What Simon Didn’t Say

by Joy Copeland

  The others all chimed in with praise for Hank’s culinary skills.

  “Dinner, huh. I’m not sure. But as I told you guys, I don’t mind doing the cooking—I hate cleaning up, though.”

  “No problem. I brought my rubber gloves,” Snoop said. “Radio Roger and I got this one.”

  Roger looked up from his guitar, surprised that he was being drafted for the cleanup crew.

  As the others headed back to the poker table, Jahi pulled Hank back out to the porch.

  “I thought about the situation some more,” Jahi said, biting his lip. “I think I better leave. Do you mind? This is your reunion too. I hate to ask you to leave because of me, but you’re driving. In a way I’m at your mercy.”

  Hank frowned. “Yeah, it’s a long walk down the mountain.”

  “Tell you what: just drive me to the train station in Philly,” Jahi continued.

  “Here to Philly! That’s halfway home.”

  Jahi looked sheepish.

  Hank rubbed his neck and sighed. “Okay, Jahi, you win on this one. But you owe me. Might as well leave now. We’ll be back in time for dinner at Mahali.”

  Jahi smiled and patted Hank on the back. “Thanks.”

  Shaking his head, Hank stomped away. “I knew being here was too good to be true.”

  Jahi announced to the group that he and Hank would be leaving. “Duty calls,” he said.

  “Man, we sure hate to see you go,” Snoop said.

  “Yeah, cause that means you will have to not only do KP but also cook for yourselves,” Hank said.

  Several men groaned.

  “It’s a shame. We don’t have any contractors here for those kinds of jobs,” Tuney said. They all laughed.

  “So, Sarge, now that you’re going to be a big-time politician, are we going to hear about you on the news?” Snoop asked half-serious.

  “Maybe,” Jahi answered. “I haven’t won yet.”

  “But what we hear will only be the good stuff, right?” Roger said.

  “That’s the plan,” Jahi answered.

  A couple of the guys tried to talk Jahi into staying one more day, but he’d made up his mind. The group said its goodbyes, and Jahi and Hank loaded up Hank’s late-model Jeep Cherokee. Hank gave strict instructions for them to not mess up the steaks he was leaving in the freezer. Among those who remained, Tuney was the next best cook. “They’re a quality cut,” Hank shouted from the driver’s side window before starting the engine.

  Five miles down the winding road, Hank’s phone picked up a cell signal. “Jahi, here, take it. Now you can make your calls.”

  “Nah,” Jahi said. “I need at least another two hours of radio silence before the world settles in on me.”

  “I sense from what you said earlier that you’re changing your mind about this city-council gig.”

  “Nah. I told them I’d run. Now I’ve got to go through with it. Who knows? I might luck out and lose.”

  Hank kept his eyes on the road. “Buddy, don’t set yourself up for failure,” he said. “Well, speaking of dust, I guess Katherine is going to be surprised to see me two days early.”

  “Maybe you ought to call her. You don’t want to walk in on any surprises.”

  “Now, Jahi, what are you suggesting? You know that ain’t happening.”

  “Sorry, and I know you’re right about that.” There was a long stretch of silence. Then Jahi asked, “Why is it that you and Katherine never got married?”

  Hank and his girlfriend had been together for fifteen years. They were husband and wife in all but the paperwork. They seemed perfectly compatible, considering that Hank’s Shelter job was low paying, and Katherine, a registered nurse, made considerably more.

  “Marriage? We don’t need to,” Hank answered. “There’s nothing to inherit. No children to worry about. She knows I love her, and I know she loves me.”

  “I envy you that,” Jahi said. “That bond. That trust.”

  “Seems that once upon a time, you were on that track. Why did you and Sister Te never take the next step?”

  “There was never a next step. We backed up and decided it wasn’t going to work.”

  “I get the feeling you made that decision. And she just went along with it. I can tell…she still has a thing for you.”

  “Oh? What makes you think that?”

  “Things I’ve heard. I have my sources,” Hank said.

  Jahi was quiet. He figured that Tarik might have said something or maybe even Te herself. But that was unlikely: Te was very private. “Maybe years ago she felt that way. But not now. Not still. Too much water under that bridge.”

