by Pat Simmons
“I know, bro.” Demetrius stood and walked over to his desk and gripped Marcus’ shoulder. “You’ve tried and gave Victor one more chance than me.”
That didn’t make Marcus feel any better. He knew the couple needed more than what he was paying them, even though it was three dollars over minimum wage. Although he and Demetrius provided the best working conditions they could to avoid high turnover rates, Whittington Janitorial Services wasn’t created to be a career job for employees, but a step toward helping them pursue their dreams. Until Victor had other options, Whittington had been his best thing going.
As expected Victor didn’t call back by four-thirty, so Marcus decided to stick around to make sure there wouldn’t be any fireworks in case he showed up. Chess and Victor never hit it off, so it wouldn’t take long before an exchange of words would set them off. His supervisor had brushes with the law too, which included two assault charges. He didn’t want Victor’s bad attitude to make it three.
Since Demetrius had already left for the day, Marcus locked the office and strolled into the warehouse and settled in the employee lounge. He waved at a handful of day workers who had returned from their shifts. When his stomach growled, he realized he had skipped lunch, so he ordered ten large pizzas. It was more than enough for himself, his staff, plus the little ones.
While waiting for the delivery, he stretched out in the spacious employee lounge. The acrylic wall allowed a view into the warehouse on one side and the adjacent childcare room.
“What’s up with your mystery lady?” Chess asked as he opened the refrigerator and reached for two bottled waters that were kept stocked.
After what Demetrius inferred this morning about him dating his neighbor, Marcus tried hard not to recall the incidents. Why did his employee have to bring her up? Plus, he didn’t like discussing his personal life, which was nonexistent, with the people who worked for him. But Chess had caught him off guard that morning when Marcus haphazardly mentioned the source of his irritation.
Stalling, he gulped from his bottle of water, then glanced over at the childcare area and nodded at the day supervisor. “Come to find out the old woman is suffering from dementia and wanders the neighborhood. She’s not part of a crime ring. The problem is the woman’s niece can’t handle taking care of her.”
“Sounds like this escapee needs an eight-foot fence.” Chess snickered.
Marcus grunted. “Something tells me she would find a way to climb over it, or dig a trench. I had to show Victor some tough love, I guess Aunt Tweet is next.”
“First name basis,” Chess teased.
“The aunt really is a sweetheart, really harmless, but she could be in danger if she meets up with the wrong type of people.” His mind drifted to a few days earlier. “Friday night, the news reported an elderly woman was missing. I was in the other room when they gave the name Theresa, I thought they said Tweet. I ran to the flat screen and rewound the segment.”
Whew. “No resemblance. I heard on the radio this morning, driving to work, the woman was found in Indianapolis last night after boarding a Greyhound. She thought it was a Metro Bus. That’s two days of being vulnerable.” He paused. “Yeah. So the next time I see her on my porch, I have no choice but to call the police—for her own protection. Her niece can deal with the fallout.”
“Wow.” Chess rubbed his bald head. “That’s deep. Most of the old folks in my family passed away when I was small. “Do what you’ve got to do, boss.”
They were quiet, not sharing their thoughts when the receptionist at the front desk alerted Marcus over the intercom that his delivery had arrived, then added, “Save me a slice of pepperoni.”
Her humor was a pick-me up as Marcus stood and walked up front to pay the driver and get the food.
The announcement triggered his employees to flock to the break room as if they were sprinting in the Olympics when he returned. One worker pulled out paper plates and napkins from the cabinets and another employee set them on the table. About a dozen, or so, had formed a line.
“You all act like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” he joked, hoping they had food at home and didn’t rely on the fruit and snacks he and Demetrius supplied.
The pizza was almost devoured when one of the two shuttle van drivers walked in and snatched a piece. Since many of the employees didn’t have reliable transportation, the vans took them to the job sites. It was another perk to guarantee attendance.
As the last van drove off the lot, Marcus concluded Victor was indeed a no-show. Even though his badge had been deactivated, he could still enter the building with Latrice’s and cause a scene.
