Forgive Me

by Stacy Campbell

  “Really.”

  “I think it was the Tawatha situation. I hate blaming her for everything, but we’re all on edge.”

  “Caleb told me she was stalking you all.”

  “The only reason I’m open to talking to her now is because Aunjanue wants to rekindle the relationship with her. Get this, she’s been sending Aunjanue Vincent van Gogh postcards. Van Gogh is Onnie’s favorite artist. Tawatha left them at school and in our mailbox.”

  “Why not knock on the door?”

  “She knew better. I wouldn’t have let her in.”

  “What makes you so sure you want to have a relationship with her now?”

  “Something has to give. I’d do anything to compromise for the children.”

  CJ kicked Stephanie hard. She rubbed him and realized she had at least eighteen years of compromise ahead.

  Chapter 40

  James promised himself this would be the last lie he told Aruba. He did have salon business to handle in Indianapolis. It was also true he had supplies to order, sites to secure, and prospective stylists to interview. What he refused to share was the real reason for his flight back to Indianapolis.

  Isaak called him with details of the plan a week ago. He’d left Jeremiah and Aruba in Harlem with her parents. He packed his suitcase, nervous, and afraid the plan might backfire. He couldn’t postpone things. It was now or never.

  He opened the salon at noon. He cancelled all the appointments and waited. Isaak and Katrina entered Dixon’s Kiddies and Tweens around one. Katrina’s face lit up when she saw James. She embraced him and Isaak gave him their usual soul brother’s shake. Katrina, mug of tea in hand, sat in one of the chairs.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked.

  “As nervous as I’ve been in all my life,” said James. “How did you pull this off?”

  “I told you I know low people in high places,” Isaak joked. “Seriously, I’ve known Brandon Reese for years. It wasn’t until things happened with this situation that I realized he’d adopted her. I remember him saying in passing his wife wanted a child, but his soldiers were out of commission. Next thing I knew, I saw them out at dinner with a beautiful daughter in tow.”

  James remembered her pictures. He wanted to see his daughter. When he learned she was performing in the Indianapolis Children’s Choir Christmas Concert, he thought of ways to see her performance. He and Isaak put their heads together, and soon, devised a plan to give her a small gift and see the concert as well.

  “We have to leave, but I wanted to stop in and check on you,” said Isaak. “If you want us to stay, we will.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Call us if you need us,” said Katrina.

  As they left the salon, Camille Reese entered Kiddies and Tweens holding Hannah’s hand. She was a tall, regal woman who carried herself like a queen. She wore an elegant red-and-black wool winter coat with black fur surrounding the collar. When she removed her coat, James noticed her lovely figure in a gray, tweed winter business suit. Her hair, swept in an updo with loose curls framing her face, accentuated her medium-brown complexion. Hannah took in the surroundings as her mother approached James.

  “You must be James Dixon. I’ve seen your commercials and always wanted to bring Hannah here.” They shook hands as Hannah moved closer to him.

  “I’m Hannah Reese. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, shaking James’s hand. “I’m singing in the concert tonight!” Hannah flashed a toothy grin and giggled as she placed her hands over her mouth.

  “You are?” He gave Camille a knowing smile. “What will you sing tonight?”

  “I’m singing ‘The First Noel’ with the choir,” she said. “I had to audition, and I beat out a lot of other girls. My daddy said I’m an awesome singer.”

  The punch hit James hard. My daddy. He maintained his composure and addressed Camille.

  “How would you like her hair styled, Mrs. Reese?”

  Camille looked around the shop for other children. “Is Hannah the only child getting her hair done today?”

  “In this salon, yes. A friend of mine, Isaak Benford, owed your husband a favor, so we closed the shop down for Hannah to get her hair done. She’ll also get a clear manicure and pedicure if you’d like.”

  “Mom, may I?”

  Camille didn’t like the idea of children getting manicures and pedicures, but Hannah was excited about the concert, and Camille didn’t see why she shouldn’t allow Hannah this small luxury.

