“I can’t seem to follow a book these days. My eyes don’t want to cooperate.”
“Some light might help,” Zoie said, groping for the switch under the shade of a tall pole lamp.
For the first time since Zoie entered the room, her grandmother faced her. “Don’t go turning on the light. The dark is just fine.”
“Okay. Okay.” Perhaps tonight’s visit was a bad idea. Now that Zoie was there, she was obliged to stay for a while. “Grandma, how are you feeling?”
“I’m well enough. I just have to stop this hacking.” Her grandmother again gazed out the window, mesmerized by the dark sky, as if searching for something. Maybe a shooting star.
When the old woman turned again, Zoie’s eyes had adjusted enough to make out her grandmother’s keen features, still padded by soft cream-colored skin, which looked gray and shadowy in the dim moonlight.
“Zo, is this the weekend? I can’t tell anymore.” For just a moment, her grandmother sounded unsure, fragile, like someone truly lost.
“No, Grandma. It’s only Wednesday.”
“Wednesday, huh. What brings you over this way on a weeknight?”
“You, Grandma.”
“Humph!” Her edge was back. Once again her grandmother turned to the sky, to whatever distant star she was waiting to see.
“Grandma!”
“Guess Queen told you to come. Told you I was on my death bed, didn’t she?”
“No. In fact, Queen said you were doing fine.”
“Now there’s another lie. That woman either has me up dancing or lying in the grave.”
Zoie threw up her hands. “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.” She positioned herself to settle on the bed, careful not to sit on her grandmother’s leg.
“Unexpected visit, huh? That means something’s wrong.”
“I need your advice.”
“Umm, sounds ominous.”
“Surreal is more like it.”
“Okay, give it to me.” Frances Woods pushed herself up with her elbows and relaxed into her pillows.
Zoie searched for the words. It would be the first telling of the story. Maybe the Ohio phone call had been a dream. If saying the words out loud made it real, she’d be better off keeping her mouth shut. Finally, she blurted, “That bastard Elliot showed up in Ohio to see Nikki.”
“Lord, the Phoenix has risen.” One of the old woman’s hands flew to her mouth to stifle any further utterance. Her eyes glowed like a sponge that had absorbed what little light there was in the room.
“Phoenix? Phoenix, my ass,” Zoie said in disgust. “Why are you talking about Elliot as if he were some second coming? You hated Elliot.”
“Honey, how many times have I told you that hate takes too much energy?” Frances Woods coughed. “I never said I hated him—never even said I disliked him. He could have washed that curly hair of his more often, though.” She made herself laugh and triggered more coughing. Grabbing a handful of tissues from a nearby box, she covered her mouth. Her action only muffled the sound of the string of coughs that followed.
“Grandma, anything I can do?”
Frances Woods waved a tissue to indicate no, then clutched another tissue to her mouth.
Dismayed, Zoie could only wait and watch as her grandmother settled down. After a few minutes, the old woman could take a long, slow breath. When she began to speak again, it was in a whisper. “Zo, honey, I just said I didn’t think that guy was right for you.”
“You hardly knew him.”
“True. True enough. I don’t have to know a person to pick up on their vibe. And what I picked up was that your vibe and his vibe didn’t mesh.”
“I wish you’d said something back then. Told me to watch out.”
“Zo, you wouldn’t have listened. You were all starry eyed. Anyway, don’t you remember? During the time you were with him, your mother got sick.”
The mention of her mother imposed a moment’s quiet.
“Anyway, if you two hadn’t hooked up, you wouldn’t have Nikki.”
Life without Nikki was too bleak for Zoie to consider. Nikki was the one good thing that came from it all. “He’s got some nerve, showing up to see his daughter,” Zoie said, her venom thick.
“Thank God he’s got nerve.”
“Grandma, you don’t see the wrong in this? He abandoned her.”
“Wrong? No. I admit it is awkward. Yeah, awkward, for sure. But wrong? That’s a judgment I’ll leave to the man upstairs.”
