New Beginnings

by Brenda Barrett

  Melody groaned. “I knew it.”

  “All in books, of course,” Geneva laughed, “and then there are old records of people, and I want to find Rachel Green. She was born in 1962; that much I know. Where in Jamaica, I have no idea. One time she said it was Kingston, and then another time, it was Mandeville. I'm sure she was trying to mix me up.”

  “My mother was born at home,” Melody said, walking beside Geneva to the library entrance. “Private doctor and nurse.”

  “I doubt my mother had that privilege,” Geneva said, glancing at Melody. “But then again, I know nothing about my mother. It just seems weird that I lived with her for close to twenty years, and I don’t know something as basic as where she was born.”

  Melody found a spot in the archive room to boot up her computer and continue her conversation with her online friend, while Geneva browsed through the social section of old newspapers and death announcements on microfilm.

  She didn’t know what she was looking for. Perhaps some mention of a Green family or something like that. She labored through 1962 to 1978, scanning headlines for anything to give her some indication of her mother’s family ties. There were Greens in the death section, but they did not strike her as family. But how would she know?

  The whole exercise was pointless, and she was getting frustrated when Melody walked over. She was looking at the social section of the Jamaica Gleaner 1970 when Melody said behind her, “There is grandpa and grandma and… my gosh… my mother!”

  Geneva squinted at the black and white photograph and read the caption “The Whites and their two daughters at the Governor General’s ball”.

  “The picture is not all that clear, but even as a child Pamela looked mean.”

  Melody laughed. “And there is Marie. She looks like she wants to go home.”

  “She’s cute; was probably a spoilt brat,” Geneva commented.

  “Who was abused by her father,” Melody said, looking pained. “If what Mother said was true, she went through some tough times before finally running away. I still can’t believe that my grandpa was such an animal.”

  Geneva winced. “It explains a lot about your family. But why did Marie run away. Did your grandfather come back for her and she had to escape?”

  Melody shrugged. “I have no idea. My mother refuses to talk about her. This morning’s mention of her was a shocker. My grandparents pretend she is dead, and our dad used to clam up when she was mentioned. I saw him looking at a picture of her once when I was little and he looked so sad. Said she was my Aunt Marie. I grew up thinking she was dead.”

  Geneva groaned. “I am never going to find out anything about my mother looking at old newspapers.”

  Melody shrugged. “At least you tried.”

  “I had no idea my own drunken mother was so complex,” said Geneva.

  “Most people are,” Melody said. “Let’s go shopping. I have this hankering for a tight red dress and stilettos to match.”

  “Why?” Geneva asked, grabbing her purse.

  Melody giggled. “BlackSexy said he wants to see me in them.”

  Geneva rolled her eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The day was sunny, and a mild breeze was blowing from the sea in the distance. Froggie sat in the back of a taxi and listened distractedly to Miss Norma and his mother as they discussed the merits of the place they were going to see. He felt empty this morning, like somebody had knocked the stuffing out of him. He knew it wasn’t his injury; it was healing just fine, and he could make small steps without the crutches.

  He had stayed up the night before thinking about Geneva until it became too painful to close his eyes. He had gotten up and arranged his room. He had cleaned it from top to bottom and hung up his clothes and emptied all the boxes. The silence of the St. Ann night had haunted him, and flashbacks of his time with her had made him work like a demon. He had even gone into the kitchen and wiped it thoroughly when he had finished with his room. The grey fingers of dawn had caught him putting a load in the washing machine, still wide awake and sad.

  He had picked up his cell phone and typed her number and cleared it time and time again until he thought he was going to go mad. She was lost to him forever; his body and his brain couldn’t accept it. His mother had heard his restless pacing and seen the spotless house, so when they got in the taxi with Miss Norma she directed all her conversation to her and virtually ignored him. She knew when he wanted to be left alone.

