by Nikki Woods
“Okay, ‘Ingston.” She pulled at Bianca’s hand. I smoothed some of her hair back into her ponytail and then, they were gone.
I turned to the stack of papers that Mr. Bartlett had left. I knew the majority of it contained information about the adoption. Thumbing through the thick stack, the light fan of air hit my face. I sighed and settled more comfortably into my chair. This could take awhile.
Chapter 32
A plate clattered to the ground followed by a squeal and the sweetly whispered promise of a quiet morning was broken. A whirlwind consisting of Teeka, Cocoa, and Toy swept into the tiny bathroom. Queenie dashed behind them, a dishtowel whooshing through the air as she chased the two dogs from the house, her carefully spoken English flying out the door with them.
“Pickney and dawgs dem’ eatin’ from de‘ dayum dinner table. Jeesum’ Peeze’! Who ever ‘eard of such a ting? Dawgs eatin’ in de’ kitchen,” she exclaimed in disbelief. “Lawdamercy! Child’s gwan’ make me lose muh religion.” The rag sliced again before she looked at Teeka, shook her head, then tisked all the way back to the kitchen, her sturdy legs shaking.
Teeka stuck her tongue out at Queenie’s retreating figure before barreling into my chest, her body quivering with sobs. “Don’t let Queenie catch you doing that,” I chastised, even as my hand flew to cover my laughter. Shampoo ran close to my eyes as I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it around my hair before guiding Teeka to the side of the chipped pedestal bathtub, it groaned beneath both our weights.
Queenie had long since lost the patience needed for a four-year-old under foot. I don’t think I ever had it. But I was learning.
“Teeka?” I gently peeled her away, and tilted her chin up.
“But they were hungry and my mommy taught me to share,” she whined, her words rushed together. “I was sharing with Cocoa and Toy, ‘Ingston. That’s all.” She pushed her face back into my chest. “Queenie’s just mean and I don’t like her. Neither would my momma.”
I sighed, wiping her running nose. The mentions of her mother were coming fewer and farther between, but they still hit me like fat drops of water from a slowing faucet. Understanding Teeka’s confusion and pain was not hard, loving her through it was the challenging part. But in her round dimpled face, I saw myself, I saw Joanne and every other little girl who had been left by a parent, and that was enough to recharge my determination to stick it out. My words were firm, softened with a slight smile. “I know, sweetie, and your mom’s absolutely right. You should share with others, but dogs are not allowed to eat from the table. You can help us put out their food in the mornings, but you need to eat your own breakfast and let them eat theirs.” My smile deepened. “And mind Queenie. No more sticking your tongue out behind her back. I’m sure your mom also told you about listening to others and being nice, right?” My eyebrows remained raised until she nodded grudgingly, but her lip shot so far out I was afraid she might trip over it. “Now go back and finish eating your food.” Teeka rolled her eyes and stomped all the way to the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
I fought the urge to yank her back and give her one of those time-outs child experts seemed so fond of. It had been almost a week since our arrival and neither Teeka’s attitude nor my mood had improved. This mother thing definitely took some getting used too.
I towel dried my hair, releasing fragrances of strawberry and citrus. I was determined to enjoy a few minutes of peace with a novel and cup of coffee on the verandah before Teeka finished her breakfast. She was already sitting at the kitchen table, legs swinging, waiting for the lumps to be beaten out of the batter. Queenie had resigned herself to making pancakes and sausage for breakfast, and sometimes lunch, almost every day depending on which way Teeka’s wind was blowing.
I laughed softly, not seeing the shadow stretching across the burgundy carpet until it was too late.
“Hey, slow down.” Damon’s hands reached out to steady me, a warmth flowed from his body to mine. “Where’s the fire?”
“Ohmygosh!” I pressed my hand to my chest and took a few quick breaths to quiet my thudding heart. “Damon, you scared the mess outta me.”
He threw his head back and laughed. I batted away his lingering hands, snatched the towel from my head and tried to work my damp clumps of hair into something halfway presentable.
