by Day, Zuri
“Twenty-one.”
“Ah, that makes him a Gemini. So is my father.”
“When’s his birthday?”
“This coming Saturday.” Cynthia almost added that he’d be sixty years old, but stopped herself because that was an age Leah’s brother would never reach. “What did Lance normally do on his birthday?”
“He liked to go to the ocean.”
“Really? Where would he go?”
“Dockweiler. It’s a beach straight out Manchester. You can take the bus there.”
“Do you like the ocean?”
She shrugged. “He didn’t want me to go with him. He’d always take his friends.”
“But you’ve seen it, right? You’ve been there.”
“A couple times.”
“Do you think that’s something you’d like to do on his birthday? Maybe go to the one Lance enjoyed and experience what he loved?”
“I don’t know why they had to shoot him. He was minding his own business, just walking down the street.” A tear escaped each eye. She angrily wiped them away.
“It’s a horrible thing they did to your brother. Not only him but you, your mom, uncle . . . everyone in your family. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, for no reason at all.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not.”
“He used to always tell me not to get caught up with the boys on the block.”
Cynthia put down the iPad and sat back. “Sounds like a smart brother to me.”
“He was really smart, wanted to be either a computer scientist or an engineer.”
“What do you want to be?”
Her voice dropped. She looked directly at Cynthia for the first time since entering the room. “For real? I just want to be alive.”
29
There were some situations that couldn’t wait until Sunday. So shortly after her session with Leah, Cynthia told Ivy that she had to run an errand and would be back in half an hour or less. She reached the building’s lobby, walked outside and into a corner restaurant. After ordering an orange juice and small salad, she retrieved her cell phone and dialed Gayle’s number.
“Hello, Gayle. It’s Cynthia.”
“Hello, Cynthia. This is a surprise.”
“I know. Middle of the workday calls are rare. Are you busy?”
“Of course, but there’s always time for you.”
“Good. Can you hold for a moment?” Cynthia tapped the contact icon and then Lisa’s face.
“Hey, chick!”
“Hello, Lisa. I’ve got Gayle on the line. Let me merge the calls.” She did. “Gayle, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Can you call Dynah and conference her in?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Obviously not, Gayle,” Lisa replied, “since Cynthia’s trying to have a Sunday girl chat on a Tuesday.”
“I’d just like all of your perspectives on a situation.”
“With that sow Margo?”
“Gayle, can you please—”
Gayle interrupted. “Hold on.”
Lisa kept talking. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s wait until Gayle gets Dynah so I don’t have to repeat myself.”
“Cynthia?” No idea what was happening yet already Dynah’s voice was filled with concern. “What’s going on?”
“Okay, ladies, here’s the deal. And since time is limited, let’s not make this about whether or not I should be dating someone like Byron.”
“Did you hear that, Gayle?”
“Did you hear me say anything, Lisa?” A beat and then, “Cynthia, this isn’t about him, right?”
“Yes, and no,” she began, and then gave a brief overview of what all had transpired. About going out with Byron Friday night (a fact that she’d pointedly not shared on Sunday), feeling as though someone was watching her (while at the art show with the man whom she’d chosen not to discuss), but not seeing anything out of the ordinary. She continued with Margo’s cryptic comments yesterday and the questions she asked Leah today. “I think she saw me with Byron, remembered him from the day he was in our office, and has put two and two together.”
“And come up with what?” Lisa asked, irritation obvious and patience short. Lisa was always ready to kick butt first and ask questions later. “Is it against the law or your company’s rules to attend an art show with a client’s uncle?”
“No, but depending on the circumstances, it’s also not necessarily a good look. Margo and I are the only ones being considered for the director position. Since the company is being restructured, other titles will shift as well. On paper, we’re almost even. She has more experience, but I have a master’s degree. We both bring a unique skill set to the table. For me, it’s a diverse perspective and book knowledge. For Margo, it’s the fact that as a troubled teen, she received similar counseling to that which she now discharges and can relate on another level with both teens and adults.”
“What about the board?” Gayle asked. “They’re ultimately the ones who decide, correct?”
“That’s a good question, Gayle. Yes, the ten members who make up the board will choose who heads up the agency.”
“Any idea which way they are leaning?” Lisa asked.
“I’m almost certain of four members who will vote my way and equally sure of four who will most likely pick Margo. That still leaves two people undecided. The vote can go either way. What I believe the choice will come down to are personality and behavior, which is why any type of professional impropriety against me right now, no matter how small or even imagined, could make the difference between having a job or looking for one.”
Her friends knew Cynthia’s family was financially comfortable, which meant she wouldn’t be homeless or starve. Still, no one liked the possibility that she could be forced out of a position she loved.
“I haven’t heard from you, Dynah? What are your thoughts?”
“Cynthia, you know what I’m thinking and you know what to do. End all contact with Byron immediately, personal or otherwise.”
“I agree,” Gayle quickly added, as though she’d waited the entire conversation for an opening to speak what was really on her mind.
