A Natural Woman

by Lori Johnson

  Dante balled his fists but suppressed his urge to punch the walls. Destroying something his uncle Mack had crafted from love wouldn’t make him feel any better and having to explain his actions to his Big Mama would only make him feel worse.

  On regaining some sense of calm and composure, he exited the bathroom and reentered the bedroom. Rather than Laylah’s accusing eyes and pleading tone, his presence was greeted by the echoing sound of silence. The open bag had been removed from the bed, but the manila envelope still sat where he’d seen it last. The room’s curtains had been pulled back and with a glint and a glare, a beam from the morning sun shimmied across an object that sat atop the envelope.

  Dante walked over and picked up the object, which turned out to be jewelry. A ring attached to a chain. A ring, it slowly dawned on him, that was the same one he’d given Laylah back in high school when he’d proposed. He sat on the bed and turned the ring so its tiny stone could catch the rays from the sun’s light.

  In that moment, it crystallized for him that hope, plain and simple, is what had kept him there. The same kind of hope his Big Mama and his uncle Mack had sought to implant within him when they realized his stay with them was apt to be permanent. Along with the big helpings of grits and bacon, cornbread and greens, candied yams and pork shoulder, they’d fed him the hope that his birth mother, Helen, would one day get herself together and come back to show him the love and affection he rightfully deserved.

  Perhaps even his compulsion to save Laylah from the wrath of the bullies who’d assailed her so unmercifully that day was born of his inability to spare his mother the pain of the taunts hurled at her—“thief, junkie, low-down skank, drunk-ass whore . . .” He’d heard it all and even knew some of it to be true. But still, he’d seen both the good and the potential for better . . . just like he’d seen in Laylah.

  He looked around the room and noticed her luggage was missing. He jumped up in a panic and called her name. “Laylah! Laylah!” On hurriedly grabbing a shirt from his closet, he went through the house in search of her. He spotted her bags in the living room next to the front door. But the door’s chain lock was still intact, and when he peeked out the living room’s windows, he saw no sign of her. He slipped into the den and snatched his cell phone off the coffee table before he bolted down the home’s center hallway and into the kitchen. “Laylah?” he called out in a voice seeped in equals portions of exasperation and longing. On noticing the opened back door, he peered out and spotted her in the yard. Dressed in a pair of jeans and the football jersey she’d worn the night before, she appeared to be appraising his Big Mama’s raised flower beds.

  He stepped outside and winched as the coolness and moisture residing atop the back porch’s wooden planks grabbed the bottoms of his socked feet. In his haste, he’d neglected to don shoes, but having walked, run, and tumbled barefoot across the same porch and yard so often in his youth, the thought of retreat never occurred to him. By the time he reached Laylah she’d wandered away from the colorful spread of daylilies, petunias, and impatiens and found herself a seat on the ground beneath the yard’s towering weeping willow.

  She had a tissue pressed against her nose and was clearing her sinuses when he dropped on the ground next to her. “Allergies,” she said, on lowering the tissue and averting her runny eyes.

  He sighed and held up the ring. “Why’d you keep it all of these years?”

  She leaned back and allowed her head to roll against the tree’s trunk. “Because you never asked me to give it back,” she said softly. “But if it’s over between us, it kind of loses its meaning, don’t you think?”

  “I loved you, Laylah. I loved you even before I really knew what the word meant. Once upon a time I would have done anything for you.”

  She sniffled and dabbed her nose. “I know. I guess our timing is a wee bit off, huh? The way you felt about me then is the way I feel about you now. Unfortunately, it just took me a little longer to get there.” She turned and looked at him. “But I do love you, Dante. And I’d do anything for you. I would and I have. I know I’ve given you plenty of reasons to hate me over the years. And I’m sorry about all of—Reuben, Stewart, the babies . . . any- and everything I ever did to hurt you. If I could take it all back, I would. But I can’t.” She moved her gaze to Vivian Lee’s flowers. “All I can do going forward is try to prove myself worthy of the love you once felt for me. But if you really want me out of your life, for good, I mean, then I’ll go. Just tell me what you want.”

