Heather began to cry as her mother gave her a big hug.
“Before I leave, I have something for you.” Leola reached into her purse and handed Heather a white business-sized envelope marked with her name in her mother’s handwriting.
“What’s this?” Heather asked.
“Something that I think you could really use right about now. It was in your diaper bag when I brought you home. I love you, Heather. Call me later.”
“Okay,” Heather said as she watched Leola leave and opened the envelope. Inside was a smaller, white envelope apparently yellowed with age. The word BABY was printed in large block letters on the envelope. Heather stared at the unfamiliar handwriting, somewhat puzzled as she opened the envelope’s contents, a neatly folded two-page letter written on plain, white stationery. Heather began to read the letter.
To my dear daughter, if you are reading this letter, I am assuming that you are all grown up. How I wish I could be with you today to share your joys as well as your sorrows. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be, and it hurts like hell. I wish things had been different, but what will be will be.
I met your father when I was a junior in high school. I had just turned sixteen, and he was a senior. I took one look at him and fell madly in love.
Being that we lived in a small, racist town, we kept our dates a secret. After a year, he decided to join the Marines. I was devastated. Our last night together I gave myself to him totally. That’s when you were conceived. When my parents found out I was pregnant, they threatened to disown me. Your grandparents are good people, but they’re old-fashioned. The thought of their underage daughter having a black baby was too much for them. When your father came home on a pass thirty days later, I gave him the news. He was elated, promising to marry me and make me a military wife. As much as I loved your father, I could not abandon my family. I let my parents talk me into giving you up for adoption.
Please forgive me. Maybe one day I can forgive myself, but not today. Maybe tomorrow or next month or next year, but not today. Today holds too much pain. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Pray for me.
Heather turned to the last page of the letter. It was blank, but an old photo fell out onto her lap. She turned the photo over. Nothing. She flipped it over again. It was an outdated photo of a biracial couple, her biological parents.
The white girl and black guy were obviously very much in love. His arms were possessively wrapped around her middle. They were both laughing. Heather examined their faces. She was a combination of them both—her father’s eyes and eyebrows and, oh my goodness, her mother’s nose. She was shocked. The nose she had thought so often about going under the knife for. The nose that had brought her dismay each time she looked in the mirror was her only link to her birth mother. She had come this close to getting rid of it, cutting her mother out of her life forever.
Heather sobbed openly. She reached for a tissue from the nightstand, crying even harder at the irony of it all. Thank God, Dr. Speller’s prices were too expensive and Dr. Taylor wasn’t scalpel-happy. She was spared from making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.
Heather gently refolded the letter and tucked it into the BABY envelope along with the photo of her birth parents. She slid the envelope inside the pillowcase, protecting it with her body as she lowered her head onto the pillow. Curled up in the fetal position, she cried herself to sleep, awakening an hour later by the sound of her ringing telephone.
It was Charisma. “Your mother called me. Are you okay?” she asked Heather.
“I’m going to be all right, thank goodness.”
“What happened?”
“It’a a long story.”
“Well, give me the abbreviated version.”
“I was bingeing and purging and taking these illegal diet pills.”
“Heather, no.”
“Yeah, I got them off the Internet.”
“What possessed you to try diet pills over the Internet?”
“An old high school classmate of mine took them and lost over eighty pounds. So I figured, why not? Her brother’s a pharmacist, and he got them for me at first.”
“So that’s how you shrunk,” Charisma figured it out.
“Exactly. And I’d make myself throw up.”
“Wait a minute. Is that why we found a toothbrush and toothpaste in your beach bag?”
“Yeah.”
So if your classmate’s brother’s a pharmacist, why did you have to buy them over the Internet?”
“She tried to blackmail me into sleeping with her for more pills, so I cut out the middleman and ordered them myself,” Heather told her.
“Wow, I had no idea. You could write a book. How’d you end up in the hospital?”
“I came down with a high fever, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing. My mother rushed me to emergency. Thank God there’s been no damage to my internal organs. I’ll probably be released tomorrow.”
“You’re blessed,” Charisma said.
“You got that right,” Heather agreed.
“Well, I’m glad you’re all right. I hope you learned your lesson.”
“Trust me. I have.”
“Good. I’ll fill Tangie in. We were worried sick when your mother called us. Are you up to visitors later?”
“I’m actually tired, and you two have been working all day. I’m okay. Why don’t you come see me after I’m discharged?”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything,” Charisma said.
“Thanks,” Heather said before hanging up.
There was a knock on her door. It was Dr. Taylor, the plastic surgeon. She was as beautiful as ever. “Can I come in?” she asked Heather.
“Of course,” Heather told her, sitting up in bed.
“So how’s our patient doing today?” she asked, taking a seat opposite her bed.
“Much better. How’d you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. When you missed your second appointment, my nurse got an e-mail that you had been admitted. I came to check on you.”
“Thank you,” Heather said sincerely.
“I’m not surprised to see you here. You could have been killed.”
“I know.” Heather nodded slowly. “Thank God all my tests came back negative.”
“Yes,” Dr. Taylor said simply. “Thank God. How are you feeling?”
