For Your Love

by Beverly Jenkins

  The baptism was held at the ser­vice’s midpoint, and Trent and godmother Genevieve joined the Douglas family at the altar. The vows were spoken and the godparents read their promises. Then Reverend Paula took each twin in turn and, cradling the baby in her arm, slowly poured a bit of holy water over the crown of their little head. Tiara laughed, but Bobby Jr. wailed loudly in protest. At the end, the congregation welcomed the two new Chris­tians with rousing applause.

  The ser­vice continued with communion and ended with the lights being dimmed in the sanctuary. The small white candles everyone had been given upon entering the church were lit. The sea of flames flickered in the shadows as the congregation sang “Silent Night.” Their combined voices rose and filled the sanctuary. For Trent it was always the most moving experience of the church year, and yet another of the many reasons he loved living in Henry Adams.

  That evening after church, Trent and Lily sat on the couch and watched their sons walking around the tree, trying to make their decision. They were allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve. Devon finally settled on a small one from Amari. He tore off the paper, and his eyes popped. “Sick! Thank you, Amari!”

  “What is it?” Lily asked.

  He held it up. “A CD of James Brown’s greatest hits!”

  While both parents displayed their amusement, Devon said, “You know he died on Christmas Day, so can I play this in the morning while we open the rest of our gifts?”

  Lily looked to Trent, who shrugged. “Sure, Dev. Why not? That’ll be fun.”

  Amari’s choice was a flat, medium-­size gift from his parents. He pulled the paper off, and his eyes widened. “Oh, wow!” It was a framed print of The March by Jacob Lawrence. “Thank you!”

  “Now you don’t have to wait until you’re grown and have your own place,” Trent told him.

  Amari studied it with a seriousness that reflected his growing maturity. “This is awesome.” He raised his gaze to theirs. “Thank you, guys.”

  They rounded out the evening by starting a fire and roasting marshmallows, before being treated to Amari’s rousing reading of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

  Christmas morning, the residents awakened to two inches of freshly fallen snow. Kiki thought it was quite beautiful. Bobby, not so much, because he was anticipating having to go out and shovel later. In the meantime, they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before turning their attention to the unbelievable amount of gifts the babies received from the community. Last night after church, ­people gave them package after gift-­wrapped package. There’d been so many, Rocky had to help them get some of them home, putting a few of the larger items in the bed of her truck—­most notably the two rocking horses from Grandma/Godmother Genevieve. Now, as they opened the trove—­while keeping an eye on the babies to make sure they didn’t eat the wrappings—­they found diapers, bedding, clothing, toys and more toys, and two huge plastic saucer things that, from the manufacturer’s tag, turned out to be sleds. There were new snowsuits and mittens and hats and tons of little kids’ learning CDs. Tamar gave them a box filled with baby-­proofing items for the house that included locks for the cupboards, inserts to fit into the electrical outlets, and two sturdy baby gates. Kiki loved her. The Garlands gifted the twins with a CD player for their room and a bunch of music CDs to enjoy. There were storybooks and recorded books from Crystal, and enough stuffed animals to start their own zoo.

  Once everything was unwrapped, they took it all in and Bobby cracked, “These ­people are way out of control.”

  “I know—­but it’s because they haven’t had any babies here for a long time.”

  “I can see that, but we’d need like five more kids to use all this stuff.” He glanced over and grinned.

  “Don’t look at me. Maybe in a few years, but right now these two are all a girl can handle.”

  “If it were up to me, we’d have at least three more.”

  “Good thing it’s not, so get a grip.”

  When Mal knocked on Bernadine’s door, what she saw left her speechless. A horse and sleigh were outside in front of her house.

  “Would my lady like to go for a ride?”

  She stood there so long, looking out in amazement, that Mal chuckled. “Baby?”

  Crystal, in her pajamas and her new leather boots, looked around her mom. “Wow! Now that’s the shizzle. Looks just like a Christmas card.” The sleigh was brown, and the huge draft horse was decked out in ribbons and bells.

  Bernadine finally regained the power of speech. “Where on earth did you get them?”

  “Santa. He’s off the clock now, so he’s in Miami knocking back nonalcoholic mai tais.”

  She laughed. “Give me ten minutes to throw on some clothes.”

  “Make sure they’re warm. One of your furs would be best.”

  Ten minutes later, with everyone on their porches watching and smiling, Bernadine, wearing her best full-­length faux fur coat over a ton of layered clothing, was helped into the big sleigh by her personal Santa, wearing a red Santa hat. He climbed in beside her, and with a slap of the reins the horse pulled forward, the runners caught the thin coating of snow, and the neighborhood residents cheered until Santa and his lady were out of sight.

  As they glided over the open snow, Bernadine thought that if she hadn’t loved this man before, she sure loved him now. He’d taught her to fly a kite, treated her to her first picnic in a pickup truck, taken her on her first high-­speed chase, and now a sleigh ride. “This is wonderful, Mal.”

  “You like it?”

  “I do. I really do.”

  “Wanted to give you something money can’t buy.”

