by Fha User
from being confined in one spot for so long, and went down the hall. Clay
stopped in one of the two bedrooms off the hall, which had baseball and
football paraphernalia all over the walls, which had to be Tony’s room. He
foraged under the bathroom sink in there and finally came up with half a box
of Kleenex. Grabbing the tissue box, he rushed back down the hall toward
Vi. Sitting down again, he put the box on her lap, pulled out several tissues
and handed them to her.
She lay against the wall where he’d left her, disjointed and limp as a wet
towel, her tears now leaving a darkened trail over the front of her denim
skirt. He moved her back away from the wall and gently put his right arm
around her shoulders and rested her head against his shoulder once more.
Deciding he would give her all the time in the world, if she needed it,
Clayton laid his cheek against the top of her head and absently began to
stroke her arm. Outside, the noise of cars passing by and the sprinkler
reached his ears. In the front yard, the lawn sprinkler continued its
monotonous task, saturating the same spot in a long, splattering sweep.
After a time, she stirred, took in a ragged breath and sat up. Her face, wet
and warm against his shoulder, stuck slightly because of their close contact.
He looked at her and asked, “Mrs. Simpson, where are Tony and Janae?”
Vi looked at him, then closed her eyes and whispered, “Oh, God.” Janae
and Tony didn’t know about Craig, she thought. Vi’s first instinct was to put
off telling them, but she knew she couldn’t do that. Ignoring the skirt she
wore, Vi pulled her knees into an Indian style sitting position, propped her
elbows on each leg and buried her head in her hands.
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Gently removing her hands from her face, Clay held them and repeated his
question.
“Ja…Janae is in....Florida… with her friend Carol…”
“And Tony?” He pressed her when she would have recovered her face.
“He...he’s at the Washington’s house for the weekend, over on Maple
Street.”
“Someone will have to call them,” he said, stating the obvious.
Again, she buried her face in her hands, as he made that statement.
Clayton didn’t know what to do. Should he take charge? His brow furrowed
in frustration, it wasn’t his place to take charge here. Then, thankfully, he
remembered Mrs. Simpson’s sister worked at her hair salon. He released her
and rose so that he was facing her on bended knee.
“I’m going to call your sister. Is she working today?”
His words caused a wave of momentary trepidation, which she dismissed
instantly. Instead of voicing her feelings she simply nodded her head
slightly. Kneeling in front of her, he looked down on her bowed head, a neat,
curly crop of light auburn hair with copper highlights. “I’m going to call her
so she can be here for you, okay?” he told her.
Suddenly raising her head, she looked up at him and began to rise. “It’s
okay, I’ll call her.”
Using his strong arms as an anchor, she pulled herself up, swaying a bit.
When she took the first step, however, she lost her balance. Luckily, Clayton
was nearby and his arms shot out to steady her.
Wanting to give her some privacy, he stood in her kitchen facing the patio
door looking out at the backyard. He looked around the kitchen. It was very
cheery and everything was clean and neat and in its place. He heard her pick
up the phone and punch in a few numbers. After a brief silence he heard the
dial tone change to a loud hum, and he turned around. She was bent over the
counter, her head drooped between her shoulder blades with the receiver
gripped tightly in one hand. Clayton walked over to her and gently pried her
fingers from the receiver, loosening her grip on the phone. Looking at the
keypad, he found the salon’s phone number, which had been programmed
into the memory. Pressing the appropriate quick dial number, he waited as
the phone rang three times before a female voice came on the line.
“Nu U Salon.”
He cradled the phone between his left shoulder and ear, freeing his right
hand, which he laid lightly across the back of Mrs. Simpson’s neck.
“I need to speak with Cynthia Edwards,” he said into the receiver.
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Cynthia Edward’s voice came through the receiver, very professional with
just a hint of confusion.
“This is she, may I help you?”
“Mrs. Edwards are you there by yourself or is someone else in the shop
with you?”
The confusion in her voice quickly turned condescending. After a brief
pause, she asked impatiently.
“Who is this?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Edwards, this is Clayton Marshall. I’m a friend of your
nephew, Craig Simpson,” he said in explanation. “We met a few months ago
at your sister’s house. I’m afraid I have some very bad news. Craig was
killed earlier this morning in an attempted robbery.”
He heard a muffled cry. Picturing Mrs. Edward’s reaction, Clayton broke
the lengthy silence that followed.
“Mrs. Edwards are you there? Ma’am, please let me speak to whoever is
there with you.”