Not ready to go home to an empty house, Marcus returned to his office to complete more tasks. After a productive couple of hours, he called it quits. He decided to cut through the warehouse to his car. Some of the children were asleep in their pajamas, their school clothes in their backpacks nearby. The next morning, parents who worked overnight could get them to the bus stops on time.
“Hi, Mr. Marcus!” Brian, a three-year-old, shouted from the other side of the glass wall.
He laughed as his childcare worker scolded the boy for yelling. Detouring toward the room, many of the children, ranging in age from two-years-old to eleven, vied for his attention. Brian made a beeline to him, holding up a book. “Can you read me a story?”
“Seems like I have a special request,” he told Gail, a retired schoolteacher, who wore her gray hair in short twists. “Get the children settled, and I’ll read just one.” He lifted up a finger to their screams of delight.
She chuckled, then instructed them to sit in a circle while Marcus dragged one of the rockers toward them. Taking a seat, he observed their wide eyes and attentive faces. He opened Brian’s book, Darius Goes on a Field Trip, and began. “Darius climbed Mr. Funnybone’s bus. He was excited to go to the zoo and see the animals. He’d never seen a giraffe before...”
Brian yawned when he got to the last page, but the older children wanted more—a stall tactic to keep from going to sleep. “Sorry, the end.” Marcus grinned and stood. After telling his staff good night, he headed out.
Given the chance one day, he planned to be a good father—give baths, read bedtime stories, then tuck his son or daughter under the covers, even change diapers. He scrunched his nose as if he could smell something now.
Once inside his car, he sat there. Yeah, it was time for him to settle down. All he needed was the perfect woman for him, not the imaginary one his brother created to his mother.
Chapter 8
T
uesday morning, Marcus left home earlier than usual to spot-check behind his employees at a client location in Westport Business Park. He was cruising on Roland Drive when a flash of green caused him to do a double take—the infamous Aunt Tweet. “Unbelievable.”
Either she was heading to his house or to another unsuspecting neighbor’s. He sighed and gritted his teeth. Now wasn’t a good time for distraction. He parked at the curb and walked up to her, phone in hand to punch in the 9-1-1. “Aunt Tweet, remember me?”
She squinted, scanning his face for familiarity before shaking her head. “Can’t say I do.”
He was about to explain why she would know him when her niece almost pushed him out the way from behind. His reflexes were too quick and his body mass was too conditioned to be intimidated, but he stepped aside anyway.
“It’s not safe to talk to strangers,” Tabitha stated with a bad attitude.
He scanned her attire, then smirked at the lone curler dangling from her long mane. “If I recall correctly, we’re not strangers.” He folded his arms. “You know she becomes confused. Why don’t you keep track of her? Enough is enough.” He slowly tapped in 9-1, then glanced at the distress plastered on Tabitha’s pretty face. Her eyes were glossed over. Great.
Press the last button, he told himself, but he couldn’t as his shoulders slumped. He was a sucker for sniffs, tears, and looks of defeat.
“I wasn’t lost, young man. I knew e
xactly where I was heading,” Aunt Tweet snapped. The determination on the elderly woman’s face made a quick believer out of him. “I’m going home.”
“You mean my house,” he corrected and squinted at Tabitha.
“We sold your house, remember? You’re staying with me for a while,” she said softly, trying unsuccessfully to appease her, then steer her back in another direction.
“I know where I live,” the older woman argued and balled her fist. Apparently, her actions surprised Tabitha too.
Oh, boy. Marcus had to diffuse a catfight. If he pressed the last one, it would be for an assault in progress. Lowering his voice to a coo, he vied for Aunt Tweet’s attention. “I would love to see your house. How about later when I return from work?” He winked at Tabitha for her to go along.
Her response was a mixture of confusion and irritation. That was the thanks he got? Aunt Tweet relaxed and seemed to consider his offer. “All right. But you come right home from school,” she scolded him, then allowed Tabitha to lead her away.
