What Simon Didn’t Say

by Joy Copeland

“But you promised,” Nikki said, whining.

  “Nikki, now you know I never promised that you could keep that dog. I said I would think about.”

  “You said that you would check with the building management to see if they would let me have Biscuit. Did they say no?”

  Oh, God, I cannot lie. With other animals in the building, Nikki will figure it out. She’ll just have to understand the facts of life. “I’m sorry, Nikki, but we can’t keep a dog. It’s not the building management. I’ve thought about it a lot and, well…it’s just that it’s…too difficult.”

  “Mommy, what do you mean?”

  “I mean we can’t have a dog. Who’s going to walk him three times a day? Who’s going to feed him and clean up after him when he makes a mess?” Zoie could hear low sobs.

  “But, Mommy, Biscuit is my friend!” Nikki said, choking back sobs. “I’ll teach him not to make messes. What will happen to him? He’s only got me to take care of him.”

  “Maybe when you’re older, Nikki. Then you can do more to help take care of a dog. That’ll be the time to get one. But right now, baby, having a dog is too much to handle.”

  Zoie covered her mouth, not knowing what else to say. Her daughter’s soft sobs distressed her, but she had to hold firm. “Look, baby, I’ll be there in another couple of weeks to bring you home. Don’t worry about Biscuit. Your Grandma Celeste will find him a nice home.”

  “But that’s not fair. He’s my dog,” Nikki answered, her tone defiant.

  “Nikki…”

  “No,” Nikki said with the harshness of a two-year-old in the midst of a tantrum.

  “I’m sorry, baby. That’s the way it has to be.”

  “I won’t let them give away my dog.”

  “Nikki, I’m sorry…” Zoie heard a click in the connection. It was as if the line had dropped. “Nikki, are you there? Nikki?” Indeed, they were no longer connected. Was she cut off or was what had happened more serious? Zoie let the phone fall into her lap and stared into the distance, her mouth wide in disbelief.

  “My child hung up on me!”

  Chapter 26

  Bad Mommy

  Later that night, counting on Nikki’s being asleep, Zoie called the Benjamins. Phillip Benjamin answered the phone. After a frosty “Hello, Zoie,” he left Zoie hanging in silence while he fetched his wife. Celeste took the phone without her usual pleasantries. She dived right into an account of the upheaval at the Benjamins’ home.

  “It’s been a mess,” Celeste reported, punctuating her comment with a heavy sigh.

  Clutching the phone, Zoie winced. She sensed her blood pressure rising. In the past Celeste’s accounts of Nikki’s visits were covered with powdered sugar. Too contrived, Zoie remembered thinking. No child could be that happy—not all the time. Her Nikki was a good child, but she had a temper and could pout for hours in the best tradition of willful six-year-olds. Knowing this, Zoie was usually prepared to hear the bad news along with the good. A normal account. Tonight Zoie just wanted to hear that things had settled down.

  “Nikki’s been sobbing nonstop. The poor puppy is whining right along with her,” Celeste continued.

  Zoie bit her lip. “Well, what about now?” Zoie asked. “How is she?”

  Celeste’s dramatic long sigh told more of the story. “At first the poor child just couldn’t be consoled. You know how kids cry so hard that they can’t catch their breath. She wore herself out. She curled up with Biscuit in her bed and cried herself to sleep.”

  The phone pressed to her ear, Zoie rolled her eyes and paced the floor. She was concerned for her child, and at the same time, she wondered whether Celeste was overdramatizing her account. Anything to make me feel guilty!

  “She’s devastated,” Celeste continued.

  The tension was palpable. Zoie could no longer hold her tongue. “Celeste, this would have never happened if you hadn’t promised Nikki that dog!” Zoie blasted. “You should have talked to me first!”

  “I’m sorry. Obviously, you think I’ve overstepped,” Celeste answered, her stiff tone accompanied by sniffles. “I was only trying to make a lonely little girl happy.”

  Celeste’s words stung. Zoie never considered her daughter to be a “lonely little girl.” An only child, yes. But only doesn’t equate to lonely, Zoie thought.

