My mother glanced at me as she handed me the spoon to mix the cake batter. “What are you talking about, sweet pea? A new doll?”
“Yeah, a real doll. A sister. All of the girls in school have a sister. And I want one, too.”
I opened my eyes at that memory, though my remembrance continued. I remembered the way tears had filled my mom’s eyes. The only times I’d ever seen my mom cry were when she was happy—when we were watching movies, when she listened to a song, sometimes, she’d even cry during TV commercials. So when she started crying, I thought she was just as excited as I was about having a little sister.
But then I’d learned the truth. I was a teenager when I found out that my mom suffered from premature ovarian failure, a condition she developed right after my birth. I would forever be her only child.
I wallowed in that memory a bit longer. My mom had always told me if she were to have only one child, she was glad it was me because I was everything she could ever want. I used to believe those words were just things a good mother said.
Then I’d had Bella. And now it seemed that Bella would be the only child Mauricio and I would ever have. It was a disappointment for me, but now I knew what my mom meant. If she was going to be the only one, Bella was everything. Between my daughter and my husband, life couldn’t be any more complete.
So my excitement about Keisha had nothing to do with filling any kind of void. My sister was my bonus blessing from God. And I wanted to be that same kind of blessing for her.
I scooped up my bag and grabbed the Contour file. Tonight, I’d work at home. Or maybe not. Just thinking about blessings made me want to be with my husband and my daughter and bask in all that God had given to me.
11
Keisha
The moment I hooked a left turn into the Holiday Inn Express parking lot, smoke began to rise from under my hood. I hated this truck, or this hoopty, as my mama used to call it. I eased into one of the spaces behind the hotel, then turned off the ignition, hoping it wouldn’t take too long for the truck to cool off. I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do with this thing. Sell it? Probably not, ’cause I’d end up owing somebody money. I’d just leave it right here because when I came back to White Haven, I’d have enough money to get me something nice. Maybe something even like the Mercedes Regan was driving yesterday.
After turning off the ignition, I glanced up at the hotel. I would bet any kind of money that Regan was staying on the top floor. My mama told me the rooms at the top cost the most. That was how she could tell if a man was really into (no pun intended) her. If he spent money for one of the rooms on the top floor, then she knew she would get top dollar.
I glanced at my phone, it wasn’t even seven yet. A little early, but I could hardly sleep last night, knowing I’d be spending the rest of my life in a bed, a real bed. Because once I got this money . . .
My phone vibrated, scaring me a little, and I checked out the incoming text:
Don’t know why you haven’t answered me, but I hope you’re coming to work. You know today is Saturday, so it’ll be bigger than yesterday, though you missed Mrs. Whittle. Let me know what’s going on with you.
I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. Beryl had reached out three times since yesterday, and the only reason she wanted me back there was so she could find out what was up.
Beryl and all of them heffas had probably talked about me for the rest of the day after I’d left the salon with Regan. But they’d never see me again. At least not in that shop. I might still have problems in my life, but now money wasn’t going to be one of them. I had a feeling that God had finally remembered me and He was going to give me back everything.
Not only that, after I’d left Regan, there was too much that I had to do. I ended up hooking up with Buck, and putting everything that I was taking with me into one bag. The rest I was leaving with Buck. Then he and I hung out before we went back to his house last night. I would’ve slept in my car again, except he told me that his daddy was in Little Rock. So even though their house was filled with so many people it looked like a Fourth of July barbecue, I was able to find a corner in one of the bedrooms and sleep a bit, since Buck’s bed was filled with a couple of his younger brothers.
Then, this morning, I got out of there before the sun or any of those people rose. I was wearing the same jeans and top I’d worn yesterday, but I figured that was a good thing. I needed some new clothes ’cause I didn’t want to show up in Los Angeles looking like a chick who’d been living out of her car. So Regan needed to give me some money for that, and wearing what I’d worn yesterday would help with my argument.
That thought made me smile. A little money from Regan, a little more from Gabrielle, and the jackpot from Elijah.
“Yeah,” I whispered. I didn’t have it all worked out, but I figured after a couple of weeks in Los Angeles I’d have enough money to come back home and live like the queen of White Haven.
Checking my cell again, I exhaled when I saw the time. Seven was perfect, and so I opened my Messages app:
After thinking about it all night, I want to meet my father. I want to go to Los Angeles. Let me know what I have to do.
Then, once again, I tossed my cell phone to the other seat, and leaned back. Eight years after finding out my father’s name I was going to meet him.
Eight years. I didn’t want to do it, but that thought made my mind wander all the way back. I closed my eyes and squeezed them tight. Because I couldn’t help but remember, yet I didn’t want to cry:
I bounced into the library really happy. Because although it had taken a little bit of time, like three months, this morning, Mr. Stanley told me he was getting close.
“Meet me in the library after school,” he whispered. “I have some really good news.”
