The Stolen Daughter

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “How long before dinner is ready?” Malcolm asked, throwing up his hands like he just wanted to change the subject.

  “I’m almost done, sweetie. By the time you get changed the garlic bread will be done.”

  “Where’s Destiny? Asleep?”

  Before I could answer, we heard our daughter’s cries. Both Malcolm and I turned our attention to the kitchen entrance.

  “Oh my God!” Malcolm screamed.

  My mother was standing there, holding Destiny upside down by her legs.

  “Mom,” I said, racing over toward her. But Malcolm had already reached her and retrieved the baby from her arms.

  “The baby was crying,” my mother said. She had a zombie-like expression that tore at my heart.

  “You shouldn’t carry her,” I said, examining Destiny, who was still crying as she snuggled close to her father’s chest.

  “Why not? I know how to carry a baby,” my mother replied.

  Malcolm glared at me as he clutched our wailing daughter to his chest. His unspoken words belied his fury.

  “Come on, Mom. Let me get you back in your room,” I said, once I saw Malcolm had settled our daughter.

  “I’m hungry. Is it time for Thanksgiving dinner?” My mother had three expressions since she’d gotten sick: confused, blank, and what I called lost. Right now, she was confused. Her confusion had become a daily companion rather than an infrequent visitor.

  “It’s September, Mommy. No Thanksgiving dinner yet. But regular dinner will be ready in a little bit. Why don’t you go watch Family Feud until it’s done?” I knew that I needed to get her out of my husband’s presence before he did something we all would regret. He loved my mother, but it was nothing compared to his love for our daughter.

  “Oooh, I like Family Feud,” my mother said, a wide grin spreading across her face.

  “I know.”

  “I like that host, Richard Dawson.”

  “But now it’s Steve Harvey,” I gently replied.

  “Who is Steve Harvey?”

  “That’s the bald black man with the bushy mustache,” I said as I led her toward the stairs. “Mommy, what did we talk about with Destiny?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging.

  “You can’t hold her unless one of us is present.”

  “But I hold her all the time.”

  “Yes, but since you’ve been sick, you promised to only hold her when someone else was around.”

  “Okay,” she said, her tone soft, like a child being chastised.

  I got my mother tucked back in her bed, put the TV show on and went back downstairs, preparing to face the wrath of my husband. And he did not disappoint.

  “Before you say anything,” I said, holding my hands up because I could feel the fury coming from his body.

  “Jill . . .” he growled.

  “Babe, I know. I talked to her. She knows she’s not supposed to handle Destiny,” I said.

  “It looks like she doesn’t know much of anything,” he snapped.

  I felt tears welling up. We’d been having this argument a whole lot lately but I didn’t know what else he expected me to do. I was my mother’s only child. And she was her mother’s only child, so our family was small. Her mother had died when she was in high school and she had one aunt, Marilyn, who was too old to take her. It’s not like my mother had anywhere else to go.

  As I looked at my husband, I knew what he expected me to do because he’d told me on more than one occasion.

  “It’s time, Jill. This place is too small, and your mother needs full-time care.” His voice was calmer now.

  “Would you put your mother in a home?” I said, knowing he wouldn’t.

  “We’re not talking about my mother. If she was a threat to our child, then yes,” he added, brushing Destiny’s hair as she sucked on her two fingers.

  “Mama isn’t a threat,” I protested.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “She just walked in here holding our baby upside down.”

  “I know, but—”

  “There’s no buts,” he said, cutting me off. “This is crazy. Your mother is sick. And I know on some days, she’s fine. But some days she’s not. And one of these days, she could be dangerous. You’re not going to be happy until she’s done some serious damage to our child.” He turned to storm out of the room.

  “Are you not going to eat?” I said, only because I didn’t know what else to say.

  “I’ve lost my appetite,” he said as he clutched our daughter and went back upstairs.

  Chapter 3

  Please Lord, don’t let me get fired.

