“I’m sure he will. He’ll probably bring his son, too.” She had explained the change in plans to Marcus, and he now knew that the visit would last several months rather than just a few days.
“How old is he again?”
“Six.”
“Uh-oh. I hope he doesn’t beat me at bowling like Colleen just did.”
He said it so seriously, like he was really worried, that Ava chuckled. “I think this was just Colleen’s lucky night.”
“Yeah, I bet you’re right. Dumb luck.”
*****
After Marcus had his bath he settled in the guest room watching TV, with Khufu resting comfortably at his feet. Ava remembered Khufu spending his nights sleeping at the foot of her bed not too long ago, but now the dog couldn’t seem to get enough of Marcus.
Ava’s breath caught in her throat when the phone rang. It had to be Hilton!
But it was Kendall. “Hey. Spencer and I are at the bar. You and Hilton want to come by for a drink? It’s karaoke night.”
“No, not tonight. I still haven’t heard from Hilton, and I’ve got Marcus this weekend. He’s upstairs in his room.”
“Ava, have you thought about adopting that kid?”
“Adopting him? No, I hadn’t thought about it. He does have a family, Kendall.”
“Well, you probably should. The kid’s practically living with you. You just said he was in his room. What does that little Freudian slip tell you?”
“Like I said, he already has a family, Kendall.” She wasn’t about to tell anyone about Marcus’s mother being incarcerated.
“Oh, sure, I’ll bet he’s got a real cozy setup at home. That’s why you make him lunch every school morning and why he spends weekends at your place.”
“All right, so his home situation isn’t ideal. I like his company, and he likes mine. We’ve become pretty close.”
“Just a thought. All right, I’m gonna go. Oh, Lord, someone’s singing that awful song from Dreamgirls. You know, Effie’s big number.”
Ava chuckled. “It’s a show stopper in the context of the storyline, but it doesn’t really work as a stand-alone song.”
“No, it doesn’t. The women who sing karaoke think that whoever screams the loudest will win, and doggone if somebody doesn’t pick that song every time. I swear, I’m going to have Spencer remove it from the selection list. If I could replace Clarence Thomas’s picture for him, he can do this for me.”
“It probably isn’t the best song for karaoke,” Ava remarked absently.
“All right; I’m gonna hang up. I’ll talk to you later.” Kendall muttered a curse before she hung up, and Ava giggled at the sound of a woman’s powerful voice shouting lyrics in the background.
She replaced the receiver slowly, thinking about Kendall’s suggestion. Adoption was not feasible. Marcus might not have a father, but he did have a mother, even if she was imprisoned at the moment and had a number of years to go before she was released. But there was another possibility…
It was still on her mind when she realized she had neither milk nor cereal in the house for Marcus’s breakfast the next day. He was such an early riser; it would be best if she made a quick trip to the store to get it.
She climbed the stairs. Marcus was already falling asleep. She shook him gently. “Marcus, I’m going to run to the store real quick. I should be back in about twenty minutes, a half hour at the most. I hate to leave you alone in the house at night, but I don’t think it’s necessary to get you out of bed. Khufu is here with you, and you know better than to play with matches and burn the house down.”
“Okay,” he answered sleepily.
She kissed his cheek. “Sweet dreams.”
*****
At the store she quickly selected the milk and cereal and checked out, eager to return home.
She was putting her purchases in the empty passenger seat and was about to slam the door shut when she heard what sounded like Hilton’s voice. She looked up and recognized the back of his large frame as he grabbed hold of a small boy’s hand. The child’s other hand was taken by a slim pony-tailed woman she knew was Janelle. They made animated, meaningless chatter as they approached the store, which was soon lost to Ava as they moved farther away.
Swallowing hard, she stood transfixed at the sight of the three of them looking like the very picture of domestic harmony, of what life was all about…for most people. Knowing that Hilton had a son and that his son naturally had a mother was one thing; seeing it was another, especially when it looked so cozy.
