BOMB

by Danielle James

  I opted for a pair of leggings and a sweater.

  I checked out of the hotel in time and crossed my fingers that Joan would let me stay with her as I got in my truck. I clicked my seatbelt into place and turned up the Lil’ Kim song thumping through my speakers.

  Thirty minutes later, my GPS told me I’d arrived at my destination. It was a nice house with gorgeous aster flowers in the front yard. My heart skipped a beat at their pretty pink petals. I wanted to bury my nose in them immediately.

  I had to compose myself.

  You’re not here to smell the flowers, Bellamy.

  I turned down the music blaring through the speakers and pulled into Joan’s driveway. I parked behind a red Toyota and crossed my fingers that she was home. The cold November air whipped around my legs and made me wish I’d worn something with thicker material like jeans.

  I pressed my numb icy finger against the doorbell and waited anxiously. Nerves munched away at my stomach. What if she didn’t believe I was her granddaughter? What if she was a bitch and turned me away? What if she simply didn’t have any room for me?

  The door swung open so fast that it sliced my nervous thoughts in two. In front of me stood a woman that was the spitting image of my mother. Her hair was cut in a silver and white bob that stopped abruptly at her shoulders and she wore glasses that were perched on the bridge of her slender nose.

  “Can I help you?” She asked, staring into my eyes. Her arms were folded and her stare was judgmental already.

  Shit.

  “Um…hi. Are you Joan Harrison?” I didn’t need to ask, really. There was nobody else in the world she could have been. She looked exactly how I’m sure my mother would have looked if she hadn’t let drugs take over her life.

  “Who’s asking?” Joan quizzed lifting an arched brow. She was a tough old lady. I could tell by the way her jaw was set.

  “I’m Bellamy Jordan.” I let my name hang in the air and it had the intended effect. The stern lines in her face softened then she opened and closed her mouth without letting a single word free. “I’m Crystal’s daughter and I heard her talk about you when I was little so I looked you up.” I offered a kind smile hoping she’d return it but she just gawked at me.

  “Crystal’s daughter? I never even knew my junkie child had a daughter. I refuse to speak to or see her.” Joan’s brown eyes examined me, scrutinizing every bit of my face like she was a personal ancestry kit. I fought the urge to roll my eyes but it was so damn strong. “Why are you on my doorstep now? You have to be every bit of sixteen.”

  “I’m eighteen and I’m not even gonna lie, Miss Joan, I need somewhere to stay for a little while.” Joan looked as if she’d solved a puzzle. A smug grin took over her face and she laughed a little. It was a laugh that made me want to curse her out.

  Calm the hell down long enough to have a place to lay your head, Bellamy.

  I swallowed the bitter taste of anger and smiled at Joan.

  “Of course you need somewhere to stay. Are you a junkie like Crystal?” Without warning, she gripped my wrist in her hand and yanked up my coat sleeve exposing smooth chocolate skin.

  I refused to ever be as weak as my fucking mother. I’d never use drugs and let them consume me the way she did. I hated that Joan even thought that of me but what did she know? I yanked away from her and glared, tugging my sleeve down.

  I pulled my lips back, baring my teeth and said, “I’m not a fucking junkie like her. I’m nothing like her.” She pressed her palm to her chest as if my words stole her breath.

  “You need to watch your mouth little girl.”

  “You need to watch your accusations,” I snapped before I could curb my attitude.

  “You think you’re going to stay here speaking to me that way? How do I know you’re Crystal’s daughter?”

  “You know. You can look at me and tell,” I frowned. I hated my mother but I couldn’t deny that I had her face. The deep brown skin and slanted brown eyes were dead giveaways.

  “Come in,” Joan finally said. I walked into her foyer and immediately smelled thanksgiving food. My stomach growled at the aroma of turkey and stuffing. I should have eaten something before I left the hotel in such a rush.

  We walked down a short hallway lined with pictures of Joan and other people that I didn’t know. It seemed like she was heavily into church. I swore I counted twelve crosses and pictures of Jesus.

  What the fuck had I gotten myself into?

