Plenty Good Room

by Cheri Paris Edwards

  Tamara replied, “Yes, I have a child living with me; she’s fourteen.”

  “You look a bit young to have a teenager.” Tamara saw her glance at her ringless finger. “No husband?”

  “Oh, it’s not like that. I work for Child Welfare and I took her in, from the Agency I work for.”

  “She’s an orphan?”

  “I guess you could say that. She has no parents, really.”

  Lillian Lewis gave a definitive nod of her head and said, “Young lady, that’s a good thing you’re doing, then. Be proud of yourself, there are not many honorable people left in this world.”

  Tamara sighed; the woman’s comments only served to remind her that there was no honor at all about her reasons for taking Sienna in the first place, and she often still had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Sighing, she replaced the photo gently and picked up a small snapshot of a smiling young man. His broad face was deep mahogany brown and handsome, and his broad smile was relaxed.

  Before she could even ask, Miss Lillian said, “That’s my brother, Maurice. Maurice Lewis the Third, to be exact. We never called him by that street name ‘Three’ . . . My brother had an honorable name, and he should’ve carried it with more dignity than he did much of the time.”

  The thin woman wiped at some imaginary lint on her print cotton dress. She continued without looking at Tamara, “He was about twenty years old in that photo, and he didn’t have any children then.” With disappointment apparent in her voice, she added, “Now, I think that he has at least two or three kids. I would think that some of them are probably grown by now.”

  “He was handsome,” said Tamara as she continued to stare at the picture. She was thinking of Yvette; she could see where the girl got some of her features from—her nose, her eyes, and the shape of her mouth all were Maurice’s.

  “Let’s go into the living room,” said the woman.

  She looked at the photo once more before setting it gently back down on the table. Following the stately woman into the front room, she took a seat on the couch.

  “Let me get you some tea . . . I’ll be right back,” said Miss Lillian.

  Tamara looked around approvingly, taking in all the details of the meticulously decorated room until Lillian Lewis returned with two china teacups balancing precariously on matching china saucers in her hands.

  “Thank you, Miss Lillian,” she said as she blew on the steaming, fragrant tea to cool it before taking a cautious sip.

  Lillian Lewis’s deep eyes twinkled as she looked over the top of her glasses, informing her, “I only drink green tea these days. It’s good for you. There is something in it—I can’t remember exactly what it is, but it helps to fight cancer, they say.” The woman looked at her again and emitted a small chuckle before she took a sip herself and added, “We never know who the proverbial ‘they’ are, now, do we? But I figure, it certainly can’t hurt to try it, now, can it?”

  “No, it can’t,” agreed Tamara.

  “Now, back to my errant brother, Maurice. What is it exactly that you want to know about him?”

  “I’m trying to find out if he’s still alive somewhere. I’m looking for the father of an old friend of mine, and I’ve been led to believe that it might be Mr. Lewis.”

  The woman set the cup of tea carefully on the doily lying on the shiny mahogany tabletop. “Oh, my, that little brother of mine, Maurice—he was such a heartbreaker . . . how my Daddy loved that boy. He broke Daddy’s heart, you know? Mother’s, too, really. They’d had such high expectations of him.”

  “They did?” Tamara was very surprised to find that Maurice Lewis had come from a college-educated father and a mother who was a practicing nurse, and that he’d grown up as part of the black nouveau middle class of that day and time. She’d just assumed that he’d had a much tougher young experience that had led him to his unsavory life as a street hustler.

  The woman turned down her lips and said, “Oh, yes. Maurice was quite intelligent and well spoken, too. He was a good-looking boy, and he grew up to be a strapping, handsome man.”

  “I could see that in the picture,” said Tamara.

  “Those good looks of his are what ruined his life, in a way. Attractiveness is only a blessing if you use it for a good purpose. With Maurice, so many girls chased behind him, they made him feel like he was more important than what he was. He never got a chance, really, to develop himself on the inside.” She patted her flat chest. She removed her glasses, wiped her eyes, and continued, “Instead he used his good looks and eloquent speech to become a sweet-talker to women, and a hustler on the streets.”

