by Zane
Epilogue
“Hurry up or I’m going to be late!” Jeanette hissed at the cab driver. He dipped in and out of traffic trying to get her to her destination and out of his cab.
As the cab pulled into the circular drive, Jeanette spotted Clarissa climbing out of the Black Onyx LX470. “Don’t forget to grab my bag.” Clarissa called to the other side of the truck.
Jeanette threw the fare at the cabby and hoped out the backseat. “Thanks.”
“I’m here!” she yelled to get Clarissa’s attention.
“Nette, you’re here. Thought we were going to have to start without you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I wouldn’t miss this for the world?” She grabbed Clarissa’s hand and guided her over to the wheelchair that sat at the curb waiting.
Julian handed Jeanette Clarissa’s overnight bag. “Here. I’m going to go park.”
“Hurry up, Honey. I don’t want you to miss anything,” Clarissa said as she squeezed his hand to fight off another contraction.
“Look, give me the keys and I’ll park the truck. That way, if anything unexpected should happen, you won’t miss it.” Jeanette held her hand out.
“Thanks, Nette,” Julian said as he dropped the keys in her hand and pecked her on the cheek.
The nurse escorted the proud parents-to-be toward the bank of elevators that would take them to their reserved birthing suite on the eleventh floor of St. Luke’s Hospital.
“Ohhh…,” Clarissa moaned out, clutching the arms of the wheelchair.
“Another one, Baby?”
Concentrating on her breathing, Clarissa nodded her head to confirm that another contraction had rippled across her swollen abdomen.
“How far apart are the contractions?” the heavyset nurse questioned.
“Less than five minutes now.”
“Well, once we get you in the room, we’ll check to see how things have progressed. If you’ve started to dilate, it won’t be long then.”
Clarissa’s mouth formed a perfect O-shape as she continued to breathe through each contraction like she’d learned in Lamaze class. The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. The nurse rolled Clarissa into the second door on the right and helped her into the full-sized bed in the center of a room that looked like a page out of Better Homes and Gardens.
Julian dropped her bag in the rocking chair sitting directly in front of the bed. There was a bassinet for the baby and a hydrotherapy tub used for relaxation to ease the pain of labor. The hardwood floors reminded Clarissa of the beautiful brownstone that had become home to her over the past year and a half.
Her divorce from Clark was finalized within a month after she filed. He was advised by his lawyer not to contest it. He would stand to lose much more than she’d asked for if he did.
Even though Julian didn’t want her to take anything from Clark, she wasn’t about to let him get away with the hurt he’d caused her scot-free. She was only collecting on a debt that he owed her.
Two months later, she and Julian wed before five hundred of their closest relatives and friends at the lavish New York Palace Hotel on Madison Avenue in Manhattan. With Jeanette standing by her side, she finally said “I do” to her Mr. Right.
“Here…comes…another one.” Trying her best to keep breathing, she gritted her teeth as the severe pain ripped through her body.
Julian stood behind her, rubbing her back as he helped her into the hospital gown. “That’s right, Baby, breathe.”
Jeanette walked into the room. “Did I miss anything?”
“Not yet. But I don’t think it’ll be long,” the nurse replied.
She popped the latex glove on her hand. “Now let’s see.” She checked to see how far Clarissa had dilated.
Awaiting the verdict, Julian and Jeanette watched closely as Clarissa twisted and turned against the pain.
The nurse snatched the glove from her hand and walked out the room.
“What’s wrong?” Clarissa asked.
“Let me go find out,” Julian replied. Before he was able to take one step out, a team of nurses rushed in the room. Clarissa’s doctor was on their heels.
“Hello, Mrs. Tulley. I have good news,” Dr. Trehearn said as he put on his mask.
“Really?” she asked, as another contraction ripped through her.
“You’re ten centimeters. The baby’s head is already crowning.”
After that, everything began to move quickly. There were nurses everywhere. Rolling in equipment, pulling things from the ceiling, breaking down the bed for delivery. “You ready, Baby?” Julian kissed her on her damp forehead.
