“I don’t know!” Tracey automatically stroked Brianna’s back and rocked her after the girl jerked. “I don‘t know.”
“That girl in the picture again?”
“Ma, I really, really do not want to talk about this right now, okay? Let me go lay Brianna down and I’ll be back.”
Tracey stood with Brianna in her arms and pressed her cheek against the girl’s head. She wrapped her arms tight around Brianna’s body, grateful to feel someone’s warmth as she carried her down the hallway and up the stairs to her bedroom. She pushed four naked Barbies and two picture books out of the way before yanking down the covers and nestling Brianna inside her sheets.
Tracey sat for a moment looking at peaceful, sleeping Brianna. She adored watching her kids while they slept. They looked so serene. Tracey had loved only two men in her entire life and each one had given her a healthy child. She could at least thank God for that.
Brianna flopped over and started to snore. Tracey tiptoed out of the room and headed back downstairs.
When she reached the family room, she heard her phone buzzing from the dining room. Probably Brian. Whatever. She’d leave the phone right there. No more drama. Not tonight.
“Let’s talk,” Tracey said to her mom, sighing as she dropped down in her chair.
“Huh?” Her mother lay on the couch, flipping from channel to channel with the remote. She finally settled on Top Chef and let the remote drop to the floor.
“You said you had something to talk to me about,” Tracey reminded Alice.
“I’m going to need your help I think,” Alice said, her words flowing out like molasses.
Why all the mystery? Tracey shifted her weight and tucked her legs up underneath her. “Ma, it’s okay. Go ahead.”
“It’s the house.”
That’s what Tracey figured. Alice probably needed a repair done or her washing machine replaced or something like that. “Got it. The house. What do you need done?”
“Nothing needs to be done to it. We’re about to lose it,” Alice confessed.
“Lose what?”
“The house.”
Tracey put her feet back down on the floor, sat straight up and leaned toward Alice so she could hear better. “You’re about to lose the house? Wait, Ma, you mean you got a foreclosure notice?”
Alice shrugged and nodded, reached into her purse, fished out an envelope and passed it to Tracey. Tracey pulled out the letter and speed read it. Lots of legal words. Default has occurred. Missed payments. Fees. May lead to foreclosure. But nothing noted that it was an official notice of foreclosure. This was a letter from the mortgage company.
“How did you get this letter?” Tracey probed.
“This is the third letter. It came in the mail.”
“So no one delivered this officially, right? Did you have to sign for it?”
“No. I didn’t have to sign for the other ones either.”
Tracey decided to skip over the fact that this was the first time her mother had mentioned missing any mortgage payments. “How long have you and Jamal been having trouble making the mortgage?”
Alice shrugged again. “Since the late fall. I thought we’d be able to get it together and make up for what we missed but now there are fees and all our other bills have been so high. You know Jamal hasn’t had a lot of clients.”
Her brother needed to get up off his butt and either drum up some business or teach classes somewhere, but now wasn’t the time to blurt that out to her mom who looked kind of embarrassed. Tracey walked over and sat next to her. She held the folded letter in her hand. This was bad, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t handle. And she’d had enough of being the moral police—telling people when, where, and how to manage their issues. Alice and Jamal’s situation involved throwing money at the bank and making plans for the future. Compared to her current marriage woes with Brian, money problems were simple.
“I can help you out, but you both are going to have to make plans for how you’re going to handle the future.”
“Thank you.” Alice nodded.
“You’re welcome.” Tracey was used to the lack of emotion. Alice wasn’t a hugger or kisser, so she stayed silent and still. Eyes forward, concentrating on Top Chef contestants running around a massive kitchen, cutting up trout.
They watched the rest of that Top Chef episode and two more. Tracey’s eyes had started to droop when she heard someone open the back door and come inside. She bolted awake. She looked over at her mother, who had fallen asleep and was lightly snoring, her head resting on one of the couch pillows. Tracey slid off the couch, pulled her mother’s legs up and over so she could lie down on the couch fully, and covered her with a light blanket. Then she meandered through the living room, past the dining room and into the kitchen.
No Brian. Where’d he go that fast?
She padded up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom and pushed open the door.
He sat on the edge of the bed in the dark. If the curtains hadn’t been open and the moonlight streaming in, Tracey wouldn’t have been able to see him at all. She went over and stood close enough to smell him. She peered in his face. Nothing. She sat down next to him but didn’t force a conversation.
Eventually he sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, sighed again, and finally asked, “What do you want me to say?”
“Whatever you want.”
She watched him unbutton the top of his shirt, scratch his neck and his ears, and stop moving again.
“There’s not going to be any issues with sexual harassment.”
“No?”
“None. I’m positive.”
“You agreed to recommend her for jobs?”
“Yes.”
Tracey braced herself for the answer to her next question. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
His reply came quick. “No.”
She didn’t bother to ask anything else. What on earth for? He could have said yes, no, or maybe. It no longer mattered. Her level of trust in him had sunk so far beneath sea level she’d have to rent a submarine and shine a searchlight to find it.
16
Tracey spent the next two weeks tracking Brian. She found nothing, even though this time she was unrestrained and unrepentant in her fact checking.
