“Sounds like the year end is going to be eventful,” I said, dryly. “What about you, Luisa? Are we expecting anything from you?”
“Oh, no,” Luisa held up her hands. “I am more than happy with my eventless life.”
We spent the next half an hour talking about everything and nothing. Walking out onto the chilly sidewalk, we promised to call each other over the weekend.
On the walk home, I mused over my friendships. They say that your friends are the family you choose and I couldn't have chosen better. Those women I could depend on in the direst of times and they knew they could depend on me.
What of Naomi? a little voice came from nowhere. Without missing a beat, I answered out loud to the night, “She is a burden I've waited too long to put down.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I hadn't made it up the front steps before I heard them. Through the brick facade of my parents' house in the quiet of suburbia, I could hear the shrieks of little children, the high pitch of my mother's voice as she instructed someone to do something. The equally high pitch of my sister's voice seemed to answer my mother.
I climbed the last few steps to the threshold, then reached out to the doorknob. Here we go, I thought to myself, steeling myself up to face my family. I ran through my mind what I would do when I opened the door, knowing that there was no certainty that things would go according to plan.
With a slow inhale and an even slower exhale, I unlocked the door and opened it. Stepping through, the foyer was empty and beautifully decorated with a harvest theme. Then out of the living room, shot two children, disappearing up the stairs, their little feet stumping up the carpeted steps.
In passing me, they tipped the table holding a vase with dried flowers, setting the vase to rock, then tumble and fall. I caught it just in time, almost falling over myself.
“Jada!” my mother yelled as she walked out of the living room. “Tell your kids not to run around the house-” Seeing me, she came to a stop. “I was wondering if you were still coming,” she crossed her arms.
I held my tongue and gingerly replaced the vase on the table. Then, I said, “I wouldn't miss this for the world,” I let the sarcasm be my defense.
“Hmm? Well, put away your stuff in your room,” she waved away my statement as though it was a bothersome insect. “That is if you remember where that is.”
“I think I can find my way,” I replied, hoisting the straps of my overnight bag and starting to climb the stairs. Halfway up, I turned back and asked, “Where's Daddy?”
The question, simple as it was, did more in breaking through my mother's cool reserve than any sharp barb I could think up. “He's taking a nap,” she replied, her arms falling to her side. “He'll come down later, so let him rest,” it was more of a request than a command.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, watching her retreat in the direction of the kitchen. Her shoulders had fallen and her pace lacked the determination that was my mother's hallmark.
Turning back to climb the steps, I was sideswiped by the two children. Gripping the banister, I cursed under my breath, then hustled up the stairs. Once inside my childhood room, I closed the door behind me with a definite click. Leaning against it, I sighed. My eyes drifted around the room that was more a guest room than an archive of my youth. Long gone with the posters of The Williams sisters and Martin Luther King Jr. Little knick knacks and trophies were now stowed away in the attic.
This used to be mine, I dropped my bag on the floor beside the bed. I sat down on it, then lay back, in the distance I could hear the kids. If I could spend the rest of my stay in these four walls, I would but I couldn't. I sat up and looked at the mirror above the vanity, trying a smile on for size. The tight one that pinched my cheeks and left the corners of my eyes unwrinkled would have to do.
Getting to my feet, I didn't make my way to the staircase. Instead of joining the family downstairs, I padded my way to my parents' room. The door was ajar and through the sliver, I could hear the soft familiar sound of my father snoring.
I pushed the door, not sure what I expected to find. What I found was an older man sleeping under the covers. He was a little thinner than usual, the wrinkles about his face were a little deeper than I remembered. Somehow the man I knew was diminished. Lucas Marsh was the gentle giant, foreboding when necessary, but not one to throw his weight about.
I leaned against the door jamb, not yet ready to go downstairs. Even though he was asleep, his was the company I wanted to keep. I would have stayed right there, but Mom called up the stairs for me. With a sigh, I pulled in the door, taking care to leave it the way I found it.
“There you are,” Mom said as I came down the stairs. “I thought you said Naomi wasn't coming down.”
I came to an abrupt stop when I saw her standing just inside the front door. Without looking at my mother, I said, “What I said was I was not coming down with Naomi.”
“Well,” my mother looked from one of us to the other. “I'll leave you to your guest.” She scurried away as though sensing that this childhood friendship had turned a corner. She may have left the foyer, but I knew she was nearby, my mother's curiosity would not allow her to go too far.
“She doesn't know?” Naomi looked up at me.
I shook me head and crossed my arms, “This is between the two of us.”
“Can we talk?” her voice strained at the edges, her eyes implored me to hear her out.
“Fine, but out there,” I nodded at the door. “Let’s take a walk,” I walked down the stairs and called out, saying I would be back soon.
We walked a few houses down the street without saying anything. It wasn't the same, it would never be the same.
“I'm sorry,” Naomi said, at last.
I kept walking.
“I know I did you wrong,” she continued. “You have every right to not want to be friends with me, but I miss you.”
