“I think you should tell him this evening.”
“I didn’t have plans to see him. I need to meet with this chick who’s writing some comp papers for me,” Barrett said.
“Change it. We need to get moving on this.”
“Okay! Gotta run. I’ll call you later,” Barrett said as she clicked off her phone and raced into practice.
CHAPTER
21
Carmyn’s Beloved
With thoughts whipping through my mind like autumn leaves in a breeze, I considered how Lowell was pressuring me to tell Brady. I didn’t know if I agreed with him, but what if I did tell Brady? Would he understand why I had done what I did? How angry would he be over the missed chance at having a relationship with his father? Would he understand when I told him that I wasn’t really sure who his father was and that I didn’t even know if he was alive?
I shook my head, trying to discard those thoughts. But then my mind filled with new images—of Brady when he was five years old, starting school, wanting a “daddy” and a puppy badly. I remembered the look on his face when he watched his friends’ fathers pick up their sons from football practice. How my heart had ached. But nothing was as bad as the time he’d come home crying after his first loss in a Pee Wee football game.
“Mommy,” he cried. “I’m mad at God.”
“Why would you say that, Brady?” I asked, concerned.
“Because I keep praying and praying and He won’t send me another daddy. I don’t know why. He took away my first daddy and He should give me a new one.”
Tears had filled my eyes then, just as they did now as I remembered. All I was able to say was “God knows best.”
I eased the car to the edge of the curb, glanced at the modest home, and then turned off the car’s engine. As I walked toward the door, I pasted a smile on my face. I hadn’t seen Shelby since the day I brushed her off, and I was sure she’d be happy to see a friendly face. I knew this wasn’t an easy time for her. I knew this for sure, since it hadn’t been easy for me.
“Hi, Ms. Carmyn,” Shelby said when she opened the door. The tone of her voice told me that she was surprised to see me.
I hugged her, feeling the slight bulge of her three-month pregnancy. “You look good,” I said, glancing at her. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugged as she closed the door, and then I followed her into the kitchen. “I’m okay. Do you want something to drink?”
“No, sweetheart, I’m fine.” I settled onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “So, how’s everything?”
Again she gave me the standard teenage shrug. This girl was still a baby herself.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I guess.”
“Well, I wanted to stop by and see you and find out if there was anything I could do. I’m still willing to do your hair whenever you want.”
She shook her head. “I won’t be able to do that. Next week, I’m going away.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Going away? You don’t need to go anywhere. You need to stay here with your mom and brothers. Family is what you need now.”
“My mom doesn’t want me here, she’s making me go. I’m going to Chicago to stay with my aunt”—she lowered her eyes—“until the baby is born.”
“Oh,” I said, and waited for her to continue.
She took a deep breath. “Mama says it’ll be better this way because my aunt works for Social Services and she’ll be able to find the baby a good home—”
“Wait a minute.” I held up my hand. “Find the baby a good home?”
She nodded but still didn’t look at me. “I’m giving my baby away.”
I wondered if she noticed the way her hand moved to her belly when she said those words. She was already protecting her baby.
I stood, walked over to her, and held her in my arms for a moment. “Shelby, sweetheart. Giving away your baby…is that what you want?”
She nodded but didn’t look like she meant it. “It’ll be better for me…and the baby,” she said, as if she had rehearsed the words.
“Come here,” I said, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen table. We sat next to each other, and when I looked at her and saw the tears in her eyes, my heart broke.
“Shelby, you don’t have to do that.”
“I do,” she said, tears now crawling down her cheek. “It’ll be better, because I’m only a girl and I can’t take care of a baby. Besides, Torrian already has another girlfriend.”
I took a breath. I knew it would be tough, but if I could do it, Shelby could too.
Shelby continued. “My mom said that I have to do it this way because she can’t feed another mouth and she said I can still go to college…and…” She stopped as if she could find no other reason. “I have to do this.”
Memories flooded back to me as I recalled hearing all the same things, except my parents weren’t worried about another mouth to feed—they had the means, they just didn’t want the shame.
“You don’t have to give up your baby, Shelby. You can still go to college.”
She waited a moment, digesting what I’d said, as if she needed time to believe me.
“I don’t want to give up my baby,” she whispered as if she weren’t supposed to say the words aloud. “But my mother is so mad at me. Sometimes I think she hates me.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Your mother doesn’t hate you. She may be disappointed, but she loves you.”
“That’s what she said, but she told me that I have to give my baby away. She said I have to give my baby away, or else…” She stopped.
I raised my eyebrows. It wasn’t like me to come into someone else’s home and tell their children what to do, but I’d walked in Shelby’s shoes.
“Listen to me, Shelby. What happens with this baby has to be your choice. Because you’re the only one who has to live with it. And you don’t want to grow up with regrets. You need to make the decision yourself.”
“Ms. Carmyn, I want to keep my baby,” she said, her voice stronger this time. “I’m scared, though. I do want to go to college and I don’t want to ruin my life.”
