by Pat Simmons
So God fixed her so that when the time came, she freaked out like Malcolm had turned into Satan himself. In the end, he suggested separate rooms, assuring her he was okay with waiting. Days later, Hallison suggested some space which she got until he coaxed her to attend a concert at Wabash Park with him. She went through the motions of enjoying herself, but she felt like a fool, a tease, and a backslider. Hallison sighed as her intercom buzzed, interrupting her nagging thoughts.
“Miss Dinkins, your two o’clock appointment is here.”
Refocusing, Hallison answered the receptionist who manned the front entrance, “Thanks, Sherri. Send her in.”
Standing, she extended her hand to welcome a stunning plus-sized African-American woman who gracefully walked into her office, exuding self-confidence and an uncommon friendliness. After a six-week extensive job search, interviewing, and testing, Hallison was relieved to fill a job vacancy with a qualified sistah.
“Paula Silas, I’m Hallison Dinkins, Director of Personnel.” They shook hands.
Hallison had already reviewed Paula’s file. A Washington University MBA graduate, Paula was bilingual, speaking fluent Chinese. She had been instrumental in her previous employer’s merger with Asian entrepreneurs, wanting to invest in the American consumer lending market. Paula had also worked in consumer loans since college.
Bright eyes and a made-for-camera smile graced a honey-colored, oval face that hinted of sophistication. Paula had the prettiest features—even actress Mo’nique would have to agree. Taking a seat, within minutes, Hallison felt like she was chatting with an old girlfriend over lunch instead of hiring an applicant.
“I like your purple suit, and that gold scarf really brings out the highlights in your hair,” Hallison complimented.
Blushing, Paula fingered her layered cut. “Funny, I was admiring your blue pinstripe suit. You’re workin’ it with your height.”
“Thank you. Now, this meeting is just a formality because the bank’s vice president highly recommended you. From the looks of your experience, business acumen, and the glowing comments from your professional references, you should be able to handle the chief credit manager position here with ease. Welcome aboard.”
The woman closed her eyes and clutched her fists before pumping one hand in the air. “Praise the Lord. Thank you, Jesus, and Miss Dinkins,” Paula’s eyes twinkled as she gave praise. “I knew this was my job. I knew it. God told me so this morning.”
Not the “J” word. He didn’t have anything to do with this. There goes any lunch, shopping invitations, or girlfriend chats. Hallison sat with a plastic smile without responding to Paula’s outburst. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. God just won’t leave me alone. “My secretary has your paperwork to sign, if we agree on the starting salary of one hundred twenty thousand dollars.”
Hallison avoided church people like shoplifters dodged store security. A red flag should’ve gone up the moment she saw her name. Silas was Apostle Paul’s preaching companion. She wasn’t up for any sermonettes at work.
“God is so good,” Paula’s voice shook. “That’s the amount the Lord gave me.”
People who spent time in prayer made Hallison uncomfortable, and shaking Paula’s outstretched hand was unthinkable. She might try some type of “touch and appoint handshake.” When Paula stood to leave, Hallison unbuttoned her knee-length pinstripe coat jacket to keep her hands busy.
“Thank you, Miss Dinkins. May God richly bless you.”
I surely hope not! That seems to be the source of my troubles. Hallison collapsed in her chair after Paula floated out of her office, humming an old-time church praise-and-worship song. “Way too many people are praying for me, that’s what’s making it hard for me to do what I want.”
Jeremiah 3: “Turn, O backsliding children. For I am married unto you,” seemed to crawl across Hallison’s mind. It was a well recited verse in sanctified churches. Hallison sulked, folding her arms. “Then divorce me, God,” Hallison growled through clenched teeth. Why couldn’t God understand that she didn’t want to be saved?
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways. Isaiah fifty-five.”
“I’m going crazy,” Hallison said out loud.
“My sheep know My voice.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Parke had gotten the sign from God, even if Cheney hadn’t. He could deal with her abortion as long as it wasn’t his kid, but the barren part slapped him. She was no longer a serious contender in his “possible workable relationship” book.
