Jimenez returned with the first aid kit. Deena took it, leaving the old lady to scowl. She was good at it, anyway.
“Why don’t you go with Mrs. Jimenez, Mia? We need to talk to Tony,” Tak said.
“He didn’t mean to hurt my lip!” Mia burst. “We were only playing!”
Tony’s heart twisted in response. She was only playing. He had been figuring ways to murder her and dispose of the body.
“It’s okay, baby,” Deena said, eyes on her child.
Now she was standing, too. Both she and Tak faced him. They moved in closer.
Mia followed Mrs. Jimenez out. Once at the door, she turned back once more. “I shouldn’t have played with his money. I should’ve stopped like he said.”
“Agreed,” Deena said. “We’ll discuss it more in the hall.”
Mia looked up fearfully. Deena nodded toward the door, and both mother and daughter exited from sight.
He was alone with Tak.
“Pick your money up, Tony.”
He didn’t dare move. “What?” he said weakly.
“Your money. I said, ‘pick it up.’”
Tony blushed. “It’s—it’s not mine. It’s yours. I took it.”
“You mean stole it.”
The boy turned a rich shade of ruby. “Yeah,” he mumbled.
“What?” Tak took a step closer.
Tony couldn’t get back fast enough.
“Yes, I stole it,” he whispered, heart jackhammering.
Tak shrugged. “Go ahead and pick it up. It’s yours now.”
Terror stiffened Tony. Nobody let you rob them and get away with it. But when the punch line didn’t come, Tony bent to get the money, an eye on Tak and an expectation of a blow to the back of the head.
“Count it,” Tak ordered once Tony collected the bloodstained bills. “Out loud.”
Tony could think of nothing scarier than the calmness with which Tak ordered him. Quickly, he did as he was told.
“Three hundred and sixty-two dollars.”
Tak let out a low whistle. “Lotta money for an eleven-year-old.”
Tony lowered his gaze.
“But I’m gonna let you keep it,” Tak said. “Minimum wage is about seven bucks or so. How many hours you think it’ll take you to earn that much?”
Tony’s eyes rolled upward with the math. “About fifty hours,” he said. He’d always been good with the thing he never had enough of: money. “Maybe fifty-two.”
Tak shrugged. “Sounds about right. Now, Mrs. Jimenez is your boss. You’ll cut grass, pull weeds, scrub windows, and polish silver till you’ve earned every bit of your three hundred sixty-two dollars.”
Tak snatched it from Tony’s hands. “Then you can keep it.”
Just outside the door, he heard Deena fussing at Mia about not purposely annoying people.
“All right,” Tony said softly.
Tak jammed the money in his front pocket. But when Tony headed for the door, he put a hand up to stop him.
“Help me understand you, Tony. Three hundred and sixty-two dollars. What could it possibly be for? What haven’t we given you already?”
Tony sighed. There was no point in lying. No point in manipulating. Neither had helped him so far.
“If I had to leave, if you wanted me gone, I’d have something. Something to eat, maybe something to wear. I don’t know. Just in case you got tired of me.”
He looked up to see not just Tak but Deena in the doorway.
Tony’s vision blurred. To his horror, hot, humiliating tears threatened, then spilled over onto reddened cheeks. He swiped them before attempting to shove his way through Tak and Deena and onward to his room. But he couldn’t get through. Struggle as he might, he simply couldn’t. It had to be Tak restraining him with muscles only a private gym could make. He fought and thought to scream, so enraged was he at the notion of being held hostage.
“Tony! Tony!” Deena cried.
He opened his eyes.
He’d mistaken his uncle for his aunt and a hug for imprisonment.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Kenji got a dozen children’s books from his big brother, accompanied by the usual warning that he was in over his head with Lizzie.
They started with Vandy Gets a Lion, the story of a girl who is convinced to babysit a newborn lion for only an hour; however, an hour turns to days, and days, weeks, as the mysterious man who’s given her the cub fails to return. Vandy raises the lion in secret in the confines of her bedroom, smuggling food, grooming him, and attempting to mask his roar.
