The Redemption of Bobby Love

by Bobby Love

  I just couldn’t believe it. I decided then and there that Ms. Erica Valdez must be crazy or she must have her facts wrong. How could they send Bobby to prison for a crime that happened so long ago? He wasn’t a criminal. He was a sixty-four-year-old diabetic grandpa who walked with a limp. Of course I didn’t say any of this to Ms. Valdez. I just nodded my head as she went over Bobby’s case. But when Jasmine and I got home, I opened my mouth and shared my thoughts. Without holding back.

  “This just doesn’t make sense,” I said, pacing around the living room. Jessica and the twins agreed with me as we tried to figure out what we could do to get Bobby out of jail. There had to be something.

  “Mommy, look at this.” Jasmine called me over to the dining room table, where she was sitting with Jordan’s laptop computer.

  I walked over and stood behind her chair. “What? What is it?”

  Jasmine had pulled up her father’s arrest records online. “Mommy, it says that Daddy’s real name is Walter Curtis Miller.”

  I collapsed into the chair next to Jasmine and repeated the name. “Walter Miller!” Of course. That’s why his siblings had the last name Miller and Bobby didn’t. I remembered asking him about that the first time we’d been down to Greensboro, and he’d told me that since his siblings were half-siblings, they had a different last name. I didn’t question it at the time because I had no reason to doubt, but it was all coming together now.

  “Mommy, there’s more here.” Jasmine interrupted my thoughts. “It says that Daddy robbed more than one credit union and he did other robberies too,” she said.

  I leaned over and scanned the records Jasmine had found.

  “Wow, Dad really was a gangster,” Justin said.

  “Shut up, Justin,” Jordan said to his brother.

  I couldn’t say anything. I had assumed Bobby had robbed one place, but now I could see that he had been a real criminal, and suddenly so many things Bobby had told me started to fall into place like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Getting shot. Why he wanted me to stay away from North Carolina. Bits and pieces of his life in Washington, DC, that had sounded scandalous. Maybe all these years Bobby had been trying to tell me about his life but I had brushed him off. Whenever he started a story that had to do with him partying or living hard, I’d say, “Oh, please, I don’t want to hear that stuff. That’s nothing you should be bragging about.” And then he would shut down. Now I wondered if Bobby had been wanting to tell me who he really was all these years and I had pushed him away.

  Unfortunately I didn’t have much time to figure it all out because Ms. Valdez called me the next day to tell me her strategy for Bobby and what she wanted me to do. “Look, Mrs. Love,” she started. “Bobby doesn’t want to be sent back to North Carolina, so I’m going to see if we can keep him here in New York, but I’m not going to lie. It is very unlikely that’s going to happen. His crimes were committed in North Carolina, and he escaped from their state prison, so that’s where he has to serve his time.”

  “I see,” I said, even though I really didn’t.

  Ms. Valdez went on. “So I’m going to file as many motions as I can to see what I can do on that front, but I’d like you to talk to the media to try to get Bobby’s story out there in the world. The more people who know about it the better. When the public is on your side, it can’t hurt, but it can certainly help.”

  “What do you want me to say to the media?” I asked, already wary.

  “Look, this is just an incredible story. You don’t have to focus on what your husband did in the past. You just need to tell people that he was a good father and a good husband. A member of the community and all that. Just tell the truth. Basically, you need people to know that he has been a law-abiding citizen for all these years.”

  “Okay,” I said, even though the thought of talking to the media about my husband’s secret criminal past filled me with unspeakable dread. Old warnings from my father to keep our personal business out of the streets flashed across my mind.

  Clearly Ms. Valdez heard my hesitation. “Mrs. Love, this is going to help your husband, I promise you.”

  I sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it. But how am I supposed to get the media to talk to me?”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Erica laughed. “They will find you. Trust me.”

  Sure enough, the very next day, a woman from the New York Daily News called me while I was at work and asked if I was willing to be interviewed about Bobby’s story.

  So far I hadn’t told anyone about what was going on in my life, so I lowered the volume of my voice and made sure nobody was in earshot of my conversation.

  “I can talk,” I said quietly into the phone. “But not now.”

  “How about next week, Wednesday at six p.m.?” the woman asked. “After you finish work?”

  “That would be fine,” I said, trying to hurry off the call.

  We agreed that the woman would come to the apartment, and then I hung up and tried not to look as nervous and agitated as I felt.

  I didn’t want people all up in my business. I didn’t want people to ask me questions about Bobby, especially because I didn’t have any answers myself. I had just found out that the man I had lived with for almost thirty years wasn’t who he said he was, so who was I to be answering questions?

  The thing was, after talking with the reporter, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide much longer. The reporter seemed like a nice woman, and she told me the same thing the lawyer did, that this article was definitely going to make people aware of this “incredible story.” I prayed that they were right, but that meant that I would no longer be able to keep things private. The journalist said she was going to interview some other people too, including Bobby, so I had about two weeks before my business would be in the streets for good. I started making a list of all the people I needed to tell about Bobby’s past before they found out from the Internet like I did.

