“Are you trying to guilt me?’
“I don’t know. Is it working?’
“A little,” Caliban said.
“Then hey, look at me using my powers for good,” Tempest said, offering him a smile. “You leaving me alone or are you staying?’
“I’m staying. All those chemistry sets you sent are upstairs, so if some stuff does catch on fire, my room is going to blow up first,” Caliban replied with a squint she couldn’t see.
“Thanks,” she said, listening to her “husband” provide instructions. Tempest didn’t want to be a burden to them in any way, and in time, she’d learn how to navigate her way through all of it. Tonight, she needed to learn to navigate her way with a son she’d deserted.
“You hungry?” Caliban asked.
“No, but my fingernails feel like all the polish is cracked and chipped. Could you get a few cotton balls and help me remove the nail color?”
“I guess,” he said, walking down the hall to the bathroom. She heard the bathroom cabinet door open and close. “We don’t have any nail polish remover, but we have acetone; that stuff will take the black off of knees. I use it to remove the nail polish from the horse hooves after a show. Are your nails real?”
“Of course they are real,” she said, almost offended by him thinking she had fake nails.
“I didn’t know,” Caliban replied, coming into the room from the bathroom, carefully making noise to let her know he’d returned. “I am wondering what is up with your hair though. You look like Felicia in that Ice Cube movie.”
“That lady did this to my hair after she washed it yesterday,” Tempest said, patting the two braids which stuck out from her skull like a crackhead in a hurry to get to her next fix. “I imagine I look a fright.”
“Don’t have anything to compare it to,” he said. “There aren’t any photos of you around the house.”
“Then how did you know it was me when you walked in the house?”
“I have your eyes and can feel you or rather this connection to you,” he said. “Plus, for some strange reason, I knew you were coming even after I sent the messages. The last one was a prayer. When you were scared, I felt it. Does that sound weird?”
“Not if you explain it to me,” Tempest said, curious about the explanation he would provide.
He sat down in front of her and poured a bit of acetone onto a cotton ball. Her hand rested on his. Finger by finger he worked, wiping off the crimson polish. An intimate act from the perspective of the mother, but a repetitive act performed by a son who care for livestock for blue ribbon shows.
“Yesterday, I had this sense of panic. It nearly knocked me down. My heart was racing, I was scared as if running for my life, my vision got all blurry, and I thought maybe I was having an anxiety attack,” Caliban said. “I’ve had a few of those in the past, but then all of a sudden it stopped. Then I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“You were scared and needed to come home,” Caliban said. “For years, I held a lot of anger because you left us. I’m more angry that you came back blind, and yet, I kinda knew. Kinda expected it. Kinda glad you have to rely on me so you can see what it feels like to need someone else.”
“You think it’s going to work out?” She asked, looking down at where she thought his head would be.
“I dunno. I’m a kid. I mean, I’m smarter than the average kid but I’m still a kid,” he confessed. “In me is still this sense of hope and optimism that all will be right in the end.”
Tempest spoke in a soft tone, “I don’t know what that means Caliban. What were your hopes of me as a mother, coming back here?”
He continued to work on her nails, clearing off the polish. Satisfied he’d gotten it all off the nail beds, he left her alone and returned. His footsteps were light as she heard him arrive and stand next to her. Caliban’s hands were in her hair, taking the braids apart, combining, and brushing.
“I guess, I was hoping that if I showed you love and compassion, that you in turn would give it back to us...to me,” he said, running his fingers through the hair on her head. He wasn’t surprised it had the same texture and feel as his own, minus the white patch. Deft hands worked to make new braids, pulling them to the back of her head and pinning them up into a small bun.
“How did you learn to do this?”
“Show horses,” he said. “Had to learn to braid the mane and tail. Hair is hair.”
The quietness returned between them. Tempest wanted to talk, but she didn’t want to jeopardize the inch of ground she’d gained by saying the wrong thing to the kid. Instead, he broke the silence.
“Did you not love me?” Caliban asked.
The tears came back, along with a wave of brutal honesty that nearly doubled her over.
“I had to leave in order to learn to love me,” she said, “because the only thing worse than having no mother is a having a mother who is terrible at doing the basic job God put her on this earth to do − nurture and care for others.”
“But you had a mom.”
“And she was the worst,” Tempest said. “The times I just knew she was looking out for me, I found out she was looking out for herself. She sent me away to college to be better than her and to find my way, but instead I ended up lost. I married for the wrong reason but I manage to give my husband the one thing he wanted, a son. In that aspect, I didn’t fail your father.”
The tears ran down her face and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She bit back her own sobs as she spoke.
“I loved you enough to give you a chance to have a life filled with hope and adventure versus having to come home every goddamn day to a bitter woman who didn’t want to be in the one place where you were safe and who didn’t know how to give you the love you deserved.”
He touched her hand, patting softly, “Well, while you were out in the world, did you learn?”
“Learn how to love?”
She thought about leaving Jacob dead in the bed. His brother lived closed by and she didn’t bother to call him to tell him of the man’s death. Jacob had died because of her, and she had never looked back. Instead, she rolled into Nashville, falling into a game with Markham and not warning him of the danger on her heels. He, too, she had lost, and now she was here, faced with the realization that Rami would eventually show up to destroy this portion of her life as well. She didn’t want them hurt.