Lizzie fussed when Kenji explained that they would read the same book every day until she did so flawlessly and could demonstrate comprehension. Their first time around, he counted four words that gave her serious issue.
Kenji continued to spend his days crammed in the office, thumbing through the International Building Code Deena had assigned him. He also took a stab from time to time on the minority recruitment report he’d been given long ago, though at the last meeting, his father had suggested that one of the other suits assist. That meant that at the next meeting, a typed twenty-page report, complete with PowerPoint presentation, would miraculously appear with Kenji’s name on it, right above the poor sucker who’d actually done the work. Eventually, Kenji figured, all good deeds would be rewarded.
While at work, Kenji’s mind usually drifted to some Lizzie-like thing. The burned dinners she insisted on making, the cute smirk of accomplishment when she read through Vandy Gets a Lion without stumbling, and that wild bray of a laugh she’d give each night they watched South Park, The Simpsons, or Family Guy, her new favorite shows.
Sometimes, at night, when the hour got late and his eyelids drooped, Lizzie would scoot over and caress his thigh, or worse, reach right into his shorts. Always, he would push her away. And always, the hurt would be plain.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Among the duties of children with aging parents is accompanying them to doctors’ visits. In the Hammond family, it was a task left to Aunt Rhonda, dumped on her under the guise of being the only one with “medical expertise.” Now, driving from one of the many visits Deena’s eighty-four-year-old grandmother was subjected to, Rhonda turned to a topic Deena had intentionally avoided: the idea that her grandmother could no longer live on her own. She had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
To her credit, Deena’s aunt Caroline had been the first to note that something was amiss, pointing to Grandma Emma’s tendency to confuse and forget her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Deena went on the defensive, shouting at her family that if they hadn’t sought to replicate the twelve tribes of Israel, then maybe she could be expected to remember. But only a few days later, her grandmother had failed to recognize her and asked if her dead son Dean would be home for dinner. A tearful Deena could no longer deny she needed help.
Rhonda decided to call a meeting of Hammonds to discuss what was best for Grandma Emma. Bouts of insomnia, depression, inconsistent difficulty with everyday tasks, and failure to remember old friends, children, and even her husband, once, when shown a picture, had given the doctors cause for serious concern. So, Deena’s family decided to gather, to discuss the future of her father’s mother.
Despite an ever-swelling family, Aunt Caroline, Aunt Rhonda, Deena, Tak, Aunt Caroline’s daughter, Keisha, her son Tariq, and his on-again off-again girlfriend, Pauline, were the only ones to show up. Deena quickly thought it best, however, when they began to argue at once.
“Well, she can’t live by herself,” Rhonda said. “Already, she’s in the moderate phase of the disease, demonstrating persistent memory loss, bouts of confusion, and a whole list of other symptoms that I’ve already told you about.”
She looked pointedly at her older sister, Caroline, who looked away.
There was a time, of course, when Grandma Emma didn’t live by herself. Shortly after Lizzie moved out for the last time, other Hammonds came and went, taking children, sometimes leaving them. But eventually the Pu
blic Housing Authority decided that only Emma Hammond was officially on the lease, and they moved her over to a one bedroom no larger than a matchbox.
“Maybe the medication will help,” Deena said, not exactly thrilled by the idea of having to house her overbearing grandmother. “Maybe then she won’t have to move.”
Vaguely, she registered Tak’s hand under the table and on her knee. He gave her a squeeze.
Rhonda, a maternity nurse at Jackson Hospital, nodded. “It should. But how much we won’t know yet. I think it’s best if we play it conservative and put her somewhere where we know she’ll be safe.”
“She’ll need a nurse and round-the-clock,” Caroline said and dug a Newport from a tiny, patent leather cherry purse.
Rhonda glanced at her.
“And you a nurse,” Caroline pointed out, lighting up her cigarette. “You could do the job.”
“I don’t think that’s warranted this early,” Aunt Rhonda snapped.
Caroline jabbed the cigarette between two meaty, painted lips, and smirked. “What’s a matter, little sister? Afraid you gonna have to put your girlfriend out?”
