The car door opened and Airic helped Mya into the booster seat they’d ordered with the car rental. Mya’s wailing turned into soft sobs in between still calling for Mommy.
“Hi there, Mya. You look so pretty today. Remember me? I’m Trevelle and we’re going to have lots of fun.” Trevelle batted her long lashes and did her best to ignore the large erratic bush of hair on the child’s head. The bow tilted to the side and did nothing to tame the wild mane. What a sight. Uncombed hair sent a shiver through Trevelle’s spine. Obviously no one cared for the child or she wouldn’t be running around unkempt.
So now she had both of them to deal with, Airic with his open collar and loose linen pants like he’d just left the set of Miami Vice, and the child, in jeans with uncombed hair looking like an orphan. Trevelle’s first thought was to skip church altogether. She couldn’t walk into Mt. Ebenezer with this motley crew. Her second thought, however, was to make a stop at the local Wal-Mart, pick up a tie and some hair products and fix all that was wrong in her small part of the world. Resourcefulness had always been one of Trevelle’s strong suits. There was no time like the present to sharpen her skills.
20
Jake
Jake squeezed his arms tight one over the other to keep from slamming a fist into the wall. He realized if he loosened his grip even slightly, he could single-handedly destroy everything in his reach.
Yes, he’d agreed to play nice. Yes, he’d accepted the fact that Airic had a right to see Mya. It didn’t stop the pain. There were no words, no way to make anyone understand. There were no visible signs of injury, no blood and guts. Then why did he feel like his insides had been ripped out?
Georgina failed to notice he was hanging on by a thread and continued with the plan of action. “This is going to play out perfectly,” she said. “We’ll ask for a psychological evaluation of Mya, explaining the rampant nightmares followed by this little visit.”
How right she was. Nightmares vivid and haunting, of being led out the door with a perfect stranger. Mya didn’t know who Airic was, and wouldn’t understand if they’d tried to explain. Saying he was a close relative of the family. Stupid! Going through this was ridiculous.
“Do you have any idea ….” Pauletta was back in time, speaking the words no one else could. “Does anyone realize we’re dealing with a real live child, a baby, three years old? She doesn’t know about your grand strategy. She only knows her mother and her father let a strange man take her out of this house. Uh-huh, you can bet there’ll be some bad dreams, we won’t have to make ’em up.”
“Mya is going to be fine. Children are resilient,” Georgina said, inching toward her briefcase to make her escape. She threw her suit jacket over her arm. “Let’s keep it simple. We don’t want to do anything stupid.” She eyed Jake harder than the rest as she said her warning.
“You don’t care,” Venus said quickly. “I already lost one child, I can’t lose another.” She turned her face up to Jake, looking for support. But he shook his head instead. “Stop,” he reprimanded. “Keep it together.”
“She doesn’t care,” she repeated.
“Of course she cares, it’s going to be okay. Mya’s going to be back before you know it.”
“Did you see Mya kicking and screaming like she was being kidnapped right in front of us? We did nothing, Jake.”
Georgina tilted her head slightly like a dog who didn’t understand such human antics and wasted emotions. She seemed unfazed until she spoke. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. You’re forgetting I was there. I know what you went through. I’m not going to let it happen again.” She reached out and shook Jake’s hand.
“I’ll walk you out.”
When they reached the edge of the walkway, Jake faced Georgina. “Look, something’s gotta be done to end this. I can’t see her go through this nightmare. I can’t watch her fall apart again.”
Georgina unlocked her rental car. “Have I ever let you down? Leave it up to me. Just be patient and don’t do anything stupid,” she warned again.
“How stupid?” he said. “What exactly is it you don’t want me to do? Kill him? Shit Georgina, all this time and I thought you actually believed me.” He slammed her car door closed and backed up. She started her car but didn’t leave.
