“So, what do you want to do now?” Yvette asked. She sipped water and waited for Victoria to get up from the workout bench.
“I can’t do anything until you help me up,” said Victoria. Exhausted, she strained to sit up but couldn’t move.
Yvette pulled her up from the bench and helped Victoria stand. Victoria’s face looked like boiled ham, and she struggled to breathe. She wouldn’t mention the noticeable weight gain since the night of the party.
“I was about to suggest the treadmill, but I think we’ve done enough for the day.”
“I need to walk.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look at me. What do you think?” Victoria pinched her rolls of fat together. “Something has to give.”
“Okay. Let’s give nature a shot. I have a little business to do later in Hampton, so let’s walk at McCurry State Park. Afterward, we can have smoothies—no fattening foods, only cool drinks.”
“Sounds good. I haven’t walked outside since…” Victoria turned away from Yvette.
“Since when?” Yvette asked.
“Aruba and I used to walk in the park all the time in Indianapolis.”
“So you’re mourning Winston, Emory, and Aruba?”
“That’s not fair, Yvette. I’ve been through a lot.”
“Join the hurt club! Everyone’s experienced something painful. It pains me right now to see you giving Aruba so much power over your life and emotions. She doesn’t deserve that much energy,” Yvette snapped. She didn’t mean to give such a terse response, but Aruba was renting too much space in Victoria’s head, and someone needed to tell her. If she had to be the designated informant, so be it.
Victoria’s chest heaved and tears streamed. “You didn’t have to be so direct!”
“Yes, I did. You can hate me all you want, but friends don’t let friends go around looking like Negro spirituals.” Yvette pretended to hold a microphone. She deepened her voice and sang, “Nobody knows the trouble I seen …”
“Stop it, Yvette!”
She switched to an English timbre. “Nobody knows my sorrows.”
“You win! I’ll go walking with you. Anything. Just stop embarrassing us!”
Yvette exited Planet Fitness, her voice rising as she sang, “Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down, sometimes I’m almost to the ground.”
Yvette drew attention now, and Victoria pushed her back playfully. Victoria laughed. It was deep-in-the-belly guffaw Yvette had never heard.
“Is my singing what you needed to break your funky spell?” Yvette asked.
Victoria continued to laugh as they sat in Yvette’s car. Pleased her plan was working, Yvette enjoyed seeing her friend smile. Even if Victoria didn’t accept the olive branch she extended, she’d walk away knowing she had put forth the effort of genuine friendship with her.
“So how far are we riding?” Victoria asked after catching her breath.
“Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Yvette hit I-75 and turned off her music. She wanted no distractions as they rode to the park.
“I was too abrasive earlier. I feel you’re trapped by all the sadness you’ve experienced. Life gets better—if you’re open to it.”
“What makes you think I’m not open?”
Yvette pursed her lips and gave Victoria a quick glance. She didn’t want to veer off the road, but part of her wanted to pull alongside the road and recite the list of slights she’d endured. She kept driving.
“Let’s see. You’re Ft. Knox secretive about your life.”
“It’s not good to tell people your personal business.”
“You clam up when anyone mentions, well, mentioned, your relationship with Emory.”
“I wanted to keep things between us sacred.”
“You really don’t like women, except your Aunt Marguerite. I’m still trying to figure out how you feel about your mother.” I’m being too forward. Let me soften up.
“I wouldn’t say I don’t like women. It’s like I told you when you stopped by with Marguerite, the betrayal with Aruba was so strong I haven’t recovered. My whole life was turned upside down because of one person.”
“Turned upside down, yes, but not over. Are you telling me you plan to stop living because of Aruba…” Yvette snapped her finger. “What’s her last name?”
“Dixon. Aruba Dixon. Wow, I guess I should say Faulk since she married my ex.”
“Her last name doesn’t matter. I wanted you to say her full name to make her real. If you could see her right now, what would you say to her?”
“I wouldn’t say a word. I’d punch her in her face and beat her within an inch of her life.”
