by Bobby Love
Contents
* * *
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Authors’ Note
A Knock at the Door
When We Were Young
Trouble
Broken Promises
Prison
Photos
Escape
Our Love Story
Real Life
No More Secrets
“I Am Bobby Love”
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Connect on Social Media
Copyright © 2021 by Bobby Love and Cheryl Love
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
marinerbooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 9780358566052 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780358566229 (ebook) | ISBN 9780358581703 (cd) | ISBN 9780358581871 (audio)
Photographs courtesy of Bobby and Cheryl Love
Cover design by Jessica Handelman
Cover photograph © Gioncarlo Valentine
v2.0921
For our parents:
Annie Miller & James Edward Miller
(Bobby)
Reverend George Leon Williams & Gertrude Williams
(Cheryl)
Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you,” says the LORD, “thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”
Romans 8:28 And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.
Authors’ Note
The Redemption of Bobby Love is a memoir. The story you’re about to read is true and is based on our memories and recollections of the events we lived. To protect the privacy of the people who did not agree to have their stories told in these pages, we have changed the names and identifying details of most of the people mentioned. In a few cases, to limit confusion, we have created characters who are an amalgamation of multiple people in our lives.
chapter one
A Knock at the Door
* * *
CHERYL
It was still dark when I opened my eyes. Bobby was asleep next to me, but I could hear Jordan rattling around in the kitchen. It was Thursday. That meant Jordan had to catch the subway by 6:15 in order to make it to school for his 7:00 a.m. class. I gave thanks that the twins were so responsible that they didn’t need reminding to get up for school and out the door on time. As high school juniors, they showed us every day their growing maturity. I peered at the clock on my nightstand and sure enough, it was 5:30 a.m.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Bobby, grabbed my robe from the chair, and padded to the kitchen without bothering to put on my slippers. Even though our little Brooklyn apartment was cramped—Bobby and I slept in the living room, pretending it was a fourth bedroom—at least it was toasty warm. Even in January, my bare feet weren’t cold on the linoleum floor.
Jordan was drinking the milk from his cereal bowl, standing at the sink. I made a face but didn’t say anything. I knew he was rushing. Instead, I went to fill the kettle for my tea and Jordan dashed back to his room to collect his things. Before he could make it out the door, I stopped him. “Wait a minute, Jordan,” I called, making my way over to my son. He knew what I wanted.
We bowed our heads together, and I reached for his hands. Normally I would have woken up Bobby to pray with us, but I decided to let him sleep.
“Father God, in the name of Jesus, I ask you to keep us safe and covered as we go about our day,” I began. Jordan grew still as I prayed over him, as I did every day for all of my children before I allowed them out of the house. It was our regular ritual, no exceptions.
“Amen,” I whispered and smiled up at my son, who was now several inches taller than my five-foot-seven frame.
Jordan bent over and kissed my cheek. “I love you, Ma,” he said before he slipped out the door.
I tiptoed back to the kitchen as I heard the teakettle begin to whistle. I grabbed a peppermint tea bag out of the box in the cabinet and set my tea to steep. The sun hadn’t yet come up, but I knew it was going to be a nice day. The weatherman had said it was going to be sunny and in the low forties, which was a blessing for a New York winter. I thought about how many layers I’d have to put on for my walk to work. After fourteen years walking to the same office, the same thirty-minute route, I knew exactly how to dress for my daily commute but still look appropriate for the office. As a nutrition coordinator, I didn’t have to dress fancy, but I always wanted to look nice for the clients I was helping get back on their feet.
I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 6:30 a.m. I knew I’d have to check on Justin shortly. He had a different schedule than his brother and didn’t have to be at school until 8:00, but his commute included two different subways, so he needed to be out the door in less than forty-five minutes. I picked up my teacup, took a sip of the warm liquid, and closed my eyes to savor the taste for just a minute.
A loud banging on the front door interrupted the moment.
My eyes flew open. Without thinking, I called out with my best Brooklyn attitude, “Who is it?”
I couldn’t imagine who would be knocking at this early hour in the morning. I hoped the tone of my voice conveyed my annoyance and anger at whoever was on the other side of my door.
Apparently it didn’t, because they knocked again. Louder this time. More insistent. Whoever it was had now woken up my husband. Bobby called out from our bed, “Go next door! This is apartment two A!” He too sounded annoyed at this unwanted early-morning intrusion.
If whoever was on the other side of our door was indeed looking for our neighbor in 2B, I was ready to go off. That woman was bad news. We were always seeing strange men coming in and out of her apartment. She cursed and hollered at her kids so much, we weren’t surprised when Child Protective Services showed up the year before, threatening to take her children away. I started to make my way to the door to see if whoever it was needed to be set straight. As I walked past the living room, I noticed Bobby hardly seemed concerned and was still lying in bed, the blankets pulled up around his shoulders. Even though he’d have to get up in a few minutes anyway, I let him enjoy his last few moments of rest. I could handle whoever it was pounding on the door.