Caliban needed to grow up strong.
Fear gripped her at the thought of Ferdinand being killed by Rami.
Her heart hurt at the thought of her son watching his father die, and panic coursed through her so vibrantly, so loud, so palpable that Caliban could feel it. He grabbed his chest in an effort to slow down his heart rate.
“You’re scared,” Caliban said softly. “Are we in danger?”
“Possibly, so I may have to leave again.”
“Then you have learned to love if you are scared that staying can cause us harm,” he said. “Don’t worry. Me and Daddy got you.”
“I believe you, Caliban,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand.
IN THE DISTANCE, ON an out of the way hill, Rami’s eyes watched through binoculars the touching scene between a mother and son. Anger kept him company at the jumbled pile of confusion in the diner. His records weren’t up to date.
Jefferson Huckston was no longer the Sheriff of Blairsville and had retired the year before. He had been a piss poor excuse for a law enforcement official and an even worse excuse for a human. His hopes had been for the Sheriff to take advantage of the temporary blindness of Tempest and put her in rotation with the other whores who earned money for Michael Kurtzwilde.
Instead she was brought here, to her family.
The husband she had deserted.
The child Rami didn’t know she had.
The life she could have been leading.
A wry smile crossed his lips, thinking there would be no worse punishment in the world for her that to be stuck here on a horse farm, blind and
living with the people she had run away from. Karma was cold. It would be even colder if her vision didn’t return, but he knew it would to some degree. Of course, it would never be the same when it came back, and neither would Tempest.
“Serves you right, bitch,” he said with an evil chuckle. In a day or two, he’d bring the van back and park it in the front yard. “Yeah, bringing back the van will truly fuck up her world.”
Chapter Twelve – Reversed
A Week Later
An odd pattern developed in the Muldrake home within a week. The family established a routine with Tempest first up in the morning making a pot of hot coffee. It only took a few days to figure out how to navigate the kitchen, but she wasn’t ready to cook a meal, not that cooking was necessarily in her wheelhouse of capabilities. If pushed, she could put a brown, white, and green item on a plate which were all edible.
Ferdinand had taken her shopping, and Caliban assisted in picking out cool tee shirts, leggings, and other simple items that all color coordinated for her to wear. He swore he couldn’t have his Mom waving at the school bus looking “busted.” Tempest didn’t really know what that meant, but she took it as meaning less than cool.
As soon as Caliban’s teachers learned she was at home, several stopped by to chat with her about her son’s behavior in class. To his surprise, Tempest didn’t side with the teachers, nor did she side with him, but instead offered a simple explanation.
“I don’t think the problem lies solely in my son,” Tempest said. “I think the major issue lies in your perceptions. The moment an intelligent young black man sits behind a desk and out thinks you, automatically he’s a problem.”
“No, that is not what we’re saying,” one teacher on her right chimed. “He’s just such a handful in class that we are hoping, since you’re home...”
“Since I’m home, what? I stick my titty in his mouth and make him behave? Listen, his father is a board-certified veterinarian specializing in show horses. I have a doctorate in biochemistry,” Tempest said. “My son’s IQ is more than likely higher than yours, so a great amount of your logic and answers aren’t going to work for him. That doesn’t mean he’s a bad student or a bad kid. He’s just fucking smart. Deal with it and challenge yourself to find a way to teach him and make him better.”
“I’m not understanding why you think it’s our responsibility to teach your child who obviously doesn’t want to be in our classrooms,” another teacher said, sounding indignant.
“This is more than likely the reason he gives you guff in class. You’re reacting based on what you understand and not what I said,” Tempest clarified. “He’s smart. Do we agree on that? You must give me an audible response since I can’t see you.”
She heard a few mumbles. The lady on the left exhaled a puff of frustrated air. Tempest could feel the one in center, who had said nothing thus far, staring at her, which made Tempest turn her face to look directly at the woman. She heard the woman shift in her seat.
“Okay, now that we are all in agreement, what I’m saying to you is that the normal methods of instruction are not going to work for him. He has a higher concept than what you’re teaching and is several steps ahead of you. The thing is, can you challenge him in a way that engages his mind to want to move ahead instead asking him to slow down? When he slows down, he gets bored and will challenge you,” Tempest said. “He challenges me, and while I think he’s braiding my hair, for all I know, Caliban could have me looking like his Grandma with arthritis in her right hand styled me.”
She heard a few chuckles. The teacher in the center spoke after clearing her throat so Tempest would know it was her speaking.
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” the teacher said.
“I am. Both my husband and I were Caliban, but we went through school at a time when there was no technology like you have now,” Tempest responded. “He’s not a bad kid. He’s just extremely smart. Yes, we can afford to put him in private school, but his friends are at his school and he wants to be there. I’m willing to help in any way I can, just don’t stick a label on him as difficult because he’s intelligent. Plus, I appreciate you coming here to me since I couldn’t come to you.”
“We’re just glad you’re back home from the Georgia Institute for the Blind. Caliban said you did a great deal of teaching there, and he’s happy you’re back,” the teacher in the center said.