Each night she grabbed his phone and scrolled through it while he showered, but she never found any calls, texts, or new phone numbers in question. Out of desperation, Tracey called Ruthie twice. Ruthie told her Lisette hadn’t been to the office as far as she knew, and Brian spent all his time with patients or in his office.
Other than the night of the Starbucks visit, he didn’t seem to have any unaccounted for alone time. Germantown Family. Home. Church. Gym. Ricky’s house. Tracey guessed she could relax.
Except for one thing.
Brian barely talked. He moved through the house like he was in a daze. Time passed and Tracey tested him.
One week she ordered takeout every night. Pizza. Chinese. Hoagies. Fried chicken and french fries. By Thursday Tracey expected Brian to pull her aside and give her a lecture admonishing her of the dangers of eating too much fast food and reminding her about their family commitment to good health and nutrition. But when Thursday evening came, Brian made a beeline right to the dining room where he sat down devoured every bit of the food she put in front of him.
No fussing. No lectures. And for the first time in three months, Tracey had nothing to bring up or discover about him. Still. The vibrations between them seemed off and distant. She could at least discuss that with him.
While they dressed for church Palm Sunday morning, Tracey stopped him. “Brian, what’s going on with us? Seriously?”
He stood in front of the full length mirror, looping a yellow and navy blue striped tie around the collar of his shirt. “Nothing.”
�
��I didn’t cook a thing this week. You didn’t notice?”
He shrugged as he pulled his Windsor knot tight. “Maybe I did. Maybe you were tired. You decide what we eat. Why should I complain?”
“It wouldn’t have been a complaint. Just a discussion.”
Her eyes tracked him as he crossed to the bed and picked up his navy blue suit jacket. He tugged at the buttons before putting it on. “Well I’ve had enough hard discussions to last me a while.”
“Really?”
Brian pulled himself up to his full height and adjusted his shirt sleeves inside the suit jacket. He smoothed the lapels and checked the way his pants hung and the way his shirt was tucked in around his trim waist. Buttoned the jacket. Approved his look in the mirror. Then he turned back to her. “You ready?”
Tracey sat fully dressed in a yellow linen suit with matching heels. Her anniversary diamond earrings hung from her ears. Her makeup was done and her hair was flat-ironed to perfection. All she needed to do was put on her hat.
No fighting. No sins to confess and no forgiveness needed. Nothing to complain about.
But still no connection.
Tracey stood up and walked out of the bedroom door her silent husband held open. How did it feel not to care anymore? Relaxing? Freeing?
Maybe Tracey should try it.
A clear blue sky and saffron sunshine rays brightened up the Monday morning, making it so much easier for Tracey to proceed with her plans. She stood in line in the Commerce Bank less than fifteen minutes after the bank opened. Wearing jeans, a white fitted t-shirt and Keds, her hair up in a ponytail, she must have looked younger than her years when she handed the teller a slip to make a withdrawal from a CD.
“Driver’s license, please,” the young red-haired woman said, her eyes narrowing.
Tracey slipped her ID under the glass transom and waited.
The red-haired lady took the ID and scrutinized it, staring at the signature, before entering the account numbers into the computer in front of her. She clutched the ID and the slip in her hand.
“Just a moment.”
“Certainly,” Tracey acknowledged with a blank look on her face.
The redhead stepped back a few paces, walked over and tapped the shoulder of a larger blonde-haired woman wearing a grey suit. The blonde looked at the slip, then looked at the ID, then looked back over at Tracey.
Blonde lady stepped up to the window and addressed Tracey. “Did you really want to withdraw from your CD? Or from your regular savings?”
“From my CD.”
The lady looked out over her wire frame glasses. “You’ll have to pay a penalty for breaking the CD before the maturity date, based on the interest already paid on it this year.”
“I know. That’s fine.”
Blonde lady typed information into the system and asked, “Would you like that in large or small bills?” The younger red-haired lady stood behind her, watching.
“Large bills, please,” Tracey said.
After that, there was nothing further, other than the customary have-a-nice-day when the teller passed her the envelope holding the money. Tracey turned to leave, taking her sunglasses from the top of her head and pushing them onto her nose.
And in less than ten minutes, in the tan Fossil bag hanging from her shoulder, Tracey had $10,000 tucked in a white envelope. Her plan for the morning was to deposit $3,000 of it into Alice’s bank account to help pay her mortgage company, and give $4,000 to Jamal so he could fix his car pronto and secure some more work. In the late afternoon she would take Brianna to visit Pernell over in North Philly.
The rest of the money? For Tracey. Two words: Retail therapy.
Time for her to take a moment in the early afternoon and click her mind off while shopping. Stop thinking about Brian, Lisette, Tyler, Brianna, Alice, Pernell, Kyle, affairs, and all the other stuff jiggling around in her brain. Besides, she needed new clothes anyway. None of her clothing fit her well anymore, and she was tired of slopping around during the week in baggy jeans, shapeless t-shirts, and college and sorority sweatshirts that now hung on her frame like oversized paper bags—even if they were comfortable.