“Open up, this is the police, we want two A!”
I scrunched up my face in confusion. Did the police get another complaint about that woman? Did they need to talk to witnesses? I peeked through the peephole and saw the unmistakable blue of a police uniform. I nervously smoothed my hair down, pulled the edges of my robe tight, and slowly cracked open the door.
That’s all it took.
A wave of police officers poured into our apartment. All men. At least ten of them. Maybe twelve. There were Black ones, white ones, and a few who looked Latino. They just pushed their way in, forcing me backward toward the kitchen so they could all get through the door.
My first thought was Did the boys get into some sort of trouble? But most of the officers went right into the living room and crowded around Bobby, who was still in our bed. I couldn’t make my way over to him because the other officers were practically barricading me in the kitchen, but I managed to push around them enough so I could at least see what was going on. Bobby was still lying down. Police officers surrounded him. I could hear one of the officers barking at him: �
�What’s your name?” Then a pause while Bobby answered.
“No, your real name!” the officer said.
I could see Bobby’s lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying because he was speaking so quietly.
“What’s going on? What is this?” I cried to anyone and everyone, but mostly to Bobby. Nobody answered my questions, though. All the attention was on my husband.
“Are there any guns in the house?” one of the officers shouted at Bobby. I saw Bobby shake his head no, but two of the officers took off toward the back of the apartment anyway.
“Wait, my kids!” I shouted, now turning my attention away from the living room. Our apartment was a typical railroad apartment with a long hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. We had given the twins and our daughter Jessica the bedrooms because we figured they needed more privacy than we did. Our eldest daughter, Jasmine, was married and had already moved out.
The two officers who were heading toward the bedrooms ignored my cries, but I couldn’t ignore their guns. My heart leapt into my throat with fear. Every day there was another story on the news of an officer killing an unarmed Black man or woman. They shot first and asked questions later. I didn’t want the boys or Jessica to be another statistic, so I kept hollering, “My kids are back there! They’re sleeping! They’re not doing anything!”
I tried to follow them down to the bedrooms, but an officer held me back. I heard Jessica give a frightened yelp when the officers entered her room, but I didn’t hear a sound from Justin. My heart ached for my kids because I knew they must be as confused and as terrified as I was. I just prayed that neither Justin nor Jessica would make any sudden moves that would give these men the slightest justification to shoot.
Once they were satisfied that we weren’t hiding any guns in our home, the two officers came rushing back toward the living room and announced that they had found no weapons. That’s when Justin came and stood in the doorway of his bedroom, where he could observe everything that was going on, and Jessica tiptoed up to stand next to him. The two of them were frightened and looked at me for answers. I just shook my head at them and motioned for them both to be quiet.
Knowing the kids were safe for the time being, I turned my attention back to Bobby. When I looked over, I saw he was now sitting on the edge of the bed with his head hanging down. He was still talking so quietly I couldn’t make out a single word he was saying to the officers. All I could see was that he was nodding his head yes to most of the questions he was being asked.
“You had a long run,” I heard an officer say, and Bobby’s head seemed to drop even further.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Bobby, what happened? What did you do?” I screamed, pushing against the wall of bodies in front of me.
My questions weren’t answered, and Bobby looked like a frightened little boy instead of my tall, proud husband. The officers crowding our apartment treated me like I was invisible, simply causing my panic to grow. My heart was pounding like crazy and I started to imagine the worst, and that’s when I noticed that not all the men surrounding Bobby were police officers. My eyes got a little wider as I realized that half of these men were FBI agents. It said so on the back of their blue jackets.
With a burst of energy, I pushed past the officer blocking my path to the living room. I had to find out what was going on, but he grabbed me and pulled me roughly back toward the kitchen.
“Ma’am, stand back!” he shouted. “You don’t know who this man is. You don’t know what he’s done!”
His chilling words had their intended effect. I stopped for a moment to try to take in what he was saying. The chaos all around me. FBI. Police. And a husband who refused to answer my questions.
“Bobby!” I shouted across the room. “What is this? What’s going on? Did you kill someone?” The words just flew out of my mouth because I couldn’t think of any other reason for the drama unfolding in our living room. But Bobby still didn’t answer.
“Bobby, did you kill somebody?” I shrieked, my hands clenched in tight fists, wanting and not wanting to know the truth.
Finally, Bobby answered me. “No, Cheryl,” he said, loud enough for me to hear this time, but still too quiet for my liking. “This happened before you. This was before the kids.”
