by RM Johnson
“Then undo it, Nate,” Monica said, angry. “I know she lied to you, she deceived you, but it’s nothing more than you’ve done a thousand times to a thousand other people.”
“It’s different,” Nate said, turning his back on Monica, walking toward the sofa at the other end of his office.
Monica hurried behind him, grabbed him by the arm, spun him. “How?”
“If she hadn’t told me she was having my baby, I would have never left you, okay?” Nate said.
Monica was stopped by the sincerity and regret she heard in Nate’s admission—so much that it took her a moment to say, “She didn’t make you leave me. The decision was yours. It’s over now. Now you have to make right what you did wrong. You took her child, and you have to find a way to give him back.”
“I can’t.”
“You can, Nate. I know you. You found a way to take him, you can find a way to get him back.”
“Fine,” Nate said, downing the last of the drink. He set the glass down on his desk. “Come back to me, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Again Monica was forced into silence, but only for a second. “You disgust me. You could possibly reunite this baby with his mother, but only if you get what you want out of the deal.”
“I know it hasn’t always seemed like it, but I still love you, Monica,” Nate said, taking her hand.
Monica snatched her hand away from Nate’s grasp, as if he had assaulted her. “Don’t ever say that to me again, and don’t you ever touch me.”
“Nathaniel misses you. You can come back,” Nate said. “I promised myself I would not ask you, but if you wanted to come back, I’d let you.”
It was becoming all too much for her, the nerve of him, his resistance to undoing possibly the worst thing he’d ever done, and then his trying to make a deal to win her back in the same breath. “Will you talk to Trevor about the baby, see what you can do?” Monica said, ignoring Nate’s request.
“I already told you, if you come back, I’ll do everything I can to get Daphanie’s son back to her.”
Monica narrowed her eyes on Nate, wanting nothing more than to spit in his face. She suppressed that urge and said, “Then Daphanie will never get her child back.”
59
Daphanie sat in her car, only the single penny Nate left her to her name. She was older than she should’ve been to have had a baby, and by the grace of God, the child turned out healthy. Daphanie knew she would not be having another.
She looked out her window, up at Trevor’s house. What other choice did she have?
She had called him up an hour ago to ask if it was all right if she came over so they could talk. He said it would be fine. Daphanie knew her visit there would be not to have a conversation but to accept the terms that would allow her back into her baby’s life. She figured Trevor knew that too.
It was the right thing to do. It hurt now, but in fifteen, twenty years, when Daphanie would no longer need Trevor’s permission to be with her child, she would know, definitely, that she had done the right thing.
Daphanie crossed the street, walked up to the house, and rang the doorbell once. The door opened almost immediately, as if Trevor had been waiting there behind it.
He looked good, and Daphanie could almost remember what had initially attracted her to this man. In his arms, he held their beautiful baby boy. The child smiled and reached out a hand to her. The gesture almost made her cry.
“It’s good to see you, Daphanie. Please, come in,” Trevor said, stepping aside so that Daphanie could enter.
60
Mrs. Ford opened the door and tried to smile as Lewis walked past her into Freddy’s uncle’s house. She closed the door, turned, and accepted the kiss Lewis gave her on the cheek. Lewis had called Mrs. Ford this morning, after not being able to keep Freddy’s threats out of his head.
Standing in the records office at work, the phone pressed to the side of his face, Lewis had said, “Yeah, Mrs. Ford, I know it seems like a while since we’ve spoken. I want to know if I can come by there and speak to you.”
Mrs. Ford had said yes, that the company would be nice, and she was looking forward to seeing him.
Stepping back from Mrs. Ford now, all Lewis saw in the older woman’s face was pain.
“We can talk in the kitchen,” Mrs. Ford said. “I can make you some lunch.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Lewis said. “I can get something on the way back to work.”
“No, you won’t. You gonna sit and have some decent food to eat,” Mrs. Ford said, leading the way down a narrow hallway toward the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, Lewis finished the last corner of a delicious turkey sandwich. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, crumpled it, and set it on the plate. Mrs. Ford sat at the table across from Lewis.
“Was it good?” she asked.
“The best,” Lewis said, patting his belly.
“You said you wanted to talk about something. It’s about my son, ain’t it?”
“Yes. Has he contacted you? You spoken to him lately?”
“I went to visit him a week ago. He wouldn’t come out. I waited and waited, told the man there I needed to see him. The man went, told Fred what I said, then came back and told me Fred said never to come back. That he didn’t want to see me no more,” Mrs. Ford said. She reached for one of the napkins on the table, folded it, then dabbed the corners of her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ford,” Lewis said, squeezing one of her hands. He thought about telling Mrs. Ford about the threats Freddy had made, asking her if she thought he had any reason to worry, but it seemed this woman knew no more about what Freddy was thinking than he did. “Do you … do you know when they’re supposed to be letting him out?”
“My baby is gonna be locked up for three years. Are you going to visit him?”
Lewis relaxed some, his thoughts being validated. The only thing Freddy could do from behind the walls of that institution was make threats. Lewis stood, thanked Mrs. Ford for her time and the food, then said, “I don’t think I’ll be making it over there, considering how we ended. I … I hope you understand.”