  “Have a seat, Bellamy.” She gestured to the floral couch and I sat. In front of me was an ornate wooden coffee table with more framed pictures and other small knick-knacks that looked pointless and seemed to only take up space.

  It was a quintessential old person’s house.

  “Why have you just now bothered to look me up? Why couldn’t you have stayed with your mother or father or anyone else?”

  “Clearly, I don’t have anyone else.” A frown weighed my lips down and pushed my brows together.

  “Well, where were you staying before you decided to come knocking on my door?” I didn’t know how to tell her that I was staying in a house fully financed by a married man after I aged out of the foster care system. Instead of saying that, I went with a much more innocent answer.

  “I was staying with my boyfriend.” Joan turned her nose up immediately and looked at me like I was the spawn of Satan.

  “Your boyfriend?” She grunted out the words.

  “Yes,” I frowned.

  “What kind of self-respecting young woman shacks up with some boy? Crystal failed you horribly, I see. Didn’t she teach you that it’s not holy to give into lust that way?” Her expression looked split in half. One part looked annoyed and angry while the other looked full of remorse.

  “She didn’t teach me shit,” I scoffed. “She gave me up for adoption when I was seven years old and I haven’t seen her since. I don’t even know if she’s still alive and I don’t care.” A knot made it hard to swallow as memories of seeing her overdose for the first time flooded my senses.

  I kept wondering where my mother was when I was standing in front of school. Damp pavement scraped beneath my worm, scuffed up shoes. The holes in the soles weren’t that big but they still let in water from puddles.

  Mommy told me not to ride the bus and I told my teacher that my mother was coming to get me. She looked skeptical. Maybe I should have followed her lead.

  “Bellamy, do you want me to call your mother, sweetheart? You’ve been standing here for nearly an hour.” Mrs. Cartwright was a kind old woman that I always wished was my mother instead of the one I actually had.

  “No thank you,” I said with a sniffle. The tears had been threatening to fall for a while but I kept them at bay by telling myself that Mommy was just running late. Grownups ran late all the time.

  I tucked a strand of long tangled black hair behind my ear and forced a smile at the kind second-grade teacher. Mommy had to come. She promised.

  Ten minutes after Mrs. Cartwright went back into the school I looked down the street to see if I could spot Mommy’s red car. The street was empty though. Dread weighed my tummy down as I walked down the steps and stood on the sidewalk.

  I didn’t want Mrs. Cartwright to know that my mom didn’t keep her promises because we were always taught in class that promises were important to keep. If she knew that Mommy didn’t keep her promises then maybe she’d think I didn’t keep mine either. Maybe I’d be considered a liar just because my mother was.

  Shame heated my face as I dragged my feet along the sidewalk. Walking home was better than the look I’d see on Mrs. Cartwright’s face if she had to call my mom and ask her to come get me. It would have been a sad look and I was sad enough for everyone already.

  On my walk home, I thought about all the things Mommy would say to make me forgive her for not picking me up from school and I got mad. I got so mad that my head hurt. I’d never been that mad before.

  The pain sliced through my brain and made me want to curl into a
ball…or hit something. If I hit something, maybe the awful pain in my head would vanish. I balled my fists up until my nails bit into the heels of my hands.

  I had no doubt in my mind that if someone were to appear in front of me, I’d break something on their face. I had no idea why but the feeling of rage was piping hot and coursing through me. I broke into a run down the sidewalk turning down one street after another until I got to my apartment building.

  I raced up the steps two at a time. My heart and my head were competing to see who could pound the hardest. Sweat dotted my forehead and rolled down my back as I burst through the apartment door. My tongue was a thick and useless sticky wad as I panted my way into the kitchen.

  I tripped and fell on top of something warm and lumpy. I looked down to see that I was on top of my mother. I tripped on her without even looking. She was passed out on the kitchen floor. Her lips were a pale and wrong color that made my stomach twist.

  “Mommy!” I shrieked. My fingers turned to claws as I tore at her shirt, trying to sit her up. She was too heavy for me though. I begged her to wake up. Her skin was clammy but not ice cold and somehow I knew that meant she wasn’t dead.

