by Pat Simmons
Physically, their appearances were as different. There was no mistaking them as brothers or kin.
Marcus preferred a low haircut and sported a goatee. Outside of work, he was a meticulous dresser and maintained a regular workout routine. Demetrius’ current exercise regimen was, at best, inconsistent—whenever he felt like it.
Demetrius showcased his bald head and set off his look with a diamond stud in one ear. Marcus didn’t like jewelry on a man, not even a watch—that’s what his smartphone was for. He was the shade of black coffee where Demetrius was a double dip of dark chocolate.
“Great way to start off a relationship,” he teased. When they were boys, his brother had an annoying habit of baiting him. He hadn’t grown out of that trait.
“There is no relationship.” He frowned. “I’m not even sure if the chick is a neighbor.”
His brother twisted his lips. “Umm-hmm. Something tells me this story with your neighbor is just beginning.” He stood and strolled toward their door, chuckling. “Chapter one: Brotha meets fine Sistah.”
Grabbing a paper from a stack, he balled it up and aimed for Demetrius’ head, then fired. Hitting him, Marcus got the last laugh—or so he thought, until he realized it was an invoice he needed to mail to a client. Groaning, he closed his eyes. His day had to get better, right?
Chapter 3
T
abitha was still fuming. The man didn’t have to belittle her as if she were a child. Marcus was downright rude. She might be a novice when it came to being a caregiver, but she would like to see if he could do better. At the rate she was going, he probably could outshine her, which irritated her even more.
Humiliation was tied in first place with frustration. Tabitha renamed him: “The Jerk.” If the man had been an unattractive, out of shape slouch, she would have disposed of a few choice words—in a civilized manner, of course—and without shame.
No, the homeowner had to be disgustingly fine with a physique that would make a woman drool and forget her name. She had no choice but to take the whipping for #TeamAuntTweet. “Please, stop waving at the man,” she had pleaded softly as she drove away.
“He waved first, Miss,” her aunt replied as if she were talking to a stranger. That was the second time Aunt Tweet had forgotten her name. Although it was symptomatic of dementia, it pricked her heart just the same.
Gripping the steering wheel, she turned to her aunt. “Please don’t leave the house without me again—please.” She wanted to avoid any future run-ins with Mr. Jerk at all costs. “By the way, do you remember how many times you’ve been to that man’s house?”
“Hmm. Let me see.” Aunt Tweet strained her brows as if she was mentally calculating. “I can’t remember. Three, four... a lot of times.”
Tabitha gasped for air as a migraine began to make her head throb. Lord, I need some help.
“He seems nice,” she said, arranging the scandalous scarf around her neck, while glancing straight ahead as if nothing had just transpired.
Her aunt wouldn’t come to that conclusion if she had overheard the man’s rudeness, which was one of her aunt’s pet peeves. She didn’t tolerate rudeness and would retaliate with a feigned sweetness that would cause an innocent person to apologize.
Ten minutes later, they arrived in the semi-circle entrance of Bermuda Place. The valet opened the passenger door and greeted Aunt Tweet. That was how a man was supposed to treat a woman, with courtesy and respect, not Marcus’ fire-breathing threats, Tabitha mused.
The upscale adult care facility had activities, supervised shopping trips, a hair salon, prepared gourmet meals, and had matinees throughout the day. There was even a napping room. It was considered the elite of upscale senior living or adult care facilities, which Aunt Tweet outlined in her living trust.
While in Philly, the sisters had paid a visit to the Law Firm of Krone, Keller, and Bush where Attorney Leah Krone read the contents: “Nine years ago, your aunt felt it necessary to update her will and make you all trustees on her various accounts. Miss Brownlee has amassed more than two million dollars from savings, investments, real estate, and pension. She allocated a large portion for her upkeep and healthcare in the event she would require a nursing facility, only after all means has been exhausted for her to live independently.”
“Well, we decided to share in her care.” Tabitha straightened her shoulders. “She will live with us six months at a time.”
