There was no way he could ask them for money. He ended the call soon after his grandma said, “William, baby, is that you?”
Barbeque pits were being set up near picnic areas, families were unloading foil pans that he assumed were filled with baked beans, potato salad, ribs, chicken, hot links, hamburger patties, and more trimmings. He was sure if he stayed close by, someone would give him a plate if he asked, but he doubted anyone would offer. Maybe a kid would. They seemed to have more compassion for him than adults. But he prayed no kids came near him, fearing they’d trigger a flashback of the day Randy was bombed. Having kids too close to him made him nervous. Kids triggered horrible homicidal thoughts.
Exhaling, he knew he’d prolonged the inevitable long enough. He prayed Katherine’s home phone number was the same. There was no need to contact Mona, unless Katherine didn’t answer.
“Hello, Clinton residence.” That wasn’t the voice of the Clinton he wanted to speak with.
He cleared his throat. “Good morning, may I speak with Katherine Clinton, please?”
“Good morning to you. Hold for a moment while I get her,” Katherine’s mother said.
Good. She must not have recognized his voice. He tapped the toe of his combat boot in the dirt, started to end the call as he heard, “This is Katherine.”
A lump the size of a golf ball choked him. “Katherine, it’s Lincoln. William Lincoln.”
Silence filled the airways between them. Then he heard, “Ahhhh! Oh, my gosh!” She started crying.
From the freaked-out tone of her voice, he wasn’t sure if she was happy to hear from him or just shocked. He figured he’d wait until she said something else.
“You’re alive. Thank God. Thank you, Jesus. Are you in Selma?” she asked, gasping. Sounded like she was hyperventilating.
He imagined her doing a praise dance. “Not yet. I need your help, Katherine. I need to know if you can wire me five thousand dollars. I promise I’ll pay you back when I get on my feet.” The military made him a sharpshooter, so he always got straight to the point. He expected her to hang up, but she didn’t.
“Are you coming to Selma?”
He hated when women answered questions with questions. “Eventually. I’m not doing too good. I don’t want you to see me like this. I promise when I get better, I’ll come see you.”
“Me and your son, Jeremiah, Lincoln. He’s nine years old. Give me your address, I’ll send you some pictures. He looks exactly like you.”
Tears streamed down his face. He wanted to hurl his phone like a football across the park. He knew he should’ve called her sooner, like years sooner. Pictures might help him mentally prepare to see Jeremiah. What a nice name.
“What’s his last name?”
“Lincoln?”
He couldn’t tell if that was another question or the answer. All this time she’s been raising their son alone while . . . “Did you get married?” he asked, praying she hadn’t.
“No, I promised you, remember? I’m still waiting. Stupid, huh? But now that I know you’re alive, I’m pissed.”
That song, “Still Waiting on Your Love” by LaKai, resonated. Katherine could never stay mad at him. “You have no idea what I’ve been through,” he cried, unable to hold back his tears. He wished her arms were around him.
Katherine angrily countered, “No, you have no idea what we’ve been through.”
He didn’t want to start an argument during their first conversation in ten years or make her upset to the point where she’d hang up. “You’re right. So can you help me?”
“It might not be five thousand, but I’ll see what I can do. Where should I wire the money?”
Was she trying to track him down? If he wanted the money, he had to tell her. “I’m in Seattle, Washington. Here’s my cell phone number. Write this down . . . area code 206 . . . Once you send the money, text me when I can pick it up.”
The little furniture that he had he’d left in his apartment. He had no new place to put his things. His Prime Care doctor told him the landlord was required to put his things in storage. But for how long? Depending on how much money Katherine sent, he’d decide whether to pay the cost to get his things back or start over. At least he’d be able to sleep in a hotel tonight.
“Katherine, who’s that on the phone?” he heard her mother ask.
“Mama, it’s Lincoln.”
“Is he in Selma? Is he coming over to meet his son? Does he have the fifty thousand dollars he owe you in back child support? If not, hang up the phone right now, Katherine, and I don’t want no mess about being engaged.”