  Dante twirled the ring between his fingers and didn’t say anything for several long seconds. Finally he said, “I don’t know what I want anymore. Okay? Between your divorce, your moving back, my Big Mama, and the feelings I’ve got for the woman I’ve been seeing in Riverton—that’s a lot for me to deal with all at once. I need some time to think and sort things out.”

  “Sure, I understand,” she said.

  He held the chain with the engagement ring out to her. “Like you said, I never asked for this back.”

  She paused before rising to her knees, taking the jewelry, and draping it around his neck. “I suggest you keep it until you’ve decided what it is you want to do.”

  Dante stayed outside under the tree, while Laylah went back inside to get cleaned up so she could accompany him to the hospital. He fingered the ring around his neck and wondered what if anything he should tell Aliesha about the unexpected situation he’d found himself in with Laylah. Maybe he really didn’t need to tell her anything. He hadn’t exactly made a decision one way or the other. Maybe he could just tell her about his Big Mama and let the other things work themselves out. But when he pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open, instead of lighting up, the screen stayed black.

  On arriving at the hospital and learning that Vivian Lee wouldn’t be released until Monday, Laylah volunteered to take Miz Irma home, a favor that permitted Dante a resumption of his post at his aunt’s bedside. While Laylah spent most of the day out and about in his Jeep, running errands and visiting with her folks, Dante did what he could to make his restless and headstrong Big Mama comfortable. He made a point of speaking at length with the nurses and her doctor about the series of tests they’d been conducting and he made sure Vivian Lee’s steady stream of well-wishers didn’t inadvertently wear her out or exacerbate her condition.

  When she wasn’t napping, visiting, watching TV, or grumbling about some aspect of the hospital’s care, Vivian Lee was giving Dante instructions for what she wanted done in the event that her health concerns worsened or, more tragically, led to her death. It grieved Dante to hear her speak so bluntly of the fate that one day awaited them all, but he understood how important every detail, big and small, was to her. In truth, he’d heard a lot of it before. So he mostly played the role of the good nephew who listened and nodded without comment. It was only when his Big Mama started talking about his birth mother that he found himself listening more intently and growing more anxious.

  “Should Helen show up, see that she’s well taken care of, hear? Let her know she’s welcome to stay out at the home-house for as long as she likes. And if you ever take a notion to sale off any of your uncle’s land or the timber on it, I hope you’ll be generous enough to share some of the proceeds with her. ’Course you know she’s got a plot of her own in the family’s cemetery and I suspect it’ll be left to you to handle that, too, when her time come. She’s been clean for a while now. Got her a little piece of a job and done even joined a church, so I hear. I’m thinking it might be time y’all reconciled and started acting like family again.”

  Stunned by what carried the sting of a pointed accusation, Dante said, “You said that like I’m the one who’s been keeping it from happening all of these years. She left me, I didn’t leave her. I was a child, remember?”

  His Big Mama smiled, closed her eyes, and in a voice thick with sleep said, “Yes, and how long you been a man now?” She chuckled. “Both of y’all just alike. So scared of being rejected you too afraid to be th
e one to make the first move. All I’m saying is give her a chance and see what happens.”

  Of all the subjects he and his Big Mama discussed that Sunday, the one about his mother troubled Dante the most. In recent years, the only time he’d seen Helen had been at funerals, the last being his cousin Reuben’s and the one before that, years ago, when his uncle Mack had passed. Still, he wasn’t ready to admit how much he resented the fact that upon learning of a family member’s death, Helen always found a way to show up, something she’d apparently never found a compelling reason to do for him.

  The remainder of the week passed by Dante in a blur. After his cell phone died, his efforts to call Aliesha fell aside in lieu of other pressing concerns. From the rotary phone at his Big Mama’s house, he called Wally about his desire for some time off in the coming days. Wally encouraged him to take as much as he needed. His chair would be waiting on him when he returned. In the interim, they agreed to call in a temp to take up the slack.

