by RM Johnson
“Uh, no. I just really wish you had called first.” He looked back in the direction from which he had come. “You’re here now, so I might as well walk you down to see him.”
Daphanie walked beside Tim. He didn’t say a word to her. At room 312, Tim knocked lightly on the door, pushed it open only enough to stick his head in.
Daphanie heard Tim say, “Nate, you have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
Daphanie didn’t hear Tim answer, which led her to believe he probably mouthed her name to him.
“Let her in,” Daphanie heard Nate say.
Tim pushed the door completely open and stood aside. When Daphanie walked through the door, a huge smile spread across her face when she saw that Nate was not only in one piece but standing. She rushed over to him, threw her arms around him, and squeezed.
“Oh, no, no, no. Ouch!” Nate said. “Surgery. I’m still healing.”
Daphanie pulled away from him. “I’m so sorry.” She took a step back. It was so good to see him. She felt a tear coming, and wiped at her eye.
“Tim, you still going to do that for me?” Nate asked his brother.
“I could do it later. I could stick around here for a while if you want me to,” Tim said.
“Why would I want you to do that?”
“Okay,” Tim said.
“And close the door,” Nate said.
Tim left and closed the door behind him.
“Have a seat,” Nate said, and lowered himself into his own chair with what looked like some pain.
Daphanie sat, too. “So are you okay?”
“I’m going to be fine. Four bullets can’t keep ol’ Nate down.” He smiled a little.
“What happened? Who did this to you?”
“I don’t know,” Nate said, not granting Daphanie as much access as he knew she wanted. “The police are looking into it right now, but they haven’t found anything yet.”
“On the news, I think they said that someone else got shot. Who was that?”
Nate didn’t answer right away, but finally said, “My ex-wife.”
“The woman you were in bed with that night I came home from England.”
“Yeah,” Nate said, shame in his voice.
Daphanie looked around the room, noticed there wasn’t a single balloon, get-well card, or flower anywhere.
“What happened to us, Nate?”
“No.” Nate shook his head. “We’re over. No need to talk about that.”
“You at least owe me an explanation. You never gave me one.”
“Daphanie, I don’t mind you visiting. Actually, it’s good to see you. But if an explanation is what you came here for, then maybe you should leave, and probably not come back.”
Daphanie stared at Nate for a long moment. Nate did not turn his eyes away.
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” Daphanie said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I won’t mention it again.”
Nate smiled thinly. “It’s all right.” He tried to lift himself from his chair, but Daphanie could see the task was painful. Finally, he got to his feet. “It’s time that I take my medication. Maybe I should see you another time.”
Daphanie stood, walked over, gave Nate a kiss on the cheek. “Take care, and you know if you need anything at all, you can call me.”
“I know.”
Daphanie was about to step out the door, but halted.
“What room is your ex-wife in? Would you mind if I visited her to say hi?”
“She’s in a coma, Daphanie.”
“Oh,” Daphanie said, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
When Daphanie left Nate’s room, she headed in the opposite direction from which she had come.
She walked down the hall to room 385. Daphanie wanted to know if Nate would actually allow her to visit his ex-wife. That was why she had asked. But something had told her he wouldn’t. So earlier, after Daphanie had gotten Nate’s room number, she had asked what room Monica Kenny was in, as well. The receptionist had given her the number of the door she was now standing in front of.
Daphanie stepped in. She walked over to stand beside Monica’s bed. She had only seen pictures of Nate’s ex-wife. Looking at her now, Daphanie could see the woman was beautiful. She lay resting peacefully, bandages around her head, sheets pulled up to her chest. Coma, Daphanie thought. She felt sorry for her, knowing there was a chance that Monica would never awaken. Daphanie was tempted to take a look at Monica’s chart at the foot of the bed, but she didn’t.
She stood there a moment. No one entered the room. No one was monitoring it. Daphanie turned and left.
25
The next day, Lewis exited the train and walked the three blocks down to the Department of Children and Family Services building.
Once inside the door, Lewis stepped into a large room filled with rows of chairs, all of them occupied by women. Most of the women were young; many of them held infants and toddlers in their laps and tried to keep an eye on their older children as they ran through the aisles.
Lewis saw a long counter at the front of the room. The setup looked like bank-teller stations. Women stood behind each of the four stations, behind thick glass. Lewis got into the shortest line. When it was finally Lewis’s turn, he stepped up to the window. Before him stood an attractive slender young woman with brown hair. She had shapely lips and hazel eyes. She was beautiful, except for a diagonal two-inch scar on the side of her forehead. It looked as though she had tried to cover it with her bangs, but it was still visible.
“Can I help you?” the woman said, as though she couldn’t care less. Her name pin read EVA.
“I need to talk to someone about getting my daughter back.”
She slid a card with a number on it into the metal tray before Lewis. “Take this number and—”
It was the same kind of card Lewis had seen all the women in the chairs holding. He looked up in a far corner of the room. A digital counter just ticked off number 78. Lewis glanced down at his card. Number 136.
Lewis dropped the card back into the tray. “I need to speak to somebody now.”