Since he had whispered that to me, I only nodded because he had told me before that no one could know he was helping me since teachers weren’t supposed to help students this way. So I did my best to be discreet—that was the word he used.
But it was hard to hide my happy, and Mr. Stanley made me happy all the time. He was working so hard and he told me there were days when he wasn’t even doing his work because he was doing my research. He was telling the truth, too, because every few days, he told me something new:
“You were born in White Haven Clinic.”
That was the first thing he told me, like three days after he got started. I knew that. Mama had told me that she didn’t have insurance and that was why I was born in the clinic instead of the hospital.
Then about a week after that, “Your mother was only eighteen when you were born.”
I knew that, too. Mama always talked about that. She wanted me to go to school, get a good education, graduate from high school, and then get a job, not have a baby. She wanted me to have options she’d never had.
It had been a little information at a time, kinda like the water faucet in our bathtub—just drip, drip, drip. It was slow, but it was progress.
Now, when the library door closed behind me, I glanced around at the Thanksgiving decorations that hung from the windows and the walls. Then I did what I’d done just about every day for the last few months . . . I walked straight to Mr. Stanley’s office.
Like every day, he was sitting in there waiting for me.
“Hey, Keisha.”
After I said hello to him, I couldn’t stop grinning. “So, you said you have something for me?”
He nodded, then motioned for me to sit down while he got up. This was another thing that Mr. Stanley did every day. Once I got there, he walked through the library turning out all the lights in the library part and locked the door. The first day, I’d been kinda scared. But then he’d explained that it was part of being discreet.
When he came back, he sat down, and now he was the one grinning. “As I’ve been looking for your father, I kinda found out a little bit more about your mother: where she works . . . and what she does for a living.”
That too
k my grin away and I looked down at my books in my lap. I was hoping Mr. Stanley didn’t have to know. That was one of the things I liked about being at Clinton High—nobody here knew me . . . or my mama.
He leaned across his desk and with his fingertips, touched my chin. “Lift your head up, Keisha.”
I did what he said.
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Did you know the work your mother is doing is the world’s oldest profession?”
I squinted, not understanding what he was saying.
He went on, “Way back, even in biblical days, there were women who”—he stopped as if he was trying to find the right words—“took care of their children by taking care of men.”
I nodded, though I was surprised. Women . . . worked . . . just like my mama all the way back in the Bible? Even though it sounded like Mr. Stanley understood, I wanted to make sure that he did. “My mama is just doing what she has to do to take care of me.”
“I know that. But with what she does for a living, it made it a little hard to find out . . . about your father.”
My shoulders slumped. “I thought you said you had good news.”
“Oh, I do.” He held up his hands. “I have great news. I went down to the truck stop off the interstate and I talked to some of the men who know your mother and who have known her for a long time.”
My eyes widened. “Did they know my father, too?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. That’s what’s taking me so long. But I got the names of a couple of men and I’m going to talk. . . .”
Before he said all of his words, I said, “No, wait!”
He frowned.
“I don’t want you to talk to anybody because . . .” I stopped. How was I supposed to say this to him? “I just want to know my father’s name.”
“You don’t want to talk to him?”
I shook my head. I mean, I hadn’t really thought this all the way out. My mama would be mad if she knew what I was doing, because even though I was fourteen, she was still trying to convince me that I didn’t have a father. “I don’t know. I just want his name . . . for now.”
He nodded and smiled as if he was trying to reassure me. “Okay, I’ll get you a name. I’ll be”—he paused—“discreet.” He nodded. “I’ll be discreet for you since you’ve been discreet for me.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling like I could breathe again.
“So, these are the names of the three men I’ll talk to . . . and be discreet.”
He turned the paper around and I read the names: John Smith, David Johnson, and Tim Black. My eyes were still on the paper when I asked, “Are one of these men my father?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”
Mr. Stanley stood, but I didn’t look up. I kept my eyes on the paper and wondered about John, David, and Tim. Was my real name Keisha Smith, Johnson, or Black? The thought that I could be looking at the name of my father made me start shaking a little.
Mr. Stanley took my hand and made me look up, then stand up. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why are you crying?”
I didn’t even realize that I was. “I guess I’m just happy, kinda.”
“Ah, so these are happy tears?”
I nodded. “I’m just happy that you’re helping me.”
“I’m helping you, and we’re getting close.” He smiled, and then before I knew it, he put his arms around me and eased me into a hug. At first, I just stood there a little shocked because even though I was fourteen, I couldn’t remember anyone ever hugging me.
And then he stepped back a little. I exhaled until he leaned down and kissed my cheek where it was wet. I froze again, and then even my heart stopped beating when he brought his hand up to my breast.
Oh my God! Now that he knew where my mama worked, did that mean he wanted me to do the same thing for him?
But even though I didn’t want him to feel my breast, I didn’t do anything. I just stood there because . . . I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything. He just kept his hand on my breast. Until he squeezed me.
That was when I jumped back and away.
