Aftermath

by Tracy Brown

  Nate wiped his mouth with his napkin, set it on the table and sat back in his seat. He looked at Toya and shook his head. “I don’t want none of that. All I want from you—from your brothers and your mother, too—is your forgiveness.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive me for all the shit I did—all the things I know you saw growing up—I could die a happy man.” He shrugged then, looked down at his hands. “Maybe you feel like I deserve to die as miserable as I made y’all all those years,” he said. “And I can’t blame you if you feel like that.”

  Toya felt hot tears flood her eyes and she looked away, but not before a couple rolled down her cheek. Nate noticed and leaned forward and wiped her eyes, relieved that she didn’t recoil. At that moment, some icy part of Toya’s cold heart melted. She looked at her father and the hate that had been so evident in her eyes had gone away. Now, as he looked at Toya, Nate saw her for who she once was—a little girl longing for her father’s strong hand to wipe away her tears. He smiled at her, hoping that it wasn’t too late after all.

  Something about seeing her father smiling at her made Toya’s insides churn. Instantly, she tensed up and the serene expression on her face morphed into a grimace as she recoiled. He didn’t deserve to smile, didn’t deserve even a shred of happiness after the years of hurt he’d caused her. She pulled away and sat as far back in her seat as possible. Nate’s hand still hung in the air where it had graced her cheek only moments ago, and he felt spurned. His smile faded as he suspected that his glimpse of Toya’s soft side had been short-lived.

  “You shouldn’t die a happy man,” she said coldly. “What happiness have you brought to my life? Huh? Did you ever wipe my tears when I was a little girl falling off my bike? Or were you too fuckin’ drunk and high to notice? Did you ever tell me that you were proud of me when I was growing up and I needed to hear that shit? Did you ever do anything to build me up? Or were you so busy beating me down that you didn’t have time?”

  Several patrons were staring at them, whispering among themselves, and Nate was embarrassed. Still, he kept his cool knowing that everything Toya said was right.

  She wasn’t done yet. “You know what?” she asked rhetorically. “You might be right. You might be the reason I’m so tough. Shit, I’ve been fighting you since I was about twelve years old so I should be tough. Defending myself when your drunken, abusive ass would come home starting shit. You can take credit for that. But take credit for the rest of the shit, too. You’re the reason your youngest son went to jail. You’re the reason the other three can’t get through one day without a fuckin’ drink. It’s your fault that we lost the house we grew up in. And you’re the only one to blame for the fact that you’re dying alone and miserable.”

  “Is everything all right?” the waiter asked. Neither Toya nor her father had noticed him approaching the table during her tirade.

  “Everything is fine,” Nate fibbed, forcing a smile at the young man. Satisfied that the yelling was over, the waiter retreated.

  “Latoya,” Nate said, his tone low and steady. “You’re right about everything you said. I can’t argue with the truth.”

  Toya sucked her teeth. In her opinion, this new improved Nathaniel Blake was a phony. This was all part of some new con that he had cooked up to get sympathy from his family, she thought. She snatched her napkin off her lap and tossed it on the tabletop. She had lost her appetite.

  “I have a meeting to get to,” she lied. “Are you done?”

  Nate leaned toward her anxiously. He didn’t want this to be the last conversation he would have with her. “Latoya, I love you,” he said.

  Her jaw clenched involuntarily. “Is that it?”

  “I would like it if you would keep in touch with me. I don’t expect things to be perfect overnight. But you can call me from time to time. Maybe we can try to fix our relationship. Start over.”

  Toya reached for her purse and cursed herself for feeling a twinge of sympathy. “Good luck finding a donor,” she said halfheartedly. She stood up and walked out, leaving Nate staring after her.

  As she climbed into her car and drove back home, she knew that even if she never saw her father again, she had gotten closure. She felt relieved and perhaps a little drained as she pulled up in front of her brownstone.

  As soon as her heels hit the pavement, she saw Russell coming across the street in her direction and sighed. This ogre sure didn’t let up.

