by Lori Johnson
“I get that. I do and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay away this long and I know I should have called, but . . . it’s a long story, babe. But really and truly, I am sorry.”
She stood still and squeezed her eyes shut. “I am, too. About us. About your Big Mama. About everything.”
After a moment of silence, Dante said, “Does that mean you don’t want to see me again? Can’t you at least give me a chance to try to make it up to you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But right now, I’d really prefer not to talk about it.”
She slammed down the phone but rather than give in to the scream she felt building inside of her, she forced herself to breathe and count to ten. How dare he attempt to casually stroll back into her life as if he’d only been gone an hour. Did he really think she was going to put up with being treated in such a cavalier fashion?
She reached for the phone again, intending to call Monica and fill her in on the latest, but thought better of it. Nine times out of ten, Monica’s response would be one reeking in biting sarcasm and unwarranted criticism, none of which would likely make Aliesha feel the least bit better. Besides, lately Monica had been keeping busy with other things—chiefly beefing up her knowledge of the American Cherokee and hanging out with the newly hired curator of Riverton’s Native American Museum. Aliesha knew Monica’s actions stemmed in large part from Jesus’s recent acceptance of a position in another state and were in full keeping with her dating preference of men whose racial identities couldn’t readily be checked off in a box labeled Black or White.
No longer in the mood for a bike ride or anything of a fun and lighthearted nature, Aliesha sat at her desk and brooded. Just when she’d thought herself cured of the pain of Dante’s sudden, unexplained absence, he decides to pop back up again without even attempting to adequately justify or explain his actions. Well, forget his ass. She’d happily add his name to the growing list of men who’d recently proved themselves undeserving of her affection, men who obviously who didn’t know who she was, none other than Will Eaton’s daughter—a smart, beautiful, and talented child of God who knew her worth in the world.
CHAPTER 37
She didn’t notice the flowers when she drove up to the house. Like usual, she parked the car in the garage, collected her things, and went inside. After checking her landline for messages, she made a quick detour by the bathroom before heading out to her front porch to see if she’d received any mail.
She opened the black mailbox attached to the wall, pulled out its contents, and was busy rifling through the junk mail in search of bills when the four large, gray, flower-filled containers on her porch suddenly seized her attention. She frowned, then stepped closer and peered down at the bright yellow and orange daylilies and the purple and pink assortment of petunias.
She noticed a index card jutting from beneath one of the pots. She knelt and picked up the item. Printed on one side of the card in large letters was the name Dante Douglass along with two phone numbers and two addresses—one e-mail and the other to an actual residence. On the card’s opposite side Aliesha discovered a partial quote from 1 Corinthians 13:4–7. “Love is patient, love is kind . . . it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
Without pausing to deliberate or second-guess or talk herself out of it, she went inside and called him. He picked up on the first ring. In response to his “Hello,” she said, “So I guess now your plan is to use Scripture to try and make me feel guilty?”
“No, that was one of my Big Mama’s favorite quotes and the only halfway profound thing I could think of in that particular moment.... You like them? The flowers, I mean?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “They’re my favorites. At least you remembered that much.”
“I got them out of my Big Mama’s gardens. I was sitting on your porch with them when I called,” he said. “After you chewed me out, I figured I’d better leave a note. I know what it looks like, Aliesha, but I promise you, I didn’t deliberately set out to leave you hanging for so long. It all happened so fast, with my Big Mama and everything, I mean. Soon as I heard she’d taken ill, I went to see about her. And while I was there, I just got incredibly overwhelmed by everything. And things got complicated.”
“I understand all of that, Dante. It still doesn’t keep me from being angry with you for not finding a way to let me know what was going on. A thirty-second phone call is all it would have taken.”
“Okay, I made a mistake. I should have called sooner. But I’m calling now, Aliesha. So, where do you want to go from here?” he asked with more than a bit of plead in his voice.
The seconds ticked by as she contemplated the pros and cons of ending her association with him and forgoing answers to any of the questions she’d been asking herself over the past month and a half.
“Come on, Aliesha, please. I’ll explain everything when I see you. It’ll never happen again, I promise.”
Finally she said, “Look, where’s this new shop? And what’s the name of it?”
“It’s under new management and doesn’t officially have a name yet,” he said prior to giving her the address, the phone number, and directions. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said after he’d finished. “But it would be nice if you could come tomorrow around lunchtime, like you used to.”
Later that evening Aliesha got a phone call from Peaches. Rather than resume her search for another barber or beautician, Aliesha had finally consented to what she’d once considered unimaginable—allowing Peaches to regularly twist, style, and handle her hair. The time they’d spent together had drawn them closer and had all but eradicated the heightened sense of discomfort Aliesha had once felt in her bald and blind counterpart’s presence. Like old girlfriends, they’d fallen into the habit of calling one another several times a week and talking for twenty to thirty minutes at a time. Every time they spoke, Aliesha could almost feel Miss Margie and her Big Mama smiling down on them.