Sunglasses fitted his face, an easy smile graced his lips, and a multi-colored beach ball was hooked under his arm. “Thought you could sneak back into town without me finding out?” Damon pulled his lips back and chucked my chin with his finger. “I knew the minute your sexy butt stepped foot on the island.” Damon’s eyes traveled past my face taking in my too small tank top and unrestrained breasts that pushed at it. A warm white oozing pleasure spread through me at the appreciation that shone in Damon’s eyes.
“Just showing up is becoming a bad habit for you,” I said with my hands resting on my waist, determined not to shrink beneath his gaze. My French-manicured toes curled into the soles of my tan beaded flip-flops to keep from flying up and kicking him.
The eyelet curtains that dissected the two front windows lifted and rippled from the moist mid-morning breeze. A slick humidity coated the city and I pressed the edges of the towel against the dampness sliding down my forehead.
Damon’s smile broadened, non-plussed. He took a step back. “Do you remember my Aunt Olivia?” he asked and it was only then that I noticed the tiny woman at his side. Her shimmery, pale pink lips—the color of well-chewed bubble gum—parted to reveal a gap between her two front teeth. Subtle shades of gray and silver were scattered throughout her short, feathered haircut. Thick brown age spots covered her face like continents on a map. Her green floral culottes swayed against her skinny, pecan-colored legs.
“Of course. How are you, Aunt Olivia?” I leaned down for a jasmine scented hug, pulling away with the fragrance still clinging to me.
“Please just call me Olivia. I’ve been trying to get Damon to drop the aunt for years. Makes me feel too old.” Her voice was wispy, full of extra breath as she shoved a foil covered Bundt cake into my hands. “Sorry, I wasn’t able to make it to your grandmother’s funeral. I couldn’t get a ride in from Hope Bay. The roads were rained out that day, y’know?”
How could I forget? It was my grandmother’s funeral. Every minute detail of it had been branded into my memory. That’s what I wanted to say, but I nodded politely. I spied the book and cup waiting for me out of the corner of my eye. The window of opportunity for a few moments of peace had just been slammed shut.
With a resigned sigh, I plastered a bright smile on my face and ushered them both inside. I picked up some of Teeka’s toys—a neon-colored snail that counted out loud and her book, Walter the Farting Dog—from the sofa and chairs, clearing space so they could sit. As I sat the cake on the dining room table, I cut my eyes at Damon with a look that said, I’ll be talking to you later. I wanted him to know that Olivia’s presence was the only thing keeping me on my best behavior.
“So what brings you this way?” I said more to her than to Damon, but he responded with excitement.
“We’re on our way to the beach and thought you might like to go. Let me see you in a bikini.” Damon waggled his eyebrows, causing Olivia to titter and clutch her handbag to her chest, as if that would keep the laughter from spilling out of her bosom.
“Is that why you’re wearing those ridiculous swimming trunks?”
“You don’t like them?” Damon looked down and seemed to really take notice of the colorful cargo shorts. “I guess they do look like they were finger-painted by a group of one-year olds. But since my Aunt Olivia gave them to me as a present, they hold a special meaning for me.”
Olivia shrugged and studied the shorts with an intense gaze, adding matter-of-factly, “I think they bring out the color in his eyes.” Inwardly, I groaned. Maybe if I counted to three, the floor would swallow me up.
“Sooooo,” Damon continued, his voice resonating like a drill serge
ant rallying his troops. “The boats come in at eleven o’clock; so if we want to see them, we need to get a move on.”
Teeka was still in the back room eating, her knife and fork clanking against the plate as she made mincemeat of her stack of pancakes. A day beneath the sun, breathing fresh ocean air would be a welcome change from the smog and dirt of the city. I knew that Teeka would love a day at the beach. But my day had already been scheduled.
“Today’s not good for me. I’m supposed to meet with the lawyer to discuss the estate. Studio time has to be scheduled, along with a number of other things. I do have a record label to run as well.” I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe next time you could give me a little notice.”
“Awww, come on! You can meet with your lawyer anytime. As far as that other stuff is concerned, big time record label execs deserve a day off, too, right?” Crossing the room to sit next to me, he placed a hand on my thigh. “Think about it: the sun beaming down on your face, water rushing against your toes, crispy fried fish, sweet bammy, not to mention the company.”