Mrs. Ford looked saddened by what Lewis said but nodded. “Yeah, I understand.”
61
The day had been wonderful, just as Austin had expected. The sun was shining, and the temperature was a perfect seventy-five degrees. As they rode the tour boat that glided along the Chicago River, Austin found himself staring at Monica, wondering what kind of future they would create.
Monica turned, noticing Austin’s gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Austin said, smiling and looking off.
They had lunch at an outdoor café on Rush Street, cabbed it over to the Art Institute on Michigan Avenue, and walked the quiet halls together, staring up at the beautiful, ancient paintings of da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Rembrandt.
From there, they walked to a small ice cream shop. Austin bought two waffle ice cream cones—cookies and cream for him, butter pecan for Monica.
They continued their stroll along the lakefront to Buckingham Fountain.
Licking her cone, Monica turned to him. “You’re checking me out again?”
“No, I’m not,” Austin lied. “There was … this dog over there and … it was looking at me … so …”
“You didn’t want to be rude, so you looked back at the dog, gave it a little eye contact. Is that right?”
“Yeah.” Austin smiled. “That’s right.”
“You’re cute.”
“Is that why you walked back into my office, after you had left?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Monica grinned.
“Yeah, you do. You left, and you came back in, and that’s when I asked for your number.”
“Well, before I left, I don’t know, I had gotten the feeling that you wanted to ask but you didn’t. Something told me you might have been in there kicking yourself, so I wanted to give you one last shot at it.”
“I have my moments.”
Austin reached over and took Monica’s hand.
Immediately Monica stopped walking, looked down at their clasped hands, and said, “Uh … do we really need to take it there?”
“What?”
“The hand holding. Really?”
“Monica,” Austin said, letting go of her hand and stepping in front of her, “we’ve already had sex.”
“Sex is just physical, holding hands involves emotions. I thought we were clear on this, Austin.”
“Yeah, we were,” Austin said, feeling as though he had just been scolded. “We are.”
“But it doesn’t mean I like you any less,” Monica said, taking Austin’s face in her palms. “I still think you’re cute. Does that work?”
“Sure,” Austin said. Then under his breath, he added, “But I don’t know for how long.”
62
After Jahlil’s last class, he walked down the hall, then halted, shocked to see his father waiting at his locker. “What … what are you doing here?”
“Grab what you need. You coming with me,” he said.
Moments later, Jahlil sat in the passenger seat of his father’s van. “Where we going?”
“To the DCFS,” Caleb said, steering the van, his eyes on the road.
“Why you taking me there?”
“There’s someone there I want you to meet.”
“I ain’t meeting nobody,” Jahlil said, reaching for the handle of his door. “Let me out.”
Caleb brought the van to a screeching halt along the curb. He turned to Jahlil. “Tell me what’s going on. Who beat you up, and who did you say was dead?”
This was his father’s attempt to get close to him, be the buddy he had never been to Jahlil. It was too late for all that. “Ain’t nothing going on, and ain’t nobody dead, okay?” Jahlil said, turning and facing his window.
Caleb stared at him a moment longer, then threw the van back in gear and pulled off. “Fine, if that’s the way you want it.”
When they arrived at the DCFS building, Caleb introduced Jahlil to Lewis Waters.
Lewis stuck his hand out to shake. Jahlil rolled his eyes, till he felt his father’s hand heavy on his shoulder, squeezing him till it came close to hurting. Jahlil shook the man’s hand.
“Good to meet you, Jahlil,” Lewis said. “If you’d excuse me, I’m gonna talk to your father a sec and then we’ll be ready to go.”
Jahlil didn’t answer, just watched as Lewis and his father walked to the other side of the lobby.
Jahlil wandered a few steps toward a reception window and looked in through the teller glass. He saw desks and papers and envelopes. He knew this place, the Department of Children and Family Services building was where families with all sorts of problems came to hash out their business. This would be where, if Jahlil was a deadbeat like his father, Shaun would come to file for child support. But he wasn’t no deadbeat. He thought about what Bug said, about his ultimately getting locked up or ending up dead if he kept on robbing. Jahlil saw an image of Shaun holding their blanketed newborn, stepping up to this very window, asking for assistance, because Jahlil had gotten shot like Toomey.
He would never let that happen.
“Ready?”
Jahlil turned to see Lewis standing behind him.
“Where we going?”
“We just hanging out.”
Jahlil looked past Lewis to his father, who stood ten feet behind them.
“Go with Mr. Waters,” Caleb said. “You’ll have fun.”
Walking out to the parking lot, Jahlil did not feel unsafe with this man. He trusted his father enough not to allow some dude that was dangerous to take him. He just thought the guy was kinda goofy with his back-to-school outfit, khaki pants and oxford shirt. But Jahlil’s opinion changed when Lewis clicked the alarm on the big, black Cadillac Escalade. The alarm chirped twice and the parking lights blinked.
“Get in,” Lewis said.
“That’s you?”
“Why? You like the ride?”
“It’s a’ight,” Jahlil said, swinging the door open and jumping in.