“Grandma, I don’t believe you.” Zoie slapped her thighs so hard the bed shook. She jumped up and paced the dark room like a caged animal.
“Zoie, calm down. You have to let go of this rage. If you don’t, it will eat you up.”
“I told Elliot’s mother that I was coming to get Nikki this weekend.”
“I thought you arranged for Nikki to stay for the summer.”
“That was the plan. But after this…how can I let her stay there?”
“Now I guess Elliot’s parents are wrong too?”
“They let this happen.” Zoie stopped pacing to emphasize her statement.
“What are they supposed to do?” Her grandmother’s voice was weak. To hear her Zoie moved closer, settling on the bed again. “Whatever else they may feel about the situation, Elliot is their son.”
“That’s what Celeste said.”
“Zoie, what’s bringing Nikki home now going to prove? That you’re still angry because five years ago…”
“Six.”
“How many ever years ago.” Frances Woods coughed. “Elliot acted totally immature.”
“Immature! He’s an asshole!”
“I prefer fool.”
“Humph!”
“You must still have feelings for him. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so angry.”
“Grandma, I don’t have feelings for Elliot. Elliot’s married. They’re expecting a child.”
“Oh, you didn’t tell me that part.” Her grandmother’s voice was a high-pitched whisper of disbelief.
“That’s not why I want to bring Nikki home.”
“So you’re punishing the child for seeing her father?” her grandmother asked. “Don’t you think she has the right to know him?”
“Why does this always come back to me? Why am I the villain?”
“Honey, you’re not a villain, but you have the power to make this a better situation. You’re intelligent, and quiet as kept, you’ve got a heart, a good heart. Though it’s hard to tell sometimes since it’s trapped under your law books.”
“Gee, thanks.” Zoie sucked her teeth.
“Zo, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
“So what should I do?”
“You’re looking for me to tell you what to do. You’re a grown woman. Do what your conscience tells you.”
“Grandma,” Zoie whined.
“You know what you have to do. You knew before you came over here. Do the right thing. Zoie, don’t be so proud. Don’t cut off your nose to spite that pretty face.”
All the talking triggered more coughs. Zoie gave her grandmother some water and called out for Queen. Queen arrived with a concoction of tea and honey. Her grandmother took a few sips, then collapsed into her high pillows. When the spasm subsided, Zoie brushed her grandmother’s hair from her clammy forehead and kissed her brow.
Concerned by her grandmother’s spasm, Zoie forgot to think about Elliot. On the way home in a cab, her grandmother’s words came back. “Do the right thing.” Wasn’t that the name of the Spike Lee movie? What was the right thing, anyway? Right, according to her grandmother, might not be right for her and Nikki. How could her grandmother defend Elliot? No matter what her grandmother had said, Elliot was an asshole.
Do the right thing, huh? She was supposed to take the high ground, whatever that was. Even as she considered it, trying to reach that place and leaving her ego behind were not going to happen. The hurt he had caused her wouldn’t let go.
�
�Zoie, don’t be so proud. Don’t you cut off your nose to spite that pretty face,” her grandmother had said. Those words appealed to Zoie’s sense of logic. As a practical matter, she hadn’t arranged for any summer day care in DC. At the moment she had zilch. Bringing Nikki back early from Ohio would create a major problem: what would she do with Nikki until she found appropriate care? Making good on her promise to Celeste to come get Nikki meant that Zoie would have to stay home from work until she found someone to care for her child. If that wasn’t “biting off her nose,” she didn’t know what was.
By the time the cab pulled up in front of her building, Zoie’s head felt like a water balloon about to explode. Eyes closed, she didn’t even notice that the car had stopped moving.
“Is this it, lady?” the driver asked.
“Oh, yeah, this is it.”
She paid the driver and decided to deal with her new trauma drama in the morning.
CHAPTER 9
I Apologize—Well, Sort Of
Zoie started the office copier, her mind drifting between the morning’s major events: the pseudo-apologetic call to Celeste Benjamin and the mental preparation for her afternoon meeting with a representative of Trinity Elder Day Care. The copier’s dull hum intensified her semi-stupor.
