Doin' Me

by Wanda B. Campbell

  He hadn’t interacted with his wayward tenant in three months, outside of the monthly rental checks he picked up from his post office box. He knew she was still employed from conversations with Paige, but that was all he knew. He’d shared his predicament with his father. “Move on. If you can’t be with the woman you love, then find a woman who loves you. She’ll treat you right and make a happy home,” was what his father had told him. After the last rejection, that was exactly what he’d done. Tyson had moved on and had stopped praying for a relationship with Reyna. He hadn’t meant to start dating; it had just happened that way, thanks to the tenacious Beverly Stokes.

  Bonding with his father meant spending more time at his parents’ home. Every Saturday, instead of a bland phone call, Tyson enjoyed brunch on the deck of his parents’ home overlooking the San Pablo Bay. True to form, every Saturday, his mother had sung Mylan’s praises, until finally orchestrating a “chance” meeting.

  After a visual inspection, Tyson’s first thought was to thank his mother for poking her nose into his personal life. Mylan’s beauty was the perfect mix of her African American and Korean heritage. She complimented him on all points, from a keen intellect to a love of art. Most importantly, Mylan was a devoted Christ follower. Her only negative characteristics were the long hours she worked at the nonprofit organization she’d founded and an obsession with her smartphone. Ironically, Tyson categorized himself as a workaholic, yet he disliked the trait in Mylan. If and when he decided to make them an official couple, the constant texting and Facebook and Twitter updates would have to end. They had been out on a few dates and had engaged in numerous phone conversations. He relished the companionship and her physical beauty but had yet to develop feelings for Mylan equal to what he’d once felt for Reyna.

  A rare emotion caused him to pace the waiting room. An excitement he hadn’t felt in years bubbled in his belly. A few feet away his godson was being born. A life that he would have total responsibility for should Kevin and Marlissa become incapacitated. The thought that this could be the closest he’d come to actual fatherhood dulled the moment. Images of what could have been with the life he and Paige had created resurfaced. He’d long ago admitted the abortion was a mistake, but the remorse remained.

  Pastor Rosalie Jennings and Reyna’s mother, Jewel, entered the waiting room before Tyson could sulk over the worst decision he’d ever made.

  “Where’s Kevin?” Pastor Rosalie Jennings had a habit of asking him questions she already knew the answers to.

  Tyson wasn’t in the mood for his former pastor’s games. “Where else would he be but in the delivery room with his wife?”

  “How is Kevin holding up? Is the baby all right?” Pastor Jennings quizzed.

  The fact that Pastor Rosalie Jennings didn’t express concern for Marlissa didn’t come as a surprise, but Tyson’s blunt answer did. “Why don’t you go and see for yourself how your son and your daughter-in-law are doing?”

  Tyson’s jaw dropped when Pastor Rosalie Jennings’s shoulders slumped and she retreated to a seat, looking like a lost child. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen her look so defeated. Even when Kevin moved his membership from her church, she had had more spunk. Although she was to blame, the estranged relationship between her and Kevin had taken its toll on her.

  “No,” she responded, looking around the waiting room, confused. “I’ll just wait in here.”

  Uncertain if the hopelessness act was genuine or manipulative, Tyson readily agreed. “Suit yourself,” he said, then went back to pacing, only this time he added a prayer for peace. If Pastor Rosalie Jennings caused Marlissa an ounce of distress, the prayer warriors would lay hands on her.

  “It’s time to push!” Mother Scott rushed into the waiting room, shaking the tambourine. “Come on, Ty . . .” Her words fell short when Pastor Rosalie Jennings stood up next to Tyson. She cleared her throat. “Hello, Rosalie.”

  Pastor Rosalie Jennings returned the greeting in the same dry tone it had been offered.

  Mother Scott turned back to Tyson. “Are you coming or not?”

  He wanted to witness the actual birth but doubted he could handle it. The brightness in Pastor Rosalie Jennings’s eyes helped him make up his mind. “Pastor Jennings, why don’t you go?”

