Just Can't Let Go

by Mary B. Morrison

  “Saw the texts on his cell. I said that yesterday. I wasn’t being nosy. We were in his car, I picked up his phone, and there was her naked pussy spread across his screen. She said she missed him already.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You shouldn’t have had sex with my mother, then me, then left the restaurant Saturday morning and fucked Charlotte.” Recalling the throwdown with Charlotte, I started getting mad all over again.

  “Well, she’s history. Your mom is too.”

  Men, I swear I hated their double-standard bullshit rationalizations. I drove into the entrance at Grady.

  Spencer stared at me, then sat up. “Why are we here? You have an appointment?”

  I got out the car; Spencer trailed me. His question about an appointment gave me the perfect idea. The only way to get out of being pregnant without confessing my lie was to fake a miscarriage. I could do that later.

  Standing at the information desk, I said, “We’re here to see Conner Rogers.”

  Spencer stepped back. He became quiet. His eyes shifted left, then back to me. “For real. This is how you gon’ do this shit?” he asked. “Why you spring this fucking trickery on me? This is the second time you’ve broken our agreement without telling me.” He yelled, “We are not supposed to deal with his ass!”

  I chose not to say a word hoping he’d calm down.

  The receptionist gave us directions to the intensive care unit. I led the way. Spencer walked beside me. He muttered, “I hope that muthafucka die.”

  “Don’t say that, Spencer. Conner was shot early this morning.”

  Crime in Atlanta had increased rapidly. Robbers were invading people’s homes while they were at home, then beating, sometimes killing them. Purse snatching in daylight was happening. Carjacking had taken a more organized approach with thieves stealing keys from valet attendants. Anything could’ve happened to my, I meant our dad.

  Spencer nodded, became quiet, slowed his pace. Standing in the hallway, my brother held my hand. We stopped. He faced me. “How do you know he was shot?”

  “After I spoke with you, a nurse called and told me.”

  “Why would she call you?”

  No need to lie. Wasn’t sure how my brother was going to feel. “She told me Conner said I was his only surviving relative.”

  Letting go of my hand, he became quiet again.

  I gripped his hand. “Go in with me. Please. I need you.”

  “You’re his favored. I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me. I’m chill. Don’t tell him I’m here. I’ll be over there when you come out,” he said, going toward the seating area.

  Maybe if my brother hadn’t cursed out Conner yesterday, things would be different. Taking a deep breath, I approached the nurses’ station. “I’m Alexis Crystal here to see Conner Rogers.”

  “Certainly. Right this way.”

  I followed her to a door. I peeped into the window. If Conner hadn’t offered to help me and my make-believe unborn, I wasn’t sure I’d be here.

  The nurse opened the door. “Go on in,” she said, entering behind me. She checked his monitor, looked at me. Her eyes shifted to Conner, then back to me. She nodded.

  A breathing cup covered his nose and mouth. He looked at me through eyes that were halfway opened. I shouldn’t have but had to ask the nurse, “Can you tell my brother I need him? His name is Spencer Domino. He’s in the waiting area.”

  Conner’s eyes shifted left to right, then back.

  The nurse nodded once, then left.

  Removing the cup, Conner said, “Thank you for coming, Alexis.” His voice was low, weak. “I’d hoped to get to know you better.” He took a long, slow, deep breath inside the cup. “I want you to take good care of my granddaughter.”

  No need to confess now, I said, “I will.” Sitting beside his bed, I held his hand. My throat began to swell. I swallowed. Asked him, “Why did you deny me? Why didn’t you at least let me know that you knew I was yours?”

  “Please don’t cry,” he said, watching my eyes fill with tears. “I can’t change what I’ve done. I was hard because I thought that was what made me a man.”

  Since my brother wasn’t here in the room yet, I asked, “Did you know your brother was molesting my brother?” I was entitled to an answer. If this man knew and did nothing, I was walking out and never going to see him again.

  Saying nothing was worse. I pulled away my hand. Stood. “So I’m your only living relative? Is that what you told these people?”

  He sucked more oxygen. “Alexis, wait. That’s not exactly what I told them. Please don’t leave. I asked you to come for a reason.”

