Second Thoughts

by Kristofer Clarke

  “But she came back the same way she left: without a baby,” I said.

  “She gave a very simple explanation to that. Your mother gave the baby away. She never told Taylor where the baby was, and Patrick doesn’t know he has a child out there somewhere,” Isis said, telling the most interesting part of her session with Taylor. “Your mother died without telling her. As much as Taylor pretends, she hated your mother for that. And those tears she cried the day your mother died weren’t for her but that she died without spitting those words from her mouth.”

  “If this isn’t the day from hell, I don’t know what it.”

  “Now what?” Isis asked.

  “It’s going to be a busy next couple of days,” I began. “I have divorce papers to file, and a husband, sister and nephew to put out of my damn house.”

  I was so happy I had someone like Isis in my life. Even though she was the only other person I had told about the day’s mind-blowing events, I knew sooner or later I would be hearing from Telia. Isis can’t hold water, so I don’t tell her anything I don’t want to hear on the streets. “I’m calling to get all in yo damn business,” Telia would say after bombing me out for reaching out to Isis first, even though I’d known Isis longer.

  I finished my drive home listening to Anita Baker’s “I Apologize”, though I wasn’t looking for or would not accept any apologies from Dillon or Taylor. I’d given him his chance to walk into my life and he took his opportunity to walk out. The words to her song brought the tears back. I cried silently all the way home. The conversations of the day played over and over in my mind. The look on Dillon’s face, the pride in Torrie’s eyes, the pain in my own voice took turns flashing before my eyes. I thought about the things I should have said but didn’t, and what I should have done but couldn’t. I tried to ignore the ache I felt in my heart. This was the gift that love gave me.

  Chapter 30

  Colleen

  Anytime You Need a Friend

  “You got balls showing your face here,” I said. She stood at the front door giving her back to me. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned with my shoulder on one side of the door.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked, turning around.

  “After you tell me what the HELL you’re doing here,” I said in a whisper, as if I were telling a secret.

  I’d almost forgotten I had a mother. I hadn’t spoken to Georgia Rosemarie Brigham in about five years. Before then, we’d spoken sporadically, reaching out to her only when a little guilt kicked in. Fortunately, the guilt didn’t last too long, and I wasn’t on the phone with her long before I was reminded why I resisted any urge to engage in a civil phone conversation with her. I’d stopped counting after my last attempt to reach out to her. I’d called my mother and told her I’d purchased a ticket and was coming for a short visit. I was worried about her, and even though my message said exactly that, she never returned my call. Still I boarded my flight to Houston that morning on the day before the first day of spring. I was worried and anxious.

  “Mother,” I greeted when she opened the door.

  I’d stood on the front porch and waited to be invited in. I never got that invitation. She slammed the door in my face without saying as much as a word. I was eager to see my mother and that was the welcome I got. At least she’d opened the door.

  Now she was standing at my door, and the only thing I could think about was how she’d treated me. She gave me no explanation for her distance, and I doubt that was her reason for her unannounced visit. My mother and I ruled under the same sign, but entirely different months. I was born August sixteenth; my mother celebrated her eighteenth birthday a few weeks before I was born, in July. We were die-hard Leos. We were confident and loyal at our best, pretentious and melodramatic at our worst. Leos aren’t known to hold a grudge and could easily forgive, but both my mother and I have proven to be the antithesis of these facts. I wished my mother considered me a birthday present, but she had reserved that title for Lexi. Though the words never came from my mother’s mouth, I’d always felt like the bane of her existence. She did a good job to make me think otherwise. She didn’t go above or beyond what was required of her as my mother. What she did for Lexi was something entirely different that never stopped even when I was old enough to recognize the subtle differences in how she treated us.

  “You don’t think you should have told me about this visit?” I asked.

  “And spoil my surprise? You know I like surprises,” she said, smiling.

  “And you know I don’t like anyone showing their faces at my door without letting me know first. You’ve heard of advance notice, right?”

  “Guess things can’t always go your way, right?” she said, sidestepping me and inviting herself inside my house.

  I closed the door and walked behind her.

  “How was your flight?”

  “Do you really care to know, or are you just asking to avoid an awkward silence between us?”

  “Look, Mother. If you came here looking for a fight, you’re on your own.”

  “Fight? I’m not looking for a fight.”

  She walked to the living room and sat in the Vintage brown leather armchair in the far corner.

  “You see, my visit has one purpose, dear.”

  She spoke with her eyes towards the floor. She maintained a long pause before she continued.

  “I simply came to take from you what you took from me.”

  “And what exactly did I take from you?”

  She laughed.

  “You know, your memory was never your best asset.”

  She placed her bag on the right side of the chair, then sat back and crossed her right leg over her left.

  “Sometimes when we think our secrets are buried way deep, they never really are.”

  “Secrets?” I objected. “I don’t have any secrets.”

  “No, you don’t. Well, not anymore.”