  “If you say so. So what about what’s her face, the Foundation attorney?”

  “Zoie Taylor.”

  “Yeah, how’s that going?”

  “Gee, Hank, you sure got your nose up in my business today.”

  “Hey, don’t answer if you don’t want to,” Hank said, lifting his hands from the steering wheel for a second. “You started it with questions about me and Katherine.”

  “Okay, that’s fair. Yes, I have a thing for Zoie.”

  “Is she the one?”

  “Umm, could be.”

  “Let me guess: you’re afraid…can’t commit.”

  “Hey, man! It’s only been this summer. Anyway, I’m not sure how serious she is.”

  “Jahi, don’t let her get away. I can tell she’s not like your other ladies.”

  “For sure she’s not.”

  Chapter 33

  Close Like Family

  Zoie lost her cool at the Shelter. She didn’t meltdown often, but under the circumstances she had a right to be angry. She needed to calm down. Her encounter with the dreadful woman with the head wrap had drained her. There’d been enough venom in the woman’s glance to bring down an elephant. And then there was Tarik—Jahi’s protégé was certainly no help. She found his demeanor to be both arrogant and patronizing. He had set her off. Now her gut told her that Tarik knew more. He knew where Jahi was but wasn’t letting on. What did Jahi see in the little bastard, entrusting him with the Shelter’s business? Yes, Tarik was capable, all right. The question was, capable of what?

  Thank God, she thought as cool air from the taxi’s air conditioning finally made its way to the back seat. Her eyes met Muwakkil’s deep black eyes in the rearview mirror. They’d been sitting there for quite a while in silence as she collected herself.

  “Where to now, lady?” he asked again, his tone not irritated or pushy like some New York cabbies. This driver was in no hurry. One way or the other, he knew he’d get paid.

  The cost of what she was doing crossed her mind. On a per-trip basis with waiting time, she was running up quite a tab. Perhaps it would be cheaper to pay this guy’s daily rate, as he suggested. Muwakkil was an African businessman, but she knew how to bargain as well.

  “Not quite sure,” she answered, mentioning nothing of price negotiations. She was waiting for him to bring up the subject of the daily rate.

  “Lady, you going to want me to wait again?”

  “Probably,” she responded with a sigh.

  “You going to have more stops after that?

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then I think you should go with my day-rate proposal. You would be better off.”

  “We could do that…if the price is right,” she answered.

  Still parked around the corner from the Shelter, they haggled to arrive at a fair daily rate. In setting his initial price, Muwakkil mentioned the high cost of raising three kids, city fees, and how expensive gas had become, of course. When she balked at his price, he responded in his best pleading voice, claiming that she was taking advantage of a poor immigrant. Zoie fired back using her lawyer tactics. After all, she was a guaranteed ride. And he wasn’t considering the generous tip she’d add or that she could pay in cash—once she stopped at an ATM. After a few minutes, the deal was struck. They settled on a rate half the price of his original proposal. He’d be her driver until 6:0
0 p.m.

  “Lady, you drive a hard bargain.”

  Zoie squelched a satisfied smile and shrugged. Haggling had been invigorating. It had given her a much-needed shot of adrenalin, lifting the depressing fog clouding her brain. Someone had stolen her stuff and threatened her. Someone was out to silence her. She wouldn’t let fear paralyze her. If she was ever to feel safe again, she needed to find Jahi and get some answers.

  “Okay, lady, I’m all yours. Where to now?”

  What was the plan? Zoie hesitated before she answered. At the Foundation a contingent of Crayton’s upper management was hovering. Milton, poor Milton, was waiting for her. Already she’d broken her promise to quickly come to the office. But right now she had to follow her gut. The Foundation would have to wait.

  Maybe Jahi’s friend at the café, the place where Jahi opened up to her, would know how to get in touch with him. The place was close by, but exactly where was it? Weeks ago they walked there together. Jahi had been in the lead. Focused on his every word, she didn’t pay attention to their route. Back in the present, Zoie gave the driver some vague directions and hoped that by circling the nearby streets they’d find the place.