That morning she called Celeste Benjamin. “Celeste, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not coming to get Nikki this weekend.”
“Oh!” said Celeste. “Zoie, are you sure? The other night you sounded so definite.” Celeste was not her usual Saccharin sweet self.
“Yes, I’ve had a change of mind.” Indeed, Zoie’s decision to let Nikki stay the remainder of the summer in Ohio was a change of mind, not heart. “You said Elliot was leaving today.”
“That’s right. They’re leaving in a couple of hours.” Celeste wasn’t even trying to make conversation. She wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Fine then. Nikki can stay.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “That is, if you’ll still have her.”
“Of course Nikki can stay. We’re delighted that you’ve changed your mind.” Celeste’s voice was still cold but had hints of cracks in the ice. At least Celeste wasn’t asking why Zoie had changed her mind.
“Did you say anything to Nikki? About coming home early?” Zoie asked.
“No. I was waiting for your call.”
“Good. Nikki sounds like she’s having a good time there.” That was the most concession that Zoie was going to give the woman. I have to get along with this woman, Zoie thought. This woman is taking care of my child.
“She’s having fun. Do you want to talk to her?”
Suddenly Zoie remembered the whole puppy issue. She envisioned the puppy trailing behind her daughter as if it already belonged to her. And she envisioned it pooping on her living-room rug. Nikki would surely pressure her for an answer about bringing the dog home. Not prepared to deliver the bad news, Zoie could only stall. Please. No more drama. The dog question will have to wait.
“That’s okay, Celeste. Don’t get Nikki now. I’ll call her tonight.”
The conversation had gone quickly. Zoie had managed to keep her voice calm, making no mention of Elliot’s wife or expectant child. It had been awkward, as far as awkward things go, but Zoie was satisfied. Upon hanging up she breathed a long sigh of relief.
Zoie added paper to the copier tray. The machine started its second round. The Trinity rep was coming at 1:00 p.m., leaving her a little over an hour to do her research. From what she knew, the Trinity issue seemed straightforward. Trinity, a former grantee, had continued to cite the Crayton Foundation as one of its major sponsors on its brochures long after Crayton had severed ties with the program.
“We don’t need that kind of negative publicity,” Ray had ranted, referring to Trinity’s battle with the IRS. Trinity was about to lose its most valuable asset—its nonprofit status. “I want the Foundation’s name off anything to do with Trinity.”
Was this a case of negligence or simply an organization’s failure to update its media material? Stupidity, maybe. But stupidity wasn’t the same as fraud. At 1:00 p.m. she’d find out. This won’t be difficult, she thought as she read the top page of the stack of documents, while rounding the corner and heading to her office.
Combat boots were the last things she remembered before the collision. Head first she went full contact into his chest, the smack knocking her back, shaking loose the top layer of her documents. Dazed and embarrassed, she looked up to find none other than Jahi Khalfani.
“What are doing here?” she asked, her tone indignant.
“Why, Ms. Taylor, is this place off limits to the likes of me?”
“No. No. I’m sorry. It’s just that I…I didn’t expect to run into you.”
“But you did…literally.” He smiled, seeming self-satisfied. “Please, no more accidents. Our meetings are becoming dangerous.” He picked up her fallen documents and laid them on the stack in her arms. “Good thing it wasn’t coffee.”
“I’m sorry. I should pay attention. But why are you here?” she asked, gathering her wits.
“Oh, the questions again.” He waited a second before answering. “If you must know, I’m here to sign some papers.”
She wanted to ask which papers, but having been called to task for her inquiring mind (or, as some called it, her grand inquisitor style), she suppressed the urge. “I was going to call you.”
“Really. Is there something we need to talk about?”
“Yes. But first I’d like to apologize for my awful behavior at the charity dinner last week.”
“Oh, that,” he said, rolling his eyes and sighing. “That was quite an evening. I’m happy to have provided you with some entertainment.” He bowed his head in jest.
