Sweet Violet and a Time for Love

by Leslie J. Sherrod

  My mother had not raised me to be a cussing woman, but, Lord Jesus, I was as close as I had ever been at that moment.

  “It’s Bangaluru. Bangaluru, India.” Roman glared.

  “And what exactly is going on there that you have to fly out tomorrow morning?”

  “It’s not what. It’s who.” His voice dropped, and so did his eyes.

  “Does this involve a girl, Roman?” Leon sounded. Though he was still calm, I could hear a slight elevation in his tone. Slight.

  “She’s not a girl. She’s a woman, a lady. I’m going there to meet her family.”

  “So, she’s Indian. You’re traveling to meet her family during your break.” Okay, maybe this wasn’t going to be that bad. Roman rarely talked to me about girls, excuse me, women. Had to be serious. But, India though?

  “Her name is Changuna. It means ‘a good woman.’ I met her at my school.”

  It was the way he said it. Like all our questions had been answered. Like he’d just said all we needed to know and everything was now okay.

  “So, she’s a fellow student and you’re spending winter break with her in India.” Leon shrugged, turned back to the turkey, baster back in hand.

  Like this was really not a big deal.

  I didn’t know this “Changuna the good” and I knew even less about India.

  “How are you paying for this trip?” I hadn’t even begun to ask my questions. “Roman, I had to help you out just to get here from California. A roundtrip to Bangladesh has to be what, at least three grand?”

  Now, Roman had the nerve to frown up his face even more.

  “Not Bangladesh. Bangaluru.” His voice began fading away, but not before I heard him utter this last sentence. “And it’s not a roundtrip.”

  A crash sounded from the far side of the kitchen where Leon had retreated. The pan full of mashed potatoes lay upturned on the tile floor with several cooking utensils falling down beside it. Leon seemed oblivious to the mess he’d just created as he marched back to where Roman and I stood in the kitchen nook. “What do you mean it’s not roundtrip?”

  Roman bit his lip, but then seemed to stand taller, talk stronger.

  “It’s not a roundtrip because I’m going to be staying there for a while. You’re right, Ma. It is an expensive flight, and since the ticket was paid for by someone else, I figured the least I could do is find the cheapest flight; hence the holiday travel and the two-day trek.”

  “So how and when does this new girlfriend of yours come back to the States to start the spring semester? Whoever bought your ticket didn’t see fit to ensure that you resume your studies as well?” Leon drilled him.

  “I never said she was a student. You did.”

  Now, the only reason I had grown quiet was due to the fact that my tongue felt literally locked. Stuck to the roof of my mouth. Cemented. When it did loosen, I knew that it was not going to be pretty.

  “You said you met her at school.” Leon paused between each word.

  “That is correct.” Roman nodded. “She was a guest lecturer for one of my technology classes.”

  “Lecturer? Wait, she’s out of school already? How old is she?” Leon inched closer to him.

  Roman took a few steps back. “I mean, she’s a couple of years older than me, but not anything really noticeable.”

  “So, I’m assuming that she is the one who bought your ticket,” Leon continued.

  Roman nodded.

  “And her parents are okay with all of this? Do they even know that you are coming, or are you just going to be popping up at their front door?” My husband crossed his arms, his muscles tight, rippling.

  “Her parents?” Roman raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, her parents,” Leon challenged back. “You said that you were meeting her family.”

  “Oh, yes, I am, but not her parents. I don’t know if I’ll ever meet them, nor do I want to.”

  Leon raised both eyebrows.

  “I’m meeting her kids,” Roman explained. “At least that’s what we’re hoping.”

  “Kids?” Leon looked over at me. My tongue was still locked.

  “Yes. She has a seventeen-year-old son and a fifteen-year-old daughter.”

  My eyes fluttered. I grabbed ahold of a wooden chair, gripped the top to keep myself from falling over.