“I don’t think I have a choice at this point,” she panted.
After a few grunts and a short round of “Push, Baby, push,” little Madison Marie made her debut. All seven pounds and twelve ounces of her. Jeanette leaned over the bed after the doctor finished stitching Clarissa up.
“You know this was God’s plan for you? That’s why he wouldn’t allow you to bear any children until now. Rissa, she’s beautiful.” Jeanette held on tightly to her friend’s hand.
“Thank you, Nette, for sharing this with us.”
“Girl, please. Thank you for allowing me to.”
Julian walked over with their precious bundle covered in a pink blanket and placed her on Clarissa’s bare chest. After two attempts, she latched on and began the bonding process with her mother.
Jeanette thought it was a good time to slip out to the family room next-door.
Julian sat on the bed admiring the two most important things in his life. He pushed a strand of hair from Clarissa’s face.
“So, Daddy, you got your shotgun ready?” Clarissa teased in a raspy voice.
“I guess so, Mommy.”
“She’s so beautiful,” Clarissa said as she stroked the baby’s pudgy little jaw with her finger.
“Just like her mother,” he replied, kissing her gently on the lips.
Jeanette walked back in to catch the scene of the new family cuddling. Jeanette’s heart swelled with pure happiness, as she knew things were finally the way they were meant to be. Clarissa had learned a hard lesson in love, but she’d emerged triumphant.
Your Message Has
Been Sent
J.D. Mason
Chapter One
“Thank you so much, Mr. Davies, for agreeing to teach this class for us at the last minute. I was afraid we’d have to cancel it completely, which would have been terrible since so many kids have signed up for it.”
“Well, Tony was looking forward to being here, but when an assignment calls…”
Mo smiled. “I understand.”
He’s handsome, she thought to herself. It had been years since she’d noticed good-looking on a man, but on Kevin Davies it was kind of hard to miss, being that it was his best feature.
“Classes are held on Tuesdays at six. Will that be a problem for you?”
“Not at all. I’m an independent and I make my own schedule. Six is fine.”
Pretty black women, soft and round in all the right places, had a way of making his mouth water and Kevin fought the urge to smack his lips. Yeah, this Mrs. Beckman was fine. A little on the conservative side, but probably full of surprises. Most of the conservative ones usually were. Too bad she was afflicted with that “Mrs.” ailment or he’d have made it his goal in life to walk away with those digits. Over the years, he’d learned that life had a way of playing some mean tricks on a man. When he was set on being single, every woman that crossed his path wanted to get him walking down the aisle with her. But the minute a brotha made up his mind to find the right woman, do the right thing—wedding, honeymoon, little house on the prairie with the white picket fence, fate slapped him upside the head with females not even trying to commit. Or women like Mrs. Beckman here, who were already spoken for.
Actually, it was nice getting back over to this side of town. He’d grown up here and had wreaked his share of havoc in this neighborhood, which
hadn’t changed much at all. The rest of Denver might’ve been going through a metamorphosis, but not East Denver. The same solid brick houses had been there when he was a kid, only now they looked smaller. This was one of the few neighborhoods left in the city that looked as if it had been held captive in a time warp. It had yet to be invaded by big shopping centers, or fancy new developments. This part of the city had been considered the “bad part of town” ever since the first black family moved into the neighborhood and all the white folks moved out. A few blocks over, larger East Denver homes loomed majestic and expensive. The white folks stood their ground over there, refusing to budge despite the appearance of an occasional black face in the neighborhood. Like most people living here, he could never quite understand what was so terrible about it. Sure, it was full of black people, but did that make it bad? Not to him because he was a black people. He guessed it just depended on your point of view.
