Godbaby. There went that word again. Really, had there been a conversation I wasn’t privy to?
Roman didn’t have godparents. He was born at a stage in my life when I was on a mission to prove myself completely independent and capable of making it apart from Roman’s father, my first husband. Our marriage was pretty much over before Roman was even born and I could not let my wounds show.
Truth was, outside of my family and the shaky bonds to which we clung, I hadn’t had much in the way of friendships to even pronounce anyone “godmother” or “godfather.” Ava Diggs, my life and career coach and mentor had been my best friend for years, and she was a lot older than my own mother. She entered my life when I was struggling to get through graduate school and stayed around to offer me my first real job at her foster care agency and then cheered me on as I started my private practice. Roman still had his baby fat and high voice when she entered our lives. She was a friend, but our friendship had been built on my needs and her advice. The older he grew, the stronger I became, the less Ava and I talked. With the media frenzy and the baby preparations, I realized that I had not checked in with her in a while.
If anyone would be godmother, it would be either her, or maybe my younger sister.
“Girl, you are due in the middle of summer.” Shavona had put her fork down to grab my hand. “I heard that’s a tough season to be pregnant in, you know, with all the heat. I will be praying for you.” She laughed, but I saw something else in her eyes. I saw it and I knew for that moment I was awake enough to recognize a dream, albeit a broken one. You livin’ life with your eyes closed.
“Thanks.” I smiled back at the pain, the heartache that stared back at me through several coats of brown mascara. She still smiled, but I did not miss the slight quiver of her bottom lip or the fact that she had picked at her plate of potatoes about as much as I had.
Every now and then her eyes landed on my rounded belly and then on her flat one.
Leon’s plate was still pretty full as well. Mike was the only one attempting to eat.
I wondered if Roman was also trying to eat lunch somewhere. Thinking of Roman only reminded me that I was losing him.
Maybe had already lost him.
His flight left in a few hours and neither he nor Leon seemed open to me trying to reconnect with him. Why had he bothered to come? Baltimore was a long ways from where he’d come from. He’d come all that way just to tell me he was leaving for the next leg of his journey tonight?
“I never thought I’d have my own child.” Leon spoke as we headed to the door several minutes later to return to the courthouse. I couldn’t read his face or voice, but the quiet from all of us that filled the foyer said it all.
Shavona had stopped her oohing and aahing, Mike fingered his car keys, and I was trying to figure out what to do with the child I already had.
You think you know what dreams are?
Mike’s car jumped to life with Leon and me in the back seat, ready to face yet again the crowds, the journalists, the stares of the judge and jury, the attorneys, the cold, blank stare of the defendant.
You think you know what dreams are? Sweet Violet’s words echoed through my brain cells, jumping from synapse to synapse as I tried to figure out how I’d landed in my present nightmare.
A nightmare that was taking a turn for the worse, I realized as we approached the marble steps off of Calvert Street.
“Leon!” I grabbed his shoulder with one hand and he jolted forward in his seat when he saw where I pointed with the other.
Nothing could have prepared me for the scene in front of us.
Nothing.
Chapter 13
Flashing lights and sirens swamped a corner across the street from the courthouse. The crowds of reporters and gawkers who had earlier followed my descent down the courthouse steps now had shifted their attention to whatever had happened across the street. In the commotion, I only noted one thing, and that was the one thing I pointed out to Leon.
A black Orioles cap lying on the ground in the center of a small area cordoned off by yellow tape.
My mind had gone into overdrive as I tried to make sense of the hat that seemed to hold the crowd’s attention. I’d seen too many scenes with yellow tape over the past few months so I told myself I was overreacting, jumpy. It was mere coincidence that the hat looked like one Roman had been wearing when I spotted him near that corner just before lunch.
But I watched him hail a cab. That’s not his hat. Whatever happened on that corner has nothing to do with him. I said those three sentences over and over again in my head, not comforted by Leon’s gaze and fellow interest in the fallen hat.
“Stop the car.” I caught myself from jumping out of it as Mike pulled to a stop on the outer edges of the commotion. The moment the car was in park, I got out and pushed my way through the pedestrian congestion to get as close as I could to the hat. Leon was right behind me. My mind was numb as my heart began pounding harder.
Did something happen to my Roman?
It was a common hat, one that was probably on the heads of countless Orioles fans across the city. I knew this on an intellectual level, but my gut told me it was too coincidental that it lay where I’d last seen my son.
“What happened?” I asked, breathless, as I approached an elderly man in a dress shirt and jeans who stood on the outer edges. He had a square head that was bald at the top with a few random dreadlocks clinging to the sides. He gripped a black cane that had a golden eagle’s head as a handle grip.
“Yeah, they almost got him, they almost got him,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“Almost got who? What happened?”
The man kept shaking his head, meandered away. Leon nudged me forward and I became aware that no one in the crowd had singled me out. The cameras seemed oblivious to my presence, focused only on the scores of emergency vehicles that filled the intersection.
Alisa Billy.
I saw the prosecutor talking to an officer. Leon must have spotted her too. He was nudging me in her direction. When I was about three feet away she noticed me.