A twinge of guilt pierced her like a splinter as she drove away from the bank on her way to Overbrook. She hadn’t bothered to talk to Brian about her mother’s mortgage, Jamal’s car situation, or her need for new clothes. Who cared? Not a mature or godly way to handle things. Siphoning money away from the jumbo CD where they kept emergency cash? Major marriage violation. Dishonest. Sneaky … even if she had good intentions for most of the money.
Tracey stepped on the gas, accelerating fast enough to push those bothersome thoughts out of her head. Why should she tell Brian?
He’d find out … eventually.
It was incredible how much furniture Tracey’s mother managed to cram into her small bedroom. King-sized bed. Two armoires. Two nightstands. A dresser. A couple of footstools. All of it heavy and dark, and blocking windows and closet doors in some way. Good quality, but too much of it. Some of this stuff could go into other rooms in the house. But Tracey wasn’t there to do interior decorating.
She stood in the bedroom doorway and watched while Alice, wearing beige slippers and a zippered maroon housecoat, a brown towel thrown over her shoulder, rummaged through her dresser. Tracey had managed to catch her right before she started getting ready for the day.
“Ma, we’re going to take care of the mortgage this morning, all right?”
“You know I have to send the money right away.”
“Right. So get dressed and we’ll go by your bank, do the deposit, get the certified check and be done with it in time to get you to work.”
“You could have written me a check,” Alice chided.
Tracey shook her head. “No. It would take like a week before your bank would clear my personal check. A cash deposit is better. And a certified bank check won’t pose any problems with your mortgage company.”
Alice straightened up, clothing draped over her arm. She looked at Tracey, her head cocked to the side. “Thanks.”
Those words were as close to I love you as Alice would ever get. Tracey accepted the words gratefully.
“Where’s Jamal?” Tracey questioned her mom.
“Upstairs. I’d be surprised if he’s awake.”
“Yeah, well, he’ll wake up when I get up there.” Tracey left the doorway and headed down the hall and up the stairs.
Tracey knocked on his bedroom door. No answer. She peeked inside. No Jamal.
“Jamal! Where are ya?”
“In here.” Her brother’s voice boomed out from the room on the opposite end of the hallway. Tracey tapped on the door then peaked her head inside.
“You’re up?”
“Yeah. I don’t lay around all day every day.” Jamal lay on the bench in a black t-shirt, shorts and sneakers, doing chest press repetitions. Different sized weights littered the floor, along with a jump rope, several towels, and three different sized exercise balls.
Tracey stepped in and sat on the floor next to one of the exercise balls. “I hope you don’t jump rope up here.”
“Nah, I take it outside.” He pushed the barbell up from his chest once more, rested it on the metal hooks, and sat up. “How come you up here so early? Something going on with Dad?”
“Not that I know of, but I’m going over check on him later after I pick up Brianna from school.” Tracey looked up at him. “I stopped by to check on you and Ma and this mortgage issue.”
He grimaced. “Yeah. We have to figure something out. My training hours aren’t making it, and Mom’s hours keep getting cut every month.”
“Could you do more if your car was up and running?”
He grabbed a towel from the end of the bench and wiped sweat from his face. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve got the money for you t
o get your Honda fixed, so can you get your car towed to a shop today?”
Jamal leaned up from the weight bench, grabbed a faded grey sweatshirt off the closet doorknob, and pulled it over his head. “No thanks, I don’t need it.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve still got your car. I saw it parked by the curb.”
He shook his head. “It needs to be fixed, but I’m not taking money from you. Keep it. I’ll figure something out.”
“Jamal, you asked me to help you back in February.”
“I know.”
“So what’s up?”
He gazed at her for a moment. “Ma told me you’d be helping us out with the back mortgage. I understand you stepping up to help her. She’s our mother. But I don’t need you saving me.”
Tracey hadn’t expected Jamal to reject the money offer. She glanced at him sitting on the weight bench. He’d cut off the cool and funky afro he’d been growing and his black hair was now in a short, sharp Caesar cut. Up in the morning? Refusing money? Looked like someone was changing.
“Are you sure? I mean, you can fix the car and then pay me back,” Tracey offered.
“I don’t wanna be on the hook to pay you back.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I still train clients. Plus, I’m thinking about finishing my degree, getting a teaching cert and becoming a gym teacher. In the meantime, I have my fitness certifications. I’ll drum up some business at the gym. Because, as far as I’m concerned, with me being here, you shouldn’t have to break out your checkbook.”
She smiled and crossed her arms. “You’ve been making plans.”
“I’ve always been making plans. Until I have a reason to move out, I’m here to help her. The mortgage thing?” He shrugged. “It was a tough winter.”
“Tell me about it,” she cleared her throat.
“Hey,” Jamal gave a slight nod toward her. “What’s up with you?”
“Huh?”
His voice softened. “You and Brian. Everything okay? Ma mentioned … ”
Pin pricks needled her spine. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Tracey said, clearing her throat again. “I’m going to bug Ma to get a move on it because we have to hit the bank before she starts her shift. Then I’ll spend ten extra minutes convincing her not to smoke in the car or bank.”
Broken Together Page 12