  Tamara set her empty cup on the table, careful to place it on a doily as she’d seen the older woman do with her own. “Did he ever marry any of the women?”

  “Not that I know of . . . It’s like that boy got in them streets and forgot all about his Christian upbringing. He slept with all sorts of women, and when they had babies, he didn’t seem to care . . . I never even saw a one of his children. Not one.”

  Tamara asked in a lowered voice, “Miss Lillian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is Maurice still alive?”

  Soberly she answered, “Yes. He’s alive.”

  “Where? Do you know where he is?”

  Lillian Lewis looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “Certainly I know where he is. He is my brother, and no matter what he was doing wrong, we’ve always stayed in touch with one another. I do love him, you know.”

  Tamara sat uneasily on the couch for a moment. Then she asked in a voice that was little more than a whisper, “Miss Lillian, can you please tell me how to get in touch with Maurice?”

  The woman shot her an exasperated look. “Well, yes, Tamara, of course I can. After all, that is what you came here for, isn’t it?”

  With a sigh of relief, she replied, “Yes, it is, Miss Lillian. It is exactly what I came here for.”

  43.

  Double Trouble

  Shivering as she watched the early sunset on the cold February evening through the window of Jayson’s Chevrolet Blazer, Tamara impatiently waited for him to get inside the truck so they could leave. Without even glancing at her watch, she knew that this evening’s movie plans with Sienna were ruined.

  Her evening plans began to unravel once she received the call from Jayson, informing her they were needed immediately to perform an emergency crisis family intervention. Sara James, one of their clients, had been worried out of her mind when her twelve-year-old son did not come in right after school. Consequently, the mother totally lost it when the boy strolled in hours later, and the resulting argument became so out-of-control that concerned neighbors called the police.

  Instead of arresting anyone, though, the police relied on collaborative relationships they’d forged with social agencies within their city, geared toward defusing these types of situations whenever possible and thus keeping the family unit intact. After stabilizing the situation, officers had telephoned the Care Agency and agreed to allow their crisis team to handle the situation. Tamara, Jay, and Alexis Troy, another trained counselor, were the on-call team that evening, immediately dispatched to make sure that the situation was indeed under control.

  Entirely engrossed in the situation at hand, Tamara did not even notice the look of disappointment on Sienna’s face as the teen watched her rush out the door after Jayson arrived at her apartment. Alexis Troy was waiting for them at the Jameses’ small apartment, and the three of them then sat down to talk with the mother and her son.

  Alexis, a middle-aged African-American counselor, was well experienced in these types of situations, and, in less than an hour, she worked her therapeutic magic and diffused what had been a volatile situation. With her sensitive guidance, the concerned mother’s screaming, cursing, and yelling eventually dissipated into tears of relief that the boy had come home unharmed.

  As Tamara watched Jayson climb into the passenger seat of the truck, she suddenly flashed back to the last home visit they�
��d made together, and, with more than a touch of worry in her voice, she asked, “Jay, do you think they’re going to be okay?”

  Jayson closed his door and replied, “Tam, it’s gonna be just fine. As always, Alexis really worked through the entire situation well with them. She took the necessary time to help Ms. James understand that her anger was based on her concern for Anthony’s safety.”

  Tamara agreed, “I think Alexis did a good job, too . . . but then, she always does. I guess I just want to be sure that nothing will happen after we leave.”

  Jayson was silent as he turned the key in the ignition and backed the car out of the lot. He knew that Tamara was once again thinking about their unnerving discovery of the neglected Smith children months ago, and he said gently, “Tam, you gotta let it go. I know what’s on your mind, but this situation has nothing to do with that other one. I don’t know why it happened, but please stop blaming yourself—it was not your fault. You know as well as I that sad situations just happen now and then in child welfare. Thank God that the really bad ones like what we saw are usually few and far between.”