“Sir, all these women with their children need to speak—”
“They have their children. Somebody else got mine. I need someone to tell me what to do to get her back.”
Eva gave Lewis a sympathetic look. “You’re gonna have to see a counselor.”
“How long is that gonna take?”
Eva shook her head. “Today is our busiest day. Tomorrow it’s—”
“C’mon, Eva,” Lewis said. “Just take a minute and help me with this. I wouldn’t be asking if this wasn’t really important.”
Eva looked at her coworkers in the booths on either side of her. She leaned to her left, said something to the blue-eyed woman beside her, then dropped a sign in her window that read BACK IN 5 MINS.
Eva gestured for Lewis to meet her at the door at the far end of the counter.
“Follow me,” Eva said.
Lewis stepped through the door and followed the woman. Even in the situation he was in, he could not help admiring her petite, curvy shape. This was the most attractive woman he had laid eyes on since he’d been involved with Monica.
Eva opened an office door, stuck her head in, then pushed the door open all the way. “This office is empty.” She walked in, stepped behind the desk, and asked Lewis to have a seat. “Now, what were you saying?”
Lewis told Eva everything. How Layla’s mother had died of an overdose. How he had just gotten out of jail, but was not convicted of the crime. He told her how Monica was the woman who had been caring for Layla, but that she was in a coma, and the last time he spoke to her, she said she no longer wanted to be with him.
“But the man she’s with now is keeping my daughter from me.”
Eva shook her head, sadness on her face. “That’s awful.”
“So how do I get her back?”
“It should be a very easy fix.”
“How?”
<
br /> “I mean, I’m not a social worker or counselor yet. I’m just an associate. But from what I know, he has no right to have your daughter. She’s legally yours, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, give me her birth certificate, and—” Eva began, reaching out across the table.
“I don’t have her birth certificate,” Lewis said, looking worried. “I need that?”
“Yeah. It’s proof.”
“But I don’t got it,” Lewis said, starting to panic.
“It’s cool. It’s not a problem,” Eva said, trying to calm Lewis. “The records building is like Fifteen minutes from here. Just go down there, show them your ID, and get a copy. Bring it back here, and someone should at least be able to start the process to help you get your daughter back.”
“You ain’t playing with me, are you?”
“No.” Eva smiled. “It might take a few days. But no, I wouldn’t play with you.” Eva stood, walked around the desk.
Lewis jumped from his seat and, without thought, threw his arms around her. “I gotta give you a hug for this.”
Surprised, Eva said, “Oh, okay.”
After the hug, Eva said, “I wish I could do more. If you only knew how few men I see trying to gain custody of their children. It happens, like, never. Most act like they don’t even know they have a child.”
“Well, that ain’t me. I’m going down to that office, get my baby’s birth certificate, and I’ll be right back.”
When Lewis stepped out of the DCFS building, he felt rejuvenated. This mess would be over soon, and he’d have his daughter back.
26
Lewis stepped up to the counter at the Cook County Clerk’s Office.
“How may I help you?” an older, dark-haired woman pleasantly asked Lewis.
“I need to get a copy of my daughter’s birth certificate.”
The woman placed a form on the counter, along with a stubby pencil.
“Fill this form out completely. When you’re done, I’ll need eight dollars for the certificate. Okay?”
“Okay,” Lewis said, smiling.
Lewis did what he was told. When he gave the woman the form and his money, he was told to come back in half an hour to pick up the birth certificate. For those thirty minutes, Lewis waited in the hall on a bench just outside the office. He thought about getting Layla’s certificate, doing whatever work had to be done to get her back, and seeing the look on Nate’s face when Lewis lifted Layla out of his arms for good. Lewis also couldn’t help thinking about Eva. She had been very nice to him. He wondered if she was single.
After exactly thirty minutes, Lewis was at the counter again, the same smile on his face.
“You’re back,” the dark-haired woman said.
“Yup. Is it ready?”
“Sure.” The woman laid an envelope on the counter before Lewis.
“Thanks a lot,” Lewis said, after taking the envelope and starting out of the office.
“You might want to check to make sure it’s right,” the woman called to Lewis.
“Okay,” Lewis said, stepping out of the office. He walked down the hall, pulling the birth certificate out of the envelope. It was odd, but he had never seen his own daughter’s birth certificate before.
Lewis smiled wider as he looked over the sheet. But then he halted, his eyes narrowing as he read, a frown appearing on his face. He spun around and marched back down to the records office.
“Excuse me,” Lewis said. He saw the woman who had helped him, but she was at some other woman’s desk holding a conversation.
“Excuse me!” Lewis practically yelled.
The woman walked to the counter, concern on her face. “Yes, is there something wrong?”
“What is this, some kind of joke?” Lewis said, slapping the certificate on the counter. “That ain’t my name right there where the father’s name’s supposed to be.”
The woman looked down at the certificate. She looked up at Lewis as though she wanted to apologize. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me why this form is wrong.”
“Sir, I don’t know if this form is wrong.”
