The Sapphire Pendant

by Dara Girard

  Teresa shut her eyes, her brows furrowed in pain. “I saw a man hitting a child. I didn’t see faces, but I know it was little boy and he was terrified.”

  “It was Syrah,” Jessie said.

  “Syrah is a girl.”

  “She can look like a boy sometimes.”

  Teresa shook her head. “It wasn’t her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do! I know that Kenneth would never hurt a child and it’s bad form to accuse him of such a thing. I don’t believe it.”

  “Can you believe that the upstanding Mr. Preston was capable of what he did to Kenneth?” Jessie asked.

  “I can’t imagine anyone hurting a child,” Teresa said.

  Jessie bit her lip. “Well, people do and no amount of denial will change that. Something terrible was going on in the Preston household and none of us suspected it. We cannot ignore the facts we have now. I think we should keep Syrah with us for a few days while I figure something out.”

  Michelle rested her chin in her hand. “I still think you’re jumping to conclusions. Why haven’t you considered Eddie?”

  Jessie leaned against the desk. “Because why would Kenneth send her back to the very man who abuses her?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know. Perhaps he’s never seen the bruises.”

  She suddenly felt ill. Michelle was probably right. Kenneth had limited time with Syrah and she never wore halter tops or shorts nothing to reveal the scars…just like her Uncle. He didn’t know and she would have to be the one to tell him. “Oh, no.”

  “First bring Syrah to the house,” Teresa said, sensing Jessie’s conflicting thoughts. “Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

  Jessie waited until Kenneth left for work. She told Syrah they were going to have a sleepover at her house and Syrah convinced her to take Dion along. The doorbell rang while Jessie dumped their bags in the foyer. She opened the door and stared at the visitor: Mrs. Preston. She was a handsome woman. Her strong, sturdy frame gave her peach summer dress a sophisticated air, while her too small pointed high-heels hinted at her vanity. She had a face that had been beautiful in youth—round mink eyes with a gumdrop nose—but time had turned it harsh and lofty. A cloud of light brown curls surrounded her face.

  “I had to see for myself,” she said in a rough, yet cultured tone. She lifted Jessie’s hand and studied the ring. “So it’s true. He got himself a little something to settle down with.” She released Jessie’s hand and continued her study. “You’re dark, but you’ll do. I’m surprised he’s marrying a’tal. He won’t make good a husband.”

  Jessie felt her skin grow cold, thinking of the torture Mr. Preston had put his sons through. Wondering how this woman could have let it happen. It was at that moment that she understood the mask’s creator.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “No.” She spit out the word determined not to reveal what she knew.

  “Good.” Mrs. Preston nodded, satisfied. “This one doesn’t need children.”

  Jessie took a step back from the scrutinizing gaze. “Would you like to come in?”

  She sniffed. “And see all his trophies about the house like him a big, big man?” She shook her head. “I’d rather pray for his soul. I’ll pray for yours too.” She offered Jessie one last glance then turned and headed to her car.

  Jessie watched her go. She’d never liked Mrs. Preston’s arrogant ways, but she knew her words had truth.

  Syrah came around the corner.

  She shut the door. “You just missed your grandmother.”

  Syrah shrugged nonchalant. “I know.”

  She didn’t find the girl’s indifference alarming—Mrs. Preston was far from the type of grandmother one could love. “Come. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “At last we can get this garage cleared up,” Teresa said, trying to be happy about the new situation.

  “Give me a couple of hours and you’ll get the surprise of your life,” Jessie said, glad to be put to work.

  “Syrah and I are in the kitchen if you need us.”

  Jessie looked down at Dion. He stared up at her with his friendly, crossed-eyed gaze. His tongue hung out as though he were smiling. “So, Dion, I guess it’s you and me.”

  The dog wagged his tail, shaking his entire back end.

  Jessie hummed to herself as she worked her mind clear as she lifted and carried things. Major cleaning always helped calm her. Michelle would be pleasantly surprised when she got home. She had been complaining about the garage for months. Jessie reached for a pair of shears on top of an overcrowded shelf. Suddenly, the shelf collapsed. Everything toppled to the ground.

