Okay. So it is true. What the fuck can I do about it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I can forget about my son getting a football or basketball scholarship; forget all those fantasies of seeing him play in the NFL or the NBA; forget about him ever giving us any grandbabies or, hell, what about his wedding? The part I hate the most about this whole affair is everybody in my family finding out that what they been saying about Trevor all along is true. I don't think I can handle it, really. So-I'ma just keep my mouth shut.
In the girls' room I just start throwing shit into piles, but it don't take me but a minute to realize that every single piece belong to Tiffany: clothes she don't fucking appreciate, 'cause if she did they wouldn't be on the goddamn floor. They just gotta have all this hip-hop shit these rappers who done all become designers overnight is selling and my kids and everybody else's kids is buying as fast as they can make it. Correction: I'm the one buying it. I open Monique's side of the dresser, and all of her things is folded. She always complaining that Tiffany is the slob, and she ain't never lied. And just look at all these sneakers: we should own some stock in Nike, 'cause that's all they wear. And if that Michael Jordan comes out with one more sneaker, I'ma kick his ass myself.
It takes me close to a hour to clean out this room, and some little kids gon' be happy as hell when they get all this stuff, some of which ain't never even been worn. I should have my own ass kicked for spending this kinda money on these kids. I fill up three of them big green trash bags that's made for leaves and grass and push 'em out in the hallway with my foot, and then kick 'em one by one down the steps till they in the middle of the entryway. I walk around 'em and go pour myself another drink. I wonder if Al caught any fish? I ain't calling him, that's for damn sure. I don't wanna get my feelings hurt if he ain't in his motel room. And I ain't in the mood for jumping to no conclusions. I shoulda told him Loretha called. I know it. But I didn't want him to be depressed while he was gone.
My recliner is waiting for me to bring my drink on over and sit down. It feel like somebody just took a vacuum cleaner and sucked all my get-up-and-go outta me. To hell with them Laundromats. They still as raggedy today as they was last week. Washers don't spin. Dryers don't dry. Everybody always want their money back. I don't know what we pay Pop- eye and Flozena for. They don't know what the word "upkeep" mean. And I sure don't feel like smiling at no drug dealers pretending I don't know they drug dealers who come inside to keep warm, 'cause whenever they see me-they know who I am by now-they always walk over and press their face against the window of a warm dryer, trying to act like they checking on they clothes. No. I think I've done enough for one day.
When the phone and doorbell ring at the same time, I damn near jump out this chair. "Hold on a minute," I grumble and stumble out to the front door. The mailman's truck: must be our checks. Probably too much mail to put in the box, so he's bringing it to the door. I open it. It ain't our normal guy, and this one just says, "Good afternoon, ma'am. Certified mail, if you would sign here, please."
And I do, and he hands me a brown envelope addressed to Albert Tous- saint, and it's from the IRS. I want to open it, but my name ain't on it. Just his. I lay it down on the side table and go on back in the family room and pick up the portable. "Yeah," I say as I walk over to the sliding glass door and look out into the backyard. What a dreary day. Patches of gray snow look like dirty clouds on the ground.
"Did I wake you up, baby?"
"Aunt Suzie?"
"Yes, it's me. Was you sleeping?"
"Naw, I just dozed off for a minute. How you doing?"
"I'm blessed and highly favored, if I do say so myself, although everybody keep telling me they swear I got a touch of Alzheimer's. That may be, but I won a hundred and forty-six dollars at Bingo yesterday. Or maybe it was two days ago. It don't matter. I won it."
"That's nice."
"Yeah, it sho' is. I'm going to look for me a car."
I know I must be hearing things. "Aunt Suzie, where in the world would you get that kind of money?"
"I been saving."
"Hold it a minute. First of all, when was the last time you drove a car?"
"In 1978, I thank it was. Some thangs you don't never forget how to do, baby, if you get Aunt Suzie s drift." And she lets out a howl.