“What do you expect me to say?” I crossed my arms. “That I miss you? That I forgive you? That we can go back to the way things were?” I stopped and faced her, waiting for an answer.
When none came, I shook my head, “If I said any of those I would be lying and I'm tired and over pandering to your needs.”
A tear fell down her cheek and for a instant, I felt like the mean girl. But that instant was gone when I remembered seeing her leaving Malachi's office and when I found her in bed with him.
“It's over, Naomi,” I turned towards my parents' house. “Hope you two have a happy life.”
“I'm pregnant,” she called out.
I looked back, “Congratulations.”
“I can't do this alone,” she sounded so small.
“You won't,” I pointed out. “You got Malachi, remember.”
“I need my friend,” she actually sounded pained.
I turned slowly to face her, “Let's see if I've got this straight, you want my support to see you through your pregnancy for my ex fiancé. How far along are you?”
“Five months,” she looked down then up at me through wet eyelashes.
I howled my laughter, “You got pregnant while Malachi and I were together. Here's my answer to all your questions. No. No, I don't miss you. No, I'm not ready to forgive you. And no, I'm not going to be your support system.”
My eyes narrowed, “You never think of anyone but yourself. You think by saying you're sorry it will stop the pain of knowing the two people I trusted betrayed me. Now, you are having his child and I'm supposed to be the supportive Auntie Alexa. No Naomi, no.” The last word was a whisper and I spun around and walked back to the house.
She didn't follow and I didn't look back. The end was here, the end was now. With time, I would forgive her, not for her, nor Malachi, but for myself. For right now, the idea was a distant light on the horizon and it may take weeks, months, maybe years before I got to it. For right now, I was thankful that this pain made me let go of a toxic relationship.
“What was that all about?” Mom asked when I, at last, made it to the
living room.
“It was nothing,” I replied, focusing on saying hi to everyone in the room. Thankfully my mother allowed me this lie.
It was truly Thanksgiving.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dad never came down from his nap that evening. I ended up chatting with Uncle Cuthbert and giving my yearly quota of pro bono legal services to the family. Cousin Lester was looking for advice for a friend who was in trouble. What was strange was how much he knew about said friend's case.
It was the next morning when my father did come down. I was sitting at the small dining table in the kitchen when at a shaky pace he entered. I watched as my sister and mother fluttered about him, their voices soft coos as they asked him how he felt and what he wanted to eat.
Out of respect, I played the part no one asked me to play. We all spoke of the weather, the plans for the day, but we never spoke of the one thing that was always at the tip of my tongue. Every time my mother glanced across at me or Jada cleared her throat, I would swallow it, but I could swallow only so much.
“Whats going on, Daddy?” I asked in a hushed tone as I stood in the archway to the living room.
He had retired to the quiet room with the newspaper while activity in the kitchen amped up. I slipped away with the excuse of going to the bathroom, but I only had one mission.
He let the newspaper fall to his lap and he met my gaze. Without giving an answer he extended his arm, beckoning me to come in.
I hesitated, almost sensing that what was to come would rock me to the core. Still, I stepped forward one foot in front of the other until I was looking down at the one man I looked up to.
“Baby,” his voice had lost some of its strength. Clasping my hand, he looked at it, “Some time back, I wasn't feeling very well, I went to my doctor but he said it was probably nothing, just age creeping up on me. 'It would pass,' he said.”
He looked up at me and I waited for him to continue. “It didn't pass,” he sighed. “It got worse and I went from doctor to doctor until one tested me for a rare form of cancer.”
“No,” I whispered, my grip tightened about his bony hand.
“It had gone beyond the point of no return,” he said.
My legs buckled and I fell to my knees, a pain consumed me, one I never knew existed. My head fell forward and through blurred vision, I saw tears smearing the type on the paper. With each salty drop, the paper swelled into a tiny hill and shook as sobs wracked through me. I felt his hands comb through my locs, and the absurdity of it brought more tears forth.
It was I who should be comforting him, and here he was giving me comfort, but I didn't deserve it. I should have known long before this. I should have noticed that he didn't come to the city as often as he used to. I should have noticed that he never stayed long on the phone. I should have... been here to give him comfort when he found out that he was going to .... die.
“How long?” I sniffed. When he didn't answer, I looked up.
He shrugged, “A few months, a year.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” I sat back on my haunches.
“I didn't want to worry you,” Dad attempted a smile.
“At what point would have been the right time for me to worry?” I tried to rein in my anger. “When I'm standing over your grave?”
When he winced, I knew I had gone too far. “I'm sorry,” I said, looking down.
“So am I,” he sighed. “I should have told you but I couldn't bring myself to say the words. I didn't feel right telling you over the phone, but I wasn't going into the city and you weren't coming out here. Time just passed without me saying a thing.”
“So what now?” I looked up at him.
“Now, I just live. I take each day I'm given,” he said. “It's good to see you.”
“Even with tears and snot streaking down my face,” I sniffed. My sorrow had not gone, it's just given room for other emotions to exist.
