by Pat Simmons
“Women are emotional creatures. If you love Hallison, try listening to her instead of talking, son. Maybe something’s going on with her.”
“You don’t know how many messages I’ve left trying to convince her there’s no rush, she dumped me, throwing my feelings away.”
The room was still as the elder Parke focused on Malcolm. “Keeping your hands to yourself might help. Women need to know you’re operating on more than your sex drive.”
Malcolm nodded.
“Do you love her?” Their father asked Malcolm again.
“Yes,” Malcolm answered in the affirmative.
“Then show her.” The elder Parke grabbed his remote and aimed. “Now, go get my wife, so I can enjoy this game.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Two weeks after the ski trip…
“Grandma BB, if you dangle one more Christmas light on this house, you’ll blow the city’s transformer. Then the neighborhood will be in the black, thanks to you.”
“Chile, it ain’t Christmas unless ya show off. Aren’t you going to decorate?” Mrs. Beacon fussed, intertwining a rope of red Christmas lights with six feet of garland.
Cheney laughed as she stacked plates and bowls in Mrs. Beacon’s dishwasher. “And deprive my neighbor of showing off? Nah, I wouldn’t think of it. Besides, your house will be so bright, the wise men will be able to find us.”
“You haven’t told me if you called any of those doctors who were fighting over who would ride beside you on that airlift at the resort.”
“One doctor in the family is enough. Remember, my loving dad is a doctor.” Cheney was almost one-hundred percent certain her father had gotten a hold of her medical files. There was no other explanation for her family’s chill.
“Doctor Byron Bates was sexy, with his deep chocolate skin and sparkling white teeth. He made me want to take my dentures out and bite him.”
Stunned, Cheney’s jaw dropped. “You wear false teeth?”
“Of course not. It’s the only thing I’m willing to take off to impress him.”
“Well, I’m not interested.”
“Hmm-mm, okay, forget the doctor. How about that engineer fella—Jeff, Jeffery, or Jeremy, something like that? He seemed interested and cute.” She patted her hair. “In my day, a woman wouldn’t let a handsome, healthy, and wealthy one slip away.”
“You can have him.”
Leaning on her knees, Mrs. Beacon pointed her arthritic finger like she was gearing up for a scolding, but her voice was soft and filled with compassion. “What’s the matter, dear? Don’t you want to get married and have children?”
Cheney was determined not to cry. “At one time I wanted both.” She turned away and focused on the boxes half-filled with decorations. “Now, neither is possible.” I’m waiting on a sign, God, she silently prayed.
“It’s none of my business, but for a while I thought Parke was sweet on you.”
“Parke Jamieson is interested in any woman.” Cheney shrugged nonchalantly.
“He never gave me a second look, and you know I’m adorable. At least call Eric, that computer programmer. He had the cutest little rump.” She winked.
Her bluntness ceased to shock Cheney anymore. It provided much needed humor, especially during her darkest moments. “I bet you were something else in your day.”
“It’s still my day.” Mrs. Beacon beamed.
They shared laughs until a phone call interrupted them. Mrs. Beacon eyed the wall clock, but made no attempt to answer the phone. Cheney did. “Hello?”
“Jesus loves you.” Click.
“What an odd call.” Cheney looked at the receiver. “Wrong number, I think it was a child playing on the phone.”
“It’s a prank call. I don’t know her name, but for the past year, she’s been nagging me with the same thing. I’ve been close to cursing her out, but she hangs up.”
Cheney nodded. “Since we’re on the subject of kids, I got a letter a few weeks ago before Thanksgiving, asking if I was still interested in becoming a foster parent. I’ve been thinking about becoming one for a while, so they’re ready to begin processing my application.” She paused and exhaled. “Would you be a reference and vouch for me?”
“I love kids! Do you think you can have ‘em by Christmas? As long as they aren’t Bebe’s kids...” Mrs. Beacon started plotting. “That will give me a reason for last-minute Christmas shopping, fighting over the last PlayStation on the shelf—if we can get little girls, chile, we could dress them awfully fancy.”
