Virtuous Deception 2

by Leiann B. Wrytes

  Chapter 38

  Brianna lay sprawled across her mother’s bed, curiously awaiting the conclusion of the war of whispers Sophie was engaged in on the phone in the hall, a nail’s length beyond the door frame. Following a particularly intense exchange with Armand, Brianna had taken a cab to her mother’s home, seeking refuge.

  Armand’s antics were tinkering with her fragile grip on sanity. Her nerves were already stretched to capacity trying to manage her feelings about the probability of seeing Javan again, the man who haunted her thoughts. It seemed like he was chasing her underneath a cloak of invisibility, spying on her through her bedroom walls, and left his inescapable essence nearly everywhere she went. The thought of driving herself to the Terrell State Hospital crossed her mind several times since she had roped Dr. Baxter into her quest for a reunion.

  She was extraordinarily confident that he would come through for her and, according to their last conversation, he was getting close. That little tidbit popped the last guitar string on the instrument playing a tune for her and Armand, stripping her of any patience she had left to deal with him.

  He had been invading her privacy as usual, an unnerving practice that guilt coerced her into accepting, as he pressed her for details she was unwilling to share. His attitude soured by the second, and she had to get out of there. The argument drifted away from her conversation to whatever random nonsense rattled around in his mind. He kept rambling about some Grayson guy who Brianna had never heard of.

  Her expectation for change following the incident had weakened into nothingness with the passing of that first awkward week. Initially, Armand quelled his urge to smother her, but something had changed in the last couple of days. His larks and erratic behavior had worsened substantially. He began interrogating her after phone calls and demanding to know her every move. Brianna thought she might snap if she didn’t get some relief.

  Sophie had been very hospitable and lulled Brianna into the comfortable space she craved. Their conversation had been reasonably pleasant, despite the incessant interruptions from her lawyer. Brianna’s growing curiosity easily eclipsed her annoyance. Sophie barely even ventured to take bathroom breaks when they were together. She so desperately wanted them to bond that Brianna was sure she would hold her breath if she felt it would interfere. Her mother taking a call, let alone multiple calls, indicated the importance of the matter being discussed. Something was up, and Brianna wanted to know what.

  The flickering in her belly fueled her desire to snoop, reminding her that she had someone else to consider, to protect. Since Sophie took each call out into the hall, out of earshot, Brianna assumed it had nothing to do with the will and was most likely something Sophie didn’t want her to have any knowledge of. Unfortunately for Sophie, Brianna’s hearing had greatly improved since she mastered the art of quieting her mind. Her mother’s hushed tone amplified as she concentrated on it. Stretching across the large, king-size bed, listening to every word, she made a mental record of her mother’s half of the conversation.

  “I don’t want to give her anything. That is unequivocally off the table. Take care of it.” Sophie shifted her weight from one side to the other, sighing audibly in frustration. Brianna caught the subtle shades of panic in her mother’s blue eyes, casting a worry line in her direction.

  Noticing Brianna, Sophie waved in greeting, rolling her fingers across intangible ivories, offered a weak smile; but she continued talking, incorrectly assuming her words were private. “I thought the payment was all that was needed, Steven. Why isn’t he being moved?”

  Who was the he her mother was referring to? The only person Brianna could think of was Dr. Baxter, but she could not create a scenario that would make that question applicable.

  “One thing at a time. Focus on the grounds and getting that motion dismissed. I will take care of Charlie. . . . It does not matter. I can handle her. Just do as I say, Steven.”

  Charlie? Nothing involving that woman could lead to any good place, and Brianna couldn’t fathom what business her mother had with her. She could only hope that it would not adversely affect her or her child.

  Her child. It still felt a little weird, that notion. Still, she couldn’t persuade her lips to part for the request for parental advice to emerge. This part of her mother, the murky water she lived in, persistently worked against reconciliation. Trusting a person, especially this person, her mother, who intentionally left so much of herself shrouded in darkness, fictionalized the idea of a tangible relationship. The reality of being birthed, then sold on a whim, consistently thrashed its fiendish edges, slicing through every reasonable argument that might allow for a bridge connecting their cliffs to be borne, reducing her mother’s delineation of what transpired to nothing more than an excuse, unworthy of any space on her mental landscape.

