“I am really grateful you came, Q,” Malik said. “The King Corporation has been targeting several store owners on this block and offering them big checks to sign over their property, and now the community center has been approached.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Children’s Aid Network sponsors the center and as the director, I have no intention of selling to the King Corporation so that fat cats like Richard King can get richer and richer while the poor in this community are displaced.”
“What can I do to help?”
“I need you to use all your connections and put a big spotlight on this, so that the community and beyond are aware of what’s happening.” Malik stood up as he gave his impassioned speech. “The people in this community are looking to the center and C.A.N. to help, to stop this travesty from happening. They don’t want to sell. Many of these store owners have owned their property for years, before the King Corporation had any interest in redeveloping it.”
“I know a lot of big names that would eat a story like this up,” Quentin said. He could see it spread across the New York Times or Post: Big Corporation Versus Low-Income Community. “I’ll call up a few contacts. Otherwise, I am at your disposal.”
“It’s been a while since you’ve been back,” Malik said. “Why don’t you walk around, get a feel for the place and take some of those candid photographs that capture a nation. In the meantime, I have some paperwork to finish up here.”
“Sure thing.” Quentin stood up and threw his camera bag over his shoulder. He didn’t need Malik to give him a tour of the community center because it had been his second home in his youth.
The center housed computer and game rooms, a basketball court, dance room, swimming pool and not to mention a clinic. The neighborhood relied on the free health care and dentistry the center provided along with the Head Start and after-school programs. He stopped by each in hopes of using his camera as a tool to show the unseen or the forgotten. He got some great shots of the dancers with their graceful movements, but his favorite was of the toddlers because it captured the wide-eyed innocence of youth. As he strolled down the halls, Quentin realized just how much responsibility Malik had on his shoulders.
His final stop was the gymnasium where several male teenagers were shooting hoops. Quentin quietly came in and stood along the sidelines. As he snapped photos, one of the young men looked over at him and then nudged his friends. “Hey! What you doing with that camera?”
“Just taking a few pictures,” Quentin replied, looking up from the lens. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“That depends on what you’re going to do with them.” His friends snickered behind him.
“Well…” Quentin rubbed his goatee. “They might end up in a newspaper or magazine or perhaps on television.”
“Why? Are you famous?” the young man inquired. “’Cause I sure don’t know you.”
“In a way, yes—I’m a photojournalist.”
“What’s that?” another boy asked.
Quentin shook his head. It was a shame that these young men had no idea of what he did for a living because they were not exposed to anything outside their daily lives. Quentin resolved to do all he could to stop this corporate giant from railroading another low-income community.
“I take pictures and sell them to magazines and television stations and they publish them or put them on the air.”
“Wow, that’s kinda cool,” the first young man said. “How’s the Benjamins on something like that?”
A laugh echoed from deep within Quentin’s belly. “The Benjamins are quite good. But you have to work hard and learn your craft before you really start to get paid. Have any of you guys ever taken a photography class here at the center?”
“Photography?” The young man’s voice rose. “Naw, man, we ’bout playing ball.”
“Life isn’t all about basketball and having fun. You should try something new sometime and if you’re interested,” Quentin continued, “I might be persuaded to come and teach you the basics of photography.”
“You would?” The boys sounded shocked that he would go out of his way to help them.
“Yes, I would,” Quentin replied honestly, just as Mr. Webster had helped him and showed him how to work a camera.
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” a masculine voice said from behind him. Quentin turned around and found Malik grinning from ear to ear. “You boys are in severe need of a hobby.”
Malik walked toward them. “That’s a really generous offer, Quentin.” He took Quentin aside. “And I understand if you didn’t mean it. I know how busy you are. If you want to just take the pictures, that’s fine with me.”
Quentin shook his head and patted Malik’s shoulder. “It’s no imposition. I could stand to give back a whole lot more.”
Malik chuckled. “See?” He pointed a knowing finger at Quentin. “You have to work. You can’t just relax.”
“I’ve been doing nothing but taking it easy for a week now. And if I can open up some young men’s eyes to the joy of photography, then all the better.” He turned back around to the young men. “I’ll be back the week after next, after I get a few supplies and we can get started. And you,” he said to Malik, “I’ll see later.”
Malik mouthed the words thank you as Quentin headed out the swinging doors.
“Daddy, it’s so good to hear from you,” Avery said when he telephoned her later that week. “What’s going on?”
“I was hoping you would make up with your mother,” Clayton Roberts said from the other end of the line. “She’s been walking around sullen all week and still wants your help cleaning out the attic.”
“Daddy…”
“You know how your mother can get,” her father said.
“You mean critical and controlling?” Avery asked bitterly.
“No, I mean overprotective. You know she only wants what’s best for you.”
Why did her father always take her mother’s side?
“She has a funny way of showing it.” Avery huffed. If she didn’t have anything nice to say, then maybe she shouldn’t say anything at all—but Avery didn’t dare say that to her father.
