It was Joyce Ann who had come to Gloria’s rescue when the rest of the world went about its business. She’d spoon-fed Gloria, bathed her when she couldn’t rally strength to lift her sorrow-leaden arms. Joyce Ann had cooked for her, brushed her hair, tended to Regina when Gloria’s heart was totaled with grief.
Weeks later, when Gloria had found enough strength at least to go through life’s motions, it was Joyce Ann who had helped Gloria fold and pack her bedding rather than wash it, because Gloria couldn’t bear to extract Willie’s scent from the tattered old bedspread, now priceless. Carefully she and Joyce Ann had folded the sheets with the meticulous reverence of soldiers folding the American flag.
Gloria would never forget how Joyce Ann had been there for her.
Returning Joyce Ann’s kindness had come with a price tag. Bail wasn’t cheap; neither were counselors, mental health clinics, or drug rehab centers. Gloria never could figure out exactly which one Joyce Ann needed, so she just kept paying the bills as best as she could for as long as she could.
Had it not been for Willie’s life insurance and the generous provisions he had made before his untimely death, none of this would have been possible. He was a good man. Gloria thanked God every day that Willie had signed up for every possible savings and benefit plan Grayson Steele offered, leaving her and the girls in a position to live comfortably—not rich, but comfortable. With her earnings as a teacher covering most of the bills, Gloria had money to spare.
But now that she was married, Gloria had to make some changes. Richard wanted to do things the traditional way: one checking account. He did, however, want to sit down and reconcile their joint checking account every once in a while. Hundreds of dollars missing here and there wouldn’t go over well.
Gloria would have to make the best of this current arrangement with Joyce Ann, try to get her to stay in Dentonville as long as possible. Keep Joyce Ann under her watch. She was back on some kind of drug, that was for sure. But maybe this time, with Gloria standing over her, Joyce Ann could stay long enough to kick her old habits for good.
Joyce Ann knew she couldn’t live down the street from her big sister for too long. Worse was the thought of permanently moving back into the rent house. From the moment she dropped her sack at the doorstep, the house stoned Joyce Ann, pummeled her with questions, persecuted her incessantly. Your baby died because of you—how could you let that happen? And what about Sugarbee? You threw her away like trash! You don’t deserve to breathe.
In the weeks since moving back into the house, Joyce Ann had succumbed to its mental torture. When she’d lived in the housing projects or with her temporary suitors, she’d been able to run from these accusations. But now, in the very space where Shannon had gasped her last breaths, Joyce Ann crouched in the darkness and awaited her sentencing. Part of that sentencing included drugs. A long torturous execution of the death penalty. The kind she felt she deserved.
With the help of marijuana, Joyce Ann was losing the remainder of her sanity.
Chapter 19
Joyce Ann never went to church, but she always came to the dinner. This Sunday she arrived wearing an outfit that would have made the devil ashamed. With her belly button winking, her breasts clapping up and down in an undersize halter top, and the bottom two inches of her behind spilling out of her skirt, she wiggled up to the porch, attempting to make a grand hoochie-style entrance at Gloria’s house.
This outfit was one that always got the men’s attention when she wore it, and she was sure that both Richard and Yoyo’s little boyfriend wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off her. They were, after all, living, breathing, sighted men. But they were only pawns in Joyce Anne’s plan to move on. Maybe if she could have a big falling-out, leaving would be easier and the bridges wouldn’t be totally disintegrated, because years later they could all reason that it takes two to tango.
“What in the world you got on?” Aunt Toe confronted her at the doorway, blocking the entrance with her wheelchair.
“Clothes.” If she could just make it to the kitchen.
Aunt Toe gazed at her, from the hideous blonde wig to the run-down open-toed red pumps. “Looks like you got on naked with a few raggedy patches tacked on. Got your stomach hanging all out between your clothes like a can of exploded biscuits.”
Gloria entered the living room and gasped at her sister’s bold outfit, moving Aunt Toe aside and shoving Joyce Ann back out onto the porch. “You are not coming in here dressed like that.”