“I see.” Attorney Krone slipped on her glasses. “In that case, each sister will receive five thousand dollars a month while she is in your care.” She chuckled at their stunned expressions. “She wanted the Cadillac of senior care.”
In addition to the living trust, Aunt Tweet had named Kym Knicely, since she was the oldest, as the primary agent for her Durable Power of Attorney for Healthcare. Tabitha was named the agent for Financial Power of Attorney, which is why she put her aunt’s home in the Rittenhouse area of Philly on the market. It sold for half a million, and the proceeds were deposited into Aunt Tweet’s trust account. Rachel was listed as their backups. All three of them were determined to follow her requests to the letter.
So now Tabitha was spending Aunt Tweet’s money for her aunt’s comfort. Besides, the Knicely sisters weren’t in it for the money. They were successful in their own careers.
Bermuda Place resembled a residential condominium or apartment complex more than a business that closed at six p.m.—no exceptions, as she had been advised more than once when she completed the application.
Her hours were seven-thirty to four-thirty, so Tabitha didn’t anticipate a problem. She knew there would be occasional evening events, and she planned to take her aunt with her.
Two weeks earlier, they had toured the facility. To her relief, Aunt Tweet had complimented the decor and furnishings. She wasn’t sure how her independent aunt would feel about an undercover “babysitter.”
Escorting her inside, Tabitha greeted the staff and made sure her aunt was okay, wondering if she would remember the new environment. She didn’t.
Almost immediately, one of the staff members solicited Aunt Tweet’s advice on how to accessorize some outfits. Personalized activities were created for each guest based on the applicants’ likes, dislikes, and hobbies as a tactic to acclimate them in an unfamiliar setting.
“I have to go to work, Aunt Tweet. I’ll be back—”
The woman, Carole, waved her off. “We’ll be fine.”
Suddenly, Tabitha’s legs wouldn’t move. She had never left her aunt in the care of anyone. She was having separation issues. Moisture blinded her vision as she rubbed her aunt’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. Miss Brownlee and I will be fine,” the woman spoke in a comforting tone.
Taking a deep breath, Tabitha snapped out of it. She mimicked Carole’s nods and gave Aunt Tweet a lingering hug, then brushed a quick kiss on her cheek and hurried out the door before she called in sick on her first day.
Once she was in the car, she took a few minutes to clear her head and think of something else, besides deserting her great-aunt.
Blinking away a few stubborn tears, she drove off and exited on Westbound I-70, which was the route to her new job in St. Charles—the first Missouri capital in the 1820s—for five short years. It was a tidbit she remembered after visiting the existing state capital in Jefferson City.
By the time she arrived at Ceyle-Norman, Tabitha was back on track emotionally, especially after she ended the call with Carole at Bermuda Place. Her aunt was adjusting better than her. Leaving her cares at the door, including the fiasco with her neighbor, it was show time. She stepped out of the car and crossed the parking lot to the entrance, checked in with the receptionist, then took a seat.
Minutes later, a woman appeared in the lobby. “Hi, I’m Ava Elise Watkins. I’m the lead sales trainer.” She extended her hand for a shake. She wore a brown two-piece suit and an engaging smile. She pegged the woman to be in her forties.
She had never met a black woman who i
ntroduced herself with a first and middle name. “Hi, Ava.”
“Feel free to call me Ava Elise,” she corrected in a soft tone. “My mother prefers both names, since she couldn’t make up her mind when I was born, you know like Mary Jo or Mary Beth. Unfortunately, she did the same thing with my older brother.” She laughed, and Tabitha did too as she trailed the trainer down the hall.
The classroom was set up theater-style with six rows of long tables that could accommodate about forty students. There were only twelve of them in this class.
The first order of business was to view a short video about the business on a sixty-inch flat screen at the front of the room. Since Tabitha had already done research on the company, her mind began to drift about a minute into the vice president’s greeting.