  He strolled up to her with that same hideous smile on his face and said, “Hey, I’m sure you’re gonna say no, but I wanted to come and ask you to come out and have a drink with me tonight. Nothing serious, no strings attached, just—”

  “Fine!” she interrupted him, too broken down after the emotionally draining day she’d had to put up a fight. “Let’s go.”

  Russell was clearly caught off guard, but recovered quickly as he happily led Toya off toward his car. The smile on his face spread wider and he silently thanked the Lord that this was clearly his lucky day.

  * * *

  In a restaurant across town, Dominique sat with Octavia and waited as the waitress refilled their water glasses. She’d taken a leave of absence from her job in order to tend to Octavia’s situation and had signed Octavia out of school, having her assignments forwarded each day from her teachers. Everyone was relieved that Octavia had come home and in the three days since then, a lot had changed. Dominique had taken Octavia to a gynecologist, who confirmed their worst fears—Octavia was six weeks pregnant. Once they knew for sure, Dominique had contacted Dashawn’s mother, Dee Dee. Almost as soon as the conversation between the two women began, Dominique could tell what kind of person Dee Dee was. Her voice, her ebonics-laden language, and her incessant gum chewing all screamed HOOD RAT! It had come as no surprise when Dee Dee reiterated her assertion that the best thing Octavia could do was to “get rid of it.”

  Since then, Dominique had been spending all her time talking to her daughter about the situation at hand. Today was no different.

  The waitress walked away and Octavia looked at her mother. “I think I’ve made up my mind,” she said.

  Dominique stirred some sugar into her coffee and met her daughter’s gaze. “About the baby?” she asked, realizing immediately that it was a stupid question. Of course it was about the baby. Everything was about the baby at this point.

  Octavia nodded. She toyed with the salt shaker absentmindedly. “I’m going to have an abortion.”

  Dominique took a deep breath, blew it out, and looked at her child. “What made you come to that decision?”

  Octavia shrugged, stared at the table. “For one thing, I’m mad young.”

  Dominique smiled slightly at her daughter’s use of slang. That sentence alone illustrated Octavia’s point exactly. She nodded and Octavia continued.

  “I’m only in the ninth grade and I have my whole life ahead of me. Plus Dashawn doesn’t want a kid right now.” Dominique noticed the dejected expression on Octavia’s face as she said that. “This is just not the right time to bring a kid into the world.”

  Dominique was relieved. After the pregnancy was confirmed, she had said all the things to Octavia that she knew she needed to say. She had told her daughter that she loved her, that she would stand by her side no matter what decision she made. She told Octavia that if she kept the baby, they would make it work, that life wasn’t over just because she’d made a mistake. And she’d also told her that if she chose to have an abortion or to put the child up for adoption, she would stand right by her side from start to finish. But the truth was, Dominique was not ready to be a grandmother. And although she had been a teen parent herself, she did not want the same for her daughter. She let out a silent sigh and squeezed Octavia’s hand across the table.

  “I think you’re making the right decision,” she said honestly. “But I want you to be sure. Once you do it, there’s no turning back and I don’t want you having any regrets when everything is said and done.”

  Oct
avia nodded. “I’m sure about this,” she said. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.” She looked at Dominique. “Ma, I want to tell you that I’m sorry about everything.”

  Dominique waved her hand as if to dismiss her apology, but Octavia kept going.

  “I knew better than to sneak around behind your back … I was just in such a rush to be grown. I wanted to be able to go on dates and to have a boyfriend and I just wouldn’t take no for an answer. I always thought that I would come and talk to you before I started having sex, but for some reason … I just couldn’t. I didn’t think I would get pregnant and I was dumb enough to believe Dashawn when he said that he would take care of me.” A tear fell from Octavia’s eye but she quickly wiped it away and kept talking. “I was dumb. And I got myself into all this trouble, had you worried about me for so many days. I’m sorry, Ma. From now on, I swear I’ll talk to you about everything.” Octavia felt like an idiot. She was ashamed of herself and embarrassed that the boy she’d given her heart to had played her. It was over between her and Dashawn. He didn’t want her, didn’t want their baby. Octavia just wanted the whole nightmare to be over.