“You can’t tell me what to wear.”
“I can tell you what you will not wear in my house,” Gloria insisted. She was prepared to send Joyce Ann packing with a foil-covered plate if she wanted to have one of her spells.
“Ooh!” Joyce Ann huffed and puffed all the way back down the street. A carful of youngsters rolled by and whistled at her pathetic attempt to look sexy in her seventies disco attire. She gave them the finger, and they laughed at her senseless gesture.
Back in Gloria’s house, the phone rang, and Yolanda answered. “Hey, everybody, it’s Dianne!” she announced.
Dianne wasn’t too happy about Yo-yo’s announcement. She assumed Joyce Ann was there, too. “Girl, you ain’t got to tell the world. I just called to see how Regina was doing.”
“She’s still Regina,” Yolanda explained.
“I’ll take that to mean that she’s still moping around.”
“Pretty much. We’re all getting ready to sit down for dinner.”
Though Dianne couldn’t be there, it wouldn’t hurt to imagine. “What did Aunt Gloria make?”
“She cooked a ham, some black-eyed peas, cabbage, and cheese rolls.” Yolanda let the words slide off her tongue with every intent to entice Dianne into making a trip back to Dentonville. Since they’d begun talking regularly, Yolanda missed Dianne. She wanted her back in the family so maybe she wouldn’t have to run to Kelan so often.
Dianne could almost smell the food, hundreds of miles away. Now that her weekend plans didn’t include a leech, she had time to think about her life’s direction. She was thankful for the writing group, but they couldn’t replace the kinfolk who’d loved her from the day she was born. “Mmm, I’d give anything to be there right now.”
“The door is always open,” Yolanda said loud enough for Gloria to hear. “Here, talk to my momma.”
Yolanda passed the phone to Gloria, who had come back into the kitchen mumbling unintelligibly. She tried hard to swing her attitude back the other way for Dianne’s sake, but Joyce Ann had rubbed her the wrong way. “Hey, Sugarbee.”
“Hey, Aunt Gloria, how’s everything.”
“Everything’s fine, fine. You know, I wish you’d join us for all this good cookin’ I do on Sundays,” she hinted.
“I sure do miss your cookin’, Aunt Gloria.”
“Well, if you’d move back home, you wouldn’t have to miss it anymore.”
Is this a conspiracy? “Aunt Gloria, you know I can’t move back to Dentonville. I’ve built a life in Darson.”
Gloria held the phone from her face and passed the buck. “Aunt Toe, come talk some sense into your great-niece.”
Dianne looked up toward the sky and prepared herself for a heaping helping of Aunt Toe. “Dianne?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Aunt Toe sucked her teeth. She didn’t doubt that Dianne could survive on her own. She’d come from a line of strong women who weren’t afraid to get out there and do their own thing. What she did doubt, however, was that Dianne was surrounded by love. “You got any friends in Darson?”
Dianne thought of the bond forming between herself and the women in the poetry group. “Yes, Aunt Toe, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“Men?”
The nerve! “No, no men,” Dianne laughed. “I’ve been coming in before midnight.”
Aunt Toe gave a laugh of her own and thanked the Lord that at least Dianne had the good sense to quit while she was ahead, before she brought a baby and a knucklehead daddy into the equation.
It was one thing to be in a mess, another thing to bring somebody else into it.
“Well, we sure miss you, Dianne. I’ve always told you that. I’m glad you’re calling more often now. Maybe we can talk you back to Dentonville.”
“Aunt Toe, I’m perfectly fine right where I am.”
“I’m sure you are, baby, and I’m sure you’ve got some decent friends in your new town. But just remember that we love you, too. I mean, really love you. And I think that folks ought to spend their lives with the people who love them most.” Aunt Toe began her lecture just as the family gathered around the table.
