Marcus withdrew from his wife like she’d stabbed him. He spoke in a careful, soothing tone of voice. “I may not be a doctor or anything, but I know that we’ve been married for twenty years, and we’ve never had a baby.” He lifted his hands and bent his fingers in the air to emphasize his point. “Then you got raped, Monet. That’s what happened; you were raped. Then you make me a special dinner to announce that you’re pregnant, and expect me to believe it’s our baby?” He looked at her like she had taken leave of her senses.
Monet, in turn, looked at him with widened, teary eyes. Her feelings were equally hurt, as if Marcus had told her he wanted a divorce.
“What did Dr. Washington say?” He folded his arms across his chest. “She’s the expert.”
“Well,” Monet’s voice faltered, “she kind of thought like you do, that there’s a possibility the baby might not be yours.”
Marcus pounded the wooden table with all his might. “Well, dang, Monet, what more do you need to convince you that this baby isn’t mine? Even your own doctor has doubts.” The annoyance in his voice bounced off the walls.
Monet jumped when his fist hit the table. “Marcus, it’s doesn’t matter to me one whit what Dr. Washington believes, I know what I believe in my heart. This baby,” she pointed to her abdomen, “is yours and mine, and I know that’s true because God told me we were going to have a baby.”
“Well, when did He tell you that?” coldly spewed from Marcus’s lips. His eyes were tight as slits. “Before or after you were raped?”
“I can’t believe you said that.” Monet put her hand over her mouth, jumped up from the table, and rushed out of the room and down the hall to the washroom. She kneeled on the cool tiled floor and heaved into the toilet. She prayed Marcus would come and see about her, but he didn’t.
When she returned to the table, Marcus was sitting in the same spot, his face swollen with righteous indignation. He refused to look at her.
“Honey,” Monet stood beside Marcus, then she reached over and touched him lightly on the shoulder, “I don’t care what Dr. Washington says, I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re Faith’s father.”
Marcus shrank away from Monet’s touch, as if she were a poisonous snake. “You have sunk so heavily into denial that you don’t realize what you’re saying. That child you’re carrying is not mine, and I want you to have an abortion now,” he demanded, glaring at her fiercely.
“Now, I think you’ve lost your mind,” Monet whispered. She inhaled deeply, and sat back down in the chair. “There is no way I’m having an abortion. Do you realize how long it took for the Lord to bless us with a child?”
“What if the baby is the rapist’s child, Monet?” Marcus fired back at her. “What will you do then? I think you need to take the blinders off your eyes and face reality. The plain ugly truth is that you’ve been impregnated by a rapist.” He snapped his lips tightly together.
“No,” Monet spit out as she hopped up from the chair. “I may have been raped, but I haven’t lost my mind. And you know what, Marcus? God has my back if no one else does. He promised never to leave me, and even if you walk out that door, I know that He won’t ever leave me alone. In the book of Isaiah, the scripture says, Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be ye not dismayed; for I am your God; I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. That means, Marcus, I will never lose hope or sight of what I know to be true, because God has got me.” Her body trembled like a wind blown leaf. She crossed her arms across her chest and said, “I am having this baby whether you like it or not.”
“If you do, then I am out of here. I’m gone, Monet,” he retorted in a bone chilling tone of voice. “Here’s an ultimatum to you since you want to throw out your own. Be careful what you do because I know you don’t want to trash our love, or our twenty years of marriage. I can tolerate many things in life, but I will not, and I’m going to repeat this to you so there is no misunderstanding, I will not raise the child of a rapist under any circumstances. You got that?” Marcus’s eyes shot fiery blazes at his wife.
“There’s something you forgot in your tidy equation, Marcus,” Monet said, in a low undertone. “This baby is a part of me too. How could you ask me to destroy a part of myself?” Tears poured down her face, and she folded her head inside her arms and bawled like a baby.
Marcus turned and stumbled away from her, as if he were blind. He stomped from the dining room to the foyer. Monet could hear him fumbling as he looked for his keys. He jerked the door open, stormed out of it, and slammed it so loudly that it seemed like the hinges moaned.