“Have you ever thought that maybe you’re being overly sensitive?”
Avery paused. Perhaps he had a point. Her mother did have a way of getting to her, and Avery let her. “All right, I will make amends, but only for you.” She was a daddy’s girl after all. He always seemed to understand her more than her mother. He never criticized. Instead, whenever she had a problem, he offered a shoulder or an ear and just listened. Unlike her mother, he never tried to control the outcome.
“Good, sweetheart. I’ll see you on Saturday then?”
“Sure, Daddy.”
Avery arrived on Saturday as promised and found the attic in complete disarray. Her mother had already gotten started and there were tons of boxes, trunks, paintings and various sculptures and artifacts from her mother and father’s travels during the years, and from the looks of it, her parents hadn’t gone through anything since she was a child, which made it over thirty years’ worth of junk.
“I’m glad to see you could make it,” her mother said coolly as Avery rolled up her sleeves and donned a scarf to protect her hair from the dust and spiders.
Avery ignored the dig. She was sure her mother thought she had completely overreacted last week. “Why don’t we tag everything you do want,” Avery suggested, “and we’ll throw away what you don’t want.”
“Sounds good to me,” her mother said.
Two hours later, they had made progress and had managed to clear a path out to the hallway, but only because Louisa had assisted after finishing her chores.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready for lunch,” Louisa spoke up.
“Lunch would be great, Louisa. Can you whip us up some sandwiches?” her mother asked.
“Already done. I premade the sandwiches, and the soup just needs to be heated up,” Louisa repli
ed. “I’ll go warm it up now.”
While they waited, Avery and her mother continued cleaning until Avery stumbled upon a chest that had been hidden by some old carpeting. That was when all hell broke loose.
“I wonder what’s inside,” Avery said.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than her mother yelled, “Don’t open that trunk!”
“Why? It’s just an old trunk,” Avery replied. She was opening the lid when her mother nearly leaped across the room and shut it. And to make matters worse, she sat on the lid.
“Mother! What’s gotten into you?” Avery looked up questioningly at her mother, who looked as white as a ghost. She didn’t understand what the big deal was. “Is there something in that chest I’m not supposed to see?”
“Of course not,” her mother laughed nervously.
“Then why won’t you move?” Avery asked.
“If you must know,” her mother said, “there are some old love letters from your father in that trunk and I’d like them to remain private.”
“Is that all?” Avery smiled. “Why didn’t you just say so?” She rose to her feet.
Her mother didn’t have time to answer because Louisa called up to them that Clayton had returned from racquetball.
“C’mon, let’s go eat.” Her mother headed down the stairs, but Avery held back.
Her mother’s reaction to that trunk disturbed her. The knowledge that she could be hiding something caused her to rush over to it. Should she open Pandora’s box? Maybe what was inside was best left hidden.
Despite her reservations, Avery opened the lid. Inside were some newborn baby clothes and a swaddling blanket. Was this what she’d been brought home in? Avery’s eyes misted with tears. Why hadn’t her mother ever shown her these before? She continued her fact-finding mission and dug through the trunk until she found a leather portfolio.
Curious, Avery popped open the lock and looked inside. The contents appeared to be important legal documents. Avery was quickly scanning them for a clue of what her mother could be hiding when she saw the word Adoption in big letters across the front page of one of the papers. Avery was in shock as she continued to read the document that stated in plain English, that Mr. and Mrs. Clayton Roberts had adopted an infant baby girl born on November 3, 1974.
“Ohmigod!” Avery fell back in horror and tears streamed down her face. “No, no, this can’t be. This can’t be.” She shook her head. She was adopted! Her parents weren’t really her parents?
A million questions went through Avery’s mind as understanding dawned on her. Holding the paper in her hand, she realized that this was why her mother didn’t want her to open that trunk. She didn’t want the truth to come out, which was that they’d been lying to her from the day she was born. What Avery didn’t understand was why hadn’t they told her? It wasn’t as if she wasn’t old enough to learn the truth. Why had they kept this from her? And if she wasn’t Avery Roberts, who was she? Who were her real parents?
Avery wept aloud, rocking back and forth, and didn’t hear the attic floor creak or see her parents walk in.
“Oh, Avery.” Her mother fell to the floor and pulled a distraught Avery into her arms. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry….” Her mother cried, holding Avery close to her heart.
“So, it’s true, then?” Avery asked as she held on to her mother for dear life. “I’m adopted?”
Silence ensued, fracturing whatever thread of hope Avery had had that the document wasn’t real.
Her mother nodded. “Yes, but we never wanted you to find out this way. We wanted to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?” Avery choked out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her father kneeled down beside her. “I don’t know, baby girl. I suppose we were just selfish and wanted you all to ourselves. Ever since the day you were born, you’ve been the light of our lives.”
“My whole life has been a lie.”
“That’s not true.” Her mother shook her head.
Avery flung herself out of her mother’s arms. Her father tried to help her from the floor, but Avery refused his help and rose on her own. “How can you say that? Everything has changed. I don’t even know who I am.”
