What Goes Around

by Denene Millner

  “I guess,” Sydney mumbled as she followed him into the living room. Without her aunt chain-smoking and laying up in the E-Z chair, the room suddenly seemed more spacious to Sydney. “So, how you been?” Sydney asked hesitantly. With everything going on, she hadn’t had a chance to come over and see her father since his release. And it seemed like whenever they spoke on the phone, he was really short with her.

  “I’ve been making it,” Dice answered truthfully as he stared intently at his elder daughter. Sydney met his gaze. “I have to tell you, at first I wasn’t really feeling the whole get-out-of-jail-on-Altimus thing,” he said slowly.

  “Dad, I know but I—”

  “Let me finish, young lady,” Dice continued sharply. Sydney immediately closed her mouth. “But I’ve been praying, and I understand that it wasn’t an easy decision for you to make. And I guess, ultimately, I’m grateful.”

  “Oh, Dad,” Sydney exclaimed in relief as she hugged her father’s lean frame. “I just wanted you to be home. I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. I just figured that you might be able to find something out about Rodney’s real killer if you were out…”

  “It’s okay, Ladybug, you don’t have to explain anything else,” Dice reassured Sydney as he stroked the top of her head. “I know you love me and that’s all I’m gonna focus on. The rest will fall into place.” Sydney leaned her head on her father’s shoulder and exhaled heavily. “So what brings you over here?” Dice asked after a moment. “You seem upset.”

  Sydney raised her head to look at her father. “I’m in trouble,” she said plainly. Dice’s eyes immediately narrowed.

  “What kinda trouble, Syd?”

  “I’ve been accused of something I didn’t do,” she continued. “And I know who did it. But if I tell, a lot of people that I care about will get hurt.”

  Dice nodded slowly. “I see,” he responded with a bitter smile. “Sounds like déjà vu to me.”

  “There are going to be really serious consequences for whoever takes the fall, Dad. I just don’t know if I can stand tall like you did,” she admitted.

  “Listen here,” Dice said as he pulled away from Sydney slightly. “You are too young to get yourself involved in anyone else’s drama. When I stood tall for that crime, it’s because I knew my hands weren’t clean. But you’re not me. Ya hear? And you don’t owe anybody anything…ever.”

  “I guess I just—” Sydney started when Dice put a gentle finger to her lips.

  “Don’t guess, know.”

  16

  LAUREN

  It was incredibly beautiful outside, particularly considering it was only a few days before Christmas. That’s Atlanta in the wintertime—everywhere else, it’s snowing or freezing, and in ATL, it’s sixty-five and sunny. Still, standing in the shadows of the church bookstore and cultural center, Lauren pulled the collar of her white Bogner ski jacket tight around her neck to block the chill. Jermaine cupped his eyes as he peeked through the window—his breath steamed up a patch of the glass. “I know she’s here,” he said, checking his watch. “She always comes here after the Shrine service lets out.”

  “What is this place, anyway?” Lauren asked, stuffing her hands into her jacket and peering through the display window.

  “It’s someplace really special to me.” He smiled, moving toward the door. “Here she is now.”

  Lauren and Jermaine stood back as a regal-looking woman with an Afro adorned with a colorful wrap opened the storefront door. Loud bells clanked against the glass, announcing the couple’s entrance. “Come on in here, boy,” she said. “How you been? And who’s this lovely young lady?”

  “Hey, Ewa,” Jermaine said, meeting her embrace with open arms and an ear-to-ear grin. “Good to see you. This is my friend Lauren. Lauren, this is Ewa.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Lauren,” Ewa said, extending her arms to pull Lauren in for a hug.

  “Likewise,” Lauren said, awkwardly returning the gesture.

  “Thanks for letting us in, Ewa,” Jermaine said. “I wanted to show Lauren around—sit and talk for a while.”

  “Anything for you, Jermaine,” she said.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any leftovers from Sunday dinner, would you?”

  “Already made two plates—they’re sitting on the table near your favorite spot, sweetie,” she smiled.

  “Ah, good looking out,” he said.