He hadn’t taken his eyes off Mrs. Simpson during his conversation with her
sister. The hand that lay against the back of her neck fell away now, as Vi
turned to face him and gently reached for the phone. He listened as she
spoke into the phone, alternately crying and trying to console her sister at the
same time. When she hung up, Vi turned around to find Clayton standing
nearby and went without hesitation into his embrace. As her smooth hands
clutched at his shirt front, she whispered to him needlessly, “She’s coming.”
With his arms around her, the smell of her hand lotion became etched in his
mind as they stood in her kitchen. He realized it wasn't a rose scent after all,
it was more a naturally fresh scent, with a hint of flowers and very light. As
he stood holding her, other memories were stored away in Clay’s mind. He
memorized the exact angle of the afternoon sun as it spilled through the open
patio doors, gently caressing the top of her head, turning her copper
highlights to spun gold. The distant hum of a lawn mower, being used just a
few houses away, reached his ears. The scent of fresh cut grass was
paramount on the afternoon breeze coming through the kitchen window. The
refrigerator door was cluttered with numbers and refrigerator magnets. One
of those magnets held a handwritten note – Janae, Delta Flight 104, 2:35 pm.
Another magnet held a picture of Craig smiling broadly and standing next to
his brother and sister at a lake.
Unaware that her face had become stuck to the side of his neck, she moved
slightly trying to compose herself. His own shirt, which never had much
chance to dry from before in the hallway, was totally plastered against his
chest. He spoke in hushed tones, trying his best to ease her pain. When there
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was nothing left to say, he held her in silence, so wrapped up in her grief that
his was long forgotten.
While Clayton and Vi waited for Cynthi
a to arrive, Casey was across town
starting to get worried. She’d been in the shower when Craig popped his
head in to say he was leaving. At least that’s what she thought he’d said, it
was hard to tell with the water running. After reaching his voice mail
throughout the day, Casey decided to watch television for a few hours that
night. Around ten, she started dozing off and gave up waiting for Craig to
stop by. Casey turned off the television and got up to get a glass of milk.
In the kitchen, which was really part of the living room separated only by a
half wall, she poured milk into a glass. Walking back into the living room,
she sat down by a small window facing the front of her apartment. As Casey
drank her milk, she listened to the steady sound of traffic below on Main
Street. Casey tried Craig’s cell phone one more time before calling it a
night. When she reached his voice mail again, she decided not to leave a
message and went to bed.
A police cruiser patrolling the neighborhood came down Main Street just
as Casey went to bed. The squad car passed her apartment window and
turned right at the corner of Chestnut. The officer cruising around spotted a
parking spot up ahead across the street from the corner market. He slowed
down to pull into that spot, and got out to buy a pack of cigarettes. The
officer noticed a car with all the windows down parked halfway down the
block. Curious, he walked over to this car, finding it odd for anyone in this
neighborhood to leave their car windows down at night. He walked around
the outside of the car and then peered inside. Checking the glove
compartment he found a registration and insurance card. After a quick
review of these papers, he walked back to his cruiser and called in the name
on the registration. “This is 2141,” he said into the hand-held radio
connected to his dash. “I need to check on a registration. Craig Simpson,
date of birth…”
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CHAPTER
FIVE
Clay stood in the background, as the two sisters embraced. While Mrs.
Simpson told her sister everything she knew about the shooting, he listened
quietly, remembering that everyone in the family called her Vi. Suddenly,
Cynthia realized he was in the room and turned to him. He was taken aback
when she addressed him.
“Clayton, thank you. Thank you for being here for Vi.”
He nodded and, unexpectedly, found himself embraced tightly by this
strange woman. He was equally surprised when he found himself returning
her embrace with an intensity that stunned him. Usually he was distant with
people, radiating to no one, least of all strangers. Yet here he was, totally out
of character, comforting Cynthia Edwards, a woman he’d met a handful of
times.
When Cynthia asked Vi how she found out, Clayton stepped in, explaining
for Mrs. Simpson what happened and sharing all the facts he’d gotten from
his Captain about the robbery.
“Our precinct pastor would normally advise the family, but I asked my
Captain if I could do it.” Clearing his throat he continued, “I hope that was
alright.”
Vi Simpson immediately sought his large hand, enclosing it within her
smaller one.
“You were close to Craig and it must have been hard to come over here,”
she told him. “I just want you to know I appreciate it.”
Clay glanced down at their joined hands and felt the shock waves grab hold
of him once more. This time he fought for control of his emotions and won.
Suddenly it occurred to him, with all she was going through, Craig’s mom
seemed to truly care about what he was feeling. The knowledge puzzled and
humbled him all at the same time. Turning his hand slightly inside of hers, he
linked their fingers together and tried to convey his appreciation.
“Mrs. Simpson, I’m here for you, whatever you need me to do.”