  Stunned, she stood still for a moment then a searing pain hit her. It felt like a javelin shot through her ankle. She dropped to the ground as blood rushed like a broken faucet from her wound. Her gaze fell on the ceramic pot that had struck her. It now lay in pieces near her feet. The amount of blood scared her and the world grew hazy. She called out her sister’s name.

  Kenneth heard the scream as he drove up to the garage. It ripped through his ears like nails against a chalkboard. He leaped out of the car as Dion came running towards him, barking with blood on his paws. He rushed to the garage, his heart pounding as images of Syrah injured flashed through his mind. He halted like a unplugged robot when he found Jessie on the cement ground in a pool of blood. He fell to his knees beside her. Teresa and Syrah followed close behind him.

  “Aunt Jessie!”

  Teresa held Syrah from rushing to her. “My God, what happened?” she cried.

  “Where are you hurt?” Kenneth asked, keeping his voice neutral so that Jessie wouldn’t panic, although his insides were twisting into knots.

  “My ankle,” she said in a faint voice.

  Teresa grabbed a hose, turned it on low pressure and began to clean the wound, but Jessie arched her back in pain, begging her to stop.

  Kenneth surveyed the garage. “Do you have a towel or something to wrap her foot?”

  “Only this?” Teresa held up a dirty towel then tossed it down. She grabbed Syrah’s hand. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”

  He swore. “That’ll take too long.” He took a deep breath as if preparing to jump into a freezing lake then tore his shirt off and wrapped it around her ankle. The blood quickly seeped through. He ripped off his undershirt, ignoring the startled gasp behind him. He wrapped it even tighter around the ankle, hoping to stop the bleeding.

  Jessie tried to push his hand away. “You’re hurting me!”

  “I know, Jas, but I have to do this.”

  She pounded his back; tears trailed down her face. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”

  “Bear with me, Jas. Relax, breathe deep and bear with me.”

  Jessie fell back and watched as the ceiling spun round and round.

  The bleeding eventually stopped and Kenneth opened the bandage to see the wound. He sighed in relief. “The wound is small, but you’ll probably need stitches.”

  He picked her up and headed for his car. Teresa retrieved Jessie’s handbag and a jacket.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Kenneth assured her, as he buckled Jessie in the backseat.

  Teresa handed him a small travel pillow and throw blanket. “I know,” she said with serious eyes. “I trust you.”

  Kenneth and Jessie made an interesting pair entering the emergency room: Kenneth shirtless with bloody jeans and Jessie dangling like a rag doll in his arms with bloody shirts tied around her ankle. It was more the appearance than the actual injury that had them serviced quickly, though they had to suffer through the routine questions. Kenneth was aware of how people stared at him. He felt exposed—naked—as curious eyes tried to understand the ugly marks that marred his body. He shifted uneasily in his chair as they sat in the waiting room, with Jessie’s foot elevated on a hard plastic chair.

  “What happened to you, son?” an older man with bright silver red hair asked concern in his green eyes.

 
; Kenneth cleared his throat. “Uh, a fight.”

  “Over a woman, I bet.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “They aren’t worth it. They get in your blood and torment you. Nasty creatures these women can be sometimes. When I was—”

  A young woman came and took his arm. “Come on, Dad. They said we can see Mom now.”

  The man patted Kenneth on the shoulder. “You take care of yourself, son. Remember what I said.”

  “Thanks.” He ran a nervous hand over his chest, wishing he had something with which to cover himself. He brushed his chin then rubbed his hands together, trying to ease the tension that was building inside him. He hated hospitals. He hated the stale smell in the air, the hushed sound of rubber shoes against the tile floor, the crackling of a white coat as a doctor walked by.

  He had been in so many, sitting in a hard chair holding on to various broken limbs while his mother tried to explain it away to hospital staff as a childhood antic. He rubbed his hands together until his palms began to burn. He hated the feeling of powerlessness. Cosmic irony was definitely afoot. Some celestial god was mocking him, showing him that for all his brilliance he was only a man full of weaknesses and that they knew what they were.