For the next thirty minutes, Mrs. Beacon filled Cheney’s head with all the fun they were going to have with small children, not once probing for more information. Maybe Mrs. Beacon’s enthusiasm was the sign.
Cheney was restless when she returned home, so she sat at her desk and signed on to the computer. Maybe Brian was on and they could play a game of checkers. She wasn’t in a frame of mind to sit and read scriptures. Before long, she was entertaining the ideas Mrs. Beacon had planted. “This is scary. Grandma BB is rubbing off on me.”
Raking the bottom of her travel purse, Cheney scrounged up all the numbers men had forced on her during the ski trip. She dropped the business cards and scraps of paper into a shoe box, stirred them, and withdrew a name. She took a deep breath and went for it and punched in the number. “Raymond? Hi, this is Cheney. We met in Niagara Falls.”
His voice seemed to rumble with pleasure. “Ah, the beautiful Miss Reynolds, how are you? I’m glad you called,” he replied, sounding sincere.
“Are you?” Should she believe him? Cheney wondered.
“I am. How was your trip home?”
“Wonderful. My senior citizen neighbor was my lively traveling companion. She was a speed demon down the slopes during the day and the life of the party at night.”
Raymond chuckled. “Miss B? Who could forget her?”
“That’s Grandma BB’s trademark. Show up and show off.”
“No harm done. She was having a good time. So, did you enjoy yourself?”
“Yes. Surprisingly, I did.”
“I hope I contributed.”
What arrogance. Cheney wanted to laugh. She loved his deep baritone voice, but his features were jumbled. Even without a face, the game was the same. Flirt, conquer, and move on. “Was that your goal, Raymond?”
“No, it wasn’t. My cousin needed another body to get the group rate, so I was coerced into going at the last minute. I’m glad I did, because I met you, and you called.”
Yeah, right. Cheney closed her eyes. “So how many numbers did you get?” she queried, eyeing her own collection.
“I’m wounded,” he said. “Now my buddies? They compared numbers like they were checking lottery tickets. If I met someone who was special and beautiful, then the trip was worth it. If not, it served as a diversion from work.”
Cheney’s suspicious nature kicked in. “Mmm. C’mon, Ray, not even one or two? You know honesty is the best ingredient to beginning a relationship.”
“None,” he repeated. “I didn’t go to Niagara Falls to amass women’s numbers like my friends, Fred Hanes, Larry Thimes, and—”
“Did you say Larry, Larry Thimes?”
“Yes. I didn’t really know him, but he’s a friend of my cousin’s. Both are attorneys. Fred mentioned Larry was looking for Miss Right. Now that brotha was on a mission.” Raymond grunted. “The way he was scrutinizing the babes, I thought he was interviewing for a corporate position. I heard he broke two engage—”
How about adding a broken heart to his list? Cheney reacted without thinking and hit the END button. She didn’t care if Raymond wasn’t responsible for her pain. He was the messenger, and she had heard enough. “Five long years…thousands of miles away, and I still can’t escape Larry’s name, memory, or his betrayal.”
Now that she thought about it ... Cheney had shrugged off the Larry sighting on the slopes as her imagination. Then on the dance floor, except that man wore a beard and was thicker. She brushed it off.
The probability of them being at the same place at the same time after five years was close to none. Did he know I was there and avoided me? What a missed opportunity. I could’ve slapped him, kicked him, and cursed him out—just one time and then repented like Imani. She grinned. A hypocritical Christian wasn’t a bad thing.
Grabbing her cordless phone, she couldn’t punch in Imani’s cell number fast enough. She didn’t care if her friend was in the air or just landed, she had to talk to her.
“Hey, girl,” Imani answered, giggling. “Can I call you back? Captain Rogers and I were just goin—”
“Cancel it,” Cheney snapped.
“What?”
“I need to talk to you now.”
