“Sometimes she sounds like she’s fine, and other times she’s in another world, talking about things that make no sense, like nothing ever happened. Like her saying she’s taking her daughters back to Boston to live in their house that is no longer theirs because we sold it.”
“And that may be the best she can do. Only with a lot of support and time can she heal.”
I stood in the doorway of Nareece’s room and watched Travis help her pack. He jumped to her every request. Nareece beamed. I had feared she would stay distant and silent for the rest of her life. Now we were packing her up to come home and make the rehab center a distant memory.
She stooped down in the closet and pulled out some clothes and shoes. Then she stood on her tiptoes to reach something on a shelf over her head, but she couldn’t.
“Travis, baby, can you reach up there for that box?” she crooned, pointing over her head and smiling back at Travis, who stood behind her. He reached the sweaters with little effort.
Twice, he stole a look at me with his mouth turned up on one side and his brow down on the opposite side: annoyance. Another time, he framed his hand as though choking Nareece, behind her back, of course. Nareece, loving his attention, did not attend to any of his antics.
It occurred to me that this was the first interaction he’d had with her since he was a toddler. It had to be difficult sharing space with me and his aunt, who he had learned only a few months ago was his real mother, and Jesse Boone, his father. A twenty-year-old secret revealed.
It took way longer than anticipated to pack Nareece’s things. Then we went to Children’s Hospital to rescue Rose.
When we entered her room, Rose tossed aside the book she had been reading, slid down from the bed, and rushed to her mother with one outstretched arm. Her other arm, tightly bound in a sling, made her movement awkward and unsteady.
Travis picked up the book she had been reading and flipped it over, opening the pages. “Where’d this come from?”
Rose shrugged. “This handsome man gave it to me. He also gave me that teddy bear.” She pointed to the windowsill, to a scraggly brown teddy bear with a crisscross white bandage over its heart and a red-and-white-striped ribbon tied around its neck. “He said I was probably too old for stuffed animals, but I took it.”
“What handsome man?” I said, an inner smile taking hold. There was no way Calvin’s guys would let just any man get past them. No one except Laughton.
She shrugged again. “I don’t know,” she said. “He came in and gave me the stuff and left. Mr. Calvin’s man stuck his head in and gave me the thumbs-up. Said the guy was a friend. I didn’t feel much like interrogatin’ him.”
“How you doing, baby?” Nareece asked. Before Rose could answer, she said, “C’mon, let me help you put your clothes on so we can take you and me home.” Instead of helping Rose dress, Nareece moved around the room gathering Rose’s things and packing them in the overnight bag she brought, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.
I sat in a chair, thumbing through the book and squeezing the stuffed animal as though a bomb or some other kind of destructive device awaited. “What did this man look like, Rose?”
“He was tall and he looked nice. He had a mustache and a white patch on his head.” Rose hesitated, then said, “Auntie, I think the man would have been upset if I didn’t take it.”
“It’s okay, baby,” I said, giving her back the bear. “I’m sure you made the man happy by accepting his gift.”
Nareece picked up a jersey from the bed and put it over Rose’s head, jabbering on about the things they were going to do after Rose was completely healed. Doctor’s orders had her on bed rest for the next week, as if that were possible.
When we got to the house, Helen ran out and was at the car before I turned the engine off. Rose put her arm around Helen and let her half walk, half carried her inside and up the stairs to their bedroom. Nareece followed. I stopped her at the stairs as I heard the twins’ bedroom door close.
“Give them some time, Mama,” I said.
She looked from me to Travis, who gave her the nod. She spun around and stomped down the stairs. “I guess you’re right.” When she hit the bottom step, she called to Travis, who had ducked into the den, “Travis, please help me take these bags up to my room so I can unpack.”
“Sure, Auntie,” he said, coming out of hiding.
Nareece stopped in her tracks. I caught her gaze and sucked in my breath, waiting for it—her rant about him calling her auntie rather than ma. Travis grabbed all her bags at once and trudged up the stairs and was back down in one swoop. Nareece stood on the stairs, motionless, all puffed out and holding her breath.
Travis moved past us and went to the kitchen. I could hear Dulcey yapping to him about how she had cooked the twins’ favorite foods: enchiladas, beans and rice, and pulled pork. Without taking a breath, Dulcey asked, “Where’s that baby girl?” It was quiet for a few seconds before she appeared in the hallway, filling the empty space between me and Nareece with a resounding, “Hey, girl, what’s wrong with you? Come here and give me a hug.” Nareece stayed put, so Dulcey made the move. Nareece’s head near disappeared in Dulcey’s bosom. When Dulcey released her, Nareece stormed upstairs and slammed her bedroom door.
“Go on up there to that girl, Muriel. You need to talk to her.”
“Dulcey, I can’t deal with her mess now. She’s already back to thinking the world has to revolve around her without giving any thought to how other folk might feel. How Travis feels about her. Hell, how I feel. The road’s been rough for her, for everybody. We need to deal with the situation, not sulk around. I thought she would change when she came home, just be happy that we’re all together. Doesn’t look like that’s happening. Not yet anyway. You’d think she’d just be happy she’s out of that place, if nothing else. You’d think she’d at least want to talk about it before going through changes.”