  She turned from his gaze and looked out of her window before replying thoughtfully, “I know that bad things happen in child welfare, Jay . . . I guess I just always thought it would happen to someone else and not to one of my caseload kids, you know? I promised myself that I would be extra careful from now on, certain I’ve done everything within my power to prevent anything from happening to a child on my caseload—everything.”

  “I understand how you feel, Tam—really, I do. It was hard looking at those kids like that, and it wasn’t any easier watching it played on the news over and over for days afterward—even for me.”

  They were both silent then, and the quiet in the truck seemed deafening. Jayson’s overtures toward her had really shifted the comfortable balance of their relationship. The easy banter they used to share before his unexpected confession was much more difficult now.

  Jasyon reached over, turned on the radio, and then, changing his mind, cut it back off after only a moment or two. Clearing his throat, he said huskily, “Tamara, I know you don’t want to have this conversation, but I think we need to.”

  Tamara’s stomach sank because even though she did know that they probably needed to talk about what had happened the other week, she really did not want to. Feigning ignorance, she crossed her arms tightly in front of her, still feeling chilled although the truck’s heat was blowing warmly through the vent, and asked innocently, “What conversation is that, Jay?”

  “Don’t play like you don’t know, Tamara. Save me that at least, okay? You’ve always been honest with me; please don’t change now. You know what conversation I’m talking about.”

  She sighed loudly, “Okay, Jay . . . I admit it. I know what you’re talking about. But what else is there to say?”

  “Tam, there’s a lot more I have to say. I like you a lot, and I really do want us to spend time getting to know one another better . . . outside of work.”

  Quiet again, Tamara stared out the window, feeling flustered now and unsure how to respond. Jayson’s repeated advances made her feel pressured to a degree, and she did not like that feeling at all.

  Persistently Jayson asked, “Tam, please say something.”

  “Jay, I’m just not sure what you want me to say,” Tamara murmured.

  Jayson turned the truck into her driveway and parked in the guest spot in front of her town house apartment. “I know what I want you to say, Tamara, and that is that you like me, too, and are interested in getting to know me better, too.”

  In a small voice, she interjected, “Maybe the timing is just off.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The timing, Jay . . . you know, with Sienna living with me and everything. I don’t have much time to date . . . not really.”

  Jayson twisted his lips and responded, “Hmph, seems like you have time to see Isaiah Perry.”

  “We are not seeing each other. He’s just a friend,” she protested.

  “C’mon, Tamara, even I can see that guy wants more than friendship from you, and I know that you can see it, too.”

  “Jay, he is just a friend,” she repeated, feeling more flustered each moment the conversation continued. Her trembling had dissipated, giving way to a telltale warmth from the inside out—a sure sign that her anxiety level was rising.

  Jayson turned her head gently toward him. “Well, then, Tamara, I want to be a friend, too. I want you to look at me the way that you do him. I mean, I saw how you looked at him when we were all at church the other Sunday.”

  Tamara looked at him questioningly. “I don’t know what you mean, Jay . . . How was I looking at him?”

  Jayson looked deeply into her eyes and said, “You looked at him like he was the only man in the world, Tamara . . . like you couldn’t see anything or anyone else but him.”

  The young woman shook her head free of his hand, gazing downward as she replied softly, “I guess I didn’t realize I was looking at him like that.”

  “I did, though,” said Jayson, and he gently lifted her head again so that she would have to look in his eyes.

  Tamara was surprised to see the sadness there, but she just was unable to give him the answer that he wanted to hear. “Jay, I think I should go inside . . . to check on Sienna.”

  Unexpectedly, he bent over and almost touched his lips to hers, but she pulled her head back just in time to avoid the kiss, turning quickly to look nervously out the window again.

  “C’mon, Tamara, look at me,” Jayson implored.