  Pastor Rosalie Jennings sucked her breath in and placed her right hand over her heart. “Oh my, do you think I should? I mean, it is my grandchild. If anyone has a right to be in there, it’s me.” She gripped Tyson’s arm. “But do you really think I should go?”

  Some things never change, Tyson thought. The Holy Spirit prevented him from voicing his opinion of Pastor Rosalie Jennings’s shenanigans.

  “Look, we ain’t got time for all this drama, Rosalie.” Mother Scott pried her hand from Tyson’s arm. “You know you want to be in the delivery room—that’s why you’re here. We all know you don’t like Marlissa. We ain’t too fond of you, either, but we’ll tolerate you for Kevin’s sake. It ain’t his fault he drew the shortest stick and got you for a mama.” She pulled the pastor toward the door. “Come on. We’re bringing in a prayer warrior. Maybe with all that anointing in there, you’ll finally get delivered of your issues. Hurry up so you can get washed up.”

  Thunderous laughter poured from Tyson as soon as his former pastor cleared the door. “I love that pushy old woman,” he said between chuckles.

  “Uh-huh!” Jewel cleared her throat.

  He quickly sobered. With Pastor Jennings’s dramatic performance taking center stage, he’d forgotten Jewel was there.

  “Sorry, Ms. Mills. No disrespect intended.”

  Jewel’s lips twisted, then relaxed. “I know, and that was funny, but don’t tell Rosalie I said that.”

  Tyson observed Jewel carefully. A smile rested on her cinnamon face, but worry lines framed her ebony eyes. He hadn’t seen her since Reyna moved into his town house. She appeared to have lost about twenty pounds. Tyson wondered if she had an illness.

  “How have you been, Ms. Mills?” he asked, hoping to gain some insight into why she looked so tired.

  “I’m good. How is Reyna? Have you seen her? Is she still working? Does she have enough food?” The questions gushed out like a geyser. “She won’t return my calls, and I’m worried about her.” She began pacing back and forth. “That girl thinks she knows what she’s doing, but she doesn’t. She hates me, thinks I’m the reason her father abandoned her. She has no idea the sacrifices I’ve made for her.” She stopped pacing and plopped into a chair. Tears rolled down her cheeks and gathered beneath her chin.

  Her agony sapped his strength. He sat beside her and rode out the emotional wave. Out of habit he reached for a handkerchief, intending to offer it to her, and then he remembered he wasn’t wearing a suit.

  “I haven’t been the best mother. I haven’t always given her the attention she needs, but I do love my daughter. I’m scared of her resentment of me. She’s going to end up in something she can’t get out of, just like I did. There are so many things I need to tell her.”

  He groaned as he listened to Jewel’s sobs. He didn’t have a clue how to comfort her. She acted like Reyna had died and not just moved out on her own. He didn’t know much about the Millses’ family history, but Jewel’s words and disposition indicated the pain ran deep.

  He patted her hand. “Ms. Mills, stop worrying so much about Reyna. She’s much stronger than you think. From what I’ve heard, she’s performing well at the real estate office, and she pays the rent on time. She’s doing well on her own,” he said, conveniently leaving out that he’d seen her at Skates, where she was practically sitting in some man’s lap.

  Tyson hoped his words reassured her; he wanted the conversation to end. His godson’s pending birth deserved his full attention. Besides, Reyna had made it crystal clear she didn’t want him in her business.

  “I hope you’re right, but I don’t feel good about it,” Jewel said between sniffles. “She won’t even give me her address.” She looked up at Tys
on with glossy eyes. “If I had her address, I’d feel better.”

  Unbelievable, he thought. Tyson now understood how Jewel and Pastor Rosalie Jennings had managed a thirty-year friendship. They could teach a course in manipulation.

  “Ms. Mills,” he stated firmly so she wouldn’t take his words lightly, “I will not give you Reyna’s address. Neither will I deliver a message to her. I will not drive you over there. I will not be placed in the middle of your and Reyna’s feud.”