When he considered calling other female contacts, guilt punched him. What options did Cheney have? I had nothing to do with that. He refused to lose this mind game.
It was Thanksgiving Day, and the holiday went hand in hand with the three Jamieson brothers. Hallison would be latched to Malcolm’s arm. His mother, no doubt, would be cuddled next to his dad with her feet tucked under her, dozing. His dad would alternate between watching her as she slept and the football game.
And then there was Cameron. Parke hadn’t seen his youngest brother in months, since the college sophomore opted to stay in Boston and work the previous summer.
Soft Christmas jazz filtered throughout Parke’s house. Humming, Jingle Bells, he slipped into a shirt as powerful images of Cheney’s vulnerability drowned out the music. So what if he’d been avoiding her? “She can’t advance my cause. I want a family.”
Shame stabbed his heart. “There’s nothing I can do!” he shouted to an imaginary opponent. “I’m Parke Kokumuo Jamieson VI. My destiny is to continue the African legacy.” He had to erase Cheney from his memory, but what about his heart? Pursuing her would be senseless. If only he would stop the battle of wills with his heart.
She had determined her destiny. Despite witnessing her misery, Parke’s seventh great-grandfather had chosen the path for all first-born Jamieson men. Suddenly, a misty black smoke covered his eyes. Glimpses of his past bed partners faded in and out.
Faintly, Parke heard a whimper. Children walked in front of him. If he tried to touch them, they evaporated. Then Parke recognized himself slumping to the ground, bawling pitifully. Jabs of severe pain pierced his stomach, nausea crawled up his throat.
Whimpers increased to moans as unbearable physical pain and unforgettable mental anguish attacked him from all directions. An infant appeared. In his heart, he knew it was his son, the next generation. Parke ached to hold him, but the child vanished as an older version zoomed passed on a tricycle. “Don’t leave!” but the boy faded away.
The child had grown to a young man; tall and magnificently handsome, accepting his high school diploma. Instead of bright eyes with hope for the future, they scolded him for what could’ve been. It had been selfishly snatched away all in the name of love.
Emotionally exhausted and tormented, Parke saw himself old, bitter, lonely, and unforgiving. There were no sons or grandkids or great-grandkids. He wanted out of the nightmare, now! As requested, the scenes vanished as fast as they had appeared.
Panting, Parke blinked and looked around. Yes, he was still in his home. “What kind of torment was that?” Dazed, his heart raced, his pulse pounded, and his hands shook as he attempted to grip his car keys. When his phone rang, he checked his caller ID. “I feel like I’ve just been to abortion hell and back. I can’t deal with Annette’s witnessing right now.” Parke raced out of his house as if the dream were chasing him.
A while later and almost sane again, Parke arrived at his parents’ home. It was only my mind playing tricks on me, he tried to convince himself. He scanned the block as the scent of smoke from wood-burning fireplaces drifted past his nostrils.
He was about to put his key into the lock when an unprovoked image of Cheney flashed before his eyes. Parke forcefully shoved it to the back of his mind and heart, and went inside. The aroma of turkey, dressing, and baked goods assaulted Parke’s senses. He rubbed his stomach before he was tackled from behind and rammed into a wall.
“Gotcha, man.”
Reacting swiftly, Parke managed to get his brother in a bear hold. “Cameron, you’ll never get the upper hand on me.”
“PJ, I know you and Cameron aren’t wrestling in my house! Take that horse play outside,” Charlotte scolded humorously from the dining room.
The brothers exchanged mischievous glances before Parke stepped back and examined his baby brother who was his height, but thinner. Cameron Daniel Jamieson was the quiet intellect of the family, winning more than two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars in college scholarships. He chose MIT in Boston where he said the city seemed to have more college students than residents and cab drivers than police cars.
His wavy black hair was cut in a stylish fade, emphasizing his boyish look. He wore a large gray-and-red MIT sweatshirt with baggy jeans.
“Man, every time you come home, you’re trouble,” Parke teased, hugging his brother, then patting his shoulder.
“What else are baby brothers good for?” Cameron replied in a deep baritone that contradicted his childish statement.
