“You ever hear of him?” Kerry asked, seemingly happy to have another potential believer there.
“Yes. Of course. He’s a good brother. Works with the ALA,” Auset said low.
“Really?” Kerry looked at Garcia-Bell. “I guess that’s how he has his sources.”
“Sure,” Garcia-Bell confirmed shortly.
“I’m glad you’re finally seeking the light, sis. Good to know we have more sistren like you,” Auset said.
Kerry smiled back a response. This wasn’t her first visit to Baba Seti’s Web site. Since her conversation with Auset that day on the yard, she’d been thinking of Jamison constantly, dreaming of him, daydreaming of him and remembering every little moment they’d shared up until that day on the roof. Then, one afternoon, as she peeled potatoes for dinner in the kitchen, her thinking went past that moment and she saw something that felt more real than anything around her: Jamison alive after the incident. He was in the middle of a crowd of brown faces in Cuba. He was wearing a Havana shirt, holding a microphone and telling the listeners the next plans for the revolution. They were to unite and then they’d come up from underground to reclaim their power. Reaching the bottom of the box of potatoes snatched Kerry from her little pondering. She chuckled off the idea at first. Chalked it up to having been on Baba Seti’s Web page all morning and looking at several other blogs. But then, when she went to her cell and looked up at the picture of Jamison and Tyrian hanging over her bed, she felt something so deep in her being that told her it was real, it was true. He was alive.
Sister Auset put her hand on Kerry’s shoulder. “Don’t be surprised if the enemy starts to do things to make you give up your search. Like, now that you know the truth is out there, things will start happening to you. Trust me.” She leaned in and cocked her head to the side, making her long locks cascade over her shoulder. “There are undercover agents everywhere. Even behind these bars. Don’t be fooled.”
The three women suspiciously looked at the librarian, a svelte white girl with red curls who was a volunteer from Georgia State University, and then over at the black inmates who never spoke to anyone else, sitting at another computer.
“Jesus, Auset! Agents? Who are these agents?” Garcia-Bell said, annoyed. “And the truth is out there? Isn’t that from The X-Files?” She laughed.
Auset looked over at Garcia-Bell like she was a child engaging in a conversation far beyond her level of comprehension.
“My Latina sister, I am not expecting you to understand what we are talking about,” Auset said.
Garcia-Bell laughed again like Auset was crazy. “Because I’m Spanish?”
“No, your people have led many revolutions. It’s just that you’re not conscious.”
“Conscious of what? The agents you claim are lurking around the jail? Spying on criminals?” Garcia-Bell snapped.
“No, conscious of the white-supremacist regime and how it remains in power in the world. That this is the beginning of the New World Order—you can’t see it? The G Eight taking over the Middle East, killing any African leader who opposes their power? And it’s nothing new. It’s what they did to every true freedom fighter and revolutionary since the beginning of time. Patrice Lumumba, Che Guevara, Fred Hampton, Malcolm X, Jesus Christ.”
Garcia-Bell held in a sarcastic chortle. “You can’t be serious.”
But Auset and Kerry kept straight faces. Kerry nodded. This was the sort of enticing information she’d been reading about on the blogs.
“Laugh if you want, but it’s real. And it’s serious. Now, they tried to get Sister Assata Shakur, but she fled to Cuba. They even tried to get Sister Angela Davis. And then Jamison Taylor.” She put her hand on Kerry’s shoulder again. “They tried. But we’re getting stronger. And we protected him.”
“From what?”
“The CIA was going to kill him.”
“Why?”
“Because like everyone else I mentioned, he was going to do something revolutionary to help brown people. You know what was on the line with the scholarship program Jamison was working on with brother Ras Baruti? Getting black boys educated and not just working? An entire generation? Jamison was talking about getting people in his community to stop tithing to churches and instead donating time and resources and money to schools. No way they were going to let that happen. And with the help of the basketball teams? All millionaires? Black men with money putting that money up to educate other black men—not spending it on dumb stuff like cars and chains, food and houses, but in the community? Some of the Falcons were signing up too. It was all coming together. By any means. Now, they couldn’t let that happen in this city. In this city? The busiest airport in the world is here. Atlanta is about to become the center of the universe. Educated black men here means new business. Means black business. Competition in the marketplace—competition they can’t control. And imagine if that idea left Atlanta and all basketball teams did that? And then all football teams in all the cities in the country? What would white supremacy look like then in ten years? Twenty years? They wanted Jamison dead. It’s easy to see if you’re conscious of the truth.”