  “You did.” Her ex-­husband, Leo, had had all the money in the world, and by comparison Mal would be considered a pauper, but Malachi July was wealthy in ways Leo knew nothing about. She looked forward to priceless moments like this until death did them part.

  “Are you nervous about meeting your sister?” Lily asked Trent.

  They were standing in the baggage-claim area of the airport, waiting for his mother and her family to arrive. Devon was holding up a sign he’d made, “Grandma Rita” written on it. He said he wanted her to feel like a celebrity. “In a way, yes. The last time I had a lawyer in the family, I needed another lawyer to get rid of her.”

  “You are so crazy.”

  And then there they were: his mother, her husband, and his half sister. Trent hurried to meet them.

  “Trent!” Rita cried.

  He swept her up.

  “I’m so glad to see you!”

  She embraced Lily and her grandsons next. She then introduced Paul and Val.

  Trent shared a shake and a quick hug with Paul, and then with Val, who eyed him affectionately. “Glad to finally meet you, big brother.”

  Any unspoken worries he might have harbored about how she’d react to him were instantly swept away. “Hey, sis. Same here.”

  “So, you’re Devon,” Val said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your dad sent me the video clip of your band. You all were pretty good.”

  He dropped his head shyly.

  “I can’t wait for you to grow up and be famous, so I can have front-­row seats. She turned to Amari. “Hello, Amari. I’m pleased to meet my nephew.”

  “Glad to meet you, too. How was your flight?”

  “Way too long. I was so anxious to get here and meet you. Your dad says you’re into cars.”

  “I am.”

  “So is your grandfather, Paul. Maybe next summer you can fly out and see a NASCAR race with him.”

  Trent thought Amari was going to fall over. The stunned kid looked from his aunt to his grandfather and asked, “NASCAR? As in, NASCAR?”

  Paul chuckled. “I can’t get your grandmother or your aunt Val to roll with me, so I’m looking forward to having a buddy.”


  Amari turned to Trent, and then back to Paul. He appeared speechless.

  Lily asked, “Shall we keep your grandfather, Amari?”

  “Hell—­I mean heck, yeah!”

  As they all laughed, Trent said, “Let’s find your luggage and move this love fest to the house.”

  They’d just loaded the bags and themselves into Lily’s SUV when Trent’s phone sounded. It was a text from his cousin Griffin: Call me later when you get a minute. Trent paused, feeling a sense of foreboding, but told himself it was just his imagination. He made a mental note to touch base with Griff that evening. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to celebrate being reunited with his mother. Everything else would have to wait.

  The two families spent the afternoon eating, opening gifts, and having a good time. Trent knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn’t care. Each time he glanced Rita Lynn’s way, he found her watching him as if to make sure he hadn’t disappeared, and he felt the same way.

  Mal stopped by to meet Paul and Val. He only stayed a short while, after which he left with a wave on his way next door to Bernadine’s.

  That evening they had dinner at Tamar’s, and after returning home, Trent remembered he was supposed to call Griffin. His cousin picked up right away. They spoke of general things first, like how Thad and the Oklahoma July clan were faring and how much Amari loved the bow-­and-­arrow set Griff sent him for Christmas. “So were you just checking in, or is something on your mind?” Trent asked, finally.

  “Yes on both, but the latter involves you and our son.”

  Trent tensed. “Meaning?”

  “I’ve been contacted by Melody’s husband. He wants to meet Amari.”

  Trent didn’t know what to say. Melody was Amari’s biological mother.

  “You still there, cousin?”

  “I am. Just trying to figure out my response.”

  “I had the same reaction, especially when he admitted that he was the one initiating contact, not his wife.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I asked him if she knew he was reaching out. He said yes.”

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

  “The man’s a congressman. They always lie, especially to those of us with Native blood.”

  Trent reacted with a smile.

  “But he’s a former reverend—­which may or may not be any better, considering the church’s history with our ­people, but he sounded legit.”

  “So how do you want to play this? Do you want to talk to Amari about it?”

  “No. Leaving this up to you. In fact, if Amari agrees to meet with him, you should be the one to go with him. You’re his dad in the eyes of the law, and I’m afraid that if I go, and Melody does decide to get involved, it’ll be the Thrilla in Manila revisited. Our history’s pretty toxic. Amari doesn’t need to be in the middle of that.”

  Trent agreed. He knew Griffin to be one of the saner members of the Oklahoma clan, but he’d been a habitual heartbreaker his entire life. “What’s the congressman’s name?”

  “Ernest Carlyle.”

  “The Ernest Carlyle?”

  “The one and only. How he wound up married to Melody is anyone’s guess.”

  Carlyle had been representing his Detroit constituency for decades and was one of the higher-­profile members of Congress. “Text me his number, and I’ll put it in my phone. I want to talk to Amari first.”

  “Sounds good. And Trent, sorry to be passing the ball to you in this, but you’ll be better at it than I’d be.”

  “Thanks . . . I think.”

  “Let me know what you decide to do. And if Amari wants to talk to me, he knows he’s always welcome to call.”

  “Okay, Griff. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  “Appreciate it. Later.”

  And the connection ended.

