Body By Night
Page 22
“So how is it that Orlando thought he was my father?”
Mary took a sip of water and cleared her throat. She grimaced slightly and D’Andra caught it.
“Are you okay? Where are you hurting?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I should get the doctor.”
“I’m fine, D’Andra. I want to get this out.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment and then stared out the window as she continued. “Orlando knew how I felt about your father and felt bad that he’d been the one responsible for our break-up. Of course, the fault rested solely with me but Orlando chose to share the blame because he was there. He also knew your father; they’d been casual associates. They both rode motorcycles at the time and would see each other at the club or at some of the biker events. So even though I stopped seeing most of the other guys, I kept seeing Orlando. Eventually he moved in and shortly after that, I found out I was pregnant.
“At first he didn’t question that you were his. You favor me much more than your father, but there are definite attributes of his that you inherited. One of them is your strong, compassionate personality and another is your hard work ethic. But as you got older, Orlando did start questioning whether or not you were his child. By then I’d gone back to my old habits and had started seeing Cassandra’s father on the side.
“I’m not proud of this,” she repeated, as if her daughter needed convincing. “Cassandra’s father swept me off my feet with his good looks and smooth talk and even though he was married, I couldn’t resist the charm. When I got pregnant with San…that’s when Orlando left me. I only saw him occasionally after that and after he left town, moved to Chicago, I never saw him again.”
D’Andra’s heart pounded as she pondered the question she must ask, and ask she did. “What happened to my father?”
“He moved away for a while as well. I heard he’d moved to the east coast, I even think he spent time overseas. Then he came back here and found the type of woman he was trying to make me, one who acted like she had some sense. And when he found her, he married her.
“I wish I could say that’s all to the story but there’s one more part. When your father came back, I was determined to get him back. I went to him and told him I had a child by him. He wouldn’t listen for a second, didn’t want to know your name, see a picture, refused to even speak to me. I didn’t know it at the time but he’d gotten married. It didn’t matter. I still pursued him relentlessly. This was before tests and DNA and all of that stuff. He simply refused to believe he could be the father of my child and that was that. I can’t say I totally blamed him. Given my history he had every right to be skeptical.
“One day I ran into his wife at the store. One look and I could see she was pregnant. Things got ugly, real ugly. I ended up assaulting her physically, we ended up falling down on the sidewalk. The jut of the curb hit her in the abdomen. She later lost the baby.
“She didn’t press charges but looking back, she should have. It was a horrible thing I’d done and while I don’t know for sure what her doctors told her…in my heart I know I caused her to lose that child. And what’s worse, at the time, I was glad I did. Then the reality of what I’d done began to sink in. I caused a type of pain no mother should have to go through. To this day, I feel guilty. I don’t think your dad and her ever had a child together.”
D’Andra sat stunned. So this was the shame Orlando spoke about, why he’d asked her not to judge her mother too harshly.
“Orlando knew?”
Mary shrugged. “He may have heard about it. Like I said, he and your father knew some of the same people from the motorcycle club. It may be one of the reasons he washed his hands of me. At one point, I tried to get Orlando back, sent him messages through mutual friends we knew. But he had met someone in Chicago and let it be known that in no uncertain terms he was not interested. I fell into a deep depression for a while after that. For almost two weeks, I barely got out of bed.”
Although Mary spent a lot of time in the bedroom now, D’Andra couldn’t remember her doing so when she was a child. In fact, all through high school, she remembered her mother always on the go.
“So how did all this happen and I not remember?” D’Andra asked. “Your staying in bed, being depressed, I don’t recall any of this.”
A faint smile appeared on Mary’s face. “You can thank your Aunt Karen. Remember when you and San went to stay with her in Vegas that time, for about a month?”
D’Andra remembered it well. She’d turned nine years old that summer; Cassandra was six and Jackie was seven. It was hot as Hades but Aunt Karen brought an inflatable pool, some beach balls and snorkeling sets. They’d played in the pool all day, almost every day, and would come out with hair spongy as wool and skin shriveled as raisins. That month was one of D’Andra’s favorite childhood memories.
“Karen knew everything that had happened. She called me the day I found out Orlando got married. I was crying like a fool, talking crazy. She was concerned for me and even more for y’all; she knew it wasn’t healthy for you girls to see your mama all out of sorts. And I was a mess. So she and Ann worked together to get y’all down there. She bought the bus tickets and everything.”
D’Andra nodded, remembering when Dominque’s mother had taken them to the bus station. Dominque had cried because she couldn’t ride the bus too, even though at that time, they barely knew each other. It wasn’t until two years later that they became best friends. Then, D’Andra remembered something else.
“Mama, did you ever talk about this with Sam?”
Mary looked surprised. “Cassandra’s daddy? Yeah, why?”
“Remember that day you found me asleep in the closet? It was shortly after we returned from Vegas.”
Mary creased her brow, trying to remember. She finally shook her head no. “Y’all were always doing silly stuff. I probably didn’t pay it any attention.”