“He needs help, Mama. I’m going to send him a few dollars to help him get on his feet.”
The last words Lincoln heard before the call ended was Katherine’s mother saying, “You ain’t sending his ass shit!”
CHAPTER 25
Steven
May 2010
“Hey, Steven. Who’s that with cha?” Ms. Velma asked, waving from her porch.
If retirement meant staying home, he’d work the streets for an eternity. That woman had too much free time. No one had to impose a neighborhood watch on Ms. Velma’s street. No break-ins, stolen cars, drug dealing, or shooting happened on their block. The surrounding neighborhoods weren’t as fortunate. Steven was lucky to have her next door. She was tough. Long as she didn’t cross his property line trying to get into his business, her constant daily greetings were fine.
His mom waved back. “Hi, I’m Steven’s mother, and this here is his dad.”
“Where y’all from?” Ms. Velma asked, leaning on her pink column.
Pink and purple must be Ms. Velma’s favorite colors. Her entire house’s stucco exterior was pink with purple trimmings. His house was white with red borders. He didn’t like the red but didn’t hate it enough to repaint.
Ms. Velma was the first African-American to buy on that block. She’d seen families come and go, but she refused to move, telling him, “Everybody has the right to own themselves a piece of property, and I don’t see no sense in doing what y’all youngsters call upgrading ’cause that don’t do nothing but keep you in debt. Take care of what you got, Steven. That way you keeps more of your money in your pockets.”
He couldn’t take it with him, so he used his money to make others happy. Steven wanted to buy Mona a mini-mansion in one of those new developments in Bakersfield—five bedrooms, four baths, split level, backyard with a pool. Mona had chosen their area and their cozy two-bedroom house. Said it reminded her of her mother’s home in Selma.
His mom proudly said, “We’re all the way from the historical Selma, Alabama.”
Ms. Velma stopped leaning on the column, stood straight. “Well, we got our own piece of history nearby. It’s called Allensworth. Ever heard of it?”
“Can’t say I have. I’m Regina, and this here is my husband, Richard Cunningham.”
“Well, Regina and Richard, you’re welcome to my house for dinner anytime. Open invite. Your son calls me Ms. Velma, but y’all call me plain ole Velma. I’m cooking later, so if you hungry, no need to call. Come on by and I’ll tell you all about Allensworth. It’s the only California town to be founded, financed, and governed by African-Americans, and it’s the only town of its kind in all of America. If you’re here long enough, I’ll take you there and on the way you can tell me all about Selma.”
“Nice meeting you, Velma,” his dad said, entering the house.
Velma knew his parents’ names, where they were from . . . he was surprised she didn’t ask how long they’d be there. Or where Mona was. It was probably on Ms. Velma’s list of questions she hadn’t gotten to yet.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Steven said, carrying his parents’ suitcases to the extra bedroom. Couldn’t call it a guest bedroom ’cause they were family and he never had overnight company.
“Your daddy needs to eat. And we’re not going to that lady’s house next door,” his mother insisted. “She’s nice and all, but we can take her up on her
offer another day. We got two weeks to be here.”
Two what? “Fine, Ma. What would you like to eat?”
“Breakfast sounds good to me, son. And Regina, I would like to see Allensworth before we go back to Selma.”
“Me too, Richard, but it’s two o’clock in the day. It’s too late for pancakes.”
His dad protested, “But it’s never too late for pancakes.”
“I wanna go to that Tina Marie’s Café we passed on the way here.”
Steven said, “Let’s go.” He didn’t bother telling his mother that was one of the best breakfast spots in Bakersfield. His dad lucked out this time.
“Look at the pretty table settings in the display window,” his mother said. “Richard, take a picture. I like the way the pink tablecloth is layered over the black one, and oh my, those two pink chairs are adorable.”
Soon as his dad took the photo, Steven ushered his parents inside. The café was half full. Steven told the hostess, “We’d like a booth.”
