Sing A New Song

by Michelle Lindo-Rice

  If only her mother had offered to take Karlie. But Merle didn’t care to know her only grandchild; she was more interested in calling Tiffany a whore.

  “Why did I go there?” Tiffany opened the glove compartment, haphazardly searching for some tissues. “Why did I let her get to me, again?” Tiffany cried, knowing deep down inside that what her mother had said was true. She was a whore.

  Chapter Five

  Tiffany exited the elevator that led into the Franks’ apartment. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her nose stuffy.

  “Winona?” Her voice echoed. Winona and Harvey must have been out to dinner, she surmised. Tiffany felt glad she would not need to make excuses, for she was not hungry and was in no mood for company. She was drained and tired after her run-in with her mother. Tiffany called Karlie to check on her, but her nerves were too frayed for any lengthy conversation. Instead, she got into bed fully dressed and closed her eyes, falling into a restless sleep. She tossed and turned as memories assailed her from so many years ago.

  Tiffany ran out the gate to meet Myra Crumb, who impatiently tapped her foot. “Where you been, girl? Let’s get a move on, or we’re going to be late.” The two girls wore matching summer outfits and just knew they looked too cute for words. Thomas Knightly and Neil Jameson caught up with them. Both girls giggled, feeling good about walking to school with their men.

  Excitement filled their veins. “We got to get the prom tickets before school,” Myra imperiously demanded, “or the line during lunch and after school is going to be ridiculous.” Myra looked at her watch. “We should just make it.”

  Tiffany and the boys shook their head and readily agreed. They knew better than to argue with Myra when she was in a tizzy.

  “Did you bring your money for later?” Myra asked, double-checking with Tiffany. They planned to go to the mall and find dresses and all the accessories they would need to get all decked out for prom. Both girls felt so grown up to take public transportation to the mall instead of relying on Myra’s mom to drive them.

  “Yep,”Tiffany replied. She patted the money sling she wore underneath her shirt. “I have more than enough right here. What about you?” Tiffany looked at Myra. “My parents gave me their credit card.”

  To Tiffany, Myra sounded like a real adult since she would sign a credit card. “Awesome.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Myra grabbed her hand giddily.

  The two girls shopped for hours to find the accessories. Myra even generously purchased a pair of shoes for Tiffany that she felt Tiffany “just had to have” to match her dress.

  The night of the prom, Tiffany left the house, feeling like a fairy-tale princess. Actually, she felt like a woman. Thomas’s eyes bulged when he saw her, and Tiffany glowed with pleasure. They went to the prom with Myra and Neil, and then the two couples ventured to an after party at one of the football players’ house. Tiffany and Myra were nervous because they had both decided prom was the night they were going to do “it.”

  They had held hands and prayed. Yes, they had prayed about committing fornication. With stars in her eyes, Tiffany made up her mind to give herself to Thomas, knowing in her heart that she loved him.

  Thomas was eager and awkward but was too young to know exactly what to do. After fumbling around in the dark, Tiffany swallowed her disappointment but lovingly suggested, “How about we wait to make our first time really special? We should go all out and book a hotel room or something, instead of here where anybody can just walk in on us.”

  Tiffany felt since they were in love, there was no reason they could not wait. Thomas agreed with it with an eloquent “Um, okay, yeah,” because he needed to get some advice from his friends—and protection.

  Tiffany could still see him with his hands poked into his pockets, looking boyish and unsure.

  It was four thirty in the morning when Tiffany entered her house after the prom and the after party. Her mother was a nurse and worked the graveyard shift, so Tiffany had not cared when she got home. As long as she got in before her mother got home at 7:30 A.M., she was satisfied.

  But her stepfather, Clifford Peterson, was still up. It was obvious he had been waiting for her. Clifford Peterson was an imposing man. He was only a couple inches shorter than her five feet nine inches, but he was broad and thick. He had a gut from drinking too much beer. His eyes were his greatest feature, for they were a golden shade, which must have drawn her mother in, but to Tiffany, they were like the devil’s spawn.