“Well, it was because I overheard a conversation, and you called someone a b-i-t-c-h. I think you might have been talking about this woman, but I thought you were talking about me. That’s why I hid.”
Mary’s eyes teared up once again. “D’Andra, I would never, ever do that!” Her voice softened. “But I must admit, there was a time I hated you. I’m so sorry, but I hated you because I wanted to be a part of your father’s life and you are a part of him. I’m so sorry!”
Mary cried openly now. D’Andra walked over, sat on the bed, and quietly rubbed her mother’s shoulders as the tears flowed.
“Shh, Mama, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t get any more upset than you are already.” D’Andra wrapped her hands around her mother’s arms and rocked her gently. Finally the crying stopped, but the tears still flowed.
The admission and deliverance of indescribable pain brought a pallor over the room and with it silence. It was almost a full five minutes before either of them spoke again.
“What’s my father’s name?” D’Andra asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Mary looked her daughter in the face and pronounced a name she’d rarely spoken aloud in decades. But it was time. Her daughter deserved to know.
“Johnson,” Mary said, feeling the weight lift from her conscience even as she uttered the name. “Your biological father’s name is Carter Johnson.”
29
D’Andra sat stunned. She was sure she’d heard incorrectly. Had her mother just uttered the name Carter Johnson? The same name as Night’s stepfather? There was no way, absolutely no way she could have heard right. Her mother’s voice was weak, she’d almost been whispering. D’Andra relaxed the tension that had immediately built up in her shoulders. She took a deep breath, determined to hear better this time.
“Who’d you say, Mama?”
“Carter Johnson,” Mary repeated in a slightly stronger voice. “The woman…his wife’s name is Valerie,” she added, furthering the proof that D’Andra had heard correctly the first time.
Mary placed her head in her hands and sobbed quietly into them. D’Andra sat and watched her, dazed, partly wanting to reach out, partly wanting to run out. There were so many emotions running through her, she couldn’t tell which one was more prevalent at any given moment: love for her mother finally telling the truth, hate for it having taken so long, shock at the fact that her father was alive, and living in L.A., sadness for all the time together they’d missed; numbness at how she could possibly break this news to Night and his mother. Her biological father had raised her lover as his son.
D’Andra rose from the bed and walked to the window. A couple chatted animatedly as they walked to the parking lot, hospital employees walked with heads down and purposeful strides, others talked on their cell phones. A plane flew overhead and a bicyclist navigated between the sidewalk and the grass. Outside, life went on as normal. But here in this room, D’Andra’s world had been turned upside down.
“Talk to me, D’Andra. I know that after all these years of your asking me to do it and me acting a fool and refusing I have no right to ask. But talk to me. What are you feeling, baby? I know you probably hate me now, but do you think there might come a time when you forgive me?”
“It’s a little more complicated than you realize,” D’Andra answered, still looking out the window.
“I…I don’t understand. Granted, I don’t have Carter’s number but I know some people who are still in contact with him. I can make sure you have his information…to contact him. I know that’s what you want.”
“You don’t have to look him up, Mama. I know where he lives.” She turned around to find Mary’s surprised eyes fixed on her.
“You mean to tell me you already know Carter Johnson?”
D’Andra’s laugh was without humor. “Yes, in fact I met him in this very hospital a little over a month ago. He was here visiting his wife, Val.”
Mary’s frown deepened, not making the immediate connection. “But what were you doing here? Were you doing some type of work or something?”
“No, Mama. I was here specifically to see her. Carter Johnson is my boyfriend’s stepfather, Mama, and Val is Night’s mother.”
“Oh, my God.” The full ramifications of Mary’s secrecy slowing began creeping through her initial veil of disbelief. She looked at her daughter, now standing dry-eyed and resolute. “D’Andra, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Oh, God,” she repeated. “What have I done?”
Cassandra and Jackie entered the room laughing but immediately sobered.
“What’s the matter?” Cassandra asked. “Dee, why is Mama crying?”
“It’s a long story,” D’Andra answered. “About my father.”
That night, despite the strong desire to take another personal day, D’Andra went to work. But the closer she got to the hospital, the slower she drove. She dreaded walking into the lobby and onto her ward. Night’s mother, Val Johnson, was there waiting for her visit. Waiting for her to pop in around twelve-thirty, the way she usually did, soon after beginning her eleven to seven shift. D’Andra didn’t see how she could avoid Night’s mother, but she also didn’t see how she could face her. Or Night, who was probably already wondering what was going on. He’d called her three times and left two messages. It was the first time since her initial encounter with Jazz that she hadn’t returned his calls.
Elaine noticed something wrong immediately and as soon as they’d gotten their assignments from the chief nurse, she pulled D’Andra into a supply room and closed the door.
“I know Black people don’t pale, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“I have,” D’Andra responded. “The ghost of my mother’s past.”
Elaine could sense D’Andra was fighting back tears, trying to keep herself together. She placed a gentle arm around her friend’s shoulders.
“Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”
D’Andra shook her head. “I don’t know where I’d start. I’m still trying to sort it out myself. You know the saying that truth is stranger than fiction?”
Elaine nodded.
“I’m living that strange truth right now.”
Elaine didn’t understand, but instead of asking probing questions remained silent.
“It’s about my father,” D’Andra said a few seconds later.
“Oh, honey,” Elaine said, hugging her friend more fully. Now D’Andra’s tight-lipped, pained expression made sense. She stepped back, placed her hands on D’Andra’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “So…you now know the name of your father?”
“Yes,” D’Andra answered. “And that’s all I can say right now.”
The two left the supply room after that and before long were absorbed in their work routine: taking vitals, passing meds, making reports. Her first patient was Frieda, who wide-awake at eleven-thirty, wanted to chat. That in itself wasn’t unusual to D’Andra. She often slept during the day, lay awake at night, and talked one’s ear off. No, the point that made its way through D’Andra’s muddled emotions was that Mrs. Frieda Lee Miller did not call her Grace.
“Well there you are, D’Andra,” she’d said smoothly, as if she’d said her name that way every day.
D’Andra offered a half-hearted greeting and then focused on her work.
“Did you know I have a new friend?”
“No.”
“Well I do, her name’s Val. She’s a smart lady, that one there.” Mrs. Miller’s voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I’ll tell you something else. She’s colored.”
Rather than respond, D’Andra motioned for Mrs. Miller to lift her tongue so her temperature could be taken.
“Do you know we know some of the same hymns? She grew up Baptist just like I did, except I was in Georgia and she was in Mississippi. Everyone knows Georgians are the true Baptists.”
In her depressed state, D’Andra became agitated. But when she looked up, Mrs. Miller had a twinkle in her eye.
“Yep, that Val Johnson is a mighty fine woman and she’s raised a strapping son.” She looked at D’Andra a moment before continuing. “Well my word, I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together before. He’s perfect for you, D’Andra. Val’s son.” Mrs. Miller squealed with delight, as if she’d just discovered the cure for cancer or the secret to youth.
“He’s kind and considerate and loves his mother. He came to visit her the other day when I was in her room. Brought her some candy and I made such a fuss over it that the next day he brought me some too. Now that’s a kindly gentleman if ever there was one.”
D’Andra never said a word. She felt if she so much as opened her mouth, a flood of tears would come out.
But Mrs. Miller had never had any problem with one-sided conversation. She touched D’Andra’s arm lightly. “If you want, I can put in a good word for you. I think he respects this old woman,” Mrs. Miller said, pointing a bony, purple-veined finger towards her chest. “He’ll listen to me.”
D’Andra shook her head and said, “No, Mrs. Miller. Don’t do that.” And then she fled the room.
By sheer will, D’Andra finished her rounds. She took her break, but instead of going to the cafeteria, she walked outside to the smoker’s area. Here, in the quiet of the early morning, D’Andra finally gave into her tears.
She’d been crying for several minutes when she felt a soothing hand on her shoulders and a warm body sit down next to her.
“I saw you come out here,” Elaine said gently. “Thought you might like some lavender tea…and some Kleenex.”
D’Andra looked up and smiled through her tears. She took a tissue from the box Elaine offered, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she took the cup of tea laced with just the right amount of honey and sipped slowly. After a few more moments, Elaine spoke again.
“
I also brought you the biggest chocolate chip cookie I could find. I know it’s not medically proven, but I personally think chocolate cures just about any ailment one could have, including a shattered heart.”
“Thanks, friend,” D’Andra said, before going into another round of sobbing. Elaine held her gingerly, patiently, until the moment of anguish subsided. As she did so, she tried in vain to figure out what finding out about her father had to do with D’Andra avoiding their new favorite patient, Val Johnson.
“Val asked about you earlier,” Elaine said after D’Andra had once again blown her nose and was now absently munching on the cookie. “She’s used to you stopping in as soon as you get to work and wondered why she hadn’t seen you. Night called as well, first his mother and then the front desk. Still don’t want to talk about what’s going on?”
In that moment, D’Andra knew that sharing the burden of the truth she’d learned might help to lighten it from her heart. She felt she could barely breathe, and knew from personal experience that situations often looked different in another person’s eyes. She knew Elaine’s would be a fair, non-judgmental perspective. She was the only one D’Andra could even imagine sharing this with: she didn’t want to talk to Cassandra about it and the thought of discussing it with Chanelle or Connie felt equally uncomfortable. But after looking at her watch, she knew that now was not the time.
“I do want to talk about it,” she said rising. “Maybe that will help me gain perspective. But there’s no time now, and I know you have to rush home right after work, so Max can leave for work.”
“I can spare a few minutes,” Elaine said readily. “Plus I can call my next door neighbor’s teen. I don’t think she has to be at school until nine. I’ll tell her I’ll drive her to school if she watches the kids. Then we can talk.”