“You know what I’m conscious of?” Garcia-Bell asked slyly and didn’t wait for a response. “The fact that your ass is really crazy.”
“No, Garcia-Bell,” Kerry said, trying to stop her friend, but it didn’t work.
“And you have some nerve coming over here feeding all of this crap to this woman. She needs real help, not fake hope. You know what? I think you should probably get away from here and sit your ass down.” Garcia-Bell stood and her imposing frame might have made Auset, who was a couple of inches shorter, look weaker, but Auset clearly wasn’t intimidated.
She only stared blankly. Her crew of women, who were sitting at a worktable nearby, noticed Garcia-Bell’s move and stood, ready to defend Auset.
“Oh no!” Kerry stood and tried to step between Garcia-Bell and Auset.
“No need, sis,” Auset said, waving off her crew. “I only come in peace,” she added, mocking Garcia-Bell’s stance and subsequent stare down.
“Well, go in peace too, then,” Garcia-Bell said.
Auset rolled her eyes at Garcia-Bell and popped out an encouraging smile at Kerry before stepping back.
“Remember what I said, Sister Kerry.” She looked at Garcia-Bell, but kept her words aimed at Kerry. “And beware of people trying to keep you from the truth. You never know who the agents are.” She bowed with a nod that Kerry awkwardly returned and then went back to her circle, who gave Garcia-Bell averse stares.
When she was gone, Garcia-Bell turned to Kerry, ready to laugh at the mystical, righteous dialogue with Auset.
“Chick is crazy,” she said.
“She’s not crazy. She just sees things differently than you. Things you can’t see,” Kerry countered, borrowing some of the words Auset had used the first time she spoke to Kerry.
“I can’t see?” Garcia-Bell scrunched up her face at Kerry in disbelief. “So, you see it? You’re saying you really believe this stuff? Like Auset and this Seti character?”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s a silly conspiracy theory and they’re just playing with your emotions,” Garcia-Bell argued. “I’m just saying. What proof do they have that any of this is true?”
“I guess I’ll find out soon.”
“How?”
Kerry glanced down at the computer on Baba Seti’s page. “I e-mailed him,” she revealed.
“What?” Garcia-Bell’s mouth widened.
“I contacted him. Told him who I am and said I wanted more information. I wanted to know if he could put me in contact with Jamison,” Kerry said. She’d already e-mailed Baba Seti that morning from her inmate e-mail account.
“You what? Why would you do that? I don’t get it. You know this stuff is all lies. Just let it go.”
“I can’t,” Kerry said with glassy eyes. “I love him. He was my husband. And I feel like if I let this go, then I�
��m letting him go. And I won’t do that. Not if there’s a chance. Because if there is, I’m going for it. Because I’d want him to do it for me. Because I’d want him to know the truth.”
“Kerry Ann Jackson,” someone called from the door and the librarian, Kerry, and Garcia-Bell looked, expecting to see Auset, but instead it was one of the female guards.
“Yes,” Kerry answered, wiping a tear that had fallen when she was speaking.
“Warden wants to see you on main right now. Follow me. You’re going home,” the guard announced with no feeling.
Everyone in the library, including the redheaded librarian, Auset and her crew, and the two silent sisters looked from the guard to Kerry, who grabbed Garcia-Bell’s hand tightly for support as she worked to understand what had just been said.
“Home?” Kerry repeated, like her three months on the inside had felt like three lifetimes—and it did, to her anyway. “I’m going home?”
