Magnus

by Tina Martin

  “I can’t tell you how to grieve or when to stop, man. All I speak on is what I know and what I see. You’ve changed. The years have beat you up and took your spirit.”

  “No. Losing my family has taken my spirit. It’s taken my will to live. It’s taken everything. I have nothing to live for. Nothing.”

  “That’s bull. You have this company. How will MJS function without you? You have your friends, me—at least I hope you consider me a friend. You have wealth, power, prestige—you have everything most people are striving for. You have plenty to live for.”

  “Then why do I feel like I have nothing?”

  “Look, Mag, I don’t know what you’re going through. I haven’t suffered any kind of loss as devastating as you have but if therapy isn’t working for you, you have to find a way to get ahead of this. Intentionally trying to have a baby by a woman you don’t love doesn’t seem to be a good plan. I told you that years ago and I’m telling you again.”

  He’s right, it’s not a good plan, but it’s the only thing I have going for me at this point.

  The chirp of my phone has me pulling it from my pocket, giving me a much-needed break from an impromptu therapy session with Bransen. I look at it and see the text message from Shiloh:

  Shiloh: Going to see Papa. Hope you’re having a good day. ~ Lo

  “I have to get back to the office,” I tell Bransen. “Thanks for the chat.”

  “We should do drinks on Friday and continue this discussion.”

  I’ve never taken him up on his offer for drinks. It’s my way of mentally not crossing over into the friendship arena with him. He’s my consultant. That’s it. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

  * * *

  In my office, I reread Shiloh’s text message:

  Shiloh: Going to see Papa. Hope you’re having a good day. ~ Lo

  I can hear her voice in my head as I read her words. She’s the only adult woman I know who calls her father, Papa.

  I wonder what she’s wearing as she leaves the house. Is she dressed warmly? Has she taken her vitamins? Did she eat a good meal? Did she sleep well?

  Besides her kind heart and good looks, another thing that attracted me to Shiloh is the fact that she seems just as broken, empty and confused as I am.

  Our souls match.

  We’re on the same wavelength. I feel it when I’m with her, but I fight it off with nonchalance and lack of engagement. If she didn’t hate my guts, she’d realize that. I didn’t experience this kind of connection with my other two failed prospects. That’s how I know Shiloh is the one who will give me a baby, preferably a son who can carry on the St. Claire name with pride long after I’m gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shiloh

  “Hey, Papa.”

  “Lo!” he says like he hasn’t seen me in a while. “Come on in here, girl.”

  I step inside. The house is still a mess but smells like good food. He’s sitting on the couch with a carry-out plate – collard greens, fried gizzards, two pieces of fried chicken and a plain, white piece of bread. For a drink, he has an Arizona Iced Tea.

  He pops the can open, takes a long swig then looks at the can. His fingers are greasy. I don’t see a napkin in sight.

  “This the drink that boy had when that crazy man killed him. Know who I’m talkin’ ‘bout? That Trayvon Martin boy.”

  I nod, remembering the story – another black life gone too soon over some nonsense. And the killer walked.

  “Where did you go today besides the soul food joint?” I ask him.

  “Had to go to dialysis.”

  “You drove yourself?”

  “Sho did…fired that bad boy up and smoked all the way there.” He chuckles. “She smokes, but she can run. And when I left, I picked me up some food. They fixed me up real good—got more ham hock pieces in them collards this time just the way I like it.”

  “You don’t need all that ham hock—it’s not good for you.”

  “Neither is that peach cobbler I got over there, but yo’ papa gon’ put a hurtin’ on it.”

  He laughs, picks up a fork and dives in. Papa hums when he eats good food. I think the soul food joint where he got this meal reminds him of mama’s cooking. He’s going to town, tearing it up – don’t offer me a thing, then out of nowhere, he stretches his arms high, brings them down and wipes his greasy hands on his jeans.

  “I got a bit of good news for you, Lo.”

  “What’s that?”

  “On the way home, I got a call from my doctor. Now, listen to this—‘member how last week, he told me I was number forty-eight on the transplant list?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now, all’a sudden, I’m number two. You hear me, girl. Two!”

  “That’s awesome, Papa!” I say excited even though I know the true source of his major jump on the list. Magnus has stuck to his word, not that I doubted him, but I didn’t think he would act so soon, especially since he hasn’t made any attempts to get me pregnant yet. He’s giving me everything in advance – the guesthouse, the million, the kidney. It’s as if he’s so confident I won’t back out of the deal when that’s all I’ve been thinking about doing all day – walking away from him and this nonsense while I still could. But at hearing this good news from papa, I don’t think I can walk away. I have to be a woman of my word and give Magnus what he wants.

  “The doctor thinks I’ll get a call this week.”

  I’m relieved he’s going to be fine after all. I can see and hear the excitement in his voice.