"I thought you could barely lift your leg ever since you had your hip surgery."
"I'll manage."
"But what about all that medication you take?"
"That's my business. Ain't it? I'm tired of sitting in this house waiting for the senior citizens' bus or my friends to take me everywhere. Shoot. Sometimes I don't feel like being bothered with old folks."
"Do you have any idea how much cars cost these days?"
"I got almost sixteen thousand dollars in the bank, baby; I should be able to find something that run for that, you thank?"
Did she say sixteen thousand? I just grunt a chuckle. No wonder she done lost so much weight. She ain't eating. But Aunt Suzie been losing it in the head for a long time; I don't know how she think she gon' get behind a wheel. "Aunt Suzie. Let me ask you something. Do you have a current driver's license?"
"It's in my wallet."
"But is it current?"
"I don't know. Stop worrying so much, Charlotte. So how you doing these days?"
"I'm fine."
"That's good. And Al?"
"He's at work. Just got back from his fishing trip."
"Did he catch anything?"
"Yes he did."
"Then tell him to save me some for my Deepfreeze."
"I will."
"How the kids?"
"They fine. They at the movies."
"You still only got three of 'em, don't you?"
"Aunt Suzie, you know how many kids I got."
"It's too many to keep track of sometimes. How many?"
"Still three. Same as last week and last year."
"You know your Aunt Priscilla getting out of prison sometime this week."
"Don't give her my number, please, Aunt Suzie."
"I won't. She said she might wanna go spend some time with Viola, when she get back on her feet good."
I knew this call was really about Mama, she just getting around to it.
"At the rate she going, I betcha Viola gon' be dead before me."
"Stop talking like this, Aunt Suzie! I mean it!"
"I ain't said nothing that probably ain't true. I know it ain't what you wanna hear, but, hell, I may be losing my mind, but one thang fo' sure, I ain't got no problems breathing."
"Well, thanks for cheering me up, Aunt Suzie." "You're welcome. We all getting old, Charlotte. You is, too, so don't go acting like gon' live forever."
"You finished, Aunt Suzie?"
"Nope. How come you didn't take your ass out there to see your mama?"
Goddamnit! I don't need this from her, too. But. Say something. "Aunt Suzie?"
"I'm listening."
"First of all, sometimes people have reasons why they can't do certain things."
"That's why I'm asking, Miss Charlotte. I wanna know what kind of reasons you got that would stop you from going to see your own mama when she coulda died for all you know."
"But she didn't die!"
"She coulda. It ain't over till the fat lady sing. Ain't you heard that?"
"I couldn't afford it! There! You satisfied now?"
"Look, don't go raising your voice at me, missy. If you can whip out them damn credit cards to go to the mall when the spirit move you, how come you can't use one of 'em to get 011 a airplane?"
"I don't fly," I say.
"Then you need to learn," she says. "Goodbye, Charlotte. Have a nice day. And tell Al don't forget my fish. I ain't forgot."
Aunt Suzie always call at the wrong time. It never fail. I put the phone up and walk over and look at that envelope. Shit, I'm his wife. I got a right to open his mail. I do it so fast 1 get a paper cut. First of all, it definitely ain't no check. Not even close. It's a letter. I don't believe my
fucking eyes, and my ears start ringing when I read that the IRS is keeping our income-tax checks in order to start paying off his back child support. But he's paying child support! Loretha been getting money taken outta his check for years. What is this shit about? This gotta be some kinda mistake. And when Al get home tomorrow, we gon' find out whose mistake it is.
Chapter 15
House Cleaning
I never bothered to call. What would 1 have said to him over the phone, anyway? "Do you miss me, honey? Or do you miss my daughter more? Why aren't you gone? You were supposed to be gone." Even still, I knew he'd probably be there when I got home. I just knew it. In fact, the more I drove, the more I prayed that he would be. I needed to see him face to face. Look him in the eyes to see if I saw any remorse, any signs of regret or shame.
