Nappily Faithful

by Trisha R. Thomas

  The shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Praise him” came in waves. Trevelle had to calm them once again. “We of course intend to give her a good Christian home and teach her that God is a loving God and one that will protect her and nurture her into a good Christian woman.” The crowd started to murmur as if talking among themselves. Trevelle was a pro at getting the congregation riled up and making them hang on every word that came out of her mouth.

  “I am reminded of a significant passage, ‘And ye shall teach them your children, speaking of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.’ We can’t be true Christians unless we not only follow the word for ourselves, but administer to the children, as well. It’s so important to get to them early. You see them, don’t you, the sagging pants, the foul mouths, the lack of respect for themselves or anyone around them? It’s never too late to find a child who needs God’s word. I dedicated my life to the Lord to share his ways with all of God’s children, including you and you.” She opened her palm to spread her message. As if on cue the piano began playing and Trevelle’s magical voice sailed over the congregation.

  “Yes, Lord,” shouted from the crowd; one by one, people were standing up to give her a standing ovation. Like a conductor that just finished a masterpiece, Trevelle bowed her head, leaving the crowd screaming and shouting in praise.

  Airic leaned into Trevelle’s ear as he opened the car door for her. “What was that?” he hissed. “Why did you make that kind of announcement? We barely have visitation and you’re bragging about the care and nurture of this child. Adoption papers can’t be filed until the biological parent’s rights are terminated. Do you see that happening in the near future, honestly, do you?”

  Trevelle slid into the car, ignoring Airic and the heat radiating off the smooth leather seat. She twisted around to face Mya, who was already buckled in and ready to go. “I bet you’d like some ice cream. What’s your favorite flavor?”

  “Chocolate,” Mya said. Her long legs extended far past the booster seat but she was under forty pounds and Trevelle was determined to follow caution to the letter.

  “Then chocolate it is.”

  “We’re taking her home.” Airic started the engine to show he meant business.

  “We’re going for ice cream,” Trevelle said through gritted teeth. The little show of submissiveness had already gone to his head, making him forget who was really in charge. They rode in silence until he conveniently pulled into the shopping center parking lot. Trevelle scanned the buildings and pointed with her acrylic nail. “Perfect. Baskin-Robbins.” She craned her neck around to face Mya. “My favorite flavor is chocolate, too.”

  Airic said nothing, putting the car in park. He refused to get out of the car or lift a finger to help Mya out of her car seat. Normally Trevelle would have read him his purpose. Instead she got out of the car, unlocked Mya’s seat belt. She helped the child out of the car and didn’t glance back as they entered the ice-cream shop.

  23

  Truth or Consequences

  Delma hadn’t thought about the details in such a long time. Surprisingly, she remembered every moment, every word spoken. Every choice made that night.

  Dr. Yancy had worked diligently, cleaning up the tiny infant, checking her heart and lungs and clearing her air passages, all the while talking in soft whispers to the barely breathing child. Whatever he said must’ve worked. She sputtered then coughed out a loud, healthy wail. He put a clamp on the stump where he’d finally cut the lifeless cord. “Thank goodness the umbilical cord was still attached or she would’ve bled to death. More importantly, thank God you were there.” He dropped the gorged placenta into a yellow bucket with a warning sign of skull and crossbones on it, hazardous materials.

  He wrapped the baby in a clean towel before handing her to Delma. “She’s good, no shakes, no signs of addiction. Close to dehydration is all.”

  Delma held the tiny baby close and stared down at the eyes that wouldn’t open before. “She’s beautiful.” She pushed the white towel tighter around her body so she’d feel snug.

  “She’s lucky. Start her out on this formula, start her real slow.” He threw a couple of cans, a plastic bottle, and a few diapers so tiny Delma thought she could’ve mistook them for sanitary napkins.

  “From this point on every day she should do better than the day before. Get her to the hospital if you see any signs of trouble.”

  “Of course.”