  “Jay, I’ve got to go now . . . Thanks for letting me ride with you,” she said, and with one deft move, she was out of the truck and on the pavement, walking toward her door.

  Tamara quickly turned her key in the lock and opened the door. Only once she was inside did her heart rate began to slow down a bit. The entire situation with Jayson was getting out of hand now, especially since it seemed that his advances were getting more persistent each time the conversation was brought up anew.

  She touched her hand to her lips and thought of how he had almost kissed her tonight, and then motionlessly stood by the door until she heard his engine start. Only when the noise from the truck began to recede and finally die out totally did Tamara dare to move.

  She abruptly noticed the almost eerie silence in the apartment . . . The lights were strangely dim, and it was uncharacteristically silent. Normally the sounds of music, often too loud, met her at the door, or Sienna was there, chattering and full of energy, ready to tell her about her day. Reassuringly she told herself that most likely a disappointed Sienna had fallen asleep and was somewhere in the house taking a nap now.

  “Sienna? Sienna?” she called loudly as she began to walk down the hallway.

  Tamara checked in the living room area, but there was no Sienna curled up on the couch or lying on the carpet sound asleep. Unable to discount her rising concern, she flicked on the light with a trembling hand before continuing down the long hallway softly. Sienna’s door was open, and a glance inside told her that the girl was not in there.

  When Tamara reached the closed door of her own bedroom at the end of the hall, she stood nonplussed, unable to recall closing it when she left in the morning. In fact, she rarely closed her door ever. Even more apprehensive now, gathering her courage, she turned the doorknob and threw the door back. To her extreme surprise, there lying in the middle of her bed was Sienna, intertwined in the arms of a lanky, deep-brown-skinned young man!

  The girl jumped up, and her eyes opened wide as she asked, clearly surprised, “Tamara! What are you doing home?”

  “I do live here, don’t I?” answered Tamara, and her calm tone belied the shock she was feeling inside. This was the last thing that she would have expected from Sienna at this stage. While the girl’s classwork still left much to be desired, she had lost a lot of the bad attitude that she’d had initially. She willingly attended church several times a week, and the tw
o of them had been getting along much better. Tamara assumed that Sienna’s Christian faith was at the root of much of her change, but this behavior in front of her was certainly not part of that doctrine.

  The young man’s eyes were on Tamara as he jumped up from the bed. With one quick, furtive glance at Sienna, he said, “I gotta go . . . See ya, Sienna.”

  Sitting on the side of the bed, he pulled on his huge sneakers and then bounded down the hallway, stopping only a moment to retrieve his jacket from the living room, and then they both jumped a bit when they heard the door slam hard.

  With the boy gone, Tamara turned her attention back to Sienna.

  “Well?” she asked, fully expecting an explanation of some sort from the teen.

  Instead, Sienna clicked her tongue in the impertinent manner that she’d not used for a long time and rolled her eyes. “Well, what?” she replied, affecting the streetwise, nonchalant look and tone she hadn’t used in quite a while. Clicking her tongue even louder, she added flippantly, “Well, I guess you shouldn’t have come back so soon, and you might not have seen something you really didn’t want to see, huh?”

  Tamara’s anxiety was giving way to anger now. “Sienna, stop making that annoying noise with your tongue! And do not use that tone with me!”

  The teen continued to stare her down defiantly. “What you mean, ‘tone,’ Tamara? I’m just talking like I do normally.”

  Tamara’s voice rose. “What was he doing here? Or better yet, what were the two of you doing in here?”

  The girl pulled up the sleeve of her blouse and said, “What did it look like we was doing here? We wasn’t doin’ nothin’! Just messin’ around.”

  Suddenly, Tamara felt as if she were on the verge of hysteria. Her pulse was pounding hard in her temples, and her heart was beating a mile a minute. She needed some time alone immediately, and she knew it. “Sienna! Just please, get out of here, right now . . . and pull up your blouse. You’re almost exposed.”