I didn’t know what to believe anymore. As Mama used to say, “Whoever is lying, tell the other one to shut up.” That worked on Beaux and me a few times before we figured it out. Couldn’t use that in my situation. I’d never get Madison and Chicago to meet me at the same time. I hoped the gun found by those kids at the hotel wasn’t mine. What made that six-year-old boy shoot his twin sister in the head was probably his mama and daddy’s fault for letting him play violent video games.
Kill the pedestrian, Granville. Run over the old lady, Granville. How they knew my name? I had a memory like an elephant. Yep, Mama wouldn’t lie. Maybe I should change my name for those games.
Those messages were evil. My son was going to be raised the way my mama raised my brother and me. “Y’all go outside and play.”
I mumbled back, “All right. When you say your last good-byes, fall into the casket, then cry like a baby. I’ll cover you. Make sure you slip the gun under the lining. When you’re done, look at me, then I’ll hug you and help you sit on the pew until it’s time for us to carry her out. Oh, and stay close to me so dude in the back won’t get us on tape.”
Beaux looked over his shoulder, turned back, then nodded. We’d gone over what we were going to do for the last time. Now that the moment was here, could my brother follow through with his plan?
I hadn’t gone through with mine. I still hadn’t opened the briefcase, more like suitcase, that Charles Singleton gave me. Inside was supposed to be one million dollars cash, a gun, and an iPhone. There was a Facebook account for me but it wasn’t under my real name. The e-mail and password weren’t linked to me either. Under this “Luvin-MeSumMe” account I was a girl. Chicago was my friend and I was his fan. I could track his every move as long as his locations were on. I didn’t want to go back to jail for doing the same thing. Might not be so lucky next time if I represented myself again.
Charles might have hired that dude in the back taping. Can’t put anything past a person who had me kidnapped from my penthouse, blindfolded me, and had his drivers bring me to his house. He’d sat in the dark telling me what I was gonna do. The money, if it was really in that briefcase, made me reconsider pulling the trigger one more time.
The pastor started closing the service by reading my mom’s eulogy.
“Sarah Lee Washington was a woman of God. She had a full and fruitful life. This here is a celebration of her time on earth. She moved her family out of the projects of Port Artha and into a great neighborhood near the tracks.”
The pastor wiped the sweat from his face with his cloth, then continued. “Sarah moved physically but she never stopped being neigh-baly. Whateva she could do to help othas or help out here at the chuch she did it until her health wouldn’t allow her to do it no mo’,” he said.
I think my going to jail may have killed my mama. She was fine before then.
This pastor didn’t know my mother. The preacher that knew Mom best had gone on to glory years ago. He’d died of cancer too. Mama was with Daddy now. He’d died of cancer too. Seem like everyone that lived close to the refineries in our town all their life got some kind of cancer.
I nudged Beaux in his side with my elbow. If we were carrying out our plan, now was the time.
“We’re going to miss Sarah Lee just as much as her family. Sarah Lee was family. She leaves with us her two sons, Granville and Beaux Washington, and her sister, Wilma Sims,” the pastor said.
Beaux stood. I stood too. Side by side we walked up to Mama’s casket. Forcing himself to cry, my brother fell over Mama’s dead body. When he reached into his jacket, I leaned closer.
“Hurry up, bro,” I whispered as I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I faked the kind of cry that was more sound than tears.
“It’s going to be okay,” someone said. “Your mother is no longer suffering.”
Aunt Wilma came up just as Beaux finished covering up the gun. “Okay, boys. Sarah don’ gone home. I’m here for you now,” she said.
“You know my sister don’t want y’all doing this. Get yourselves together.”
My aunt was there to take charge all right. She’d be nice until she got the long list of things she wanted out of Mama’s house—jewelry, clothes, furniture, china, silver—all that plus more. Then her life would return to normal and we wouldn’t see her for years. If we outlived Aunt Wilma, we’d probably get all that stuff back, until we died. Then it’d be somebody else’s turn to keep watch over Mama’s possessions.