She squeezed his hand in response, closing her eyes against his statement,
willing the tears to stop. In that moment, he couldn’t actually explain why,
but he felt an intangible bond form between them.
33
Watching this exchange, Cynthia interrupted in a somewhat dismissive
tone. “Yes, Clayton, thank you for being here today. But I’m here now, so
if you must go, well,” she paused, trailing off.
Clayton blinked in confusion and the hurt in his voice was evident to Vi
when he turned to her and said. “Oh, yeah, okay, I guess I should be going.”
Vi shot Cynthia a scathing look, embarrassed beyond belief that her sister
would be rude to this man. For the most part, Cynthia was oblivious to the
sharp look Vi cast her way. The need to take over every situation, however,
was her sister’s M.O. Granted, everyone who knew Cynthia knew she was a
control freak, except of course, Cynthia. But this was not the time, nor the
place to go at it with her sister. Tamping down her anger, Vi turned to
Clayton and told him reassuringly.
“No,” Vi said forcefully. “No, don’t go Clayton. Stay, I want you to,
please.” And it was true, she was grateful he was here, acknowledging on
some level how comforting it was to have a man around at a time like this.
Vi wasn’t a fool, she knew the days ahead would be difficult and it would be
easy to rely on him. If that happened, Vi sensed this young man would
probably be very accommodating, but she also knew she wouldn’t do it.
Although it was nice to have him here right now, she would get through this
on her own, just like before. Thinking about some of the things that lay
ahead, brought reality crashing back. She had to tell the kids!
“I need to call Janae and Tony,” she said.
“I’ll call Janae,” Cynthia offered and rose from her chair.
“No, Cynthia. Thank you, but she should hear it from me.”
Cynthia continued to insist, “Why put yourself through that?”
“No, I’m her mother, I have to do this.”
She got up and went into the kitchen, Cynthia and Clay following in her
wake.
Cynthia handed her the cordless phone, while Clayton nudged a chair behind
her knees, which she gratefully sank into. Guardian angels, she thought, as
she steeled herself to the task at hand. The phone rang, and in those short
seconds Vi fought for control.
Janae was having a great time. She and Carol spent the entire day at the
beach. While Janae could have stayed a bit longer, Carol had insisted they
hit the clubs tonight. Then again, since they had arrived, Carol had insisted
they hit the clubs every night. Janae was seriously thinking of staying in
tonight and getting some sleep, but then she remembered the cute guys
they’d met last night. Carol had promised to meet up with them at club Envy
again tonight, so they both gathered their things and left the beach early.
34
Planning to grab a couple of burgers for dinner, they stopped at their hotel
just long enough to shower and change. Both girls were dashing around the
hotel room getting ready when Janae heard her cell phone ring.
“Janae?”
“Oh, hey mom,” Janae answered excitedly. “You almost missed us. We
<
br /> were on our way out.”
“Janae, honey, I need you to come home right away. Something terrible
has happened to Craig.” For a fraction of a second her voice wavered before
she forced the words past her lips. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry, I…Craig was
sh..shot earlier today.” The finality of that statement made Vi shudder.
Having to say the words was almost unbearable.
Janae slumped in a chair near the bed, covering her mouth with a delicate
hand. The silence stretched out for a time before Vi said again into the
receiver.
“Janae, Craig is dead.”
“Oh no, nooooo! Oh, mom no… Oh, God…no!”
Feeling her daughter’s pain through the phone line, Vi desperately wished
she were there by her side, instead of hundreds of miles separating them.
“Janae, I know baby, I know. Please listen Janae, you’ll have to get…the
f…first flight out and…” it was too much, Vi covered her mouth with the
back of her hand to stifle the sob aching to leave her throat. She felt
Cynthia arms go around her as Clayton gently took the receiver from her
hand.
“Janae, this is Clay Marshall. I’m here with your mother and your Aunt.
I’m so very sorry.” Talking to Janae was difficult, her words came out
disjointed and broken by her weeping. Sometimes she became coherent and
asked him questions. Difficult questions that her mother should not have to
answer. Keeping his answers short, after a time, Clayton said, “Janae put
your friend Carol on the phone please.”
Recognizing Janae was too distraught to think clearly, he spoke to her
friend Carol about changing her flight arrangements and asked her to call
back with those changes so he could pick Janae up when her flight arrived.
With those details taken care of, he gave the phone back to Mrs. Simpson
and listened to their tearful goodbye. When she hung up, Vi quickly dialed
the number to reach Tony and once again her sister offered to help her make
the necessary calls. But she stoically refused.
“This is something I have to do myself,” she explained. “After I reach
Tony I have to call the mortuary, then you can do the rest.”
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