  “You know I got your back,” she said, walking around the register counter to grab her purse and keys. “Young lady, you sure must be someone special to be with someone so special,” Ewa continued. “Jermaine doesn’t just bring any ole body to the Shrine. He’s a fine young man—a soldier—got a good head on his shoulders, he’s about something. One of the good ones. But I’m sure you already knew this.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lauren giggled, tossing a “yeah, right” side-glance in Jermaine’s direction.

  “Huh? Huh? What’d you say?” Jermaine said, cupping his ear. “Did you say you know I’m a good brother?”

  “Whatev,” Lauren laughed. “You can’t just take the compliment, huh?”

  “Aw, big head or not, he’s still a good boy,” Ewa sighed as she headed for the door. “Okay, baby, you know the drill: Lock up when you’re done; leave the key in the mail drop at the sanctuary.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jermaine said, extending for another hug.

  “Nice meeting you, Lauren,” Ewa said, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Again, the bells rang out as they smashed against the glass door pane.

  “So, you going to tell me where I am and what we’re doing here, or what?” Lauren insisted, tapping her fingers on the top of a beautifully carved African drum. She stood in the middle of the foyer and took in the place, part bookstore, part African market, with display after display of colorful mud cloth, elaborate masks, sculptures, walking sticks, and other trinkets. Lauren almost lost her breath when she caught sight of a beaded belt she instantly envisioned wrapped loosely around the waist of her Joe’s jeans.

  “This is the bookstore at the Shrine of the Black Madonna,” Jermaine said. “The church is next door, and this is where they sell all kinds of stuff imported from different countries in Africa. I come here sometimes, mostly on Sundays, though. Ewa lets me come in and read. They got a lot of books you can’t really find in the mainstream bookstores—stuff on black leaders, African-American history, theory, religion, science. They got novels, too, a nice teen selection. Sometimes I buy my moms jewelry from here, on special occasions. Actually, I was hoping you could help me pick out a Christmas gift for ma dukes.”

  Lauren walked toward a shelf of books and flipped through the pages of a paperback with a cartoon character of a little African-American girl named Ruby. “Wow, I’ve never seen this many books about black people all in one place,” Lauren said, her eyes taking them in as if she were gazing at a feast.

  “Yeah, Ewa does a great job making sure all the bookshelves stay full,” Jermaine said, following behind Lauren.

  “How do you know her?”

  “Who, Ewa? Her son plays ball down at the community center where I work. I guess I’m his mentor, or at least that’s what Ewa says. He was in a little trouble a while back, and I helped him get out of a jam, so let’s just say she’s grateful.”

  “Must be, hooking you up with Sunday dinner and everything,” Lauren said as she came upon the table where Ewa had laid out two plates, each piled high with mac & cheese, roast chicken, fried fish, collards, candied yams, and corn bread.

  “Oh, yeah, well, when she’s not running the bookstore, she helps out in the kitchen when they have special after-service events at the Shrine,” he said. “I just give her a call and let her know if I’m coming through, and she puts a little something aside for me.”

  “You called for both of us?” Lauren asked, peeling off a piece of the crispy fish and popping it into her mouth. “This fish is crazy!”

  “Mos def,” Jermaine said. “They hooks it up. And, yes, I told he
r I’d be bringing you here because I wanted to show you where I like to hang. Pride ain’t the only spot in town.”

  “I wouldn’t go to Pride if you beat me all the way there with one of those walking sticks,” Lauren said, tossing in a halfhearted laugh.

  “Yeah, um, about Brandi and them…”

  “No, no, it’s cool—it’s cool. I’ve just decided that when I come here it’s best to wear my running sneakers, ’cause I never know when I’m going to run into the ex.”

  “Running shoes, huh?” Jermaine said, looking down at Lauren’s feet. “So then what’s with the tight, high boots?”

  “Oh, well, who needs sneakers when I’m with you?” Lauren said, walking up to Jermaine and wrapping her arms around his waist. She kissed his lips once, and then again. He returned her affection with a kiss of his own, this one more passionate, deeper. Tongues were definitely involved.

  “Hmm, how about those candied yams?” Lauren said nervously, pulling away and wiping the corner of her lips.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jermaine said, laughing and pulling out Lauren’s chair. “Let’s eat.”