Mama had on a beautiful long white lace dress that Aunt Wilma had picked out from Mama’s closet. She wanted to put jewelry on Mama but Beaux and I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to dig up Mama’s body so we insisted, no jewelry. Mama’s hands were folded at her waist; her favorite white Bible with that fancy gold trim around the edges of the pages lay on her stomach right underneath her palms.
Standing tall, Beaux and I tucked the white satin liner deep into the casket. The guys from the funeral home came over. “We’ll do this. That’s our job.”
“We want to do it,” Beaux said.
When I slammed the top, the coffin slid. People in the church gasped, then somebody laughed.
What was funny? Mama almost fell down.
Beaux caught Mama’s casket before it hit the floor. “Bro, you still clumsy,” Beaux said laughing too. “Mama probably got a kick out of that.”
I should kick him. What if the gun was on top of Mama’s Bible? It was a good thing we didn’t have to open the casket again. I locked it, then eyed the dude in the back. He was still taping.
The guys from the funeral home helped us carry Mama’s body to the hearse. I whispered to that camera dude, “I want that tape,” then kept going. What if Charles was setting me up? We slid Mama’s coffin in the back. I asked one of the guys, “Dude, who was taping? Y’all know him?”
One of them said, “Yeah, he’s cool.”
“How much y’all trying to add on to our bill for that?”
“Two.”
“Two what?” Beaux asked.
“Hundred. But you’re not obligated,” he said.
“You damn straight,” Beaux answered.
We had their number. If we wanted it, we could get it later. It was time to go to the cemetery. Beaux got into my Super Duty truck. We didn’t want no fancy limo driver. Closely we followed the hearse.
Looking behind his seat, Beaux asked, “What’s in the suitcase?”
“A million dollars.”
Beaux laughed. “Yeah, right.”
While my brother was busy laughing, I’d just come up with another brilliant idea.
CHAPTER 3
Madison
“Hush little baby don’t you cry. Your daddy will buy us whatever I say.”
Did I need Roosevelt’s money? No. Did I want his money? Of course. My resources were solid until my father jeopardized our business, sold my car, leveraged my home, and pawned my engagement rings. If I were to maintain my lifestyle and secure my family’s financial future, control over all of Roosevelt’s resources—bank accounts, investments, and inheritances—was what I needed.
In some cases, a man would stay married in order to live the good life. My man had generational wealth. He could replace me and replenish his accounts at the same time. In order to maintain my position as first lady in his life, I had to capitalize on his weakness, our son.
Asking my man to spend his money wasn’t the most effective way to have my monetary desires met. For an established guy like Roosevelt, it was best to mention what I wanted and let him take the initiative to do the rest. Gradually, he’d start to trust me, then add my name to his signature cards, and once he’d done that, I could restore all that my dad squandered and more. When my husband discovered my father had leveraged my home and sold my Ferrari, he settled the lien against my property and bought me a Bentley.
How many women could get a man to pay their car note let alone purchase them a luxury vehicle? Thoughtful wealthy men were scarce and I was not going through nine more en
gagements in hopes of finding another man as generous as the man I was legally married to. Papa had cashed in eight rings. The only one he hadn’t stolen was the one on my finger.
I sat in my family room in the white leather rocking chair my girlfriend Tisha bought me. This was no ordinary chair. It was my favorite! The arms, seat, and back were plump and plush. It reclined, vibrated, could do a one-eighty swivel, and it had a climate-control thermostat. The softness comforted me while I held my child. There were days when both Zach and I fell asleep for hours in the chair.
Having Roosevelt come home to us at night was my goal. I’d grown tired of our living in separate homes. She could visit my husband, sleep in his bed, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to prevent that unless I moved back in.
I knew he wasn’t happy with me but everything was temporary. My giving birth to his first and only son was priceless. Even if his mistress, Sindy, had a dozen babies by Roosevelt, mine was his first.
Touching my son’s toes, I whispered to Zach, “The football game is over. He’ll be here shortly.” I hoped she didn’t change his mind about coming to visit his child. She appeared the kind that would try to monopolize my man’s time.