  Dr. Yancy gave her a knowing nod. “If you can’t take her to a hospital, bring her back here.”

  “Oh no, I’ll take her to the hospital.” Delma kept the pretense to protect the innocent. “Thank you,” she mouthed before slipping out into the night where what’s done in the dark usually belonged there.

  She took the tiny infant home and did nothing but hold her and stare at her for hours while she slept. “Keisha Marie,” she whispered. “Your name is Keisha and I’m going to love you forever.”

  Delma called in to work three straight days before asking for administrative leave. Stress, she claimed, reached her breaking point. All the while she held the baby close and stared down into her pretty brown eyes as long as they were open and awake to stare back. And even then while she was sleeping Delma couldn’t put her down, not for a minute.

  Dr. Yancy had said to keep her hydrated. Bring her back if she wasn’t doing well. The miracle baby was perfect, more so with each and every day counted on the calendar. She thought about the mother, even called to check on her and found she’d been released the very same morning. No one had any idea where she’d gone. They didn’t have an address or phone number, which Delma knew wasn’t unusual. Most of the young prostitutes had been taught to never reveal anything about themselves using made-up names like Poison, Lickety Split, or Hard Candy. Most of the time unless a parent came to lockup to claim them, they were forever lost with the fake names their pimp had labeled them and eventually disappeared or were buried as Jane Doe.

  But one life was saved. She knew what would’ve happened if she gave the baby up to the system. Foster care. Possibly even given back to the mother if she got away with probation and could prove she could clean up her act. Two, three years later, if at all, the mother would be back on the streets, back on drugs, and a precious child would soon be living in harm’s way waiting to be sold into the same hollow hell her mother was living in. She watched the clichéd scenario unfold day after day. Those poor children had no one to fight for them.

  The reality of the situation was the girl had committed a murder. If the true story came out, she would be in prison far too long to ever get her baby back. The ideal would be for someone to adopt her. Why not Delma? She was a good person. She was a smart, ambitious woman who’d give a child a real home, with a strong foundation in education and self-reliance. Her grandmother had raised her alone with no one to help. Delma could do it, too. She didn’t need a man to have her own family.

  Her next move was securing the child in her possession without questions. Delma had to have legitimate paperwork. She couldn’t suddenly show up with a child, a bright beautiful baby girl, without proof of where she’d come from. Delma remembered being choosey about the print, not wanting it to look too archaic, or too contemporary. Somewhere in the middle. She’d spent an entire night in the office she shared with two deputy assistants on the computer, printing and reprinting. She’d named her baby girl that night, Keisha Marie Smith. She typed with one hand, pecking the keys, while the other held the small bundle against her chest.

  Mother. She used a cousin’s name, Eugena, a bothersome child the last time she’d seen her. The last name …. sitting at the desk she looked up and saw the law encyclopedias all with the same name stamped in gold across the spine, Thompson. Perfect. Delma typed the name with swift confidence. Eugena Thompson. Surely Eugena should have known better than to get herself knocked up by …. Kevin Smith, who had no future, no desire to love her unconditionally. Kevin
Smith, a good solid name, and so many in the world no one would ever be able to pinpoint the real one, whether he existed or not, and he certainly did not.

  She took the perfect copy and made another copy on fine linen paper she’d bought at the new high-tech print store where doing everything yourself was supposed to be a privilege. All the while she held the newborn close against her body, feeling her heartbeat, her strong stretch, and occasional yawn.

  Once she had the fake birth certificate, the rest was easy. She forged the paperwork, relinquishing the parental rights. She typed up adoption forms, signed them, and used her very own file stamp to make them legal.

  She was thinking about that day and the many more that came, presenting challenges so big Delma thought she would be swallowed up whole, never to see the light of day again. Hudson leaned over and patted her hand before taking hold of it. “What about this doctor? You think he may have something do with the calls, maybe planning a retirement fund with a few extortion dollars?”

