by Lori Johnson
Grateful for her friends’ loving support, Aliesha still hated the thought of so many people worrying on her behalf. When Pat and Mrs. Phillips placed separate calls to express their concerns about her well-being, Aliesha elected to gloss over the depth of her malaise and spare them the raw and gritty details of the mess she’d inadvertently created for herself over the past couple of days. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite shake the guilt of her own bad behavior, which trailed behind her like a metal ball and chain fastened around her ankle.
When Tamara called around the time Garden View’s Sunday school generally wrapped up, Aliesha summoned up the wherewithal to sound halfway chipper. “No, there’s no need for you to come by here,” she said. “I’m fine and I fully expect to see you at school tomorrow. So don’t even think about cutting my class.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Tamara said. “Because after we learned you weren’t feeling well, I overhead Mr. Phillips insinuating that you just might be in the family way.”
After muffling a curse and a groan, Aliesha laughed. “Yes, ole brother Phillips is quite the kidder.”
“Hey, guess what? I brought another guest to your class today. I’d hoped to surprise you like I did last Sunday.”
“Really,” Aliesha said with her face encased in a genuine smile. “Umm, let me guess. One of your other favorite professors? Dr. Beale or Dr. Wilbun, perhaps?”
“Oh yeah, real funny,” Tamara said. “Hold on.”
“Hey there, Miz Babygirl,” Peaches said. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it.”
“No. No, I’m fine,” Aliesha said, hoping she sounded convincing.
After a pause, Peaches said softly, “You know, Aliesha, when Mama made us promise to look out after one another—that was something she expected to work both ways. Not just you looking after me. If you want to call me or come by later, you can.”
Somewhat rattled and taken aback, Aliesha nonetheless stuck to her story. “I appreciate the offer, Peaches. But really, it’s not necessary. I’m good.”
Peaches responded with a hard-hitting “Umpf,” before passing the phone back to Tamara.
The Saturday morning Dante left Aliesha’s house, he’d driven to work, still savoring the feel of her head against his shoulder and the sweet scent of her hair, while ruminating as well on the various highlights of the evening they’d spent together—the dinner, the conversation, the music, and the lovemaking.
Yes, the lovemaking. His heart had thumped hard, loud, and fast like an improvised African drum solo each time he’d recalled how both the opening in his side and the tear in the fabric of his soul had closed in the instant their bodies had become one. In that moment, an all-encompassing warmth and a sense of peace had washed over him like the cleansing waters of a creekside baptism. The intense oneness of the moment had gratified him even more than the satisfaction he’d drawn from being the source of her physical release or the pleasure he’d derived from his own.
Enthused about the possibility of a future with Aliesha, he’d strutted into the barbershop that Saturday morning, only to have his bubble summarily burst when, upon returning his cheerful “Good morning!” Wally said, “Laylah called here a couple of times last night.”
Dante knew he should have figured as much. She’d called him on his cell, but he hadn’t bothered picking up or calling back. He’d known of her plans to be in town that weekend. She’d been flying in from L.A. a lot over the past several months. He still wasn’t certain of her motives. Had she finally sensed that he was slowly but surely slipping from her grasp? Or had she finally grown serious about coming back to Roads Cross—something she’d been half-heartedly promising for years.
Dante couldn’t imagine Laylah finding contentment in a place like Roads Cross or even neighboring Riverton. She’d been away too long and had developed an appetite for comforts and luxuries that were more readily available in larger, more cosmopolitan areas. And then there were the needs of her two young children to consider, Ozzie and Zachary, the latter of whom she’d conceived with her husband, Stewart. But as far as Dante was concerned, Stewart’s needs had never really counted for much. After all, he’d married Laylah, with the knowledge and understanding that at least one other man would always occupy her bed.
Determined not to let Laylah distract him or steal his joy, Dante had decided putting off speaking with her until the end of his work shift. But as always, Laylah’s plans had found a way to upstage his. He’d been working on his last customer of the day when the barbershop’s phone rang. A few minutes later, Wally, wearing a perplexed expression, had appeared at Dante’s station. “It’s Laylah. I think you’d best talk to her.”