  “Roman, you’ll be twenty-one in March, just four years older than her son.” Leon kept his poise while my tongue remained under combination lock and key. “Exactly how old is this woman?” he inquired.

  “Look.” Roman shook his head and sighed. “This isn’t how I was going to tell you two. I had planned on telling the entire family all at once so I would not have to repeat answers to the many questions I know all of you will have. Changuna is a United States citizen and has been one for the past thirteen years. She was helped out by a charity that assisted her with running away from a forced marriage to an abusive man thirty years her senior. She was only fourteen when her parents took her out of school and made her marry a wealthy farmer in their rural village. She had her son ten months after marrying, lost a baby, and then had her daughter. She managed to escape, but doing so meant leaving behind her children with an aunt she’s since lost contact with.

  “Changuna has worked hard to get her education. She earned two degrees from Stanford in computer science and sociology, and an MBA from Harvard. She’s a frequent guest speaker and lecturer at business schools across the country and is focused on developing technology to help at-risk girls and women in third-world countries receive education.”

  “We’re still trying to understand what any of this has to do with you having a one-way trip to India.” Leon’s arms were still crossed. I was glad that Leon said “we.” I wasn’t alone in this.

  “Bangaluru is like India’s Silicon Valley. She’s starting a tech company there with the hopes of somehow helping girls who may otherwise be subjected to becoming child brides, including her own daughter whom she has not talked to or heard about for over seven years.”

  “And all of this has to do what with you?” Leon pried again.

  “I’m going over there to help her. We’re going to be business partners. She’s saved up enough to fly both of us over there and pay rent for a few months while we get up and running. She has a lot of investment capital to get us started.”

  “School,” Leon stated flatly. The word echoed through the kitchen as I shut my eyes and recalled being an eighteen-year-old college dropout to follow Roman’s father around the world.

  Worst mistake of my life.

  I opened my eyes and stared at my son who was the spitting image of the man who contributed to his DNA, black curls and all.

  “I knew that my not returning to school would concern you.” Roman directed this to me although Leon had been doing the questioning. “And although a college degree is not necessarily needed to work in the tech field—look at Bill Gates—I know that is important; so I’m looking into some online programs that will allow me to finish my degree. One day. Changuna is helping me sort through my options.”

  Eighteen years.

  Eighteen years of working, crying, wishing, praying, hoping, ramen noodle nights, evening classes, master’s program, part-time this, full-time that, believing, sweating.

  Eighteen years.

  That was the time span that covered the years between birthing Roman and then enrolling him into college. The sacrifices. The dreams. The expectations. And now? Only one word came to my head; only one word had the power to unloose my tongue.

  “RiChard.” The name slithered out of my mouth, opening up enough room in my oral cavity for a host of emotions I’d long buried to enter in, get lodged in my throat, and send waves of nausea through my gut.

  “I knew you were going to bring RiChard St. James into this.” Roman actually looked mad. He glared at me. “I am not my father, and for the record, I am not you, either. I knew you would see this like me doing what you did in dropping out of school to chase someone else around
the world, but there are major differences. For one, I know for sure who Changuna is and I know for sure that she has a good heart with good motives and intentions. We’ve spent longer than a semester together, unlike you and RiChard, who you ran off with barely into your first semester as a freshman. Changuna and I have made our plans mutually. She is not just telling me what to do for me to simply follow her like a lost sheep. Her kids are already halfway grown, so when we find them, I will not be raising any small children while at the same time trying to work or finish school. This is different from you. I’m laying out reasonable and logical plans.”

  The cement grabbed a hold of my tongue again and trickled down to my chest, down to my stomach. Felt like heavy rocks were settling in my gut.

  “You leave tomorrow?” Leon’s voice was a whisper.