  “Good idea,” Lauren said, rubbing her hands together.

  Jermaine took his seat, bowed his head for a quick prayer, and got to grubbing. “So, what’s up with your girl Dara? She all right?”

  Lauren swallowed hard and let her fork linger in the greens. She’d talked to her just moments before Jermaine came to Grace Temple AME to pick up Lauren for their Sunday afternoon date; Dara was home resting—still too weak and, moreover, upset to be around anyone other than her mom. She’d asked Lauren to come by her house, but she’d already committed to hanging with Jermaine and decided, after all of the drama of Friday night, she really had some making up to do. But Lauren promised to check up on her when she got back in.

  “Dara’s getting better, but it’s not easy. She didn’t go into the eleventh grade wanting to be somebody’s mother, but she’s pretty hurt that she lost the baby,” Lauren told Jermaine.

  “Damn, that’s rough,” Jermaine said, biting into his chicken.

  “Yeah, and then Marcus isn’t helping any,” Lauren continued. “Even though he called, he still hasn’t gone to visit her. I swear, I always knew he wasn’t nothin’, but this mess right here? I have no words. But you know what? That’s Marcus. Acceptance is the first step.”

  “Sounds pretty trife,” Jermaine offered.

  “Not as trife as what was on YRT,” Lauren said. “I refuse to even repeat some of the mess they were saying about her. I swear somebody ought to just hire a private detective to see who keeps making up that mess and then send a secret bat signal to her computer that’ll blow it to smithereens. That would make a lot of people happy.”

  “You included, huh?” Jermaine said, between crunching on his fish.

  “Hell, yeah,” she said without hesitation. “Down with YRT. I’m printing that on a sheet of iron transfer paper as we speak.”

  “’Cause you really care about what they say about you on there, huh?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Lauren demanded. “Some random person is dissecting your life, making up half-truths and big lies, and putting it on the Internet for the entire world to see?”

  “They ever put anything on there about me?” Jermaine asked. “Wait, that would be impossible, because none of your friends or enemies know I exist.”

  Lauren put the piece of fish she was about to pop into her mouth back down on her plate and wiped her fingers on the napkin resting in her lap. She seriously contemplated whether to take the bait or just go on ahead and change the subject—move on. She chose the former. “What’s that supposed to mean, Jermaine?”

  “It’s exactly what you think it means,” Jermaine said without hesitation. “None of your friends would know who I was, even if I showed up in the clubhouse parking lot with a front seat full of flowers, looking for you.”

  “You know, for the record, you shouldn’t just pop in on people unannounced and then expect somebody to drop what she’s doing to follow behind you,” Lauren snapped.

  “Follow behind me, huh?” Jermaine said, frowning. “Well, for the record, I wasn’t planning on asking you to follow behind me—I was going to ask you, my girlfriend, to come out with her man.”

  “I was with my friends,” Lauren said simply. “Unannounced can be cute sometimes, but mostly it’s rude.”

  “You weren’t with your friends,” Jermaine said, leaning back in his chair.

  Lauren wrinkled her brow. Did he know something? “Yes, I was. It was after squad practice, and we were leaving when you called.”

  “You were all leaving, yes, but you were alone. I saw you.”

  Lauren’s heart skipped a beat. Damn, he saw me, she said to herself. She didn’t know what to say, but that, of course, didn’t stop Jermaine from continuing his inquiry. “So what happened? You were afraid we’d end up on YRT? What, me with my beat-up car, in my baggy jeans and tennis shoes—I threw you off or something?”

  “That’s not it, Jermaine. It’s just that…”

  “Your friends are expecting more, and here I come—ole boy from the SWATS. I get it.”

  “You get what, Jermaine? What? You don’t know what it’s like to be in my shoes—you have no idea. People running all around Brookhaven Prep thinking my stepfather’s freakin’ Marlo Stansfield from The Wire, and my real dad is some kind of low-life prison rat, or that Altimus is a thief who doesn’t pay his taxes, and my mom is a ghetto queen who just happened to marry into money, and, oh—don’t let me leave out that I’m some wannabe video ho well on her way to becoming the next Karrine Steffans. What do you know about all that?”

