"Daddy! Are you okay?"
He gave an awkward nod of his head.
"I asked is it okay if Thomasa comes over?"
He smiled, her voice broke through. "Um, what did Sylvia say?"
"I haven't asked her yet, because we just got home and before I could, you drove up."
"I see, well…maybe tonight is not a good time. How about over the weekend? We have too much going on right now."
"Can I go over her house, then? Crystal will take me."
"No. That's automatic. This weekend, Angela, but not now…wait until this is all done."
She wilted, wanted to whine and complain, but settled for putting a face on, because any more asking would only fall on deaf ears. They turned back to the demolition going on to see that the bulldozer had finally leveled it. Now, the big dumpster truck backed up to start picking up the pieces to dump in and carry away. Shawn looked towards his brother and father. They'd walked to the side of the garage. Jake was showing their father what he was doing for Sylvia, building her portable shelves.
Vivian was standing, looking at him. There was something about him that was different from other times when they'd spoken. He now looked very vulnerable, with an almost scared little boy look about him, as if afraid to go home, because he knew that his parents knew about his deed.
"Shawn?"
He looked at her, and smiled. "Hi."
"You okay?"
"Tired, that's all. Drove all night, and coming back, stopped for a couple of hours this morning at Jake's place in Chicago, and then we wanted to get back home."
"You just need to get in there and lay down—get you some sleep." She offered with a smile.
His eyes drifted towards the house, the window; he saw Sylvia look out of it, the moment he caught her, the curtain dropped and she stepped away from it. He looked back at Vivian, she was watching him. His eyes reddened, teared up. There was nothing he could do to hide it, he looked away from her, but she saw it.
"Shawn?"
"I better…go and, uh, talk to my wife, huh?" He dug his fingers into his eyes to clear them. "She okay?" He asked, having to sniff, his nose felt as if it were running. He was so tired he had no control of his emotions.
"Yep, she's okay. Look, I don't know what's going on, and you don't need to tell me, but…I just want you to know…that everything will be okay, she just needs a minute—"
"Has she said something to you? What has she said?" He asked, unable to hide the hint of stress in his tone.
Angela and Crystal were walking further along the road to get a view of what the crew was doing, two of the crewmen were talking to her, showing her, pointing things out, discussing each step they'd be taking. The main boss saw that Shawn was there and walked up to him, preventing Vivian from saying anything to him. "Mr. McPherson, how you doing?" He asked, his hand out to him for a shake.
Shawn put up a joyful façade, shaking the man's hand and following him as he went over the plans they had. Shawn needed the distraction, and went over and spoke with every one, verifying that the office, once the grounds were cleared and leveled, was definitely the first order of business. Vivian turned away and went to where Jake was, working hard at getting the rack done. Once again, she was getting a view of his capabilities. He loved to build. To construct, to solve a problem by what he was doing. Mundo was with him helping; she realized that he, too, derived a joy out of learning new things from them—Shawn and Jake. Jake patiently explained how things worked, the types of wood necessary for building certain things, the way it needed to be cut, treated—set. He had Mundo there gathering all the parts he would need, so that he could watch him and do what he was doing, for building one of the racks along with him. Mundo loved it, as Jake explained, "I'll build two, you'll build two. Just watch me, do it as I show you, you'll have no problem." Vivian silently stood by watching them, content—because he was, after all, her favorite past-time. He turned to her, "Baby, you mind fixing me some coffee, putting it in one of my travel mugs?"
"Sure, sweetie, Mundo—you want something to drink?"
"Can you snatch me a Dew out the fridge?"
"You got it."
Bart was looking for Sylvia, had walked into the house. His son was a nervous wreck—no matter how he struggled to cover it.