  “Yes,” Roman affirmed. “And I didn’t tell you sooner because I knew there would be resistance. I’m grown now, and you have to accept my decision, my well thought-out and researched decision. And yes, she may be a little older than me, but remember her teen and young adult years were stolen from her. I think, if anything, my age, my youth compared to hers, helps her gain those years back.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “You should know, I’m planning to propose to her so we can get married in India on New Year’s Day where, from what she’s told me, there will be massive New Year celebrations even bigger than the ones here in the States. I wanted to wait for five, maybe ten years, but it might be easier moving forward with the business if our relationship is a legal entity.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but words were not what came out. My stomach swirled. Within seconds, a new mess splattered to the floor. Now there was more than mashed potatoes and utensils to clean.

  “Really, Ma? I tell you I’m getting married, and you throw up?”

  “Your mother’s pregnant,” Leon barked. His tone was almost at the level of the Sunday morning yell he’d had when we first argued about Sweet Violet.

  Almost.

  “Pregnant? You turn forty next month. Why are you starting over with another child? Pregnant? Really? Oh, wait. You’re just joking. You gotta be.”

  “No.”

  Roman looked from me to Leon and back. Then: “Well, congratulations, I guess. I don’t know what else to say. I thought I was going to see everyone tonight, and I still want to. I need to go over Grandma’s house. I thought she was having dinner tonight. I wanted to come here first and early so that I could introduce Changuna to you and then explain everything over Grandma’s table. I swear, when you meet her, you’ll really like her.

  “Introduce her?” I repeated the only words that I heard come out of his mouth.

  “Yeah.” He beckoned toward the door. “She’s here, waiting in my car. I told her that I would check things out in here first before I brought her in, and I’m glad I did, because you responded just like I thought you would. But now that you know everything, I might as well bring her in.”

  “She’s here?” Again, the only words I heard.

  “Ma, you’ll like her. She’s just like you.”

  I saw the hope in his eyes, was aware that he completely glossed over the big announcement that Leon busted.

  I knew then that Roman had it bad. His focus was only on this girl, I mean old woman, and not on school, a coming new sibling, or even plain common sense.

  This was really happening.

  “I’ll go get her now.” He turned toward the front door, a half smile on his face.

  Chapter 17

  Christmas had been six months ago. I stared at the flat-screen television in the fourteenth floor waiting room of Metropolitan Community Hospital, wondering what Leon and Roman were discussing just down the hall with the door closed and me way on the other side.

  “Erik, you are the father of two-year-old Dinesha.” The TV audience roared in cheers and applause. I wanted to shut it off, the nonsense interrupting my thoughts. Instead, I swallowed hard, trying to shut out the memories of our failed holiday dinner.

  Changuna.

  I shut my eyes again at the mental image of the dark-haired beauty with intelligent eyes who showed up for our Christmas Eve dinner.

  “Girl, why you sitting out here? Shouldn’t you be in the room praying for my nephew? Oh my God, Sienna, you and yours just can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

  My sister, Yvette, clopped into the room in neon orange high-heeled sneakers and a yellow and orange sundress. It was almost two-forty but she looked like the high noon sun. Her youngest child, a daughter, trailed behind her crunching through a bag of cheese curls. She was six years old but had the eyes of an old soul and she rarely smiled.

  I thought of Delmon Frank, the defendant in the triple murder trial, and recalled the first conversation I’d had with him, the cigarette that he’d flicked between his fingers, the eyes that looked old and young all at once.

  “Fiona, sit here,” Yvette barked as she pointed to a seat and then she turned back to me with tears in her eyes. “Is Roman okay?”

  “He’ll be okay,” I managed to whisper though I had no idea how she defined “okay.” My definition covered ground beyond the physical into the territory of the mental and spiritual. When had my son turned against prayer? I wondered again. I thought again of Changuna and my mood darkened.

  “So are we visiting him or not? You don’t know what it took for me to get those people at the front desk to allow Fiona past the main lobby.”

  With her oldest son, my nephew Skee-Gee, currently incarcerated and her other two kids on equally shaky paths, Yvette had taken to keeping her youngest with her at all times.