His eyes got a little wide. “Is something wrong?”
What was I supposed to say? I mean, I didn’t want to make him mad.
At first, I didn’t say anything. I just looked down because I didn’t want to look at him. So he said, “I’m sorry, Keisha. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” My eyes were still on my sneakers.
He used his fingers to touch my chin and make me look at him, just like he’d done before. It took a long time before I looked up. He said, “It’s just that since I’ve been spending all of this time with you helping to find your father, I discovered that I really like you.”
Okay, what did that mean? I mean, I liked him, too. He was a good guy for helping me.
He said, “I was just thinking that maybe . . . you know . . .”
I tilted my head.
Then he said, “What about if we go out on a date?”
A date? Words came out of my mouth before I could even think about them: “My mama said that I can’t date anyone until I’m seventeen.”
“Wow,” he said, sounding as if he was a little surprised.
“Yeah, she’s real protective of me.”
He nodded, though I could tell that didn’t make much sense to him. Now I realized that for sure, he thought I did what my mama did. Maybe that was how he wanted me to pay him. I needed to set him straight. “My mama wants me to focus on my education so that I can have options because she didn’t have any.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Well, I’m just talking about us going out to dinner. Didn’t you tell me that your favorite food was hamburgers?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I know this place over in Lipton that has the best burgers in Arkansas.”
I knew where Lipton was—it was like two towns over from White Haven. But I’d never heard anybody talking about their hamburgers.
He said, “That’s what we’ll do. On Friday. You’ll be tired of turkey and dressing and we’ll take a little road trip.”
I didn’t tell him that I wasn’t going to have any turkey because my mama always worked on Thanksgiving. And I didn’t tell him that I wasn’t sure about going anywhere with him. I mean, he was older. I didn’t know how old for sure, but he was old. He was over twenty-five, I thought. Because that diploma on his wall had a date of 2002.
He asked, “Have you ever been on a road trip before?”
I nodded. “One time. A long time ago. My mama took me to Hot Springs.”
“Well, it’s time for another trip. We’ll have fun.” He paused, and I shifted.
Then, he added, “And I’ll have more information about your father.”
Right away, I said, “Okay. We can go talk about my father on Friday,” because that was what was most important to me.
I OPENED MY eyes and had to look around the hotel parking lot to remind myself where I was. But opening my eyes didn’t stop the memories. Mama had stayed home with me on that Wednesday, but just like I knew she would, she worked on Thursday and didn’t come home until about ten in the morning on Friday. She had gone straight to bed ’cause it was the weekend, and sometimes, she worked all the way through till Sunday. That was why I wasn’t worried about going on that road trip with Mr. Stanley. But all these years later, I sure wish I hadn’t.
When I felt that tear on my cheek, I was mad. Damn! I had told myself I wasn’t gonna cry. But every time I thought about Mr. Stanley . . .
The ringing of my cell phone made me jump. I stared down at the screen. I knew that number. My fingers were shaking a little when I answered the call.
“Yeah?” I said as if I didn’t know who was on the other end.
“Keisha? This is Regan. I got your text.”
“Yeah . . . I thought about it . . . and . . .”
&nbs
p; “Yes, I read what you said. So can you come over so that we can talk about it and figure everything out? I don’t know how much time you’ll need to plan this.”
I wondered if I should tell her that I was ready to go now—except for the money I needed to go pick up some clothes.
She said, “What time do you want to meet up?”
“I can be there in five minutes,” and then, because I didn’t want to sound too pressed, I said, “My mama and I stay real close to your hotel. I mean now, it’s just me, but . . . .” I stopped talking.
“Oh.” She paused and in her silence, I heard her judgment, though I didn’t know why. “Okay. Well, I’m getting up. We can go somewhere for breakfast.”
“Okay. I can give you a little time.”
“Give me about thirty minutes, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, then hung up because I didn’t want to say anything else to Regan. I’d already messed up yesterday when I’d said Gabrielle’s name and I could hear in what she said and didn’t say that she wasn’t sure if she could trust me.
I glanced out the window, looking up at the top floor of the hotel. Then I leaned back. This time, though, I wasn’t going to think about the darkness of the past. From now on, I was going to keep all my thoughts on the present and those people in Los Angeles. Because if I kept thinking about the past, then I’d have to remember all of those awful days during all of those awful years. And while Mr. Stanley made me cry, I didn’t know what would happen if I thought about the other things. No, I couldn’t let my mind go back to that. Not if I wanted to keep my sanity.
12
Gabrielle
On any other day, I would’ve pulled the pillow over my head and pretended not to hear the phone ringing. Because there was only one thing I did before the sun came up—all I did was turn over.
But this wasn’t any other day. This was today, Saturday. The morning of the day after Regan had met Keisha. So the second the phone rang, I grabbed it, glanced at the screen, then peeked at Mauricio before I scooted my legs over the edge of the bed.
Envy Page 8
