by Angela Henry
“No one is blaming you, Kendra,” he said, gently stroking my hair. It dawned on me that this was the second tragedy to happen to a member of Rollins’s family in as many weeks and here I was crying on his shoulder. I was mortified and quickly pulled out of his arms.
“I know. I feel stupid. Thanks for the hug but I really need to get back to work.” I got into my car and started to close the door, but Rollins grabbed the handle and leaned down to whisper in my ear.
“Anytime you want to talk or just need a hug, let me know.” He closed my door and I watched as he headed back into the hospital.
When I arrived back at work, Noreen was standing in the hallway outside the classroom. Not realizing she was waiting for me, I started to walk right past her but she blocked my way.
“Kendra, I was looking for you earlier and you weren’t here. Please explain where you’ve been.”
I told her about Shanda and, figuring that I’d explained myself to her satisfaction, attempted once more to enter the classroom. But Noreen wasn’t finished flexing her muscles.
“May I ask why you think you have the right to just come and go as you please without even telling anyone where you’re going?”
“What are you talking about? I told Rhonda where I was going. Didn’t she tell you?”
“Yes, she did. But, Rhonda’s not the one in charge around here, is she?”
“No, she isn’t, but you weren’t around and I had an emergency.” I was trying hard to be calm but I could feel the blood rushing to my face.
“You mean Shanda had an emergency. What did it have to do with you? Are you a relative of hers? “
“No. But I didn’t realize I had to be a relative to show concern for one of our volunteers who’s going through a crisis.”
“You seem to be under the delusion that you’re more than just a teacher, Kendra. But that’s all you are, a teacher, nothing more. I’m the one in charge and your only job is to help these students prepare for their GED examination, and you haven’t even been doing that very well, in my opinion. You’re disorganized, unprofessional, uncooperative, and dishonest. I’ve been documenting every single instance of your insubordination and I expect you in my office after class this morning so we can talk about your future with this program.”
My face got so hot I felt like it would burst. Noreen had picked the wrong time to mess with me and it was high time I let her know that her tiny reign of terror was over, at least as far as I was concerned.
“Excuse me, but who in the hell do you think you’re talking to? You nosy, hypercritical control freak! You seem to be under the delusion that you’re running things around here. You don’t have an office. That’s Dorothy’s office and you’re nothing but a glorified babysitter until she gets back. Now, I know you taught kindergarten for thirty years, so I can understand if interacting with adults might be a bit difficult for you. I’ve worked in this program for almost five years and I’ve never had any complaints about my professionalism. You, on the other hand, have some serious issues, lady. Your micro-management is driving everyone around here crazy. We don’t need you breathing down our necks every minute of every day with your nitpicking comments. You’re so busy spying on us it’s a wonder you get any of your own work done. This program was running just fine before you got here and it will continue to do so when Dorothy gets back, which won’t be soon enough for me.”
“I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking, because I got a phone call from Dorothy last night and her mother isn’t healing as fast as they’d hoped. She doesn’t know when, or even if she’ll be back. I had a long talk with her about you and she told me that I was in charge in her absence and could handle things any way I see fit.” Noreen was staring at me. Her arms were crossed and she wore an expression so smug and condescending that my hand actually started to itch from wanting to slap her so badly.
“I cannot believe that you would burden Dorothy with this bullshit of yours when her mother is ill and she has much more important things on her mind. You’re pathetic,” I said in disgust.
“I may be a lot of things, Kendra, but I’m still your boss until further notice and since you want to be so difficult and don’t want to live up to my high standards for teaching in this program, I have no choice but to pursue formal disciplinary action against you.”
“Well, you know what, Noreen?” I said, having heard quite enough. “Since you know so much about my job and how I should be doing it, you can do it for me. I’ll be back when either Dorothy or someone with good sense is in charge.” I turned and walked away with Noreen’s loud voice echoing in the empty hall behind me.
“Where do you think you’re going? Kendra! Kendra, I asked you a question!”