They caught the tail end of the sermon. “Now, maybe it ain’t the most exciting life, but things start getting real clear in your old age. I’m telling you, Dianne, the people who really love you are the ones who would bend over and wipe your behind for you if you couldn’t.”
“Preach, Aunt Toe!” Kelan pumped her up.
“Lord knows I’m telling the truth!”
“Okaaaay, we get the picture.” Gloria grabbed the phone from Aunt Toe and whispered to Dianne, “Hurry up and get yourself back to here, gal. At least for another visit.”
Dianne was still trying to retrieve her jaw.
“You hear me?” Gloria asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I hear you.”
Richard could hardly say grace for laughing at Aunt Toe.
After dinner, Kelan and Yolanda excused themselves to go to the African-American Museum in Dallas. He’d told her so much about the collections and displays that she practically begged him to take her there.
“Are you asking me for a date?” he’d taunted her one evening as he drove her home following Bible study.
Yolanda threw daggers at him with her eyes.
“Oh-oh.” Kelan had jumped back away from the dashboard. “Dang, girl, you sure do know how to give a brother the evil eye. But that’s what I like about you.”
“I am not asking you for a date, because I do not intend to infringe on your relationship with Paulette,” Yolanda had alleged in her most proper tone.
“Paulette and I are taking it slow, remember?” Kelan had reminded her.
That was weeks ago. Now as they buckled themselves into Kelan’s freshly vacuumed truck, Yolanda didn’t know exactly what to think of all this. Having dinner at her mother’s house after church, Kelan fraternizing with her family, and heading off to a museum together? If she wasn’t careful, someone might mistake them for a couple. “Kelan, what does Paulette think of all this hanging out we do together?”
“Is that what you call it—hanging out?”
“Yeah.” Yolanda bobbed her head up and down.
“Well, for your information, she’s not sure that she wants to see me anymore.”
“Why?” Yolanda felt a spark of joy but shoved it behind a look of astonishment.
“One guess.” Kelan looked at her for a second and then set his eyes back on the road again.
“Me? What do I have to do with it?”
“Yolanda, I don’t think we’re fooling anybody with this whole ‘we’re just friends’ routine.” Kelan merged with traffic on southbound I-35, beginning their lengthy trek into the city. He’d found the perfect time to have this heart-to-heart with the woman he’d grown to hold dear.
Yolanda nervously placed her hands beneath her thighs. She was trapped. “I am your friend, Kelan.”
“I agree that we are friends. But the fact of the matter is, I’m a man and you’re a woman. I see you as more than a friend, Yolanda,” he confessed.
Yolanda didn’t appreciate being put on the spot. Was it her problem that he wanted more than a friendship? Okay, she did like him for more than a friend, too, but wouldn’t that change things if she admitted it? What if he wanted to be around her all the time? What if she lost her identity in him?
“Well?”
“I need some time to think.”
“That’s fair.” He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “May I ask what you need to think about?”
“I need to think about whether or not I’m ready to go down this road.”
“What road?”
“The whole man road.”
“Oh, I’m a road now,” he laughed.
“I don’t think it’s funny, Kelan. I really do have to think about this.”
“Would it help if I said that you’re on my mind all the time?” he asked.
No. Yolanda was beginning to think that this museum trip was the worst idea she’d had in a long time.
“What are you asking from me?” she wanted to know.
“I’m just asking you to be real with me. You can’t convince me that you don’t feel the attraction between us.” He gave her a suggestive glance.
The very declaration of their magnetism, not to mention the look he gave, turned her stomach upside down. Now she knew that Kelan felt it, too. His presence summoned the giddy girl within her and created a new level of vulnerability. She was, to some degree, willing to trade safety for the way he made her feel.
“Okay, I’ll admit to that.” She kept her eyes straight ahead and pulled her hands from beneath her thighs, pressed them flat beside her.
Kelan slid his fingers across the center of the truck and touched Yolanda’s hand. She drew in a sharp breath and held it, paralyzed by the pleasant sensation of his manly skin against hers. Electricity flickered inside her like fireflies lighting a pitch black night. He gave her hand a squeeze, then put both hands on the steering wheel in order to switch lanes.