  Tiffany bid him a hasty good night and retreated to her room, as far away from Clifford Peterson as she could get. She didn’t know if it was just pure instinct on her part or a woman’s intuition.

  Merle had married Clifford when Tiffany was about eight or nine, and he had adopted her. Tiffany had never known her real father, and Merle had never mentioned him, so Clifford was the only father she’d ever known. But for some reason Tiffany never quite warmed up to him. She did not know why. She just did not like the way he looked at her, and never stayed in the house alone with him when her mother was not around.

  Tiffany raced into her room, intending to be fully asleep by the time Merle returned. She had barely undressed before Clifford boldly opened the door and entered her room.

  “What!” Tiffany exclaimed. Had she forgotten to lock her door?

  He closed the door behind him with a decisive click.

  Oh, no. Her eyes fell on the key he was pocketing in his jeans. He was shirtless. Gross. “You have a key to my room?”

  “Yeah,” Clifford’s gravelly voice answered. “And it isn’t your room. You don’t pay the bills in here. I do.”

  He belched loudly. Tiffany could smell the alcohol and covered her mouth to keep from gagging at the stench. Feeling closed in, Tiffany moved into a corner of her room to put as much space between them as possible. She wished he would just leave, but Clifford blocked the door. Clifford walked over until his putrid breath hit her face. He ground his body against hers and called her a tease and a taunt.

  “What are you doing?” Scared, Tiffany pushed against his frame. With the element of surprise in her favor, Clifford’s body gave and she bolted for the door, but Clifford was too quick for her. He grabbed her and unceremoniously tossed her onto the bed.

  Clifford pounced on top of her and touched her intimately. Tiffany squealed aloud, wondering what time it was and when her mother would come home. “Mommy! Mommy!” Tiffany yelled and fought back. She pushed, but he was like a brick wall, so she bit down into his arm.

  Clifford yelped, grabbed her hair, and twisted it. “You little . . .” He stopped and looked at her menacingly. A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “I see how you like it,” Clifford whispered. He gripped her mouth with his hands before removing her underwear.

  Tiffany cried. Tears rolled down her face. She bucked her body to get him off, but her strength failed. Clifford entered her without thought or concern. Tiffany cried out in agony as she felt her insides being ripped asunder. “Stop! Stop!”

  She thrashed her body to get him off, but her efforts only served to entice him, as the lunatic cackled, “Yes, yes, yes.” Still she fought. Her hands dug into his skin, drawing blood. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Please, Clifford, please stop,” Tiffany begged. She felt suffocated and helpless against the torturous assault on her body. “Please, Daddy.”

  Clifford was past the point of hearing her pleas. He continued continued his assault, and to Tiffany it felt like days, but he would not stop not until he was done. Tiffany cried uncontrollably while she secretly plotted his murder. She was going to castrate Clifford Peterson for doing this to her.

  She heard a crack in the door. “Mama.”

  Clifford jumped off the top of Tiffany.

  Thank God. Her mother would put Clifford out on his butt.

  “What is . . . going on . . . here?” Merle placed both hands on her hips, and her face twisted with disgust. She whipped her head from one to the other and waited for an answer.


  Sober, Clifford buttoned his pants and backed away from the bed. “Merle, honey,” he huffed, “this isn’t what it looks like.” He vainly tried to capture his breath. “She”—Clifford pointed at Tiffany with contempt—“she did this. Tiffany enticed me, Merle.”

  Tiffany released an odd-sounding laugh, fully expecting her mother to kick Clifford out and pummel him for what he had done. To her surprise, her mother rounded on her.

  “You whore! Harlot! What did I do to deserve this from my own daughter?”

  “I’m sorry, baby.” Clifford now sat in the corner. The very corner he’d had Tiffany sequestered in earlier.

  Ignoring her soiled linens and torn gown, Tiffany shot out of bed. She ached and hurt in places she shouldn’t have. “Mom, he raped me! He raped me. Even when I called him Daddy, he still raped me.”