Monet looked at the doorway wearily. Well, that didn’t go well at all. She rose from the chair, walked to her office, picked up the Bible off the cocktail table, and held it in her arms. She sat down on the couch and rocked back and forward, sobbing as if she had been handed a fatal medical prognosis. She could hear Mitzi moaning in the kitchen, making a noise that sounded like crying.
“Come here, baby,” Monet said in a hoarse sounding voice. Mitzi trotted into the office and she picked her up and cradled the dog’s body next to her own. “He’ll be back,” she crooned to herself and Mitzi. “And when the baby is born, Marcus will be very sorry about the way he acted toward me tonight.”
Monet experienced sorrow as she thought about what had just transpired between her and Marcus. “Lord, I know sometimes our way is difficult, but what just happened with me and Marcus has hurt me almost as much as when Momma died. I remember how lovingly and kind Marcus treated me when my mother died, and afterward when I mourned her passing. He has been so patient with me since the rape.” Her voice seemed to close up, and her breathing became shallow. She took deeps breaths until she calmed down. “But why did he have to hurt me like that? I had a premonition that Marcus might have a hard time believing me about the baby. I just never imagined it would disintegrate into a full-fledged debacle. And if my own husband doesn’t believe me, then who will?” She bit the insides of her cheeks, trying to stifle a sob.
Her hand tightened on the Bible, and Mitzi’s warm body nuzzled against her comfortingly. “I guess this is how Jesus felt when He came to the end of His earthly road. I must have faith that everything will work out the way you planned in the end. And Lord, even if this baby is the child of a rapist, I will love her because she’s mine too.” A smile flickered on her face, then died. “I will not let the devil dominate my mind with negative thoughts. This is me and Marcus’s baby, and that’s all there is to it. Lord, keep me strong for the days ahead because I’m going to need you and will have to lean on you more than ever before. And Lord, take care of Marcus. I know he will eventually see the light, even if I have to wait nine months.”
Monet sighed and put the Bible on the table and sat in her office, silently waiting for her husband to return home. Mitzi, ever loyal to her mistress, never left Monet’s side. As the hour drew later, Monet stood and went to the kitchen to let Mitzi out the back door. Then she returned to her office and lay on the sofa. Her mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of how Marcus was doing at that moment. She said a prayer, asking for the Lord to keep her husband safe as she let Mitzi back inside the house. Mitzi’s toenails made a click-clacking noise as she followed Monet to her office to wait for Marcus.
Chapter 10
Around three o’clock in the morning, the shrill tone of the telephone rang and broke the silence in the Harrisons’ house. Wade, who was closer to the phone, didn’t answer it right away.
Liz turned over in the bed and poked her husband in the side. “Wade,” she said, “the phone’s ringing.”
“Okay,” he replied and burrowed further under the warm cozy eider down comforter.
“Wade, get the phone,” Liz repeated as she poked her husband again.
He rolled over and fumbled for his glasses, and then clicked on the black cordless phone. He cleared his throat and said, “Hello.”
Liz was completely awake by then, and she sa
t upright on her side of the bed.
“You have who, where? Yes, I know him. Just keep him there, and I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” Wade clicked the phone off and put it back in the base. Then he rose from the bed and began shedding his pajamas.
“What’s wrong?” Liz asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, poised to get up if necessary. “Who was on the telephone?”
Wade exhaled heavily. He really didn’t want to tell Liz who the call was about, but knew if he didn’t that she would hound him mercilessly.
“That was the owner of a bar near the job. Uh, there’s a problem. They want me to come down there.” Wade opened the closet door, took out a dark woolen shirt and pulled it over his head. He put on a pair of blue jeans and zipped them up. He took his wallet from the nightstand drawer and stuffed it in his pocket.
Liz rolled her eyes, then asked Wade, “What kind of problem, and involving who? Is it your brother, Chester, again?”