She bit her lower lip and slammed the door shut, then rushed to get behind the wheel. She was grateful it was dark out. No one could see the tears that streamed out of her eyes in rivulets out of her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t be able to control them; she didn’t even bother to try. Instead she merely sniffled, turned on the engine and her lights, backed out and headed home.
Chapter 15
Ava’s tears subsided during the short drive home. She wiped her face dry with her hands before getting out of the car.
She could hear the television upstairs playing when she let herself in; apparently Marcus had turned it back on, perhaps to help diminish any uneasiness he had about being alone in the house. “Hey, boy!” she said to Khufu, who had come bounding down the stairs barking at the sound of her key in the lock. “How’s Marcus doing?”
She went to check on him first, putting her bags of purchases on the floor. Marcus was fast asleep, although between the television playing so loudly and Khufu’s bark she didn’t know how he could sleep so soundly. She picked up the remote control and turned off the power to the TV, and then the only sound in the room was that of his light breathing. She stood watching him, the room illuminated only slightly by the light in the hall. He appeared to have a smile on his face, and in turn that made her smile.
That night she had the nightmare about being guillotined again. It had been occurring occasionally for years now, even though it never made a lick of sense. For one thing, there wasn’t a discernible time period. The plumes and velvet clothing suggested the era of Henry VIII, while the elaborate powdered pompadour wigs were reminiscent of the French Revolution, and of course people of color had not been prominent in either location at those periods in time. The only thing common to both ages was the particularly gruesome practice of beheadings. Henry VIII in particular was known to dispose of his wives in that fashion if they failed to conceive or produced a girl child rather than a male heir.
She didn’t know the significance of the dream, or even if there was any. Being infertile might have cost her happiness to a certain degree, but it certainly would not cost her head.
*****
Ava stared at the decaying building. The Avalon Hotel, once one of Palmdale’s finest accommodations for out-of-town visitors, was now clearly run down, its original white limestone exterior dingy and gray, its front steps sagging. The temperature had warmed up to the low sixties, and most of the concrete of the steps were covered with children and their mothers. The youngsters were playing games, while the mothers seemed more interested in watching the occupants of the passing cars than in keeping an eye on their offspring.
Ava hated to simply show up with no advance notice, but with Marcus coming over for breakfast every morning she had to be at home and couldn’t meet the Hudsons at the supermarket. Because Avalon residents had no phone service, she had no recourse but to simply show up and hope she could find them.
After simply staring at the dismal sight, she got out of her parked car and crossed the street, feeling a half dozen pairs of eyes on her. She had tried to dress as inconspicuously as possible in a tailored white blouse, brown slacks, camel hair blazer and brown leather moccasins, but she was afraid she still looked too prosperous, and the sporty car she drove didn’t help matters any. She was glad she left her purse locked in the car under the driver’s seat.
“Excuse me,” she asked politely when she stood in front of the steps, “does anyone know where I might find Mr. and Mrs. Huds
on? They’re an elderly couple, living with their grandchildren, maybe their daughter as well.”
“Fourth floor. Room four-twenty-one,” someone replied.
“Thank you.” The women and children sat haphazardly, with no clear pathway, and Ava watched where she put her feet as she walked up the three steps, not wanting to step on anyone.
The atmosphere inside of the hotel was even worse, dark with a damp and musty odor, as if it hadn’t been aired in years. She viewed the ancient elevator with apprehension, then decided it would be safer to take the stairs, provided they were lit.
She was out of breath by the time she got to the fourth floor and had to remove her blazer because of perspiration. In front of room four-twenty-one she paused for a moment, then knocked firmly on the door.
The door was opened a crack by Mrs. Hudson, who voiced a cautious, “Yes?”
“Hello, Mrs. Hudson. It’s Ava Maxwell, Marcus’s friend.”
“Oh, yes.” She opened the door all the way. “Is my grandson all right?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s helping out in the beauty parlor next door to my bridal salon, sweeping up hair and things like that. My sister is going to pick him up in a little while. He and my nephew are pals. They’re going to the movies this afternoon.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I’m so glad he’s having a good time.” She stood back. “Please come in.”
“Thank you.”