“Roman is okay.”
Her prompt assertion, meant to be assuring, alarmed me. She didn’t know my Roman, so how would she know about his condition? Okay from what? Of course, he’s okay. I watched him get a taxicab just before I ate lunch, a little over an hour ago, I wanted to tell her.
“What happened?” I asked for the third time. The officer to whom Alisa had been talking provided an answer.
“He was jumped by a group of street kids, but like Ms. Billy said, he’s okay. He was taken to the hospital to treat some minor wounds.”
“Jumped? Street kids?” Leon spoke up.
“Wounds?” was all I heard.
“Yeah, some kids up to no good jumped him. Robbery. Stupidity. Some senseless acts don’t have a clear explanation.”
Robbery.
The word jumped out at me the same way it did the morning I’d learned about Ms. Marta’s death. Robbery to me seemed like a catch-all phrase when authorities weren’t clear about motive or circumstance.
“Why Roman?” I asked aloud as I considered the size of the crowd that had surrounded the courthouse even before this supposed robbery.
The officer shrugged. “Why not him? Anybody can be a victim of violence.”
“How did you know he was my son?” I turned to Alisa. “How did you know his name?”
“He told the responding officers. That’s why I came over here and got involved. Anything or anyone that involves you right now will get my attention. But as Officer Howell implied, this attack seemed random.”
As opposed to what? This question I didn’t ask aloud, but tucked it away in the mental file box I’d been keeping of “coincidences” that had been occurring over the past few months.
“So you really don’t think my son was in any way targeted?”
“Remember your son hasn’t been in the picture at all since this whole ordeal began. I didn’t even know
who he was. I doubt that anyone else would either.”
“He was in the news some years ago.” I shut my eyes, remembering the fear I’d experienced when Roman had disappeared across the country back when he was sixteen years old. “A simple Google search would have revealed that.”
“Sienna.” Alisa gave me a sympathetic smile. “I stress to you that the authorities believe this was a random attack. No reason to believe otherwise at this point.”
“But you have someone with him at the hospital just in case?” Leon asked the officer.
Just in case of what?
“The ambulance left here about fifteen minutes ago. I know officers were going to meet him where they took him. Not because they are concerned about his continued safety, just to get more info from him so they can catch the hoodlums behind the assault.”
“But he was getting into a cab when I saw him. I was about to catch up with him when I saw him getting in.”
“Yeah, they pulled him out of the cab, just before he shut the door.”
“And that was random? All the people out here they could have robbed and beaten, and they chose a man about to drive off in a cab?”
My heart now galloped as my head spun in a nosedive. I was about to crash. Mentally. Emotionally. Completely.
When the officer didn’t respond to my question, I only had one other. “Where did they take him?”
“Metro Community,” Alisa answered. “Judge Greenberg, I’m sure, will allow you a few moments to go check on him before returning to the court. I do not have any more questions for you, so unless the defense wants to reexamine you, you’re done. I mean, you still have to stay around for the rest of the trial in case you’re needed back on the stand, but I don’t anticipate that happening.”
I was already heading back to the car, glad to see that Mike hadn’t left and Leon was still behind me. A kick vibrated through my abdomen.
“Don’t worry, little one.” I rubbed my belly, aware that the knots and worry that were filling my stomach were sharing space with my unborn child. “We’re going to go check on your big brother right now.” I wasn’t waiting for a judge to okay me visiting my child.
And I wasn’t convinced as everyone seemed to be that this was a random attack.
Chapter 14
Minor injuries.
Wasn’t that what the police officer and Alisa had said to me?
I gasped at the sight of my son on the ED gurney. Fresh stitches lined his forehead; several bandages covered his lower leg. One cheek was noticeably swollen, and several bruises lined his arms and chest.
“It looks worse than it is,” a nurse behind me spoke, seeming to read my thoughts.
KeeKee Witherspoon. In the commotion of getting there, I’d forgotten where “there” was. I hadn’t been back since the last shift for which I’d volunteered, the night Sweet Violet was a patient, but from the looks of the hustle and bustle that surrounded me, the place hadn’t missed a beat.
“I’m sorry this happened to your son,” KeeKee continued as she checked his IV and put a bandage over the stitches. “He’ll be okay. The only reason he looks unconscious right now is because we gave him a strong painkiller that knocked him right out. He’ll be okay.”
She left the room, leaving me to my thoughts, my questions.
Leaving me to my son.
“Roman,” I whispered, waiting for, wanting him to awaken. I’d left Leon in the waiting room to manage the legal team requests and the now growing interest of the press. I could see the headlines now: SON OF STAR WITNESS IN DELMON FRANK MURDER TRIAL BEATEN AND ROBBED BY ATTACKERS.
Robbed.
The word jumped out at me again. Robbed.
I stood up, rubbed a small patch of Roman’s arm that wasn’t covered with bandages, and went out into the hallway.