  Jessie pinched him. “Breathe, Kenneth.”

  He hadn’t realized he’d stopped. He took a deep breath that caused his entire body to shake.

  “You can go outside if you wish.”

  He felt embarrassed that his discomfort was so obvious. “I’m not leaving you here...unless you want me to go.”

  “No, I’m glad you’re here.” She suddenly said, “Hold me.”

  “What?”

  Her voice grew urgent. “Hold me.”

  He pulled her onto his lap and held her close.

  “What are you two doing here?” Mrs. Ashford asked.

  Kenneth held her tighter. “She had an accident.”

  “Oh dear—”

  “I’m sorry,” Jessie said in a small voice. “I don’t feel like talking.”

  “Of course you don’t dear. I’ll stop by your house later to see how you are.” She walked away.

  He watched her go then said in a low voice, “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I won’t have you exposed because of me.”

  He didn’t understand what she meant by that, but he didn’t understand her. She’d left with Syrah without telling him, yet used her body to cover his bruises. Why? He took her hand, surprised at how cold and clammy it felt. He watched as her eyes began to droop. “Jasmine.” He nudged her, trying to keep her awake. “Stay with me.”

  Her eyes continued to close.

  “You know Montey was right. You are a walking accident.”

  She sent him a clear, hard glare before a nurse called them into a room. Once inside the examination room, one of the nurses handed Kenneth a large towel to give him warmth.

  The doctor gave Jessie a tetanus shot, stitched her up, handed her pain medication and then sent her home.

  Kenneth didn’t speak on the drive back.

  She tugged on the green scrub top the hospital had given him. “Ever thought of being a doctor? You’d never want for patients.”

  “Why did you leave without telling me?”

  She chewed her lower lip. “I wasn’t thinking. I thought Syrah and I could have a sleepover with my sisters.”

  “For how long?”

  “It wasn’t going to be long. It was just an impulsive idea.” Jessie tried to smile. “Think of it. You get your house back for a few days—quiet and peaceful.”

  He fell silent then asked, “Are you in pain?”

  “Right now my foot is so numb, I forget it’s there.” She picked up the bottle of her pain pills and pretended to read it. “Have you spoken to Eddie?”

  “No, not yet.”

  She put her pills away.

  “You’ll need your rest. I’ll take Syrah home with me.”

  “She’s fine with me,” she said a little too quickly. “My sisters enjoy her.”

  “Jasmine—”

  She rested her head back and closed her eyes. “I’m tired. Can we talk later?”

  He reached out and stroked her arm then sighed. “Of course.”

  * * *

  “Come on, Jessie,” Teresa pleaded as the doorbell rang. “Give the guy a chance. He’s been here every day for a week.”

  “Tell him Syrah is with Denise,” Jessie said.

  “He came here to see you.”

  Jessie stared up at her from the couch. “I can’t see him.”

  “Before you were ready to charge him with abuse.”

  “I’d rather be angry with him than hurt him. I don’t want to tell him about his brother, but I can’t pretend I don’t know.”

  Teresa looked helpless. “I’m running out of excuses.”

  “You don’t need excuses, just one good reason.”

  “Personally, I’m sick of this juvenile behavior,” Michelle said as the doorbell rang for the fifth time. She headed for the door.

  “Mich, don’t!” Jessie ordered. It was too late, Michelle welcomed Kenneth inside. He entered the living room with an over stuffed picnic basket under his arm and a large yellow helium balloon with “Get Well” repeated in various languages.

  He scanned her critically and beamed with approval. “Well, it’s nice to see you’re well enough to receive me.”

  “Actually, I’ve been well enough for a while, I just didn’t want—” Michelle cut off her sentence by yanking Jessie’s hair as she walked past.

  “Would you like anything?” Teresa asked.

  “No, thanks,” Kenneth said. “I’m fine.”

  The two sisters left the room.

  Jessie sat up to show him how healthy she was. “So, what did you bring me?” she asked.

