her in Dallas: a wedding ring.
“So now Nia’s growing up around my knucklehead brothers,” Tiffany said, “who, admittedly, will never win any civil rights awards, while dealing with the implicit rejection of your stuck-up, reverse-racist parents. We’re in this situation, Maxwell, because of your selfishness.”
Maxwell whirled Nia around in a circle, intent on her as he addressed his ex. “Lower your voice.” He turned toward her long enough to say, “Can you stop living in fantasyland and join me in reality?” He had nearly proposed after learning she was pregnant. The one barrier he couldn’t get past was the unfortunate fact that he’d been unable to make such a move months earlier.
They had dated for nearly eighteen months before Tiffany had begun dropping veiled references to her approaching midthirties and then ultimatums. At first, Maxwell had figured God was using her eagerness to prompt him to finally settle down and make a home with someone, but the more he observed, the more he prayed, the more he had come to see Tiffany was looking to him to fill needs that were really spiritual. He had tried to explain that to her, suggesting that they cool the intensity of their relationship and consider getting some joint counseling. That had spurred Tiffany’s allegations that his intent was racist, not benevolent.
They went back and forth in coded manner for a few more minutes before Tiffany hopped from her seat and extended her arms toward Nia. “Come here, sweetie.” Nuzzling her daughter against her bosom, Tiffany glanced up at Maxwell as if to ensure his observation of her maternal instincts at work. “I love this little girl so much,” she said, a tear forming in her right eye. “I hope you’ll believe that someday.”
“I believe it now, Tif.” Maxwell shook his head, not sure if he was more frustrated with Tiffany’s self-doubt or with his inability to convincingly forgive her. The thought of the circumstances of Nia’s conception —the result of Tiffany and Maxwell’s impulsive “make-up” encounters in the weeks after their explosive breakup —tied his stomach in knots. Kneeling, he pecked a kiss onto Tiffany’s forehead and whispered, “I don’t believe it, I know it.”
Taking his daughter by the hand, Maxwell connected the dots between Tiffany, Nia, and Julia. As he bundled Nia into her coat and slipped into his own, he felt the first, hard fact assault him as it tended to several times a day: Julia deserved to know about Nia. Before now, he had convinced himself that it was best to wait and reveal all when he and Julia had built more trust and settled into a more defined relationship. Now that they had been physically intimate, though, he felt more obligated to own up while he had a chance.
But then, the truth was he didn’t want to own up to Julia. He knew the very existence of his biracial daughter would revive the same anxieties he had seen on Julia’s face that first day they reunited in her office. Maxwell had caught the wounded, downcast tint in her usually fiery eyes the minute he tried to apologize for his reaction to her overtures those many years ago. He had come so far since then; he needed time to prove that to Julia.
Buckling Nia into her car seat, Maxwell thanked God again for allowing her entry into his life. God’s grace had allowed Nia’s creation, despite her parents’ sexual sin, but the related consequences —most notably Tiffany’s wrath and dejection —reminded Maxwell this was no time to take fornication lightly. He was falling fast for Julia Turner, and they had enough challenges without the complications of premarital sex.
31
Amber stuck her head around the corner, her bright eyes peering into the murky darkness of Julia’s bedroom. “Auntee, I woke up early. May I watch a DVD movie downstairs on the computer?”
“Amber, it’s barely five A.M.,” Julia replied, sitting up in bed and hitting the mute button on her own television. A young anchor on one of those graveyard network newscasts rattled off news that few people were yet in a mood to care about. “Go on back to bed and see if you can get some more sleep. I’ll be getting you up for school in an hour.”
Julia’s charge crossed her arms, stewing in place. “Why can’t I watch TV, when you’ve had yours on all night?”
“Child, don’t even try it.” Julia glanced at her remote for a second, realizing she was embarrassed. “You know I usually only have this on to catch the news before bed.”
“So what’s different this morning?”
Ooh, that mouth. If only she had the energy, Julia was ready to deliver a spanking over that one. Instead, she fixed Amber in her gaze and said, “Go back to bed, or you’ll
lose your TV and computer privileges for a week.”
The two traded tense stares in the dark before Julia said, “Do you think I’m playing with you?” Something in her tone connected; in seconds her niece had retreated back down the hallway, feet shuffling all the way.