“Excuse me.” I approached a police officer who was writing in a notepad a few steps away from the nurses’ station. “My son was attacked during a robbery earlier today by the courthouse. Roman St. James. Can you tell me what, if anything, was stolen from him?”
“Oh, Ms. St. James, I mean Mrs. Sanderson.” The officer smiled at me. “I’ve been following you ever since you helped with that terrorist attack last year. I’ve got to admit that I like the way you operate. You are one savvy woman.” He was maybe five or ten years older than me, blond hair, baby blue eyes, the type of man in uniform I guess some women would swoon over, especially the way he was eyeing me.
But I couldn’t care less. I had my dream man.
“Thanks,” I replied to be polite, “but I’m wondering if you can help me with any more information about my son’s attack?”
“Right, Roman St. James. I read some old articles about how he tried to track down his father years ago. I can only imagine how terrified you must have been when he went missing.”
Listening to the officer talk reminded me of how much of my life was an open book; not a comforting thought as I tried to reconcile the word “random” with the attack that had left my son in his current bandaged and bruised position.
“Thanks for your concern, and you better believe that I’m glad he’s okay, both then and now. I really do have some questions about this latest threat to his safety.”
“Yeah, I heard about the courthouse attack. I wish I could provide you with more answers, but truth is, I’m here following another case. I’ll see if I can find someone who knows what’s going on with that to help you.”
“I would appreciate that.” I gave him a full smile though I felt like anything but happy. As I returned to Roman’s room, more questions flooded my mind. Why would a group of young men initiate such a brazen attack in front of crowds of people, media cameras, and potential witnesses? This wasn’t random. I was convinced.
But who?
And why?
I collapsed back into the seat next to Roman and watched him sleep. Breathe in, breathe out. IVs, oxygen.
Too much.
And we hadn’t even talked about the wall that had come between us. I think that bothered me most of all.
What if this just hadn’t led to Roman bruised and sleeping? The thought both chilled and heated me. Chilled me to consider the alternative. Heated me that someone actually thought they had a right, for whatever reason, to harm my son.
And we hadn’t yet had a chance to talk, to reconnect.
“I love you, Roman,” I whispered, running a hand through the mounds of black curls that topped his head. He looked like his father. That reality no longer hurt.
I’d come a long way, but the events over Roman’s last Christmas break had exposed to all of us how much damage still needed to be repaired in my emotions and expectations.
“Wake up,” I whispered again. “We need to talk.” What if he didn’t wake up, or didn’t wake up in his right mind? KeeKee said he would be fine. Just under the effect of a powerful painkiller. I tried to calm myself down and a kick in my belly gave me another reason to do so. Baby didn’t need a wave of my anxiety and panic washing over it as well. I considered calling Leon to come back and offer me company, but I didn’t want to invite the legalities and technicalities he was handling back into my brain space.
So I sat alone with my son, phone off, no television present, with few interruptions from the hospital staff, thanks, I knew, to KeeKee’s insistence that I be left alone.
But one visitor managed to make it through. I heard her footsteps before I even heard the curtain screech open.
Ava Diggs.
My longtime life mentor, old boss, personified tissue box, and human pillow cushion.
She came in the room, pulled the chair that sat on the other side of Roman and dragged it over next to me. Sitting next to me in silence, I heard the slight wheeze in her breath, noticed her ever-loosening skin over what used to be her oversized frame. She coughed a few times, took out a lace handkerchief, wiped her mouth, and then let out a deep sigh.
“You are his honorary godmother,” I finally spoke.
“What w
as that?” Her eyes never left Roman as she examined his bruised body from head to toe.
“I said you are his honorary godmother.” I sat back in the chair. “I was just thinking today that I never picked a godmother for him when he was born because I was too angry at his father, my life, my family, everything, to let one more person in.” I looked over at her and she looked back at me as I continued. “But you did come in, Ava. You’ve been helping me manage so much of my life and career over the years, that the benefits I’ve received from your friendship and mentorship, I’m sure, trickled down to him. God knew I needed you, for both me and him. You are his honorary godmother. Thank you for being here for me, for us.”
“And now you have Leon,” she said with finality. “God knew you needed him and now he is here for you. And for Roman.”
“Yes. I’m grateful. He’s a good man.”
“Then what is it?” she asked before her body began shaking again in another violent coughing spell.
“Excuse me?” I passed her a handful of paper towels that were within my reach. She took them, wiped her mouth, and then spoke again after regaining her composure.
“What is it that is making it hard for you to settle down into what you have with Leon?”
“What?” I was genuinely confused, taken aback by her question.
“Half the time I see you, seems like you’re pushing him away. Why is he not in here with you right now?”
“I asked him to take care of the lawyers and media.”
“Isn’t that what the prosecutor’s assistant is for?” She leaned in toward me. “Yes, I’ve been following you on TV, and seems like that little man in the black suit following Alisa Billy around is the PR pro.”
“You’re talking about Joe Koletsky?”
She nodded. “Whoever. Let him take care of those details. I’m sure Leon would much rather be in here with you and Roman. You are a family now. Be a family, especially in trying times.”
Sweet Violet and a Time for Love Page 9