“You are our daughter, Avery Roberts.” Her mother’s voice rose vehemently. “Nothing has changed.”
“How can you say that?” Avery asked, nearly hysterical. “Everything has changed! You lied to me. You should have told me long ago that I was adopted. My God, I’ve always wondered why people said I looked nothing like the two of you. Why I always felt out of place, like a square peg in a round hole.”
When her parents stared at one another without answering, Avery yelled at them. “Where does a black girl with green eyes who looks almost white come from? Where do I come from?”
Avery was upset because her father was doing his stoic routine while her mother hung her head low and remained silent. “Where do I come from? Answer me!” A hot tear trickled down her cheek.
“What do you want to know?” her father asked.
“I want to know about my biological mother,” Avery said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Your birth mother was very young and she wasn’t ready to be a parent,” her father replied.
Avery nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “That explains her reasons for giving me up. What were yours for adopting?”
When her mother finally spoke she stammered. “I’ll—I’ll answer that.” She rose to her feet. “Your father and I wanted a newborn. We were evaluated and screened like any other adoptive parents.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Avery said.
“Avery, does it really matter?” her father asked. He knew this was a touchy subject with Veronica and he didn’t want his wife or his daughter to suffer anymore.
“Yes, it does,” Avery said adamantly.
Her mother walked over to the small window overlooking the tree-lined street and stared listlessly out of it. Neither of her parents spoke for several long, excruciating minutes.
When her mother turned around, her cheeks were stained with tears. It hurt Avery to see her mother in pain, but she would not be dissuaded. She wanted the whole truth and nothing but. She deserved that much.
“We adopted you because I couldn’t have any children,” her mother said. “I couldn’t give your father a child and despite my shortcomings, he stayed with me. He vowed we’d have a family someday and we did. We had you.”
“Oh, Veronica.” Her father came toward her mother and pulled her into his arms. She collapsed under the emotional strain, but he didn’t let go, he just held on tighter.
Avery did feel a pang of guilt. It couldn’t be easy for her mother to admit that she wasn’t perfect, that she was flawed like the rest of the human race. “I know this is difficult for you, but imagine what this is like for me,” Avery said. “I need answers.”
“Honey, now is not the right time,” her father said over his shoulder. “Can’t you see your mother is upset?”
Turning blindly, Avery dropped the adoption papers and stumbled down the stairs. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Knowing that her parents, the people she’d confided in, loved and trusted the most, had betrayed her was beyond unbearable.
Seeing Avery upset, Louisa instinctively called out to her, but Avery shook her head, grabbed her jacket off the coatrack and rushed out the door.
Somehow she managed to hail a cab and once inside she fell against the back seat. Her whole world was falling apart. Avery covered her mouth with her hand and smothered the grief that threatened to spill out. How could this be happening?
A short while later as she rode the elevator up to her apartment on Central Park West, the future looked bleak. Her mind was spinning and she had no idea how she was supposed to go on after learning her life was built on a lie. Once she was inside her apartment, she felt sick to her stomach and barely made it to the bathroom before purging her breakfast. Afterward, she fell down to the
floor and let out a gut-wrenching sob.
Avery’s emotions raged over the weekend as she reeled from the knowledge that she’d been adopted. She tried losing her sorrows on the piano by playing sad music, and when that didn’t work she did the one thing that usually made her feel better and that was making pottery. Once she felt the moist lumps of clay in her hands as she sat over the potter’s wheel, with her foot on the treadle, Avery felt somewhat calm. But then, out of nowhere she had a bout of hysteria that had her so debilitated she had to leave the wheel. Hours later, she’d accomplished nothing. Somehow she managed to put one foot in front of the other and make it to work on Monday. She masked her inner turmoil to her coworkers and boss even though she was dying inside.
The only thing she was sure of after she’d cried her eyes out was that she had to find her biological mother. Even if the woman didn’t want to have anything to do with her, she had to find out where she came from, or at least that was what she told herself. But Avery secretly hoped that her biological mother would want to have a relationship with her. She knew that it would hurt her parents to hear she was launching a search, but this was something she had to. If she didn’t, she would always wonder and never be free.
The problem was that when she called the New York State Department of Health to obtain an original copy of her birth certificate, she discovered that all adoption records were sealed. They suggested she register with reunion agencies or petition the court to open her adoption file. All of which could take a considerable amount of time and Avery had to have answers now. What she needed was to find an honest, reliable private investigator to research her past. Luckily, one of her sorors, Julia Peoples, a fellow alpha kappa alpha from NYU, was a criminal attorney. Avery was sure Julia used investigators in her line of work and if she didn’t, she might know where to look.
After picking up the phone, Avery nervously dialed Julia’s number; thankfully she picked up on the second ring. “Julia, how are you, darling? It’s Avery.”
“Avery, long time no hear,” Julia said. “How are you?”
Playing for Keeps Page 4