“Yes, I’m glad to be home on a permanent basis as well,” Tempest said, not giving any indication her son was lying. “Thank you so much for coming.”
Tempest stood and pointed toward the front door. She could hear the whispers of commentary from the one teacher whom sounded as if she were a round hipped black woman, mumbling about Caliban possibly lying. The teacher who had sat on her right, was in a huff whining that Tempest high-handed response to them was uncalled for on any level. It was the teacher in the center who spoke up on her behalf offering suggestions of ways to engage Caliban in class. The voices trailed down the front steps as the women made their way to the parked vehicles.
Using her white cane, Tempest maneuvered her way to the ropes, which had been lowered to floor level, where she could use the cane to guide herself through the house. Caliban was lurking on the stairwell having taken a spot out of sight to listen in on the teacher’s visit.
“I hear you breathing over there,” she said, turning around.
“Dang, you sure you’re blind?” he asked.
“Yep, can’t see shit,” she replied, leaning against the doorjamb. “You lied to them about where I’ve been for the past ten years of your life.”
“They didn’t know it was ten and don’t need to− bunch of nosy busy bodies. They just assume that every kid of color is from a broken home,” Caliban added.
“Technically, you are from a broken home.”
“No, I came from a broken woman. My home has always been here with my Daddy,” Caliban said.
“Ouch,” she said, placing her hand to her chest. “How old are you again? I could have sworn you were only twelve.”
She heard him get to his feet. The creaking of the denims he wore when he stood had a definitive sound. Tempest shifted her body to face him.
“I am only twelve, but my dad’s a veterinarian specializing in equestrian show horses and my mom has a doctorate in Biochemistry, so there’s that.”
“Yeah, well, I guess there is that. You can’t help but be a smart ass,” Tempest replied, allowing the air between them to breathe and settle in.
“Thanks for coming to my defense against them. You have no idea how many times my teachers have tried to convince Daddy to put me on some kind of drug, as if something was wrong with me,” Caliban said.
“Something is wrong with you in their eyes because you’re far too intelligent for them to teach. Never allow anyone to make you dumb yourself down to fit into their expectations,” she cautioned.
Caliban’s eyes rose slowly from looking at his hands to gaze at his mother’s face, “Is that what happened between you and Daddy?”
“No, it’s not. Grown people can be a bad fit in all the wrong ways, which makes all the right ways it works hard to swallow,” she said. “Your father’s a great guy, and I love him as much today as I did when I married him. I just couldn’t live with him.”
“You’re living with him now,” Caliban said,
“I’m also blind as a bat and reliant upon him to feed me,” she said, wishing she hadn’t.
“Must be hard being you,” Caliban said, his attention being drawn to the front yard. A lone vehicle sat at the end of the driveway caught his eye. The teachers had all left at the same time, and he didn’t see the white van pull up. Ferdinand was due back in an hour, and they weren’t expecting any deliveries today. Caliban tensed up.
Tempest could feel the tension.
“Caliban, what’s wrong?” she asked, reaching out for his hand. He gripped his mother’s fingers, holding tightly and walking to the front door.
“There’s a white utility van parked at the end of the driveway,” he said.
“Mercedes?”
“Yeah.”
She asked, “License plate Klean1?”
“Yeah, you know who drives it?” Caliban replied, looking at his mother with uncertainty etched into his face. Her expression worried him more than the next words.
“Lock the front door, call your father, and let’s get someplace safe,” she urged. “We need to stay low and away from the windows until your father gets home.”
“Okay, but who’s van is it?”
“It’s mine, Caliban. The Glitter Man took it after he blinded me,” she said. “Move, son. Move now and stop asking questions.”
FERDINAND ARRIVED HOME to find his wife and son cowering in the pantry. She sat in front of the boy using her body as a shield. The moment he opened the door, she sprang to her feet, ready to pounce and poke him in the eye with the white cane.
“Whoa, Tigress, it’s me,” Ferdinand said, reaching for her hand. “You two okay?”
“The Glitter Man brought back my vehicle. I didn’t want Caliban to go outside to look about for any notes he may have left. We had to stay away from the windows. It was just too dangerous, especially with me having no eyesight,” she said squeezing his hand.
“Hmph,” Ferdinand muttered. “Van had the keys inside. A cellphone in the cup holder. Didn’t look suspicious.”
Most of her life she’d been a liar. Tempest made snap judgements every day on the amount of information a person needed to know and not know. Her silence got Jacob killed. Her failure to disclose the situation possibly ended Markham’s career. This was her family. The last stop on the train. Her husband and her son. The time for lies were over and she would be honest with them both. If it meant she needed to leave, then she would, but they would not live in fear. There would be no more wow. Everything from this point forward was about the now. She spoke slowly so both men in her life understood the words coming from her mouth.
“Yes, well, a bomb wouldn’t be very obvious just by looking inside the driver’s side. He’s nuts, and I don’t know what his specialties are outside of biochemistry and tracking people down like animals,” Tempest said. “Let’s just leave it for right now. I’ll make a call.”
Blind Fate Page 11