The front door opened again, and a gust of wind swept Malcolm inside. He looked sinister, dressed in a stylish camel-brown Indiana Jones hat, matching suede jacket, and worn jeans. His dark sunglasses and beard added to his mysterious demeanor.
Losing interest in Parke, Cameron strolled over to Malcolm and lifted him inches in a bear hug.
Grinning, Parke nodded to Malcolm. “Hey, lookin’ good, bro. I can’t wait to see Hallison’s matching ensemble. Where is she?”
Malcolm shrugged. His nostrils flared, indicating he was determined not to say anything during the standoff.
Cameron copied Parke’s stance. “I’ve heard about Hallison all the way in Boston. Why didn’t you bring her?”
Removing his shades, Malcolm’s scowl deepened, conveying any discussion about his woman was forbidden. “Not now, PJ, Cam.”
What was going on with the Jamieson men? Parke had a bad dream while wide awake, and now Malcolm was tightlipped about his inseparable woman. Before he could interrogate, his parents interrupted.
Charlotte, arms opened wide and wearing a bright smile, glided into the foyer. The elder Parke eagerly followed, beaming proudly at his sons.
The brothers stopped their silent communication, gracing their mother with soft kisses on her cheek, and their dad with loud pats on the back and hearty handshakes.
“It’s good to see my boys together again. Malcolm, where’s Hali? Is she meeting you here?” Charlotte asked.
Parke wanted to know that, too. It was a known fact among the Jamiesons that Malcolm and Hallison were not only attached at the hip, but in their hearts.
“She couldn’t make it,” Malcolm answered, but didn’t explain.
“Oh.” Charlotte looked surprised as she looped her arm through Malcolm’s and led her family to the dining room table, saying nothing else, but wearing that I’ll-get-the-scoop-later expression.
After they blessed the food, Cameron dominated the dinner conversation. When he bit into a homemade roll, he licked his lips. “Mmm, I’ve missed your cooking, Mama.”
“We hadn’t noticed,” their father joked, cramming a forkful of dressing in his mouth. “How are your studies?”
“Excellent.” Cameron turned to Parke. “I thought Mama said you were stalking a neighbor. Cheney, isn’t it?”
The mere mention of Cheney’s name made Parke slightly uncomfortable. Images of what she suffered kept sneaking into the corners of his mind. “Stalking is not my style. We’ve clashed on several issues. Anyway, it’s over before anything really started.”
The elder Parke didn’t hide his disappointment. “Oh? I concluded something different when I witnessed the battle of the sexes.”
“We were just playing a game, Dad,” Parke stated.
His dad had the nerve to sulk. “That’s too bad, PJ. She seemed to pull your strings, and I loved her wit that one time I met her. What a shame.”
Parke could no longer taste the cranberry sauce and turkey. He was dumbfounded to think he could dismiss Cheney from his family’s inquiries so easily.
“Malcolm, where is Hali? I was hoping Cam would have a chance to meet her,” Charlotte asked, changing the subject.
“I don’t know what’s going on with her.” Malcolm rested his fork. “She won’t talk to me, so who knows what’s on her mind.”
“What?” Everyone’s voice was unanimous.
Charlotte stood. “Honey, talk to your sons. They’re losing more than good women. They are losing their minds. Cameron, come in the kitchen and talk to me.”
Alone, their father pushed away from his half-empty plate, and motioned for Parke and Malcolm to join him in the game room. The elder Parke relaxed in his favorite recliner and pointed a remote at the fifty-inch projection television monitor. Snarling, he clicked off the beginning of the Detroit Lions and Tennessee Titans football game.
Not a good sign. Dad never lets anything or anyone interrupt a Lions game, Parke thought, jamming his hands inside his pants pockets. He moseyed to the sofa. Malcolm stood at the other end. Both brothers exchanged looks before slumping into their seats.
Their dad stared sternly at them, then in a quiet, controlled voice, “I want to know what is going on with you two. Malcolm, I’m shocked—no, make that disappointed about this development. What happened? I know you’re in love with Hali.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Malcolm gritted his teeth, trying to keep a blank face.