  The taxi pulled up at an empty house near the beach located a little outside the town. The house was situated in a square of land with flowers and greenery fighting for attention around it. It was bigger than he had anticipated. It looked like an old time house with board lattice; it even had a charming verandah.

  “Well,” Miss Nancy said, turning to him. “The location is good and the house is charming. We need a sign to say what we are operating, or most people would think this is somebody’s residence.”

  He nodded forlornly.

  “Look here, Froggie.” She glanced at Miss Norma, who was sniffing a large mint plant in a garden plot at the front. “You are here already, and presumably dead. You wanted it that way. You have to move on with your life.”

  He nodded again, feeling misery practically choking him.

  Miss Nancy sighed. “Are you still up for the idea you were running by me the other day, when I said I didn’t want a bar?”

  “You mean to offer live music in the nights?”

  Miss Nancy nodded eagerly.

  “Well, yeah,” Froggie said hoarsely. “I know this guy with a steel band who said he’d come every Tuesday and Thursday. I have friends in the reggae industry and new artistes who would like an audience.”

  “Yes, sar,” Miss Nancy said, clapping her hands. “It will take off. Look how close to the town we are.”

  As they were speaking, a group of tourists, who were walking by, stopped to take a picture of the house.

  “How quaint,” they whispered and posed near the building after getting permission from Miss Norma to take a picture.

  “Woi!” Miss Nancy squealed when they had walked off. “This place sell off already. Potential customers, Froggie…Imagine if we were opened today.”

  Froggie could see the potential, and a tingle of hope spread through him. If he made a success of this, then, he might get back Geneva. He wouldn’t be a don in the ghetto anymore but a respectable restaurant owner. They could marry and settle down here. His heart picked up speed; he had to make a success of this. She had six months left in the one-year contract. Surely she wouldn’t marry Justin Greenwood as soon as the year was over. Jealousy caused him to pause in his tracks as he followed the women to inspect the inside of the house.

  “What would you call it?” Miss Nancy called out to him over her shoulder.

  “New Beginnings,” he said a surge of hope coursing through him. He was starting over for her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Geneva called Miss Nancy as soon as she got up the next day. Summer classes were starting in June, and she was two weeks away from being a university student. She wanted to update Miss Nancy on her life and to check up on her.

  The phone rang twice and Miss Nancy came on the phone breathless.

  “Geneva,” she gasped down the line. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” Geneva said, suddenly nostalgic for the days when she lived with Froggie, and Miss Nancy used to visit. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to get you for days now.”

  Miss Nancy was making a concentrated effort to breathe normally. She had hired Miss Norma and another lady from the community to help her clean the house which they were going to turn into a restaurant and club. Though the place was structurally sound, the inside had been a junk yard, as if the previous owner had left an obstacle course to deter intruders.

  Of course, she couldn’t tell Geneva all of that. Moreover, she couldn’t tell her that Froggie was outside haggling with a furniture maker over his wicker tables a
nd chairs. She moved further into the house to talk to Geneva, but Froggie’s head had snapped up at the mention of her name, and the longing in his eyes had made her pause. She almost handed the phone to him and told him to talk to her.

  “Miss Nancy, are you there?” Geneva asked urgently.

  “Yeah,” Miss Nancy said. “I was working, you know.”

  “Doing what?” Geneva asked curiously.

  “Cleaning out a house for a friend,” Miss Nancy replied. After all, Froggie was also her friend.

  “Oh,” Geneva said, wanting to know more. “So are you still in St. Ann?”

  “Oh, yes,” Miss Nancy answered hurriedly. “I love it here. I might open a restaurant.”

  “Something similar to what you had with Fr… Fro… Frogg…” She started to cry. She couldn’t think about him dead. Look how well she had started out the day. She hadn’t been as swamped with grief as she was used to.