  That’s all I could think as I whipped into a parking spot, threw my Ford Festiva into park, grabbed my green apron, and raced inside.

  “Shoot,” I muttered when I saw the long line. Whoever invented Starbucks had hit a gold mine because it was always busy. I knew caffeine was an addiction but the lines in Starbucks took it to a whole other level. The bad thing was, the twenty-deep line was going to get me in trouble. The good thing? The twenty-deep line kept my boss from going off on me.

  “Sorry, Tony,” I said as I threw my apron around my neck and tied it in the back.

  “Can you just get over there and help Sandra? The drive-thru is backed up,” he barked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I knew Tony was beyond ready to fire me. I’d been late every day this week. After my mom’s dangling Destiny episode, things had progressively gotten worse. I never knew what I would wake up to. When I first took my mother to the doctor after she started acting strange, they actually tried to tell me nothing was wrong. But I knew something was wrong. Any doctor that wasn’t on Medicaid could see something was wrong. But you get what you pay for. And since we paid nothing at the free clinic, that’s exactly what we got in return. It wasn’t until a doctor from her church agreed to see her that we got a proper diagnosis. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe we had gotten her some help at the first sign of her illness, maybe it wouldn’t have progressed so quickly.

  No sense in dwelling in maybes now. I picked up a cup. “Is this one for the drive-th . . .” Before I could finish my sentence, the cup slipped from my hand and splattered to the floor.

  “Seriously?” Tony screamed. My coworker, Angie, jumped out of the way but it was too late, the coffee had burned her arm.

  “Owwwww!” she wailed. Angie was so extra, she knew that coffee wasn’t that dang hot. But knowing her drama queen performance, she would go to the hospital and take three weeks off.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. I ignored Angie screaming like someone was burning her cornea with a cigarette, grabbed a towel, and started trying to wipe the mess up off the floor.

  “Get her to the back,” Tony yelled to the guy on the register. “Jill, can you take an order without messing that up?”

  I hated being publicly chastised and couldn’t wait for the day when I could tell Tony what I thought about his rude tone. But since I needed this job, I just nodded and stepped to the register.

  “Sorry for the delay,” I told the customer. “May I help you?”

  Before the petite brunette could speak, my phone rang. I silently cursed the fact that I’d forgotten to turn the ringer off. I eased it out of my pocket, planning to simply shut it off.

  No, no, no, I thought when I saw my mother’s cell phone number on the screen.

  “Come on, Jill. Get the line moving,” Tony called out from the espresso machine he was trying to fix.

  I pushed ignore, turned the ringer off, and took the woman’s complicated order. Did anyone come in Starbucks and order plain black coffee?

  The customer had just scanned her Starbucks app when my phone vibrated. I tried to ignore it as the next customer gave me their order, but it just kept loudly vibrating. What if it was an emergency? What if something had happened to Mama and someone was trying to get in touch with me?

  “Excuse me,” I said to the man who had just stepped to my register. “I’m sorry. I have
to get this. It must be an emergency.” I hunched down and cupped my mouth to the phone. “Hello?”

  “Jill!” I groaned, because it wasn’t an emergency.

  “What, Mama? You know I’m at work,” I whispered.

  “Jill, I can’t find the apartment!” My mother was hysterical as her voice bellowed through the phone.

  “What do you mean you can’t find the apartment?” I said.

  The man cleared his throat and I held up one finger asking him to hold on. I glanced back at Tony, who thankfully was busy struggling with the machine.

  “They moved it. They moved the apartment.” She started sobbing.

  “Okay, Mama. I need you to take a deep breath. Where are you?” I whispered.

  “I just needed some fresh air and I went for a walk. When I came back, they had moved the apartment.” I could hear the panic in her voice.

  I massaged my temples. “Okay. You know the apartment number is 3749?”

  “Yes. That’s where I am.”

  “Okay then, Mama. Have you used your key?”