“You can’t let one night ruin your life. Take that from someone who knows.”
“You really think so?” She looked at me, her eyes pleading for reassurance.
“I know that you can take care of yourself and the baby.”
“But how do you know? My own mother doesn’t believe I can make it on my own if I keep the baby.”
How could I explain all this to her? There was no way I could tell her my secrets. Not when my own son didn’t know.
“I know because I know you can do all things through God. And God created your baby. So if you want to keep your baby.” I paused and smiled. “God will give you everything you need to take care of her once she breathes her first breath.”
It was such a simple answer, but it seemed my words were ones Shelby needed to hear.
Still, she said, “But how will I keep my baby and go to school? I’d have to get an apartment and job. How will I be able to do all of that with a baby?” She looked as if all those thoughts overwhelmed her.
Suddenly, Brady’s empty bedroom popped into my head and I found myself saying a quick prayer, hoping I was doing the right thing. “Shelby, if you want to keep your baby, you can stay with me. I will see what I can do to help you find a job. Maybe you can work at the shop.”
Her eyes widened. “I could live with you? Really?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
She gave me a grateful smile. “I thought you’d be disappointed in me, just like my mother.”
I wanted to tell her that there was no way I could pass judgment. But instead I said, “This may not be what I wanted for you, but this is where we are. So we’ll just deal with it.” I leaned over and hugged her. “You still have some time to think about this, but I want you to know that you have choices.”
She nodded.
“And if you want to keep
your baby, I will help you do that, okay? Even if it means having to talk with your mother.”
She nodded again.
I stood, grabbed my purse, and headed to the door.
“I’ll give you a call in a couple of days, but if you need me before then, you know where to find me, okay?”
“Thank you, Ms. Carmyn. I hope Brady knows how lucky he is to have a mother like you.”
After I left Shelby, I felt a sudden urge to read something I had written over twenty years ago. Later, I found myself at the top of my home, nestled in a seldom-used room that reminded me of the inside of a jewel box. Brady had only been in the room once since we bought the house.
Natural light flooded into the attic through a bay window. I located a small, smooth wooden box that I had hidden behind a water tank and pulled it out. Inside were almost a hundred letters that were like photographs of my youth in an old scrapbook. Most of the letters were from Woodson, but there were a few from girlfriends, and one letter at the bottom of the box that no eyes had seen but mine. I recognized my handwriting and the words My Beloved on a dingy white legal-sized envelope.
I wondered if the words I’d written two decades earlier could be a comfort to Shelby now, and I was surprised by the wave of emotion that overcame me as I opened the envelope and began reading the letter.
October 17,1987
My Beloved Child,
If you’re reading this letter, I guess you’ve finally turned eighteen. Happy Birthday, baby!
The first thing I want to say may sound cliché since you’re adopted, but I reallly did give you up so that you could have a better life. Even though it hurts me to say it, right now I’m just not capable of being the mother you need to thrive in this world. The best way I can love you is to give you to two wonderful people who will raise you as their own.
Please know that I will always love you.
Now that you’re old enough, it’s time for you to learn a little bit about your birth family. The Johnsons are a strong, proud family. Your grandfather hails from Waco, Texas. His parents were educators, and your grandfather followed their lead and is the dean of an historically black college where he is loved and respected. He is also a minister, a true man of God. People say his sermons can raise the dead. He calls me his princess, and until recently I felt that way.
Your grandmother comes from a long line of Texas beauties. She, as her mother before her, has devoted her life to helping others. Since ninth grade I’ve spent at least one month each summer helping underprivileged people right alongside my mother.
My darling child, I wish I were older, wiser, and up to the task of being your mother.
I want all your dreams to come true, baby. I dreamed of getting married one day and having my father, your grandfather, perform the wedding ceremony.
Maybe someday we’ll meet and I can tell you all the things that escape me now. I’m fighting back tears with each sentence I write. I hope you can forgive me for giving you up for adoption, baby. One day, I hope, I’ll get to hug and hold you.
My faith right now is fragile, but I hope you’ll welcome God into your life and never let him go.
There’s a scene at the end of the The Color Purple, one of my favorite movies. I won’t give it away, but I cry every time I see it. It’s a scene about hope that reminds me that family ties can never be broken. Maybe one day soon we’ll get to mend ours.
With all the love in the world,
Your birth mother,
Niecey
I felt a pain in my heart, and I began crying tears of guilt over what might have been and the joy I would have missed.
CHAPTER
22
Brady’s Boi
I walked up the granite stairs into Maynard Jackson Hall, where Lowell’s office was located. The smell of fresh wax wafted off the floors and I heard the sound of the morning janitor buffing them before the first bell rang. I couldn’t remember the last time I was up this early when it didn’t have anything to do with football, but when Lowell had called me the night before and asked me to come by, his request had seemed urgent.
I reached the third floor, and when I walked into Lowell’s office, I saw him looking out the window.
