Nappily Faithful

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “I don’t have enough time to fit in a conversation and a visit with my daughter,” he said ruefully. “Three hours, remember.” He tapped his watch.

  “It won’t take long. I just want to say that I don’t like what’s happening here any more than you. I don’t want our lives determined by a court, a judge, when it’s us who need to decide what’s right for Mya.”

  He leaned forward. “It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

  “No. I don’t. We’re the ones involved. If we come to an agreement, this whole thing can be put to rest.”

  “Are you saying this because of your latest run-in with police officers? Literally, running down police officers.” He almost sneered. “I’d rather let the court handle it. At this point it’s out of my hands.”

  “Airic …. we’re her parents.”

  “Oh …. I’m her parent now. Before you were determined to make me disappear.”

  “You made yourself disappear,” I said. “How was I supposed to feel? Three years, that’s her whole life. And you wanted me to bounce with excitement that suddenly you want to be present and accounted for?”

  “The past is the past. I’m here now. And not a minute too soon. Look at you, the way you’re conducting yourself. You’re still the immature person you were when we were together. You haven’t changed. You proved that driving through a police barricade. You think everyone’s supposed to bow down and follow your lead. Well this is your wake-up call. You have no control over me and how I want to spend the rest of my time on this earth, with my daughter.”

  “I don’t want to control how you spend your time. We can agree to equal time. I’m willing to do that.”

  “Mighty big of you, Venus. Please, go get Mya.”

  “Okay.” I stood up. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I know I hurt you in the past. I never did apologize for the way we ended things. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t needed in her life or mine. Just know that I love her with all my heart and she’s my only concern. So you’re dead wrong when you say I don’t care about anyone else but me. You’re very wrong.”

  I heard the clink of the ice against glass as I was going up the stairs. He’d drank the tea. I was grateful to have gained even a little of his trust.

  “Mya, sweetie,” I called while opening the door. She was on the floor still struggling with her doll, surrounded by all the cast-off clothing she’d tried and retried on her doll. I kneeled on the floor with her.

  She threw the doll down, frustrated. “She’s not pretty.”

  “She’s beautiful. She doesn’t need a fancy dress, sweetie. She’s beautiful just like you.” I picked up the little mocha-skinned doll to give her a kiss and saw her fluffy curls were pulled back and held straight with about fifty staples. “Mya, where’d you get ….” I reached past her and found the stapler. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Daddeee’s office,” she said with a pout and arms folded over her chest. “She’s still not pretty.”

  “Honey …. listen. I know you’re worried about how Mommy acted before. I promise, no one is going to fight over your hair or clothes. You’re perfect just as you are. So is Bunny, except she probably has a headache from having her head stapled, don’t you think?” Besides, I wanted to tell her, Cruella Doval wasn’t here today. There would be no one making judgments about her appearance.

  Mya nodded up and down.

  “Let’s take the staples out, comb her hair, and get her dressed and she’ll be ready to go.”

  Airic was still in the same spot, elbows resting on his knees. He turned and saw me holding Mya’s hand and stood up. “Hey Mya, guess where we’re going,” he said as though he’d rehearsed. “To see Shrek.” He clapped his hands as if it were going to be the biggest fun in the whole world.

  “Okay,” she said with far less enthusiasm. I’d told her the night before Aric was coming. I explained that sometimes children were lucky enough to have fairy godfathers who popped in once in a while and wanted to sprinkle pixie dust and make life wonderful. Maybe in the form of gifts and fun visits to theme parks. I explained that a fairy godfather wasn’t expected to stick around very long and came specifically to make sure she was happy and well cared for. She’d acted unfazed and completely uninterested. “Does a fairy godfather make you eat spinach?” She’d scrunched up her face.

  “No, they let you eat whatever you want just to make you smile,” I’d said.

  Her eyes had widened like she’d discovered the only real reason to even be discussing such matters. “And I get presents?” she asked to make sure the deal was sealed.

  I nodded.

  “You promise you won’t be sad if I go with him?” she’d asked.

  “I promise,” I lied. “I’ll be here to give you a big hug when you get back.” I had told the truth.