My mind went to a thousand places in less than a second. My emotions ricocheted from shock, to fear, to sadness, and then, of all things, to relief. But it was true. Some part of me felt a sense of relief because now I knew that I had been right all along. I knew my husband had a secret he had been hiding from me since the day we met, and it was all coming to a head right in front of my eyes. I didn’t know what it was, but it was obviously something big. Of course, this wasn’t how I’d imagined it would be revealed, but there was a part of me that understood that this moment was something I had been waiting for, for nearly thirty years. Finally, I was about to learn the truth.
That’s when an officer turned to me and said calmly, “We’re going to be taking your husband to jail.”
Without even thinking, I shouted back at the officer, “You can’t take him to jail!” I knew Bobby had obviously done something wrong, but I just couldn’t fathom that it meant he needed to go to jail.
Everything was happening way too fast. I closed my eyes for just a second to try to gather my thoughts, and when I opened them, my vision landed on the refrigerator, where pictures of the kids grinning in places where we’d traveled together as a family hung from magnets bearing inspirational messages my friends from church had given me over the years. We weren’t perfect, but we were a normal family. How could the secret Bobby had been keeping mean he was being arrested and taken to jail? It just didn’t make sense.
It didn’t matter what I thought though. The officers were growing impatient with my protests and insisted they were just following orders and had to take Bobby away.
“But he’s a diabetic. He needs his medicine,” I said. I don’t know if I expected the officers to change their minds or if I just hoped to prolong the process. I was simply working on instinct. And my instinct told me to take care of Bobby. Even though he was always the one who took care of us, it was clear Bobby needed me to be the strong one at that moment. For the first time since we’d been together, Bobby looked his age. The twelve-year difference between us suddenly became apparent and I could see my husband needed me. I wasn’t thinking about what he had done. I wasn’t scared of his past. I just wanted to take care of him to the best of my ability.
The officers continued to ignore me and told Bobby to get dressed. Diabetic or not, he was being taken away.
One of the officers—it was hard to keep track of who was talking—said Bobby wasn’t allowed to take any medication at the house, but he promised they’d get him his medicine en route to the jail. Jessica cautiously moved out of Justin’s doorway then and pleaded with the officers to let her father take his medicine, but the officers were adamant.
I was so frustrated because it wouldn’t have taken but a second to grab the bottle and give Bobby his pill. I wondered if they just wanted him to die.
Not on my watch, I decided. If they wouldn’t let Bobby have his pill, at least I could get something sweet into him so he wouldn’t pass out from low blood sugar.
I grabbed a handful of Bobby’s favorite Chips Ahoy! chocolate chip cookies from the package on the kitchen counter, and then I pushed hard against the officer blocking my path. I forced my way over to Bobby.
“Here, Bobby, you gotta eat,” I said, pretending we didn’t have an audience of twelve police officers watching us. I handed him two cookies. I started to cry then, and Bobby’s eyes were full of tears too. He didn’t say anything to me, but the look on his face was one of pure shame. He took the cookies and shoved them in his mouth to make me happy but didn’t say a word.
One officer tried to tell me I had to move away from Bobby, but now that I had broken free from the kitchen, I wasn’t going back. Bobby’s medicine w
as just inches from me now and I tried to give it to one of the officers, but they wouldn’t take it. A chubby Latino-looking officer just repeated that he would get Bobby his medicine on the way to the jail. And then he told Bobby he had to get dressed.
I told myself if I didn’t stop moving, somehow I could keep whatever was happening from happening. So I became a flurry of nervous activity.
I grabbed Bobby’s clothes from the chair near the bed and handed them to him. He slid his pants on right over his long johns and then he put on a fleece sweater and his sneakers. The police tried to hustle him out of the apartment, but I shouted, “Wait, it’s cold out. He needs a coat and a hat.” I didn’t even bother trying to control my tears at this point. I just kept wiping the sleeve of my robe across my face and wouldn’t take my eyes off Bobby. I knew Justin and Jessica were crying too, but I couldn’t even take a moment to comfort them.
I ran and got Bobby’s warm leather coat from the closet and helped him put it on. I knew he didn’t need my help getting dressed, but I wanted to be close to him for as long as I could. One officer kept telling me to stay away from Bobby, but I didn’t pay him any mind. I didn’t know what Bobby had done, but at that point I didn’t care. I was doing what my heart told me to do, and my heart told me to make this moment last because I had no idea what was going to happen next.
Bobby let me help him, but he kept his head down the whole time, like he didn’t want to look me in the eye. I knew I should be mad, but I couldn’t pull up that emotion. He was so obviously filled with shame and what looked like fear.
“Let’s go,” one of the officers said brusquely, and Bobby quietly followed him out the door, leaving me standing there. When I saw him like that, my mind returned to the question “What did he do?”
The rest of the officers filed out of the apartment and had the decency to stay silent as they walked past the kids and me. The last officer to leave, the Latino officer from before, paused before he walked out the door. He called out to his team, “I’ll be right there.”