  “I wish you could see how happy the two of them are together; then you’d understand.”

  “You got Nikki’s hopes up,” Zoie snapped. “I don’t live in a house with a white picket fence. I have a full-time job. And in case you forgot, I’m raising Nikki as a solo parent. Right now there’s no room in our lives for a dog!”

  Celeste offered neither further defense of her actions nor apologies. There was only a long silence. “When Nicki leaves, we’ll find the puppy a home. It won’t be hard. Families want labs because they’re good with children.”

  Not this family, Zoie thought. “Okay, okay, Celeste. I just don’t want my baby’s feelings hurt anymore with promises of things that can’t be fulfilled.” There was no point in making threats about retrieving Nikki earlier than planned. “I’ll call tomorrow. Maybe she’ll have calmed down by then.”

  The call ended without further angry words. Zoie knew Nikki’s disappointment would linger. She was counting on time to heal her daughter’s hurt feelings and mend the mother-daughter relationship. Once school started Nikki would be caught up in the excitement of the first grade—new friends and new knowledge. In time Nikki will forget the dog, Zoie thought.

  Parenting at a distance was proving unfeasible. She couldn’t give Nikki a reassuring hug. It wasn’t every day that a six-year-old hung up on a parent. Part of Zoie wanted to reach across the airwaves and give Nikki a good shake, but the other part of her felt her child’s pain. She understood Nikki’s sadness and frustration at the prospect of being separated from something or someone she loved. She could even feel it as if it were happening to her. A tear rolled down Zoie’s cheek. She closed her eyes and hugged her shoulders to sooth her longing to hold her daughter. Nikki was her family. Besides her grandmother, Nikki was pretty much the only close family she had left. In nine more days, they’d reunite. The lonely little girl and her sometimes lonely mom.

  That night Zoie tossed and turned. The next morning she remembered her dream. It was about a frolicking black puppy and a little girl. Running late, she called into work.

  “Regina, is anyone looking for me this morning?”

  “No, but things are hectic here. We’re getting ready for the charity walk for the homeless. I’m scheduled to staff one of the refreshment stands. And we penned you in for the registration desk. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, I forgot. Sure, I’ll work registration,” Zoie said, remembering that she was committing to a Saturday weeks in the future, but a whole lot could happen before then. “Have you seen Ray?”

  “No. Do you need him? I can check with Arleen.”

  “No, don’t bother. I’ll contact him directly. If anyone else is looking for me, tell them I have an appointment this morning. I’ll be in later.”

  Chapter 27

  Family Secrets

  Frances Woods was oblivious to the hum of the window air conditioner and to the chatter interspersed with laughter coming from the rabbit-eared TV atop the bureau. She inspected her breakfast tray. Today the oatmeal seemed thicker than usual. The white liquid floating over the oatmeal was a watery substance, not anything from a cow.

  “Humph,” Frances Woods complained, though Queen was not there to hear her. On her tray was also a cup of plain tea and her usual piece of toast. The toast was cold, though the greasy spot at its center was evidence that Queen had buttered it when it was hot. She frowned at the bowl and then sighed. Her life had become bland like the oatmeal.

  Last night both Gabe and Calvin appeared in her dreams. Calvin looked old and tired, the way he had during the last years of his life, as the cancer sapped his vitality. Why hadn’t he appeared to her young and spry like Gabe? Gabe looked the same
. His face had been the same one etched in her memory from all those years ago. Appearing together in her dream, the two men, close in age, could have been grandfather and grandson. She laughed at the thought of such an unlikely relationship. Both men whom she loved—loved in different ways. Ways only a heart could explain.

  Staring out the window at the morning light, she pondered Gabe’s fate. His whereabouts were a mystery. In truth, she didn’t know whether he was dead or alive. Would she appear in heaven as she did now—wrinkled and gray? Or would she be that thin-waist girl of years gone by? Heaven had to be a complicated place. The Lord would surely work it out.

  In her dream Gabe and Calvin delivered an important message: “It is not your time.” Calvin did the talking. Gabe stood smiling that broad smile of his, the smile that could light up a room. Hallelujah! Life on earth was not over…not yet, anyway. The news that her death wasn’t imminent was its own magic tonic, an auxiliary to the medicine the doctor had prescribed. Or maybe it was the other way around.