“Just say a prayer and take your butt up there.”
Like a child being given direction from a parent, I went upstairs and knocked on her door. She did not answer. “God, help me out here, please,” I said to myself. I cracked the door open, expecting a shoe thrown at me. Instead she waved me in. I sat beside her on the bed and embraced her.
“What’s wrong, Reecy?”
“You know what’s wrong.” She snorted. “He’s my son. He knows he’s my son and he calls me Auntie, like he still doesn’t know.”
“Look, baby girl. I have been his mother for his whole life. You have been his aunt. He just found out you’re his biological mother. Give him some time to adjust.”
She frowned at me. I suspected it was about the biological mother part. I continued to dive in.
“You can’t expect everything’s going to change because he knows a new truth. He loves you.” I waited for her to say something, but all I got was a sickening, whiney sound and a sniffle. “After some time, you, me, and Travis will talk things out. This is a beginning, Reecy. Don’t let anything come between you and him or you and me. We’re all here as a family again. Let’s be thankful for our family.”
Nareece pushed back and glared at me. “You’re right,” she said, getting up and moving around the room—a room I had decorated for her with a sitting area, a king-size bed for sharing with the twins, and a full bathroom. It had been our parents’ room.
She picked up the suitcases and laid them on the bed, forcing me to get up. “We’re a family.” I watched her shuffle between the closet and the dresser and stuff clothes in drawers.
It seemed forever ago that Nareece and I talked on the phone every day, sharing every piece of our lives, being there for each other no matter what—best sister-friends. As I watched her plow through the motions of settling in, my feelings of annoyance and doubt that she would adjust, eventually anyway, melted away. I got the message—her lips were stilled for the time—so I left.
I peeked in on the twins before going downstairs. They lay in one of the beds; Helen held Rose to her ch
est as they both slept. I pulled the cover over them and tiptoed out.
“You act more like an adult than those of us who have years of practice,” Dulcey was saying to Travis when I entered the dining room.
“Who acts more like an adult, this kid here? I’m not buying it,” I said, taking a seat at the table with them.
“Get you some short ribs,” Dulcey urged me.
“I’m not hungry.” Egging Travis on, I continued. “So, who acts more like an adult?”
“We were talking about Aunt Nareece.”
“Oh.” I backed down and shifted to serious mode.
“I don’t know how to act around her. One minute she’s all happy and the next minute she’s acting like she doesn’t like me. I know it’s been hard for her and she needs time. Just know I’m good with it. I can handle it.”
“I guess you are the adult in all this.”
“Patience, Moms. I know that’s not your strong suit, so I’ll help you along with that.”
“I bet I’ll smack you, boy.” I flicked his head.
“Hold that action,” he said, running to answer the doorbell. Sam followed him in. Sam and Travis had been friends since kindergarten—my other child. His mother and father were doctors, the kind that used their talents to help people in Third World countries. They were Ugandan. Sam had spent more time in my home than his own. This was the first summer he would be home alone while his parents traveled.
Sam wore a long-sleeve button-down shirt stained with sweat and worn jeans that rested below his backside, revealing multicolored undershorts. Tiny white bumps spread across his thick cheekbones and chin. His appearance triggered my concern.
As soon as she saw him, Dulcey made a plate of food and directed him to sit and eat.
When the banter quieted, I said, “So how you doing on your own in that big house?”
“Good. I’m good, Miss Mabley.”
“And your parents? Are they in Uganda?”
He set his fork down next to his plate. His eyes watered.
“What’s going on, man?” Travis said.
“I’ve been trying to reach my parents for the past three days. We Skype every other night. They missed our last call and now I can’t reach them.”
“Have you called the embassy?”
“Yes. I’m waiting for them to call back. I was told there have been no terrorist attacks, but there have been some demonstrations and protests that have left a few people dead, which I don’t think would have anything to do with where my parents are, out in the country.
“My uncle is making further inquiries, though he tells me not to worry, that my father knows the region and the people too well and is too ornery for anyone to mess with him.” He smiled, the burden of worry planted on his lips.
“That boy is different,” Dulcey said, after Sam and Travis left to go out. “He ain’t never been that raggedy. Something is wrong with him more than not hearing from his parents. He’s been through this before and they always turn up.”
She spoke the words that were in my head.
CHAPTER 10
I pulled around the back on Haverford and parked beside Calvin’s black Mercedes, the only car in the lot at the rear of the old four-story warehouse that housed Calvin’s Place, a nightclub that catered to the locals for drinking, dancing, and dining. Calvin’s Place was noted for Philly’s most succulent crab legs and fried chicken. Calvin lived above the club on the third and fourth floors. The second floor was used for private parties.
I had my finger on the buzzer when the door snapped open and Calvin reached out and pulled me inside, hanging me all up in his embrace. He rocked me back and forth and crooned some of Luther’s “Never Too Much.” Mmm.
He smothered my mouth with his, forcing my lips apart with his tongue. I fought for position and gave it back to him as hungrily and hard as he did.