“Really? You’re so sensitive that you don’t kill bugs, so I know that’s not true.” Yvette thought of another way to broach the subject. “Pretend I’m her. What would you say to me if I were Aruba?”
Victoria recalled her rehearsed speech. “Why? Why did you take the time to befriend me if you knew you were up to no good?”
“If I said I’m sorry, would you forgive me?”
“I don’t know. That’s a tall order.”
“At least you didn’t say no. We’re making progress.”
“Why is this so important to you anyway? You have a wonderful husband and a good marriage, so why do I matter to you?”
“Because I was you some years ago.”
“Not Carl?”
Yvette shook her head vigorously. “No, Carl Hankerson is the love of my life! I wouldn’t have been with him, though, if I’d allowed bitterness to get the best of me.”
“What happened?”
Yvette veered to the right and got off on Exit 235 toward Griffin, Georgia. She stayed in the right lane and clutched the wheel tighter. “I was a senior in college planning my wedding. I am not minimizing what happened to you, and I know a dating relationship is different than marriage, but back then, I couldn’t imagine my life without David Rinks. We grew up together. He was my high school sweetheart, and all I could see was him.”
“David Rinks that attends our church?”
“The one and only. We were set to wed in July, my senior year. He graduated a year before I did and moved to New York for a job with IBM. I didn’t think twice when he thwarted my attempts to visit him. He told me to concentrate on getting out of school so we could be together. His mother and sister visited me at my dorm in Fort Valley, Georgia, and every Sunday, I enjoyed a soul food feast at their house.
“One Tuesday, I stopped by midweek, unannounced, to see my A-M-I-L—”
“A-M-I-L?”
“Almost mother-in-law. She stood at the door, acting as if we were strangers. I had photos of mother-in-law dresses for her; my mother insisted she finalize her choice so they’d match. Before I knew it, a small child who was the spitting image of David ran past his mother and said ‘Mommy,’ then shrank back when he realized I wasn’t his mother.”
“Jared?”
“Yes. He was two, almost three at the time, and they’d hidden the child from me since his mom, Cynthia, birthed him. Of course, David called, begged, pled, and everything, but I knew I couldn’t walk down any aisle with him. How could I trust a man who looked me in my face and carried on a three-year betrayal? He said he’d made a mistake by having a one-night stand with Cynthia. He eventually stopped trying to get me back, married Cynthia, and somehow, our lives continued to intersect.
“Cynthia isn’t too thrilled to be around me, but we’ve built a cordial bridge over the years. Carl and I even gave Jared an awesome graduation hook-up this year. We promised not to share what it is, but let’s say he won’t have problems going back and forth to college.”
“Yvette, I had no idea you’ve gone through so much pain.”
“Hey, every smiling face isn’t happy. People mask a lot,” said Yvette. She swung a right on Lovejoy Road and allowed her truth to soak in.
Victoria looked at her flawless associate. Even in sweats, Minimus shoes, and standing at five feet ele
ven inches, she exuded confidence. Yvette’s volleyball days were over, but men still approached her and asked if she modeled. Yvette’s sandy-brown, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Yvette lived for Smashbox Camera Ready BB Cream, but today, Victoria admired her blemish-free, caramel skin. Beautiful inside and out, Yvette didn’t deserve to be treated the way Victoria had treated her. I’ve got to do better, Victoria thought.
They arrived at McCurry Park, coasting into a space near the baseball field.
“Yvette, did I keep you from doing your business run?”
“You’re my business run. Let’s go walk off these pounds.”
Chapter 16
Jamilah unlocked the side entrance to her home office. The meeting with Roberta and Lasheera was set after Belinda spotted Tawatha crouched down in sunglasses and a gardening hat across the street. Although Tawatha wasn’t ordered to stay a certain distance from Lasheera or Aunjanue, Jamilah gave her specific instructions not to bother them. Societal reintroduction took time, and Tawatha should have known better than anyone she wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms—not this soon, and maybe never. Still, Jamilah felt a civic duty to help Tawatha after rumblings of inappropriate behavior by jurors surfaced.