Wade buckled his black leather belt around his waist. Then he sat on his side of the bed and put on his socks and shoes. Tension rose in the air like a vapor. A call from a bar in the wee hours of the morning had occurred too many times for Liz. He glanced behind him and saw his wife sitting rigidly on her side of the bed, scowling at him.
“It’s Chester, isn’t it? It’s too early in the morning for this. Doesn’t he realize we have to go to work in the morning?” Liz yawned and covered her mouth.
“Uh, no it isn’t Chet this time. Apparently Marcus is drunk and has gotten into a fight at a bar.” Wade bent over and tied his shoes. Then he sat up and opened the top nightstand drawer and removed his keys.
“Good Lord, what’s gotten into Marcus? I’ve never known him to do anything that rash before.” Liz rose from the bed, looking fearful. “I wonder if something happened to Monet.” Her knees went weak and her body sagged as she put her hand out on the bed to break her fall.
Wade walked around the side of the bed and sat down next to Liz. “Now Lizzie, don’t jump to conclusions. If something happened to Monet, then Marcus would have called us.”
Liz grabbed Wade’s arm and clutched it firmly. “I guess so. But my gut feeling is telling me that something is terribly wrong with Marcus and Monet. Wade, this is just so not like Marcus.”
He gently disengaged Liz’s arm from his own. “Let me go see what’s going on. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her arm. Then he stood up and said, “I’ll call you later.”
Liz tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “I want to go with you.” She pulled the yellow and black scarf off her head. “It will only take me a minute to get dressed. Please let me go, Wade,” she begged.
“No, Liz, this is man’s business. Marcus is my best friend, and I’m going to see about him like he would for me.” With that said, Wade turned and walked out of the room.
Liz heard the back door open then close and Wade locking it. She held her breath until she heard the garage door rise and shut, and finally the purr of the engine of Wade’s beige Jeep Laredo SUV as he drove down the alley. She felt edgy, felt the need to do something, anything. So Liz smoothed out the melon and black comforter that was bunched in the middle of the black lacquered king-sized bed that she and Wade shared. She walked around the bed and picked up the cordless telephone. She punched in the number to Monet and Marcus’s house. The telephone rang and rang, and when Liz heard the generic voice mail greeting, she clicked off the phone. She turned on the phone again and tried Monet’s cell phone number. She still didn’t receive an answer.
Liz became agitated. She stood up, walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. She turned on the burner under a silver tea kettle, which she had filled with water the previous night. Then Liz opened the pantry and removed a tea bag from a nearly empty box. When the orange tea was ready for consumption, she poured herself a cup and sat at her glass table. She blew on the tea to cool it off before taking a few sips. Then she set the cup on the table, walked over to her desk in the corner of the kitchen, and picked up the cordless phone. She quickly entered Monet’s telephone number, and still there was no answer.
After an hour had elapsed, Liz became very concerned. She decided to get dressed and call Monet again. If she still didn’t get an answer, she would go to the Caldwells’ house. She began mentally composing a letter in her mind to leave on the kitchen table to explain her absence to Wade. She stood, left the half empty cup sitting on the table, and walked rapidly to her bedroom to get dressed.
Monet, where are you? Liz thought as she got dressed.
Wade turned up the collar of his leather jacket as he walked toward the bar on West Sixty-third Street. The red and blue neon sign simply read Otis’s Longue. The bar wasn’t more than a hole in the wall. He was relieved there wasn’t any sign of Chicago’s finest around and about. The bar owner had informed Wade when he called him, that he had found Wade’s telephone number in Marcus’s wallet as an emergency contact. The owner explained how Monet’s name was listed on the card too, but he figured what happened at the bar was, as he called it, “Men’s bidness.” The owner went on to explain that he could see from Marcus’s work ID card that he was a policeman. The older man assured Wade that if he could get Marcus out of the bar without further incident, then he wouldn’t press charges against Marcus.
Wade pushed the door open and saw Marcus sitting at one of the few tables that still stood upright. His hands were covering his face. The place was empty. The mirror behind the bar was cracked, and many bottles of liquor and glasses were broken and leaking onto the floor. Bowls of peanuts were upended. It was obvious that some type of brawl had taken place.
