Latter Rain

by Vanessa Miller

  He rolled down his window, listening to Charles and his lady friend.

  The assistant DA pulled his lady close to him. “Come on, Nina, let’s go back inside.”

  She was crying. “Charles, I’ve got to go find him.”

  “Donavan will be back. He just needs to blow off a little steam. Trust me on this, baby. We’ll work through this.”

  Nina looked skeptical.

  Charles gave her an I-think-I-can, I-think-I-can look. “Oh, I’m up for the challenge. By the time we’re married, I’ll have Donavan wrapped around my finger. I’m telling you, Nina, we’re going to be happy.”

  Mickey smirked. “Good luck with that,” he said, while running his trigger finger along the barrel of his gun.

  5

  Donavan rode his bike to the park a couple of blocks from his house. He leaned his bike against a rusty, old, green trashcan and headed for the basketball court. A little one-on-one was what he needed. Something to take his mind off his family.

  The court was full of overgrown brothers shooting hoops at four o’clock in the afternoon. God hadn’t been able to convince these thugs that a man who doesn’t work shouldn’t eat. When they wanted food they got it with a gun and a ski mask. Donavan shook his head and wondered, yet again, what kind of person grows up with an allergic reaction to work. He’d asked as much to JC, the almost seven foot ex-NBA hopeful who was dominating the court right now. During his high school, eleven o’clock news making days, several universities offered him scholarships. One offered fifty thousand in cash. JC was packed and ready to flee the hood. He was going to take his game further than LeBron or Jordan ever did. But then that racist university asked him to take a drug test. To this day, JC spouts off about the unjust drug laws. If marijuana was a drug, then JC’s mama was the Queen of Egypt and they lived in a palace instead of the maggot infested dwelling that disgusted the roaches so bad, they packed up and moved to their less trifling next-door neighbors.

  When JC wasn’t complaining about the unjust drug laws, he was borrowing money and shaking down shorties like himself. Donavan had gone without lunch for a week the first time JC shook him. He was so mad he didn’t care that he was a shortie and JC was next to a giant, he screamed at him, “Man, why don’t you get a job?”

  “Please. A job don’t do nothing but keep you just-overbroke,” JC had reasoned.

  “Well, at least you won’t be just-over-borrowing,” Donavan countered.

  JC laughed as he playfully shoved Donavan. “I like you, shortie. You’re all right.”

  From that day on, JC became Donavan’s protector; watching out for him throughout the neighborhood. There was an eight-year difference in their ages, but they were friends. It wasn’t the Big Brother program Donovan’s mama would have signed up for, but it worked.

  JC saw Donavan standing at the edge of the court and waved as he checked his opponent.

  Donavan lifted his chin to say, “What up?”

  None of his school friends were balling, only the older guys. Donavan wasn’t big enough to take any of them on yet. So he sat down and watched JC whup on a couple other unemployables. He put his foot on the basketball that was on the ground next to the bench he sat on. Put his hand under his chin, and sulked. If he wasn’t so young maybe he could do some things to earn money and get out from under his mother’s lovesick roof. His parents didn’t have time for him. He was one big inconvenience they fit in around their busy ministries. His mom claimed that she left her day job to spend more time with him and focus on her writing. It was more like she left her job to focus on her writing and then spend time with him if she had the time. And with Charles always sniffing around, she rarely had exclusive time for him anymore.

  As for his missing in action daddy, please. Every time he thought about Mister-I-love-Jesus-so-I’m-going-to-travel-the-world-preaching -the-Gospel-and-forget-all-about-the-son I’m-suppose-to-help-raise, he got ill. Forget ’em. He didn’t need mommy dearest or the rolling stone. If he ran away, it would probably take them a couple of days to miss him. No rumpled sheets. No dirty socks in the hallway. No milk left on the counter. Oh ... Donavan must not be home.

  “What’s got your brows all scrunched up?”

  Donavan looked up to see JC’s sweat-drenched body standing before him. “What’s up, man?”

  “Nothing much.” JC wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his T-shirt and sat down. “What you doing here? Thought you was hanging out with your dad this weekend.”