“Okay, hold on.” Imani covered up the phone. A muffled male voice in the background didn’t seem pleased with the change of plans. A few seconds later, she returned to the conversation. “Okay, girl, you caused me to miss a free meal with the handsome captain. This better be a medical emergency, or that you’re in jail and need bond money.”
Cheney released her floodgate and became hysterical with hate, revenge, and anger. “Did you know Larry Thimes was at the ski resort? I could’ve eaten him alive.”
“Yeah, I knew,” Imani answered calmly.
“What! You saw him? Why didn’t you tell me? How could you not?”
“No need. I took care of him.”
“What do you mean?” Cheney stopped pacing the floor. “If you didn’t strangle him, then you couldn’t have done the job.”
“I can’t believe I missed a seafood feast at an outdoor Moroccan restaurant overlooking the Mediterranean Sea to talk about that loser.”
“Spill it, sister. What aren’t you telling me?”
Imani sighed. “I hadn’t planned to say anything, but yes, I saw the pompous attorney. Remember, you showed me his picture when I came to North Carolina to help take care of you while you were convalescing. Of course, he didn’t know who I was, but he tried to woo me. He looked familiar, but as soon as he introduced himself, bingo.”
“And?”
“We met in the bar for drinks. I flirted so outrageously that I’m sure he expected a pleasurable night.”
“But?”
“When we were outside the door to his hotel room, I told him I had something for him. He was stupid enough to tell me he wanted it, too.”
“Get to the end.” Cheney gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.
“All right. Well, I slapped him, twice. The second time I had your name written on my hand. Not the chaste tap, but the sucker-slap-the-butthead hit.”
“You what!”
“Smacked the sucker, and when he thought about retaliating, I told him, quote, ‘Touch me and I’ll scream assault. Who do you think the police are going to believe, a White woman or a Black man?’ End quote.”
Cheney fell back laughing. “No you didn’t play the race card.”
“I did. Now, I would like to make that date tonight. We’ll talk later.” Click.
With mixed emotions, Cheney collapsed into a nearby chair. She wanted to cry tears of joy that Larry got his just rewards, but mad for her missed opportunity to deliver the blow. The phone interrupted a tantrum brewing. She answered it with a bark. “Hello.”
“Whoa, I was calling to get my girl back. But you’re having a bad attitude day.”
“I was never your girl.” Cheney huffed.
“Sorry, how about my friend?”
“Not now, Parke. It’s the wrong time, and I’m the wrong person to joke with.”
“Please don’t be angry with me,” his voice filled with concern, “I’m sorry for acting like a coward.”
“It’s not about you, Parke.”
“Then, what’s wrong?”
“Larry—”
Click. Cheney frowned at the phone. Is everybody crazy tonight, or is it just me? Heated, she wanted to get in the boxing ring with a worthy opponent, Laila Ali. She would probably hold her own ‘til the ninth round, pretending that Laila was Larry Thimes.
Instead, she balled her fists and swiped the air at Larry’s nose, his luscious mouth, his prized sex machine. Working up a sweat, Cheney concluded she needed to be more constructive, so she began cleaning imaginary dirt from her sparkling house. “Of all the places I could go, why there? Why now?” Cheney pounded a fist against the wall. “Larry has a lot of nerve looking for Miss Right when he’s the Master of Wrong.”
The doorbell suspended her rampage. She approached the living room, mocking a martial arts stance, yelling, “Unless you’re Larry Thimes, now is not a good time for company.” The chime stopped and pounding started.
Marching to the door, she flung it open to see Parke. Cheney sighed. Her patience and all pleasantries lay dormant as insanity reigned. “What are you doing here?”
Parke cleared the doorway, uninvited. “You’re here and upset, so now, I’m upset and I’m here.” He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry for freaking out. Believe me, I care about you. The hiatus proved that to me. What’s going on? Let me fight your battles.”