“That’s not what I’m implying,” she said, letting the electronic window flow effortlessly down. “I just don’t want you to jeopardize your chances by hitting him because if it were me, I probably would’ve decked the guy. Call me when Mya gets home.” She pulled her long red hair over her shoulder. “Damn, it’s hot.”
“Hot as hell,” Jake agreed.
“How long you plan on hiding out here?”
“I’m not hiding. If anything I’m trying to get some exposure. I’m invisible in Cali.”
“You’ll never be invisible to me.” Georgina hunched her shoulders. “Guess I’m the one that shouldn’t do anything stupid.”
He raised both his arms. “Later.” He didn’t give Georgina’s obvious flirtation a second thought. He was flattered, but impervious. He’d had enough women to last him ten lifetimes. He’d lived his life full and complete as a bachelor and the only benefit he’d noticed was that the roll of toilet tissue lasted longer. Women were pushing up on him at every turn, married or not. Rich or not. Famous or not. He didn’t need the stress of running game.
He had exactly what he needed, his family, and he had no plans of losing them.
21
Dead Man Tales
Delma knew better than crossing the personal boundaries. Over the years it wasn’t hard, she had but one thing on her mind: be successful. Take care of herself and Keisha first and foremost. She hadn’t time for personal liaisons unless they were going to get her a bigger raise or a lower interest rate on her mortgage.
The waitress set the steaming cups of coffee down in front of her and Hudson. He grabbed four packets of sugar and tore them open all at once, pouring them in the same fashion.
Delma sighed. “You’re right, I could be blowing this out of proportion. The secret …. could mean a lot of things. Doesn’t have to be referring to Keisha.”
Hudson blew on his coffee before taking a sip. He leaned back in the booth. His long legs pushed out, bumping against Delma’s thick knees. “Exactly. You shouldn’t play into it.”
“But here, in my heart, I know it’s time to tell her everything. The secret has been too much of a burden.”
Hudson nodded but didn’t want to push. She knew what he was thinking. If she told Keisha the truth, then there’d be no more need for fear. There’d be no secret to threaten her with ever again. Anyone else knowing would be inconsequential.
Why couldn’t the past stay the past? Delma didn’t understand people always in need of bringing up old stuff from eons ago. There was surely always one aunt, uncle, or cousin around the dinner table who deemed themselves the chronicler of all things distant. As if it mattered. As if anything that happened in the past could affect what was happening now. She did what anyone would have done in the moment. She shouldn’t be held accountable for that. She looked down at her perfect black coffee, which she knew would taste like snake piss because she refused to add cream or sugar, and took a huge swallow of the bitter brew. She began to rehearse her side of the story.
June sixteenth, 1978, she’d been working late on a trial as usual. Why not give the heavy loads to Delma, she had nothing better to do than work her butt off to make everyone else look good? She’d loaded two boxes of files into her car, to continue the work over the weekend that she couldn’t do while sitting ramrod straight in the hardwood chairs of the DA’s office.
She was driving home when she saw the girl walking, stumbling, barely able to stay upright. Delma’s headlights landed on her face. She put up a bloodied hand to protect her vision. She’d been beaten, that much was obvious. Delma put the car in park and jumped out, startled to see even worse up close. Her face was covered with bruises, a swollen eye, and gashes on her lips a
nd cheeks. “What happened to you? Who did this?”
“I killed him,” the girl sputtered, then nearly collapsed if not for Delma’s grip on her arm and around her waist.
“You killed who?” Delma asked, worried that she was hearing more than she should in her capacity as an assistant district attorney, but unable to resist. “You say somebody’s dead?” She helped her get into the car. The hospital was only a mile or two away but Delma knew it would take forever for an ambulance to come.
“Cain. He’s dead,” she said.