“Like I need a long vacation.” She laughed.
“That sounds like an excellent idea. Can you take some time off from work?”
“Yeah, I have plenty of vacation time.”
“Then I think you should make that happen. It’ll do you a world of good. And do me a favor, and keep in touch. Okay?”
“Okay, Dr. Taylor,” she promised.
“Take care of yourself.” Dr. Taylor stood to leave. “Oh, and Heather, as far as that pharmacist is concerned, that’s all been taking care of,” she assured her. “Get some rest.”
Heather leaned back in bed and closed her eyes. The last sound she remembered hearing was the clicking of Dr. Taylor’s heels as she walked down the hall. Heather slept for several hours, oblivious to the delivery of her lunch.
Awakened by the sounds of moaning and groaning, she learned that she was no longer alone. She had a roommate. She was a young woman in her early twenties. She was suffering with kidney stones. In between moans, she ate lunch. Heather looked across at her, giving her a sympathetic smile. She returned Heather’s smile and introduced herself as Tammy. Tammy was a petite, white woman with a long ponytail.
“I feel for you,” she told Tammy.
“Thanks,” Tammy said, breaking out into a coughing spell before taking a sip of water. “How long have you been here?”
“Since last night,” Heather said, removing the cover from her lunch. “I’m supposed to be discharged tomorrow.”
“Good for you,” Tammy said. She took a forkful of spinach and rolled her eyes. “Bon appetit.”
“Tell me it’s not that bad,” Heather begged.
“It’s w
orse,” Tammy said, and they both laughed.
Heather sampled the meat loaf, the spinach, and the mashed potatoes. Tammy was right. Thank goodness there wasn’t too much they could do to fruit cocktail. That went down easily.
Tammy was a talker. Heather welcomed her conversation, but eventually succumbed to sleep. The nurse came in to remove Heather’s IV bag. It was a relief being IV-free. Using the bathroom was once again a breeze.
Heather checked her watch. Her mother would be stopping by any minute on her way home from work. As if on cue, Leola walked through the door. She greeted Tammy on the way to Heather’s side of the room, and immediately noticed that the IV was gone.
“That’s a good sign,” she told Heather. “I guess you’re going home tomorrow, kiddo.”
“I can’t wait,” Heather admitted. “You must be tired. Why don’t you go on home, and I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Are you sure?” Leola asked.
“Absolutely. I’m fine, Ma.”
“Okay. Call me if you need me.” She stood to leave.
Heather slept like a baby that night, waking up only when the nurse came to take her blood pressure.
“How was it?” Heather asked.
“Normal,” the nurse responded.
“Good,” Heather said, getting reacquainted with the sheets.
“Dr. Goldberg has scheduled some more tests for you. The technician will take you down to the second floor tomorrow morning around seven.”
“Okay,” Heather sighed. “Do you know if I’ll be discharged tomorrow?”
“It’s up to your doctor. If all your tests come back normal, probably so.”
The next morning Heather brushed her teeth, washed up, combed her hair, and put on a fresh pair of pajamas. She was ready before the technician came to get her. She was only gone for about an hour.
When she returned, her bed was made. She smiled to herself. It was nice to be going home. Her tests must have come back negative. It was probably not premature to start packing her bags. She smiled as she threw items into the tote bag, humming to herself until she realized something was gravely wrong.
The photo of her parents that she placed inside her pillowcase along with the letter from her mother was gone. Tammy was awake. She asked her how long it had been since the housekeeper left the room. She estimated about fifteen minutes, but she admitted that between naps it was difficult to tell.
Panicking, Heather could have kicked herself for being so careless. Her picture was gone, damn it. She ran to the front desk in hopes of catching housekeeping. Too late. She dialed housekeeping and was told in no uncertain terms that there was no way to reclaim individual pillowcases.
Hysterical, she called her mother, but unfortunately there was nothing Leola could do. Heather was devastated.
33
Tangie
The bed had a serious grip on Tangie. She lay in bed that morning fighting the sun’s rays, but they were determined to filter through her blinds and win. She had hung out with Charisma and Heather the night before, inviting them to her pity party because she wasn’t celebrating Tony’s birthday party with him. She had called him several times to wish him a happy birthday, but he hadn’t returned any of her calls.
“Think of it as one day out of three hundred and sixtyfive.” Heather had said.
“And tomorrow it’ll be all over,” Charisma had added.
Tangie opened her eyes, thankful that it was, indeed, all behind her. Now, she could go on with her life. She grabbed the remote from the nightstand and turned on the news, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She stifled a yawn. Today’s weather called for rain, as did everyday that week. Great.
She turned up the volume as breaking news and a familiar face flashed on the screen. “Thirty-year-old Olivia Wells is in a coma clinging to life after being shot by a bullet police say was intended for her companion at Spot in Midtown last night. Onlookers saw the two were celebrating at the posh Manhattan nightclub when a fight broke out. Details are still sketchy, but cops say no arrests have been made. Her companion was unharmed. Channel Seven will bring you updates as more details become available.”
Tangie couldn’t recall where she knew her from, but she looked so familiar. Think, Tangie, think. Just as her feet hit the floor, it came to her. She was Tony’s friend. That was the woman he introduced her to in the parking lot after the Stephanie Mills concert.