Jamilah checked the coffee machine and the food tray, careful to include Roberta’s favorite creamers, pastries, and coffee flavors. She’d only spoken to Roberta by phone since Tawatha’s release two months ago, and each tense conversation ended with Roberta vowing not to speak to her daughter. Stalking was a serious crime, and Jamilah wanted to address Tawatha’s actions before they got out of hand.
Jamilah placed the elementary playground photo of herself, Lasheera, and Tawatha on her desk. She angled the photo so Roberta could see how much her friendship with Tawatha and Lasheera meant. The three of them wore matching green corduroy jumpers, paisley green-and-white turtlenecks, and green Keds. Tawatha had tied the jump rope around her waist in a bowtie as they hugged each other; she flashed a missing-front-tooth grin in the center of the girls. “It’s easy to love someone when they dot all their i’s and cross all their t’s,” Jamilah said, repeating a saying her late mother used when reprimanding her for being unsympathetic toward others.
Jamilah missed her parents but was glad they’d both passed away before Tawatha committed the horrible act. Her solidarity with Tawatha would have strained their relationship. After they died—her mother from breast cancer, her father from a massive heart attack—she inherited her childhood home. The insurance money enabled her to finish her undergrad degree and attend law school at Indiana University. She modeled her mother and Roberta’s frugality by negotiating with a contractor to have the basement transformed to a home office. The space enabled her to see clients as well as keep people away from her living space. The separate entrance allowed no access to her dwelling.
She looked up from the photo and spotted Roberta walking past the old-fashioned, ornamental light pole installed a month ago. Taken aback by Roberta’s appearance, she stood to open the door for her. A palsied gait replaced Roberta’s fast, hip-switching stroll. Roberta’s hairdo, usually a healthy mane of fire-engine red or honey-blonde, roller-set curls, sat limp on her shoulders—gray, dull, and frizzy. Not only was her hair uncharacteristic, but her throwback outfit shocked Jamilah. She wore a horrid floral, long-sleeved dress, riding boots, and no coat. The forty-degree weather at least warranted a decent jacket. She opened the door and attempted to hug Roberta, but she stood, arms glued to her sides, and gave Jamilah a let’s-get-this-over look.
Jamilah moved aside to let Roberta into her office. She waited until Roberta sat to speak.
“Thank you so much for coming today, Ms. Roberta. Lasheera should be here soon. May I offer you some coffee?”
“Actually, that would be nice. I can’t stay too long because Johnny is taking us shopping. After that, we’re dropping some items off at Gleaners Food Bank for Thanksgiving. The holiday is around the corner and we make a contribution every year.”
“I remember when you’d get us all together and take food to Gleaners when we were younger. It’s good to know the tradition is still going,” said Jamilah. She poured Roberta a cup of coffee and added her favorite creamer. She placed a blueberry cheesecake Danish on a dessert plate and set it before her.
“Thank you, Jamilah.”
Roberta sat back in her seat and enjoyed the treats. The coffee provided a much-needed boost. She dreaded facing Jamilah but felt she had to get some things off her chest. She finished her food and placed the items on the side of the desk.
Jamilah looked at Roberta and regarded how much she’d aged since the children died. Her puffy, red eyes hadn’t seen sleep in a long time. The hard creases across her forehead sat defiant, refusing to slacken. Wrinkles set in her face, making her look older than her fifty-six years. She’s given up on life.
Jamilah cleared her throat and eyed her watch. “It’s ten minutes after ten. I wonder why Lasheera’s running behind this morning. She’s generally the first one here.”
“I can say what I have to say and be on my way. I understand your friendship with Tawatha goes back a long way. I’m not in agreement with you getting her out of jail, though. Shouldn’t that have been some kind of conflict of interest?”
“Not necessarily. I’ve read of people going to law school with the specific purpose of helping their imprisoned relatives go free. She needed someone to help her.”
