Guilty By Association

by Pat Simmons

  “What!” Kidd gritted his teeth to rein in a string of curses that was begging to get out. Now what?

  “I’m on the next flight home.” There goes any weekend plans here, he thought. Kidd disconnected the call, realizing too late that he had hung up on his mother. Pulling over to the curb, he accessed the Internet via his phone and searched the Southwest Airlines flight schedule. Within minutes, he booked a nonstop flight to Boston. If Ace was in Randolph, he had probably been at Vincent’s Nightclub. What had his brother done this time?

  Operating on autopilot, Kidd didn’t remember arriving at Parke’s home. All he knew was that he was standing on the porch about to turn the key. Giving his car a glance, he chided himself for leaving the driver’s door open. He stomped back and shut it while his mind was still on his twenty-six-year-old baby brother, who should be acting like a man. It appeared Ace had set a goal to visit every jail around Boston. This was his fifth trip, in how many months? Kidd was sure it was only because of their mother’s prayers that no serious charges had been filed.

  He stepped inside the house and groaned. Malcolm, Parke, and their sons were sitting around the dining room table. Too bad they weren’t hanging out in Parke’s entertainment cave. Apparently, the men were babysitting. Kidd took a deep breath; he wasn’t in the mood for any brotherhood camaraderie. Nor did he have the time. He coaxed himself to breathe and headed upstairs to pack lightly, so as not to generate questions. His goal was to get out of there as fast as possible.

  Before Kidd could make his move, Parke interrupted. “Hey, cuz. It’s just us men tonight. The women are at a baby shower, and the men rule.” Parke grinned and held up a finger. “My wife made a big pan of tetrazzini and garlic bread. Help yourself.”

  “And my baby threw down on some serious red velvet cake.” Malcolm patted his stomach. “I left you a few slices. Afterward, maybe you’ll want to hang with us. We’re taking the boys to the NASCAR Speed Park at the Mills.”

  Pace’s puppy eyes were hopeful. “Come on, Cousin Uncle. You can ride in the same bumper car with me.”

  Parke rubbed his son’s head. “Hey, what about your old man?”

  “You can ride with me after him.” Pace grinned, favoring his father and displaying a missing tooth.

  They all laughed. Even Kidd had to chuckle at the boy’s possessiveness, then he sobered. “Sorry, I’m going to have to pass.”

  Malcolm frowned. “On the food or going to St. Louis Mills?” He sat up straighter.

  “Both. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “What’s going on, Kidd?” Parke squinted, as he went on alert.

  “I’m flying home for the weekend or longer. As a matter of fact, my plane leaves—” Kidd checked his watch and grimaced—“in less than two hours.” He headed for the steps. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Parke stood. “Is everything all right?”

  “It will be.”

  Once upstairs, he dragged shirts and pants off the hangers. He went into the bathroom and grabbed whatever toiletries were in sight. Throwing everything in his bag, Kidd headed back downstairs. Parke and Malcolm were waiting for him.

  “We’re going with you.”

  Kidd didn’t have time for this. “Parke, stay here with your family, and I’ll go see about mine.” His attempt to walk around Parke failed. His cousin was blocking him as if he was Chicago Bulls’ Derrick Rose.

  “Listen to him, Parke.” Cheney stood in the open doorway unexpectedly. “He’s a Jamieson—stubborn. Good looking, but stubborn. Good-hearted, but stubborn.”

  The woman could never give him a compliment without tacking on the other stuff.

  “Hey, babe, what are you doing back so soon?” Parke went to her and brushed a kiss on her cheek.

  “I left the gift card here, so I came back to get it.” She scanned everyone’s faces. “I didn’t hear everything, but I think he knows by now, we have his back.” Smiling, she walked up to Kidd and hugged him. “I hope you know that if you need anything—money, prayers, moral support—we’re there before you finish uttering your request. Don’t let your Jamieson pride get in the way. Like I told you earlier, don’t let pretty faces and peaceful, loving families fool you. We’re armed with spiritual armor, and we use it.”

  Kidd’s mind was too jumbled to register that conversation. “Right. I’ve got to go. I’ll leave my car at the airport—”

  “Wrong. We’re driving you,” Parke said with finality. “Your bag looks light. I hope you packed underwear and mouthwash.”