“I like the décor, Richard. Look up there at that pink and black ruffled waitress skirt on the wall. Remember when I used to be a cheerleader?”
His dad blushed. Yes, Steven was grown, but he did not want to know the details of that conversation.
“I like the pictures of those cars from the twenties,” his dad said, then pointed. “Look at that red one with the chrome grille.”
“The pink booths are nice,” his mother said, sliding in before his dad.
“I’ma step outside and smoke,” Steven said. He needed a cigarette more than the fresh air.
His dad said, “I didn’t know you smoked, son.”
“I don’t. Not really. But since Mona left, I can’t seem to stop smoking.”
His dad frowned, looked at his mom. Steven could tell she hadn’t told him, which clarified why his mom hadn’t mentioned Mona yet.
Steven stood on the corner of Chester and Twentieth Street. He tightened his lips to the filter, flicked his lighter, then inhaled the smoke into his lungs. The only thing missing was a bottle of whiskey and . . . the cigarette fell from his lips, rolled off the curb.
He mumbled, “Is that Mona?”
A dingy pickup truck was stopped at the red light. He shook his head. “Couldn’t be.” Steven crossed the street, tapped on the window. The woman turned to him, stared him in the eyes.
Sure enough that was his wife. “Get your ass out of his car!”
The guy sped off. The SUV behind the truck blocked Steven’s view of the truck’s license plate. At least he knew Mona was still in town, but she’d probably leave now that he saw her.
Lighting another cigarette, he took one long drag, tossed it to the ground, stomped on it wishing it were Mona. He went inside the restaurant, sat across from his parents. Steven looked at his mom, then his dad.
“Your mom is right, son. Give Mona six months. If she’s not back by then, divorce her and move on.”
“Buttercup, did you hear your dad? Buttercup, answer me.”
Steven’s stomach boiled with anger. Dude’s ass was riding around town with his wife. “Yeah, I hear you.”
CHAPTER 26
Mona
November 2010
Months after quitting her job and leaving Steven, Mona was still with Davis. She’d planned on leaving Bakersfield but refused to go to Selma. Dating Davis made it hard for her to go anywhere. Why should she run from Steven? He was the one who’d messed up. Mona had the right to live her life the way she wanted.
Speaking from her heart, Mona told Davis, “I wish every day could be like this. Living in the moment, you know. Not caring about what happened minutes ago. Not worrying about what’s going to happen in the next few seconds. You know, baby, an earthquake could happen right now and our lives could change forever.”
She stared out his truck’s window as he drove by the entrance to a dilapidated trailer park near the house she rented. Mona could’ve bought a new house in an upscale gated development. Leasing was a better decision, since she still wasn’t sure how much longer she’d stay in Bakersfield. Living in a poverty-stricken hood had its benefits. She didn’t have neighbors anxious to meet her. People mind their own business, but not much happened that someone didn’t see or hear about.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Davis said, driving with one hand atop the steering wheel. “But answer this. If you knew you had twenty-four hours to live, honey, what would you do?”
Thinking about Sarah McKenny, Mona prayed Sarah’s upcoming sentencing wouldn’t be the death penalty. Alabama’s method was by lethal injection. Alabama had executed fewer inmates than Texas or Virginia, and although those two states ranked first and second, respectively, in the nation, Alabama was in the top ten.
Mona interlocked her fingers with his, closed her eyes, kissed the back of his right hand, held her lips there momentarily. Opening her eyes, she beamed from the inside out. The corners of her mouth curved wide across her face.
“Oh, Davis, that’s a fantastic idea! Let’s do it. Let’s pretend we only have twenty-four hours to live! You take the first twenty-four and I’ll do the next.” Lowering their hands to the armrest, she leaned toward him, bit the corner of his bottom lip, then kissed his cheek.
Shaking his head, he kept his eyes on the road ahead. “That’s crazy. I plan to live until I’m a hundred, so why would I live like today is my last?”
The question intrigued her. “Because we never know. But I would like to know what you would do,” she said.