Rubbing at her neck as she unmuted the television, Julia shook her head. Amber was treading on dangerous territory, challenging her right now. For the six nights since M.J. had disappeared and been reported on the news as a fugitive suspected of involvement in Detective Whitlock’s shooting, Julia had been inflicted with insomnia. M.J. wasn’t just her best friend’s firstborn child, he was her godson. The thought that he’d gone in one night from a star scholar-athlete to a likely statistic —largely because of decisions they had all made years ago as girls —haunted her to the core. As painful as that was for her, Julia knew the pain was multiplied tenfold for Cassie, and that burden was heavier than any Julia could ever recall carrying.
Sitting up in her bed, she watched the network news, and then the early local broadcast passed before her eyes, until her alarm sounded at six. Once she had roused Amber, who had successfully fallen back asleep, Julia returned to her bedroom with her Bible and devotional in hand. Working hard to focus on God’s message in the day’s Scripture passage, Julia took time to thank God for the ways in which He was providing for her even at this tragic time.
Weeks earlier, she would have had to endure this latest turn of events without the tender listening ear and strong embrace of Maxwell in her life. Dante and Whitlock’s shoot-out had eaten up most of her past days’ conversations with Maxwell, slowing their earlier progress toward deeper emotional bonding, but his support had made more difference than she could have imagined. As one who hadn’t had the free time to invest in rekindling many friendships or starting new ones since coming back to Dayton, Julia realized only now just how much she had come to rely on Cassie for mutual emotional support. Right now, when she had to be the strong one for Cassie, Maxwell had been the one with whom she could be weak. Just not too weak, of course; they were on one accord about not repeating the mistake they had made at his condo.
Julia was toweling off from her shower when a knock at her bathroom door startled her. “Auntee,” Amber shouted, “phone.”
“Amber, I’m not even dressed,” Julia replied. “Take a message, please.”
“He says it’s important.”
Julia grabbed for her house robe. “Who is he?”
“Pastor Campbell?”
Frowning, Julia pulled the door open. “Jake Campbell?”
Amber held the phone out, one hand over the receiver. “He didn’t say his first name.”
“Fine,” Julia replied, yanking the phone from her niece and making a note to apologize later for her short tone. What did Jake Campbell want with her?
“Julia,” Jake said when Julia answered, “I’m sorry to call you at this hour, but I really was hoping we could speak soon.”
“Well, it is early, but I have a few spare minutes in my morning,” Julia replied, playfully shooing Amber away. “Now how may I help you, Jake?” There was always a chance the man was ready to write a check with Christian Light’s name on it.
“I’ll get to the point,” he said. “I wanted to first apologize if my wife and I gave you any impression that we don’t support Christian Light’s survival. We agree that even if your vision differs some from ours, God works in all types of ways. We’d like to support your Board of Advisors, if you’ll still have us.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Julia said, smiling at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She wasn’t sure she wanted another board member with a conflicting vision, but then things with Maxwell had worked out pretty well. “Why don’t I e-mail you a schedule of our upcoming board meetings and some recent meetings’ minutes.”
“We would love that,” Jake replied. Once he had supplied his and his wife’s e-mail addresses, he coughed once before continuing. “I know you’re on a tight schedule probably, so would you mind if I have my secretary contact yours later today?”
“That would be fine,” Julia said. “But for what?”
“I had some questions about a different matter,” he replied. “I just thought that as the superintendent of Christian Light and a school alum, you could help me sort out some disturbing rumors I’m hearing about these recent charges against Marcus Gillette Jr.”
Julia fought the urge to inhale, gasp. “I’m not sure I understand.”
The giggles of what sounded like a half-dozen little girls filled the background, and Jake paused to address his children before continuing. “I’m sorry, Julia. I’m being summoned to get my kids off to school. I can’t properly get into this over the phone anyway. Can I explain it to you at your office? My secretary will call yours and work out a time.”
“I guess we’ll talk soon then,” Julia said.
“God bless you,” Jake replied, “and thanks.”
Slipping the rest of the way into her robe, Julia stopped at Amber’s bedroom on her way downstairs to the kitchen. As she asked her niece what she wanted for breakfast, her mind raced anew, wondering exactly what Jake Campbell was after. She was distracted when the phone stand in Amber’s room caught her eye. The message light was blinking; apparently, she had been too distracted by Jake’s call to realize that another one had come in while they were talking.