Rocking back and forth, I’d watched from the coin toss until the last second ticked off of the fourth quarter. I think Houston won by ten but I felt as though I was losing this round. I lost track of the score when the cameras flashed to Roosevelt’s suite. Sindy Singleton was by his side. I could contact the media, start newsworthy drama, but that would be to her benefit. I’d come across as desperate. I was. But the world would never see that side of me.
She tucked her long cinnamon hair behind her ears. The diamond solitaires were more brilliant than the lights in the background. Her breasts sat high and round. For a moment I was saddened remembering how I’d had my breasts surgically removed. I’d done the right thing. I was cancer free.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let the tears fall onto my baby’s blanket. Sindy’s teeth were perfectly straight and ultrawhite. The harder I tried to find a flaw I noticed this woman appeared ideal for my husband. The operative word was “appeared.” Who was I fooling? Certainly not myself. There was another thing she had that I used to have: a glow of happiness. Her being there illuminated my husband’s eyes.
That bitch has got to go.
Slowly, I rocked, realizing that pain was for the person who cared.
I knew where I’d done wrong but why did it hurt so bad? I didn’t know how to get back to the days when my, I mean our, relationship was perfect. The more he pulled away, the more he ignored me, the tighter my fingers curled clinging to the possibility of what had already slipped away. The slime in my hands made me envious of her. But I refused to give up holding on to my first and only husband.
Accepting Loretta’s stupid bet ruined my life. “Why’d I fuck Granville’s dumb ass?”
Loretta had screwed up my life and moved on with hers. I saw her from time to time, wished she wasn’t my next-door neighbor but she’d forever be my ex-best friend. Her daughter’s father was coming around more. Staying longer. Once a woman had a baby by a man, he’d always feel entitled to fuck her. Things probably weren’t going too well with Raynard’s wife, Gloria. Heard her son wasn’t his. Maybe Loretta was finally getting some default dick regularly. Raynard would fuck her until he found someone else and she was stupid enough to let him. I wished there were a way I could’ve made her a suspect in my husband’s shooting. She had a gun in her purse at my reception. No one knew but Tisha and I.
“I hate her ass!”
“Whaa! Whaa!”
Wow. I’d unintentionally said that aloud. I cuddled my baby to my chest. Soon I’d have implants. I was home with Roosevelt’s child and he was on national television with another woman. Didn’t any of his fans care about me?
A commercial came on advertising same-day delivery for items in-store at Target. The real holidays were starting next month. At the end of this month I’d skip Halloween. Pagans honoring witches and goons didn’t make sense and I was not dressing my son in a pumpkin or superhero costume.
I kissed his little nose. “Your father is your hero.”
Sometimes I only needed someone to listen. Glad Zach was too young to understand; he’d become my sounding board. Squeezing my son, I inhaled the fresh scent of new life.
Thanksgiving was five weeks away. I wished I could fast-forward and skip it all. Roosevelt and his family would want to share these joyous occasions with my baby and his mistress would sit at the table breaking my bread, drinking my wine, and toasting in the New Year. Where would I be for Christmas? Home, alone? Not at my parents’. Definitely not at Mrs. DuBois’s house caroling. Tisha lived on the other side of Loretta. Maybe I’d celebrate with Tisha and her boys.
More tears fell on Zach’s blanket. I had to find a way to prolong our divorce until Roosevelt changed his mind. My signing the papers didn’t make our dissolution final. Did it? We still had to go to court.
“Whaa!”
“Shhh. Hush, Mama’s baby,” I said gently bouncing Zach in my arms.
He cried louder. “Whaa!” His face turned red.
Exhaling my frustrations, I remembered I fed him a half hour ago. I’d learned in a bad way not to stick my finger inside his diaper if I wasn’t sure what was in it. Laying him on my lap, I peeled the tape from his diaper. It was wet. Again.
I kissed Zach’s feet, wiggled his soft toes. Fingered his full head of dark wavy hair. I loved my baby’s pecan tone. Zach’s skin was a combination of Roosevelt’s tan and my nearly white complexion. His ears were slightly darker. I prayed his tone would even out all over to the color of his face.