"Lil'lady! Where are you? It's me, Bart." His deep booming voice could not be ignored, it was clearly heard. Sylvia had been upstairs, checking on her grandsons, both down for a nap, too late in the day as far as she was concerned. They'd be up late she knew. She was trying to get herself steadied before she confronted her husband. She was a nervous wreck, because she was so unsure of everything. Including if she should say anything at all. She walked about her home, and knew—that if they didn't make it—she would be lost. The imprint that he'd made on her life was one that was not easily gotten over. Her hand went to her bulge…and they shared a child, that is, if she went full-term. She found herself trapped in a daydream where he lived in his large home across the road, and she, in her home there—and their son, freely running back and forth between them. Sylvia knew, as her dream led her to know, that there would be no way for them to live in view of each other, and not come together, not touch—not end up in bed. She would be forced to leave, to sell her home and move on. She was standing in the doorway of the room the boys shared with Mundo, her eyes closed, because she could see it clearly, that her husband would not make it easy for her to just pick up and go.
"God, why did you let me fall in love with this man? Why?" She agonized, and then the booming voice of Bart. She reached over and grabbed the door knob, pulling the door to so he wouldn't wake the boys. She went looking for him, "Yes?" She called down the basement stairs, going down them.
"Where you at?" He asked.
"Here I come. I was checking on the boys."
"Boys?" Bart returned, watching her. She was looking more pregnant every time he saw her. His son's wife. Bart felt a stir in his chest concerning her, knowing what she meant to his son. She was lovely. On the small size, like Gert. Small-boned, very feminine, with a face—distinct, fetching. Eyes that were very expressive and full mouth. Yes, he could easily see why his son had been so attracted to her. Knowing her as they'd come to know her, he understood why he loved her so. She was the stabilizer in his life. She…gave substance and purchase to his son's place there. If his son were to stay and be happy, she held the key. He knew that.
"My grandsons." She went on to explain.
"Ah! I see."
"Can I get you something to drink, something to eat, Bart?"
"No, young lady, but you can come here."
"Come…there?" Sylvia asked, stunned by the request.
"That's right, over here, I don't bite."
Sylvia gulped and did as he told her. He was very tall, wearing working boots that made him taller. Something in his face reminded her of Jake, a certain expression. When she drew close, he took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to him as he looked down at her.
"Young lady, Sylvia Lucinda McPherson…do you know what that means?"
"Huh?" She was a bit taken aback that he knew her middle name, nor was she sure of what he was asking.
"Your name. You see, I've heard it so many times on this drive, which tells me a lot about my boy. You listen to me, young lady, you listen loud and clear. My boy, has been through some hell in his life. You know why?"
Sylvia gulped and felt tears spring to her eyes, her expression changed, her eyes piercing, accusing.
Bart smiled, "So you do. I can see it in your eyes. Yes, it's true. I've done…some things…I'm not proud of today. Things to him. I got a lot to make up for with that boy'o'mine, before my time is through on this earth. I took away…my boys youth…his laughter, his joy. Guilty—guilty as charged. You know that, don't you?"
Sylvia nodded, her eyes hostile. "You haven't a clue…of what you've done to him!" She declared passionately.
Bart sighed long and deep. "Oh, yes, I have. Yes…I have. An
d…he left home. Thought…thought I'd never see him again. Thought…I'll never get a chance, to…make up for it all. Well, the Lord, for whatever reason, lead him back here. Here, home—where maybe—maybe, he might not have stayed, had he not found you here. You…young lady, put the smile back on my boy's face. You…young lady, caused my boy to laugh and joke, and talk as if…all in his world was right again. I heard him, we all did. Sylvia Lucinda McPherson…you are here to stay. You understand me. You are—a McPherson. Married to my son, to the end. No divorce—you hear…no divorce. You leave my boy—you'll destroy him…and that…I could not bear. You understand? So—you do what you have to do. Yell, scream at him, be mad—make him pay. You all good at that, it's what you do, and I will admit, often, we deserve it. But…later on—you take him back to you—you make him feel better."