  He sat down next to her. Jessie tried to ignore the inviting scent of his cologne or the comfort of being near him again.

  “It’s my own first aid kit.” He opened the box. “First, Preston’s famous ginger muffins with marmalade.” He put a handful of green oval shaped leaves in her lap. “And leaves.”

  “Leaves?”

  “I thought since you were shut in, I should bring nature to you. Smell them.”

  Jessie inhaled their fresh scent.

  “Then I brought glow-in-the-dark stars. I’ll put them up on your bedroom ceiling so at night you can have the same view I have. See here?” He pointed to a diagram. “They show you how to put it up properly so you can see constellations and everything.”

  “But there must be hundreds of tiny stars here,” Jessie protested.

  “I guess it will take me a while to put them up then, huh?” His gaze traveled her face and searched her eyes. “That’s okay, I don’t mind.”

  Her heart began to pound, silencing the warning bells in her mind. She didn’t remember leaning forward, brushing her lips with his.

  The phone rang.

  Jessie straightened. “I think I should get that.”

  Kenneth held her hand, staying her. “One of your sisters will get it.”

  She turned away, rubbing her forehead. “Kenneth, I—”

  “Don’t think.” He brushed his lips against her cheek then drew her close and held her with a tenderness that broke through all her defenses. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. She inhaled his musky cologne and reveled in his warmth.

  She took a deep breath, gathering strength. “Kenneth, I know how you got your bruises.”

  He stiffened.

  “And I’ve seen the same bruises on Syrah.”

  She felt his heart accelerate. “No, you couldn’t have,” he said.

  “I did. She was trying on a pair of pajamas in the closet and I saw them in the mirror.”

  “But that would mean—” He shook his head. “No, no. He wouldn’t.” He drew away from her, his eyes like hollow pools, but she knew there were emotions running deep. “He wouldn’t touch her. We promised each other. We made a vow we’d never.” He
shook his head again. “You’re mistaken Eddie—” He took a deep, steadying breath. “He drinks that’s all. I admit that’s a problem—”

  “Denial won’t change the truth. She can’t go back to him.” She grabbed his hand, sensing him withdrawing from her, feeling the wall he was building against her. “You’re not alone on this. We’ll think of something.”

  He rose. His face too composed, his body too relaxed. “I have to go,” he said in a neutral tone. “I’ll check on you later.”

  “Kenneth—” She reached for him, but he moved out of reach.

  “Wait!” Teresa cried, bursting into the room. She grabbed Kenneth’s arm and pushed him down. “Don’t go anywhere. Sit straight.” She adjusted his collar.

  “Have you finally snapped?” Jessie asked.

  “No.” Teresa tossed her a comb. “Fix your hair.”

  “She’s finally gone nutty,” Jessie muttered to no one in particular.

  Michelle came into the room carrying a tea tray with biscuits. “No she hasn’t,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “Our favorite aunt just called saying she’s stopping by.”

  “But we don’t have a favorite aunt. Why are you using the porcelain tea set? We only use that when...” Realization struck her. “Not Aunt Yvette! Please tell me it’s not her.”

  “I wish I could, but she feels that it is her duty to meet your fiancée.”

  Jessie began biting her nails. “This is a disaster. He can’t handle this right now.”

  Kenneth slapped her hand away from her mouth. “Aunt Yvette? That name sounds familiar.”

  “It should,” Michelle said. “She’s our mother’s sister—the most obnoxious, condescending British Caribbean immigrant to touch American soil. With mother gone she thinks it’s her duty to lead us on the right path.”

  “Kenneth doesn’t have to be here for this,” Jessie said, trying to pull him to his feet. “He’s hurting right now.”

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  “No, you’re not. Stop pretending.”

  “He’ll be a help,” Michelle argued, pushing him back down.

  “He’ll be in the way.”

  “It will take the pressure off of us.”

  “No it won’t. He’ll be riddled with questions.”

  “Don’t I have a say in this?” Kenneth asked, trying to free himself from this strange tug of war.