  Tyson restrained a chuckle when Jewel’s mouth opened but no words followed. Her bewildered expression communicated that she hadn’t expected a direct answer. Finally, she closed her mouth and relaxed back in the chair.

  Tyson leaned back and rested his right foot on his left knee. He intertwined his fingers, but before he could prop them above his head, Mother Scott’s tambourine, combined with a chorus of “Praise the Lord Everybody,” echoed down the hallway.

  Tyson welcomed the joy that enveloped him, and embraced the moment. Uncharacteristically, he stood and gave public thanks to God, then trotted off to meet his godson.

  Chapter 19

  Reyna slammed her desk drawer closed, then proceeded to shut down her computer. Business at the real estate office was usually slow the last Friday of the month. Today was no exception. The calm before the storm, she called it. Monday morning her desk would be cluttered with clients’ rental payments and her voice mail would be full of messages from clients with excuses for why their rent would be late. She’d heard it all, from “I lost my job” to “My job messed up my check.” Her favorite excuse was “The dog ate my last check.”

  The phone rang, but she let the call go to voice mail, figuring it was the parade of excuses getting off to an early start. She concentrated on her number one priority: getting home early to fix a surprise dinner for Peyton to commemorate one month of living together.

  Cohabitating with Peyton left much to be desired, but being determined to make it work, Reyna accentuated the positive. His presence had given her the security she needed after the break-in. He contributed to the food and utility bills, and she hoped he’d cover the upcoming rent payment so she could put some money away to replace the items stolen during the burglary. He still didn’t have his own transportation. He did, however, have what appeared to be a phobia to water. Peyton bathed on average twice a week, but only after Reyna stated his natural scent offended her.

  Only after Peyton moved in with only two suitcases did she realize he didn’t own any possessions. “The furnishings at your place are much nicer than mine,” he’d said when she asked about the furniture he’d left in his old apartment. She had never seen the furniture, or the apartment, for that matter, but doubted anything would be nicer than Tyson’s custom pieces. She accepted his explanation without question.

  Although Reyna didn’t have much say in the matter of transportation, since Peyton didn’t have a car, the two quickly fell into a daily routine. Peyton would take her to work and then would drive into the city to meet clients. On most days, he’d return in time to pick Reyna up at work. She now owned a monthly bus pass for the days Peyton’s meetings went over, which was often. Their physical activity had decreased slightly, thanks mainly to Peyton’s special evening clients. Reyna didn’t miss it at all. Ironically, having Peyton for a companion didn’t quench her desire for companionship. Something was missing, and tonight she hoped to discover what it was.

  “You must have big plans for this weekend,” Paige said from the entranceway just as Reyna reached for her blazer. “I assume this is so since you’re taking the afternoon off.”

  Explaining that her weekend didn’t promise anything special wasn’t something Reyna wanted to do with her boss. The rough edges had been smoothed over since Reyna had remained punctual, but they weren’t friends. “Thanks. We’re driving up to Mendocino for the weekend,” she lied. Her car probably couldn’t make the three-hour drive with all the miles Peyton had clocked on it. Nowadays the three-thousand-mile /three-month oil change rolled around in half the normal time.

  “It’s beautiful up there. Enjoy.” Paige turned and left.

  Reyna stared at her retreating back. That could be me, she thought as envy and bitterness surged through her. Reyna wanted the authority and power Paige represented. “One day I’ll have it all,” she whispered, then glanced at her watch. She had four minutes to make it to the bus stop if she wanted to stay on schedule for the romantic dinner celebration.

  Ninety-minutes later, Reyna stumbled into the subdivision, trying to balance her purse, grocery bags, and a bottle of wine while walking in four-inch heels. She nearly lost her balance when she turned the corner leading to her unit and saw her car parked in the driveway. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Peyton should be at work.

  She steadied herself and walked purposefully to the front door. With each forward step, she wanted to run ten steps in the opposite direction, but she had to confront Peyton. By the time she sat the bags and the wine bottle down on the porch, she’d convinced herself that Peyton had come home early to plan a surprise of his own.