Wally was one of the few in whom Dante had ever confided about Laylah. He knew some of the intimate details of their long and sordid history together.
It had been Dante’s experience that most guys fell into one of two categories when it came to how they viewed relationships like the one he had with Laylah, where the woman’s wealth and financial clout exceeded his, and the money she made, more often than not, paid his way and hers. Most brothers either lauded the male in the equation for what they perceived as his superior skills as a pimp or a player in having drawn such a gullible and willing mark or else castigated him for allowing some ball-busting female to treat him like a puppet or play him for a chump.
But Wally was different. Even though he’d let Dante know that he didn’t fancy the relationship and warned that nothing good was bound to come from it, he never preached or made attempts to butt in. He typically offered advice only when asked and merely listened on those rare occasions when Dante felt a need to vent.
Angered and frustrated by her persistence, Dante had picked up the phone and said, “Look, Laylah, this has to stop. Obviously, if I’m not answering or returning your calls, I must be busy, right?”
He’d waited for Laylah’s heated response. Instead in a cool, soft voice, she’d said, “Dante . . . I’m calling about your Big Mama. She’s in the hospital, the Mercy Medical Center in Harvestville. Knowing how upset you were liable to get on hearing the news, I went ahead and sent a car. The driver is waiting outside for you.”
CHAPTER 32
Dante knew that had he been behind the wheel that night and on his way to Mercy Med, he no doubt would have been pulled over and ticketed for speeding. He might have ended up spending the night in jail and possibly even found himself being knocked around a bit for copping an attitude with the arresting officer. Be they Black or White, or be your Big Mama sick, hurt, or damn near dead, most of the boys in blue didn’t play that in these parts—particularly when it came to men who fit Dante’s profile.
The driver Laylah sent turned out to be someone Dante knew—Miz Irma Bell’s son Ace, and accompanying Ace, his older brother Timothy. The presence of the two men Dante had known since they were all rusty-kneed boys throwing dirt clods and shooting marbles in Roads Cross lent him a bit of comfort. From them he learned that his Big Mama had collapsed in her yard earlier that day while tending one of her gardens. On hearing the details, Dante immediately felt guilty. He’d neglected to call the old woman on Friday night or Saturday morning on account of his date with Aliesha.
He climbed in the Lincoln Town Car with Ace, while Timothy trailed behind in Dante’s vehicle. After making sure he didn’t want to stop by his condo for anything, the brothers hit the highway and headed for Harvestville. After they arrived at the hospital almost two hours later, Timothy showed him the way to Vivian Lee’s room.
Two others were already at her bedside when the two men walked in. As Dante’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of his Big Mama’s prone and listless figure, Doris Ferguson, a friend and church member, hurried to his side. After a reassuring hug, she informed him that the cause of his Big Mama’s collapse had yet to be determined. The doctors were still running tests, but he needn’t worry because whatever the outcome, Miz Vivian’s faith would see her through.
The other individual’s presence in
the room—a dark, somber, wheelchair-bound man everyone knew as Mr. Jessie—was anything but comforting. Mr. Jessie was a businessman who’d long made a good living from embalming and burying Roads Cross’s dead. He was also Laylah’s father. Always one of few words, “Young man” and a firm handshake was all he offered Dante by way of greeting and consolation.
The silence between the two grew even more pronounced when Timothy volunteered to escort Sister Ferguson to her car. A solid five minutes passed before Mr. Jessie said, “I take it my daughter was able to get in touch with you?”
“Yes, sir,” Dante replied.
Mr. Jessie pulled a business card from his vest pocket and handed it to Dante. “Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to give me or my people a call.”
“Yes, sir,” Dante said again.
When Mr. Jessie wheeled toward the door, Dante walked over and opened it for him. His eyes cold and bearing a yellowish tint, Mr. Jessie looked up and stared at Dante a moment before he said, “After Miz Vivian’s situation gets squared away, I’ve got a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.”