  He took hold of Mya’s hand. I followed them out. I stared hard at his car rental to make sure Cruella wasn’t ducking low in the backseat. I waved and blew kisses to Mya. She waved and blew kisses back.

  35

  Trevelle

  From the moment she laid eyes on Keisha there was something that drew Trevelle’s attention. There was an uncanny familiarity in her eyes. Somewhere inside, she saw herself when she was a young woman. In her eyes an unspeakable loneliness dangerously open to anyone who might be able to fill the void.

  She wished there was something she could do to ease her heavy heart. Nothing she could do but pray and keep her in her thoughts. She would not abandon the young woman regardless that she was the daughter of the evil judge. There was only so much she could do. Until it hit her, exactly what she could do: find Keisha’s birth parents. She knew exactly who to call to get the job done.

  “Eddie, how you doing, baby?” Trevelle leaned her elbows on her large mahogany desk and cupped her hand lightly over the phone so she wouldn’t have to talk much louder. “I have an important job. Shouldn’t take you long.” Trevelle smiled into the phone.

  “So who is it this time?” Eddie asked, without the slightest hint of malice. He was stating the obvious. She was still his best paying customer. She gave the important details, name, approximate age, city, and state. Eddie Ray didn’t need much more in the way of information. If he hadn’t spent the first half of his life in the penal system, he could’ve worked for the CIA, FBI, or some other alphabet-toting crew. Prison is where Trevelle met him, when she devoted hours of ministry to the inmates of a Maryland correctional center. Community service was a requirement of her theology curriculum. She’d tried the women’s prison first and found it too painful. They reminded her of the road she’d traveled and what her life would’ve been had she not taken a major detour. Sullen. Angry. Hateful. Most pathetic was their stubbornness, their outright refusal to hear anything Trevelle had to say even if it would help save their lives.

  Of course the men’s facility was no cakewalk. But she’d take their foul mouth catcalling over having her life being threatened by some hormonally unstable female any day of the week. Inside the concrete walls of the medium security correctional facility she held a ministry session twice a week. It went from eight men gathered in a paltry circle to over a hundred, and needing more space. Eddie Ray was one of the original members, sitting quietly with his Bible in hand, wearing the white prison-issue jumpsuit, his thick gut stretching the buttons to their limit.

  His crime of identity theft made him a borderline genius at the time. Back then it wasn’t so easy to seize an entire person’s lifestyle with a push of a button. Working at a bank gave him carte blanche to check on people’s status and accounts regularly but the idea never entered his mind until an elderly woman came to the bank and delivered her ex-husband’s death certificate, requesting his account assets be turned over to her. He’d sent the ex-Mrs. O’Donnell packing that day, telling her she’d need more than a death certificate, she’d in fact need a court order. Ex-wives weren’t entitled beneficiaries, he’d told her, all true. Meanwhile Eddie busied himself taking o
n the deceased old man’s accounts, certificates, and bonds, adding up to a healthy six-figure bounty. Why stop there? Over the course of a few months he applied for credit cards, bought a new XJ Jaguar, a house in the prestigious Prince George County, and lived fat and happy until the ex-Mrs. O’Donnell showed up once again, judgment in hand to receive what was now duly hers. The accounts were empty. The debts were high. Mrs. O’Donnell wasted no time reporting the strange occurrence. Her ex-husband was a miser and a cheat. If she knew nothing else about him, she knew he’d squirreled away every dime that wasn’t used for food or shelter. The investigation led straight to Eddie Ray’s expensive, custom front door. Seven years incarcerated with two years of parole.

  Trevelle had touched his soul, he’d told her. He needed Jesus in his life. He needed to be forgiven for his sins. Right there in the prison was where Trevelle conducted her first baptism. A couple of the inmates pushed together two wash buckets filled with clean warm water while Eddie wore a bedsheet with the holes cut out for head and arms, Trevelle washed Eddie Ray of his sins, sprinkling him gently with holy water she’d prayed over the night before. When Eddie got out, she was the first person he called, ready to be her devoted servant.

  “So they’ll be no problem,” Trevelle whispered into the phone, “this judge being a public official?”