She felt him watching her. Mo celebrated a twinge of pride in knowing men still found her attractive. Different time, different place, different planet, just different—period, and maybe she’d have batted her eyes a little more, switched her hips hard enough to put the man’s eye out, even asked him if he’d had any plans for the weekend. But the smoke had only recently seemed to clear. It had been three years since her husband’s death. She’d spent those years in a fog, numb to everything and everyone around her with the exception of her son, Ty. Life had been about going through the motions and not much more than that. Lately, however, her senses had started to pick up on the little things she’d taken for granted like sunsets, lyrics to love songs, an appreciation of tall, dark-skinned men with velvety smooth voices, goatees and pretty smiles. At first she figured it had to be Spring fever, seeing as how it was Spring and all. But eventually she concluded that the man was fine and it didn’t matter what season it was.
Kevin walked a half-step behind her as she escorted him to the door. She had it going on all right. It was a damn shame about that “Mrs” thing, though. “Thank you again, Mr. Davies.”
“Please. Call me Kevin.” He smiled.
His smile was contagious and Mo responded in kind. “All right. Kevin. I usually leave for the day at five. I have a little one I have to get home to, so…I won’t see you on Tuesday. But I’m sure everything will go just fine.”
A little one to get home to. What about a big one? he wondered. There had to be a “Mr.” looming around out there somewhere. She was holding on pretty tight to that wedding ring, so ol’ boy was definitely still in the mix. Damn, the bad luck!
Chapter Two
When did masturbating get to be as routine as brushing teeth? Maureen sighed a dispassionate orgasm, then lay staring up at the ceiling. It was late and the house was quiet. Too quiet, and she wished she could sleep. Mo and quiet didn’t get along at all because it insisted on throwing revelation up in her face, reminding her lately of how lonely she was. In the past, she’d been pretty good at keeping it at bay, filling space, time, and quiet with busy work. Keeping busy had been imperative after Jonathan’s death. By surrounding herself with activity…work, their son Ty, more work, aerobics, yard work, housework, more work, she’d been able to block out the fact that her husband wasn’t working late at the office again, or that he wouldn’t be walking through the door at any minute. Keeping busy blanketed the truth that she’d become a single parent and the task of raising their son now fell solely on her. But he’d been dead for more than three years now and keeping busy had become a way of life for Mo. It had stopped being the crutch she needed to get through losing him and had turned into her routine.
Too much quiet pissed her off, forcing her to listen to the whispers of her needs both emotional and physical. Especially physical, which is why she’d sexed herself to boredom. Even after his death she’d depended on him, imagining it was him making love to her, nibbling on her neck, licking her nipples. It was him moaning, “Oh, Baby” over and over again in her ear, slowly easing himself in and out of her until she climaxed all over him and her. In Mo’s mind, Jonathan kissed her tenderly, nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, until he’d eventually fall asleep on top of her, inside her, and she’d fall asleep beneath him. But time had a way of dulling her senses and resurrecting him wasn’t so easy anymore. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to recapture the smell of him, the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his breathing, the essence of him. Lately, she’d been losing that battle to sleep, passing out before a clear image of him had completed forming in her mind.
When the cancer began to take its toll on him, Mo had to step up to the responsibility of being everything to both Jonathan and their son, Ty, who was just a toddler at the time. To everybody on the outside looking in, she was his angel, tirelessly taking care of her husband, devoting herself to him, with all the love and compassion a good wife could muster. But Jonathan had known the truth despite her best efforts to hide it from him. For Maureen, love or compassion had nothing to do with her dedication to him. Cancer made her angry. And sometimes, the only way to get away from it was to give in to it. Mo spent many late nights curled up on the bathroom floor, crying into a towel she’d balled up in her lap. She was angry that her man had to be the one to get that nasty disease and that they’d only been married five years when he found out. She was angry that the strong man who’d ridden into her life like a knight on some big ass horse, swept her off her feet, promising her him for all eternity, had been reduced to one hundred forty pounds from puking up chemotherapy poisons that were supposed to keep him alive. She was mad as hell that he’d been the one to convince her it was time to start a family, only to end up leaving her alone to have to take care of that little chocolate family all by herself. But more than anything, she was angry that the other half of her soul had been ripped from her, leaving her to live her life feeling incomplete.