  Dominique smiled, patted her daughter’s hand, and felt her heart fill with pride. True, her daughter had made a huge mistake. But she had learned from it and Dominique believed that this would be the start of a new beginning for them.

  “Well,” she said. “I think I owe you an apology, too.”

  Octavia frowned slightly.

  “I’ve been so preoccupied with work, with Jamel, and with mourning Daddy’s loss that I’ve neglected you. I’m hardly ever at home. And even when I am, there’s always a letter to write to Jamel, a phone call to accept, or a visit to go on.” Dominique shook her head, ashamed of herself. She was relieved that Jamel was coming home in a matter of days and prayed that his return to civilization would mean a return to some normalcy in her life for once. “Def Jam is working me harder than ever and I’ve been so busy with all of those things, that you’ve been practically raising yourself. So, I’m sorry, too.”

  It was Octavia’s turn to smile. They finished their meal and ordered dessert, switching topics to lighten the mood. The next morning, Dominique scheduled an appointment for Octavia to have an abortion. She only bristled slightly when the receptionist scheduled the procedure for Monday, January 21. It was the same day that Jamel was being released from prison. Dominique shook it off and proceeded to schedule the appointment for ten o’clock that morning. Jamel would have to understand that, for once, she was putting her daughter first.

  She hadn’t spoken to Archie since Octavia had come home. She really wasn’t sure what to say. True, he had made love to her in a way that no other man ever had. But, her heart still belonged to Jamel. She loved Jamel, wanted a future with him. And now that he was coming home, she had to decide whether or not to tell him about her indiscretion. She was battling within herself every time Jamel called, and she knew that seeing him face-to-face once he came home would only make it harder. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that Dominique wouldn’t get to see him on his first day home.

  On the morning of Octavia’s procedure, she was awake long before her mother. She had barely been able to sleep because of her nervousness. She wasn’t sure what to expect, and wondered if the abortion would hurt, if it would leave a scar, if she would feel any different afterward. By the time she and her mother had gotten dressed and piled into the car, Octavia was a bundle of nerves.

  Dominique looked over at her daughter shaking in the passenger seat and gently pinched her cheek. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said, as if reading Octavia’s mind. “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

  Octavia wasn’t sure why, but hearing her mother say those words and having her look at her so reassuringly was all that it took to put her at ease. They drove off toward the hospital, hand in hand.

  * * *

  Jamel stepped out of the prison without a guard escorting him and without the burden of any restraints and felt free at last. For three long years he had been treated like an animal and now that was all behind him. As he boarded the bus bound for New York City, he thought about Dominique. He couldn’t help feeling disappointed that she was unable to be there to greet him on his first day as a free man. He understood that she had to accompany her daughter to her procedure, but it still felt bittersweet to be going home to no fanfare. He took a seat near a window and settled in for the long ride back to the city from the mountainous upstate region where the prison was located. He told himself not to dwell on Dominique’s absence. He would see her soon enough, and in the meantime, he was free. Nothing felt better than that.

  Suicidal Thoughts

  Camille stood precariously on the edge of the roof and looked down. The ground seemed so far away, the tops of the trees swaying beneath her. She hated that this was the only option, but she had no choice. There was no way she could live like this anymore. Her mind was reeling. A driving rain was falling, and she lost her footing and slipped off the edge of the roof on which she stood. In that instant, she knew that she was making a mistake. She wasn’t ready to die. It didn’t matter, though. The damage had been done and she was falling, falling fast toward the earth and the ground was getting closer and closer by the second. A bloodcurdling scream escaped her lips as she braced for impact.