  Her attention shifted to the twenty-year-old tube she called a TV. There was no sense in buying a new set when this one still worked. Even though its rabbit ears delivered fuzzy images, the sound was still good.

  Queen entered the room, alert and stately, carrying her own bowl of the same oatmeal. The small chair next to Frances Woods’s bed groaned as the big woman sat down.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t it taste good?” Queen asked, stretching to peer at her charge’s unfinished meal.

  Frances Woods used her half-eaten toast to point inside her bowl. “What’s this on the oatmeal?”

  Queen gave a hearty laugh. “Mrs. Woods, you’re too funny. You think I’m trying to poison you? Ha!”

  Frances Woods smirked and waited for a real answer.

  “Didn’t fool you, huh? The doctor said keep you away from dairy ’cause it makes mucous and congestion in your chest. That’s rice milk,” Queen explained with a proud smile.

  “Oh. I’m eating it,” Frances Woods said, sighing. “I just wish I had something good and greasy. Some bacon or sausage—something with some flavor.”

  “Okay, I’ll fix something good and greasy for you tomorrow. But you know what your doctor said: we got to watch your cholesterol.”

  “Cholesterol…congestion…and I’ve got ten other things wrong with me to boot. Everybody has to die of something,” Frances Woods barked.

  Queen laughed a laugh as melodic as her accent. “You right about that. But while I’m here, ain’t nobody dying.”

  Even if she had wanted to die, Frances Woods now knew that Queen would not have permitted it. She was in good hands, even if Queen sometimes riled her “last nerve.” Frances Woods pointed at the TV with her toast. “Look at him,” she said, changing the subject. Al Roker was hosting a cooking segment on the Today Show. “Now that man had an operation to reduce the size of his stomach to lose weight, and they turn around and make him taste food. Doesn’t make a bit of sense.”

  “You right about that. Looks as if he’s putting that weight back on,” said Queen. “Is your tea cold?” Rather than waiting for Frances Woods to respond, Queen reached over and felt the cup. “I’m gonna heat it up.”

  “Thank you,” Frances Woods said. “And can you bring me some lemon, since I can’t have the milk?”

  “Sure.”

  Queen was quick to return with the heated cup and lemon. “You’ve got a mornin’ visitor.”

  “Zo!” Frances Woods said as her granddaughter’s face peeked out from behind Queen.

  “Morning, Grandma.” Zoie bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

  “My goodness, you were here just last night. Why aren’t you at work? You’re dressed as if you’re going to work,” Frances Woods said, referring to her granddaughter’s summer weight gray pantsuit.

  “You said I could come to see you anytime,” Zoie answered.

  “Zoie, want me to fix you some oatmeal?” Queen asked.

  Zoie looked down at her grandmother’s almost empty bowl. “Nah! I mean no thanks, Queen,” she said. “But I’ll have some toast and tea if you don’t mind.”

  With Queen’s departure, Frances Woods picked up the TV remote from the folds of her sheet and muted the TV to ready herself for a serious conversation. “Zo, you usually don’t visit on a weekday and never in the early morning. What’s wrong?”

  “It didn’t go well last night. Well, nothing went well yesterday.” Zoie rolled her eyes. “I talked to Nikki.”

  “Oh, the dog thing!”

  “Nikki didn’t take it well when I told her she couldn’t keep that dog.”

  “Well, Zo, honey, you knew that was coming. Did you talk to Elliot’s mother?”

  “Celeste? Yeah, I talked to her. Gave her a piece of my mind for raising Nikki’s hopes and making me look like the bad guy.”

  “Ooh. Sounds ugly.”

  “It was awful. Now Nikki doesn’t want to speak to me. I’m the bad parent.”

  “Zo, I’m sorry that things turned out that way. She’ll get over it. Give her time.”

  “Yeah, Celeste said that Nikki cried herself to sleep. Curled up with the dog in her bed, of course.”

  A thud from the window interrupted their conversation. It was the air conditioner’s compressor kicking in. “That thing keeps turning on,” her grandmother said.