  She thought of Jahi’s other name—Oswald Smoot. The name usually tickled her funny bone. But today nothing was funny. Was Muwakkil right? Do parents, inspired by God, always pick the right names for their offspring? Who was Oswald Smoot, also known as Jahi Khalfani? What qualities did those names imply?

  On the first try around the block, she spotted the bright-yellow sun on the Sunrise Café’s sign. The café occupied a narrow slice of storefront situated between a cleaners and a nondescript store with a refrigerator in the window.

  “Stop here,” she said. “Remember, my stuff’s in the back.”

  The street in front of the Sunrise Café was quiet, except for several passersby, who probably chose to take that route because of the shade. Under the café’s awning, two men played a game of chess at a small folding table, while a third man seated on a crate watched. The setting was the same as she remembered from many weeks ago.

  Focused on the board, the players didn’t bother to look up as Zoie passed through the open door and into the dimly lit café. Inside overhead fans whirled to keep the place reasonably cool. In the second booth from the door, where natural light could reach their table, an elderly man and woman sat enjoying a meal. They glanced up from their food as she made her way to the rear.

  “Hello! Anyone here?” Zoie called from the end of the long counter. The man she was looking for emerged from a doorway shielded by a beaded curtain.

  He was grayer than she remembered, but he had pep in his step. “Well, hello, pretty lady,” he said, greeting her with a large grin. He wiped his hands on his bib apron before pressing her extended hand between his large palms. The two-handed greeting was the same one Jahi used. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

  “It’s Stan, right?” she asked, smiling and hoping that she got his name right.

  “That’s what my friends call me. Stan the Man. Pretty lady, you’ve got a good memory. I must have made an impression.” He smiled even wider. “Now what can I do you for? Did you stop by for some pie?”

  “No thanks, Stan. Maybe another time.”

  It was lunchtime, and the little café was almost empty. Perhaps the place made all of its money from the morning crowd, hence the name Sunrise.

  “Where’s Brother Jahi? Is he with you?” Stan looked past her to the open door as if expecting to see the much larger Jahi enter the restaurant.

  “Sorry, Stan. No Jahi this time…actually, Jahi is why I’m here. I was hoping you could tell me where I could find him.”

  “Hmm.” Stan grimaced and put a finger to his lips, imposing his own silence while he pondered his answer.

  “Stan, it’s important that I find Jahi. I’ve just come from the Shelter. They were no help.”

  “That’s strange,” Stan finally said. “Did you talk to Tarik? He ought to know Jahi’s whereabouts. Jahi lets him run the place. I get the feeling they’re always in touch. That Tarik is a smart young man, a chip off the old block.” Stan laughed.

  “I don’t follow—a chip off the old block?”

  “Did I make a generational faux pas?” Stan laughed again. “You know the sayings ‘chip off the old block’ and ‘like father like son.’ Oh, here’s another: ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Yeah, that Tarik’s smart as a whip. Just like Brother Jahi. Except Tarik takes himself a little too seriously. He’ll come around. Jahi raised him well.”

  Zoie stood dazed, only partly believing what she was hearing. Was Tarik Jahi’s son? It didn’t make sense. The two didn’t look alike. She couldn’t remember Tarik calling Jahi father or any father derivative. Jahi never mentioned having a son or anything like that. Not mentioning that Tarik was his son was a major omission, especially since she already knew Tarik. There’d been plenty of time for such introductions at the Shelter. Fathers don’t hide their sons in plain sight.

  Zoie took a deep breath and pursed her lips. Surprises, not the pleasant kind, were coming at her left and right. Stan knew a lot evidently. She contemplated pursuing a line of questioning about Tarik’s paternity, even if it meant revealing to Stan that the man she’d been sleeping with hadn’t bothered to share major pieces of his life—major pieces like running for a city office or, now it seemed, having a son. Feeling confused and incredibly stupid, she proceeded. “Is Tarik any relation to Jahi? I thought he was just his protégé.”

  “Hmm. I don’t like getting into Brother Jahi’s personal business, the little of it that I know.” Stan lowered his voice, his eyes narrowed, and his smile vanished. “I’m not one to tell tales out of school, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sure, I understand.” But Stan’s warning didn’t stop Zoie’s needing to know. What was there to hide? She persisted. “Is Tarik’s being Jahi’s son some sort of secret?”