“I’m going home and you can go straight to hell!” I yelled over my shoulder.
“Don’t bother coming back, Kendra! You’re finished! Do you hear me? I’ll make sure you never work as a teacher again!” Noreen’s voice was a high-pitched shriek.
In an impulsive bit of immaturity, which I felt was fully warranted, I spun around to face her. I wondered if she could see the steam pouring out of my ears. “Since you’re so fond of documenting things, document this, and then you can kiss it!” I yelled and quickly mooned her before walking out the door. I was feeling quite proud of myself, but I could hear Mama’s voice in my head saying, “Fool, what have you done?” I ignored it.
I drove around for a while and finally, predictably, ended up at Frischs’ Big Boy, nursing a double portion of hot fudge cake. My feeling of triumph had deflated a bit when I’d gotten to the center’s parking lot and looked up at the windows of the classroom to see all the students hanging out the windows. Some had been applauding and cheering, while others just looked sad. Rhonda looked like she’d just swallowed a bug. I didn’t blame her. Now she’d have to deal with Noreen alone. Poor baby. I still had my job at Estelle‚ and a bit of money in the bank, so I’d be okay for a little while. I didn’t think beyond a little while, opting instead to savor the thick, hot-fudge-covered chocolate cake with cold vanilla ice cream sandwiched in between. With what had just happened at work and Shanda’s suicide attempt occupying my mind, I didn’t notice the person who sat down at the counter next to me until I heard a familiar voice doing what it did best‚ complaining.
“What’s a woman gotta do to get some service up in here?” Joy Owens asked aloud to no one in particular. A few seconds later a waitress handed her a menu and set a glass of water and some silverware in front of her.
I glanced over and watched her examine her silverware for cleanliness and couldn’t believe that a chick known all over town for her bad attitude and poor customer service skills was looking for reasons not to leave a tip. Unbelievable. So far she either hadn’t noticed me sitting at the counter or she just wasn’t speaking. My bet was on the latter. I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking about the painting on Rollins s ceiling. Joy looked over and glared at me.
“What are you doin’ here? You get fired?” she asked, not realizing how right she was. I didn’t feel like talking about work, especially not with Joy, of all people.
“I’m eating, Joy. What are you doing here?” I said sarcastically.
“Might be lookin’ for a job after what happened at your uncle’s restaurant,” she said with a sly smile.
“What happened?” I asked, my head jerking up out of my cake plate.
“The health department showed up today for a surprise inspection. Said they got an anonymous call about an employee with an infectious skin disease working at the restaurant.”
Great, as if I didn’t already feel horrible. Now I’d caused trouble for Alex because of my prank on Noreen. But I didn’t feel bad enough to confess that it was me and my fictional case of ringworm that had prompted the visit from the health department. Apparently, Noreen wasn’t taking my abrupt departure, or my mooning her, very well.
“That’s insane. Who in the world would tell a lie like that?” Personally, I think I missed my calling as an
actress.
Joy shrugged and lit up a cigarette. A waitress walking past us to serve another customer set an ashtray in front of her, and Joy shot her a dirty look. “It was probably that pissed off ole biddy from last month. Remember the one who got all shitty with Alex when he told her she couldn’t make any substitutions on the side items for the special? Nasty bitch ranted and raved that she’d make sure nobody ever ate there again. Guess she was serious about that shit. But that man from the health department was only there a few minutes. Seemed kinda pissed that he had to come out at all.”
Thank God, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Against my better judgment, I decided to ask Joy about the painting she’d done for Rollins’s office.
“I saw the painting you did of Morris Rollins for Holy Cross, Joy. It was a lot tamer than your usual work. I was impressed.”
She rolled her eyes but I could tell despite her usual funky attitude that she was pleased by the compliment.
“I guess I’m ‘sposed to be flattered that you like that piece- of-shit painting? I only did it ‘cause I needed the money.”