The drive from Las Vegas was long enough to help me sort out some things. Not everything, but enough. Even though I'm afraid, I'm going to pretend I'm not afraid of what will happen when I file for divorce Monday morning. I've been married to this man for six years. I shouldn't have to worry about how I'm going to manage once he's gone. After all, he adopted Shanice. She has his last name: Porter. He's legally responsible for her until she's eighteen. I'll get a real job. I don't care if it pays minimum wage. That's a lie. I need to make more than that. Right now, I almost don't care what I have to do.
When I turn onto our street, George has put all the Easter things in the front yard. But it's all wrong. First of all, the big blue bunny isn't supposed to be so far away from the eggs; the nest is supposed to be inside the basket. The flag shouldn't be stuck in the ground; it goes in the flagpole on the porch. I've only been hanging them at this house for the past five and a half years. And where are my baby chicks? Why didn't he put my miniature eggs out? They're the prettiest: all robins-egg blue. The yard looks so amateurish and sparse. He should've left it alone if he didn't know what he was doing or couldn't do it the right way. I can't imagine what the neighbors are saying. I'll fix it later.
The garage door is opening before I even press the Genie. I get out of the car and George almost runs out to greet me. "Hello, Janelle," he says. "Let me get your bags for you."
"There's only one."
"Where's Shanice?" he asks.
"She disappeared," I say. "Can't you see that?" I walk past him into the kitchen, letting the door slam in his face.
"Seriously," I hear him say as he comes through the door.
"She's somewhere she'll be safe."
"Actually, she'll be safe here from now on."
"Spare me, would you, George." This place is a mess. Soiled dishes piled in the sink. Something sticky's on the floor. Juice containers and a few empty wine bottles are all littering the counter. Two uneaten Marie Calender's veal and beef TV dinners sit on top of the microwave. Pots are on the stove. It stinks in here: like day-old broccoli. He disgusts me.
I walk into the dining room, and there, in the middle of the table, is probably the largest bouquet of spring flowers I've ever seen in my entire life. I hear him enter the room. Feel him standing behind me. When I turn to face him I realize that George is not handsome at all. I don't know when it was that I thought he was. And he's old. He looks much older than fifty- one. Now I see why people often mistake him for my father. But right now he just looks pitiful. Like a puppy. But I don't feel sorry for him one bit, because he is not a puppy. He is the man who molested my daughter.
"I start counseling tomorrow," he says.
"What did you say?"
"Counseling. For my behavior. To stop it. So it never happens again. I didn't mean to do what I've done, and I never really actually did anything to her, if that matters."
I feel like I need Mama's inhaler. "Are you packed?"
"I can't leave here," he says.
"You'll have to when I report this," I say.
"Please, don't, Janelle. I'm begging you not to, please. It could destroy everything. The life I've worked so hard to build."
"You should've thought about that before you started going into my daughter's room at night."
"I did think about it."
"Oh, you thought about it, and your brain gave you the go-ahead, is that it?"
"No. I mean, I wasn't thinking when I did it. That's the whole problem."
"You think okay on your job and you carry a fucking gun. You don't seem to have any difficulty making decisions out there, do you? I mean, you've never shot anybody because you were overwhelmed by the fucking moment, have you?"
"I suppose not."
"What in the world would compel you to do something like this in the first place?"
"I don't know."
"And then keep doing it?"
"I honestly don't know."
"Think about it for a minute! If you don't know, who the hell does?"
"I guess I wanted her to like me."
"What did you say?"
"I wanted her to like me."
"Oh, really. And this was a guaranteed way to do that?"
He just shakes his head.
"She never liked you, George, and I should've trusted her instincts from the start."
"I know that, but I kept hoping she would. It doesn't make any sense."
"And you really thought that by touching my daughter and forcing her to do things to you, that that would make her like you more? Am I getting this right, George?"
"Somewhat."
"Did you ever think about how she might feel because of what you were doing to her?"
"I thought she liked it."