  “Leon’s in the room. The two wanted to talk alone.”

  “You want me to send Demari in there? He’s on a mission to find a free parking space, even after I reminded him we are downtown. I can call him so he can hurry up and join the fellows in prayer.”

  Like me, Yvette was a newlywed, beating me to the altar by just a couple of months. Her husband, Demari, had a past as dark as his future was bright. In addition to starting a landscaping company, he along with several males from his church, my old church, had formed a nonprofit using basketball as an outreach and mentoring program for teen males. He’d wanted to approach Leon about serving on the board, I knew from talks with Yvette, but avoided the topic while Leon focused on turning his business around.

  My involvement with this trial was not helping anything.

  “No, you don’t have to send Demari in to help with prayer,” I answered Yvette’s question. “Roman is acting funny about it, about prayer, that is.”

  “Is he still messing around with that girl, I mean woman?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on.” It was the truth. Roman and I had barely talked since the morning of Christmas Day. I shut my eyes and inhaled, remembering the disaster that was his sendoff at the airport. I had very little idea of what had happened in his life since then.

  When he’d phoned to say he was coming into town for the start of my turn on the witness stand, I’d assumed he was ready to finally talk.

  Clearly, I’d been wrong.

  “Do you think it was an accident? Do you really think that what happened to Roman was really random?” Yvette spoke out loud the nagging fear that had been eating away at me. I’d never even told her about Sweet Violet. But Sweet Violet has no ties to any of this, I assured myself.

  “There are a lot of coincidences,” was my only reply.

  “Yeah, you think?” Yvette shook her head. “You were associated with all three crime scenes, and while we all know that’s mostly because of what you were doing professionally as a social worker, it’s a wonder nobody’s considered you to be a suspect.”

  “The common theme is Delmon Frank,” I reminded Yvette of the prosecutor’s oft-repeated phrase, which had been stated throughout the trial. “And you can connect the dots. The first woman, Ms. Marta, was the robbery victim who was killed outside of the shelter; the second was a former shelter resident.
”

  “Frank’s pregnant girlfriend, right?”

  I thought about the girl, Amber, who had called me from the bushes at the first scene. She’d given me Sweet Violet’s purse. Amber’s body was discovered in a vacant row home a month after Ms. Marta was killed. The girl had been dead for about that long, the autopsy confirmed.

  She was a woman-child with trouble and secrets written all over and in her eyes. I wondered what trouble and secrets she’d carried to her grave. They said she and her unborn baby were buried in a pauper’s field, no one claiming her. The only “loved one” she’d had was the boyfriend accused of killing her, Delmon Frank.

  Drug addiction.

  That’s what was believed to be at the heart of the killings: Ms. Marta robbed of her money to fund his drug habit; the young girl Amber robbed of her life by her boyfriend who attacked her in a drug-induced hallucinatory rage. She’d had bite marks on her hands and arms as she’d apparently tried to defend herself against his attack.

  “The messed-up thing is that nobody would have given these cases a second look if it had just been that worker and the homeless girl who were killed. It was that last victim who got everyone’s attention; that, and the fact that you were involved. You keep getting mixed up in the craziest of cases.”

  “Believe me, I’m not trying. I would much rather have a quiet life to myself, see my clients, and love on Leon.” And this baby. I rubbed my belly. Though I felt an occasional kick, the new life entering mine didn’t feel all the way real.

  Probably because I still have so much in my current life to work out and get through.

  “You still don’t want to find out what you’re having?” Yvette smiled, nodded toward my stomach.

  “Maybe I need to. Maybe that would make it all seem real once and for all.”

  Yvette smoothed down one of Fiona’s long braids. “Girl, ain’t nothing fake about having these children. They come and they stay, no matter where any of our lives take us.”

  Where any of our lives take us.

  I thought about the last victim, the one whose tragic killing thrust the entire triple murders into the spotlight. Wrong place, wrong time. Now, that murder may have been random, I considered.