  “Oh, don’t cry, Geneva,” Miss Nancy said weakly, feeling like a betrayer. Froggie came to the doorway and heard his mother. His heart squeezed in sympathy. He hadn’t thought about how his so-called death was causing Geneva a lot of grief. Again, he wondered if he had done the right thing. His mother glanced at him accusingly as she sat heavily in a chair and listened to Geneva sobbing.

  Geneva grabbed her sheets and dried her eyes, but then she looked in the mirror and saw her tear-streaked face and started to cry afresh.

  “Geneva,” Miss Nancy said urgently. “You have to get over Froggie. Enjoy your new life; forget the old one.”

  “Nooooo,” Geneva sobbed. “Never. I called to tell you that I put some money in the bank for you to help with your new restaurant and with your house savings. I have to go now. Talk to you next week.” She hung up the phone before Miss Nancy could reply and went to lie on her bed in a fetal position and cried her heart out.

  ****

  Froggie stared at his mother as she palmed her cell phone and crossed her arms. He had not moved from the doorway after he heard his mother telling Geneva to forget him. He had felt as if his heart had stopped beating, and now all the pent up air, that he hadn’t realized he was holding, came rushing back out in a sigh.

  “What did she say?”

  Miss Nancy looked at him balefully. “As a soon-to-be member of Miss Norma’s church, I can’t be continuing with this lying Froggie.”

  “What did she say? How is she?” Froggie asked urgently.

  “She is bawlin’ her head off, so I guess she isn’t doing too well. She sent me money for the restaurant and the house I had told her I was saving toward.”

  Froggie shook his head. “Even though she thinks I'm dead, she is still looking out for you.”

  Miss Nancy nodded. “And I am lying to her. Every time she calls me, I am forced to lie and pretend that you are dead. Suppose one day she shows up here in Ochi? What would you do?”

  “Don’t let her come,” Froggie said sadly. “At least not yet. Not until I can prove that I am worthy of her.”

  “You were worthy before,” Miss Nancy said dryly. “You are just proud now that she is rich. When she was the poor one and you were helping her out, you had no problems with that. Lord, help men and their faulty reasoning.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Miss Norma’s granddaughter is coming tomorrow to stay with her for the summer.”

  “So?” Froggie asked menacingly.

  “So, give her some attention and forget Geneva, or tell Geneva the truth and let us all live in peace.”

  “I am not interested in anybody else,” Froggie said, heading for the door.

  “Accordin’ to Norma, her granddaughter is a virtuous woman and is the best looking woman in the entire Jamaica!” she shouted at Froggie’s retreating back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “I am not an ogre, Geneva,” Justin said, standing at the doorway of the sitting room. His caramel complexion was complemented by a green shirt; his broad shoulders and curly tousled hair completing the handsome scene. “Believe it or not, I understand your need to grieve Froggie.” He looked pained. “But not answering your phone for three weeks and shutting yourself away in your room is not helping.”

  He took a deep breath, entered the room and stopped before her chair. "I will help you through your grief, if you’ll let me.” His expression was so earnest Geneva allowed herself a little smile.

  He smiled back. She had come to the sitting room to stare sightlessly at the big screen television. Melody, who was engrossed in her online affair, must have reported to Justin that she had finally crawled out of her room.

  “You’ve lost weight,” Justin said, inspecting her. Her tight curls had also grown a bit since the last time he saw her. The little corkscrew curls were now brushing her ears. She had a rumpled look that was turning him on. Her bare lips were red and wet. He got up abruptly and sat in the chair opposite hers. He couldn’t maintain a platonic friend approach to Geneva when she looked so sexy, even without trying.

  “So, you start school tomorrow,” he said, looking at the textbook she was clutching.

  “Yes, and I also get to do my driving test in four weeks.”

  “Cool,” Justin grinned at her. “Are you getting enough practice?”

  Geneva nodded. “Like clockwork, every morning at 7:30, I report dutifully to Phinx. He is a patient teacher.”

  Justin looked at her animated expression and wished that he had known her before Froggie. He wished she wasn’t grieving for him and that he didn’t have to pussyfoot around her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Geneva asked him curiously.