Dynah continued. “Where personal relationships are concerned, you know that the ACA’s Code of Ethics is similar to that of the ASCA.”
“Okay, y’all just dropped me into a bowl of alphabet soup. What in the hell are y’all saying?”
“Never mind that, Lisa.” Gayle had a meeting in ten minutes and needed the conversation to stay on point. “Cynthia, what is the code pertaining to this type of situation?”
“Intimate and/or sexual relationships between the client or their family members is prohibited—”
“Then case closed!”
“Bam!”
“I think your question is answered.”
Everyone chimed in at once and over each other.
“But!” Cynthia continued. “The definition of family is not clearly defined and is at the discretion of the counselor based on what, if any, harmful effects said relationship could have on a client—which in this instant is none because she is not aware of the intimate relationship—and how said relationship potentially affects a counselor’s ability to maintain a professional and separate relationship with the client. The client’s welfare and best interests have always been and will remain my primary focus, no matter what.”
“Great argument, counselor,” Dynah said softly. “Was it convincing enough to believe that what you’re doing is correct?”
“I’ve got to run.” Gayle’s brisk tone suggested she was already mentally down the hall. “But let me say this. You’ve already spent too much time with a man who’s not a DHOP, marriage material, a career enhancer, or has any networking benefits. He’s a bus driver, Cynthia. And unless you want to be riding in it with him instead of driving your Lexus, I’d delete his
number as soon as you end this call. Ciao, ladies.”
“I have to go, too,” Dynah said. “And while my reasoning is different from Gayle’s position, the end result is the same. Cut ties with Byron immediately and hope that Margo had nothing concrete to back up whatever accusations that may come up. We all want love, Cynthia. It’s maddening to be in a position to demand the best, when the best seems scarce. But you deserve the best, someone who can at least do for you what you can do for yourself. And that’s not Byron. I love you, girl.”
“Love you, too.” Cynthia placed a bill in the receipt holder and headed out of the restaurant. She’d been gone fifteen minutes and judging from Margo’s underhanded actions, that may be fourteen minutes too long.
“All right, Lisa. I’m headed back to the office. Thanks for your input.”
“You’re welcome, but I haven’t inputted yet.”
“Your straightforwardness and humor are as valuable as anything else I heard just now.”
“Then humor me, and hear this. When you’re on your death bed, it probably won’t be a client who comes to see you and help you cross over. If you’re lucky, if you’re smart . . . it will be your man.”
The elevator door closed, effectively ending a conversation that was already over. In hindsight, Cynthia wondered what the heck she’d been thinking. That this wasn’t an obvious no-brainer points to just how off-kilter were her priorities.
She would end things with Byron tonight, if possible, no later than Friday and her trip back home. A shame that it had taken his being forcibly removed from her life for her to realize how much she wanted him in it.
30
He’d thought about her all day long, and by the time his shift ended, Byron had designed the perfect evening to make his girl feel better. Okay, admittedly with a little help from his little brother, Barry, the family’s Romeo. If Byron could do anything, it was give props where they were due. There was no way he would have come up with the idea to book an in-home spa treatment for Cynthia, along with a personal chef to prepare her and Jayden’s dinner. His first thought would have been that he couldn’t afford it and wondered how his barely working brother even knew of such things. With Byron’s knowledge and connections, however, the entire night had cost him less than two hundred dollars. Cynthia opening up to him last night had reeled him in all the way. That she would tell him what hadn’t even been shared with her girls showed a rare confidence in him as a man, and a friend. It was the kind of vibe that existed between Willie and Liz, where attributes such as love and loyalty existed without question and beyond all doubt. He couldn’t count the number of times when during a disagreement with his mom, he’d enlisted the help of his father and heard, “Watch yourself, buddy. If I hadn’t known her, then I wouldn’t know you now. That’s the order in this house. She comes first.”
Byron would slink to his room, mumbling about his poor, arduous, unfair life. But on occasion, he’d stay around long enough to witness the light his father’s declaration put in his mother’s eye. And he’d vow that when he had a wife, he’d say the same thing.
He got into his SUV, turned it on, and turned on the air conditioner. Then he pulled out his cell phone to put tonight’s plan in motion. The call went to voice mail. Disappointed, but not deterred, he left a message.
“Cynthia. Hey, baby, it’s me. I was hoping to catch you, find out how you’re recovering from our after-hours rendezvous. I hated to leave you and found myself thinking about you all day, and how it would be to wake up to your beautiful face more often.
“I know last night was an exception; plus, we both need our sleep. So as much as I’d like to see you tonight, I know it’s not possible. But I still wanted to be a part of your evening, so I hope you get this message before taking Jayden out to eat. I’ve made arrangements for you to, uh, to have y’alls’ meal delivered tonight. So call me when that happens. Matter of fact, call me when you get this. I want to hear your voice. You’ve got me gripped, girl. All right, then. Bye.”
A short time later, he pulled into his driveway. His neighbor, Miss Margie, was busy in her flower garden, pulling the weeds away from “her babies.”