Dante nodded and offered yet another subdued, “Yes, sir.” But as soon as the door closed shut behind Mr. Jessie’s wheelchair, Dante ripped the old man’s business card into pieces and tossed them into a nearby trash can.
When he shifted his gaze to his Big Mama, her smile and opened eyes took him by surprise. “That ole vulture gone?” she asked. “I must really be bad off if the likes of Jessie Thomas is ’round here hovering.”
A rush of relief flooded Dante’s body until he saw his Big Mama struggling to sit up. “Settle down and relax, why don’t you,” he said on approaching her bedside and with his face twisted into a frown. “Where’s the buzzer for me to call the nurse?”
“You bet not call none of them ole mean nurses,” his Big Mama scolded. “They done poked and prodded me enough as it is.” She pushed a button that raised the bed behind her head. “Now, that’s better.” She pointed to the chair beside her bed, but before he could take a seat, a nurse entered.
Vivian Lee groaned and muttered in protest, but Dante felt much better after the nurse’s quick examination of both his Big Mama and the array of machines, tubing, and drips around her bed. In a calm and reassuring voice, the woman fielded Dante’s questions and showed him how to contact the nurse’s station.
He thanked her and waited until she’d exited the room before collapsing into the chair next to his Big Mama’s bed. Before he could say anything, she threw a question at him. “You done made a choice between them two women yet?”
He blinked a couple of times and said, “Why in the world would you be thinking about something like that at a time like this?”
She closed her eyes and smiled. “I would think you’d want your Big Mama to have some peace of mind before she goes to meet her Maker.”
He sat upright in the chair. “What have I told you about talking like that? What you need to do is hurry up and get up from there so we can take our trip to Egypt and see those pyramids.”
She chuckled and looked at him. “I bet that nice professor you so sweet on would love to go with you to see them pyramids.”
“I’m sure she would,” he said, unable to keep from smiling at his Big Mama’s teasing. “Maybe I’ll take her one day.”
She sighed and closed her eyes again. “Don’t mind me meddling, son,” she said, in a voice turned serious. “You do whatever’s gonna make you happy. If staying with Laylah does that for you, so be it. But if you choose her, son, you really oughta find it somewhere in your heart to forgive her for that baby.”
Dante shook his head. “Why you think I’m holding on to that? I put that behind me a long time ago.”
“I ain’t talking ’bout Ozzie, nor that young’n she done had since she been married. I’m talking ’bout that other child. The one she was supposed to have with you.”
Dante’s mind raced backward in time. In the weeks prior to his high school football injury is when Laylah had informed him of her pregnancy. He’d been shocked and scared, but foolish enough to believe it could all work out. He’d told her he wanted to get married, if not before the baby’s arrival, then sometime shortly thereafter. He’d get a part-time job or possibly something full-time over the summer and until he finished high school. Laylah and the baby could join him when he went off to college to play ball. He’d even gone out and bought her an engagement ring.
She’d never said yes. But she’d never said no, either. What she had done, in the weeks after his injury and without his knowledge or consent, was visit a doctor in Riverton and pay him to perform an abortion.
His Big Mama looked at him. “What? You thought I didn’t know?”
He stared at the floor. “How come you never said anything?”
“Wasn’t nothing for me to say—not that would have made much difference anyway. But it’s time you stopped holding what happened against her. I could be wrong, but I suspect it was more her daddy’s doing than her own. Wasn’t like he ever hid the fact that he always favored Reuben over you.”
As a star high school football player with his sights set on college and the potential for a pro career, Dante had been tolerated but never fully endorsed by Laylah’s daddy. In the aftermath of Dante’s sidelining leg injury, any semblance of pretense between the two had come to an abrupt end.
The door to the room eased open and Ace’s smiling face appeared. “Hey, guess who I found?” he said softly. His mother, Irma Bell, tiptoed in behind him.