“I’m curious. How’d you even get a gig like that?”
“One a the secretaries in the art department at Kingford goes to that church. She told me they were lookin’ for an artist. I gave ‘em the cheapest estimate and got the job.”
“So, what was it like working there?”
“Why are you all up in my business? How’d you even see the painting, anyway? I know you don’t go to church. So, you musta been either on your knees or on your back prayin’ with the good reverend, right? Wonder what that man a yours would think if I told him?”
“Why do you always have to be so nasty? All I did was ask you a question. You make me sorry I even try to talk to you.” I started to get up from my stool when she stopped me.
“Damn! You can’t even take a joke. You need to chill, for real, Clayton,” she said, laughing spitefully.
We both knew she hadn’t been kidding. I sat back down only because I really wanted to know about her experience working for Holy Cross.
“It wasn’t too bad workin’ there,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “They mainly left me alone to do my thing. But the reverend’s sister-in-law was a trip. Always breathin’ down my neck and tellin’ me to repaint shit. Like I didn’t know how to paint. So, I got even with her ass. I painted the painting I wanted to paint. You shoulda seen the look on that heifer’s face when she saw my interpretation of her precious brother-in-law. She went off. That was some seriously funny shit.” She laughed and, imagining Bonita’s shock at seeing what Joy had done, I laughed with her.
“Yeah, I’ve met Bonita Kidd. She’s definitely uptight all right.”
“You’d a thought she was the wife instead of the sister-in-law. Her husband was cool, though, with his too-tight-clothes-wearin’ ass.”
“You get to meet Rollins or his wife?”
“Nope. After she threatened not to pay me, I redid the painting, and got straight the fuck outta there. That’s the last time I’m doin’ some shit like that. I’m an artist. I can’t have anybody fuckin’ with my artistic vision like that. Where the hell is that waitress?” she asked, looking around fiercely.
Since my chocolate therapy session was over, I paid my bill and headed to my car. Then I remembered something that seemed a little strange to me from when I was at the hospital. Rollins had shown up. But Nicole wasn’t with him. Was she at home? Did I dare go to their house to see her? I figured I had nothing to lose and, filled with chocolate-induced courage, headed over to the reverend’s home.
Morris Rollins lived on the north side of Willow. I found this out by making a quick call to Gracie’s Gowns Galore and talking to Mona Carter. One good thing about living in a small town is that, if you didn’t know something about someone, you were usually only a phone call away from someone who did. According to Mona, Rollins had shunned living in the ritzy, exclusive area known as Pine Knoll in favor of the next most expensive area in Willow called Briar Creek. It was much newer than Pine Knoll and severely underdeveloped. Only four streets made up Briar Creek. The development had been abandoned when the builder went bankrupt, and only twenty of the planned fifty-plus luxury homes slated for construction had been built. The area behind the development was densely wooded and rumored to be home to packs of vicious stray dogs and homeless people.
The Rollins home sat majestically at the end of a cul-de-sac on a street called Rose Lane. It was a huge brick two-story that looked like a miniature castle and even had a small tower. Living modestly apparently isn’t something that appeals to Reverend Rollins. There were four other equally large homes on the street, all with expensive cars in the driveways, except Rollins’s, whose driveway was empty. The yards were immaculate with beautiful landscaping but it all looked a little too neat, a bit too artificial to me. I parked on the street and put on a pair of sunglasses before walking up the winding driveway to the front door. I rang the doorbell and heard it echo through the house. After about a minute, a short, middle-aged white woman in a nurse’s uniform and a bulky blue sweater answered the door. She looked annoyed, like answering the door wasn’t her job and she didn’t appreciate having to do it.
“Hello, I’m here to see Nicole Rollins. Is she in?” The nurse rolled her eyes. What was wrong with everybody today? Was there something in the water that was giving everyone a shitty attitude?