Laying him on the changing table, I cleaned his private area. For a second, I thought, “Couldn’t be.” His penis and balls were large. Maybe that was my imagination. Perhaps they were just swollen. He was only a week old. The darkest part of his body was his genitals and the pigment wasn’t fading. The tip of his ears, his cuticles . . . I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed, “Lord, please forgive me for cheating on Roosevelt.”
The only thing that reassured me Granville wasn’t the father was the paternity results Roosevelt and I had gotten. That, and Zach’s curly hair. Granville’s head was bald but that man had pubic hairs that could be plucked and used as a scouring pad. Or a clit scratcher. I couldn’t lie. Granville’s dick felt amazing.
There was no need for me to let my guilt give me doubts. “Thank you, Jesus.” God had granted me the one thing I’d prayed for. The right father.
My doorbell rang. Tisha was on the security monitor in the top corner of my flat-screen television. I taped a fresh Pamper to Zach’s bottom, snapped his onesie, and carried him to the living room.
Opening the door, Tisha instantly took her future godson out of my arms and lovingly placed him in hers. I handed her his receiving blanket.
“My boys wanted to come but I told them they had to wait until Zach was a little older,” she said. “My mom is at my house, so I took a break from my kids to come see the baby. And you, of course.”
“How are the boys?”
“Girl, fine. It’s my soon-to-be ex-husband that’s acting a fool since I put him out and filed for a divorce. Darryl is dead to me. I’m still not responding to his texts or calls. If he wants to see his stepkids, which he doesn’t, I told him pick them up from my mom’s.” She kissed Zach on the head.
I laughed. “Darryl barely saw you or your kids after he moved in. He’s desperate and broke. He’ll probably go back to selling drugs. Hell, he might sell your kids. If he doesn’t get his life together, Darryl is going to end up back in prison.”
“I never told you that,” she said.
“Didn’t have to. A fast-talking fine-ass man like Darryl, with no legitimate work history, had to be an ex-con.”
Tisha nodded. “This has got to be the most attractive baby in all of Houston. Madison, you should get him an agent and put him in commercials.” She hugged Zach t
o her shoulder, then gently rubbed his back.
My friend was done talking about Darryl and so was I. We sat next to one another on the sofa in the living room. “You know I’m not going to have my baby all over the Internet. Too many weirdos out there.”
“Like Granville,” she said.
We laughed.
I said, “Exactly. You know he’ll be showing people pictures of my baby claiming it’s his. Wait here. I need to show you something.”
Trotting upstairs, I got the signed copy of my divorce papers, then returned to the living room. Handing her the papers I took my baby. “Is this final?”
The doorbell rang again.
“I got it.” Tisha placed the papers on the coffee table. When she opened the door, a florist handed her a bouquet of white long-stemmed roses. Before signing, Tisha sniffed them. “Oh, wow! These are nicely scented.”
“Who are they from?” I asked hoping Roosevelt had thought of me.
Signing the iPad with her finger, she closed the door. “Smell them.”
I shook my head. She handed me the card, placed the vase in the center of the sofa table behind the couch, then took Zach.
I read the card. “White represents purity (for Zach) and new beginnings (for us). Please forgive me. I love you. Loretta.” I ripped it again and again then tossed the pieces into the wastebasket behind my sofa.
“Dang, Madison. You didn’t have to make confetti. She’s trying to apologize. She wants to see the baby.”
“I don’t want her around my child or me. In fact, I don’t want to live next door to her. Just in case Roosevelt is serious about leaving me for Sindy, I’m going to buy a condo where he lives. That way I won’t need his permission to get access into the building.”
“Bad idea. You can’t force that man to take you back.”
Take me back? Wow. I was down. Not out.
Picking up the papers from the coffee table, Tisha shook her head. “After what you’ve done, that plan to live where he’s at could backfire.” Reading, she kept shaking her head.
If You Don't Know Me Page 3