  “Okay, Precious. Just this once.”

  “Hannah, if you’d have a seat in the chair over there, I’ll be with you soon. I need to discuss your hairdo with your mom.”

  Hannah skipped over to a seat and rifled through a stack of children’s hair magazines. Satisfied with one, she sat in the chair and flipped through the pages.

  “Is there a specific look you’d like to achieve?” he asked.

  “I hope this doesn’t sound pompous, but she’ll be singing in the front row, so I want her to have an eye-catching look.”

  “Updo or something down?”

  “She has such lovely hair. I want her to have bouncy curls. Toddlers & Tiaras turned me off from updos.”

  They laughed at her joke. “I can do that. I’ll wash, blow dry her hair, and use Marcel irons. Are you okay with that?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I have food in the break area if you’re hungry, and you may watch television if you’d like.”

  “I’ll sit here and watch Hannah get her hair done.”

  James joined Hannah at her chair and placed a smock around her. He pumped up the chair so he could examine Hannah’s hair. He released her flowing mane from a single ponytail down her back.

  “Tell me something about yourself, Hannah.”

  “I’m a first-grader at St. Roch.”

  “I bet you’re a smart girl.”

  She nodded as James parted her hair. He decided he’d do large curls for the concert.

  “I like going to school, and I like learning. Mommy said I didn’t need to attend Head Start or kindergarten because I’m gifted.”

  James liked her confidence. “I need you to come with me to the bowl so I can wash your hair, Hannah.”

  Hannah followed James to the bowl, holding the flowing cape close to her body. She scooted up in the seat as he lathered her hair.

  “Do you do a lot of little girls’ hair?” she asked.

  “Not as much as I used to, but I do hair for boys and girls.”

  “I told Mommy and Daddy I want a little brother. They said I’m all they need.”

  “I’m sure you’re a joy to have around,” he said. He blotted her hair, escorted her back to her seat, and blow dried her hair. She sat patiently as he completed the task. The front door opened as he warmed the curling irons. Camille stood, kissed a tall man in a heavy winter coat, and took his coat. They exchanged words as he gave Camille his briefcase.

  “I see you’re busy with my princess, but I’m Brandon Reese.”

  “James Dixon. I do have my hands full, but it’s nice to make your acquaintance.”

  “Daddy!”

  Brandon planted a quick peck on Hannah’s cheek and sat with Camille. They chatted, and James noticed the loving air between them.

  “Are you coming to the concert tonight?” Hannah asked.

  “No. I have business to take care of, but I know you’ll do a wonderful job singing.”

  “I wish you could listen to me sing,” she said.

  “If the concert still airs on television, I’ll watch you tonight. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  James finished her hair, gave her a pedicure and a manicure, and gave her a kiddie bag from the stockroom. He kept bags prepared for boys and girls who frequented the shop. Her bag contained products and a ticket to the Children’s Museum of Indianapolis. James watched her run to Brandon, who stood with open arms.

  “Daddy, do you like it?” She twirled around to show him her concert hairdo. Her big curls
bounced as she whirled.

  “Princess, you are the most beautiful girl in the world!”

  She blushed and covered her mouth. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “What do I owe you?” Camille asked, reaching for her purse. She touched Hannah’s hair. “You did an amazing job. I’ll be bringing her back here again.”

  “It’s on me and Isaak. No charge.”

  “I thought Isaak was kidding with me about this,” said Brandon. “I’ll give him a call after the concert tonight.”

  Brandon slipped Hannah’s coat on. They left the salon, a picture-perfect family. Hannah, holding her father’s hand, hung on his every word. Spent from seeing his daughter and unable to reveal his identity, he pondered the meeting. He knew that it could be the last time he saw her, unless he squirmed a way into their lives. Too complicated.