  I stood in the large doorway between the living room and the foyer and stared at her. The last five years had been good to Georgia. She had quit smoking a few years after my father died. He used to tell her “those cancer sticks are gonna help you dig that early grave.” But my mother always had a comeback. In her raspy voice she would say, “I’ll quit smoking when you give that bottle a rest.” My father died in a drunk-driving accident. He was the drunk driver. I guess he died doing what he loved best. He made love more nights to his bottle of vodka than he did his own wife; that I remembered. He lived and breathed for his alcohol as if it was his third child, and he had proudly named it Smirnoff. He proudly embraced his penchant for alcohol.

  My mother had lost a few pounds, too. She was once again slim in the waist. I didn’t ask her what she was doing, ‘cause I didn’t care. It was just an observation. She wore a red Roberto Cavalli shell-print silk-chiffon dress⎯probably from money Chance has been giving her⎯and red leather and cork wedge sandals. Ever since I’ve known my mother, she’s always dressed half her age. Today she was dressed more like my sister than my mother. I guessed seventy was the new forty.

  I walked with a quick pace and stood in front her.

  “Look. I haven’t heard from you or spoken to you in what, five years?”

  “Oh, you were counting,” she interrupted.

  She still hadn’t looked at me.

  “And you show up here unannounced and uninvited, talking in riddles. Now, you have five minutes to tell me why the hell are you here working my last damn nerve. Why the hell are you here, Georgia?” I repeated.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” she asked, dismissing me.

  “What?” I snapped.

  I hadn’t heard the doorbell over my loud rant.

  “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “This is your house. Are you?” my mother asked.

  Frankly, I was getting a bit tired of all these damn surprises. In less than two weeks, two officers, a convict, and a woman who seems to have a chip on her shoulder have visited me, and n
ow my damn doorbell was buzzing again. If I knew my mother as well as I thought I did, I would say she was up to something. I turned from the living room and headed towards the door. I pulled the door open without asking who it was.

  The frown disappeared from my face when I saw his face.

  “Patrick, what are you doing here?”

  “You know, I’m actually not sure,” he said.

  He kissed me on the side of my face and walked into the house. He stood in the foyer with his hands in his pockets. He looked to his left towards the kitchen, and then in the direction of the living room, but the partial wall blocked his view of my uninvited guest.

  “Is Grandma here?”

  “Wait, you knew she was coming?” I walked back into the living room. Patrick followed. “Am I to expect any one else?” I asked my mother.

  “You know, Colleen,” she paused. “That is the name you’re using these days, isn’t it?”

  She got up, walked over to Patrick and began fixing the collar on his short-sleeve button-down shirt. There was nothing wrong with the collar on his shirt. It had been turned down just the way it was designed to.

  “You know, son,” she continued. “I want you to take a good look at that woman.”

  “Grandma, what are you talking about?” Patrick laughed. “That woman is my mother. I know how she looks.”

  “That woman is nobody’s mother. She’s a lying, conniving bitch. That’s what I’m saying.”

  She patted Patrick on both shoulders and then turned around.

  “Oh hell no. You are NOT going to disrespect me in my own house, and definitely not in front of my son.”

  “That’s the last time you’re going to claim him as your son. After finding out what you did,” she shook her head. “I’m done helping you lie to this boy, or to Chance.”

  “Mom, what is she talking about?”

  “I don’t know, and neither does she,” I answered and then turned to leave the living room.

  “You’re probably right,” Georgia agreed, “but you remember Rachel Hall, the nurse from Dr. Gensler’s office?”

  I neither admitted nor denied knowing her. I stood there with a quizzical expression and waited for her to continue.

  “She knows, doesn’t she?”

  Patrick looked at Georgia searching for truth in her words and her eyes, and then looked at me.

  “Mother, what is Grandma talking about?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Patrick,” I answered, keeping my stare towards my mother. “I don’t know a Dr. Gensler, or any nurse named Rachel whatever-her-name is.”

  “It’s Hall, honey. Sure you do, Colleen. You do remember Rachel, from the fertility clinic. You met her when you and Kenneth went to prep for the implantation.”

  “Fertility clinic? Implantation?” Patrick stood in front of Georgia with his hands in his pockets. “Why were you visiting a fertility clinic? And who the hell is Kenneth?”

  My mother leaned to look around Patrick since he was obstructing her view.

  “You know you can take over anytime,” she said, smiling at me.

  I could only imagine the satisfaction she was getting from this.

  “Oh, honey. Surely you’ve learned something from me. I’ve told you about keeping secrets and telling lies.”

  “I’ve told Patrick everything he needs to know.”

  “Yes. And I’m going to tell you the same thing I told you the last time you used that line,” Patrick spoke. “It doesn’t mean you’ve told me the truth.”

  “Patrick, did she give you those letters Omar sent to you?”

  Georgia walked to the chair and sat. She placed her bag in her lap and listened to the silence. It was like the calm before the storm. I tried to maintain my composure, but underneath this veneer, I was a nervous wreck.