Perplexed, Cheney stared at the scowl on his face. “You’re an idiot. There is no apology necessary. Although I missed your presence, I expected it. Grandma BB is a good replacement. Believe me. I don’t need any help to fight Larr—”
“Where is he? I couldn’t stop Larry from hurting you the first time, but it ain’t happening again. If he’s here, then I’ll personally take him out.”
I’ve got a one-man militia in the house, Cheney thought. Parke was comical. She had a right to be mad, but he came storming in her home like her personal secret service detail ready to protect. Her battle was with bad memories. Despite her anger, she wanted to laugh, but she was still too upset to crack a smile, but her heart warmed because of his concerns. “The jerk’s not here. Ooh, I wish he was. I was on the phone —”
“Hold it. Get your coat. Let’s walk and talk.”
With no thought, Cheney gave in to his request. Once the chilly air hit her face, she could feel her anger subsiding. Bright, colorful lights and elaborate Christmas decorations greeted her as Parke walked and waited for her to speak. One block turned to several as Parke remained silent while Cheney vented her frustration.
He pointed to a historic three story house. “You know, I like how the owner outlined the house using white lights,” he said, distracting her.
“Hmm, I don’t know. I like to see a lot of different colors flash on and off.”
He stopped and faced Cheney. “Feel better? You had enough steam to blow up your house.”
Bowing her head in embarrassment, she nodded. “Yes. Thanks for coming over.”
Thick snowflakes started to blanket them as if someone had pushed a button. Parke put his arm around her shoulder like they were old buddies. “Don’t you know I’m a strong, fierce warrior who will fight all your battles, if you let me?”
“If I’m not happy, I don’t want him to be happy. If I hurt, I want him to hurt…”
“Let go. It’s time. Larry should only be a memory, not a stronghold on your life.”
Cheney absorbed Parke’s wisdom. Without realizing what she was doing, Cheney snuggled closer. “I’m trying, but Raymond—”
“Raymond who?”
“Never mind.” Cheney looked up at the night sky. “I agree I need a change in my life, a real change, so I’ve decided to become a foster parent.”
Parke halted his steps. He smiled as if something really wasn’t funny. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think you need to pray long and hard on this one. It’s a noble endeavor and a major responsibility. But I hope it’s for all the right reasons. This is not the only answer to your situation.”
“It’s a sign from God. I want kids so bad, I actually do see them, but if everything goes well with my request to become a foster parent, then I’ll adopt. This is a test case. I’ve got a lot of love to give. Plus, I have the cutest rooms decorated for a boy and girl. I have to do this,” she said tryin
g to convince him. “But I need references.”
“This is my sign.” Parke kissed her. “You don’t have to do this alone.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m here for you.” He paused. “Let’s do this together.”
“Forget it.” She tried to break away, but Parke’s grip was firm.
“Foster kids are victims like you. Their abuse could be physical, sexual, neglect, or even drug addiction.”
“I know,” Cheney whispered, blinking rapidly to fight the snowflakes landing on her lashes.
Wiping her lids, Parke softened his look. “I believe your abortion was a form of sexual and mental abuse.”
“I’ve been living in hell. No one around me knew except Imani, I have a strong suspicion my family does, of course Larry, and God.”
He took a deep breath. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but I experienced something that kinda freaked me out. I can’t explain. It was so real that I had to surf the net to find answers. The letters I read on this website confirmed that what I felt was real.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Where do I begin?” He gathered his thoughts. “Shortly after you told me about the abortion, I had the strangest dream. I experienced a physical pain I guess similar to an abortion as well as the mental anguish. It wasn’t funny either. My body was possessed.”
“Parke, this isn’t story time.”
“Truth is stranger than fiction. I’m telling you I was transported to a place where I could see myself, and the consequences of my choices. Since experiencing that dream, revelation, or whatever you want to call it, I started researching abortions online. There were letters from young and middle-aged women who had them.”
“Women Who had Abortions website,” Cheney whispered.
“Yeah, Gargaro.com, right?”
“I’ve never posted a letter. When I feel like no one understands what I’m going through, or experienced, I read them, then the guilt resurrects itself.”