She wondered about Aunt Tweet again and suddenly Mr. Jerk’s face flashed before her eyes. She hadn’t realized she made a growling noise until a male new hire next to her looked her way. Tabitha cleared her throat, hoping to play it off.
Next, there was plenty of paperwork to fill out, including tax forms and confidentiality agreements. By midday, Marcus appeared in her head again. This time he was smiling at her, and she noticed his eyes danced. She found herself smiling, then his smile turned to fangs as Mr. Jerk resurfaced. She frowned.
Ava Elise must have misread her expression. “I know it’s overwhelming, but you’re a seasoned rep, so you just need to learn our procedures and products. We believe you’ll shine here at Ceyle-Norman as you did at Pfizer.”
“Thank you,” Tabitha heard herself say, but her mind was elsewhere. She would have to keep a closer eye on Aunt Tweet. One more incident, and she was confident that Mr. Jerk would make good on his threat to have her arrested. If she was convicted of endangering an elderly relative, she could kiss her career goodbye. She had to keep her aunt away from his property by any means necessary, even if that meant sleeping with one eye open.
Chapter 4
T
he next morning, Tabitha dragged herself out of bed after a restless night. The house was quiet, which made her peep into Aunt Tweet’s room. Asleep. Good. She exhaled, but her mind was still strategizing options to keep her aunt from sneaking out. If it wasn’t unethical and a safety hazard, she would lock her aunt’s door. Thinking of drastic measures for such harmless mishaps pained her. She would face felony charges for sure.
Operating on autopilot, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. “God, I know I have no right to ask for anything, but I’m going to need help,” she whispered in shame. Jesus had been a second thought in her life for a while.
Tabitha had foolishly thought she was self-sufficient, taking for granted her financial status and healthy lifestyle, but Aunt Tweet’s diagnosis was evidence that wealth couldn’t buy good health. Initially, the what-ifs had plagued the sisters as they berated themselves for ignoring the signs of their aunt’s forgetfulness during phone calls.
Dr. Murray had suggested prescribing their aunt Aricept and Exelon to slow down the progression of some of the dementia symptoms. Her sisters had immediately looked to her for the drugs’ stats. At that moment, Tabitha was clueless.
That was then. Now, not even a year later, Tabitha had collected data and created spreadsheets on the five most common medicines on the market. She had their drug names, brand names, adverse side effects, drug interaction, and whether they were FDA approved. Many medicines to treat dementia symptoms were still in clinical trials. Others were too new to have a solid track record.
Her biggest concern was how her aunt would tolerate the side effects. “Enough!” She needed to put her mind on pause to get ready for work.
Leaning closer to the mirror, she could see the evidence of not getting enough sleep, which was rule number one on her beauty regimen. To remedy that, she applied more concealer under her eyes, finished the rest of her makeup, then headed downstairs.
A lot of mornings, her aunt had taken over the kitchen, and Tabitha had no qualms relinquishing the space. Her aunt still could cook—at least her memory hadn’t robbed her of her culinary masterpieces, yet. However, Aunt Tweet’s freedom had led her out the back door to wander off.
This morning, Tabitha rattled pans in the kitchen until she yanked out a cookie sheet she preferred for biscuits. Not long after slipping them in the oven, Aunt Tweet appeared, fully dressed and wearing mismatched shoes. She could understand black and blue, but one was teal and the other one yellow. The floppy red hat was in one hand.
“If you don’t stop slamming those dishes, I’m going home,” her aunt fussed as she took a seat at the table.
But you can’t, Tabitha thought sadly.
“DON’T MISTAKE MY KINDNESS for weakness.” Marcus locked eyes with the man on the other side of his desk who was five seconds away from becoming an ex-employee, because of his disregard for punctuality.
Since his release from prison, Victor Graves had worked for Whittington Janitorial Services for almost two years, however, his good work history was in serious jeopardy. There was something about the young father of two that always swayed Marcus to give him the benefit of the doubt and treat him as a mentee or little brother. Not this time. Marcus had on his boss hat and ready to terminate an employee. “I don’t like to throw our generosity in your face—”
“You are anyway.” Crossing his arms, Victor leaned back in the chair as if he was the one in charge of his payroll.