“Boogers and all,” he smiled and a shot of pain seized my heart. I reached out for his hand. I was not ready to let him go, I didn't think I ever would.
“What can I do?” my voice wavered.
“Just do you, that's all you can do,” he replied.
“No,” that was not enough, I needed to do more. “I'm coming down on the weekends and... I'll try to get some extra time off from work.”
“You don't-”
“Yes, I do,” tears drenched my words.
Dad studied me, his eyes searching my face, his fingers massaging the tension in my hand. He knew me well, he knew when I was mouthing off or when I was steadfast. He nodded, “It will be nice to see more of you.”
“Alexa!” Mum yelled out.
“You better get going or she'll give you the grunt work,”Dad jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen.
“She's going to give me the grunt work anyway,” I said, getting to my feet. I wiped my tears and tried to pull myself together.
As I walked through the archway of the living room, Dad called out to me. “I wish I could tell you that everything is going to be okay.”
“You don't have to,” I said, looking back. “We'll just do what you are already doing, take one day at a time. Before you know it you'll be sick of me old man.”
He laughed, “Never.”
His laughter turned into a cough, but throughout the day, I realized it never stopped him from laughing. Be it something we would say, things my nieces, nephews and cousins would say or do, he would laugh. Enough tears had fallen that day, but many would fall during the course of the weekend, the days, weeks, months that would follow.
###
My father's condition had one saving grace, it brought the women in his life together. We held our tongues more, provided shoulders to cry on, words of strength to forge forward when all we wanted to do was curl up and slowly die as he was dying.
“It wasn't in my place to tell you,” my mother said as we sat in the quiet kitchen. The extended family had left, the dishes were washed, dried and stowed away save for three cups filled with tea that sat in front of three women filled with sorrow.
I felt Jada's eyes on me and I knew the statement was true for her. It must have taken a lot out of her not to say anything, but she loved Dad as much, if not more than, me. For every misstep she made, he only expressed his disappoint and never denied her the love and support she needed to move forward. In his grandchildren, he garnered love and respect, and in some, the awe reserved for heroes.
“I know,” I brought the cup of chamomile tea to my lips.
“He tells me we will be seeing more of you,” it was a statement, it was a question and there was only one way of responding.
As I swallowed, I nodded. “Will that be a problem?” I looked at my mother then at my sister. It didn't matter if they approved or disapproved of my decision, I just wanted to know what they thought.
Jada gave a small smile and shook her head, “I'm not going to lie, having you here has been a big help.”
Mom nodded and I felt my muscles relax. It was as though I was in battle mode throughout the day, my mind alert, my body on guard for anything and everything but now I allowed myself to unravel.
I felt my mother's hand on mine and Jada rested her hand on my shoulder. They didn't need to speak using words or use tones of voice that could so easily lose their intent.
I cried that night and they let me. I was not a successful lawyer, I was not the other superficial things I wore as badges of honor, I was a daughter, a sister, who had started the journey they had already started. And that night they waited for me to catch up so we could move forward together.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I didn't return to the city until Sunday evening. I had called Julian on Friday morning and told him about the change in plans. At first, he was disappointed but that soon changed to concern when I explained my father's condition. We made vague plans to meet during the week, but at the time, it felt so far away. All that mattered was the time spent with my father.
As I unlocked my front door and walked through my apartment, it felt foreign. It was all mine and yet, it felt like it belonged to someone else.
Perhaps, it was because I was always in the company of my family over the weekend that now I was back, I felt so alone. I made a beeline to the bedroom, dropping bags and shedding clothes along the way. Then I burrowed under the sheets, if only I could hide away from my thoughts.
Somehow I had fallen asleep, but I was awaken by the insistent ringing of my phone. I scrambled out of bed, following the sound to my handbag by the front door. Excavating the phone, I feared the worst.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Clark's voice did away with my fears. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I lied, slowly walking back to my bed. I sat down heavily on the edge.
“Alexa?” If he was here, he would have reached for me.
“He's dying,” I whispered. I felt so empty. “He has cancer.”
“I'm coming over,” was all he said.
“It's not ne-”
“I'm coming over,” I heard movement on the other side. It was not a question or a request, it was what Clark was going to do.
“Okay,” I said before the call ended.
Twenty minutes later, Clark stood in the doorway. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair in disarray and all he had with him were his phone and keys. When I opened the door, he all but scooped me up and took me back to the bedroom.
He didn't poke or prod, Clark just lay beside me. I spoke when I needed to, I cried when I thought there were no more tears in me to shed and I fell asleep in his arms. The dreamless sleep was my comfort.
###
I awoke with a start. I bolted up and looked around the darkened room with morning sun filtering through the closed drapes. I was alone. I wrapped my arms about myself wondering if it was all a dream. It was all so real, from the solidness of the man to the heartbeat that lulled me to sleep. I didn't ask for it, but I needed it, even if it was a dream. It wasn't a dream.
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