“Yeah. Something about the DA. Think he was on the news this morning. Your lawyer’s already here. I’m sure they’ll tell you all about it. Let’s go,” the guard said in an explanation that sounded like a riddle to Kerry.
Kerry looked at Auset, who threw a tight revolutionary fist in the air, and then at Garcia-Bell, and repeated, “I’m going home.”
Kerry returned to her cell to get some things she wanted to take home: Just some pictures, Tyrian’s artwork, a few letters she’d gotten from her best friend Marcy, and some newspaper articles she’d collected about Jamison’s death.
Garcia-Bell was standing against the wall in the cell watching Kerry organize her things and the guard was in the hall talking to another guard about some fight that had broken out on the yard between two women who shared the same baby daddy.
“I can’t believe this is happening. Like, just like that,” Kerry said, peeling the tape from one of Tyrian’s pictures from the wall beside her bed. “Just a day or so ago and the DA wouldn’t even take my attorney’s calls and now he’s letting me out.”
“Hmm,” Garcia-Bell let out, nodding in agreement.
Kerry was finding it hard to tell if her only jail friend was happy for her leaving or what, and in her own happiness and surprise she didn’t have time to sort out Garcia’s-Bell’s feelings. She kept thinking of seeing Tyrian. His smile again. Letting him know they’d never be apart again.
“It’s kind of fishy. Don’t you think?” Kerry said.
Garcia-Bell nodded again, but kept silent.
“But I don’t even care. I’ll take my freedom however I can get it,” Kerry added, stuffing the painting and some pictures into the box of her things. “I wonder if my mother is here with Tyrian? Who am I kidding? Of course not. That would be too much like right for that woman.” She put a picture of Tyrian and her mother into the box after looking at it for a second. “Let me not be so mean. My mother has her bad sides, but she’s done what she can to support me through this. Taking Tyrian in—that was big for her. And I know she loves him.” Kerry looked around and shrugged her shoulders. “Guess that’s all,” she said. “Got everything.” She went to pick up the box, but Garcia-Bell stopped her.
“Wait,” Garcia-Bell said.
“What?”
“You forgot one.” Garcia-Bell went to the bed and sat down, leaning under the top bunk to pull the picture of Tyrian and Jamison from beneath the springs.
“Oh, thank you.”
Garcia-Bell got back up and handed the picture to Kerry. “I know it’s your favorite,” she said.
Kerry looked at the picture for a second. “Got me through some tough nights.” She walked the picture to the box and slid it in.
Garcia-Bell was behind her, feeling like she wanted to say something just in case she never saw Kerry again.
“Okay,” Kerry said, still facing away. “Guess I’m ready to go.”
“Ke—” Garcia-Bell stopped herself. Funny how she could fight for anything, but when it came to matters of the heart, she was always trying to find the right words. “Kerry!” she forced out.
“Yes.” Kerry turned around to see Garcia-Bell looking at her with red eyes. Quickly, she remembered everything the woman in the next cell had said about her teasing Garcia-Bell, knowing the woman had a crush on her. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Garcia-Bell said. “I’m just . . . I just wanted to say—” She reached out and grabbed Kerry’s hand. “I wanted to say thank you—thank you for being my friend. You know? I’m grown and I think you’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had. And I’m kind of sad that you’re leaving.”
Afraid at what was coming next and not wanting to embarrass Garcia-Bell by turning her down, Kerry tried to thwart the emotional outpour with “Don’t be sad—”
But Garcia-Bell stopped her. “Wait, let me say this. I’m sad because I don’t know if we will ever meet again. But I want you to know that I learned a lot from watching you. How you carry yourself. How much you love your son. And I think what I really like about you is that I never felt like you wanted anything from me. Everywhere I go, everyone wants something. No matter what, they plotting to get it. But you just—you wanted a friend, I guess. And I’m happy I got to feel what that’s like. And that you didn’t judge me, you know, because of how I looked. I know I don’t look like other women, but I am a woman. And you always treated me that way. Never worried about me trying to come on to you or accused me of trying to get with you. I respect you for that. I’m going to miss you.”