  “I didn’t lock the door.” She huffed, then released a loud sob.

  I sighed. We didn’t have much, but I didn’t want someone to steal it.

  “Mama, is the apartment yellow?”

  A pause, then she said, “No. It’s burgundy.”

  I took a deep breath. “Mama, you did this last week. Those are the apartments next door. We live in the yellow ones next to that.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes. So go to the yellow apartments next door, then go up to the third floor, make a right and go down to number 3749. Call me when you get inside.”

  “Can’t you stay on the phone with me?” she whimpered.

  “I can’t because I’m at work.” A sickening feeling filled my insides. I didn’t want to leave Malcolm with the burden of caring for my mom, so I usually sent her with my great-aunt or dropped her off at the adult day care facility. Occasionally, I left her home alone. Now, it seemed like that option would no longer be feasible.

  “Okay,” she said. I could hear the fear in her voice. I was going to have to break down and get her some help at home, but how in the world was I going to afford that?

  “Call me when you get in the house, okay?” I told her.

  “Okay, thank you, baby. I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Mama.”

  I hung up to see Tony standing over me. “Really, Jill? You’re late, then you come in and get on the phone?”

  “I’m so sorry. It was an emergency.”

  “It always is. I am sick and tired of you and your emergencies.” His voice was loud and now everyone was staring at me.

  “You’re the most emergencies-having person I’ve ever seen,” he snapped.

  “I said I was sorry.” I kept my voice low in hopes that he would lower his.

  “I’m tired of you, and your sorries, too.”

  “I don’t know what else you want me to do,” I said, the weight of everything taking its toll on me. I took the apron off and threw it on the ground. “Fine, you want me out? I’m gone.”

  I stomped around the corner, keenly aware that I’d tossed my “I don’t like to draw attention” mantra out of the window with this scene. But I was tired of the stress of everything.

  “Jill, stop overreacting. Nobody said they wanted you out. I just want you to do your job without all the extra drama,” he called out after me.

  All eyes in the place were on me but I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of there before I lost it. The whole week had been overwhelming.

  “I’m sorry, Tony . . . I’m losing it,” I said, before turning to race out the door.

  Just as I swung the door open, I bumped into one of our regulars. “Oh, excuse me. I’m sorry. Mr. Logan, right?”

  He nodded. “I told you last week to call me Major.”

  He’d been coming in almost every other day for the past month. His warm smile was familiar and made my anxiety relax—just a bit.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when he noticed my misty eyes and frazzled demeanor.

  “Yes, rough day.” I glanced back inside the store and saw Tony had stepped up to work the register.

  “So, you’re not going to be able to make my tall, soy, no-water chai?” Mr. Logan asked with a smile.

  I shook my head as I fought back tears. “No, someone else will take care of you.” I wanted to add, “permanently,” because I was sure I was fired.

  “But I don’t like the way they make it,” he protested as he winked at me.

  I managed a smile. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this old man was flirting with me, because every time he came in, he was extra nice. The first few times, I noticed him just staring at me. Then, he started making small talk. I imagined if I were thirty years older, I’d find his salt and pepper beard and tailored clothes attractive.

  “Are you headed somewhere?” he asked.

  “I-I . . .” I choked back the rest of my sentence. How would I explain to Malcolm that I had walked out of my job? He didn’t want me to work, but he knew like I did that I had to work. No, tomorrow I would have to call Tony and grovel for forgiveness. And my job. “I think I just made my boss furious and I’m probably going to lose my job,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “You know what?” he said. “You need something stronger than coffee. Can I buy you a drink?”

  So he was flirting with me. “I think you’re very nice, Mr. Logan,” I said, “but I’m not interested like that.”

  “Oh, no, no,” he exclaimed. “I am very married. Happily. Twenty-eight years. He took a deep breath. “In fact, that’s my wife in the car,” he continued, pointing to the silver luxury vehicle parked directly in front of us.