A short, thin, dark skinned man with tufts of gray hair shooting out of his head, wearing dark jeans and a sweat shirt that overflowed his body sat on a barstool. He introduced himself as Lee Otis Fowler, the owner. Wade noticed a sawed off shotgun lying against the side of the bar.
The man looked Wade up and down with beady eyes and asked, “You must be Harrison?”
“Yes,” Wade replied, as he walked toward his friend.
“Look, man, I gots to have my money. Do you see what yo’ boy done?” Lee Otis pointed toward Marcus. “I done lost a whole lotta money up in tonight, and somebody gots to pay for this.” His hand swept an arc in the air.
“Give me a minute to talk to him. You’ll get your money,” Wade said disgustedly.
He walked over to where Marcus was sitting, picked up a chair off the floor and sat it upright across the table from Marcus.
He waited for Marcus to say something, and when he didn’t, he said, “What’s up, man?” Marcus didn’t respond for a minute, so Wade tried another tactic. “Come on, Marc, tell me what’s going on? This isn’t like you, fighting in public. You’re lucky the owner is looking for money and didn’t call the police. You’d be written up so fast at work that your head would spin. I heard that Liz called Monet a few times earlier tonight for their nightly prayer session, and no one answered. What’s going on?”
When Wade said Monet’s name, Marcus looked up and Wade gasped. His partner’s bloodshot eyes reflected unadulterated pain. Wade had never seen Marcus look as he did tonight, despite all the situations they’d encountered while working. Wade thought that maybe Liz was right, and something had happened to Monet.
Marcus whispered, “Monet,” in a strangled voice. Then he put his head on the table and cried.
“Man, I think he’s crazy or something. That’s all he’s been doing since I closed the place down . . . moaning ’bout his woman.” The bar owner made a circle with his fingers around the side of his head.
“Did something happen to Monet?” Wade asked Marcus tentatively. His stomach felt like someone was dribbling a basketball inside of it.
“Nay-Nay, she’s . . .” Marcus broke down, put his head on the table and began crying.
Wade surmised correctly that he wouldn’t get any useful information out of Marcus until he sobered up. He de
cided to talk to the owner and get Marcus out of the bar as soon as he could. He stood up and walked back over to the bar and asked Lee Otis, “What happened here tonight?”
“Shoot, yo’ boy walked in here with a chip on his shoulda. When he got here, he was quiet. He jist sat at the bar down at the end, and he kept drinking and drinking. He minded his bidness. Then later some young cats came in heah and they wuz talking. One of ’em said something ’bout how that nurse at St. Bernard that got beat up looked good, and he wouldn’t mind hitting that.” Lee Otis’s rheumy eyes got wide. “The next thing I knowed, yo’ boy snapped, and it was own. Dah cats tried to put up a fight, but they weren’t no match for dude. Shoot, he was lucky they ain’t had no pieces on ’em. Course they knows I don’t allow that up in heah.”
“Okay, I get your point,” Wade said impatiently. “How much you looking for as far as damages?”
“Shoot, he musta caused at least five Gs wortha damage up in here,” Lee Otis blustered.
“I don’t want your estimate. I know you’ve probably had fights in here before. So call your clean-up guy, and then call me tomorrow morning with an estimate. You got a piece of paper?”
The owner took a slip of paper and a pen from the side of the cash register and handed them to Wade. Wade wrote down his name and telephone number, and he gave the paper back to the owner.
“Fair enough,” Lee Otis replied. He folded the paper and put it inside his shirt pocket. “Jist get him outta here. I knowed he was the law.” Lee Otis’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Ain’t he the one whose missus was raped? I thought I seen him on TV. I feels sorry for ’em, that’s why I ain’t called the po-po. We don’t need one of us in the paper with this kind of foolishness.” Lee Otis nodded his head.
“I appreciate that,” Wade agreed. “We’re good for the repairs. I’m going to get him out of here. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Faith Page 8