  “How old is it?” Zoie asked. “Sounds as if it’s on its last leg. Did you ever consider putting in central air?”

  “Now, Zo, you’re talking big bucks and lots of disruption to this house. When you inherit this place, you can do whatever you want.”

  “Since you and grandfather could afford this house, I thought maybe you could afford to upgrade some things.”

  “Yes, we worked hard. And we saved. And we were blessed,” Frances Woods said. “I guess your mother never told you the story of our good fortune.”

  “What story are you talking about?”

  “The one about how Calvin and I were able to buy this house.” Frances Woods pushed her bowl back farther on the tray and held her tea mug steady.

  “No, Mom never mentioned anything about this house. I guess I never knew how expensive property in this neighborhood could be.”

  “It’s always been pricy right here, off the park.”

  “Well, how did you and Grandpa manage it? I mean an assistant principal and a postal worker? Did you inherit some money?”

  “Now who on either side of this family have you ever heard of having more money than they needed to live on from day to day?”

  Zoie’s eyes widened as she considered the question. “No one.”

  “That’s right. To go to college, your grandfather had a scholarship. Then he worked to pay my way,” Frances Woods said with pride in her voice.

  “Then how did you manage it?”

  “Hold on, now. I’m going to tell you. But this isn’t for broadcasting.”

  “Grandma! Did Grandpa steal the money?”

  “Lord, no! Zo, why did you go there? Calvin stealing money—what a foolish idea.”

  Zoie looked down sheepishly.

  “So are you going to let me tell you, or are you going to guess?” Frances Woods said.

  Zoie put her hand to her mouth and stayed quiet.

  “Okay. You know that your grandfather had that mail route over in Shaw for many years. Well, there was this guy who lived on the streets over there. Your grandfather used to bring him food. Give him lunches. For some reason Calvin was always thinking about this guy.”

  “A homeless man?”

  “Yeah, a homeless man.”

  “So what does this have to do with getting this house?”

  “I’m getting to it,” Frances Woods said. “One day this guy told your grandfather to play some numbers. Gave him the numbers on a piece of paper and said, ‘Play these.’ You know this was before the legal numbers. Now don’t turn up your nose. Those ‘illegal’ numbers were how people hit the lottery before there were legal lotteries.”
r />   “Grandma, I understand. Really.”

  “Well, your grandfather was not a regular numbers player. He dabbled now and then. Just a few dollars. Least that’s all I knew about. We were saving up for a house to get out of that basement apartment over on Gerard. Somehow this homeless guy convinced your grandfather to put a lot of money on these special numbers. Even told him to play with several different bookies.”

  “How much did he play?”

  “Oh, baby, I don’t know those details,” Francis Woods said, sounding irritated. “I think it was a lot. He never told me. Actually, I never asked. As churchgoing people we weren’t supposed to gamble.”

  “And the number hit?”

  “Glad we sent you to college, Zo,” Frances Woods said, rolling her eyes before continuing her story. “Your grandfather hit it straight. I’ve never seen so much cash. Of course, your mother was a kid, but later I explained it to her. I’m surprised she never told you how we got our windfall.”

  “And the money was enough to buy this house?”

  “Sure was. Of course, we gave money to the church. And your grandfather got himself a decent car. And we made sure that Laurel had money for college, and we put some away for a rainy day.”

  “And what about the homeless guy?”

  “Your grandfather tried to give him some money, but he never could find him again. That man disappeared…it was the strangest thing,” Frances Woods said in almost a whisper.

  “Grandma, that’s some story.”

  “If anybody asked how we could afford this or that, we were always vague. Later, when I was an assistant principal and your grandfather had finally gotten the promotion in the post office, where he didn’t have to walk the streets, we were in a position to actually afford this place on our own. People just stopped asking questions.” Frances Woods took a deep breath. “Guess folks figured like you did: that it was an inheritance. Poor Calvin. He was so honest. He worried that someone might think he got rich stealing the mail. You can’t be too careful.”

  “A homeless man, huh? I wonder why this man didn’t play the numbers himself,” Zoie said.