When we managed to pull apart, Calvin held me by the shoulders and moved his fingers in a massaging motion. I moaned.
“What’s wrong, babe? You’re tense.”
I lowered my neck and let him work through the mangled muscles that had knotted there. Each time he pressed on one, the good pain it caused forced a moan.
“Talk to me, darling,” he said, guiding me to a stool. He went behind the bar and poured two glasses of sauvignon blanc.
“I love my family more than anything. Travis is my life. Nareece and the twins, I love them . . . I do.” A twinge of guilt came over me.
“I know you love your family, and have and will do anything it takes to protect them.”
“Everything’s changed. No more me and Travis going and coming without a thought. Knowing each other’s way and not having to worry about stepping on each other’s toes, or which way to turn to make sure you don’t offend, say too much, say too little. No more me and Nareece talking about anything. She’s hung up because Travis doesn’t call her Ma. What kind of sense does that make? But then I know it’s her way of dealing with or not dealing with all that happened to her. Better be focused on Travis calling her Ma than talking about the aftermath of Jesse Boone. But Travis is twenty years old and just found out his auntie is really his mother and his mother is really his auntie and she expects him to call her Ma, no problem. This shit has got to be worthy of a TV series, for crying out loud.”
“Patience, my dear.”
“You sound like Travis.”
“You can handle it. You’re a strong woman, one of the many things I love so much about you.”
I let his words penetrate my doubting spirit and took a sip of wine to seal it.
Then I told him about Mr. Kim’s daughter disappearing and how he asked me to check into it. “I got a call from a detective friend, Zoila Burgan, who runs the Mobile Street Crimes Unit. You must have worked with her at some point.” Calvin nodded he did. “She called me about an Asian woman’s body in the morgue, so I went and checked it out. Turned out not to be Mr. Kim’s daughter, thank God.” I pulled a picture of the dead girl out of my pocket. “It was this girl.” I showed him the picture and the business card. “She had your card in her belongings with my name scribbled on the back.”
Calvin examined them, then came from behind the bar and grabbed my hand. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”
Calvin’s residence on floors three and four spanned the length and width of the building, with loft-sized wall-to-wall windows. The third floor was mapped out into a kitchen, dining room, living room, and gym. Two bedrooms and an office took up the fourth floor, where we got off the elevator.
“Her name is Thu Trang Pham,” Calvin said, as he crossed the floor to his office. He walked around and sat down in front of his monstrosity of a desk, pulled open the top drawer and took out a manila folder. I sat down in a captain’s chair in front of the desk. He flipped open the folder and pushed some photos toward me.
“She’s one of the workers at the center, an intern you could say. Her mother died recently of a heroin overdose and her father is this guy.” He pointed to a photo of a black man that I recognized from photographs that the DEA detectives had shown me. “She hasn’t been around for a few weeks now. Her cell phone was turned off and none of the other participants knew where she was or had seen her.”
I recognized another man in the photo. “DEA agents showed me this guy. Said he’s Berg Nation.”
“He’s a hit man.” He pushed back in his seat. “How did Thu die?”
“Hayes, the medical examiner, said she overdosed.”
“Bullshit. She didn’t do drugs. She was a good kid. Man!” He slammed the folder down on his desk. “You know the story. She wanted out of here to chase a real life.”
“You’re saying you think she was murdered?”
“I’m saying there’s no way Thu Trang overdosed.”
I walked behind his chair. It was my turn to massage his shoulders. He reached up and grabbed my hand and looped me around to sit on his lap.
“She has a little baby girl that her grandmother was helping
her raise. I think she was a year or two.”
“Why would somebody want to kill her?”
“Why do these gangs kill anybody? They rule by terrifying people so they don’t talk, or killing them if they do. I don’t think Thu Trang talked to anyone, but I do think she knew some things. She never came out and said anything, but she was very protective of some of the younger kids that come through the center.”
I twisted around to pick up his hand from my shoulder and wrap it around me tighter. He tensed.
I gripped his hand, uncertain what I was looking at, or certain but not believing. Calvin never wore any jewelry, at least not as long as we had been together.
“Is that a wedding ring?” I surprised myself with the calm I exhibited.
He pulled his hand away.
Still calm. “Is it? Is that a wedding ring?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me.
I jumped up from his lap. “That’s a wedding ring,” I screeched. “You can’t be serious. You are fucking married? What? You were rushing and forgot to take it off or something?”
He bowed his head in defeat or sorrow that his secret had been found out. My face burned. My heart tried to force its way from my chest. My head spun and I puked on his shiny, blond wood floor.
Did I mention I have always sucked at relationships for whatever reason? My job, my own insecurities that maybe I’m not good enough, the idea that he would leave me first, that at damn near fifty years old I have never been married, never loved anyone except of course my old partner, Laughton McNair, and the man who stood before me, a lying bastard.
“Muriel. Calm down. I can explain.”
“You can explain! What’s to explain? You’re married! How do you do that? Make love to me and then go home to a wife. What were we doing? What? We were having an affair and fucking, is that it?”
“Not even close.”
“You’re wearing a wedding ring. What the hell does that mean, not even close?”
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