  “And I asked you a question about my brother. I’m listening,” I said with one hand on the door.

  “I’ve changed my will. I’m leaving everything to you and my granddaughter.”

  I let go of the door. “You did what?” He mentioned last night that he’d email his attorney but that was fast.

  “I don’t want my only grandchild to want for anything. Please, come here.”

  I moved closer. This time I held the cup over his face. Waited until he’d inhaled several times.

  “Open that bottom drawer. Take my keys. They’re to my house and the car I was driving when I got shot. If I don’t make it out of here, everything is yours,” he said as though he knew he wouldn’t. “A copy of my revised trust is in my mailbox. Upstairs in my office, inside the top drawer of my desk you’ll find the keyless remotes to all my vehicles. My lawyer can help you work out the details.”

  The only attorney I trusted was mine. I was going to contact Kendall. He was the one who’d located Conner.

  Conner took a deep breath. “All I ask is that you do one thing for me.”

  Better not be something crazy. “What’s that?”

  “I want you to name my granddaughter Venus Domino Blake Crystal and call her Domino.”

  I was in shock. Wondered what else he’d left. Why didn’t he say he’d left something for Spencer? My brother was abused and abandoned.

  Spencer pushed open the door, entered the room, stood over Conner, then asked, “Did you know, old man?”

  Conner took a deep breath. “Son, I forgive—”

  This time Spencer’s voice was deeper. “You don’t deserve to call me your son. I need to know before you check out of here, old man. Did you know?”

  Conner’s chest heaved as he nodded his head.

  Spencer yelled, “You bastard!”

  Faintly, Conner responded, “No, son. Hear me out.”

  “No, nigga. Fuck you!”

  A nurse rushed into the room. “Is everything okay?”

  I hugged my brother. Spencer cried on my shoulder. Snot rolled down my arm. I didn’t care. I lied to the nurse, “Yes, he’s okay. Just a little upset.”

  Relieved she came in when she had, there was no telling what Spencer would’ve done. The nurse looked at our dad.

  Conner’s eyes slowly closed. I held my breath until he opened them, then said, “We’re good.”

  Soon as the door closed, Spencer stared down at Conner. “I swear if you weren’t in this hospital, I’d kill you.” Grinding his teeth, my brother asked, “Tell me why?”

  “Conner, please. Tell my brother the truth,” I pleaded.

  He took a deep breath. Blew it out of his mouth. “Until you took the DNA test, son, I honestly thought your mother had cheated on me. I thought you were his son, not mine.”

  “So you’d stand by and let him screw his own son. Man, that’s bullshit and you know it.” Spencer left the room.

  I started crying.

  Dropping Conner’s keys in my purse, I told my dad, “I have to go.”

  He opened his mouth. Gasp after gasp no words came out. I stood there waiting, hoping, praying he’d die for knowing and not stopping the molestation.

  “Did you leave anything to Spencer?”

  Shaking his head, he dragged air into his throat.

  “You hate my broth
er. Why?” I stood there not caring if he were short of breath. If he’d take his last, I wouldn’t call for the nurse.

  Gasping, he said, “Spencer.”

  “Spencer, what?” I asked.

  “Hates me.”

  Shaking my head, I hated him too. If I didn’t have access to his possessions, I’d curse him out. “You can’t blame my brother for how he feels. You created that situation.”

  “True. But he didn’t have to shoot me,” Conner said. Alarms on his monitor started beeping. Nurses ran in. I walked out.

  My tears were for my brother. Not for Conner Rogers’s lying ass. I needed to drown my sorrow with a mai tai. Knew Spencer would agree.

  I texted my manager friend at Suite Food Lounge, You at work.

  William Alfred William hit me back, You know it beautiful.

  Set me up man in a corner booth. Coming through in 10 to 20.

  Al, that was what everyone called him, texted back, For sho.

  Make that an hour and forty-five. I knew Conner wasn’t dead yet, but I wanted to see his house, car, trust, and whatever else he claimed he’d left me and his granddaughter.