  “I was drunk, Merle.” Clifford balled like a baby. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “He’s lying, Mama.” Tiffany choked on her tears. Beseechingly, she looked toward her mother and held her hands out.

  “Mama. Mama . . .” Tiffany woke up out of her sleep with her arms outstretched. Tears soaked the silk pillow on which her head lay. Tiffany realized she was in Winona’s apartment and not her old home in Hempstead. She got up off the bed to grab some tissues, wiped her face, and sat on the ottoman placed at the edge of the bed. It had been years since this had happened. Seeing her mother must have triggered the old nightmares.

  Fully alert, Tiffany remembered how Merle had walked right past her daughter and over to Clifford. He also had had his hands outstretched.

  Merle had chosen.

  Behind Merle’s back, Clifford had given Tiffany a look of triumph and had had the gall to lick his lips.

  At that moment, Tiffany did not know what else to do. She felt hopeless and utterly alone. So she ran.

  Chapter Six

  Neil pulled his car in front of Tiffany’s house in Hempstead. He got out of his car and walked over to where Tiffany sat waiting on her stoop. She’d park her truck in the driveway. “Tiffany Knightly,” he called and extended his arms.

  Tiffany took a moment to study the man before her. Time had been good to him. He looked the same, except for the fact that he had more muscles on his six-foot-three-inch frame and a mustache and slightly peppered sideburns. Neil was the delicious color of dark molasses. Idris Elba had some serious competition. She felt herself drawn into a tight embrace. Hugging Neil was like coming home.

  “I’ve missed you,” Tiffany said in a tone filled with warmth and affection.

  Neil released her and touched her cheek fondly. “I nearly keeled over when I got your phone call that you were moving back here.”

  “I know I was a bit dramatic,” Tiffany confessed. She splayed her hands toward her house. “But I couldn’t come back to this house on my own. Truthfully, I only bought it because of Ben—my special tree. I never thought I would actually ever set foot in this house again.”

  Neil nodded, fully understanding. “I am glad you called me. I know you couldn’t do this on your own.” He looked at his watch. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  “I feel fortunate your job gave you the time to come.”

  “Tiffany, I took the time. Now, quit stalling.” Neil took the keys from her hands. The two remained silent as they opened the gate.

  Tiffany was pleased at how clean the house was. Winona had carried out her wishes to the fullest. The caretakers had mowed the lawn and installed new siding, along with a fresh coat of paint. She must have hired gardeners, because there were all sorts of flowers planted along the edges of the lawn. It was breathtaking.

  “Nice,” Neil commented. “I wondered what was going on when I saw all the commotion going down over here.” His house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. Tiffany lived at the other end of the block, right across the street.

  “Yes, they did a good job,” Tiffany whispered. “The only thing left is the decorating. I’m having a few pieces shipped from my house in L.A., but otherwise everything will be brand new.”

  Neil looked at Tiffany. Her hazel eyes looked hollow and sad. He kissed her on both cheeks. “I am so sorry, honey.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, and Tiffany nodded, knowing he was referring to her diagnosis. “Thanks, but I’m even more sorry for Karlie.”

  Tiffany walked over and sat on the third step. “Neil, do you think all this is happening because of—”

  “No,” Neil cut in. “Tiffany, don’t even go there. All that stuff with Clifford went down a long time ago.”

  “Yes, but you told me, warned me even, to tell the truth.”

  “Tiffany, Clifford raped you. You can be excused for your temporary . . . ah . . . insanity.”

  All those years ago, after seeing how her mother had blatantly chosen her rapist over her, Tiffany had raced outside to her tree. She had really wanted to run away, but she had no job, no money, and nowhere to go. For days, she had cried and cried, pleading with her mother to believe her. Yet the more she’d pleaded, the more Merle had closed her mind and heart toward her daughter. Merle had treated her like scum around the toilet or something on the bottom of her shoe.