“Enjoying this beautiful day?” I said, startling Lowell.
“Brady, thanks for coming by on such short notice,” Lowell said. He moved away from the window and toward me, giving me a bear hug.
“No problem. I only have one class today. I love being a senior and having all my hard courses out of the way,” I said as I sat in the dark red leather chair facing Lowell’s desk.
“So you’ve got your Heisman acceptance speech ready?” Lowell asked.
“I’m trying not to think about that, and I know you didn’t call me over here to talk about football. You know, that’s all anybody wants to talk about these days. I want to talk about something else, like American citizens being spied on. Or if Bush plans to withdraw the troops from Iraq, or continue to send more of my brothers and sisters over there to die.”
“Sounds like you should come and sit in on one of my classes. Or maybe even teach,” Lowell said.
“Maybe one day,” I said.
“Do you want something to drink?” Lowell asked. He seemed a little nervous, and I wondered if what he needed to talk to me about was causing the apparent anxiety.
“No, I’m cool. How did you get Chloe to leave me alone?”
“Oh, that was easy. All I had to do was to remind her you were seventeen when you came to college, and while that’s legal in Georgia, the president and dean don’t look favorably on teachers doing whatever they want with young, impressionable students. I told her if she released one picture we’d sue her ass. By the way, I have the pictures.”
“What are we going to do with them?”
“Already done. I shredded them.”
“Sometimes she used a digital camera,” I said.
“I wouldn’t worry, Brady. She is not going to do anything. In a way I felt sorry for her, because it was obvious she had feelings for you, but she was in way over her head. How’s your roommate?” Lowell asked, suddenly changing the subject.
“Delmar? He’s cool. Why do you ask?” I quizzed. Had the rumors and the coach’s concerns about Delmar reached Lowell, as well?
“I don’t know what to do other than to just come out and say it. Did you know that Delmar has been dancing at a private club in Savannah?” Lowell asked.
“Dancing? What kind of dancing?” I asked, laughing at the thought of Delmar dancing for an audience.
“I guess you really can’t call it dancing. I guess stripping is a better term,” Lowell said.
“You mean like dancing with a G-string?”
“Yep.”
“Are you sure it’s Delmar?”
“It was him. No doubt.”
Lowell told me about a private club he frequented in nearby Savannah called The Living Room. He explained that it was an upscale establishment for professional black gay men who didn’t want to go to the clubs populated by what Lowell called finger-popping sissies. He explained that on Tuesdays and Thursdays they brought in strippers from Atlanta and Jacksonville, Florida. He told me that one night he had walked into the club, only to see Delmar in a G-string and white cowboy boots allowing men to stick dollar bills in his skimpy undergarment.
“Did he see you?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. But I talked to a couple of my friends after he finished his show and I found out this wasn’t his first time dancing there and that he sometimes does private shows for clients away from the club.”
“Private shows?”
“Yep, and even though I’m embarrassed to tell you this, I’ve had a private show or two in my day and it usually includes more than dancing,” Lowell said. “Thank God I’ve met someone and don’t have to do that anymore.”
“What are you saying? Is Delmar gay or bi?” I asked.
“I can’t say. I’m not concerned about that. I just want t
o make sure he doesn’t get in trouble. I know a few other professors who frequent the club, and one who shall remain nameless is the NCAA faculty representative for Central Georgia,” Lowell said.
“Maybe Delmar is one of those DL guys the females on campus are always talking about,” I said, trying to get the picture of Delmar in a G-string, shaking his behind in front of a man, out of my head. For some reason the thought made me want to laugh, but then I thought of the ridicule Delmar would face if any of our teammates found out about his part-time job.
“Most likely he’s part of the new GP wave,” Lowell said.
“GP wave?” I asked. Sometimes when I asked Lowell questions, I got more information than I wanted to hear. I hope’d that was not going to be the case this morning.
“The down low is old news. Now it seems there are a lot of guys who are gay for pay,” Lowell said.
“Gay for pay?”
“Straight guys who will go a little crooked for the right amount of money,” Lowell said. “They usually target wealthy, older men, and some of them are very dangerous.”
“So maybe that’s where he’s been getting all the extra money,” I said. “At least he’s not selling drugs.”
“Will you warn him to be careful, Brady? He only has a few months before the draft, and I know he doesn’t want to mess up. Lord knows he won’t be able to fall back on his education, since he never goes to class.”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Good looking out,” I said. I got up from the chair and shook my head. I couldn’t wait to hear what Delmar had to say for himself.
After practice in preparation for the Ole Miss game, I did what I always do when faced with a dilemma—I called my mother.
After trying to reach my mother at both salons and her cell, I called her home number. I was surprised to find her there so early in the evening.
“Hey, Mom,” I said.
“Brady. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Hey, Mom, that money is still in my account. Do you think I should go to the bank and tell them about the mistake?”
Just Too Good to Be True Page 19