  “No. Guess not. Matter of fact, I think it’s pretty common knowledge. At the Shelter anybody would tell you that Tarik is Jahi’s boy.” Stan laughed for a second. “Now I know he don’t want to be called boy.” Stan stroked his chin as he considered whether he should say more.

  “I’m just being curious. Stan, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about Jahi and me. We’re business associates. I work for the Foundation, which provides some of the Shelter’s funding.”

  “Oh, well, now that news just makes it worst. I’m sure Jahi don’t want his business in the street. Seems I’ve said too much.” Stan turned away to wipe crumbs from a table in a nearby booth. “You best get Jahi’s personal info straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  “Stan, don’t get me wrong. Jahi and I are friends. Did he ever tell you otherwise?”

  Stan stopped brushing the crumbs from the table and turned to her again. “Huh, he don’t tell me things about his lady friends. But to answer your question, he spoke very highly of you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Zoie’s attention focused like a laser.

  “Yeah. He said something about you just after you were here. I was the one that asked him about you. He said you were both beautiful and smart.”

  Zoie rolled her eyes but couldn’t contain a slight blush. Stan was turning out to be a charmer just like Jahi. And he was smiling again.

  “So you can tell me about Tarik and Jahi, right?”

  Stan seemed only partially convinced. “Well, guess there’s no harm in explaining what I know to you. You seem pretty levelheaded,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his narrow chin. “Seeing that this is common knowledge, guess my telling you don’t qualify as telling tales out of school, right?”

  “Right,” she answered in encouragement.

  He turned away but continued to observe her from the corner of his left eye. “Where to begin?

  “Begin wherever you want.”

  He rested against the counter. “Do you know Sister Te?”

  “I’ve never met her, but I know of her.
I know that she and Jahi once had a relationship. And I know she works at the Shelter,” Zoie said, feeding Stan the bits of information she’d learned from Lena only that morning. “And, Tarik, you were talking about Tarik and Sister Te.”

  “Ugh. Yeah. Sister Te was Jahi’s ex. She’s the big cheese for the women’s shelter. Didn’t have no women at that place when I stayed there. I never did care for her much. She rubbed me the wrong way a few times. But that’s water under the bridge, so to speak.”

  “Go on.”

  “Yeah, Sister Te and Jahi go way back.” Stan rubbed his chin again. “As far as I know, Tarik is her son. But Jahi always treated him like his son. Everybody knows that. From when he was a little boy. Don’t have to share blood to be family, right?”

  “Right,” said Zoie, taking another deep breath and trying to act unconcerned as the revelations about Jahi’s life unfolded. More questions were queued in her brain. She waited for an opening so she could ask them without being pushy. She wanted desperately to ask Stan what he meant by “ex.” Had Jahi and Sister Te been married? But what did it matter? A long-standing relationship was a long-standing relationship, official papers or not. After her years of living with Elliot, his leaving had been horrible. They had a child together. Could a real divorce have been worse than that breakup? She thought better of further prying for details. No use making Stan any more defensive.

  “Can you give me a clue as to where I might find Jahi? It’s very important that I get in touch with him. This has to do with the Shelter’s funding.”

  “Mmm, let me think. That brother doesn’t let grass grow under his feet.” Stan scratched his head. “Well, the last time I saw Brother Jahi, he came by to tell me that he was going to announce he was running for DC Council. Which he did.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “One way or another, those preachers were going to make a politician out of him. Anyway, he wanted me to spread the word with customers to vote for him on primary day.”

  “I see,” Zoie said. She tried to digest the information. She rubbed the back of her neck where the pricks of his words had settled. More and more she felt like a fool. She knew little or nothing about the man she’d been sleeping with all summer. The man who’d captured her heart. Jahi had let both Stan and Lena know that he was running for the city council before the official announcement. And she had to find out that bit of information from a newscast. It was clear that she wasn’t part of his inner circle. The people he chose to confide in were longtime associates: Tarik, Stan, Lena, Hank, and probably this Sister Te. They were his family. Things were a blur, but she tried to listen to Stan.