Keisha hooted.
“Caroline, I don’t think—”
“Aunt Caroline,” she spat at Deena and fed her a long look. “I’m still your daddy’s older sister, you know, no matter how much money you and Pork Fried Rice got.”
Deena’s mouth flew open, curses perched on the edge of her lips, but in a single motion, Tak snapped it shut again with a tap under her chin.
Across the table, Tariq stretched out long legs and sighed, head falling back with the weight of exasperation at the Hammond family.
“Aunt Caroline. Aunt Rhonda,” Tak said with a smile that betrayed his odd sense of humor, “let’s stay on topic just this once, shall we?”
Aunt Caroline shot him a look. “All right then, nephew,” she said unconvincingly.
Deena glanced first at Aunt Caroline, fat and shiny, simpering; Newport jutting from thick red lips, to Aunt Rhonda, who still looked as if someone had just thrown open the door on her mid-shit.
“Can’t we just go ahead and get this out in the open?” Caroline said loudly. “We all know you gay. Momma, me, Deena. Even Daddy knew, back when he was alive. Been knowing since they sent you home from summer camp on account of you fiddling around with some girl.” She made a crude gesture with her fingers, and Rhonda colored fiercely. Caroline sat back, satisfied.
“They didn’t have money to send nobody but you to camp, and you get kicked out ’cause you can’t keep your fingers outta pussy.”
Deena sank in embarrassment, both for herself and Tak, who, she wagered, would never grow used to the raw vulgarity of her family.
Rhonda burst from the table, and Deena shot after her, leaving Caroline to sit, smirk smug and self-satisfied to the tune of Keisha’s, Tariq’s, and Pauline’s wild laughter. Only Tak sat motionless, color drained from his face.
“She’s horrible, I know,” Deena said, when she finally caught her aunt outside. “But we’ve known it for years.”
Tears swarmed Rhonda’s oversized eyes; she dashed them away blindly. “I don’t have to tolerate her,” Rhonda said. “Not anymore. I put up with her when we were kids. Hitting, cursing, humiliating me. I won’t stand for it one more minute.”
“So, don’t,” Deena said. “Don’t put up with her. But don’t run away either.”
Deena shot a rueful glance back at her grandmother’s building. “We need you. And you know what else?”
“What?” Rhonda said harshly.
“You know she’s not right. You know she’s not all there is. Me and Tak and Mia, we love you regardless.”
Rhonda’s gaze shifted to the front door skeptically.
“Try again?” Deena said hopefully.
Rhonda heaved a deep sigh, and then nodded. “Try again,” she breathed, and followed Deena inside.
“So, I been thinking,” Caroline said, the moment they reentered, “Momma needs a nurse. Rhonda’s a nurse.”
“She wouldn’t live with me and Mary Ann,” Rhonda said.
Caroline smirked. “Is that right, now?”
“Haven’t you had enough fun, yet?” Deena flared. “I, for one, don’t have all day to watch your show unfold. So let’s discuss Grandma, only Grandma, and get back to our mutually preferable and separated lives!”
“Here, here,” Tariq muttered.
Deena blinked at the unexpected support.
“All right, then,” Caroline said. “What about your house then? You could throw her in one of them back rooms. You got so many.”
In her last visit alone, Emma Hammond had wondered aloud what Tak and Deena were trying to prove with such a spacious place. She also criticized the landscaper for a flower that had tilted over, asked Mrs. Jimenez if she could even cook black people’s food, informed Tak and Deena they spoiled Mia and would suffer the consequences, and suggested, for the umpteenth time, that Deena’s pants suits were of the devil. On her return from the restroom, she announced that Mrs. Jimenez had missed a spot when cleaning the bathroom.
Tak and Deena exchanged a muted, horrified look at the thought of Deena’s grandmother becoming a permanent resident.
Deena sputtered. “We—”
“—are hardly ever home,” Tak blurted.
“And I wouldn’t want her there—” Deena said.
“—alone!” Tak supplied and shot a look of veiled amusement her way. “We wouldn’t want her there alone.”