  Distraught, Tiffany had become a shell of her former self. She’d even dropped Thomas and avoided Myra’s calls. Normally, Myra would have been at her door, demanding an explanation but she was preparing to go visit her grandparents for a month in Florida. But something else happened to Tiffany during that time. Neil.

  Neil Jameson. The two had forged a secret friendship that no one was privy to, not even Neil’s wife and Tiffany’s best friend, Myra. They knew that Myra wouldn’t understand or appreciate their close friendship.

  Tiffany looked at him with a self-deprecating smile. “Insanity? That’s a cute euphemism for my past peccadilloes.”

  Neil sat next to her on the step and scooted his huge frame closer to her. “Tiffany, you have to forgive yourself for your past. It has been sixteen years. God has already thrown that in the sea of forgetfulness. Believe me.”

  Tiffany leaned into his strong shoulders, soaking up his strength. Neil had such faith in her. He was her staunch defender to the end.

  “I saw my mother.”

  Neil tensed. “Why did you even waste your time visiting that cantankerous spawn of Satan? That explains your renewed bout with self-recrimination.”

  Tiffany beseechingly held his arm and pleaded for him to understand. “She’s my mother, Neil. I felt she had a right to know.”

  “Well, did she welcome you with open arms?”

  His sarcasm grated on her fragile ego, and Tiffany burst into tears. “No. She called me a slut.”

  Neil expended a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, love. That is the last thing I meant to do.” Neil reached into his suit pocket to pull out a handkerchief. He gently wiped her face. “Don’t let Merle Peterson get to you now. Not after all you have accomplished in your life. Not after everything you have been through.”

  Tiffany nodded. She got up and faced the rest of the stairs. “I cannot avoid it any longer,” she whispered. “I have to go up.”

  Neil followed suit. “Lead the way.”

  They walked into what had been her parents’ old room. “This will be my room.” The only way she had been able to move in here was knowing Clifford Peterson was six feet under and he had taken his dastardly deeds with him to the grave.

  Her temperature rose every time she thought about that . . . monster. That was why she had done all in her power to ensure that every remnant of him and her childhood here was removed. Gone were the tattered curtains and grungy furnishings. They would be replaced by the best money could buy.

  By mutual consent, Tiffany and Neil visited the bedroom down the hall, near the scene of the crime. “This will be my workout room.”

  Neil only nodded. He was more concerned about Tiffany’s mental state than the physical structure. “Let’s go to your old room.”

  “Karlie’s new bedroom,” Tiffany
announced. She entered, and goose bumps rose on her flesh.

  Neil hugged her close. “How do you feel?”

  Tiffany laughed. “Relieved. Wow, what a difference a can of paint makes.”

  “Well, I think it was more than that.”

  Tiffany agreed. “Karlie is going to love it here.”

  “Does she know about the move yet? Have you told her your true reasons for moving?”

  “No to both questions.”

  “How do you think she is going to react?”

  “Like the typical teen. She’s going to scream bloody murder about the move. And I think she’s going to hate me once she finds out that the man she grew up thinking was her father might not be,” Tiffany said, predicting her daughter’s reaction.

  Neil exhaled. “You can always change your mind about all of it, you know. I mean, I don’t understand why you insisted on holding on to this house. You could’ve had your choice of houses to buy with today’s market.” Neil couldn’t fathom why Tiffany would hold on to the place where she had experienced the greatest hurt of her life.

  Tiffany looked Neil in the eyes to communicate the depth of what she had to say. “Honestly, Neil, I don’t know why I held on to the house, especially since my mother wanted to move. I haven’t examined my motives that deeply. But I think I owe it to Karlie to tell her the sordid truth. But you’re here, Neil. You’re here.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m not leaving. You can’t make me.”

  “Karlie, it’s what is best,” Tiffany replied, eyeing the poked-out lip of her sulking fifteen- year-old daughter. She dug her hands through her curls with extreme frustration. She was jet-lagged and could barely stand on her two feet. But Tiffany knew she had to let Karlie know they would be moving by the end of summer, God willing.