“Hey there, Miss Margie.”
She stood straight and removed a worn straw hat to wipe her brow. “Hey now, Byron. What you know good?”
“Another day, another dollar.”
“After the tax man gets it, you’ll only have fifty cents.”
“Ha! That’s about right. Tyra inside?”
“Yeah, she wanted to stay out here with me and plant her namesake. But I told her she wasn’t going to use me as an excuse for why her work wasn’t finished. Kids think they’re the first ones to try and run game. I’ve forgotten more ways to get over on folks than she’ll ever know.”
Byron walked over to inspect her vibrant flower bed boasting a variety of colors: red, yellow, purple, pink, lavender, and hearty green. “One of these plants is called Tyra?”
Miss Margie smiled. “Well, not quite. But these”—she pointed to a grouping of beautiful burnt orange flowers with magenta spots or yellow starbursts at the root—“these are called tiger lilies. I just renamed them Tyra’s lilies.”
Byron reached over and gave his neighbor a spontaneous hug. “Thank God for you, Miss Margie, seriously. Being the primary parent isn’t easy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I know what I’d do.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d spend more time courting that pretty lady who came over one time in that fine silver car and didn’t get back to it until two days later.”
The good thing about nosy neighbors? They saw everything that went on around them, which was also the bad thing about them. Unable to think of an appropriate response to this comment, Byron became very interested in Tyra’s lily.
“Look, I wasn’t always old and wrinkled. Been married four times and have five kids.”
Byron didn’t try and hide his surprise. “You have kids? How have I lived next to you all these years and not known that?”
“Probably because they’re not worth the energy it took to push each one of them out. I love ’em all, but except for my two youngest, a son in the air force and a daughter married and living in Hawaii, they’re worthless. One’s in jail, one’s in hell—though she calls it marriage by common law. And my oldest is in a losing battle with a crack pipe. And you know what? If the right man came along and asked, I’d go for number five.”
“Ha!”
“I’m saying all that to say you’re young, not bad looking, and you’re a good man. Too good to spend so much time by yourself, just you and your daughter. I know you’ve got your family, your brothers and all. But every man needs his own kingdom, know what I mean?”
“I believe I do, Miss Margie. That’s good advice. I think I’ll take it.” He started across the lawn to his house.
“Just make sure I’m invited to the wedding.”
“That’s a bet! You’ll sit with the family!” He entered his home. “Tyra!” Stopping to remove his tennis shoes and crew socks, he hollered again. “Tyra! That girl and those headphones.” He marched toward her bedroom but halfway there stopped, and tiptoed the remainder of the way.
Reaching her open door, he stood there, watching her. Back to the door, textbook on the floor next to the iPad that along with the pen she held passed for a drum set. Headphones over ears, with the music so loud he could make out some of the words.
How in the world can she study with the music so loud?
He took three steps and grabbed her shoulders.
She jumped so high and screamed so loud he almost felt badly.
Almost, but not quite.
“Daddy!”
He tried to answer, but couldn’t for laughing.
“That’s not funny! I almost peed my pants!”
“Uh-huh, would have served you right. That’s what happens when your music is so loud you’re not aware of your surroundings. What if it had been a burglar instea
d of me tapping you on the shoulder? What would you have done?”
“Definitely peed my pants, for one. And then . . . I don’t know . . . tried to get away I guess.”
This just got real. Her answer showed unpreparedness should—God forbid—an event like that occurred. What would she do? Hell, what would I do for that matter? What began as a fun antic was now a learning moment . . . for both of them.
He sat on her bed. “You know what I just realized?”
“What?”
“I’m not sure what I would do or what you should do if that ever happened. Grab your iPad.”
She picked it up, then came over and sat beside him.
“Type, uh, never mind, give it to me.” He sat there a moment, shrugged, and typed, “what a child should do if a stranger enters home.”
Several sites came up but none that looked to have the information he sought. He replaced the word stranger with intruder, and got better luck.
“All right, let’s see what’s up.”
Tyra leaned over, to read for herself. “Think ahead.”
He nodded. “So far, so good. Your daddy’s smart, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Boy, do I have this kid fooled. He scanned the article, which turned out to be more about burglaries and intruders being in a different part of the house. Several more sites offered more of the same, and included suggestions for security systems and what breeds made good guard dogs. He finally found a Web site with a couple of helpful tips. “What does it say?”
“Have a list of phone numbers . . .”
“Start right here.”
“Okay. Keep your phone close so you can dial 911.” She looked at Byron. “But he’ll hear me!”
“Not if you’re quiet. But I saw this show once, where the girl dialed the police without the guy knowing. That’s what you should do. Dial 911 and then put down the phone so he doesn’t even know it’s on. That way the police can hear what’s going on.”
“And do what?” Dang, good question. “Oh, I know. Yell, ‘There’s a stranger in my house! He’s coming after me!’”
“No, you should stay calm, and ask, ‘Why are you here at my address? I’m Tyra Carter. I’m not your child.’”