There were three bunk beds in the room, as well as a table and four chairs and shelving which held clothing, other personal items and canned goods. A small brown plastic Parsons table held a twelve-inch black and white television. The room was neat, but there was little space because of the large amount of furniture. A series of area rugs covered most of the otherwise bare floors. Three small children sat on the rugs watching television. Mr. Hudson was nowhere in sight.
“My husband’s getting dressed,” Mrs. Hudson explained. “Children, this is Miss Ava, Marcus’s friend. These are my grandchildren, Monet, Gabrielle, and Shane.”
The children, whom Ava guessed were between four and six, uttered shy hellos. The two girls, clearly older than their disinterested brother, stared at her openly, and Ava could feel their silent hopes that she would take them away from this gloomy place the way she had Marcus. The hope in their eyes made her uncomfortable, and she quickly looked away.
“We were just about to leave for the library,” Mrs. Hudson continued. “Bill and I go every afternoon and read the papers. That and going to Winn Dixie in the morning help break up the day. On Saturdays we bring the kids along. They enjoy the story hour. My daughter is out somewhere, maybe at work—” a note of sarcasm crept into her voice—“and I hate for them to sit in this room all day. There’s nowhere to play around here, and some of the kids here are bullies. Besides, they’re too young to leave this room without supervision, and Bill and I aren’t able to keep up with them. That’s why Marcus kind of got away from us. Half the time we didn’t know where he was.”
Ava’s heart broke for this senior citizen who had her hands full caring for her disabled husband as well as three young grandchildren. “Why don’t I drive you all to the library? My car has a very small back seat, but the kids are small, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”
“Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble…”
“Of course not. I wanted to talk to you and Mr. Hudson about something, and the library is the best place to do it.” Once more she scanned the crowded room and looked at the Hudson granddaughters, who were hanging on to every word. There was certainly no privacy here.
*****
When the children were behind the closed doors of the story hour, Ava and the senior Hudsons sat at an unoccupied table in the newspaper and magazine section.
“I wish I had more time, but I’m due back at my bridal salon in twenty minutes,” Ava began. “I was thinking about how Marcus spends most of his spare time with me, and…I was wondering if you’d consent to let him move in. Until things are better for him,” she added quickly.
“Live with you? All the time?” Mrs. Hudson asked.
She sounded anxious, and Ava rushed to clarify. “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to cut communication between you. I just want to give him a nice place to stay. He likes it at my place, and I love having him there. I wouldn’t expect him not to see his grandparents or his cousins. He can check in with you as often as you want him to: every day, every other day.”
“I guess we should have expected this, but we didn’t,” Mr. Hudson said. He and his wife exchanged glances. “I do think it’s a wonderful idea, though.”
“But what about mo—” his wife began.
“Marcus is our firstborn grandchild,” he interrupted in a firm voice. “He’s young, yes, but old enough to go bad, living in that environment. If he can be saved, I say he ought to be. The others still have time, Eva Mae. We can keep them with us.”
“You don’t know how much I wish I could take all of them,” Ava said, remembering the open longing in the eyes of Marcus’s cousins.
“We know you can’t save every child, Ava,” Mr. Hudson replied. “We appreciate your wanting to save our grandson from the streets. Since he’s the oldest, it can make all the difference in the world to his future. We’ll get his clothes packed when we get home.”
*****
Hilton scribbled a note for Janelle, who was taking a nap, including his cell phone number if she needed to contact him. He had been wanting to bring Max over to Ava’s, but Janelle seemed unwilling to let her son out of her sight.
Her son, he repeated in his head. He’s her son if I take him anywhere without her permission. But he’s my son if the support money is late, or if he gets on her new man’s nerves. The whole thing was absurd. He’d always treated Janelle with consideration and respect, yet she acted as though he had some plan to cheat her. He’d never forget how she’d actually made him leave his driver’s license with her when he picked up Max on Christmas morning, like she thought he was going to try to kidnap the boy or something. He hadn’t really been worried about trouble if he was stopped for traffic reasons—he still had a lot of buddies on the force—but the demand was so typical of what he would expect from her.