  Delma let out a short sigh. If only it were that easy. “Dr. Yancy died years ago. He was a good man but eventually got beat to death when some junkies thought he was a real doctor with real meds. The best he had was some penicillin that he used to treat the women on the street.” She shook her head. Then her eyes went bright as she remembered. “There was someone else.”

  24

  Venus

  “It’s your turn to go lay down, Mom.” I kissed Pauletta on the cheek and hugged her as hard as I was able. Her soft body caved under my grip. Watching Mya get taken out of the house seemed to affect her more than the rest of us. She was physically weak and tired. Maybe the jetlag had caught up with her, too. Not to mention the physical labor of making our unhappy house a home. The hard work had paid off but also taken its toll. I hoped that’s what it was. Her bout with breast cancer years earlier had weakened her immune system. She never played into it, letting it control her life. If anything she lived each day to the fullest, letting nothing slow her down.

  “Thank you for being here for us, Mom. But I think things are going to be okay from here out. You should go home. We’ll be okay.”

  “You’re my baby. The same way you would fight for Mya, the same way I’d fight for you …. till death us do part.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I think I’ll take you up on your idea and go lay down. I’m tired. You know that’s not easy for me to admit.”

  Jake came back inside after what seemed like forever, having walked Georgina out to her car. He found me in the living room. The compassion in his eyes met the defeated shift in mine. If we weren’t in the midst of battle I’d want to reach out and run my hand across his smooth cheek, kiss him fully on the mouth, and tell him how much I loved him. But we were in battle, the biggest fight of our lives.

  He sat next to me on the couch. “I know this is a lot of stress, I know you want someone to lash out at, but Georgina’s our only true ally. We’re going to get through this. Like always.”

  He pulled me close with a warm kiss on the forehead. “We should get out of the house instead of sitting around here, waiting. We could see a movie, or go out to lunch.” His soft hands cautiously took mine and pressed them to his lips. His long dark lashes brushed against my skin as he closed his eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay. I can honestly make that promise here and now.”

  I closed my eyes as well, and for a brief moment chose to believe him.

  Jake and I settled on a movie at the nearby plaza. Neither of us knew what we were watching, only relieved to sit in a dark theater, not having to sit across from each other and make small talk. We each had a bucket of popcorn filled to the brim, untouched, uneaten. We’d at least drank our sodas, giving me the perfect excuse to go to the bathroom. There I closed myself in the stall, laid down about fifty layers of tissue around the toilet seat and sat where I could comfortably cry my eyes out in the privacy of a public bathroom.

  By the time I returned to the theater it was the end of the movie and the credits were rolling. Jake leaned in my ear. “I’ve sat here the entire time and couldn’t tell you what I saw if my life depended on it.”

  All we wanted was for Airic to return Mya so we could breathe again.

  Afterward we walked around the plaza. Jake reached out and took ahold of my hand. We hadn’t walked holding hands in such a long time. In the beginning we’d walk outside his beachfront property barefoot in the sand. We’d go for miles until we couldn’t go any farther, stopped by boulders as big as buildings cornering off the other side of the beach. Too tired to even contemplate climbing over, we’d turn around and start back the other way, holding hands all the while.

  Here in the land of stifling humidity we stopped short, feeling the whiff of air-conditioning coming out of the Baskin-Robbins. “Let’s get some ice cream,” he said, making the moment feel like a real date and that we weren’t just killing time with distractions.

  The line was short. A few patrons already had their large globules of frozen cream and sugar. I stared at the smorgasboard of flavors before dropping my eyes to the ice-cream counter. I thought I was seeing things. Mya? No, couldn’t be. I’d know my own child anywhere. Wouldn’t I? Yet I stood paralyzed, confused. This little girl wore the same bow in her hair, only it was slicked back in a greasy press and curl. I thought about those desperate mothers who’d lost their child in the store or at the amusement park, racing to the familiar jacket, or hat, only to find out it was the wrong child. Tsk, tsk and shame shame on a mother who didn’t know their own baby, front, backward, or sideways. I could never be one of those women grabbing someone else’s child only for them to face me in fear, calling out for Mommy because some crazy lady was accosting them.