  Rather than check into a hotel or temporarily move in with her father and stepmother, who was a woman Laylah had long despised, Laylah asked Dante if she might continue staying with him, at least until his ailing Big Mama’s situation stabilized. Even though he harbored a few reservations about the peaceful coexistence of the four, his uncle Mack’s ghost included in that number, in the end Dante gave his nod to the plan. While his Big Mama’s nonchalant acceptance of the arrangement surprised him, Miz Irma’s disapproval hadn’t. “All right, just ’cause that ole fast-tail girl claim she done got a divorce don’t give y’all license to be up in your uncle Mack’s house, fornicating and carrying on in, especially with your Big Mama laid up sick in the next room and all.”

  But to both Miz Irma’s and Dante’s relief, Laylah kept a respectable distance. She made no surprise appearances while he was showering, and at night she retired to his room alone and stayed there, even when Mack’s ghost got riled and took to stumbling through the house. She appeared earnest about wanting to start anew with Dante, if not make amends for some of the heartless errors she’d made in their past.

  A couple of days after Vivian Lee returned home, Mr. Jessie called and asked when he and Dante might discuss that business proposition. Laylah pleaded ignorance, but given her repeated request that Dante at least go and speak with the man, he suspected she’d had a hand in her father’s presenting him with what turned out to be a job offer. Over an expensive steak dinner and a bottle of wine, Mr. Jessie informed Dante of his need for an apprentice, someone he would personally feel comfortable handling his business should he become fully incapacitated, someone he’d be open to making a full partner were he interested and able to prove himself worthy.

  Dante politely refrained from inquiring about Mr. Jessie’s two sons, the younger a local pastor, currently on his way to prison for dipping once too often and way too deep into his church’s coffers, and the elder, Mr. Jessie’s namesake, already there for having shot and killed the husband of the woman with whom he’d been having an affair. “What about Laylah?” he asked. “I’d assumed one of the primary reasons she decided to move back to Roads Cross was to help you with the funeral home.”

  “Young man, not that I’m discounting my daughter’s help or her affection for me, but you and I both know Laylah Louise ain’t never gave a rat’s ass about that funeral home. Her showing up and helping me get my affairs in order is truly a wonderful thing, but it also gives her something productive to do while she’s here keeping company with you. Only way she don’t sell the damn thing after I’m dead and gone is if one of them boys of hers happen to take an interest in it. I’d love to see that happen. But like your Big Mama, son, I’m slowly coming to grips with the fact that my days are numbered. Ain’t no telling if I’ll even live to see them boys come of age, but you will, unless Laylah’s ex suddenly grows a pair and takes a notion to come gunning for you. What I’m saying, son, is I’d like to put whatever past animosities we’ve held toward one another behind us and make you an integral part of the family, so to speak.”

  Dante could hardly believe this was the same man he’d once overheard chastise his young, starry-eyed daughter upon listening to her claim that Dante would one day be her husband: “Young lady, allow me to issue you a fair warning—if you marry that boy, not only will you end up living in a squalid shack or a broke-down trailer somewhere, but all of your children are liable to be nappy-headed and black as tar.”

  Mr. Jessie, who himself was nappy-headed and black as tar, had proudly married the whitest-looking colored woman in all of Roads Cross, only to have all three of their offspring emerge from the womb bearing a head full of unruly kinks and skin a similar caramel chocolate mix. To Laylah, his youngest and only daughter, had gone the special blessing of being the darkest and the most kinky-headed of the bunch. All were facts that tickled Dante’s Big Mama to no end and on more than one occasion prompted her to say, “The Good Lord’s sense of humor is something else, sho nuff, ain’t it?!”

  “He’s changed. Really, he’s not like that anymore,” Laylah insisted. But Dante wasn’t so sure. He wondered if the love and pride Mr. Jessie felt toward Laylah’s sons had anything, if not everything, to do with their fair skin and the lack of kink in their hair.