She sometimes still wondered though if Miss Margie would have ever grown to accept Peaches’s relationship with LeRoy. In her own first meeting with the man, Aliesha had admittedly been taken aback upon her discovery of the one thing Peaches had neglected to tell her—her new beau, LeRoy, was an albino. But it hadn’t taken Aliesha long to decide that the laid-back and easygoing LeRoy was more than a suitable match for her mild-mannered friend.
“You know, LeRoy is still raving over the jambalaya you served the other night,” Peaches said. “I figured I’d better make sure I remembered the recipe correctly before I tried to make him some.”
After Aliesha repeated the recipe for Peaches, they chatted for a couple of minutes. She didn’t really feel like talking, a fact Peaches had been quick to note. “Something bothering you, Miz Babygirl? You don’t sound like yourself this evening.”
Aliesha hesitated, then blurted, “Dante called. You know, the guy who used to do my hair?”
“Really?” Peaches said. “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? At least now you know for sure he’s all right.”
“He’s working at some new shop and wants me to come see him tomorrow. I’ve got half a mind to give him a taste of his own medicine and not show up.”
“No, don’t do that,” Peaches said. “Two wrongs don’t ever make a right. Besides, I thought you wanted to see him.”
Aliesha frowned. “At the moment, all I want is a plausible explanation for his disappearance, something he has yet to give. His Big Mama died and I can understand him grieving her death and everything. But still, forty days? Anyway, I think I might have rushed things between me and Dante. I should have spent a little more time getting to know him.”
Peaches said, “Hmm, Dante, Javiel, and Kenneth, too.”
Had Peaches’s dryly rendered observation not cut so deep, Aliesha might have laughed. Instead she said, “Coming from someone else I’d be insulted, but coming from you—well—I’m pretty much resigned to accepting it for what I know it is, the truth.”
“No, it’s fine, Peaches. Actually, I’m glad we finally feel comfortable enough with each other to openly say what’s on our minds.”
“I am, too,” Peaches said, sounding relieved. “And I’ve gotta tell you, Miz Babygirl, in the many years that I’ve been listening to women talk about their love lives, I’ve noticed that what they think and the way they act and what’s really going on in their lives are rarely the same. Even smart, confident, fully sighted women like yourself prefer to act as if you’re blind when it comes to certain things. Take Kenneth, for instance, and those dirty movies he was into. Had you talked to him about it and shared your reservations and discomfort from the jump, rather than go along with it for as long as you did, things might have never ended the way they did.”
On sucking up and filing away the accurate assessment, Aliesha said, “And Javiel?”
Peaches sighed. “Deep down, Miz Babygirl, you always knew Javiel wasn’t the best match for you. But like a lot of women, you were lonely, feeling rejected, and willing to settle. Of course, based on what you told me, I’d say Javiel had a bit of a ‘Black girl’ fetish, which didn’t exactly help matters between the two of you any.”
Aliesha laughed. “You got that right. Lucky me, huh? I dump the guy who treats me like a party doll only to land another who insists on propping me up on a shaky pedestal. So what about Dante? Why not spare me the headache and the hassle and just tell what the deal is going to be with him?”
Sounding more serious than amused, Peaches said, “With all due respect, Miz Babygirl, there are a few things I don’t even know. But since you appear to be going into this with your eyes wide open this time around, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Yeah? Well, you know if I do start seeing Dante again, I probably won’t be seeing you as often—at least when it comes to my hair, anyway.”
“That’s okay,” Peaches said. “It’s not like I don’t understand. Ain’t nothin’ like the feeling of a man’s fingers in your hair and against your scalp.”
Aliesha couldn’t keep herself from wondering what, if anything, Peaches knew about that particular experience—especially with her being bald and all.
Peaches said, “You remember that time your daddy did our hair?”
Aliesha laughed and said, “Excuse me? Our hair?! Peaches, girl, what are you talking about?”
“When we were little. You remember—my mama and your grandma were both really sick. Something had been going around the church—flu, food poisoning, or something. Anyway, you and your daddy were in town visiting. You needed your hair washed and since neither Mama or sister Eaton felt up to doing it, your father volunteered.”
“This was at my Big Mama’s house?” Aliesha asked, trying to summon up a recollection of the memory.
“Uh-huh, you must have been around four or so, which meant I was six. So your daddy got all of the stuff together and hoisted you up on the counter in the kitchen and washed your hair in the sink. I remember standing there listening really hard and trying to take in his every move. After he was done, he asked if I wanted a turn. I can remember telling him, ‘Mr. Will, you know I ain’t got no hair.’”
Peaches and Aliesha both laughed.
“But your daddy was like, ‘And what difference does that make, little girl? You want a turn or not?’ He helped me up on the counter, leaned my head back into the sink, got it all good and wet, and worked up a real nice, thick lather. Girl, talk about a good feeling. I’d never felt anything like it. You know my mama wasn’t the most patient or gentle somebody, so she’d certainly never spent that kind of time and energy washing my big bald head.”
Sadness accompanied Aliesha’s recollection of the gruff manner and tone in which Miss Margie had typically conversed with the shy, soft-spoken Peaches.