  “Shut up, man.” Kidd shoved him, as if he was going around him for an imaginary layup to a basket. “If you’re my limo driver, let’s go.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kidd’s plane couldn’t land soon enough at Logan International Airport. When he disembarked and rounded the corner outside the security checkpoint line, his mother was waiting for him. She had a strained smile on her face as she hurried toward him.

  Preferring soft colors and stylish casual clothes, she never failed to catch men’s eyes—young and old. But Ace was on the road to aging their mother before her next birthday if he kept up with his foolishness.

  Reaching out, Kidd engulfed her in a hug. She didn’t seem to mind his smothering. He inhaled the scent of her hair and perfume, imagining she was about the same height as Eva. That is, if ever he was in a position to hold her. Kidd froze and blinked. How did Eva travel through his mind and end up in Boston with him at a time like this?

  “What’s going on, Ma?” He stepped back and squinted, his arm remaining around her shoulders. When she stalled, he added, “I guess that explains why I haven’t spoken with the knucklehead in a while, and he’s been on my mind.” Exhaling, Kidd rubbed his head in frustration. “I knew I shouldn’t have left him, or you, to stay with those do-gooder cousins in Missouri,” he chided himself.

  Sandra squeezed his arm and broke free of his embrace, then steered him toward the parking area. “You can’t keep running to Ace’s rescue every time he makes a bad decision. The separation was about clipping wings, your protection over him, and his dependency on you.”

  “What about you?”

  “God’s got me. There’s only one thing I want out of life for my sons,” she said, sighing, “to know I reared two strong Black men, ready to take on the world with their intelligence and confidence—not fists, guns, and knives. Besides, I was prepared to let him stew there until his trial date. But no, after a few days, Cameron intervened. He argued that was no place for his cousin or any other Jamieson man.”

  Charity from Cameron. Kidd would weigh the pros and cons about his involvement later. “I don’t like it.”

  “Me either. I think Cameron maxed out his credit cards to put up bail money. The paperwork should be completed on Monday, and then Ace can be released.” His mother was no pushover. As long as Kidd could remember, she didn’t expect handouts for her children. She would do without—and she had—before her boys would miss a meal or a school field trip for lack of funds.

  “How did Ace get locked up?” Once in the parking garage, Kidd spotted his mother’s black Kia Forte. “I’ll drive. I need the practice anyway. I miss outwitting the cabbies on the obstacle course. St. Louis is no fun.”

  Sandra smiled again, and this time it reached her eyes. Kidd kissed her cheek as he opened her car door. “What did he do, Ma?”

  She waited for him to get in and click his seat belt. “Hanging out with people as stupid as he was acting. Of course, it involves disorderly conduct outside a nightclub. Drinking and flirting with the wrong woman is a bad combination.”

  Kidd swore under his breath out of respect for his mother and the fear of getting smacked upside his head.

  “I think I pressured the wrong son to move out of town. Ace should have gone.” Sandra sniffled, but quickly composed herself. Kidd reached over and squeezed her shoulder, and she looked at him.

  “God is telling me to trust Him, and I’ve been imploring Him to show me how. I hate to say thi
s, but Ace is your father magnified a hundredfold. Thank God I’m not a grandmother.”

  Kidd already knew that. Why couldn’t Ace see that he was fulfilling a generational curse, thanks to their loser father? Nothing had changed in the months Kidd had been gone. As a matter of fact, things seemed to have gotten worse. He gripped the wheel as he got on I-93 South. Kidd tried relaxing as he prepared for the thirty- to forty-minute drive to Hyde Park, but he was too tense.

  “I’m not going back to St. Louis, Ma. Ace needs direction.”

  “No, Ace needs to find his own way, even if he has to earn scars to get there. Whatever it takes, he can no longer depend on his big brother, or me, to bail him out. I had money in my account, but I would rather have spent it on a lifetime spa membership or a cruise than bail him out.”

  “Even knowing he was sleeping in a cold cell?” Kidd quizzed her.