  “I’m so happy for you, Papa. This is going to change your life.”

  “Sho is. I’m gon’ be a new man.”

  “A new old man,” I say teasing him.

  He sips tea. Looks at the can. Probably thinks about Trayvon Martin again.

  “How have things been going around here otherwise?” I ask.

  He sets the can on the table. “Good.”

  “Have you been doing a lot of cooking?”

  “I’ve been warming stuff up in the microwave mostly. Maybe when I get my new kidney, I can get back into cooking and all that.”

  “I hope so, Papa.”

  When my phone rings, I look at it and see it’s Rico calling.

  “Hold on, Papa, let me take this,” I say then answer, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Lo. How are you, my dear?”

  “Good. What’s up, Rico?”

  “I’m going to need you to come in this evening around six.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s a little after four.

  “Why?”

  “I’m short-staffed. Two of the girls can’t make it in tonight.”

  “Oh, so now you need my help when before, you were ready to kick me to the curb.”

  “Please, Lo. I’m desperate here. And I didn’t kick you to the curb. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…alright. I’ll be there,” I tell him. Shoot, it’s not like I had anything else planned. It beats being in the solitary confinement of a billionaire’s guesthouse.

  “I owe you one. Thank you.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll see you at around 5:30 then?”

  “I’ll be there,” I assure him again, then hang up. I tell papa, “They want me to come in early tonight at the bistro.”

  “That’s good. I’m sure you could use the extra money.”

  If he only knew how much extra money I actually had…

  “Yeah. You’re right.”

  While I have it on my mind, I send Magnus a text to let him know where I’ll be most of the night – not like he gives a crap – but I’m taking Lucille’s advice and following rules at this point. Holding my phone, I type:

  Working at the bistro tonight. I will arrive there at approx. 5:30. Not sure what time I will be getting off so don’t wait up for me. ~ Lo

  I added the last part for kicks. I’m certain his head will spin in circles when he sees it.

  “Papa, I’m going to head h
ome and get ready for work. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will. Right now, I have a date with this here peach cobbler.”

  I smile and give papa a kiss on his unshaven face. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Lo.”

  When I’m near the door, he says, “Hey, maybe you can find Selah and tell her the good news.”

  “Maybe,” I say but I also know some people don’t want to be found. Selah falls into that category.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Magnus

  It’s about six o’clock when I arrive at the bistro. I’m at my usual table, waiting for the second she comes out of the kitchen.

  Shiloh.

  I find my slight desperation to see her troubling, but this is where I am and I’m not afraid to give in to my desire this once. When she comes through the double swinging doors with a tray of food, her eyes automatically finds mine almost like she was expecting to see me. She walks right past me. She doesn’t speak or give any indication she’s noticed me. She just walks on by.

  I smirk. I’m ready to play this game.

  Once she’s dropped off the food to the table in the corner, she whizzes back pass me then a few minutes later she emerges again with water, two lemon slices and wine. She leaves it on my table while I stare at her up close. Her lips look fuller today. Must be the red gloss. Her eyes are clearer and bright. She’s alert, on her B-game. She smells sweet like cotton candy, not her usual scent.

  “I’ll have your appetizer out shortly,” she tells me, then makes a run for it.

  “Shiloh.”

  She turns around to look at me. “Yes? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. Come here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I asked you to.”

  She takes a few steps back to my table. She stands there, her body slumped near me like I’m a bother.

  “You could speak, you know,” I say to her.

  “Oh, I can? I didn’t know if you had rules for that. Gotta make sure I don’t overstep my boundaries.”

  I stare at her and let the silence burn between us for a minute then say, “I’m still waiting for you to speak.”

  “Hi, Magnus,” she forces out, sounding exaggeratedly happy, fake smile and all.

  “Hi, Shiloh.”

  “I’ll have the rest of your meal out soon.”

  “No. Sit down.”

  Her eye twitches. “There you go with that again. I’m working. Why are you even here?”

  “Because you’re here. Sit down, Shiloh.”

  “I can’t sit down. Rico is already down two waitresses tonight, and—”

  “Sit…down.”

  She slams down in the chair across from me and looks up with so much anger dancing in her eyes.

  “Why do you act like this job is your only hope when you’re a millionaire now? You don’t need this job. So what if you want to take a break?”

  “That’s the thing—I don’t want to take a break. You’re making me take a break. Now, what do you want?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what? How my day was?”

  “Sure. You can start with that if you want.”

  “My day was fine. I went to see my father. Did you not get my text?”

  “I got your text. How is he, by the way?” I ask. She looks up at me with those dark, deep eyes that stir a fire in my groin.

  “He’s okay. He told me he was bumped up on the transplant list.”

  I take a sip of wine. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “It is. I didn’t think it would happen so fast.”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “I don’t doubt that. I’m amazed you were able to get him moved up so quickly. How did you do it?”