  “Oh, you know times have changed since I first started out. Technology may have gotten more sophisticated, but it’s also gotten real sloppy. I can break into any system these days.”

  “Good. I want to know everything about this woman. But most importantly, about the adoption of her child, Keisha Hawkins.”

  “No time like God’s time.” He chuckled then paused. His tone changed. “I won’t let you down.” Trevelle Doval did nothing unnecessarily. He would go forth as commissioned, a soldier at her side, bringing back the golden jewel of power called “information.”

  36

  Hells Bells

  The sound of the electronic bell sent a jolt to her heart. She flicked off the bathroom light and followed the ringing sound to the new phone she’d bought. She approached the contraption like it was a giant bug and couldn’t figure out whether to kill it or let it live. She leaned in, daring to read the caller ID and saw her daughter’s name. Thank God.

  “Hey, there girly.” Delma’s attempt at sounding light and happy came out high-pitched and on edge.

  “Mom,” Keisha in turn sounded frantic. “I’m still in Washington, D.C., at the woman’s conference. I’ve been so busy, so much going on here, I forgot to call and tell you I was staying for an extra day. Pearl needs food and water, Mom.”

  “Okay, sweetie. No problem.” Delma was concerned. “Is everything all right? Why are you staying another night?”

  A small catch in her throat, then she spoke. “I met someone. We ended up talking a lot longer and I missed my flight.”

  Delma knew this day was coming when her daughter fell headlong into some man. She knew this day would come no matter how much Keisha claimed her need for independence. “Who is he?”

  “No, not a guy. It’s a woman.”

  Delma inhaled her shock. “Well, okay.”

  “Mom, no, not like that. Something happened while I was at the conference. You’ve heard of Trevelle Doval, you know, the famous female evangelist?”

  Delma could do nothing, say nothing but, “Ahuh.”

  “Mom, it was intense. She called me to the stage and she was whispering a prayer for me and all of a sudden she fell out, I mean, she seriously went into these convulsions, spinning and shouting, and then she stopped, stared me dead in the eye and kept saying, Please don’t leave me. She kept saying it. I even went to the hospital with her because she wouldn’t let go of my hand ….” She paused for a brief breath. “The weird thing is, I felt it, too. Like some kind of transference. Like I felt this warm surge of energy. I don’t know ….” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t know, it’s just weird, Mom. So I just wanted to stay another day, one more, to make sure she was all right. For whatever reason, I feel responsible.”

  By this time, Delma couldn’t hear the part where her daughter reminded her to feed Pearl. Delma’s head was spinning in some kind of warp-speed craziness, where all she could do was sit still, numb and light-headed all at the same time. Everything around her was quiet. She still held the phone close against her ear. Instead of Keisha’s voice, she heard Shep’s voice mean and low, You ain’t gon have your daughter forever. The words slowed and echoed like she was underwater.

  “You had me scared to death, woman.”

  Delma ignored Hudson. She continued to stare into the ceiling, hoping to bore straight up to heaven, a personal call to whoever was minding the store these days, and doing a lousy job of it. Wires were getting crossed. Communication channeled to deaf ears. She hadn’t asked for much in this lifetime. But what she’d asked for had suddenly been derailed.

  No other way to explain the sad, pitiful set of events now in motion. Keisha and Trevelle Doval in the same room, let alone talking to one another. It just wasn’t happening.

  “Keisha’s on her way,” Hudson said, before leaving a warm kiss on her forehead.

  She hadn’t authorized any lip slobber. Besides, she had to focus her energy on what was important, getting out of the gurney she was lying on. She’d suffered a mild anxiety attack. Mild? Her limbs had frozen, her brain had gone blank, and that was mild? She wouldn’t be lying there unable to slap this man breathing down her neck if everything were mild. She squirmed uncomfortably until Hudson released his soft grip. A look of concern frowned the edges of his mouth. His brows knitted together with the heartbreaking conclusion. “Well I can see you’re back to normal.”

  “Hudson, I’ve got no time to be laying up in this emergency room. I need to get out of here.” Delma was full of determination but made little effort to rise. What was the point? Her body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Useless. She was tired. A tube was still attached to her hand, distributing necessary fluids.