They drove twenty minutes, listening to Lil Wayne, and Jahlil thought this Lewis guy couldn’t be all that bad.
Lewis parked the SUV outside some South Side project buildings.
“Why we stopping here?” Jahlil said, looking out the window. It was a spot not too far from his building, but the area was much worse.
“C’mon, get out,” Lewis said, climbing out of the Escalade.
Jahlil jumped out, walked around, and joined Lewis on the sidewalk.
“See that building right there?”
The buildings before him were all boarded up. The street curbs were lined with trash, and what grass had once grown was all brown and dead. There weren’t many people on the street—an unshaven man wearing a soiled white T-shirt shuffled by, and two kids riding bikes too small for them played a short distance away. Jahlil had driven by here before, and he knew it was the hood. “Yeah. I see it.”
“That’s where I used to live.”
“You used to live in the projects?” Jahlil said, surprised, given the Cadillac and the church clothes.
“Yup.” Lewis stared sadly at the building, lost in his thoughts. “Seems like another whole life ago.”
Lewis bought Jahlil a cheeseburger, fries, and a large pop, and bought himself a gyro and fries. They sat in the small fast-food joint off Thirty-Fifth and Indiana, not far from the projects they had just visited.
While they ate, Lewis filled Jahlil in on his life story—how his father had abandoned him when he was young, how he hadn’t finished high school, and how he had been to jail a few times for stealing. “The last time was just stupid. But I had to do it for my little girl.”
“You got a kid?”
“Yeah. Her name is Layla,” Lewis said proudly, digging into his wallet and pulling out a snapshot of her and sliding it across the table.
“She’s a little cutie,” Jahlil said, handing it back. For a brief second, he had the urge to tell Lewis that he was expecting a child, but he didn’t even know this man, so he stopped himself.
“How is it?” Jahlil asked. “You know, having a kid.”
“Best thing ever happened to me. It makes a man out of you, lets you know what’s important. It makes you wanna do the best you can do. It’s one of the reasons I ain’t got no problem walking around in these clothes every day—why I’m almost proud.”
“I feel you,” Jahlil said, sincerely, thinking that this man’s life hadn’t been much different from his own.
Back in the Cadillac, Lewis stuck the key in the ignition. “So, we’ve been where I wanted to go. I got an hour till I have to be back home. Anywhere you wanna go?”
“What you mean?”
“I mean, you got a chauffeur-driven Cadillac you sitting in, and the driver’s saying he’ll take you anywhere in the city you wanna go—for free. You don’t want to take him up on that?”
Half an hour later, Jahlil and Lewis sat on a park bench across from the apartment complex Jahlil had hoped to live in. The sky was darkening outside, but there was no threat, no cars racing by, no music blasting, no gunshots, no police sirens. In the distance, only a lawnmower could be heard, and the faint sound of children playing.
Jahlil sat peacefully.
“Why did we come here?” Lewis asked.
“ ’Cause it’s the opposite of how I grew up, and it’s where I wanna live one day.”
63
Lewis sat parked in his SUV two doors down from Freddy’s old girlfriend’s father’s house.
After Lewis dropped off Jahlil, he’d thought of going home, but Freddy was still on his mind. Going to see Kia, thinking that Freddy might have contacted her, was a long shot, considering Kia had broken up with Freddy and, worse, aborted their child. That had devastated Freddy and was probably the last straw that sent him off to try to kill Nate K
enny. But still Lewis knocked on the door of the mini-mansion, only to be told by Kia’s father that she wouldn’t be home until later this evening, after her classes.
Lewis thanked her father but decided to wait for her in his SUV.
After an hour, Lewis spotted Kia’s BMW pulling into the driveway of her house.
He stepped out of the Escalade and started down the block. Lewis and Kia had never been great friends. He hadn’t liked the way Freddy had dumped Joni for Kia, and that always came across whenever Lewis spoke to her—he always thought she could sense his dislike—but he would try to hide his opinion of her today.
Lewis continued toward the passenger side of her car, when he saw her climbing out of the coupe. She hadn’t seen him. She walked away from the car, toward the walkway of the house. When Lewis caught a full body glimpse of Kia, he froze in his tracks, gasping loudly, unable to believe what he saw.
Kia must’ve heard him. She turned, then immediately moved her huge purse in front of her stomach, in a failed attempt to hide her round, growing belly. Lewis wasn’t an obstetrician, but he knew what a six-to-seven-month-pregnant woman looked like.
“What are you doing here?” Kia said, shocked.
“You ain’t … you ain’t get rid of it?” Lewis said, marching quickly toward Kia. He stopped in front of her, staring down at her belly, still unable to believe what he was seeing.
“What are you doing here?” Kia said, her arm guarding her belly.
“Freddy told Monica he’s going to get the people who got him locked up.”
“I don’t blame him. That man, Nate Kenny,” Kia said, hate on her face, “something needs to happen to him.”
“It ain’t just him Freddy says he’s gonna get. It’s me.”
“You?”
“He say any of this to you?”
“Me? He hasn’t tried to talk to me. He hates me.”
“I wonder why that is,” Lewis said, staring down at Freddy’s baby. “That is his, right? You never aborted it.”