  “I’m rich, and I have connections. I can do anything I want.”

  She nods, takes what I say for face value.

  “Can I get back to work now?”

  I stare at her for a long time, taking in her lips, their beautiful bow shape and those cheekbones that shimmers like she added a touch of makeup. She rarely wears makeup but I like the small touches here and there – the gloss, highlights, the mascara on those long lashes of hers.

  “Sure. You can get back to work.”

  She rushes off to get food that’s probably been sitting on the counter waiting. I hear her apologize to one of her tables about the delay. She brings over my appetizer then says, “He’s excited.”

  “Who? Your father?” I ask.

  “Yes. I think this might be what he needs to start over and finally stop living like he’s dying. I want him to be happy—want him to live like he’ll live forever.”

  “Is that your outlook on life? Do you live like you’ll live forever?”

  “No. I live like I’m taking it one day at a time,” she tells me. “That’s all I can do.”

  I take a sip of wine, never taking my eyes off of her. I return the glass to the table and ask, “Then why do you expect more of him?”

  “Because he’s lost so much and has suffered a lot. He lost my mother. She died a long time ago. He hasn’t been the same since. He fakes like he’s okay around me, but he’s not. He watches TV to pass the time. Eats soul food only because it reminds him of her.”

  “He’s still grieving,” I say. I know grief all too well.

  “I think so. Yes.” She pauses. “What about you? Do you live like you’ll live forever?”

  I ponder her question. I wasn’t prepared for her to toss it back at me.

  “Oh, sorry. Am I not allowed to ask you anything? Is that the rule?”

  “You can ask me whatever you want, Shiloh. It doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer. This time, however, I’ll humor you. No, I don’t live that way. I’m taking it one day at a time—like you.”

  “That’s surprising.”

  “Why’s that surprising?”

  “Someone like you who has everything should be living so much better than everyone else. You should be traveling, laid up on an island somewhere where it’s not winter and sipping something other than the same wine you drink every week.”

  She’s right. That’s exactly where I should be right now, with Nicoletta, of course. I haven’t had a vacation in years. Without Nicoletta and my son, a vacation is not a vacation – more like a pity party. “You’re probably right. I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “You—you say what now?” she stutters. “You’re taking something I said under advisement?”

  “Yes, Shiloh.”

  “You must be sick. I would place the backside of my hand on your forehead to check your temperature, but you’ve forbidden me from touching you, so—I’ma say this. If you need some Tylenol, I believe the CVS across the way is still open.”

  I find myself smiling, amused by her.

  Rico calls her away from the table.

  “Gotta go,” she tells me then hurries off.

  I watch her work for the rest of the night and don’t bother interrupting. I finish my food and leave, yearning for more time with her. More conversation. That surprises me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shiloh

  Tuesday, I didn’t work. I spent the day strategizing on what to do to with a million dollars. I thought about shelling out some to Selah but quickly changed my mind. I wanted to help her, but not her habit. She’d only spend it on drugs for herself and her drug-buddy friends, so that wasn’t an option.

  So, how else can I spend a mill?

  I don’t need a car. Magnus has already bought one for me. I want to buy papa a new truck, but then the questions would come. He won’t just take a truck and be happy. He’ll have to interrogate me.

  Lo, how can you afford this? Where’d you get the money? I can’t take this from you. You can hardly afford to take care of yourself. How’d you afford something like this? Did you rob the bank?

  The only thing I could come up with, short-term, is to pay off my father’s house so he doesn’t have to concern
himself with payments with his fixed income. He rarely checks his account. He won’t know the payments have ceased. He’ll just think he has more money than usual.

  So, that’s what my goal is today – Wednesday morning – paying off papa’s house. When I pull into the parking lot of the mortgage company, I realize I forgot to send a text of my whereabouts to Magnus. I take a moment to do so. I’ve already broken a rule. I don’t want to make it any worse:

  Shiloh: I’m in Uptown handling some business for papa. ~ Lo

  I send him the message not expecting a response because he never responds like the number he gave me isn’t his real cell. It’s a monitoring device for my every move. He’d be better served to put a GPS locator beneath my car.

  Then again, maybe he has.

  As I reach for the handle to get out of the car, I see his number on my cell phone.

  My entire body stills.

  He’s calling me. Not texting. Calling! Why is he calling me?

  After having a somewhat normal conversation with him at the bistro Monday night, I didn’t hear from him at all on Tuesday.

  Today, he’s calling.

  “Hello?” I answer before the call goes to voicemail.

  “Are you in Uptown right now?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Next time, let me know where you’re going before you leave the house. Don’t wait until you get to your destination. Understand?”

  For argument’s sake, I say, “Yes.”

  “Where are you in Uptown?”

  “I’m in the parking lot at a mortgage company.”

  “Which mortgage company?”

  “Sunrise Financial.”