  “You need to relax.”

  “I can’t relax. My life is about to crumble beneath my feet. You don’t understand.”

  The emergency area had all the necessary equipment but it was no place to be if you’d planned a full and long life. The doctor came in and pulled the curtain closed behind him. “Delma, you’re fine. You do have high blood pressure but even that’s much better than when you were admitted.” He pulled up a stool. “You’re going to have to change your diet, get some exercise, and hopefully take some time off work.”

  “Why would I need to take time off work? Work is not the problem. Can I go now?”

  “Absolutely. Let me have the nurse finish some paperwork, get your prescriptions, and a wheelchair and we’ll have you out in a quickie.”

  A quickie turned out to be three hours later. It took everything Delma had not to go find the damn wheelchair herself but then what would be the point? Hudson wasn’t any help. Rules were the name of his game. He followed rules to the letter, even after she’d begged him to just get her on her feet and out the door.

  He drove slowly, which maddened Delma even more. Finally he turned to ask, “Are you going to tell me what sent you over the edge? No one could’ve called, the phone number was changed.”

  “Keisha met Trevelle Doval face to face. She had a personal moment with her at some women’s convention,” she blurted. “Then the woman invited Keisha back to her house. Now I’ve heard of coincidences, but this is ridiculous. Someone’s hard at work trying to make my life miserable and I don’t have a clue as to who it could be.” She faced Hudson dead on.

  “What …. are you insinuating? Are we going there again? Woman, I’d jump off a building for you—well not a high building, more like two floors up, but you got to be kidding.”

  “I’m sorry, I know. I’m losing it here.”

  “Sounds to me like your fear is channeling a lot of energy.”

  “Oh,” she mocked, “maybe the phone calls aren’t even real
. Maybe I wrote that note myself. Maybe I’m imagining everything. You’re not even real.” She poked him in the side. “Please, don’t even start with me. All those dream-it-and-it-will-come books you’ve been reading. I don’t want to hear it. There is someone out there terrorizing me. They’ve put this entire thing in motion starting the day Trevelle Doval turned up in my courtroom.”

  “Even if that’s the case, you’re giving this thing energy. Fear is like rocket fuel. You give it energy, it’ll take many forms.”

  “Oh, thank you great philosopher Hudson. Just let me out of this car.” They’d already pulled up to Delma’s house. Convenient, because she was getting out whether it was the right address or not.

  Somebody’s got a secret.

  She jumped, startled awake by the voice so familiar having constantly played in her head.

  “Anybody there?” she called out. For the first time in her life she was afraid to be alone in the dark. She pulled the covers over her head and did her best to find strength to get through the night.

  37

  Trevelle

  “You’re being manipulated,” Trevelle warned. “Every time you return, you’re not sure if full custody is the answer,” she mocked. “Enough. This time I’m going with you.”

  “Absolutely not.” Airic shook his head. Though he’d made claims he didn’t enjoy going without Trevelle, here he was unequivocally telling her she wasn’t invited. “Look, we’re on civil terms. I’m getting along with Venus. The visits are going smoothly.”

  “So I would disrupt your perfect little family time, is that what you’re telling me?” Trevelle stood over him while he laced his leather Johnston & Murphys. He’d complained about having to fly all the way to Atlanta to only spend a few hours with his child. Yet, he needed to spend the entire weekend. He’d claimed he only spent a few minutes picking up his child and hardly spoke a word to his baby mama, yet his attention to detail clearly said otherwise. He wore his close-knit sweater that showed off the hard-earned rib of muscle around his abdomen. He was a good-looking older man by any woman’s standards. She watched him closely, taking in his sharp clean features. Gray hairs budded from his neatly trimmed mustache and framed his perfectly arched lips. To add fuel to an already hazardous situation, he’d doused himself with the smooth and tantalizing scent of Armani cologne. Trevelle had a sudden urge to make love to him right then and there; that would straighten him out, she was sure of it. But why should she be reduced to having to throw herself on her knees to be chosen over the likes of that insignificant woman?