Delma’s mind was racing. Cain. The man’s name was actually Devon Little, very well known for preying on girls, turning them out before they could figure out how to wear lipstick and high heels, let alone have sex with a grown man. When Cain was only thirteen he and his little brother got into a fight while they were home alone. He claimed his brother fell and hit his head on a glass coffee table. He bled to death and Devon went to juvenile detention for five years. That was where he picked up his little nickname for the Bible story of Cain killing Abel. The man was pure evil as far as Delma was concerned, so he probably deserved whatever he got.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” Delma asked, putting the car in gear. She pulled out, thinking to check first but thought the bloodied girl was more important. She was covered in it from head to toe.
“I killed him,” she cried out, “. …and my baby.”
“Don’t you tell another soul what you just said to me, you hear? Don’t repeat another word of it.” Delma drove fast, barely slowing through yellow lights, speeding through the red lights, running them altogether. She pulled into the emergency bay at the downtown community hospital. She helped the girl out of the car. “Emergency,” she yelled for anyone able to hear her. The girl was heavier than she looked. Delma practically dragged her as she slipped in and out of consciousness.
“Over here.” The receptionist appeared and called out from behind her bulletproof window.
“What you mean, ‘over here’? Does it look like I can carry this girl another step? Get somebody out here, now.”
The buzzer opened the double doors. A male nurse was waiting on the other side with a wheelchair. She guided the limp body as best she could and plopped her down. “Get her help. She’s been beaten up pretty bad. I’m from the district attorney’s office.” Delma flashed her badge to the receptionist. “She’s not to leave this hospital.” Delma tore off in a bigger hurry than she’d come.
She drove and sped through the very same lights, this time going in the opposite direction. When she got close to the point where she’d originally picked up the girl, she slowed, looking for the car, what car? Think, think, Delma told herself. Cain. He’d pimped the streets long enough that she would know …. should know, and she did, the minute she saw the gold Cadillac parked haphazardly with the back passenger door left wide open, the headlights on.
The shadow of the streetlamp made it even harder to see the man’s face. But there was no denying it was him slumped over the steering wheel with shattered pieces of glass stuck to his stiff dry perm.
Delma’s hand shook with fear as she reached out to touch his shoulder. “Wake up. You okay?” She gave him a shove in the off chance the girl was mistaken. Maybe he wasn’t dead, case closed and everybody could go about their merry way. “Hey,” this time shoving him harder. His body fell completely off to the right into the passenger seat. Delma jumped back, never having seen a dead body unless it was prepped nice and pretty in a casket. Her district attorney assignments mostly included white collar crimes, the worst being rape and assault. Not once had she been front and center with a dead body.
She took a cautious step closer, peered inside, this time looking for the baby. A blue slither of light landed on the backseat, showing the blood-soaked rag and tiny hand sticking out but not moving. Her own shadow made it difficult to see. But she knew blood for sure when she saw it covering the leather interior like spilled paint.
It was a tragic scene, one she’d never forget. First things first, she needed to call the police. The girl was probably going to jail. If there’s one thing Delma had learned working in the DA’s office, one crime didn’t cancel out another. Just because he’d hit the girl, beat her senseless, didn’t mean she would get off scot-free for winning the fight. And a dead baby to boot. She leaned forward one more time, almost sure she’d seen movement. Maybe her exhaustion was making her eyes play tricks on her. Then she heard it, a small desperate breath and a weak cry.
“Oh, dear sweet heaven.” Climbing inside the backseat of that car took every ounce of strength in Delma’s arms and legs. She was weak and shaking with fear. “Oh my God.” She gently scooped up the child and gave plenty of thought to taking her directly to the hospital. Then something stopped her.
Delma surmised two things about that night. She was meant to find that child alive. She was meant to find the mother and be the first to tell her to keep her mouth quiet about Cain, because if it had been anyone else the poor girl would’ve been in handcuffs, regardless of Cain’s debauchery. One man’s sins didn’t null and void another’s. That much she knew about the law she helped enforce on a daily basis. The final thing, having worked in the district attorney’s office, she’d seen enough travesties to know they would simply put the child in foster care, a system riddled with indifference and neglect. So she did what she had to, she took the baby to Dr. Yancy, even though he’d only seen a year or two of medical school before being kicked out for stealing pharmaceuticals. He’d earned the name “Doctor” for helping out the girls on the street. He performed abortions for half the going rate, ignoring nosey laws about age and consent. He delivered babies for the girls on the street who were too busy getting high to realize they were pregnant in the first place. He conveniently ignored the law of reporting a mother for drug abuse while carrying a fetus, a prosecutable crime.