Glancing over her shoulder, she had fire in her eyes. If they were darts, she aimed them his way. “You didn’t have to encourage her.”
He grunted and folded his arms. “Would you rather I call 9-1-1? I stopped to help, and somehow I was the only one who could control an out-of-control situation.” He uncrossed his arms and leaned closer to continue giving another piece of his mind when a breeze stirred his nostrils and he sniffed her hair’s fragrance. Second to a woman’s perfume, her fresh, clean hair enticed him. But there was no time for him to indulge. “You have twenty seconds—no make that ten seconds—to decide if you want my intervention.”
When she puckered her lips, he thought she was going to use her charm to seduce him. She frowned instead, and the fire in her eyes corrected his misperception. “Fine!”
To him, her irritated state was comical and cute. “Good choice.” He turned to her aunt. “See you later, Aunt Tweet...and Miss Knicely.”
Barely containing his amusement, Marcus jumped in his car and drove off. “Women!” He didn’t make it to the street light before he second guessed his decision to get involved. He was supposed to be discouraging visits, not the other way around.
He had to switch gears. The delay with Aunt Tweet was a slight setback and put him in morning rush hour traffic, which he had hoped to avoid. It was imperative he get to Bristol-Combs today to see if his employees were as meticulous as they were trained and paid to be. Demetrius had negotiated the two-year contract for Whittington Janitorial.
Making an early unexpected appearance would let his client see that he and Demetrius were hands-on businessmen, not ones to sit behind desks. The brothers wore the company’s blue polos with their logo embroidered across the upper left front pocket and tan pants instead of suits and ties. An oxford shirt confined Marcus’ biceps, whereas the polo shirts enhanced the muscles he worked hard to maintain. It wasn’t missed on him that Tabitha was checking him out between her verbal assaults.
As motorists inched along I-170 toward Highway 64, he thought about his interaction with her. Even without makeup, she had the wow factor to get any man’s attention. He was not exempt. Still, regardless of what was going on in her life, her aunt should be a priority.
And what was it about her that kept him from doing the right thing—calling the authorities. What kind of invisible headlock did she have on this former wrestler? Maybe he would get answers to his questions later.
His mother wanted answers too. When he’d reached Sylvia Whittington by phone late last night, she fired off questions from the nuggets of lies Demetrius had planted. Trying to convince her that his brother was delusional about the incidents, she dismissed his comments to remind him of the chance meeting that brought his father and her together.
“I’ll take my chances on waiting for a real chance at romance,” Marcus had told her. “I’m not enthralled with irresponsible people.” He had changed the subject to inquire about her and his dad’s sailing trip. That was an hour-long play-by-play of Governors Island’s beauty and scenery.
What would his mother say about this morning’s incident? It wasn’t attraction that made him invite his neighbors over out of the blue. His offer was purely in hopes of putting an end to Aunt Tweet’s attraction to his house.
He and Demetrius arrived at the office at the same time. Both had been making business calls in the field.
“Everything satisfactory at Bristol-Combs?” his brother asked.
“Yep.” He grinned. “Bathrooms, carpets, and floors are spotless and smelling good.”
After resting his laptop on the desk, Demetrius sat on the edge and folded his arms. “But we have one unhappy ex-employee.”
Marcus flopped in his chair and linked his hands together. “Let me guess: Victor.” That man was no longer his concern.
“Latrice came in and said she has to quit too, spewing Victor’s mantra that if he wasn’t welcome to work here, then we were disrespecting both of them.” Demetrius huffed. “Does he think up this foolishness in his sleep?” He stood and walked around to his chair. “Interestingly, it didn’t seem like she believed a word of what she was saying. Why do women let no good men brainwash them?”
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his face. “I could strangle that dude. He doesn’t want to work and doesn’t want the mother of his two small babies to work either. She’s hard-working and trying to do something with her life. What a waste of a relationship.”
Demetrius shrugged. “I know you tried, but you can’t save the world, even one by one. She’s going to let him bring her down. Loser. I would throw the bum out.”