“That’s your opinion. I think she would have been better off thinking about her actions day in, day out. Let’s say, for the rest of her life.”
“Ms. Roberta, she’ll have to face her actions the rest of life—in or out of jail.”
Roberta pulled her stringy hair off her shoulder. “This is Onnie’s senior year in high school. I wanted to keep her, but looking at her brought back so many sad memories. Lake and Lasheera stepped up to the plate to help do what I couldn’t do. Tawatha coming home is going to disturb the balance they’ve created for Onnie.”
“I’m sorry Tawatha went to their neighborhood. I will speak to her when I meet with her later today about staying completely away from the family. I called you and Lasheera here today to simply ask if you’d reconsider seeing Tawatha. She misses everyone and wants some type of connection.”
“’Milah, I understand what you’re trying to do. I can’t see my child right now. I still love my daughter—I really do—but I didn’t raise her to do what she did. Do you know how embarrassing it is knowing your child is a murderer of children? I know I made a bad decision when I got involved with her father; he was a married man at the time, but I didn’t know it. I lost Tawatha’s twin sister, Teresa, to pneumonia, so Tawatha knows what it’s like to lose someone close.”
“No one is accusing you of the crime,” said Jamilah.
“They are. Family members accuse me when they won’t let me visit. Strangers accuse me by shunning me once they find out I’m her mother.”
“Ms. Rober—” Jamilah was interrupted by her cell phone. Lake’s name flashed across the screen. She held up one finger to Roberta and answered the call.
“Jamilah, how are you?” asked Lake.
“Doing well. Just chatting with Ms. Roberta. What’s up?”
“Will you ask Lasheera to stop by the FedEx office near our house when she leaves you? I’m positive I left my jump drive in her purse.”
“Lake, Lasheera isn’t here. We’ve been waiting for her to arrive.”
“What do you mean, she isn’t there? She talked about the meeting, well, ranted about it, up until she went to bed around eleven last night.”
“Oh, I didn’t know she wasn’t onboard for the meeting.”
“Trust me, she was onboard. She had a few things she wanted to tell you about Tawatha’s stalking. She should have been there at least an hour ago.”
“I’m worried now. What do you want me to do?”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll run by the house to see what’s going on. Worst-case scenario, she got a
wild hair up her butt and decided she couldn’t do it.”
“Please call me when you find out what’s going on, okay, Lake?”
“I’ll call you ASAP.”
Jamilah ended the call and resumed her conversation with Roberta.
“Is something wrong with Lasheera?” asked Roberta.
“I’m not sure. Lake said she talked about our meeting last night.”
A light tap on the door startled them. Jamilah went to the door, opened it, and hugged Johnny. Unlike his wife, he welcomed Jamilah with open arms. Jamilah took in the fresh scent of Irish Spring.
“Is everything alright in here?” he asked. Jamilah noticed his weather-appropriate attire and imagined he’d tried to make Roberta wear a coat. His London Fog trench coat clung to his strapping frame. She glanced at his polished black boots. When the three of them were closer, and before Johnny married Roberta, she, Lasheera, and Tawatha playfully called him the Black Falcon behind his back because of his polished shoes. His gentle ways and dignified manner were no match for his rugged good looks. Retired from Chrysler Foundry, he was a salt-of-the-earth man whose calloused hands slipped in his pockets to give Tawatha’s children five- and ten-dollar bills. Totally gray, he kept his beard and hair groomed to perfection and his dusky skin glistening with almond oil.
“How are you doing, Mr. J.B.?”
“I’ll be better when Roberta’s better.” He turned his attention to his wife. “Is everything okay in here?” He removed his fedora and sat next to Roberta. He massaged her left hand and held it tight. The worry lines on her face gave away her distress.
“I was telling ’Milah I’m not ready to reconnect with Tawatha right now. I may do it later, but whenever I think of that urn holding those babies …” She choked back tears.
Forgive Me Page 8