  It was a Friday night, a full week to the day after his date with Aliesha, when Dante finally drove back to Riverton to check on his condo and gather the additional items he’d need for an extended stay in Roads Cross. While packing his bags, he called Wally and shared with him the details of Mr. Jessie’s pitch. Wally’s suggestion that Dante give it some serious thought was in part what he’d expected.

  “It’s not every day a man can just turn his back on a legitimate hustle at double the money he’s been making and with a guarantee to make even more over time,” Wally said. “If nothing else, working there, at least a couple of years, would put you that much closer to the shop you said you wanted to open one day, or you could even take that money and go back to school with it.” He laughed. “Only real drawback I can see is your having to find a way to keep this particular mix of business and pleasure from straight blowing up in your face one day. Speaking of which, your lady-friend, the professor, has been ’round here looking for you. So what’s up? You not feeling her no more?”

  “It’s not that,” Dante said, wincing at the jagged stab of guilt in the center of his chest. “It’s just—between the situation with my Big Mama and the one with Laylah and now this thing with Mr. Jessie, I’m not in the right frame of mind to deal with the professor on the level she deserves to be dealt with. You know what I’m saying?”

  “What you want me to tell her the next time she calls or comes in asking for you?”

  Dante faked a laugh and said, “Hey, like Yazz says, Brother Man rules in full effect.”

  A few quiet seconds ticked by before Wally said, “Let me drop some knowledge on you, son, all right? You can’t keep a woman—not a real woman, anyway—playing some little boy’s game. And that ain’t something I heard. That’s something I know from experience. Now, if you looking to run her off, you just keep doing what you doing.”

  Dante scratched the growth on his cheeks and said, “All right, man. I hear you.”

  He hung up the phone still smarting from Wally’s blunt-edged scold. He couldn’t dismiss the advice as readily as he might have had the person dispensing it been someone like Ace or even his cousin Reuben, who would have likely told him, “Shit, man, if it was me, I’d be doing my damnedest to juggle both them bitches.” Dante knew better. While Laylah, as long as she felt like the queen bee, might have certainly been accepting of such, Aliesha had already made clear her lack of interest in embarking upon any sort of time share arrangement with him.

  While locking up his condo and tossing his packed bags into the backseat of his Jeep, he weighed the pros and cons of contacting Aliesha before he headed back to Roads Cross. So many days had passed since his promise to call, he knew her reaction to the sound of his voice wasn’t likely to be a pleas
ant one. No, she’d be upset and rightfully so. But what could he possibly say that might make her feel any better? Surely not, I’m gonna be in Roads Cross for a minute, caring for my sick Big Mama and trying to see if there’s anything worth salvaging in the torrid, lopsided relationship I’ve been in with this woman named Laylah for the past twenty-plus years.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and sat for a moment tugging and toying with the ring still dangling from the chain around his neck. He had to give Laylah credit for trying. After years of promising to do so, she’d finally divorced and moved back to Roads Cross, even though it meant a huge disruption in her and her children’s lives. His sense of guilt had lessened about the latter upon learning that the boys would be joining their mother at the end of the school year and would spend most of the summer with her in Roads Cross.

  Sacrifices like those and made on his behalf, no less, weren’t the kind Dante could readily dismiss. He felt like he owed Laylah something . . . an opportunity to make things whole between them . . . his cooperation, however begrudgingly. . . something.

  But what, if anything, did he owe Aliesha? As Dante backed his vehicle out of the driveway and drove off into the night, he found himself regretting the unfinished and abrupt way he’d left things. He hated that for her what had happened between them would likely be relegated to either a memorable one-night stand or a painful mistake.

  In attempt to keep a tight lid on the misery he sensed churning to a boil somewhere inside of him, he turned up the song “Closer,” the first cut from Ne-Yo’s Year of the Gentleman that was already bumping and pounding from his Jeep’s stereo speakers. But before he could steer toward the highway, something his uncle Mack said after disciplining him for fighting with Willa Mae Rodgers came back to him: “One day you’ll learn a honorable man always tries to do what’s right.”