  A strange emotion overtook him. He locked the front door and reclined in a styling chair. He sat for hours, rehashing how he’d arrived at being a man who’d have no contact with one of his children. He spied his watch and turned on the television. The Children’s Choir aired the Christmas concert each year. He waited for the live broadcast to start. He didn’t have to wait too long as Hannah stepped to the microphone with the younger children.

  She sang “The First Noel” with the choir, and James imagined she sounded like an angel. Their voices blended well, and he watched his daughter as the camera panned over the children. She stood down front. The camera zoomed in on her. Too painful to continue watching, he turned off the television as she sang, “born is the King of Israel.”

  Chapter 41

  “Emory, this is the craziest thing we’ve ever done!” Victoria yelled over the Christmas Eve crowd.

  “Well, you waited until the last minute to get your mother a gift!” he shouted, his pitch as loud as hers.

  They made their way through Phipps Plaza, practically walking sideways in the sea of last-minute bargain hunters. Victoria gripped Emory’s hand tighter and held her purse close. Christmas time was thieves’ paradise, and she didn’t want to give anyone reason to think she had money to spare.

  “What does Lillith like?” he asked.

  “Besides Bobby?”

  Emory gave Victoria a stern look, not pleased with her criticism of Lillith’s mate.

  Victoria huffed. “She likes purses, perfume, and chocolates.”

  Emory pressed his fingers to his temples. They were close to most of Lillith’s loves. Decisions, decisions. Emory pointed to the Coach store. “Let’s go in and get her something here. We need to get back home before it’s too late.”

  They ducked into Coach, greeted by a friendly salesgirl.

  “May I help the two of you find something?” she asked, her face screaming, let’s do this so we can all go home.

  “I’m looking for a nice purse for my mother,” Victoria answered.

  “What’s her style?” asked the salesgirl.

  “Nothing too flashy, but not exactly conservative. A nice, middle-of-the-road bag will do fine,” said Emory.

  “Sounds like she might like a hobo bag. Follow me,” said the salesgirl.

  They followed her to the back wall, admiring the displays of shades, purses, and wallets.

  Victoria rarely left home to shop on Christmas Eve. In her past life, all her Christmas shopping was done by December 1st each year. Emory put off shopping this year; they agreed they’d give homemade gifts to family and friends. Lillith practically begged for a new purse. Victoria thought it would be a nice gesture after her cancer scare.

  The salesgirl pointed out the hobos and left them. “Take your time and let me know which one you like,” she said.

  Victoria picked up several purses. Money wasn’t an object. She’d make sure Lillith loved her gift. Victoria’s hands collided with another woman’s hands as they both reached for a sand-colored hobo.

  “Oops…we’ve got greedy fingers,” the woman said to Victoria. “You go ahead. I have two already in different colors.”

  “I’m sure the storeroom is stocked,” said Victoria. They laughed. Victoria’s laughter subsided when she looked at the woman. They recognized each other.

  “What’s your name?” Victoria asked.

  “Bria Hines,” she answered.

  Victoria was sure it was Bria. Bria’s lips clamped shut, making the silent moment more awkward. She looked for Sidney to rescue her, but he’d disappeared.

  “How are you, Bria?” Victoria asked.

  “I’m well, Victoria. And you?”

  “I’m fantastic. I’m shopping for my mother with my fiancé, Emory,” she said.

  Emory had wandered off near the men’s items.

  “What brings you to the Atlanta area?” Victoria asked.

  “Sidney and I are visiting his relatives throughout the holiday season. We’ll be here until the New Year. We’ll go back to Indianapolis on January 5th. We plan to hang out and watch the peach drop,” said Bria. She continued to search for Sidney in the crowded mall.

  Victoria didn’t want to postpone the inevitable. With grit and determination, she asked, “How is Aruba doing?”

  A pall fell over Bria’s face. “She’s doing better.”

  “As opposed to?”

  “Victoria. Did you know—” Bria paused. “Let’s step outside the store a moment.”