“Give me that phone, girl,” she told Amber. “I expect you downstairs fully dressed and ready to eat in ten minutes.”
As she continued down her steps, Julia retrieved the lone message. Cassie’s voice greeted her within seconds. “We found him, Julia,” she said, “but please don’t get off your knees yet.”
32
These are serious charges,” Paul Brinker said after inviting Marcus and Cassie to join him and M.J. at the conference room table. Ironically, Julia had recommended Brinker to the Gillettes because Maxwell had insisted the Columbus lawyer was the best African-American criminal defense expert in the state.
“I almost hired him,” she had told Cassie when first passing along his card. “Now I know I can’t. If any of us deserves the best attorney, it’s M.J.”
“That assumes my son is innocent of these conspiracy to attempted murder charges,” Cassie had replied, her tone weighted by momentary resignation. “I love my boy, Julia, but even I can’t believe he didn’t have an idea of what Dante had in mind.”
“God will sort that out, Cassie,” Julia had said. “Just call him, please. Maxwell already told him to expect your call, and to give you a discounted rate.”
“Marcus Junior and I have discussed his account of Detective Whitlock’s shooting,” Brinker said now, his hard eyes conveying a combination of confidence and emotional distance. “He wants to plead not guilty at today’s pretrial hearing, and I am supporting that decision.”
Cassie and Marcus nodded, both of them too emotionally spent to rehash the details of M.J.’s account. After first finding him two days ago at the home of an old girlfriend, they had driven around town for an hour before going home and calling the authorities. They weren’t going to risk him escaping again and getting his head blown off by a vindictive cop. That said, they weren’t going to turn him over without first hearing his side of what had happened.
Seated at M.J.’s elbow there in the courthouse conference room, Cassie’s scalp tingled with pain as she recalled her son’s account.
If he was to be believed, he and Dante had walked up on Peter Whitlock in his mother’s driveway and threatened him verbally. M.J. claimed to have observed primarily, punctuating Dante’s threats with occasional nods and ominous crossings of the arms. It was Whitlock, in M.J.’s telling at least, who pulled a gun first, drawing on professional training and maybe a surge of adrenaline meant to protect his family.
Having a gun to his forehead had apparently made Dante, who had faced down his share of gun barrels, more angry than before. He had let Whitlock pepper them with insults for a minute before lulling him in
to a false sense of security, then retrieved his own weapon. According to M.J., Dante had surprised Whitlock, shooting him in the knee before turning to tell M.J. to disappear. That second gave Whitlock time to get off a shot of his own, one Dante appeared to take in the neck before whirling back around and nailing Whitlock in the stomach.
“I didn’t have any choice,” M.J. had insisted as they drove him toward home that night. “With that shot he took, Dante was bleeding all over the place. I could see in his eyes —he was getting more disoriented by the minute. If I had just run off, Whitlock would have taken him out with no problem. I needed time to get Dante out of there, so all I did —I swear —was rush in after Whitlock caught that one in the gut. I kicked his gun away, that’s it.”
Marcus had shaken his head, a boiling rage barely suppressed. “Was that it for the gunfire then? You’re telling me after that, you and Dante went to the hospital, right? No more attacks on Whitlock after you kicked the gun away?”
Cassie had looked into the rearview mirror and met her son’s eyes, her heart darkening at what she saw there. “Dante could barely see straight, had that river of blood running from his neck, but just when I got hold of him, he reached around me and fired his gun at Whitlock again,” M.J. had said finally. “I’m not sure where he hit him. I just knew he hit him, ’cause Whitlock cried out in pain. I couldn’t focus on Whitlock, though —it was all I could do to drag Dante to the car so we could get to the hospital.”
“I understand you both are praying people,” Brinker said as he stood to shake their hands, “so I’ll ask you for one major favor as these pretrial hearings move forward. Pray for the ongoing recoveries of both Dante and Detective Whitlock. We lose either one, and this case tests my skills far beyond their usual limits. You don’t come back from murder charges when a dead cop’s involved, and even with Whitlock alive, we need Dante —disastrous witness that he is —backing up M.J.’s account.”
God Only Knows Page 18