  “I’ve had my share of sleepless nights and enough of them to go around. Unfortunately, it comes with the territory for any parent, especially for those who have African American sons. We worry about the crowd you run with. And when you drive, we pray you’re driving under the speed limit so you won’t be targeted by cops because you’re a Black male behind the wheel or ‘driving while black’ as we say.”

  “Either way, it’s a dangerous world for our Black sons. They have to excel like President Obama. They have to.” She spoke with conviction, as she stared out the window. The weariness in her voice was evident. “I also pray to live to witness Ace’s transformation—and yours too.”

  Kidd squirmed in his seat, and then honked his horn when a driver jumped in his lane. “How did I get lumped into this? I’m not stirring any pot.” His mother was putting too much faith in God to change the behavior of a person who was content with his lifestyle. “Well, it appears Ace has found another crutch—Cameron.”

  “Yeah, and I plan to put a stop to that too.” Sandra faced him again. “I’m thankful the opportunity came along so you two could split up. With you in St. Louis, Ace no longer had a unified front—that is, until Cameron filled in the gap. I believe the hard attitude that has taken root in you will soften. There’s so much good in you, Kidd. I believe Jesus brought Cameron into our lives to show you the good in the Jamiesons. I believe God is going to save your soul and heart.”

  “I don’t have an attitude.” He squeezed his lips in offense, ignoring her comment about God saving him—from what?

  Sandra reached out and patted his hand. “My dear firstborn, you do have an attitude, even while you deny that you have an attitude. How are things coming between you and Parke?”

  He genuinely didn’t have an answer. Their relationship—as long as Parke didn’t try to run his life and agreed to jog on opposite side-walks—would work. Honestly, it was getting harder to find fault with Parke. Kidd wasn’t ready to admit that.

  “Give it time, son. I have to believe God knows what He’s doing; otherwise, His Son’s death on the cross was in vain.”

  “Ma?” Kidd asked, as he checked the rearview mirror, clicked on the blinker, and changed lanes. “Do you really think God is concerned about your two sons, who you bore out of wedlock? I mean, I know we’ve talked about this before, but it just seems like … never mind.” He was not about to hurt his mother’s feelings; she was already hurting enough.

  She chuckled. “By that, you mean, am I sleeping in the bed I literally made? Sometimes women have stronger feelings in a relationship. I loved Samuel and thought he loved me. If I had known he was married with other children, he wouldn’t have gotten a second glance. Did I sin? Yes. Am I paying for it with Ace’s craziness? No, I don’t believe that, because Jesus paid my debts on the cross. Nevertheless, we all reap what we sow, and I’m reaping.”

  She lifted her brow and smirked. “But my God owns a high-powered weed whacker. He knows how to destroy the weeds without touching the delicate vegetation of new believers.”

  “I hope so,” Kidd stated, unconvinced Ace would find some type of purpose—instead of continuing his destructive behavior. After all, Kidd was still searching for the meaning of his own life.

  Crossing River Street to Hyde Park Avenue, Kidd suddenly craved grits and sausages from Brothers’ Deli and Restaurant in Mattapan Square. It was only blocks away from the place he called home for years, until he moved his mother to the condo.

  Kidd pulled into his mother’s parking space. Taking a deep breath and turning off the ignition, he stared at the attached homes. He could sense that his mother was watching him.

  “Come on, son.” Sandra motioned for him to open her car door.

  “One sec.” Kidd got out and strolled around to assist her, then reached for his duffle bag from the backseat. His mind was already made up. He would stay through Monday; he would call the facility and let his boss know. Family—his family, Sandra and Ace—meant everything to him, and he had to preserve his own at all costs.

  Within thirty minutes, Kidd was sitting at the table, wolfing down everything in sight that his mother had prepared for his homecoming. After he brought her up to speed on what was going on with him in St. Louis, they brainstormed ideas concerning what to do about Ace.

  Fatigued, Kidd retired to his old bedroom. It was smaller than the guest room Parke had reserved for him. Suddenly, a feeling of discontentment washed over him, as if he had outgrown his surroundings. It wasn’t so much the physical aspects, but an emotional attachment to what he once called home. The cell phone chimed.