Delma wasted no time getting to Dr. Yancy’s door carrying the baby, who was still attached to the umbilical cord and placenta. His only question: “Where’s the mother?”
Her only answer: “Somewhere getting help.”
22
Trevelle
The entire church gave her a standing ovation. The pastor pushed his hands together like a ten-bout champion in a ring, happy and blessed Trevelle Doval had chosen to visit his congregation. She stood and waved with Mya and Airic by her side. Trevelle knew it was going to happen. That was precisely why she’d insisted on making a respectable presentation.
“Won’t you come up and say a few words, Ms. Doval?” Pastor Clarence showed a sincere hope that all he had to do was ask in front of hundreds and she’d be obligated. The answer was still no.
Trevelle blew a kiss to the pulpit and shook her head no, gracefully. If the word got out she took the podium by mere request, she’d be inundated with invites by Monday morning. The congregation spoke in various measures of pleading. “Oh, please. Thank you, Lord. Praise his name.”
She felt a hand touch hers. It was Airic. He gave a loving nod of approval. He should’ve known better. In front of all these people he’d given her the nod. She couldn’t possibly turn a deaf ear to her husband’s direct order, not in front of all those who knew her mantra, put him first, God, husband, family. She’d even written a book about it since her marriage to Airic and sold half a million copies. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t dare disrespect him by disobeying his will in front of these people. When they got home would be another story.
Her smile turned to one of compliance. From where she stood in the front row it only took a few steps before she was up the stairs. A booming applause moved her toward the microphone. Once Trevelle was up at the podium she was a moth to a flame, a person born for the limelight. “Praise the Lord.” A huge chorus from the congregation returned her greeting, “Praise the Lord.”
“Yes, God is good, amen. I am so blessed today to be with you all. But to tell you the truth, I’m blessed every day.” The crowd was hanging on her every word. She released the microphone
from the stationary stand and tested the line to see how far she could travel. Trevelle was famous for her stroll.
“I said, I’m blessed every day. You want to know why? ’Cause I’ma super Christian. Yeah, that’s right I said it,” she sang out. “Someone asked me, what’s that mean …. does it mean you can fly? Do you have super powers? Can you turn water into wine? Can you …. can you make someone walk who’s not taken a step in years?” She beamed quietly, letting the congregation get out their “Yes Lord” and “Amen.”
“Waiting for the answer?” she asked. “Well here it is. I’m a super Christian and yes, I can fly. My wings are being sized as we speak. Yes, I have super powers. Because there is no greater power than faith. And yes, I can pour a glass of water and take a sip and feel higher than any alcohol poured from the devil’s bottle. You know why …. say it with me.” Her signature high heels strutted from one side to the other. She refused to say another word until the entire congregation was on their feet. She stared in silence, one hand on her hip tapping her foot.
“Are we there yet?” she said in a low whisper, then raised her hands like a bandleader. “Say it with me,” she shouted and then in succession everyone shouted with her. “I’m a super Christian.” Her eyes swept across the church, she felt glorious. Triumphant. Trevelle’s gaze fell on Airic clapping, sending up love and support. He was her biggest fan. What more could she ask? she thought before her eyes fell on Mya. A second chance. The truth of it overwhelmed her with joy. She was going to have her second chance to be a mother, to make up for that night so long ago.
“Today,” her voice broke through. The crowd hushed. “My husband and myself took a very important step in our lives, praise God. We have just taken in a beautiful young baby girl, her name is Mya. We are in the process of adoption.”
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