  Donavan smirked. “Me too. But you know how that goes.”

  JC took Donavan’s ball and bounced it. “Naw, Shortie, I don’t know nothing about that. My old man ain’t never stopped by to pick me up for no weekend visit. Shoot, when he ain’t vacationing behind steel and concrete, I gotta drive by the winos on Fifth Street just to get a whiff of him.”

  6

  “Nina, baby, come sit down.” She turned from the window, pulled back the curtains and shook her head as Charles patted the seat next to him. “I’ve got to go find Donavan.”

  Charles got up and walked over to where Nina stood peering out the front window. “Baby, don’t do this to yourself.” He pulled her away from the window and into his arms.

  Tears filled Nina’s eyes as she allowed Charles to hold her. “What am I supposed to do? I feel like a failure.”

  They sat on the couch. Charles rubbed her back and placed a kiss on her forehead. “You did the best you could, baby.”

  Her shoulders shook from the torrent of her tears. “B—but, h—he’s been so hateful lately.”

  “You can’t do this alone. When we’re married, I’ll become more active in Donavan’s life.” He wiped her tear soaked face and kissed her soft, wet lips. “Anyway, we’ll have plenty of our own children. And they’ll have a mother and father in the home right from the start.”

  Nina pulled herself from Charles’s embrace and eyed him. “How many is plenty?”

  He smiled. “Well, I figure that since you’re already thirty-six, you can’t have very many baby making years left.”

  Hands on hips, she challenged with an, “Excuse me?”

  His hands went up in surrender. “I’m not saying that you’re old. But realistically, baby, the clock is ticking.”

  She stood, mouth open. “I know you’re not talking. I mean, you’re thirty-nine.”

  He grabbed Nina and pulled her back on the couch next to him. Her back was pressed against his chest as he held her. “You know that men can have babies at just about any age. I could be a hundred years old and still impregnate a woman.”

  Nina’s eyes got big. “You sound like you’re trying to be like Abraham. That’s all well and good for you, but I hope you’re not looking for a Sarah, I’m not signing up for that job.”

  Charles laughed. He then rubbed Nina’s shoulder and asked, “What do you think about having three more children?”

  “I don’t know.” Nina said with a sigh. “My biological clock might blow up after the first child.”

  He laughed again. “You got me on that one. He turned her around to face him. “But, all jokes aside. I come from a big family. My mom had ten children. I always thought I’d have at least six or seven. But I’m willing to settle for three. What do you say?”

  Nina always wanted more children. But it took so long for her knight in shining armor to show up, she’d given up on her dream. Donavan would be graduating from high school in about six years—setting off on his own soon after that. She could see herself writing more, traveling, and just enjoying life. But as she looked into Charles’s eyes, she knew that this was something he needed. Who was she to deny him? “We’ll give it our best shot.”

  7

  Driving down Broadway, Isaac’s heart sank. He had once ruled this area. He remembered stepping onto the grounds right across from Church’s Chicken, on the corner of Broadway and Riverview, and claiming the land. Kinda like the gold rush days of old, but his pot of gold was crack. The Promised Land is what he had du
bbed this area. His kingdom, and everybody in it, bowed down to him. Oh, how wrong he had been. He hated driving down these streets now. He wished Nina would move. Wished he didn’t have to remember it all as if it were yesterday. Maybe that’s why he got busy and didn’t show up sometimes. He didn’t do it on purpose. But these streets wouldn’t let him forget. Even the graffiti still called out his name.

  Every time he passed the alley that he set Mickey up in years ago, he thought of the lost look on Mickey’s face the day Isaac got out of prison. For years now, Isaac had wondered if he’d made the right decision when he got into Bishop Sumler’s car and left Mickey at the pick-up zone. Should he have left with Mickey? Would he have been able to convince him to give up the gangster life and accept Jesus?

  Turning onto Oxford, he saw Nina sitting on the front porch. He knew right away that things weren’t going to go well for him. Her arms were crossed tightly around her body, lip twisted, as she recognized his car. Even without being in close proximity, he could tell Nina had been crying.