  Prior to this period in her life, where she now found herself trying to navigate the intricate dynamics of the complexity of motherhood, empathy was not possible. Feeling her own seed fluttering about in her belly was the single driving force behind her newfound ability to gradually accept that her mother had acted out of hopelessness and desperation—two things Brianna could certainly identify with at the moment.

  “Sorry about that,” Sophie stated, rejoining Brianna in the room. Rolling over on the bed, Brianna made room for her mother to sit beside her. “So, where were we?”

  Brianna wanted to ask her about her conversation but decided not to. She had enough going on without inviting her mother’s issues to her party. Besides, she was in no hurry to recreate the tension that had brought her there in the first place.

  “You were telling me about Dr. Baxter.”

  “Ah, yes, Peter. He didn’t tell me that he knew you. I wondered how he got my number, but . . .”

  “I didn’t give it to him. Up until a few days ago, I didn’t know he knew you, either.”

  “Humph . . . well, anyway, we went to school together. I have known him for a very, very long time.”

  “Has he contacted you?”

  Sophie didn’t sprint off, but she got the crap, the police are behind me look in her eyes.

  “What was the nature of your relationship with him?”

  Sophie scooted to the edge of the bed, surgically increasing the space between herself and Brianna. “Why does that matter?”

  “Is telling me a problem?”

  Cupping the back of her neck with her hand, an uncomfortable Sophie danced her way to answer. “We were high school sweethearts. Circumstances stifled what could have been. I broke things off with him. Met your father and never looked back.”

  “Must have been pretty intense.”

  “Excuse me?” Sophie looked back at Brianna, still lying on the bed.

  “Serious?”

  “Between your father and me?”

  “Peter.”

  Sophie shook her head. “Oh, whatever was between us evaporated centuries ago and is as valuable as a silver dollar now.”

  Brianna doubted that. “Are you sure about that?”

  “I have a lot going on right now. Building our relationship. Mending things with Michelle. I cannot even think about Peter.”

  “Well, I guess it’s just my luck that he saw me that night, or your luck rather.”

  “My luck?”

  “I have not been on his mind for twenty something years. He isn’t chasing me.” Brianna pretended not to see the coy smile that crept into her mother’s face.

  “Brianna, Peter thinks everything happens for a reason, you know? So, he may feel responsible for you or something. Given the situation.”

  Brianna had picked that up from him.

  “You aren’t curious about your father at all?” Sophie asked.

  “I guess I am. I don’t really feel one way or the other.” Thoughts of Frank ran through her mind. “I grew up with a great dad, and I never knew Lewis. I guess I didn’t miss him.”

  Turning over on her back, she admired the artwork on the high ceiling, deciding, after caref
ul study, that it looked like an illustration of randomness. It was the type of art the untrained eye would credit a child with. Brianna did not recognize anything in particular, but the massive mash of colors was breathtaking.

  Sophie lay down beside her. “If anything changes, I’m here,” Sophie stated, giving her a hand a quick squeeze.

  Brianna continued looking at the painting, bathing in its energy.

  “I had this done about a month after we moved into this house. Needed the color. Your father and I, Lewis, were falling apart. This reminded me to live each day. To smile.”

  Placing an invisible hand over her mouth, Brianna stuffed her inappropriate humorous quip about Sophie’s need to have color in her bed being the catalyst for her suffering back into her dungeon of forgotten funnies, swallowing her words until the urge to speak them had passed.

  “How so?”

  “The curve is so high that you can only see the painting from this position,” Sophie offered, illustrating the high point of the curved ceiling with her finger as she spoke. “Life is similar in that it does not matter how much you have or lack. Happiness, peace, joy are all about perspective. Things might look pretty bleak, but if you find the right position, you’ll see the beauty in your situation.”