  “You mentioned those letters a few months ago,” Patrick said. He looked over his left shoulder towards me. “You said you destroyed them. You lied to me?”

  “No, I’m sure she didn’t lie, Patrick,” Georgia broke in. “At least not about those letters. She destroyed them because they came from Omar. I would have destroyed them, too, knowing they came from the man who raped you. What she thought was in those letters was only half the truth. The words in those letters weren’t from Omar.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I interrupted.

  “You should trademark that line. Better yet, you should have that line written on your headstone.” Georgia walked and stood looking out the large window. “But I’ll give you that. I still wouldn’t have known what I’m talking about if I didn’t get this letter from Omar.”

  She held the letter in her hand. She stared at it as if it were the ninth wonder of the world. She stopped her stare and looked at her watch.

  “Who are you expecting?” I asked Georgia, but before the words fell completely from my mouth, the doorbell rang.

  I walked slowly to the door, but kept my focus on my mother.

  “Hello Mother,” Chance greeted when I opened the door.

  He stood at the door with his hands in his pockets. He kissed me on my cheek like he always did whenever he came over. When he walked in and saw Patrick and my mother, the expression on his face changed.

  “Did someone die?” he asked with a serious look on his face.

  “Not yet,” my mother yelled from the living room.

  “No one told me this was a family meeting.” Chance walked over to Georgia and kissed her on both cheeks. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Your mother destroyed those letters because she thought Omar was writing to tell you what she did. She didn’t destroy them because she was protecting you. No, that would mean this bitch actually cared about someone other than herself.”

  “What letter is Gram talking about?” Chance questioned.

  “You’re not going to stand in my own house and talk to me that way,” I warned.

  “I’m going to stand in your house and talk to you any which way I damn well please,” Georgia continued. “Who’s gonna stop me? You? You took my child from me.”

  “Mother, what is Grandma talking about?” Chance asked.

  He began removing his red and white fitted Wizards cap.

  “Don’t waste your time asking her anything, Chance. She’s only going to tell you I don’t know what I’m talking about. She’s been singing that song since your brother got here. But soon, she’s going to realize I know more than I act like I know. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”

  “Grandma,” Patrick began. “You said my mother took your child away from you. Are you talking about Aunt Lexi?”

  “Yes. Colleen took your mother away from me,” Georgia affirmed.

  “Grandma, I think you made a mistake. You said Colleen took…,” Chance said. He looked in my direction and waited for me to react. I remained stoic.

  “I said it right, and you heard it right. Colleen, that woman, that impostor, purposely drove Lexi’s car into a tree because Lexi had decided she wasn’t going to hand off her baby to her. Only she didn’t know the baby she carried, you Patrick, was never hers to begin with. She murdered your mother and your father,” Georgia continued. “It was God’s grace that saved you, and unfortunately, her.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked my mother.

  I didn’t know whom I should have been focusing on. Though he was listening to Georgia, Patrick kept his eyes on me. I watched them become moist with tears. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “You better tell me she’s lying, Mother,” he begged. “Tell me she’s lying.”

  “She can’t, Patrick,” my mother assured him. She moved from the window and walked closer to me. I was still standing by the door, where I’d stood after letting Chance in.

  “Had she read the letters, she would have realized Omar only sent you what Nurse Hall sent him, and of course, she sent me a copy, too.”

  “What did the letter say, Grandma?” Patric
k asked.

  “Are you really…” I began.

  “Shut up,” Patrick interrupted. “You’ve had your opportunity. You’ve had thirty years to tell me the truth. Every time I asked you if there’s something you need to tell me, you gave me the same bullshit response that you’ve told me all I needed to know. I needed to know you were not my mother. Did you tell me that? I needed to know that it wasn’t my father who raped me? Did you tell me that? No. You kept that to yourself because you were so sure no one knew what you had done. You don’t have permission to speak. Stand there with that dumb-ass expression on your face and listen like the rest of us, you spiteful bitch.”

  “Patrick,” Chance chimed in. “You can’t talk to Mom like that.”

  “She’s not our mother.” Patrick’s statement stung. “Go on, Grandma.”

  “Like some women in this world, Colleen can’t have children of her own. She really wanted children, and I understood that. So did Lexi. Lexi agreed to be implanted with Colleen’s eggs after Kenneth’s sperm had fertilized them. When Colleen went in for the implantation, a pregnancy test─which is standard in this situation─came back positive, which meant Lexi couldn’t be implanted. According to the letter, Lexi, your mother, then called Colleen, who was running late because she was stuck in traffic, and told her she was sorry she had missed the implantation, but that Colleen could come to the house the next day when Lexi took a home pregnancy test. Nurse Hall said she was paid money to change Colleen’s contact information in the system so all calls would come to Lexi until she figured something out.”

  I stood listening to my mother as she read both the letter from the nurse and the one she had received from Omar. In the letter, Omar told my mother that once Lexi told me about already being pregnant and therefore couldn’t do the implantation, I was determined that if I couldn’t have this baby that I thought would be mine for the last seven months, no one was going to have it.