  CHAPTER 13

  Spencer

  “This is so sweet, man.” The smile on my sister’s face was so wide I saw her pink upper and lower gums plus damn near all thirty-two.

  “So Conner punk ass just breaking you off? He ain’t leaving me shit?”

  Sis glanced at me. Focused back on the two-lane road. “I got you,” she said, using my line.

  “What exactly did he tell you?” Knowing Alexis she could be lying. Or inheriting a lot of debt. Conner didn’t own shit when he was with my mom. He never remarried. His ass was probably undercover like his brother.

  Alexis turned off of West Paces Ferry Road Northwest into a stretched driveway and cruised about a hundred feet. Conner’s spot was three stories. I noticed she didn’t need Siri to assist with directions.

  “He said you shot him.”

  That shit silenced me.

  “I know you didn’t do it. But if you did, don’t tell me. Even if you had, I’d understand. I can’t be a hypocrite if Conner doesn’t make it. The way I see it, he owes me.”

  Owed her? I nodded.

  Dude parked her convertible in front the double-door entrance. The plush green lawn was manicured to perfection. An eight-foot concrete wall painted black and white lined the perimeter along the sidewalk.

  “Not bad for a deadbeat,” I casually said. If I were driving my SUV, she’d have to make this pit by herself. I trailed ten steps behind her as she opened the mailbox, pulled out a large yellow envelope, then she unlocked the front door.

  Standing inside, burgundy, black, and chestnut leathers covered the antique sofa, bench, and two high-backed chairs. Large framed paintings of Tuskegee airmen, Dr. King, Malcolm X, Colin Powell was on one side of President Obama’s photo. Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, a few black men I didn’t recognize hung to the right. The first floor had an art gallery vibe.

  Had to admit, I liked the layout. If I didn’t hate dude, we might have had some intellectually stimulating convo. Scrap that sentiment. I did what had to be.

  “He lived here by himself?” Sounded more like a statement than a question. I was still tripping that he’d confessed he knew what happened to me and Sis was acting as though that part of the convo never happened.

  I’d never lean on her shoulder for support again. Didn’t need her to have my back either. Why the fuck would I waste my time putting six bullets in Conner’s ass?

  Watching Sis, women were the greatest pretenders. Relay was sacred until you pissed them off. Then all a man’s business became a public announcement. Thought about Blake for a sec.

  I told Alexis, “Let’s go to his office, get what you came for so we can bounce.”

  “Can you believe he said this will be all mine?” Alexis’s face glowed. She was probably already redecorating in her mind. Deciding where she’d put the nursery. Damn, I was going to be an uncle. Hopefully not a daddy-uncle. If the kid was mine, this joint would be partially mine too. Kind of.

  Turning on the lights in each room we walked into, we finally located the office on the third-floor corner facing the driveway. All of his blinds were closed. Now that I thought about it, no windows, curtains, or blinds were pulled up or back.

  Sis headed straight for the desk, a heavyweight mahogany piece. Before putting down the yellow sealed envelope, she waved it in my face.

  She sang, “Here it is,” with that wide smile.

  Across the front read, “Living Trust.” When did he have time to do this shit?

  “You think he’s lying? It might be fake,” she said, carefully prying the edge.

  I was next to her. “Why should I care? Check it out. It’s all in your hands. Literally.”

  She slid out the first page. “Well, Alexis Crystal is right here,” she said. Flashing the page in front of me, she pointed at her name, then put the paper back in with the rest.

  Something wasn’t adding up. “Don’t you think it’s strange he arranged this last night and someone shot his ass this morning? It’s like he knew there was a hit out on him, so he put your name on everything; then when he found out about your being pregnant, he wanted to make sure his granddaughter was broken off.” Mad as hell my name wasn’t there, too, I was rambling.

  “It’s not strange. He may have added my name three months ago right after we’d met.”

  “And not mine?” I pressed my lips together. Stared down at Alexis. “The only way for you to have known before today was you lied to me. You’ve been communicating with him. We agreed to ostracize not fraternize. Your ass couldn’t be trusted to do that solid for me?”

  She hunched her shoulders. I gave her a few nods.