Sylvia stood staring up at Bart with tears rolling down her cheeks. He reached up and wiped at her tears. "You'll be alright. You may be little, but you're strong. You are—exactly what my boy needs…I see it in your eyes. In your womb, you carry a McPherson…and by God, that in itself will keep you to us. Loyalty, young lady …real - true - unconditional - loyalty to my son, no matter what…no matter what!"
He wiped at her eyes again. Took a deep breath with one last look, and let her go. "I best get home now."
He turned from her and left the basement. Sylvia stood in the same spot, still not moving. She wrapped her arms around herself, sniffed and felt the slightest flutter. So slight, she'd almost missed it. She froze, stood still and waited. It happened again, like gentle tiny caresses of a butterfly's wing, low in her womb. Sylvia covered her mouth, she was on the verge of tears. You too? You wait until now, to make your presence known! Guess you're on his side as well! She thought and then said out loud, "Damn you McPhersons!"
Her hand went to the bulge, and it came yet again. She couldn't feel it with her hand yet, it was too slight, but she could feel it within. She gasped, sniffed and the door came open again, this time…it was her husband. Standing where she was, took him by surprise. Their eyes locked, Sylvia felt her chest load and grow heavy, she turned from him and rushed from the room and up the stairs.
"SYLVIA! Don't run from me, Sylvia!" Shawn called out to her, dropping his Adidas bag on the floor, he closed the door behind him. With a heavy heart, he walked through the basement and stopped at the stairs. One foot up on the lower carpeted stair, his hand on the railing, he stared up at the open door at the top landing. His other hand grabbed the opposite rail, and whether HE heard or not, cared to listen or not, he said a prayer to the God that his father believed in, to the one he believed in, to the one that Jesse said he prayed to now and then, when he was really low. When all else seemed to show no way out. Heavenly father…please…I cannot find the words…but know this…it is hell…being a man. It—is—hell. And I did what I had to do. I will not ask that you forgive me, because—I don't feel—I've done anything wrong. So, I guess…what I ask, is for strength, to endure…what I must, because of what I've done.' He sniffed, swallowed the gathering moisture in his mouth. Wiped his hand over his face and made his way up the stairs.
Chapter 191
Sylvia was hiding in the bathroom. Simply because she couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Once again, she felt surrounded by him. She didn't want to face him, was too overcome by what stood between them, to do it. She was traumatized by the fact that she might have made the biggest mistake of her life. She just couldn't face him. She couldn't look at him. She was scared to death that his power over her, was more than she could bear. To look into his eyes, to hear his words, she knew she would fall weak and give in to whatever he wanted, she just couldn't! It was too much. She stood with her back against the door, her heart pounding, trying to keep calm. Then the door knob turned by her hand.
"Sylvia…please…baby…come on, Sylvie." She heard him through the door.
"No! Go away, Shawn, please…leave me alone."
"Sylvia…please…open the door, and let me talk to you. Can we talk, please? That's all I wanna do, just talk…please—don't close me out. Don't do this to me, please, just give me a chance to explain myself."
"I don't wanna give you a chance to explain! I don't wanna have anything to…to do with it, Shawn! I can't believe it! Please tell me you didn't do it!" She couldn't help it, she started crying, she didn't want to, but she didn't know what else to do. Outside, everyone was going on with their day, laughing and talking—enjoying one another, while her entire world was falling apart. She'd invested her heart and soul into this man, she couldn't bear the thought that he could actually kill someone, and then carry on as if it were nothing.
"Open the door, so we can talk—okay…at least give me a chance to talk to you."
"I don't wanna open the door! I don't know what I'm gonna do-o-o! Why do you have to be this way, Shawn? Why'd you have to pick me-e-e-e!"
"Sylvie—I love you—God knows I do. But I can't help—the way that I am. Please, honey, all I ask, is that you just…" Shawn raked his hand over his head, scratching his scalp. "Look—I'll move to the other side of the room, just open the door so we can talk. I'll stay to the end of the bed, I promise…but—don't turn me away—please—don't."