Growing up and even now, Demetrius was always the no-nonsense son who called it like he saw it. Marcus tried to take a wait-and-see attitude before making judgment calls, but he had to agree with his brother on this one. “I second that. Since Latrice quit, she can’t collect unemployment, and Victor’s unemployment checks won’t be much. Without two incomes, they’ll both be out on the streets.” Marcus shook his head in disgust. “We’re clueless to what’s going on at their home.”
Do you know what’s going on inside your neighbor’s home?
Huh? The voice was so loud in his head, Marcus was surprised Demetrius didn’t hear it too. He swallowed, and looked around the room. Was that God talking to him? He shivered. He dismissed whatever he thought he heard and proceeded. “We’ve done all we can. We’ve tried to reach back and pull somebody forward. They, basically, Victor, let go of our grip. I don’t know what else to do.”
Pray.
Spooked, Marcus blinked, took a deep breath and exhaled. Only two people would say that—his mother who wasn’t here. Apparently, God’s presence was there in his office. Okay, he was getting carried away with all this talk about Victor. He quickly changed the subject. “On another note, guess who I ran into this morning?”
“Have no idea.” Demetrius opened his desk drawer and shuffled through it.
“Aunt Tweet.”
He paused and looked up. “Good old auntie, huh? You call the cops? This is one time I hope you didn’t make good on your threat. Please tell me you didn’t.”
Having mixed emotions about telling his brother what he did do, Marcus didn’t answer right away, but feigned distraction as he stared at the wall calendar.
“Marcus,” Demetrius said in a stern voice, reminding him too much of their father.
“No, I was in a good mood this morning and felt generous, so I invited them over this evening, so I’m cutting out early,” he said nonchalantly as if short work days were his norm when he was usually the last to leave work, unless he had to meet a client. After a long pause, he couldn’t hold it in any longer and released a bark at his brother’s dumbfounded expression.
“You had me going there, bro.” Demetrius chuckled with him.
“I’m serious.”
His brother’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? There’s definitely more to this story than what you’ve been telling me.” He squinted. “May
be I’ll invite myself to dinner.”
“You can’t,” he said smugly and rocked back in his chair. “You’re entertaining Clark Baker for happy hour.”
The potential client owned a story office building downtown. His business would be a major win for the brothers.
Pounding his fist on the desk, Demetrius truly appeared disappointed. “I want to see these neighborhood menaces.”
“Did I say they were menaces?” Marcus had a feeling after this evening, things would change. He didn’t know if it would be between him and Aunt Tweet or Tabitha. Should he be scared?
Chapter 9
T
abitha replayed the morning’s shenanigans throughout the day at work. The embarrassment from her behavior in front of Marcus made her want to yank out her hair in humiliation, scream and stomp her stilettoes in frustration, then hide under a rock in defeat. He just had to bully his way into her life. She didn’t need his help. Her aunt was not his concern.
What was she doing wrong with Aunt Tweet that Kym had done right? Instead of sitting in the classroom listening to her instructor, Tabitha was wracking her brain in self-examination. She had studied all the symptoms to expect with dementia—from the cognitive functions like memory loss; behavior like restlessness, mood swings, psychological manifestations like depression; physical tell-tale signs like unsteady walking, and a long list of other signs to watch out for.
She had anticipated all this, but the reality was her aunt wasn’t a textbook, but a real person who exhibited symptoms out of nowhere, not giving Tabitha time to process how to respond. She was starting to lose weight, because of her loss of appetite, a trickle-down effect of being tired as a result of less sleep. The stress of her job wasn’t helping her to retain information she should already know.
Ava Elise had been more than kind, not pointing out her twelve minutes of tardiness. Back at home, Aunt Tweet had fussed all the while Tabitha tried to freshen her up and dress her. Resentment was building within her, not against her aunt, but the condition that plagued her. She had to keep reminding herself that her aunt’s neurological abilities weren’t functioning properly.