  Brianna meditated on her words for a minute. “I cannot stop looking at it.” Brianna gasped as she felt her belly flutter, much more dramatically than before. She unconsciously draped a protective hand over her stomach. “A bowl of passion and energy. Simple, but exquisite. Reminds me a little of Charles Alston’s work.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s an African-American painter. Mentored Jacob Lawrence.” Glancing at her mother’s expression, she continued. “I assume you are familiar with Lawrence.”

  Sophie didn’t give an indication one way or the other.

  “Maybe not.” Of course she didn’t know. Her mother seemed educated, knowledgeable about many things, but she was white. It wasn’t surprising that she wouldn’t know about the brilliant gems polished during the Harlem Renaissance.

  Brianna took in the subdued look on Sophie’s face from her profile. “Maybe we can go see some of his work at the African American Museum.”

  “Alston?”

  “They have a few pieces by Lawrence. Beautiful pieces.”

  “I’d like that. Did you study art in school? College?”

  “Not more than what my degree required. Traveled a lot. I guess my eye developed from seeing the Creator’s artwork in nature. Cultivated my appreciation for the artists’ eyes. Of course, their gifts are remarkable, but their vision is what I am most impressed with. The why behind the production. Lawrence is one of my favorites, and I am well-versed in everything that has anything to do with him.”

  Sophie’s mellow tone livened up. “Really? I would love to hear about him.”

  “Sure thing,” Brianna offered, mentally withdrawing from their current dialogue and disappearing again into the painting above her. “Back to you and Peter.”

  Sophie laughed uncomfortably. “Why the interest in him?”

  “His interest in me.”

  “What do you mean?” Sophie asked, concerned.

  “He has gone out of his way to help me. I haven’t always been the most agreeable person, but he hung in there anyway. Not sure what his angle is, and I don’t want any more surprises.”

  Sophie flipped over on her side, facing Brianna. “Peter is a very decent person. He doesn’t move with hidden agendas. I don’t know how credible an endorsement from me is, but if it has any weight with you, you can trust him.”

  Brianna felt her chest tightening. She sank her teeth into her lips to break the numbness ensuing. She didn’t want to have this talk, yet it was one she knew she could no longer avoid. Her mother’s last remark foretold their direction.

  “Brianna, I cannot—”

  “Mom, please don’t.” Brianna focused more on the painting above her, picking pieces to concentrate on in an effort to keep her emotions under control. Knowledge of pregnancy seemed to have turned her into an emotional mess, subject to burst into tears over anything.

  “I made a horrible mistake, and I appreciate you giving us a chance to breathe.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “I know that this had been very difficult for you. Maybe I am not what you expected.”

  “Stop, please,” Brianna begged.

  “Brianna . . . no! You will talk to me. Right now!” Sophie screeched, bordering an emotional dam herself as her frustration took over. “I am no mother at all if I let us stay this way.”

  “You’re barely a mother now!” Brianna retorted.

  Sophie gasped, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Maybe I deserve that.”

  Closing her eyes, Brianna took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean that, Mom.”

  “Yes, you did, and that’s okay, Brianna.” Sophie took her forefinger and wiped the tears streaming down Brianna’s face. “You are my daughter, and I love you. Nothing I did changes that. I know my decisions don’t speak to that, but I do. Very much. Hate me. Loathe me. I’ll still love you.” Sophie was barely audible, her words like a soft falsetto. “Feel whatever you feel, just let me in, please. You can say to me whatever you need to say. Share your heart. I am not going anywhere.”

  Brianna inched closer to her mom, scooting down in the bed to nuzzle her face in the soft fabric of her chiffon blouse. “Passed me off to a stranger,” she mumbled. “People keep pennies longer than you kept me.”

  “I promise. I’m never letting you go again.” Sophie cradled her in her arms.

  Brianna allowed her mind to simmer, trying to pry herself loose of her fear so that she could fully receive what had been missing. “My life is nothing like it was and it never will be again. I don’t know how to trust you, but I need someone. I cannot do this alone.”