  “Like what?” Justin said and grinned at her wolfishly.

  “As if it’s the first time you have ever seen me.”

  “Well…” Justin said, deliberately tempering his speech. “I haven’t seen you for soooo long that I wanted to recommit your features to memory.”

  “Hardy Har,” Geneva said sarcastically.

  “Actually, I was wondering what would it take for you to be my girl?” Justin asked in a rush, castigating himself mentally for pushing so fast and possibly alienating her.

  “Well,” Geneva said, considering, “you would have to take my summer classes, take my driving test and… mmmm… take me to a cricket match. I’ve always wanted to go to one of those.”

  Justin jumped up. “Show me to the university. I will get tickets for the one-day match between the West Indies and England on Sunday.”

  Geneva laughed, clutching her sides. “I haven’t laughed so long and so hard for a long while.”

  “I was serious,” Justin said, crestfallen.

  “I know,” Geneva said, smiling at him. “Let us take it one day at a time. I'm still not ready to enter into a new relationship. I'm not over the old one.”

  Justin bent toward her and kissed her on her lips and then ran his tongue lightly at the seams. Their indrawn breaths were the only sounds in the room. Geneva was the first one to pull away. They stared solemnly at each other.

  “How about dinner?” Justin asked. “I have been dying to take you somewhere other than a fast food joint.”

  “Okay,” Geneva said, slightly dazed and confused. For a minute, when she had looked at Justin, thoughts of Froggie had receded from her mind for the first time since he died.

  ****

  Miss Nancy sauntered out to the hall in her best Sunday clothes and eagerly awaited Froggie’s comments. He was sitting around the dining table, filling out business registration and tax registration forms. He was painstaking in his business this time around; he wanted everything to be legitimate.

  “Ehem,” Miss Nancy cleared her throat loudly.

  Froggie looked up and then blinked twice. His normally tightly clad mother with the outlandish wigs and high heels was transformed into a church-going saint? He blinked again to make sure that it was Nancy Reid he was staring at.

  “Miss Nancy?” he remarked. He was swallowing and had not made a comment. She knew she had shocked him. Hell, she had even
shocked herself. After years of wearing wigs and weaves she had decided that this morning she would wear her natural hair. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon with a very substantial bun at the back. It made her face look much younger and prettier. A few weeks of intense exercise and good sleep had also helped. The St. Ann air was also doing wonders for her. She didn’t look like the debauched ghetto woman anymore. Her dress was dark blue and long to her ankles. It didn’t cling like a second skin, and she looked elegant. She stared at herself in the mirror again and did a pirouette.

  “You look absolutely gorgeous,” Froggie said fervently. “I would pass you in the street and not recognize you.”

  “Good,” Miss Nancy said off-handedly. “How does this sound? Hallelujah!”

  Froggie jumped at her shout.

  “Just practicing for the preachin’. Miss Norma’s church people love to shout.”

  Froggie winced.

  “I heard that the preacher is single and free to mingle,” Miss Nancy whispered. She bellowed a laugh and then choked. She ended up coughing and gasping. “As a prospective parson’s wife, I guess I have to laugh decent, huh.”

  Froggie laughed and hit the table sending his pens flying. “The day you marry a parson is the day I forbid everybody from calling me Froggie ever again.”

  Miss Nancy smirked. “Well, well, Mr. Winston Reid, we’ll see. You never know what the Lord has in store for me.”

  “I wonder if the church people know what they are getting themselves in for,” Froggie muttered as his mother hastily grabbed her Bible at the sound of the car horn outside.

  “Later Froggie, Miss Norma’s son is here. Oh, by the way,” she said, turning at the door, “I'm carrying Tina home for lunch, so fix something.”

  “Who’s Tina?” Froggie asked, as he followed her to the door and watched as she gingerly made her way down the steps in her blue sequined high heeled shoes.