I reach for the bouquet to throw at him, but decide it's not worth it. I grit my teeth and ball up my fist and back away from him. "You didn't say what I thought you just said. Did you?" "She could've stopped me." "How?"
"She could've said no."
"You expect me to stand here and believe that she didn't?" "Look, Janelle. I don't want to argue about this. What I did was despicable and I want to get help. I don't like the side of me that did this." I fold my arms, wishing they were bats. "What if they can't help you?" "It doesn't matter. I know the magnitude of what I've done. It was wrong, and I can promise you that it will never happen again." "And you expect me to believe you, just like that?" "Yes."
"Let me ask you something, George. Did you do this to your own daughters, too?"
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, so my daughter was the prize, huh?" "No, Janelle."
"How about any other little girls?"
"No. Look, I'm just as shocked by my behavior as you are." "Really," I say. I'm not sure if I believe him or not. Thieves have usually been stealing a long time before they ever get caught. I will certainly find out.
"Janelle," he sighs, "do you really think I did this deliberately to hurt Shanice?"
"This isn't just about Shanice, George." "Well, either of you?" "You hurt us, all right. Big-time." "But I didn't mean to. I swear it."
There is a long silence. I'm sick of talking to him. Sick of listening. He's not sorry. He's worried. More worried about what might happen to him than he is about what's going to happen to me and my daughter because of what he's done. He has changed our lives forever. No matter how much I wish it weren't true.
_
"And what about our promise to each other?" he's saying, as I move toward the stairwell for no reason other than to get away from him.
"What promise?"
"To get through the bad times together."
"This doesn't exacdy fall under the 'bad-times' category, George."
"Then what about forgiveness?"
"Yes. Some things shouldn't be forgiven."
"Is that what you really believe, Janelle?"
"Some things are unforgivable."
"So-you mean all the Sundays in church when Reverend Mitchell preached about forgiving the intolerable, all that meant nothing to you?"
"Yes, it did mean something." I stop on the tenth or eleventh step and turn to look down at him.
"Then wouldn't you say this qualifies as some
sort of test?"
"A test given by whom?"
"I don't want to say it, but I'll say it: God."
I was about to turn to keep walking until I heard the word "God." I don't play when it conies to Him. And as much as I hate to admit it, what George has said is true. Reverend Mitchell has given us so many examples of things people have done that hurt others so deeply, but he says that God gave us the capacity to forgive. Wants us to forgive. But I don't know how right now. I don't feel like forgiving him. I don't think forgiving him will make me feel any better. And what about Shanice? Is she supposed to forgive him, too?
"What about our baby?" he says.
I sit down on a step. The baby. There's a baby growing inside me. What in the world am I going to do with a baby? His baby? How will I feel having a constant reminder of him in my life? I couldn't take that out on an innocent child, could I? But what about protecting it? I haven't done such a good job with my daughter; how can I expect to keep this one from harm? And how would Shanice treat him, or her?
"Look, Janelle, I'm ashamed of myself for what I've done, but I'm glad you found out, because now an end can be put to it. It stops. I stop. And hopefully we can get on with our lives. I want our baby to be raised in this house, with both of his or her parents under one roof, under which there i s a new sense of trust and love. Hell, we can get a bigger house. Fill it with even more love and trust than we ever imagined. I know its something I'm going to have to earn again, but, baby, I'll work overtime to get it back. I promise you. I'm sorry. So very sorry. Can't we try to put this behind us, and think about our future?"
I try to stop the tears but I can't control them. I wish this was all just a bad dream, and when somebody snaps their fingers or turns the light on, it'll be over. That my daughter will be upstairs in her bedroom reading Goose- bumps and I'll be reading a Janet Dailey novel and George will be rubbing his foot up and down my leg until he falls asleep. I have loved him hard, but right now I don't love any part of him. Can't. He used to make me feel protected and safe. How in the world can you ever get that back once you lose it?
A Day Late and a Dollar Short Page 20