“You need to learn to be whole all by yourself, Mo,” her sister Naomi preached. “You were born alone and you’re going to die alone. You ain’t never supposed to make a man your whole world, ’cause he ain’t nothing but human like you human and there’s no guarantee he’s always going to be there.”
Of course Naomi knew how to be whole all by herself. The woman hadn’t sustained a meaningful relationship for more than three months in almost ten years. Her sister’s words certainly held a ray of truth in them, but for Mo, being bonded to Jonathan hadn’t been a burden. It wasn’t something she loathed. Before he came along, no man had ever touched her heart the way he’d touched it. He knew her even better than she knew herself, and right or wrong, he’d become her security blanket. That other half that instinctively took care of those things she’d neglected. And she liked to think, maybe, she’d done the same for him.
The thing is, after he died, life seemed to melt into itself. Clocks didn’t stop ticking. The sun and moon continued rising and setting like they’d done since God hung them in the sky. Summer turned into Fall, into Winter, into Spring, and back into itself again. All without missing a beat. The only thing that had stopped was her passion for life because everything she’d lived for died with Jonathan. Yeah, quiet usually ended up kicking her in the behind and Mo tried to avoid it at all costs. But lately, she found herself losing that battle too and one message seemed to be revealing itself more and more. Mo was lonesome. Finally, after three years, the idea of meeting someone new excited her, but more than that, it scared the mess out of her.
Jonathan had the easy part. After all, he was dead. Couldn’t get much easier than that. But for Mo…living was a trip. Because with all that had happened over the years, she wasn’t sure she remembered how.
Chapter Three
Becoming director of a neighborhood community center hadn’t actually been part of Mo’s plan for her career path, but that’s where she ended up. She’d graduated with a Masters in Education degree and landed smack dab in the middle of hell. The public school system. Like most young teachers, she left college determined to take on and even beat a system that h
eld little regard for the people it was designed to help—the children. Minority children were especially at risk and Mo was going to make a difference. Between breaking up fights every other day in the school cafeteria and having to endure the mindless chatter of teachers in the teacher’s lounge complaining about this “little bitch” or that “little bastard,” Mo saw what her future looked like and decided it wasn’t the place for her. So, she quit after her first semester and got a job in Corporate America teaching adults who had bosses paying them to be there. A willing audience. At times, she hated herself for giving up her “change the world” mentality so easily, but when that little girl from that last fight that Mo’d broken up took a swing at her, she finally said—enough.
When the opportunity presented itself to run the East Denver Mile High Community Center, she jumped at the chance. Maybe she still could make a difference in a young person’s life. The center was the hub of the predominantly black neighborhood and it gave the kids a place to hang out and use their time working toward a goal, even if it was as immediate as winning a basketball or football game. The center was volunteer-driven so whatever a volunteer wanted to add to the curriculum was cool with Maureen as long as it was positive. All able bodied, good-hearted individuals willing to give of his/ her time were welcomed with open arms and a real nice thank you letter.
The fiscal year was winding down and it was time to go to the board for some money, which meant only one thing—budget. Mo had been wrestling with this budget for over a month now, trying to find more ways to squeeze more money from those tight bastards. Sheila, her receptionist had strict orders…NO INTERRUPTIONS! The thing is, she hadn’t laid a hand on that budget all morning. Instead, Mo sat staring out the window at absolutely nothing, trying to remember when that empty feeling inside started to become uncomfortable. People had accused her of being cold and unemotional, but Mo knew better than that. Maybe that’s how she came across on the outside. Inside was a different story altogether. Inside, there were words she longed to say, thoughts she would’ve loved to share, and desires she desperately needed to set free. Only there never seemed to be an outlet for her to do any of these things. So she left them pent up inside and ended up coming across as a bitch. She wasn’t a bitch. Just frustrated.