  Sophie pulled Brianna closer. “It is okay, Brianna. We will get through this. No matter what happens, I’m never letting you go again.”

  Brianna felt the dampness of her mother’s shirt and wept even more. Sophie held her tighter, offering Brianna comfort that only a mother could. Though she had only recently learned of Sophie’s existence, she had felt her absence for quite some time, rooting itself in the distance between herself and Lisa, an invisible chasm weakening their ability to make a genuine connection as she grew older.

  The unexplained loomed in front of her, embedded in the half-smile her mother wore that mirrored her own. Perhaps the space between herself and Lisa had been Sophie in a very real, tangible way. For the first time in months, Brianna did not have to rely on rationale to escape the solitude that seemed to follow her closer than a shadow. There, in her mother’s arms, she felt protected and loved.

  Chapter 39

  “Come on. We really need to get inside,” Frank urged as he stood leaning against the door of the cab.

  “My pain is getting worse by the minute. Moving is a . . . bit of a challenge.”

  Dropping the bags on the curb, Frank reached down to assist Lisa. He felt his nerves fraying as her turtle pace increased the inevitably of their capture. “Griffin probably sent him after us.”

  Lisa offered little to no support as he tried to help her stand, effectively replacing his apprehension with dread. This was not a good scenario. Now her slow pace shone like gold in comparison to her not moving at all.

  “This isn’t going to work. Hold on. Sit a sec.” He gently placed her back inside the cab while his mind drafted a new plan to accommodate the change. He kept constant vigil of his surroundings, searching for a plausible solution.

  “Frank . . .” Her face contorted as she struggled to breathe through the pain. “It hurts.”

  Bending slightly into the cab, Frank yanked the duffle bag from the floor behind the passenger seat. Lisa whimpered in pain while Frank sorted through its contents to retrieve the OxyContin prescribed to her.

  “Please hurry, Frank. It’s . . . worse.” Lisa sat with her back to the driver’s s
ide passenger door, feet dangling toward the sidewalk. Her gelatin frame shook with each pang emanating from her wound. Seeing Lisa leaning against the backseat, whimpering in pain, was enough to send Frank over the edge. He was not accustomed to seeing her so defenseless, and it struck a nerve.

  “I am. Hang in there.” Frank had the medicine but nothing for her to take it with. “Simmy, my man, got anything to drink in here? Water bottle?”

  The cabbie peered at Frank through the rearview mirror, observing as he opened the bottle and counted out the amount of pills Lisa needed to take. “Not a free one.”

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  The cabbie handed Frank the water bottle over his shoulder, keeping an eye on him through the mirror. “Say, is she all right? I can’t have nobody dyin’ in my cab.”

  “No one is dying.”

  “That’s good, ’cause I hit a cat once. Well, technically, the cat hit me . . . well, the cab. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep for weeks. Kept seeing that Cheshire cat from that Alice in Wonderland joint. Like he was haunting me on behalf of his dead homie. I’on know, son. I think a person would be worse, though.”

  Paying no attention to the cabbie, Frank twisted the cap off the bottle, placed the pills on Lisa’s tongue, and lifted her head while she drank them down. “Should be better soon.”

  He was relieved that she would not be in pain, but the pills usually made her very drowsy. He definitely would need help with her. They needed to get back to Dallas as soon as possible.

  “Did you know them dudes was high as shit when they wrote that joint? I found that out and was like, yo . . . that makes so much fuckin’ sense!”

  Frank scanned the loading/unloading zone for a familiar car and was relieved to find none. “Listen, my man, Simmy . . .” Frank peered into the front seat, finding Simmy’s gaze locked on him in the rearview mirror. “’Preciate you driving us out here. And the water.”

  “It’s yo’ money. Don’t know why you want to come to Newark Liberty International Airport over LGA, but mo’ money for me, so it’s yo’ play.”

  Frank laughed lightly, constantly scoping their scene. “This is an excellent airport, Simmy. The first in this area.”