  “All we did was text,” she said as though that was better. Then she removed a metal box from the bottom drawer. “What do you think is inside?”

  My opinion wasn’t needed. I remained quiet, turned around. Scanned the books on his shelf. Lots of the same sexuality and psychology titles I had on mine were on his. Out of consideration, he could’ve willed me something. What the fuck I ever did to him he deserved.

  “Spencer, look.” Alexis held four remote keys in hand. Porsche. BMW. Ferrari. Bentley. Then she held up a rack of C-notes. “How much do you think this is?”

  Being no stranger to stacks, I told her, “Looks like ten grand.”

  “No way.” She started counting. “You’re right.” Alexis put the money along with the car keys in her purse.

  A call came in for Alexis while she was stuffing the envelope inside her purse. She stared at me. “Let’s go.”

  I was so ready I led the way to the stairs.

  “Hello,” she paused. “Yes, this is Alexis Crystal, the daughter of Conner Rogers.”

  All of a sudden she was Ms. Professional? Whatever.

  There was another break in her conversation; then she said, “Okay,” and repeated, “Okay. I’ll have to call you back with the particulars.”

  We stood in the living room. The expression on her face wasn’t one of a grieving child and sure as hell didn’t match the contrived sadness in her voice. “Thank you so much. Yes, I’ll get that information to you soon. Good-bye.”

  She grimaced a little, ended the call, then shared the news with me. “Well, now I know what the cash is for. He’s gone to glory and I have to make his arrangements.”

  “No, you have gone to glory. I reassure you he’s in hell. And I don’t give a fuck what he’s left or who he willed it to. My mom gave me everything I needed and more than I ever wanted. I’m glad he’s dead.”

  “Stop saying that. You don’t mean it,” Alexis told me.

  “I have zero regrets.”

  The only reason she cared was her purse just got real heavy. That spill was to appease herself. Bet if Conner hadn’t left her a dime, she’d side with me. Still be pushing up on her rent money.

  Now the only person alive who I hated was my unc
le. Wish his ass was dead, too. If what Conner had said had any truth, that meant he thought my mother was a whore. The only place I knew where to find Bishop was at Blake’s church behind the pulpit. “Whosoever shot Conner, I hoped they never find ’em.”

  “You still want to grab that drink?” she asked. “You need one chick.”

  I could’ve bailed Alexis out of her financials. But how much was enough for a woman who didn’t value money or people. Hope she didn’t spend all her riches in one year. You haven’t lived until you know who or what you were willing to kill for and die for. She should thank me.

  Answering her question, I said, “Sure. Why not?”

  “Forget Suite. Bones? Lunch is on me,” she said, patting her purse. “It’s Devereaux’s and Mercedes’s favorite spot.”

  A text came in from my manager, Derrick, at Cheesecake. Can you come in at 6:00?

  Hit him back with a quick, definitely. Needed a distraction, but I was taking Sis up on her offer to pay. Even for lunch, two entrées plus four cocktails couldn’t close out a tab for less than a hundred fifty, tip excluded.

  My sister valet parked her Lexus. The restaurant wasn’t crowded. We grabbed a couple of stools at the end of the bar. Immediately I scanned the menu on their iPad.

  “Why would he leave anything to a kid that’s not born?” she asked, tossing the yellow envelope in front of me. “He’d planned this before the fam came to my place.”

  “That would’ve only been valid if you told him you were pregnant with a girl before he showed up at your spot. Maybe he didn’t want you to abort his grandchild. Who knows? Who gives a fuck?!”

  “You mad at me?” she asked, pointing at what she wanted to eat.

  “Nah, not at you, Sis.”

  She offered. “You want to open the envelope?”

  “It’s already open.” I ordered, “Martini with three. Scratch that. Two mai tais, a jumbo lump crabmeat cocktail for me and . . .”

  Alexis added, “The lobster bisque as my main.”

  I continued. “I’ll have a Caesar salad and the bone-in twenty-ounce rib eye medium.” After the bartender walked away, I had to say, “So you don’t care how you come up? You know this shit ain’t adding up.”