  Amari was spending the night over at the Paynes’, and Devon was at the Garlands’, so only the adults were in the house when he stepped back into the living room after the call. Apparently, Lily could see something wasn’t quite right.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He told her.

  “Amari’s been dreaming of meeting her, but this doesn’t sound like a dream come true,” Lily said.

  “I know. I’m not sure what this sounds like.” He was still wondering about Carlyle’s motive for wanting to meet Amari.

  “What kind of mother would refuse contact with her own child?” Rita asked.

  Val said, “Not everyone is like you, Mom. She may have legitimate reasons for putting him up for adoption, and that has to be respected, no matter what. We don’t get to pass judgment.”

  “I agree,” Trent said, “but when that child is your own, you take a more personal view. He’s hurting inside. Just like I was before you contacted me, Mom. When there are no answers, you get filled up with all kinds of doubts about your self-­worth, and I hate that he’s having to deal with it.”

  “So what do we do?” Lily asked.

  “I’ll talk to him when he comes home in the morning, and see how he feels.”

  “He’s going to want to go.”

  “I know, Lil. I just don’t want him to be hurt any more than he already has. We know he’s a survivor, but he’s been through so much in his life. It would be nice if he could get some type of closure.”

  The room quieted for a moment as they all mulled over the situation. Finally Paul said, “All we can do is hope for the best. He’s blessed to have the love and strength of you and Lily behind him.”

  Trent said, “Thanks, Paul. I just hope it’s enough.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  Just as Lily predicted, Amari wanted to go see Ernest Carlyle. “I want this to be over,” the boy said. So now, with the aid of his phone’s GPS, Trent navigated the Detroit highways, and the intricacies of them brought to mind the years he’d lived in LA. There was of course snow on the ground, like back home, but apparently there’d been no recent snowfall because the piles lining the streets were pocked with oil, dirt, and grit, reminiscent of the national media’s portrayal of the once-­vibrant city. Amari had grown increasingly quiet since they picked up the rental car. Trent wondered if he was thinking back to his old life, and the differences in his world now. “Anything familiar, son?”

  “Not really. I know this is the west side. I lived east. Still looks the same, though. ­People waiting on the bus, cars rusted out from the salt. Liquor stores. Little grocery stores. Looks bleak now. Never noticed that when I lived here. Winter was always the worst time for me. No gloves. Paper coat. Always cold. Always hungry.”

  When Amari glanced over, his eyes held muted sadness. “I’m glad I’m not that kid anymore.”

  For the rest of the ride he observed the passing landscape but remained silent.

  The Carlyle home was in an affluent neighborhood, with large homes and spacious snow-­covered yards. The cars parked out front sparkled in the bright winter sun. Trent pulled into the driveway, as he’d been instructed to do, and cut the engine. They sat in the silence for a minute or two. “We can still turn around and go back to the airport,” Trent said.

  “No, we’re here now. Might as well go in and see what happens.”

  “I got your back.”

  “I got yours.”

  They were ushered in by a woman wearing the black-­and-­white uniform of a maid. She led them into a quiet, book-­lined room with floor-­to-­ceiling drapes framing the single window, in front of which stood a large, ornate desk. Carlyle entered a few minutes later. “Welcome to my home, Mr. July, Amari. I’m Congressman Ernest Carlyle.”

  Trent had seen Carlyle more than a few times on television. He was always dressed impeccably, and today was no exception. The hand Trent shook was firm and solid. “Pleased to meet you, Congressman.”

 
“Call me Ernie.”

  “Trent.”

  Amari shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  Trent noted Carlyle’s small show of surprise and wondered if the man hadn’t expected Amari to have manners. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, Trent vowed to reserve judgment until he saw how this played out.

  “Please sit. Are you two hungry? Can I offer you some refreshments?”

  “No thanks,” Trent said, and looked to his son. “Amari?”

  He shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  At Carlyle’s invitation, Trent and Amari sat on the soft brown leather couch, but their host remained standing, leaning back against the big desk. “Thanks for coming. I know you didn’t have to.”

  “Why are we here?”

  “I wanted to meet my wife’s son. I’ve been wondering about him for some time now.”

  “You aren’t going to challenge my adoption, are you?” Amari asked pointedly. “Because if you do, you’ll have to chain me down to keep me here. I already have a mom and dad.”

  Carlyle seemed amused, and said to Trent, “You and your wife must be great parents to bring out such passion.”

  “We do our best.”

  “He’s a fine young man.”

  Trent sensed sadness in Carlyle but wondered if it was real, or if he was just imagining it.

  “No, Amari,” Carlyle said finally. “This visit isn’t about changing your life in any way. I’ve been a congressman for thirty years now, but before that I was a reverend. And although I no longer have a congregation, I am still a man of God. My wife owes you the gift of seeing her face. She also owes you an explanation as to why she made the decision that she did. You must have wondered about it.”

  “I have, but I figured she didn’t want me, so hey,” he offered dismissively.

  Trent’s heart broke because he knew beneath that swagger was a tremendous amount of pain, having lived with the same until he and Rita Lynn found each other again.