  “I know that when you have something real in front of you, you don’t dis it for fake-ass people who don’t give a shit about you!” Jermaine shouted. “The same people you were too afraid to introduce me to—the same people you damn near had the driver run over rather than get out of the car with me on your arm at the gala—are the same people who talk about you and your family behind your back. That’s real, Lauren—open your eyes.”

  Lauren shook her head and pushed herself away from the table. She grabbed her purse and jacket and headed for the door. “I don’t have to listen to this, and I’m sure not going to let you stand here yelling at me like I’m a five-year-old who needs to be checked,” she said, stomping toward the door.

  Jermaine looked down at his plate and took in a deep breath. “Damn,” he said softly. Then louder, “Lauren, wait up—I’m sorry.”

  The bells slamming against the door made clear Lauren was waiting for no one. She ran out onto the sidewalk, pulling her jacket on and shoving her purse tightly under her shoulder while she tried to figure out exactly where she was. Because Jermaine had driven her here and she was so busy riding she didn’t really pay attention to the directions he had taken to get them there, she hadn’t a clue about even what the name of the street was that they were on. His car was in the back parking lot—that’s about all Lauren could remember.

  Jermaine burst through the door and ran out onto the sidewalk. “Come on, Lauren, I didn’t mean to get you upset,” he shouted.

  “Well, you did, and you know what? I’m not going to stand around being ridiculed and judged by my boyfriend,” she yelled. “No, wait, as a matter of fact, ex-boyfriend. Why don’t you go box with Brandi since you’re in the mood to fight.”

  “Come on, Lauren,” Jermaine said, grabbing her shoulder. “Can’t we just talk about this?”

  Lauren snatched her arm away and stomped down the sidewalk. “We just talked. I’m done.”

  “Yo, wait up, Lauren—where you going?”

  “Somewhere away from you,” Lauren insisted. “I just need to get out of here.”

  Lauren rushed into the street, walking against the light; a car speeding through narrowly missed her. The driver honked. “Get yo’ ass out the damn street!” he yelled, practically hanging out of the driver’s side window.

  Startled, Lauren lurched back
and ran down the sidewalk to her left, past a series of small storefronts and then houses, Jermaine on her heels. “Leave me alone, Jermaine!” she yelled, not at all concerned about the Negro theater she was performing for the various homeowners who, having just returned from church, were making their way from their cars to their houses with one wary eye on the couple running and screaming down their street. Indeed, there was drama to be had in the West End, but on a Sunday afternoon—the Lord’s Day? It was much too much. A few of the ladies shook their heads and grabbed their children’s hands and stared as they shut their gates and front doors. Lauren could practically bite into the shade they were throwing, it was so thick. She tried her best to avoid their gazes—walked a little faster to get away from it all. She got to the end of the block and, after looking up and down the street for cars, went left. Still, she had no idea where she was, but that didn’t stop her.

  “Come on, Lauren, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Jermaine said as softly as he could so that Lauren wouldn’t think he was still yelling.

  Lauren didn’t bother answering—just kept run-walking. She made a left—more houses.

  “Lauren!” Jermaine called.

  For some reason, this street looked familiar—really familiar. But what would Lauren know about it? Almost every time she’d been in the West End, it was in the dark, via MARTA or in a car with her navigation system and a prayer. Still, she recognized the pink shotgun house with the wooden fence, and the blue house next to that, lined with green shrubs that flowered well into December. She kept walking but looked back at the corner, her eyes searching for a road sign. She was on Peeples Street, near Uncle Larry’s house.

  “Yo, what up ma—what’s the rush?” she heard the voice say just before she crashed into the body from whom the voice came. “Whoa, whoa, easy there.”

  Lauren reeled back and her eyes focused on the man, a young twenty-something dripping in goose down, his hood obscuring almost every inch of his face. Lauren was so distracted that she’d seen neither him, holding court in the middle of the sidewalk, nor his friends, three guys, similarly dressed, lounging on and standing next to an old sky-blue Cutty with the motor running and music blasting from the speakers. “Oh, God, my bad—I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”