Sylvia stood on the other side of the door, crying softly, tears rolling. She didn't want this to be happening to them. She loved him so much, but she couldn't get what he must have done, out of her head. It frightened her that there were things about him, his character, that she didn't know about. It was an inside joke with black people about white men. How crazy they were. The things they could do—that seemed so totally insane to them. Snipers, Pedophiles, mass murderers, Jack the Ripper, Jeffery Dahmer…the thought brought on a new onslaught of tears. She knew she was letting her crazy imagination get the best of her, that those thoughts were all extreme, she knew how unfair it was to stereotype anyone. But they were all the reasons she had never given a white male the time of day. Even as she stood there with those harsh fears, contradictory to that was also the reputation they had for being considerate, too soft, a pushover, easily controlled—which is why she felt that Crystal would be okay with Victor.
Because of that, she'd let her guard down and let a white man into her life, and it's never been the same since. She—was—scared. Because what kind of man, was he? Really?
"Sylvia…come out…just…give me a chance—"
"I DON'T KNOW YOU—SHAWN EVERETT MCPHERSON! I DON'T KNOW YOU!" She cried out—horrified.
Shawn stood at the end of the bed, his heart pounding so he was short of breath from it. He felt a tear fall to his cheek, and swiped it away. "Sylvia—please." Was all he could say to her shouted declaration. He stood in the middle of their bedroom, watching the door and waiting. Scared to say anything more, not wanting to do anything to make it worse. He could hear her silent weeping, and every bit of it was like a knife stabbing him. He was trying to make out what she was doing. He heard her blow her nose, then the water came on at the sink, a few moments, and then it went off. Finally, he heard the lock on the knob of the door click over. Slowly, the door came open. Not all the way. Just enough for her to peer through it at him. She was tortured. Her face told him how stressed she was by what he'd done. He realized then, that it might be too much. If anything happened to his baby, because of her being so stressed, again, he would suffer pure hell for it.
He stared across the space of the room, unsure of what to say, what to do. As much as he hated the thought, he knew she might be better off without him there. "I want you—to—try and—be calm. I don't mean to put such stress on you—especially now."
"Little too late for that, Shawn!"
"I'm sorry that you're so upset."
"What about what you've done, Shawn? What have you done? Are you sorry about that?"
"If I thought for a moment that I'd be sorry, I wouldn't have done it."
"So, you killed a man?"
"I'm not admitting to that."
"Then what are you admitting to
?"
"Nothing. I'm not here to make a confession to you. I'm not here to cleanse my soul before you. I'm here, because you're my wife. This is our home. And as the man, of this home—there is a responsibility, that is solely mine and mine alone. And I can tell you this—it is one helluva burden—one helluva duty, but it is mine to bear and bear it I will. My wife, anything—that is part of that role—as the man here—I will do. I will not run from it. I will not hide. This is my home. You are my wife. These are our children. She is my sister. And this is—my land. My domain! Our sanctuary. Here—right here—once a certain line is crossed at that top of the road, or at the other end of the road—or at the back of it, or at the front of it, once our children, my family crosses those borders here, they are home! Safe! Do you understand that? What that means? Safe? That's home! Their sanctuary! Within that boundary—no harm will come to you. No harm will come to them. No harm will come to her! Because I'm here! That is my role! To protect those, within my domain! My family! Do you understand that, Sylvia? Every child needs that! In order to grow, learn, relax and enjoy life! That—is my job—to see to it—that they can! Not just providing a roof. Not just making sure there is food, clothing, lights, heat. It doesn't end there! That's only a part of it. Our home, must be—will be—safe! You—must be safe—that's what being home means. Can you not understand that?"
Sylvia stood staring at him, lost for words. She'd never heard such things before. Not from any man. Certainly not from the ones she'd ever encountered in her life.
"Shawn, that is what the laws are for, to keep people safe."
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