  Putt-putting his way into the parking spot in front of her house, his classic Oldsmobile passed gas as he shut off the engine. He got out of the car and fanned the air. He needed to get a new car, because this one was on its way to car heaven.

  “Hey, you.” He waved at the evil looking woman on the porch. Her arms continued to hug her body. Those sweet hazel eyes murdered him a thousand times. Summer was a month away, but it was chilly on this street.

  Lately, all he got from Nina was harsh words and daggered eyes. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with the small talk. She had given him more respect when he was slapping her around. Maybe she missed getting beat down. Maybe she wanted him to man handle her. Then he stopped himself. Wrong thinking. Really wrong thinking. If he wanted respect, he was just gonna have to earn it. He lifted his hands in surrender, stepping onto the porch. “Whoa, bring it down a notch. I come in peace.”

  She stood and unfolded her arms. “What do you want, Isaac?”

  “What do you mean, what do I want? I’m here to pick up Donavan.” Despite himself, his eyes rolled upward. “We talked on the phone just a couple hours ago, remember?”

  “Six hours ago, Isaac.” Her voice rose and was a little shaky as she continued. “Not a couple hours ago. You should have been here by five. It’s nine o’clock, and my son is not here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He ran off.”

  “Didn’t you tell him I was coming?” He was getting angry and sick of Nina’s mess. “Why would you let my son run off when you knew I was on my way?”

  “First of all,” Nina shook her finger in his face, “I didn’t let your son do anything. He’s got a mind of his own. And we both know where he got that from.”

  Isaac started to open his mouth to defend himself, but Nina wasn’t finished.

  “And furthermore, how was I supposed to know you were on your way? You’ve cancelled on your son the last three times you were supposed to pick him up.”

  The truth of that statement calmed him. “Okay, Nina. I’m not here to argue with you. Just tell me where I can find Donavan.”

  She screamed, blowing salsa, chips and that chicken burrito she had for dinner in his face. “I don’t know where he is. I told you he ran off.” A tear trickled down her face. She sucked in her breath and put her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe he did this.”

  He touched the hand that held her mouth. The left one. The one that held that big rock. His mouth opened, then closed. He touched the diamonds encased in her ring.

  Donavan picked that moment to roll his two-wheeler in front of the house, jump off and stomp up the stairs. “Well, look who’s here,” he said as he passed his father.

  Isaac’s eyes lingered on Nina and that—that ring, as he grabbed Donavan’s shirttail and pulled him around. “Boy, where do you think you’re going?”

  Donavan puffed up. “In the house. Now let me go.”

  Slapping the backside of Donavan’s head, Isaac told him, “It’s nine o’clock at night. Where does your eleven-year-old half grown self get the nerve to roam the streets at night?”

  Donavan jerked away from his father. “I can do what I want.”

  Isaac hit him again. “You can get beat down, is what you can do.”

  Nina raised her hand. “Stop hitting him, Isaac.”

  “The boy needs a good beating.” He turned back to Donavan and shook him. “Isn’t that right, Donny Boy? If I beat the snot out of you, the next time I ask you where you’ve been, you’ll open that smart mouth and tell me real quick, won t ’cha?

  Donavan was silent.

  Isaac raised his hand and eyed his son. “I asked you a question.”

  “Yes, sir. I—I was at the park.”

  Nina pulled Donavan away from Isaac. “Look at you. All you know is violence. Your father beat you all the time. Did it do you any good?”

  Seeing red, Isaac turned away from Nina and glared at Donavan as he eased out of his hold. “Hey, go get your clothes, boy. And get back down here.” Donavan scurried away, then Isaac turned back to Nina. “I told you not to mention that man to me. He was no father. He killed my mother, and you dare compare me to that man?”

  “That’s your problem, Isaac. You don’t know how to let things go.”

  “Like you let us go?”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t let anything go.”

  Isaac pointed at her engagement ring. “So, I guess that guy you’ve been seeing asked you to marry him?”