Flaring his nostrils, Marcus scowled. “Don’t play games with me. All you have to do is arrive here on time, and I don’t care if you hop on a bus, take an Uber, or ride a tricycle. Our shuttle vans drop you off at the front door of the sites for the office cleanings.” Counting on his fingers, he listed other perks WJS offered. “Did you forget the childcare—”
“It ain’t free.” Victor leaned forward as if he was putting Marcus in check. “You’re taking fifty bucks a week out of my check.”
Really? Did this dude know his job was on the line? “Stop using it and see what it will cost for a one and three-year-old.” He chuckled. “You make more than minimum wage, so help me understand why those benefits aren’t incentives for you to want to keep your job?”
Victor remained silent.
“I have applicants vying to take your place. Give me a reason why we shouldn’t suspend you.” It had better be a good lie, he thought, waiting for his reply.
Word of the working culture at Whittington Janitorial Services created a waiting list of prospective employees. He and Demetrius paid their workers, many of whom were single parents, more than minimum wage and they operated day and night childcare on site. Their workers received a hundred-dollar bonus every quarter if they saved a certain percentage of their weekly pay. These perks nurtured employees’ loyalty and self-pride in their work, even if it was custodial services.
“Fire me,” Victor taunted.
If Demetrius were in the room, Victor’s wish would have been his brother’s command. But Marcus saw potential in the twenty-five-year-old. “Where will you live? What would your babies eat? Think about others besides yourself.” He tried one more time to reason with the impossible.
“Man, you don’t care nothing about me. I know you’re getting government subsidies for hiring us bad boys.”
True, but it didn’t cover the extras his company provided. “I don’t do re-hires, so I would think carefully about getting to work on time tonight. Last chance.” Marcus stood. “Meeting over.”
“Whatever.” Shrugging, Victor got to his feet and walked to the door as Demetrius was entering the room.
No words were exchanged as Demetrius eyed Victor until he left the office. His brother grunted. “You’re a better man than me, because I would have fired him after the second tardy, no questions asked, or guilt about it.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Marcus gritted his teeth. “Something tells me Victor is about to call my bluff, and I’ll put every dime we owe him on his payroll debit card before the end of the day. What is wrong with people? First
that Tabitha woman and now him.” He rocked back in his chair and exhaled. “I have to be earning brownie points with God for putting up with foolishness.”
Demetrius stopped sifting through a stack of envelopes and gave Marcus a curious expression. “So your neighbor came back and you called the police? You didn’t tell me that.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Because she hasn’t been back.”
“Oh.” Demetrius took a seat with a disappointed expression. “You can put the fear in the little lady, but Victor ain’t scared of being on the streets hungry or going back to jail. I call him a fool.” He balled his fists. “Say the word, and I’ll take it from here.”
“I don’t need your backup, bro. My hunch is he plans to fail.”
Chapter 5
T
hursday’s training class was running over when Tabitha’s lead sales trainer made an announcement. “For those who don’t have plans tomorrow night, you do now,” Ava Elise said. “Ceyle-Norman is sponsoring a two-hour meet-and-greet with specialists to introduce our new drug to treat hyperaldosteronism. The disease is caused by a benign tumor on the adrenal gland, and is usually diagnosed in people between the ages of thirty and fifty,” Ava Elise explained. “If the affected gland produces too much aldosterone, it could lower a person’s potassium. Prior to this new drug, doctors used a combination of medicine to control other symptoms, which in most cases included extreme high blood pressure.”
About half of the new hires had prior commitments. Tabitha said nothing. These gatherings were key to building a rapport with professionals in the medical community, and the topic promised to be interesting. At her former company, she either attended or organized meetings a couple of times during a month. It had been a trying first week on the job, but despite some surprises, she had survived. She craved a Friday night of movies with Aunt Tweet and white cheddar popcorn.