  It wasn’t Mya, couldn’t have been. I studied the long gangly legs peaking out from underneath a pretty pink dress. I examined closely the shiny patent leather Mary Janes and thought How cute. I eyeballed the light streaks of hair popping up around the edges that refused to stay flat and secure. Then she turned around and I nearly fell over backward. She faced me, taking the first lick of her ice cream.

  “Mommy.” She rushed forward. “Ice cream,” she sang with glee. “Mizz Trevelle got me chocolate.”

  I opened my arms, “Sweetie.” I kneeled down and kissed every part of her face. My hands traced the edges of her hairline that was pulled back so tight I could see tiny white pores threatening to give way. “What …. what happened?”

  “Mizz Trell make me purrty.” She proudly modeled her new look before taking another lick of her scoop.

  Jake watched the whole scene as if it were in slow motion, with one of those aw shit faces. He knew what I was about to do. I cut my eyes away, landing on Trevelle, who was still at the register paying for the ice cream. Before I could stop myself I was reaching over Mya and doing my best to grab a piece of Trevelle Doval’s hair. Trevelle shook and flailed like a rag doll.

  She leaned back with the force of my grip, screaming, “Call the police. Someone call the police, I’m being attacked.”

  Jake grabbed me by the waist and spun me around to the other side, facing out. I saw Airic through the window getting out of his car, rushing inside. Customers scooted their chairs back, not sure if they should clear out or get a better angle.

  Airic rushed over to Trevelle. “She attacked me, did you see her? Lord father,” she huffed, straightening herself out. “She attacked me in front of all these people.” She pointed her bony finger at me. “You’re going to jail. I have all these people as my witnesses.”

  “No. Everything’s fine. You don’t have to call the police.” Airic lifted a hand to the shocked girl with the pastel sun visor and pink shirt, her mouth gaping open in shock. She held an ice-cream scooper in one hand, and the other held the telephone ready to dial.

  “Yeah, call the police. A crime has been committed.” I lunged again unable to control myself. Jake kept a tight grip around my waist. “How dare you put a hand on my child.”

  “I did not. I would never hurt Mya.”
Trevelle Doval was stunned at the accusation. She batted her long silky lashes. “What would make you say something like that?”

  My eyes fell on Mya’s hair. I managed to loop my finger through the tight band and loosened it in spite of Mya’s cries of protest. “No, Mommy.” She gripped my hand. “I like my hair,” she whined.

  Trevelle looked on with smug victory. “You should be thanking me. No child wants to run around unkempt. At least let her start life with a little dignity.”

  I’d give her dignity, a right hook would do fine. Jake kept me at bay while I struggled breathlessly to get at her. By the time the police arrived, there was a crowd of looky-loos outside the ice-cream shop window. Mya stood in the middle holding her dripping cone, the front of her dress covered in milky chocolate stains, and tears streaming down her face. The two large policemen entering with their hands resting on their guns must’ve been the cherry on top. As soon they stepped inside the ice-cream shop Mya started wailing and doing a jig dance like she was on fire.

  I rushed to Mya and immediately felt shame and embarrassment for acting like such a fool in front of my baby. Not that she hadn’t seen her mommy make a fool out of herself before. Just not recently, and not while she was old enough to remember.

  “Her.” The young girl with the pink hat pointed toward me. The officers beelined in my direction.

  “Ma’am, you want to step outside.” The officer opened the door and cleared the way for me.

  “I want charges filed. She attacked me.” Trevelle could still be heard after we were outside.

  “Calm down.” Airic did his best to console her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Come out here and I’ll give you something to file charges for,” I yelled back. Okay, stop it, I told myself but my mouth wasn’t listening. Defiance seeped out of me like water from a leaking faucet. Who was she to put her hands on my child’s hair?