She exhaled.
Chapter 20
As a favor to Orlando, Yolanda stopped by Regina’s on her way to work Monday morning. She answered the door in a pair of cotton pajamas and slippers. So not Regina.
“How you doing?” Yolanda tried.
“Just like I look.” Regina moved aside so her sister could enter.
Yolanda spotted the flowers she’d given to her sister only days ago. They were withering faster than they should. Obviously, Regina had made no effort to keep them in bloom.
It was the little things Regina did, like this, that pinched Yolanda’s feelings the most. What would it hurt for her to be nice? Yolanda forgot all about Regina’s body issue and let the Gloria May in her loose. “I see how much you cared about the flowers I got you.”
“I never asked you to bring me flowers,” Regina said. What she meant in her heart was that she didn’t deserve any flowers.
“You know what? There’s a lot that you haven’t asked me to do, but I did it for you because I care about you—obviously more than you care about yourself. What is your problem anyway? You are not fat, Regina. Now, if you want to sit up and convince yourself you’re fat, let that be on you. But don’t take it out on the rest of us, okay? Think about someone other than yourself for once.”
Regina willingly received the verbal assault. Just another set of words to beat her down, this time coming from her sister rather than from her own head. Same thing, and it only confirmed she was indeed a bad person.
“I get so sick of you sometimes.”
“Yeah, well join the club. I’m sick of me, too,” Regina muttered.
“What did you say?” Yolanda yelled at her sister, commanding Regina to repeat herself.
“I said I’m sick of me, too!” Regina screamed violently.
Yolanda squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fingers against her temples. Of all the things she should have done, screaming at Regina was near or at the bottom of the list. As a professional, she knew the last thing Regina needed was someone fussing at her for having an illness. But as a sister, from the outside looking in, she found it frustrating to see Regina go through what appeared to be voluntary torture. Why can’t she just change her mind?
It was too late to take the words back. Yolanda had blown her fuse, let out the steam; whatever it was that she’d heard Gloria call it, Yolanda had done it. “I’m sorry,” she offered.
“Just leave. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I’m the one with the
problem.”
“I—” Yolanda tried to backpedal.
“Just leave.”
Yolanda left her sister’s house and drove on to work with regret in the passenger’s seat. I really did it this time.
“What’s wrong?” Brookelynn inquired before Yolanda even had a chance to take off her coat. She slung it on a stool and did her best to answer the question without going into another full-fledged crying episode—head jerking back and forth, huffing between sobs as she had done all the way from the hospital to the pharmacy.
After a few moments, she gathered up enough composure to speak. “I screamed at Regina today for having an eating disorder.”
“Oh, Yolanda, she knows you didn’t mean it.” Brookelynn hugged her.
“I did mean it, though,” Yolanda cried behind the veil of Brookelynn’s hair. “I meant every word of it. I’m just sorry I said it. That’s not what she needs to hear right now.”
“Hey, we all make mistakes.”
Yolanda slammed her fist on the counter. “I know, but I hate it when I mess up.”
Kelan met Yolanda at their usual table in the coffeehouse after work on Monday. She was still dressed in her light clothing, Kelan in his jeans and suit coat.
Yolanda was determined to tiptoe around Kelan’s confessed attraction. He was equally set on getting to the bottom of things with her. Well, maybe not the bottom. After all, he had been known to test the waters with both feet. This relationship with Yolanda was turning out to be an eye-opener. But the way she treaded so lightly annoyed him. What else did he have to do to win her?
Kelan looked at her, rolled his tongue along his teeth, and ventured deeper. Whether or not Yolanda knew it, Kelan did pray for her. He loved her already, even if it wasn’t requited just yet. “Yolanda, I’ve been watching you for the past couple of months. I see how you react when I start talking about the possibility of you being with a man, and I have come to believe that you are afraid.”
Divas of Damascus Road Page 15