  When I was done, the list included my father, my siblings, and my two best friends, Carla and Deena. Of course I had to tell my godmother and godsisters as well. I would have to tell the people at work, and I would have to tell the bishop from our church and his wife. Telling the folks at church was the part I dreaded the most. How would I hold my head up once the congregation knew that my husband had been a criminal and he had been lying to me our whole marriage?

  * * *

  Jasmine came down from Harlem to go with me when I went to talk with the bishop, whom we affectionately call Bishop, and Bishop’s wife, known as the first lady. It was a Saturday, so neither one of us had to work. Bobby had been in jail for two days and at that point, it was still a secret from most everyone. Just the night before, I’d finally told my father and my sister and brothers. Everyone was shocked when they heard the news, but they all had something to say about it too. Daddy, of course, told me if I needed anything to call him and that he was there for the kids and me. Sis wanted to know if I wanted to come stay down in Atlanta with her while Bobby was in jail, but I told her no. I wanted to stay in New York and be close to him. My brother Scott was really sad to hear the news, but he also said he wasn’t surprised. “I always felt there was something Bobby was hiding,” he said. “I didn’t think it would be all this, but yeah, Cheryl, I always knew there was something.”

  Once my family knew, I had someone besides my kids to share the burden with, even though the burden I felt as Bobby’s wife was mine alone to carry. It was me he had lied to all those years. And it was me who had never put the pieces together. And it was me who had to decide if I could stay with a man who had deceived me and who had committed these crimes, even if they were in the past.

  At the church, Jasmine waited in the sanctuary while I went in to speak with Bishop to tell him what happened. His wife sat in the room with us. Because we all knew each other quite well, it wasn’t as painful to share my story as I had feared, but I was in tears by the time I was done. The first lady handed me a box of tissues, and Bishop told me to dry my eyes.

 
; “Cheryl,” he said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. I am thankful you told us what happened so we can support you, the kids, and Brother Bobby in any way that we can.”

  “Thank you,” I said through my tears, adding, “I know this article is going to come out in the newspaper soon, so I wanted you to hear it from me before you read about it somewhere else.”

  “We appreciate that,” Bishop said. “And again, you shouldn’t have to shoulder this burden alone, Cheryl, so it’s good that you let us know. And please tell us if we can do anything to help speed up Bobby’s release from jail. Of course we will pray for him and for your family.”

  “Thank you,” I said again.

  Then Bishop looked over at his wife and she nodded at him.

  “I’m going to excuse myself and let you ladies talk for a minute,” he said. “Sister, you’re going to be okay. Stay strong in your faith and remember, you are not alone.”

  “Thank you, Bishop,” I said and watched him walk out of his office door.

  The first lady then moved over to sit in the chair next to me. “Cheryl, what else is on your heart? I can see you’re struggling.”

  The tears started up again as I tried to put my emotions into words. “I just don’t know how I should feel. Bobby lied to me this whole time we were married. And I know people are going to say I was so dumb for not knowing anything. And if I stay with him, people are going to think I’m stupid for that too.”

  The first lady handed me more tissues. She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Cheryl, why are you thinking about other people? Who are you married to?”

  “Bobby,” I said.

  “And do other people decide what happens in your marriage with Bobby?”

  “No,” I said, wiping my eyes.

  “Well, then, you should stop worrying about other people as you try to decide what you want to do, given your current situation.”

  “But I don’t know what to do,” I wailed.

  “Let me ask you something,” she started. “Do you love your husband?”

  “Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I love Bobby. But that’s not even his real name. His real name is Walter Miller.” Those words, Bobby’s real name, sounded foreign on my tongue.

  “But who have you lived with for these thirty years? Who is Bobby Love to you?”

  I thought about my answer. Yes, Bobby did all those things all those years ago. But over the course of our lives together, he had tried his best to be a good father, a good provider, and a good husband. His worst habits were playing the numbers and being a horrible manager of our money. But who was I to judge? I had horrible money management skills too. Bobby wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. Bobby was a human being with flaws. I loved him with his flaws, and I loved the family we built together, with both our flaws. I’d always known that my husband’s heart was large and that something was getting in the way of him showing it to me fully. Now I knew why.

  I answered the first lady’s question. “Bobby is my husband and I love him.”

  “Well, then.” She smiled. “You know what to do, then.”

  “I do?” I said.

  “Yes. You need to ignore the busybodies in your business and anybody who tries to make you feel guilty for staying true to yourself and the love you have for your husband. I have gotten to know Bobby these last several months since he’s been working at our house and when he was helping to clean up the church after Hurricane Sandy. I know him to be a good man, Cheryl. Apparently he has a past, yes. But it seems to me he’s been working hard over these thirty years to make up for that past.”

  I wiped at my eyes and nodded. “You’re right. Bobby practically worked himself to death over the years for us. And now I just wonder if he was trying to make amends in some way.”