“I know how unpredictable you are, honey, and we’re not going to do that . . . but if we were, I’d pack a picnic basket and cruise south along the Pacific coast with you by my side. We’d never step foot indoors. I’d feed you in the sunlight. The moon would glow around us as I held you in my arms. We’d meet all of my family and friends at Disneyland at sunrise. I’d ride the fastest rides with you by my side. And for my farewell I’d take the stage and co-star with you in a romantic comedy. I’d dance with you in my arms, and we’d make the audience laugh like children. As the curtains were closing a ray of light would beam us up to the sky. Everyone in heaven would welcome us with a standing ovation.”
The mention of children reminded her of aborting Lincoln’s baby. Again, she wondered what path she would have traveled if she had a nine-year-old son or daughter.
Mona really liked Davis’s mention of making people laugh. She didn’t want to piggyback off of his idea, but she wanted people to smile when they remembered her. If that meant their saying, “That Mona Lisa was so crazy,” that was okay with her. And though her relationship with her mother was strained, she’d always love her mama.
Silence stole some of their time before he continued, “I still don’t know what you see in me. I’m just a simple country man with this here dingy white pickup, my two-bedroom house with one bed, and I have you. I’m so glad I stopped at the bar that night. You’ve changed my life. You make me so happy, Mona. I love you.”
Love almost killed her, once.
She thought she’d die when Lincoln left her for Katherine. It’s like that with your first. Love was a word she took seriously. She’d never said those three words to any man except Lincoln. Couldn’t say it unless she’d meant it. Couldn’t mean it unless she was sure. But she’d felt certain the first time with Lincoln. And in her own way the second time with Steven, but she was never in love with him. She loved the things her husband had done for and given to her, but she was never in love with him. Now that her heart knew the difference, she wasn’t trying to love or fall in love with Davis. She was just trying to find happiness each time she breathed.
Smiling, he turned right on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and drove by an empty lot, a pasty gray stucco building with boarded-up windows, an abandoned house with KING’S DREAM spray painted on the front, and a grocery store at the corner to their left. No two blocks in her neighborhood were the same.
“You don’t realize how awesome you are,” she told him. “You’re a man.
A manly man. You’re a true gentleman. You’re muscular. You’re tall. You’re handsome. Especially when you don’t shave for a few days. I like that rugged look and scratchy feel of your beard. But what I see most in you, Davis, is your heart. Your heart beats more love for your family and friends than all the oil pumps pumping petroleum in this here li’l town. Now, let’s head south, stop at the Walmart on 178, pick up what we need for our picnic, then head toward Anaheim. Give me your phone. I’ll call your family and friends and tell them to meet us at Small World.”
There’d be no need to call her family. She still hadn’t spoken with her parents.
Davis laughed. “Mona Lisa, please forget I said that twenty-four-hour thing, will you? We’re going to Knotty Pine Café as originally planned. No detours. We can be adventurous next year.”
Kicking her feet in protest, she squeezed his hand. “Next year? Aw, come on. That’s practically six weeks away! You got me all fired up! Okay, let’s compromise. Let’s do one thing that I want to do before I die. Just one. And let’s do it now.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “I’m not going to win this one. And I’m probably going to regret this, but that’s why I love you.”
Her stomach churned with anticipation. “So is that a yes?”
“That’s a yes. But can we do it after we eat breakfast? I’m hungry, baby. I don’t understand you sometimes. What makes you so spontaneous all the time?”
Her smile faded into melancholy. “Because I’ve seen people die. I can’t say they were saints, but I don’t know if they deserved to die either. Just ’cause somebody don’t want you around doesn’t give them the right to have you killed. We’re all sinners. Who’s to judge what we do? That’s God’s job.... I wonder if those people I saw die lived their lives to the fullest or if they wasted their lives trying to please others. If they had kids. Whether people care about you or not, everybody’s got family. When you see a person take their last breath, there’s no way that that can’t change your life forever.”
The Eternal Engagement Page 10