“If you have to guess, then I guess you’re not,” the elder Parke snapped. “PJ, if Cheney isn’t the one, then who is? There’s something about her. She’s the closest woman to your equal that I’ve seen. What are you searching for, son?”
Parke didn’t want to answer that. He would give anything for a distraction, even taking out the trash rather than discuss Cheney. He leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “I’m looking for a woman who is beautiful, intelligent, and can have kids, which isn’t Cheney.”
His father leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”
Parke threw his arms up in the air. “Yeah, Dad, I know. Can you believe that?”
“What have you done, PJ?” His father’s voice was laced with a reprimand.
“Nothing, I mean, I still care about her, but she can’t give me what I want.”
“For some reason, I believe she has more than what you deserve. Do you have any idea what it means to have the right woman walking with you through life’s joys, dreams, and pain?”
Pain. Why did you have to mention that word? Parke thought, leaping up. He scurried to the fireplace. Staring into the flames, he remembered the last time he gazed into a fire. “Dad, haven’t you been listening? Cheney can’t give me a child.”
His father stood, almost height for height, but eye to eye. He spoke in a low, steady tone. “I’m not feelin’ you. I’ve watched you jump from woman to woman, but you seem rooted with her.” His dad patted his chest. “There’s a connection between you two. I sensed that before I met her. You spoke with pride and adoration. Your eyes twinkled when you mentioned her name. Plus, you’ve become addicted to wanting to do everything with and for her, so help me to understand why she’s not the one.”
Great, a Cheney fan club moment. Parke felt that special connection and the helplessness watching the raw guilt eat away at her. The bottom line was that he needed children, a son. What had he done in the past to sabotage that? “Dad,” he said more forcefully than respectful, “you of all people know my responsibility to this family.”
“Your first responsibility is to yourself. Paki endowed you with knowledge, strength, and determination to achieve anything, son, anything. Elaine’s love filled him with so much hope. They created a harmony many couples can’t achieve today.”
Did his father want the Diomande tribe leadership in America to end because of Parke’s wrong choices? As much as Cheney fascinated him, she wasn’t worth it.
“PJ, Malcolm, haven’t you tw
o learned anything from your heritage? Paki and Elaine endured uncertainties to be together. Uncertainty precedes the future. Elaine was determined to make Paki happy despite the ugliness surrounding them. Paki considered her a beautiful jewel given to him by the gods. She was worth more than his royal position in Africa.”
The room became silent except for the wood crackling. Parke dropped his head back and looked up at the thick wood beams across the ceiling. There was no battle to win. “How come you’re not in Malcolm’s business?”
“You’re my firstborn. He’s next. PJ, I don’t know why you or Cheney would believe she can’t have kids.” He held up his hand before Parke could speak. “I don’t want to know, but I believe Paki would have been happy if Elaine didn’t have one child. She was his strength and inspiration to live.”
The grandfather clock chimed. His father squinted at the time, hinting of the game his sons were keeping him from watching. “Now, what’s going on with you and my girl Hallison? Please tell me it’s not over some foolishness.”
Malcolm glanced between his father and Parke. “Well, it’s kinda personal, Dad.”
“Talking about a woman a man cares about is always personal, but I need you and PJ to understand me. If you love a woman, never let her get away. Fight for her. Our conversation stays in this room.”
Malcolm didn’t speak right away as if he was debating how to share his set of troubles. “We haven’t been the same since our planned weekend getaway last month.” Malcolm squeezed his lips together in hesitation, “Maybe, I was pushing her. I mean, Hali is the epitome of a sexy woman—the way she dresses, walks, and smells. I can’t keep my hands off my woman.”
Looking every bit the family patriarch, his father pointed his finger at Malcolm with a tired expression. “I refuse to degrade Hallison by talking about your sex life with her.”
“No need to worry about that. She was fine until we got to the Ritz. She freaked out. I suggested separate rooms on a different floor and she took it. That was our first argument. The next thing I know, she’s crying, screaming we need a break from each other, and storms out. We went to a park concert after that, but it wasn’t the same. Our affections seemed forced. We haven’t been together since.”