  With a gasp, Camille woke up from her nightmare and felt her heart thundering in her chest. She breathlessly looked around the room at her belongings, feeling sweat forming on her forehead. She was alive, and it had all been a bad dream.

  Well, not all of it. She was still pregnant with a child her husband had never wanted, still living in a palatial estate that doubled as a murder scene, still alone, broke, and afraid. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, and rubbed her pregnant belly comfortingly. She smiled a little then, realizing that this was something she’d started doing lately—stroking her stomach this way, aware that there was a life growing within the safety of her womb. Whether Frankie was happy about it or not, they were going to be parents.

  She felt her anger bubbling at the surface whenever she thought of her husband lately. The hurt she’d initially felt had given way to rage, which Camille had never known before. Frankie still hadn’t been in touch with her, and was still depositing only enough into their joint bank account to keep the mortgage paid. There was not a penny left over for her to put gas in her expensive cars or to buy food, for that matter. Camille had resorted to borrowing money from her mother—an odd situation since it was Camille who usually paid all her mother’s living expenses prior to Misa’s arrest. It had been that way since the beginning of their marriage. Frankie and Camille both agreed that their mothers’ bills would be taken care of out of the household expenditures each month, and so it had gone for years.

  Thankfully, Lily had stored up her own money over the years and was able to maintain her quality of life now that Camille and Frankie were on the outs. But that didn’t matter to Camille. She was pissed. The nightmare she’d just awakened from was the final straw. She had a right to live comfortably. She was Frankie Bingham’s wife, and it seemed he needed a reminder. So, she climbed out of bed, threw on some jeans and a sweater and headed out the door at just after 2:00 A.M. to remind her husband just who the fuck she was.

  * * *

  Gillian was asleep, wrapped securely in Frankie’s arms, when the doorbell started ringing incessantly. She was startled by the noise and so was Frankie apparently, as he jerked awake. Both of them scrambled out of bed and started off in the direction of the front door. Gillian peeked out the front window, half expecting to see the police or one of the family goons. When she saw who it was, her body stiffened. She looked at Frankie and he could see an instant change in her demeanor, from fear and anxiety to pure annoyance.

  “It’s Camille.”

  Frankie’s heart sank. He knew it was inevitable that this would happen. He hadn’t spoken to Camille since the night his brother was killed and he had been avoiding her at
all costs. At the advice of his lawyer, he was still providing for her household expenses—and that was all he was doing. He had deposited the bare minimum into their joint account. Then he had withdrawn all the money in all the other accounts Camille knew about, and closed them for good measure. He knew he’d been playing hardball. But what the hell did she expect when her own sister was to blame for Steven’s death?

  Frankie took a deep breath as Camille continued to press the doorbell. He looked at Gillian and rolled his eyes, then reluctantly opened the door.

  Camille stood there in the cold of the night with her mink bomber jacket zipped up to her neck. As she spoke, the cold air was visible as it escaped her mouth.

  “Frankie, enough is enough. I’ve been calling you for days. No answer. I have no money and nowhere else to turn.” Camille shook her head in frustration. “So, something’s gotta give.”

  Frankie looked at his wife standing before him and felt a slight twinge of guilt. After all, Camille hadn’t done anything wrong. It was her sister, Misa, who had murdered Steven. Camille was pregnant and it was freezing outside. He didn’t object as she stepped into the house, seeking refuge from the bitter cold. He wasn’t heartless, after all.

  Gillian, however, was outraged. “Camille, I understand that you want to talk to Frankie,” she said, as she watched Camille stroll into her home as if she belonged there. “But this is the second time you’ve come to my house uninvited, and I’m not comfortable with that.”

  Camille laughed slightly. “You’re not comfortable, Gillian?” Camille shook her head. “Well, I’m so sorry to hear that. How ’bout I’m not comfortable with you over here fucking my husband?”

  “Listen, Camille—” Frankie began.

  “Your husband,” Gillian interrupted with a hint of a smirk on her pretty face, “can call you later to talk to you. For now, why don’t you go home and call it a night?”