Now she was putting out a completely different demeanor from that of the woman who used to brag about how well Max got along with his new “daddy,” her husband Donald, when Hilton visited over Thanksgiving. Janelle’s apartment had been his first stop when he got in town, for when he called over there two weeks after she was married he was greeted with a recorded announcement informing him that the telephone number had been changed to an unlisted status. Janelle had not informed him of any new number, and he was furious at her deliberate move to shut him out; but again, as the noncustodial parent there was little he could do.
When he showed up on her doorstep she’d taken a cavalier attitude about breaking contact with him. “Max used to cry about his daddy being so far away, but now he’s so busy with Donald he probably won’t even realize you’re not around,” she’d said in a gloating way he’d found irritating.
Hilton had good reason to doubt the honesty of that statement. It hadn’t been three months since she’d gotten married, but now she was painting quite a different picture. “Donald doesn’t have much patience,” she admitted when she informed him of the tension. “He’s quick to yell at Maxwell. Sometimes he’ll tell him he’s going to slap him.”
“Has he?” Hilton had asked sharply. The thought of anyone striking his son made him livid. He’d go to Augusta and confront Donald face-to-face if that was the deal.
“No, but just his saying it is enough to make Max cry. Now it seems like everything Max does gets on Donald’s nerves. If he plays in the living room he makes too much noise. If he spills something Donald has a fit. If he asks me to read him a bedtime story Donald resents Max taking me away from him.”
“Why haven’t you told me this before?” he had demanded.
“I kept talking
to him, explaining that kids can be trying sometimes, but that they’re also wonderful. I was hoping he’d come around, but things have just gotten worse. Finally Max said he wanted to come and stay with you.”
Janelle drew in her breath right after that, and Hilton knew she hadn’t meant to reveal that last piece of information. It warmed his heart to learn that his son had asked to stay with him. Janelle’s slip of tongue didn’t matter much anyway. He planned to talk about the situation at home with Max when she was gone, and it probably would have come out then that going to stay with him had been Max’s own idea.
Hilton recalled the shiny red, new Jeep Cherokee parked outside of Janelle’s apartment that belonged to Donald. He thought of the obviously expensive outfit Donald had been wearing on Christmas Day, a hand-knit sweater and supple leather jeans. This did not compare favorably to the lone suitcase that contained all of Max’s clothing and most of his toys. He had been put out to discover that Max didn’t own a single pair of pajamas and had less than a week’s supply of underwear. He knew there was no point in asking Janelle why this was when she was still receiving five hundred dollars a month, since she knew all too well that she owed no explanations for how she spent the money meant for Max’s support. Now he believed that it was going to provide her husband with costly outfits and a fully equipped vehicle. Donald’s irritation with Max had probably started around the time the support was cut from eight hundred dollars down to five hundred.
It was almost funny. Donald probably knew that Lemuel Tucker had been his grandfather and figured that Janelle was getting a fair amount for child support each month. Hilton was willing to bet that Donald had never been too thrilled with Max’s presence from the jump, but put up a good front because he wanted to get his hands on that extra cash she received each month. To think this was the man Janelle felt would take his place as father figure!
He thought it curious that Janelle had not once mentioned what would happen to the support money while he had custody of Max. If she thought he wouldn’t give it a second thought she was nuts. He’d always figured he would have to use the money as an enticement if he ever wanted Max to spend some time with him, but since she had done the unthinkable and asked him to take Max that changed all the rules. He’d already instructed his attorney in Augusta to petition the court to have it stopped as long as he had custody, beginning with the first of February. His attorney had also had a simple document typed up and faxed to him for Janelle to sign, stating that she had requested that he take temporary custody of Max until June, but with a clause that she could retrieve him before that time if she wished with one week’s notice. That was his attorney’s idea as well; he wanted Hilton protected in case Janelle got into a snit over something and claimed he had kidnapped the boy or otherwise had him unlawfully. A woman who insisted he surrender his driver’s license to her before visitation was capable of anything, he pointed out.
A Love of Her Own Page 18