“What?” Lewis said, wanting to reach over the counter and shake the woman by the collar of her shirt. “It is wrong! How did this man, Brian Wilson, get on my daughter’s form?”
“Were you at the hospital when your daughter was born, sir?”
“No. But you still ain’t tell me how this man’s name got on this form.”
The woman lowered her eyes and said softly, “The mother tells the hospital the name of the father.”
27
Freddy sat in Joni’s backyard on an old bench, wracking his brain trying to come up with a plan for escape.
It wasn’t that Joni was trying to force him out. She seemed to be loving every minute he was there. She was really getting a kick out of Nathaniel. Freddy didn’t know for sure, but he was just about certain she was in the house that very moment, on the floor, playing some game with the boy. After the short time they had been there she was starting to get attached, and that was just one more reason Freddy had to get out of there.
But what would he do? Where would he go? He only had about eighty dollars in cash, and he was afraid to try to pull money out of the ATM for fear the police might be able to track him that way. He would’ve asked Joni for a few extra bucks, but she’d said her money was running out.
Freddy didn’t know anyone else anywhere in the country, so he was practically trapped there.
“What the fuck?” Freddy said, standing from the bench, turning and kicking it, frustrated.
Just then he heard someone banging on the front door of the house.
Could it be the police? Freddy spun in a circle, looking over his shoulder for somewhere to run, somewhere to hide.
There was no garage, but he could hop the back fence, take off running. But what about Joni? What about the boy?
“Joni, open up! I know you’re in there!”
The demand came from the front of the house. It was the deep voice of a man. It wasn’t the police.
Freddy slowly walked around the side of the house. His gun was upstairs under his mattress.
“Joni, I said open up the fucking—”
“What do you want? I told you not to come around here no more, Sam,” Freddy heard Joni answer.
Freddy snuck to the corner of the house, peering around to see a short, squat man with dark skin. He wore a wife-beater shirt, extra-large baggy jeans, and very white sneakers. His chest and arms were muscular, but he had a large belly.
“I told you I was sorry,” Sam said. “I ain’t gonna let you be playing me like this for too much longer, or—”
“Or what?” Freddy said, stepping around the corner of the house.
Sam turned to see Freddy. “Who the fuck is you?”
“Freddy, please,” Joni said, opening the screen door and stepping onto the porch. “You don’t—”
“Joni, shhh,” Freddy said, a finger to his lips. He redirected his attention to Sam. “I’m an old friend of Joni’s. Why you here banging on her door, harassing her like this, when she told you she doesn’t want you here anymore?” Freddy had stepped all the way over to the porch steps, placed his foot on the first one.
Sam smiled, walked down the steps, and stood directly in front of Freddy. He was a good four or five inches shorter than Freddy, but his broad stance more than made up for his lack of height. “Did anybody say shit to you, motherfucker?”
Freddy stared into Sam’s face, not blinking.
“Hunh?” Sam said. He looked over his shoulder, chuckling. “Joni, did I ask this motherfucker anything?”
Joni stared at both men, looking frightened.
“Tell you what,” Sam said. “Why don’t you get the fuck out my face, let me deal with my woman, or else, when I’m done with her, I’m gonna deal with you?”
Freddy showed Sam a fake smile and said, “Tell you what. Since you don’t know who the
hell I am, where I come from, or just how crazy I might be, I’m gonna let you walk away this one time if you leave right now,” Freddy said, sliding his right hand into his pocket and slipping his fingers around his car keys.
He would’ve preferred not to, but if he needed to, without hesitation he would jab the biggest key into Sam’s throat and watch him choke on his own blood till he died.
Sam continued to look at Freddy and must have read those intentions. He took a step back, looked again at Joni, and said, “Joni, I’ma be back, and we gonna talk about this. You hear me?” He gave Freddy a hateful look and stepped around him, intentionally brushing Freddy’s shoulder. He walked to his aging Impala, climbed in, and drove off.
Freddy watched the car till it turned the corner and disappeared. Afterward, he walked up the steps and waited as Joni stepped into the house, then closed the door behind both of them.
Freddy saw that Nathaniel was on the floor in front of the TV, watching cartoons.
He took Joni’s hand, pulled her into the dining room.
“I thought you said you had that under control,” Freddy said.
“I do.”
“It didn’t look like it to me. That’s the man that’s been putting his hands on you?”
“That ain’t none of your business, Freddy.”
“It wasn’t before. But I’m here now.”
Joni chuckled sadly. “But you weren’t here then.” She turned, was about to walk out the dining room door, but stopped and said, “When you ready to stay awhile, then you can start calling shots. Till then, stay out of my business.”
28
Later that evening, Daphanie opened the door, and Trevor walked in carrying a paper shopping bag from Babies“R”Us.
She felt awful about the way she had left things. Trevor had been leaving a barrage of phone, text, and e-mail messages again, none of which she returned. Finally, telling herself that he hadn’t asked for any of this, Daphanie called and told him he could drop by.
Trevor stood in the middle of her living room, the bag in his hand, looking around as if it were the first time he’d seen the place.