“Mrs. Rollins is sleeping right now. She’s ill and I have strict instructions from her husband that she not be disturbed for any reason,” she said and started to close the door. I wondered why a nurse was answering the door. I was surprised the Rollinses didn’t have a maid. Or did they?
“Is Florence here?” I asked, dredging up the first name that came to mind. I sure hoped this woman had never seen The Jeffersons.
“Who’s that?” she asked, looking confused.
“You know, Florence, their maid,” I said impatiently, giving off some attitude of my own.
“Reverend Rollins told me their maid is on vacation. I never knew her name.”
“How long have you been Mrs. Rollins’s nurse?”
“A week, and who did you say you were?” She was looking at me suspiciously, probably trying to figure out what in the world a woman wearing dark sunglasses and a headband, looking like a reject from Prince’s entourage, wanted with Nicole Rollins.
“I’m Mona Carter. I own Gracie’s Gowns Galore and Mrs. Rollins had scheduled a fitting today for a new dress. She asked me if I wouldn’t mind coming out here to do it. I’m sure she told me to come today.”
The nurse looked like she wasn’t quite sure what to do. I looked past her into the large, brightly lit foyer. From the little bit I could see it looked like a very beautiful house. But I hadn’t really expected anything less. I even thought I detected a hint of Morris Rollins’s cologne.
“I’m sorry, Miss…?”
“Carter, Mona Carter.” I could see by the look on her face that this wasn’t going to work.
“Right. I’m sorry, Miss Carter, but Reverend Rollins was very adamant about not disturbing his wife. And to be honest, I really need this job and don’t want to mess it up. You understand, don’t you?”
The only thing I understood was that I desperately needed to talk to Nicole Rollins and this woman was in my way. I didn’t know when I’d get another chance to see her with her husband out of the house. I wanted to get this over with so I could tell Harmon and Mercer everything and go on with my life, which now involved looking for a new job.
“I had no idea Nicole was even sick. What’s wrong with her, anyway?” I whispered, hoping maybe she’d throw me a crumb about what was going on with Nicole. No such luck.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that. Now, if you have any more questions, I’ll have to ask you to contact Reverend Rollins.” She closed the door in my face before I could say another word. Shit! What was I going to do now?
I started to walk back to my car when a large truck
bearing the name Lehman’s Used Furniture turned into the driveway. The truck stopped next to me.
“Are you Mrs. Rollins?” asked the muscular brother driving the truck.
“No. I don’t live here. But Mrs. Rollins is home.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said, and continued up the driveway.
I stopped and watched him park in front of the house. The driver jumped out and opened up the back of the truck while his partner, a short, squat, older man in a baseball cap, rang the doorbell. I crept back up the driveway and hid behind a clump of bushes near the truck. I was hoping there would be a chance to sneak into the house while the door was open for the deliverymen. But from the conversation I could hear the driver’s partner having with the nurse, it sounded like she might not let them into the house, either.
“Look, sweetheart, all I know is that we’re scheduled for a delivery today at this address. Now, we can bring it into the house or leave it right here in the driveway, makes no nevermind to us. Either way, it’s not stayin’ in our truck. We got pickups to make and there ain’t no room with that thing back there. So, what’s it gonna be?” There was something distinctly familiar about the man’s voice. But I couldn’t place it. The truck was shielding my view of the front door so I couldn’t tell who he was.
“Reverend Rollins never told me about any delivery. Go ahead and unload it and I’ll call the reverend to see where he wants you to put it.”
I ducked down low as the deliveryman went around to the back of the truck to help the driver. Minutes later the two men unloaded a large pine armoire, the kind people use as a second closet. Dang. Did Nicole have that many clothes? Or maybe it was for the reverend himself. The nurse still hadn’t come back to the door to tell them where to put it, so it sat in the driveway behind the truck. The drivers waited by the front door, smoking cigarettes. Finally, the nurse came back to the door.
“Okay, guys, the reverend said you could bring it on in. It goes in the maid’s room here on the first floor, just off the foyer. I’ll hold the door.”