  The first lady stood up. “That’s something you’ll have to talk to Bobby about. But Cheryl, you are a strong woman who I know walks with the Lord. You lean on Him. You lean on Him when you feel weak or when you feel alone or when you feel angry. And know that I am always here for you too.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling truly grateful. And as I gathered up my coat and scarf and prepared to leave, I realized I felt lighter than I had when I’d arrived. Talking to the first lady had helped me clarify my thoughts, and I felt like a burden had been lifted. One thing I now knew I had to do, something I knew I could do, was keep loving my husband.

  The next day, we were finally able to get over to Rikers Island to see Bobby. Jessica and the twins came with me. We took the subway to Queens and then got the Q100 bus, which would take us all the way to the visitors’ center at the prison. Visiting hours on Sunday only lasted until 4:00 p.m., so we were sure to get there at 2:00 on the dot. I was a bundle of emotions—​nervous, scared, and worried. I had heard all of the horror stories about Rikers Island and didn’t know what I was going to find or what condition Bobby was going to be in, even though it had only been a few days since he’d been taken away. As we crossed the bridge leading to the island, I prayed silently, grasping Jessica’s hand, asking God to protect us and to protect my husband.

  I don’t think anything could have prepared me to see Bobby in prison for the first time. Before we were led into the visiting room, the kids and I were searched and sniffed three times by dogs. That alone spooked me, and I couldn’t imagine what Bobby must have gone through when he was brought here. The visitors’ room had sterile white walls, with bars on the windows and a worn gray linoleum floor. Flimsy gray plastic tables and chairs were scattered about where people could sit. The smell in the room reminded me of the gymnasium from my high school in Queens, a combination of musty sweat and industrial-strength disinfectants. I saw Jessica’s eyes grow wide as she took in the scene, and I knew I had to be strong for the kids.

  “Come on over here.” I gestured to a cluster of plastic chairs near a window.

  We all sat down and then waited, as we’d been instructed, for Bobby.

  We didn’t have to wait long. Jessica saw him first. “Daddy!”

  Bobby walked over to us, dressed in a baggy one-piece jumpsuit. His face was a mixture of sadness, joy, and shame.

  The five of us hugged, and almost immediately Bobby started to cry. I had never seen him so vulnerable and grieved.

  “Oh, honey, hush,” I soothed, leading him to his chair and fighting my own tears.

  But Bobby couldn’t stop crying, and he kept repeating over and over again, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Daddy, you don’t have to cry,” Jordan said. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re not mad at you.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Justin tried to joke. “We always knew you were a gangster!”

  We all looked at Justin then and burst out laughing. It was what we needed to get through the horrible moment.

  I pulled some tissue out of my purse and handed it to Bobby and watched him wipe his eyes and blow his nose. He took some deep breaths and then turned to me.

  “Cheryl, if you want to leave me, I’ll understand. You have to do what you think is right, but please don’t keep me away from my children.”

  And then he started to cry again.

  I had never seen Bobby like this and it scared me. “Bobby,” I said, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m not thinking anything like that. I’m not leaving you.”

  “I should have told you,” Bobby said, refusing to look me in the eye. “I should have told all of you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Bobby?” I cried. “You could have told me.”

  Bobby hung his head down and whispered, “I was so ashamed of what I had done, Cheryl. And I was afraid if you found out, you’d leave me.” He looked up at me then and said, “I never wanted you or the kids to know about my past. I wanted to take this secret with me to my grave.”

  * * *

  Bobby stayed in jail on Rikers Island for nearly six months while he waited for his sentencing and Erica fought extradition to North Carolina. The
kids and I went to visit him every single week. Without fail. Sometimes it was the girls and me. Sometimes it was the boys and me. Sometimes I went by myself. But I made sure we got there for visiting hours so Bobby could see us. I was deeply worried about his mental health. People told me that men would go crazy out there in those tiny cells at Rikers. I’d heard about men throwing their own feces and urine at the guards. I knew Bobby was strong-willed, but I didn’t know how anybody could handle one day, much less six months, in a place like Rikers. And at his age.

  At first I was embarrassed, having to go visit my husband in jail. But I had to take myself out of the equation. My embarrassment didn’t matter. What mattered was that I had to keep our family together. I simply accepted that this was what our family looked like for the moment. But I kept telling myself and the kids, “It’s going to get better. Bobby is going to get out of jail and we’re going to have a wonderful life together.”

  I had to continuously recite this mantra to myself because I was tested all the time. Once Bobby’s story came out in the news, I felt like everybody knew who I was and wanted to ask me how it was possible I never knew my husband was a former criminal and a wanted man. Even at church, folks would pretend they were interested in my well-being, but really they just wanted to press me to see if I had noticed any clues about Bobby’s past. I didn’t stop going to church, but after a while I stopped staying for the fellowship hour after the service. Even at work, people treated me differently. The room would go quiet when I entered, as if people were talking about me all the time. Finally I just had to announce one day, “If you have questions, you can ask me. You don’t have to stop talking to me.”