“When he finished,” Peaches went on, “he ushered me and you both over to a mirror and told us to look at ourselves. And just like before, I was like, ‘Mr. Will, you know I can’t see!’ And he said, ‘Yes, you can. Use your inner eyes. We’ve all got them. They help us figure out who people really are beneath the outer packaging.’ I said, ‘I don’t know, Mr. Will.’”
Aliesha closed her eyes and she let her mind re-create an animated picture of Peaches’s words.
“He said, ‘You wanna know what I see? I see two smart, beautiful, and remarkably gifted children of God who’d be wise to always know and recognize their worth in this world. That’s what I see.’” Peaches took a breath, then said, “I’m surprised you don’t remember any of that, Miz Babygirl. I know I never will forget it.”
Aliesha smiled. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only little Black girl whose life had absorbed the power, beauty, and impact of Will Eaton’s words.
CHAPTER 38
She steered into the empty lot and immediately wondered if she’d made a wrong turn. She slowed the car and reached for the slip of paper with the address and the directions Dante had given her over the phone. No, this was the right place, even though hers was the only car in the lot of what appeared to be an otherwise abandoned strip mall.
She parked in front of the address she’d written down but saw no signs indicating that it was a barbershop or a business of any kind. Okay, what the hell was going on? Was this his idea of a joke? She dug her phone from her purse and looked for the numbers she’d programmed into its memory. Then she told herself, You know what? I’m not putting myself though this shit again. He can have himself a damn ball playing hide-and-seek all by his lonesome. She’d restarted her engine and shifted the car into reverse when the door to the establishment swung open and Dante stepped out.
The sight of him after so many days of wondering and worrying sent a surge of relief through her. But it was quickly replaced by the return of her outrage and disappointment. Her negative thoughts wouldn’t allow her to return the bright smile he broke into upon her exit from the vehicle. She moved toward him and met his “Hello” with little more than a nod.
He looked as if he wanted to reach out and caress her, if not take her into his arms, but seemed to know better than to attempt either. Locked in a loaded silence and staring into his dark, handsome face, she suddenly remembered the taste of his lips, the perfect blend of his fingers against her breasts, and the slow, steady rock of his pelvis against hers. She tried, but she couldn’t keep her pain from being infused with a heavy dose of pleasure.
He shortened the distance between them with warmth of his eyes and said, “If it helps any, I thought about you every night.”
She averted her gaze. “Yeah, just not enough to pick up the damn phone and call. But I guess I should have known better than to expect any more than that, huh? I mean, all we did was sleep together that one time. It’s not like I was your girlfriend or anything.”
“I know you’re hurt, Aliesha. I know you’re angry,” he said, raising his voice and rushing his words. “And I hate that I made you feel as if what happened between us wasn’t meaningful and significant. It was all of those things to me and more. I know it’s going to take some time—”
“Time?!” she said, focusing squarely on him again. “Please, what assurance do I have that something like this won’t happen again, Dante? You just up and disappearing again, I mean?”
He moved his fingers to her head and eased off the scarf she’d donned to cover her fraying twists. “And what could I possibly say that would ever reassure you, Aliesha?”
When she turned away from him, wearing a look of disgust, he said, “Okay, okay, you want reassurances? How about this—I used to wonder why whenever I was around you I’d get this awful pinch in my side. It’s only been within the last week or two that I’ve come to realize that when I look at you, Aliesha, I feel the same way my uncle Mack felt about my Big Mama. Sometimes when he’d see her standing out in the garden he’d turn to me and say, ‘Yo
u see that woman there, boy? There stands the woman the Good Lord made especially for me. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh.’” Dante drew her fingers to his rib cage and whispered, “And I swear, that’s the same way I feel about you, Aliesha.” But when he leaned forward to kiss her, she shook her head and backed away.
A month and a half had passed without her hearing so much as a peep from him. She simply didn’t have it in her to let him off that easy. The pain of rejection she saw unfold on his face closely resembled some of what she’d battled for weeks. A part of her wanted to comfort him, but the inflexible nature of own pride kept her welded to her anger. “So you just want me to take this giant leap of faith? Is that what you want? Is that why you asked me come here today?”
He closed his eyes and briefly tilted his head to the heavens. When he looked at Aliesha again, the cracks in his ebony mask were readily visible. “Do you remember what you told me once, how you live for the here and now because tomorrow isn’t promised? Well, call me crazy ’cause that’s exactly what I want from you, Aliesha, the promise of tomorrow. Just like you made it clear that you weren’t interested in joining the roster of women who rotate in and out of my bed, I don’t want that, either. I want you to be my one and only and I want to be yours. Not your hump-buddy, not your standby guy, or your second-string pick. I want to be your chosen, Aliesha. I want the promise of all your tomorrows.”
Something beneath the quiver of his lips and the sincerity of his words seized her attention. She reached up and touched his face. “It was a woman, wasn’t it? Someone other than your Big Mama, I mean? But someone who obviously means to you just as much . . . That’s why you stayed away? Isn’t it?”