“You kidding? Man, I remember when we brought the kids over for Mia’s birthday party,” Tariq said. “You had that maid, the dude that cuts the grass, and some Russian nanny. That’s three people right there.”
“Only Mrs. Jimenez lives there,” Deena mumbled.
“And they don’t exactly get along,” Tak offered.
Tariq shrugged. “Well, nothing’s perfect. But she’d have her own room, nice house, everything. Shit, that’s good living. I want that.”
Indeed, he did. Caroline’s oldest son, born when his mother was 16, had his first child at the age of 17 and followed with 6 more. Tariq’s eldest son, following in the example of his father and grandmother, had his first child at 19; a responsible age according to the Hammonds. Tariq Jr. now had two children, as did five of his siblings, leaving Caroline’s oldest son in the possession of 11 grandchildren. And he was only 48.
Deena sat up straighter. As it was, a house on a bay with serious distance from the Hammonds meant she could control her contact with them and thus her sanity. Moving her grandmother in would change all that.
“All right,” she said. “So, Grandma Emma moves in with me. Who pays her bills? Me?”
A survey of averted gazes and shrugs confirmed as much. Only Rhonda looked directly at her, as if trying to ascertain if she’d gone loopy enough to consider the offer.
“So, I get dumped with the whole thing?” Deena said. “No friggin’ way.”
Tariq shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, not the whole thing. I got this security job I’m supposed to be coming into—”
“How you gon’ work security when you got a record?” Keisha demanded.
Tariq blushed. “I mean, I know the dude. He’s supposed to be hooking me up.”
“What happened to that job at the dry cleaners you were supposed to get?” Caroline asked.
“And that stocking job at Target?” Keisha spat. “’Cause I’m tired of your baby momma calling me with the bullshit.”
That was the other thing. Though Tariq’s children were generally all in their twenties, his youngest child was a five-year-old named Peach. The drama that Peach’s mother, Vera, stirred, however, was the stuff of legends. Among her greatest moments were supermarket fistfights with perceived rivals, threats of suicide, vacillations concerning whether the child was his or not, and declarations of marriage to an otherwise baffled Tariq. This was in addition to accusations of forgotten birthdays, and, of course, the absence of child support. Deena didn’t think s
he had the patience to discuss Vera, especially when Pauline, her biggest rival, sat just across from her, raring for a fight just as certainly as if she were in the supermarket.
Rhonda cleared her throat. “Why don’t you take her in, Caroline?” she asked. “You’re always going on about Momma this and Momma that, and we can’t even count how many times you and your kids have had to stay with her. Why don’t you make some space?”
Caroline stared. “Much as I wish I were in a position like you two, where I could just take Momma in,” she looked from Rhonda to Deena, “and much as Momma knows I would never put a man in front of her like you’re doing with this Mary Jane—”
“Mary Ann.”
“Mary Ann,” Caroline snapped, “I don’t have the space. Shakeith just moved back in with his daughters Sara and Window, and both their mommas.”
As was always the case, Tak glanced at Deena to confirm that Window was a person’s name. It was.
“You have four bedrooms,” Rhonda reminded her.
“Yeah,” Caroline said, “since we counting what I got,” she shot an accusing look at Deena, “I’m in one. Keisha’s stuff’s in another. Curtis Jr. in the third cause ain’t no way he living with his daddy, Snow, ’cause he say he can’t stand ’em. And neither can Tayshon Jr., who’ll be in the fourth room.”
“Curtis Jr. ain’t say that,” Keisha hissed. “You always keeping up some kinda mess.”
“I ain’t keeping up nothing,” Caroline retorted and tapped ashes on her father’s prized table. “But Curtis don’t like him, and Tayshon say you stupid for marrying him.”
“You always running your goddamned mouth, but who gon’ marry you? Seven years Andre Petit been staying at your house—”
“Don’t worry ’bout how many years my man been there!”
“Well, don’t you worry about how the fuck my man been getting on with his son!”
Tariq snorted. “Just don’t come home with no diseases,” he muttered, “’cause everybody know how Snow is.”
Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings Page 20