Damon spread his arms wide while Olivia fluttered her hands and crossed her legs at the ankles. “He’s got a point, Kingston. No sense in being cooped up in this house all day. Besides, I’d like to spend some time with you.” She wrinkled her nose as if something smelled funny. “ Y’know, have some girl talk.”
I blew a long stream of breath, sending a damp piece of hair up only to fall back over my eye. I knew Damon was not going to accept no for an answer. “I’m not by myself,” I said, the words had barely tripped off my tongue when Teeka walked back into the room, her lip still jutted out, the smell of melted butter and syrup following her like a fragrant cloud.
Damon’s charm went into overdrive. “I heard there was a new princess in town, but no one told me how pretty you were.” Teeka stuck her finger in her mouth and ducked behind my leg, snaking out every few seconds, staring at Damon with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. I suspected it was the same expression I wore on my six-year-old face when I first laid eyes on him.
Damon’s eyes flashed as he knelt in front of her. “What’s your name?”
“Teeka.”
“Princess Teeka.” Her name slipped off Damon’s tongue as sweet as candy. “It’s nice to meet you.” He extended his hand and she shook it like royalty before giggling and ducking again.
“Teeka, this is Mr. Whitfield. He’s a doctor and lives down the street. And this is his Aunt Olivia.”
“Hi, sugah’,” Olivia clucked. “Call me Ti-Ti and just call him Damon. None of that Mr. Whitfield, Aunt Olivia stuff, okay, precious?” She waggled her bejeweled fingers, cooed some more, and blew pink bubblicious kisses.
Damon slanted his head and bestowed Teeka with yet another smile before rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and saying, “So, Princess Teeka, I’m having a little bit of a problem here and I think that you are the only person in the world that can help me with it. Aunt Olivia . . .”
Olivia cleared her throat. “Ti-Ti.”
“I’m sorry, Ti-Ti and I are going to the beach today and we’d really like for you and Kingston to go with us. Would you like to go to the beach?”
Teeka nodded, sucking her fingers in earnest. Then, her eyes lit up until they beamed like the Fourth of July. She tugged on my shorts, gently at first then harder and harder as the magnitude of a day at the beach and all that that entailed weighed in on her.
My eyes darted between Teeka and Damon, amazed at how fast the tag team routine had come together.
“But she says she’s too busy to go.” Damon frowned and Teeka frowned right along with him. “So we have to convince her that going to the beach is a great way to spend the day. Any ideas on how we can do that?”
Teeka opened her eyes wide and stopped sucking as if the last thing she had expected was to be asked to participate in the discussion. Damon scratched his head, then suddenly snapped his fingers.
“I say we tickle her ‘til she pees on herself,” Damon said and pounced, wrestling me to the ground, his fingers digging into my ribcage.
The beach ball flew through the air, ricocheted off Olivia’s forehead and knocked a picture crooked. Teeka dropped to her knees giggling and clapping.
Damon’s dreads hung in my face, teasing my nose and I reached up and pulled on one—hard.
“Ouch! Fighting dirty?” he asked, rubbing the sore spot. The tickling began again and soon I was laughing so hard my bladder pressed down heavily.
“Okay, okay! I give, I give!” I sat up holding my side. “You win. We’ll spend the day at the beach.”
Damon whooped and hollered, holding his hand up for a high five.
Teeka slapped his palm as he grabbed me around my waist, pulling me into his side for a hug. The soft, lingering kiss that came next was as natural as breathing with the exception of Olivia eagle-eyeing us the whole time.
Damon stood, then pulled me to my feet. With my hand tucked under his arm, he said, “ Then, let’s go.” And half an hour later, we all piled into Damon’s gold Land Cruiser and backed out of the driveway, tires crunching on the gravel.
I thought of my ridiculously small white bikini and wondered if it had been a good choice. Knowing if I held it up against Teeka’s pink striped two-piece, hers might be bigger.
I rolled down the window until the struggling air conditioner kicked in, and listened to the rhythmic sounds of our beach bags bouncing merrily beside a small blue cooler. “What’s in the cooler?” I asked.