  “Yo, Crystal. I got that shit you need, baby!” A deep voice called from the door.

  “Help!” I scrambled to my feet and ran toward the voice. I didn’t know the man who’d just walked into our apartment but I didn’t care. “She’s passed out!” I told him. He muttered a few curse words then moved into action.

  He gave her something in a needle and then ten minutes later her eyes fluttered open. I’d never felt so many contradictory emotions in my life. My body was overrun with them and I had no place to put them so I tied them together in a confusing bundle and shoved them as deep as I could into my mind. That’s where they needed to stay.

  When I blinked, I was back in Joan’s living room that smelled like Thanksgiving food, sitting on the floral couch and not in my childhood apartment. An involuntary gasp parted my lips and made its way into the air.

  “You okay, child?” Joan asked, her brows knitting together.

  “I’m fine.” I tugged at the wisps of short hair against my forehead and cleared my throat.

  “Crystal gave you up voluntarily without even telling me you existed? Well, where on earth is your father?” Joan asked, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her pristine clothes. The woman looked like she wouldn’t know a wrinkle if it bit her on the ass. She was dressed immaculately in Ralph Lauren from her glasses to her loafers.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, lady,” I snorted. Silence coated the entire awkward ass moment and I let it stick to me. I wanted Joan to see my face and know that I existed no matter how uncomfortable it was.

  “Well, since my daughter failed you and you don’t have a father I guess God would want me to take you in. However,” she paused for dramatics and I knew without a fucking doubt that she birthed my mother. “Since you’ve been out here sinning, I think you need to learn a bit of a lesson. I’m going to pray on it and see what God says to me. If he speaks to me and says I should take you in, I will. Until then, you can find somewhere else to sleep for the night.”

  I shut my eyes for a moment because what she was saying had to be a fucking joke. She was going to talk to God? Good fucking luck, lady because he never answered me before.

  “Are you serious?” I laughed a little hoping she was just playing. The blank expression on her brown face let me know she wasn’t bullshitting though.

  Dammit. I had to end up with the crazy religious grandmother.

  “I’m very serious. I don’t make a single move without speaking to God and I’m not about to just let anyone in my house. Especially not a heathen. You drove yourself over here so clearly you have a vehicle. I’d suggest you sleep there until I commune with God.”

  I blinked at her in disbelief for a few seconds before standing to my feet. “Can I please have Thanksgiving dinner with you?” I asked as sweetly as I could. It hurt my damn head to even pretend to be that nice.

  “I’m taking food to the church. That’s exactly where you need to be. You’re welcome to come if you want. Doesn’t mean I’m letting you sleep in my house yet.”

  “I know, I know. You need to talk to God,” I tried not to snicker at the absurdity of it all. I needed a place to stay and if that meant Joan had to talk to God then so be it.

  Joan stared at me for a few moments then clicked her tongue with disapproval. “You need to change your clothes if you’re going to church with me.” I looked over my outfit and slid my palms over my curves.

  “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

  “Everything. Do you have other clothes?” I had to stand and listen to my grandmother that I’d never met before, tell me all about how slutty I dressed because I had on leggings and a fucking sweater.

  I gritted my teeth and took the lecture then went out to my truck and found a pair of jeans and a Céline t-shirt. Joan grunted at me and shook her head. “Do you have anything that isn’t skin tight?”

  “No.” I rolled my eyes and got in my truck. Thank fuck I didn’t have to ride with her stuffy ass.

  ***

  Cyrus

  It was Thanksgiving Day and all I could do was sit in Brianna’s room and wonder why the hell Kim wanted to keep her from me. I had to dig myself out of the rut I was in but I was stuck hard.

  Against my better judgment, I called Pax. He was a pain in the ass but he was good at getting me unstuck. “Happy Thanksgiving, bro,” I chuckled when he answered the phone sounding drunk already.

  “Cyrus! What’s up? Are you at your parent’s house yet?”

  “Nah, not yet. I can’t stop thinking about Bri, man.”

  “Shit, Cy. Come on, it’s Thanksgiving. You gotta snap out of it. Look, I’m coming over. We’ll figure out something.” Just like I knew he would, he came to help dig me out of my self-pity ditch.