“Vivian Lee, chile!” she said in a loud whisper. “What is you doing in this bed?”
Vivian grinned. “Your guess is ’bout as good as mine or any of these know-it-all nurses and doctors, I imagine. Anyhow, I thought you was on your way to Birmingham to see that new grandbaby of your’n.”
Miz Irma joked about making the Greyhound bus driver make a U-turn when she got word about Vivian’s mishap. The two old friends traded a few more barbs before Miz Irma turned to Dante. “You go on and get yourself some rest. I’ll stay with her through the night. Just make sure you leave one of my boys a number where we can reach you.”
Dante realized the futility of trying to argue. He kissed his Big Mama on the cheek before he said, “All right, ole girl, I’ll be back. In the meantime, behave yourself. Don’t let me hear tell of you giving these doctors and nurses up here a lot of grief.”
On his way down to Mercy Med’s lobby, and while leaning against the wall in the hospital’s elevator, Dante started thinking about Aliesha and how nice it might be to hear her voice. It was late and he knew she’d probably been asleep for hours. One easy way of getting around disturbing her while still satisfying his need would have been to call her office number and listen to her voice mail. But given the particulars of the situation with his Big Mama, he wondered if she wouldn’t mind being awakened. Moreover, before he’d left her that Saturday morning, he remembered having promised to call.
When Dante and Ace finally stepped out into the still of the night, they spotted Timothy on the far right side of Mercy Med’s main entrance. He sat on the stairs with a plume of smoke dancing around his head and a cigarette bobbing on his lips. “Yo, D. man, you straight?” he asked. “You wanna go back to Riverton? Or are you staying out at your Big Mama’s house tonight?”
Dante sighed. “I don’t know, man. I should probably stay in Roads Cross tonight. But at the moment, all I really want to do is check in with my girl. Give me a minute, all right?” He whipped out his cell phone and pulled up the numbers he had for Aliesha, the set at her office and the ones she’d given him after inviting him to her place for dinner.
But before he could make his choice, he heard Timothy say, “Hey, man, if I’m not mistaken, here comes your girl now.”
Dante looked up just as Laylah emerged from the passenger side of the taxi that had rolled up and parked at the hospital’s entrance. After untangling his gaze from the head full of perfectly coifed locs, he took in the taut an
d unblemished face that had first seized him as a preadolescent boy and whose sweet milk chocolate and caramel mix still refused to let him go without a struggle.
Under the moonlit sky, Laylah’s larger-than-life aura seemed to loom even bigger and brighter. Even after the countless years of heartache he’d suffered in her hands, Dante knew there was no denying the catch that still arose in his throat in those first few seconds she assumed command of his line of vision.
While Ace hurried over and retrieved her bags, Laylah walked over to Dante, cupped his face, and kissed him on the lips. The public display of affection left him stunned. Even though nearly everyone in Roads Cross knew or suspected there was still something going on between them, Laylah had always insisted on discretion and cloaking the illicit nature of their relationship. As far as Dante had been able to determine, her deference had little to do with any warped sense of allegiance to her husband but rather the respect she felt due her father. Mr. Jessie’s reputation and standing in the community, she valued more than her own, Stewart’s, and Dante’s put together.
“How is she?” Laylah asked while peering into his eyes and proceeding to deepen her spell.
“Good,” he said. “They’re gonna run a few more tests and, if all goes well, they may let her out tomorrow. Miz Irma is staying with her tonight.”
Laylah glanced at her watch and looked toward the building. “I’d like to see her, unless you think it would be better to wait.”
Dante stared at the numbers glowing in his cell phone’s display window before finally pressing the button that would banish them to black. On pocketing the phone, he took the hand Laylah offered him and escorted her to his Big Mama’s room.
When Dante and Laylah entered the hospital room, they found a now house-shoe-clad Miz Irma seated in the chair next to Vivian Lee’s bed and reading aloud from the Bible in her lap: “I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.” At the end of the verse, Miz Irma closed the book and Dante’s Big Mama opened her eyes.