“Red Stripe.”
“Don’t they sell Red Stripe at the beach?”
“Only in plastic cups.”
“And?”
“No self-respecting Red Stripe lover would drink it out of a plastic cup. Ruins the taste. Gotta be in a bottle.”
I formed the word “Oh” with my lips and settled back in my seat. Who knew there was a philosophy behind drinking beer?
Damon flipped on a local reggae station and Chaka Demus and Pliers bolted from the speakers, then danced their way through the car.
It was just as hot as it was bright, but that didn’t slow down the activity in the streets. A group of young boys kicked around a battered football in the schoolyard, where more reggae music blared from a nearby system. Children skipped in and out of houses while women swept dirt from the sidewalks into the street with put-together brooms that were barely staying put together.
I pointed out the goats to Teeka who giggled behind her hand, then stuck her head out the window and made baaing sounds. Damon stopped at the end of the street to allow a colorful mixture of people and animals to cross.
“Everything crisp, doc?” asked a man before he bobbed in front of the truck and headed up the opposite side of the street.
Damon waved a hand. “As crisp as a new dollar bill.”
We continued through the maze of narrow streets, Damon occasionally acknowledging someone he knew, while I endured the whistles from male passersby, all to Olivia’s amusement.
“Which beach are we going to?” I yelled over the noise of the rumbling engine.
“Hellshire.”
Memories of spending time with my grandfather and my mother at the beach made me smile. “I haven’t been there since I was about twelve.”
“Then this should be a treat.” He winked, the simple gesture causing flames of desire to shoot through the core of my body, but my eyes narrowed anyway.
I could tell Damon was up to something. His words seemed to hold some sort of double meaning.
Thirty miles southwest of Kingston lay the white sandy beaches of Hellshire. As we traveled Garvey Drive, the inner city congestion and the rows of tenement blocks began to thin. We skirted the Kingston Freezone and crossed the causeway. To the right, across the Hunts Bay Lagoon, lie Caymanas Park Racetrack and the mouth of the Rio Cobre at Passage Fort. This was the seaport for the ancient capital of Spanish Town and the place where the British force landed to capture the island in 1655.
Next, Damon pointed out the historic Fort A
ugusta that sat on the left.
“It’s now a women’s prison. They keep drug runners, prostitutes, and thieves there; maybe even a murderer or two. All sorts of nasty women,” Aunt Olivia whispered from the backseat, her hands over Teeka’s ears.
Acres of rusting roofs of corrugated metal sheets that slanted atop huts whizzed by. The grim structures were crowded on top of each other with a few feet of ground in front, fenced with wire, tin sheets, or rotting wood. Some had yards where children played. Others were patches of a dying garden, now overgrown with weeds, that used to burst with yams and eddoes once grown for subsistence. Round shaped women hauled buckets of sloshing water with fat babies toddling after them.
“We’re almost there,” Damon shouted. Minutes later, we turned left at the next roundabout and the prevailing smell of fish along with the collection of oversized umbrellas and parked cars confirmed that we’d arrived.
As the car slowed, Damon said, “It’s about the only nice beach left in Jamaica that’s still owned by Jamaicans. Isn’t that right, Auntie?”
Olivia gave a serious nod as Damon pulled into a parking space.
We unpacked the car before Teeka and I headed to the changing rooms.
When we emerged, clad in cover-ups and jeweled flip-flops, Damon had already quarantined a section of the beach guarded fiercely by Olivia. He, however, was nowhere in sight. I looked around as memories of lazy days, jelly sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and my mother’s carefree grins assaulted me from every which way.
The government’s many efforts to give the beach a facelift that would leave it resembling other more commercial beaches hadn’t happened. Hellshire residents had resisted, so there was still a certain roughness to the beach that only added to its charm.
Wood shack structures selling food dotted the beach mixed with boats anchored to decaying docks and cars that no longer ran and had been long forgotten. Men with bare feet, soles hardened from years of working in or by the water, skinned fish before packing them in ice. A thick woman pulled up her skirt and danced in the water to the cheers of the men behind the bar before dropping her scarf-covered head shyly.