  Twenty minutes later, Pax was dragging me out of the house to Cross Point. “You of all people are taking me to church to get my mind off things?” I laughed at the notion.

  “Yeah, man. It’s the only thing that seems to work these days. I can’t take you to the bar. Plus all of the good ones are closed today. Yo, yall got any liquor at Cross Point?” He grinned at me.

  “No, Pax.”

  “Don’t they do communion?”

  “You use wine or grape juice for communion and that’s in the Catholic Church. Cross Point is Baptist.”

  “Well, whatever. I’m a Buddhist so what the fuck would I know? I’m one with everything. Including weed and alcohol.” He turned on So Fresh, So Clean by Outkast and a little bit of the pain in my chest started to fade.

  When we got to Cross Point the parking lot was full like I knew it would be. Every year our church held Thanksgiving dinner for those who didn’t have a family to spend the holiday with. Usually, I spent Thanksgiving with my parents but sometimes I dropped by church to see everyone. This was one of those years.

  “Maybe you’ll stop being a fucking saint and smash the secretary that keeps throwing you pussy,” Pax said before we walked inside.

  “I have to stop telling you things,” I groaned. He responded with a shrug.

  I made my way through the intimate crowd, giving out hugs and kissing babies. I was about to start sampling food when Pax elbowed me so hard in the ribs I doubled over.

  “What is wrong with you?” I grumbled, shoving him.

  “Look who the fuck is here…” He pointed across the dining hall to where Mrs. Harrison was standing and the entire world froze.

  Miss Red Dress.

  She stood beside Mrs. Harrison looking like an entire snack. She wasn’t wearing a glamorous red dress like that night in the bar but she couldn’t hide those curves and that ass if she wore a sheet. I cleared my throat because I had to do something to stop my dick from trying to stand to get a look at her too.

  “Isn’t that the sexy little thing from the bar? Red dress, Halle Berry hair cut? Old school
sexy with a phat ass?”

  “Yeah, that’s her.” I couldn’t even correct the way Pax went on and on about her because that’s exactly what she was. She was vintage-Halle-Berry fine.

  “What the hell is she doing here? She’s so bad this entire church should burn to the ground.”

  “To fucking ashes,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. Pax blinked at me and chuckled a little.

  “You need to go talk to her. Talk to her now.”

  “Why?” I frowned, taking a subconscious step backward. I could feel sin rising to the surface of my skin and the scariest part was…I didn’t want to wash it away.

  “I like her,” Pax shrugged.

  “You don’t know her. She’s probably trouble. A ticking time bomb.” Still, my eyes were locked onto her like heat-seeking missiles. I wanted all of her damn heat.

  “Who’s the lady she’s standing beside?” Pax asked.

  “That’s Mrs. Harrison. She’s been going here longer than I’ve been alive,” I told him. He gave me a slow nod in response.

  “Hey, Mrs. Harrison! Happy Thanksgiving!” Pax called across the dining hall. He waved her over and she frowned at him but walked over anyway. Miss Red Dress followed closely behind. I wanted to punch him in the damn mouth.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart,” Mrs. Harrison said kindly to Pax then me. I gave her a hug and tried not to stare at the chocolate temptation beside her. How the hell did she manage to make jeans and a t-shirt look so sexy?

  “Pastor, it’s nice to see you today. Who’s your friend?” Mrs. Harrison asked of Pax.

  “This is my friend, Paxton. He’s like my brother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Paxton. Where are you from?” Mrs. Harrison quizzed him.

  “Staten Island,” he replied. I glanced over at Miss Red Dress and she stared right into my eyes. It was like she had no qualms about the way she looked at me. Her stare was intense like a neon red sign flashing lust across her face.

  The feeling was mutual though.

  “No, where are you really from. Where is your family from? It’s not every day we see Oriental people at Cross Point.” My ears tuned in to what Mrs. Harrison was saying once I pried my eyes away from Miss Red Dress. I had to do damage control. She was one of our congregation members that didn’t care what she said out of her mouth or how ridiculous it was.