  “Oh,” I said, slightly embarrassed, as the woman waved to me from the back seat. I waved back.

  “I was actually coming to see if you were at work today,” Mr. Logan said.

  “Me?” I asked, turning my attention back to him.

  “My wife wanted to meet you.”

  Now, I frowned. “Well, I’m sorry. I have to leave. I’ve had a rough day.”

  “Please? It would mean a lot. It would mean the world to my wife if she had the chance to meet you.”

  I didn’t understand how meeting me would mean anything to this man or his wife.

  “I’ll go in and talk to your boss.” He flashed a smile. “I know the CEO of Starbucks and I assure you, whatever happened, you won’t lose your job. Just take a moment, talk to my wife, and I’ll go in and talk to the manager.”

  I paused, looked at the woman in the back of the car, then the man in a suit that was driving. Though I had no idea what they wanted, nothing about them seemed dangerous, and if Mr. Logan could help me keep my job . . .

  “Fine,” I said, “I’ll talk to your wife.”

  He smiled his gratitude, then walked me over to the car. I opened up the doors—they opened backward like something out of the movies, and I stepped in—wondering what in the world these people wanted.

  Chapter 4

  Images of Major Logan stayed with me on my drive home. I was still thinking about him when my cell phone rang and I saw my best friend, Cynthia’s, name pop up on the screen.

  “Hey, girl, what’s going on?” I said, after answering the phone.

  Cynthia and I had been best friends since middle school. But our lives were so different now. She’d pledged a sorority, graduated from college, and was enjoying the single life while traipsing all over the country in her job as a pharmaceutical sales rep. But we still remained close.

  “Just calling to check on you,” she sang. “I just got back from Dubai and I’m trying to see what’s been going on in your life.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “You have no idea. Between work, my mom, Destiny, and Malcolm not being able to find a job, I swear, I need a vacation.”

  “At least he’s given up that app dream.”
r />   “Girl, you know he hasn’t. He’s convinced that that he just needs to make the right connection.”

  “Well, it is a great idea, but ideas don’t pay the bills.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir,” I replied.

  “I told you that you should’ve come to Belize with me last month. You need to let your hair down.”

  “Oh, yeah, because I so have money for that.” Cynthia had offered to pay my way, but I wasn’t going to be that broke friend. Besides, even if Malcolm could watch Destiny, I couldn’t leave my mother.

  “So Malcolm is still not having any luck on the job front?” she asked. I pictured her, lying across her sofa, her feet dangling as she enjoyed her carefree life.

  “Nope,” I replied, pulling into the CVS to pick up some Pampers for Destiny. Well, not Pampers. Since Malcolm had lost his job, we’d gone generic on everything. Now, the diapers we bought were just called “diapers.”

  “You’d think an auto mechanic-slash-maintenance-slash-handyman-slash-tech guru would be able to find a job,” she said. “Malcolm can do everything.”

  “I know,” I said as I made my way into the store. “And he gets odd jobs, but not enough to get and keep us out of debt. He’s convinced that if he could just get a small business loan, he’d be set, but neither of us has any real credit.”

  “Isn’t it sad that we never learned about credit growing up?”

  “Isn’t it sad we don’t have the connections to get million-dollar little loans,” I added and we both laughed.

  Cynthia and I made some more small talk as I bought the diapers and headed back to the car. I had just pulled out of the parking lot when I said, “Oh yeah, let me tell you what happened at work today.” After I’d talked to Mrs. Logan, Mr. Logan stayed true to his word, and Tony had allowed me to come back and finish my shift. I don’t know what kind of clout he had, but Tony was extra nice to me after that.

  “I still can’t believe you’re working at Starbucks.” Cynthia tsked.

  “Like I told Malcolm, I gotta do what I gotta do.” I turned the corner out of the lot as I began to recap the story. “But listen. So this older man that has been coming in the store all the time asked me to talk to him.”