“Oh my God,” she said, her hand shaking as she raised it to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she repeated, plopping back down on the bed to steady herself. Tangie took quick, short breaths as she processed the information.
She picked up the phone to dial Tony, but then replaced the receiver just as quickly. She had to start thinking with her head, not her heart. She picked up the phone a second time, but dialed her mother’s number instead.
“Hello?” Della Winterhope said.
“Ma, it’s me,” she began to cry.
“Tangie, what’s wrong?”
“Can I come over? It’s an emergency.”
“Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’ll be right over. I’m on my way.” Tangie hung up. She quickly brushed her teeth, washed up, and grabbed a Yankee baseball cap to put over her wrapped hair. She snatched her purse, a raincoat to put over her pajamas, and an umbrella before heading out the door.
Wiping away tears all the way to her mother’s, she ran two red lights before parking in front of the familiar brick home. She let herself in and collapsed in her mother’s arms. Tangie sobbed openly as Della Winterhope took her umbrella and helped her out of her coat.
“Let it out,” Della said, guiding Tangie to the sectional. They both sat as Della rocked her daughter in her arms.
“Tony’s girlfriend,” Tangie said between sobs. “Shot . . . coma.”
“What?” Della got up and returned with a box of tissue.
Tangie took a tissue and blew her nose. She then took a deep breath and spoke. “Remember I told you I met Tony’s new girlfriend at a concert a while back? Well, this morning I turned on the news and there’s a story about her. She and a friend were out clubbing and she was accidentally shot. It had to be Tony. There was a cake in the background, and yesterday was his birthday. I know it was him. She’s in a coma, Ma, a coma. If he and I were still together, that could have been me.” The tears began to flow again.
“Are you sure it was him?”
Tangie nodded, unable to speak.
Just then the doorbell rang and Della got up to answer the door. It was Tangie’s father. He put his dripping wet umbrella in the stand by the door and sat on the sofa next to his daughter.
“You were so upset that after I hung up with you, I called your father,” Della explained.
Tangie began to cry all over again. “Tony and his girlfriend were out celebrating last night, and she was shot. Now she’s clinging to life. That could’ve been me, Daddy. That could’ve been me.” She grabbed another tissue.
“Wait a minute. I think that story’s in this morning’s paper. They were in the city, right?” Ted Winterhope asked.
“Uh-huh. At the Spot nightclub,” Tangie told him.
“Yeah, it’s in the Daily News. The bullet was meant for him. They didn’t identify who the man was. That was Tony?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Tangie said.
Ted took his daughter in her arms, resting her head on his shoulders. “Sweetheart, I never told you this before. I hate to say this, but I knew something like this would happen.”
Tangie sat up straight, meeting her father’s gaze. “What do you mean?”
“When you and Tony got engaged, he and I had a man-to-man talk. I made him promise me that if your safety was ever an issue, he would break it off with you. He sat down in my house, looked my dead in the eye, and agreed to never compromise your safety. I know you love him, but he’s in a dirty, dangerous, cutthroat business, sweetheart. He’s not the one for you,” he told his daughter.
“So when he broke the engag
ement and said he wasn’t ready for marriage, he wasn’t telling me the truth.” It was all beginning to make sense to Tangie.
“Tangie, we love you. We’re just thankful that Tony is a man of his word. Tony loved you enough to let you go.” He kissed her on the cheek, got up, and went into the other room.
“I know it hurts, Tangie,” Della told her daughter. “Loving someone you can’t have. It feels like a sick joke, but in time, the pain will fade. One day you’ll meet someone who’ll bring you joy. You’ll look back on all of this and all the good memories you have of Tony will warm your heart. Remember how happy you were when you and Charisma got accepted to Howard University?”
Tangie smiled at the recollection and nodded.
“And what did I tell you, sweetheart, when you didn’t get those football tickets to the first home game, and you cried for a week?”
“You told me to save my tears for more important things,” Tangie recalled.
“That’s right, honey. Tangie?” She hugged her tightly. “You can cry now.”
With her mother by her side, Tangie let it all out—deep, gut-wrenching sobs that reverberated from her core. As much as she loved her father, she was grateful that he had given her time alone with her mother.
After half an hour or so, he called them into the kitchen. The table was adorned with Tangie’s favorites—Western omelets, home fries, buttermilk pancakes with warm cinnamon syrup, and beef bacon.
“Wow, Daddy, you’ve been busy,” Tangie brightened.
“Hungry?” he asked them both.
“Uh-huh,” they said in unison as they sat.
“Good, there’s coffee too.” Ted brought the pot to the table and said grace. “Precious Lord, in the name of Jesus, we thank you for this day, for our life and health. Look down on Tangie, Lord. Give her the strength to get through this. Make her see that in spite of all the pain she’s dealing with, it’s still a beautiful world. Bless her from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. And God, we ask a special blessing for Tony and his companion. He was selfless enough to let her go, and for that we are eternally grateful. Keep your loving arms of protection around him. We ask all these blessings in your precious name. Thank God. Amen.”
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