“Wow!” Kerry said, now returning the grip Garcia-Bell had on her hand. “I’m going to miss you too. And thank you for being my friend too. You helped me. You really did. I wouldn’t have made it here without you. I mean, my best friend is like on the other side of the world, but with you here, I never felt like that. I felt like I had someone right here for me.”
Kerry opened her arms to Garcia-Bell and the women hugged and cried on each other’s shoulders and promised to stay in touch.
After meeting with the warden, Kerry was led to a small room near the exit of the jail where Lebowski, his assistant, and Val were waiting for her. It was awkward to see Val at that moment. Kerry was looking for someone to hug, to connect with in the excitement of what she’d been waiting for, but she and Val had been enemies for so long when Jamison was alive, it actually felt funny to be happy to see her. Or that this was the first connection she’d see to her old life.
Still in her jail jumpsuit, Kerry hugged her enemy-turned-friend anyway, and then Lebowski, who instructed her to change into a brand-new gray conservative suit and matching heels his assistant was holding in a garment bag.
“I tell you, I didn’t see this coming at all. Not one bit,” Lebowski admitted as Kerry was handed the garment bag and with nowhere else to go, she began to change right in front of them. “When my phone rang at seven AM, I thought it was a joke. No negotiations from the DA for weeks and suddenly he’s making a move? And this one? Who knew? You’d think someone was bribing the man, the way he’s moving so quickly. Wouldn’t be a surprise with the sort he hangs out with. You know?”
Val shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “Just a change of heart. Even the devil reserves the right to change his mind and do good sometimes. Right?”
“What happened? What did he say?” Kerry asked, stumbling into her new clothing. In recent months she’d become accustomed to undressing, showering, and dressing in front of total strangers.
“He held a press conference at his office and said there were no findings to the charges held against you and that you would be released immediately. It was over as soon as it began,” Lebowski explained still sounding stunned by the move. He was wearing his navy blue suit with the dated padded shoulders that made him look inches taller, wider, and stronger. On his lapel was his Masonic pin. He knew every television station in the city, including the national news networks, would have journalists and cameramen waiting outside the jail to see Kerry released. While the case had lost most of its trac
tion due to all of the eccentric conspiracy-theory talk, it was still a good headline: Girl from the right side of the tracks marries a guy from the bad side and then she kills him.
“So, that was the only reason? But that’s always been there. What’s the change for?” Kerry finished buttoning her suit jacket with echos of Auset’s charge in the library just hours ago coming to mind somewhere in the background of her thoughts.
“Probably the same politics that got you here in the first place,” Lebowski whispered, though no guards were in the room. “I told you, this whole thing smelled like a cover-up from the start.”
“What do you think, Val?” Kerry asked, noting how quiet the commonly loud and central Val was.
“I have no idea. Maybe it’s just a blessing,” she answered. “Have to take them as they come. Right?” Val smiled and shrugged again uncertainly.
“You know what? You’re right. Who cares?” Kerry chirped with a smile bigger than Val’s. “I’m free. I get to go home to my—” Kerry paused. “Is my mother here? With Tyrian? Did anyone call her?”
“First call I made,” Lebowski said before his voice waned with, “you know . . . I think Thirjane just felt—”
“I know,” Kerry cut in quickly to hide her disappointment. “It’s probably not the best place for Tyrian, anyway. I’m just happy he’s safe with his grandmother.”
“I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” Val said rather dubiously, but Kerry was too busy sorting her feelings to pick up on it.
“You sure do,” Lebowski said, unaware of the unique meaning behind Val’s declaration. “But not before we get you out of here, dear.”
Kerry slid on the heels and handed the garment bag back to Lebowski.
“It’s going to be a circus out there when we leave these doors. All kinds of people with all kinds of questions. You stick with me. You stick behind me and say nothing. Now is not the time for comment. We’re out of the woods on this, but I have a feeling more is to come and I don’t want the DA switching things up on you. You understand?” Lebowski ordered.
“Sure,” Kerry confirmed. “I get it.”
His Last Wife Page 14