Zoie smiled. The comic scene at the reception had provided a good laugh. Even now the thought of it—Jahi and his lady friend, both dressed in their finest, sprawled on the floor, drenched in greasy food and booze—still tickled her funny bone but made her feel guilty.
“Don’t make fun of other people’s misfortunes,” her grandmother told her long ago, when she laughed at her cousin Ralph, who was being spanked on his bare bottom. That happened when she was six or seven. But her grandmother’s warning voice had stuck with her. Having the self-control to obey it was a different story.
“Obviously, the entertainment continues,” Jahi said, reacting to her expression of amusement, the rise of color in her high cheeks.
Zoie bit her bottom lip and fought to stifle any laugh that might follow. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m terrible.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ms. Taylor. And, please, no more apologies. I don’t know what I’ll do if you apologize to me one more time.”
She didn’t know how she’d gotten there, but she had—that uncomfortable apology zone, the one brought on by continuing to do or say the wrong things, better known as “putting one’s foot in one’s mouth.” She was about to say sorry yet again but caught herself. “Remember, you can call me Zoie.”
“Right, Zoie. You told me that last week. Everything got washed away in that disaster.”
They laughed.
“Zoie.” Her name somehow sounded different when he said it, as if the name she’d always thought as cutesy, playful, and childish became serious, substantial, and womanly when spoken from his mouth.
“How can I make it up to you?” she asked.
“There’s nothing to make up. That night wasn’t my night. Bad karma, I guess,” he said, sighing.
“Was your lady friend the ‘bad karma’?”
“You mean Lena? Lena Christian? Not at all.”
Zoie smirked and looked away.
“Yes, Lena is a lady and just a friend,” he continued, “albeit, a friend who had too much to drink that night.”
“Seems your friend is also my former classmate.”
“True. And it appears she has some fond memories of you,” he added.
“Look, I don’t want to get into your b
usiness. But it’s obvious that Lena thinks your relationship is more than a friendship.”
“Well, Zoie, since you don’t want to get into my business, we’ll just leave that alone.”
“Right,” she said, shutting her mouth as tightly as she could. An awkward silence followed, a time warp in which Zoie became aware of the office’s background noises: telephones ringing, printers chugging, and the elevator’s bell dinging. How could she be so stupid? What made her say that about Lena? It was unprofessional. She wished that she could escape or melt into the floor like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. She’d managed to not say sorry again, though this latest faux pas screamed for an apology.
Why was she doing this? Something about Jahi made her feel uncomfortable. Somehow her sense of confidence—the rudder that always stabilized her in rough corporate waters—had gone missing. This was not a corporate situation. She was at a loss for words. Her usual quick comebacks were on a hiatus. Whatever was coming out of her mouth was coming out wrong.
“Ms. Taylor—I mean Zoie—was the other night’s fiasco what you wanted to talk to me about?” Jahi asked, his tone more serious.
She needed to ask for a tour of Mahali Salaam. Asking for the tour shouldn’t be such a big deal. “Yes, the apology part, but…”
Just then Regina walked by. Her mouth was agape, and the younger woman’s eyes gave Jahi a once-over. It was a shameless sexual exchange, like behavior attributed to some men on the street, minus the catcalls.
“You’re Jahi Khalfani, aren’t you?” Regina asked, ignoring the fact that she’d just interrupted her boss’s conversation. “I’ve seen your name on documents around here, and I’ve seen you in the paper and on TV.”
“Regina Bullock, meet Jahi Khalfani,” Zoie said, trying to salvage some dignity after witnessing the shameful display. Her irritation with the young woman was apparent.
Like a princess at a ball, Regina extended her hand.
“Hello, Regina,” Jahi said. He held her hand between his hands as if caressing a small bird, while staring admiringly into the young woman’s eyes.
Regina, the temptress, had been tamed. She blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl.
Not cool, girlfriend. Not cool at all, Zoie thought, observing the pair. Hopefully, Regina was putting on an act. This streetwise young woman couldn’t have been less subtle. Zoie wondered when she had missed the news flash declaring that Jahi Khalfani had rock-star status.
What Simon Didn’t Say Page 6