  Victoria gained Emory’s attention and pointed to the door. She followed Bria to a bench where they sat.

  “Have you had any contact with Aruba?” Bria asked.

  “Not since Winston’s funeral. She’s tried to call me, but I didn’t want to talk to her.”

  “She tried to commit suicide a few months ago. Sidney and I went to visit her last month in Augusta.”

  “She’s in Georgia now? When did she move back?”

  “A few months after the funeral. She’s with her parents and James right now.”

  “James is here, too?”

  “He’s back and forth between here and Indianapolis. He came back to check on her and Jeremiah.”

  “I’m genuinely sad to hear about the suicide attempt. I wouldn’t wish suicide on anyone.”

  “I always wanted you to know I felt badly about how your marriage ended.”

  Victoria suspected Bria was trying to dump her abetting guilt.

  “Well, what’s done is done. Cloakers are as guilty as the cheaters.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Cloakers. Covers for guilty parties.”

  It took a minute for the accusation to sink in. “Are you accusing me of helping Aruba cheat?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Victoria, I had no idea Aruba was cheating until the night of her birthday party. I learned the truth at the same time as everyone else.”

  “That’s news to me. I assumed…”

  “You know what they say about assumptions,” Bria snapped. Not on Christmas Eve.

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I’ve had a hard time with all of this. Seeing you again brings up unpleasant memories. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “No need to apologize. I don’t agree with what Aruba did or how she did it, but it can’t be undone. I’ve thought of you often and wondered how you and Nicolette were doing.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes. I liked getting to know you when you lived in Indianapolis. We didn’t hang out much, but I really liked you.”

  Bria’s words came as a shock. Victoria always assumed Aruba’s friends resented her status and lifestyle. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “I liked you; you didn’t seem to be too fond of women,” said Bria, pointing a playful finger at Victoria’s chest.

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Oh yes!”

  Bria and Victoria chuckled at Bria’s response.

  “I’ve been told that before. I’m working on it.”

  Sidney tapped Bria’s shoulder. She stood. “Honey, do you remember Victoria Faulk?”

  “I do. How are you, Victoria?” He shook her ha
nd. “It’s good seeing you again.”

  “Having a party without me?” Emory asked as he joined them at the bench.

  Victoria held Emory’s hand. “Bria and Sidney, this is Emory Wilkerson.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both.” He waited for Victoria to reveal her friends.

  “We knew each other in a past life,” she joked. Turning serious, she said, “These are good friends of Aruba’s, honey. They’re celebrating in Atlanta for Christmas and New Year’s.”

  “Maybe we’ll run into each other again,” he said. “Baby, I went ahead and bought your mom the hobo. You ready to go home?”

  “I was ready hours ago. Let’s fight this traffic, Em.”

  Victoria looked at Bria again. “Bria, tell Aruba I said hello.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t you tell her yourself?” Bria tore a sheet of paper from a small tablet in her purse and jotted Aruba’s phone number down. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

  Bria and Sidney disappeared in the middle of the last-minute shoppers, leaving Victoria staring at Aruba’s number.

  Chapter 42

  Tawatha tramped to Jamilah’s house from Cracker Barrel, feet aching, back sore, and ready for a good, hot bath—or a good foot soaking—whichever one she mustered the strength to perform first. Tawatha resisted Jamilah’s strict house at first, but the rules sounded better than going to a homeless shelter, Jamilah’s second alternative for her. Since bringing her back from Augusta, Jamilah had helped her find a job as a server at Cracker Barrel, purchased her a used Toyota Corolla, and helped her establish a savings account. Jamilah gave her a one-year deadline, marked in red on a calendar that sat in her bedroom, to save money and get an apartment of her own. Tawatha wanted to crawl on all fours, but she took slow steps her bedroom.

  She passed by Jamilah’s bedroom and waved. “I’m home, ’Milah.”

  Jamilah looked up from court briefs and returned the salutation. “How’d it go today?”