  “Hey, man. Ever heard of letting someone know you landed safely?” The sarcastic question rolled out of Parke’s mouth before Kidd could finish saying hello.

  “Sorry.” He wasn’t. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “I can imagine.” Parke asked a few questions short of prying, but Kidd didn’t really know what was going on, so there was nothing much to pass on. He was only able to disconnect after his little cousins took turns speaking to him. Kami was the ringleader. Parke had allowed them to stay up past their bedtime just so they could talk to him.

  If nothing else, Kidd missed the children. They insisted on calling him Uncle, sometimes Cousin Uncle or Uncle Cousin. He never wanted to be an uncle, especially if it was a result of Ace’s irresponsible behavior, but the St. Louis Jamiesons had him rethinking his opinion. That was the last thing on his mind when he drifted off to sleep—that and Eva’s smiles, lips, lashes, hair, figure …

  The next thing he knew, it was morning. Kidd had hoped to sleep late on Saturday, but the aroma from his mother’s homemade waffles foiled his plan. He got up, showered, dressed, and made his way downstairs. Soon after stuffing his face, he pulled out his cell and punched in Cameron’s number. He controlled his breathing, so he wouldn’t explode.

  “Hey, cuz. Welcome back,” Cameron greeted.

  “What were you thinking?” Kidd barked.

  “That Ace is my cousin.”

  Hmm, so Cameron knew why he called. He appreciated that he didn’t have to play games with the man. “Ace is my brother. I can take care of my own. And by the way, since I’m in close proximity of you, I should jump you now for your description of great opportunities in your hometown. I’m working in a nursing home.”

  “I heard you have a plush office, and you don’t have to do any cleanups.”

  Cleanups. Eva’s image came to Kidd. He wondered what she was doing today, and if she ever thought good things about him. He grunted.

  “Before you elevate your blood pressure, I feel responsible for Ace’s predicament since it was my suggestion we go to that club. I know he’s a flirt, but I didn’t realize how many drinks he’d had and that he was ready to rumble. I bailed him out because he’s blood, whether he’s my brother or cousin. He’s a Jamieson—period.”

  What could Kidd argue? Cameron’s logic sounded like his brother’s, despite Cameron’s two engineering degrees. “Yeah, okay, but there’d better not be a next time. If you really want to help my brother, and your cousin, keep him away from riffraff. I’ll see you M
onday.” Kidd disconnected.

  On Sunday, Kidd declined his mother’s urging to worship at Faithful Church of Christ on Woodrow Avenue. He was almost eight when Sandra sat beside him in the pew and repented during the sermon. Kidd recalled the alarm he felt, as tears streamed down her face when the minister finished preaching. She had stood and joined others who were walking down an aisle to the front. Concerned, he followed her and dragged Ace with him.

  Elder Lane instructed him and Ace to have a seat near what he thought, at the time, was a large tub of water. Later he learned it was a baptismal pool. They sat patiently waiting until their mother walked out dressed in all white—from a swimming cap to thick white socks. She descended into that water, still crying. Kidd remembered the minister’s booming voice.

  “My dear sister, upon the confession of your faith in the blessed Word of God, I indeed baptize you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, whereby your sins will be forgiven and God will manifest Himself with power and bestow gifts to you to live right. Amen.”

  At first, Sandra’s oldest son was about to intervene when he thought the man was trying to drown his mother. Kidd’s protective nature was on high alert. But a few seconds later when she resurfaced, laughing, clapping, and singing, Kidd sat back, relieved. In his young mind, he tried hard to understand what had just happened.

  For the remainder of the service, while his mother rejoiced in church, he and Ace dozed. To this day, Kidd couldn’t recall one sermon, but he remembered the baptism. If Kidd included his forced attendance as a child, he was a lifelong member. Now, many years later, he would do his thinking in front of the TV. Although the only thing he could think of at the moment was his baby brother sitting in jail.

  Just the other day, he heard on the news about a twenty-one-year-old man who had been in critical condition after a food fight in a St. Louis jail. The victim was rendered unconscious as soon as his head hit the ground. He later died. Kidd bowed his head. “Lord, I do have one prayer request. Protect my brother. Amen.”