  Lifting her hand and gazing at her ring she told Isaac, “It’s about time Donavan had a mother and father in the same house. Don’t you think?”

  Isaac’s lip curled as if he’d had a little too much mad cow. “I tried to give him that, but you didn’t want me.

  “No. I asked you to deal with your issues before coming to my doorstep. You refused to do it.”

  The way he’d remembered it was that he showed up on her doorstep with hat in hand and begged her to marry him so that she and Donavan could move to Chicago with him. But all she wanted to talk about was his usually wrong daddy. Nina told him that he needed to find his father and set things right with him before she could even consider marrying him.

  She acted like Isaac had the problem. Like he was supposed to go and thank his usually wrong daddy for smacking his mother around. Maybe he should treat him to dinner. Sit down over a few steaks and tell Usually Wrong how he felt when he saw his mother laid out in a pool of blood.

  He’d only been thirteen when that monster took his sweet mother away from him and his brother. Donavan, his brother, was twelve and too young to die. But that didn’t stop that bullet from exploding in his head while Isaac was in Juvee for beating Usually Wrong down. Maybe he should tell the old man that Donavan now resides in hell. But what would he care? And what did Nina know? Her save-the-world attitude really ticked him off sometimes. “Have it your way, Nina. Ruin your life with this guy. I’m tired of trying to live up to your high standards.” He turned and stomped off the porch.

  Before he reached the last step, Nina grabbed his arm and turned him back to face her. “Don’t you pin this on me. You had your chance. If you really wanted us to be a family, you should have found your father so you could address your issues. But, no. You chose to follow behind that jack leg bishop and move to Chicago.”

  He pulled his arm from her grasp. “I’m not following behind nobody but God. And how do you know I haven’t found my father?”

  Nina’s face lit up. Those hazel eyes sparkled, sparkled for him.

  “Please tell me you mean it. When did you find him?”

  “See how happy you are?” Isaac smirked. “And I know why. You think that if I go to that old man and forgive him, then whatever demons I’m dealing with will be gone, and we’ll be free to marry.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Isaac,” Nina told him while waving her ring finger in his face. “I’m already spoken for.”

&
nbsp; “Nina, are you really sure you want to marry that DA sucka?”

  She folded her arms around her small frame once more. “I smiled because I want you to be happy, Isaac. Don’t read more into it than there is.”

  “Whatever helps you put on that dress and walk down the aisle,” he told her while opening his car door.

  Before he could get in the car, Nina yelled after him. “Did you find your father or not, Isaac?”

  Just before he slammed his car door and sped off he told her, “I saw him.”

  “Be a man, Isaac. Handle your business,” she yelled at him.

  8

  Donavan was in his room angrily throwing clothes into his Cincinnati Reds duffle bag when he heard his father’s car door slam. He walked over to the window just in time to see father of the year speed off like he was a carjacker running from the po-po. “That’s right, Dad, get mad at her and forget that you even have a son. Leave me behind like you always do.”

  Donavan walked back over to his bed, picked up his duffle bag and poured the contents on the floor. He sat down, shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the wall. He tried to imagine what it would feel like if he mattered to somebody.

  One day he would know what it felt like, and he wouldn’t be part of no package deal either. His dad had this lovesick thing going on that said, if Nina Lewis wouldn’t be his woman, then he needed directions to the nearest how-to-be-a-daddy boot camp.

  Forget ’em. Donavan would make his own way in this world. As a matter of fact, he was going to find JC and see if he could hook him up with something. Only problem with going to JC was that JC would want to run his big mouth to Donavan’s daddy. JC idolized Isaac.

  “Man, your daddy was the Pope around here. Didn’t nobody mess with the Ike-man. Not unless they wanted some instant death, JC had told him. Donavan didn’t know the Ike-man JC drooled over. But if JC really wanted to know the truth, the Ike-man thought JC was a loser, and had told Donavan not to hang with him.

  To Donavan, his daddy was the preaching man who must not have read the part in the Bible that said a man who doesn’t take care of his family is worse than an infidel.