  “Hello, Reyna,” the neighbor adjacent to her called from his rosebushes before she inserted the key into the lock. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  She imitated happiness, which she didn’t feel. “It’s a great day,” she answered with a smile. She turned back toward the door.

  “Did Peyton get that big flat-screen TV fixed yet?”

  The keys fell to the ground. She wasn’t aware Peyton and her neighbor were on a first-name basis.

  “I recommended my brother’s shop. He does great work, but he said Peyton never showed up.”

  She eyed the neighbor suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

  The neighbor stood upright and adjusted his hat to shield his face from the sun. “I saw him loading the TV into your trunk a while back. He told me the picture appeared distorted. I told him about my brother’s shop. My brother would have fixed it for a little of nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But like I said, Peyton never showed up.”

  “Are you sure you have the right person? This is a big subdivision, and it’s easy to get people mixed up,” Reyna observed, hoping the man was mistaken.

  His eyebrows narrowed, like he’d been insulted. “You’re right. It is a big subdivision, but only one blue-eyed white guy with a ponytail lives next door to me.” His face softened. “If you need anything, let me know. Have a good day.”

  Reyna bent over to retrieve the keys and then gripped her stomach to combat the sudden wave of nausea. The neighbor’s revelations couldn’t be right. She refused to believe Peyton had removed the TV without her permission and then had allowed her to think it had been stolen. Peyton was her man, and she trusted him. The old man is mistaken, she decided and proceeded to unlock the door. Three steps inside the foyer Reyna learned that vision and memory didn’t always dim with age.

  Peyton wasn’t at work, and he wasn’t planning a celebration for them, either. However, the neat white lines on the coffee table provided a surprise she doubted she’d ever forget.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a voice so low, Reyna wondered if she’d only thought the words.

  Peyton’s deep blue eyes, shielded by a glossy haze, peered up at her for only a second. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  In stunned silence she watched him use what resembled a glass straw to transport the white substance into his nose with precision. This wasn’t his first time. Now she knew what was in that tan pouch he carried everywhere.

  “Get out!” she sneered. “Pack your bags and get . . . out of my house.”

  Hoarse laughter poured from Peyton for so long, Reyna thought he’d choke. That would save her the trouble of killing him for bringing drugs into her home.

  “I mean it, you lying thief.” She pointed toward the door. “Get out of my house. I’m not playing,” she added when he continued laughing.

  “Shut up and sit your broke behind down
, before I knock you down. You’re messing up my high. This isn’t your house, remember? The only thing you own is that raggedy car parked outside, which, by the way, needs a tune-up. You don’t even own your body. I own that. But lately, even that hasn’t been good. I’m only with your sorry butt because I’m between jobs right now. “

  “I thought you worked in the bank?”

  His laughter boomed louder. “Are you really that stupid? What banker only works three hours a day? I haven’t worked as a banker since I moved here from Oregon.”

  She was afraid to ask but needed to know what he’d been doing with her car every day. “What do you do all day?”

  “Mind my business, which is what you need to do.”

  “Why did you steal from me?”

  The booming laughter changed to chuckles, but his eyes remained glossy and his cheeks flaming red. “Do you really want to know?”

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around her waist, bracing for the answer.

  “You got it all wrong. I didn’t steal anything from you. You”—he pointed at her—“don’t own anything. You’re just a wannabe and you’re not too smart and you’re too easy. The owner of this place won’t miss the few items I took. I did him a favor. I gave Mr. Big Shot a tax write-off.”

  Reyna stared at him, wondering how he could laugh while saying those horrible words. Cocaine must work like a truth serum for him. She had learned more about him in the past five minutes than she’d learned the entire time they’d been together. She’d been playing house with a stranger. Every aspect of the life she’d manufactured crumbled, and so did her heart. Peyton didn’t care about her. In the process of doin’ herself, she’d got done.

  “Leave now!” When he didn’t move, Reyna grabbed the cordless phone. “I’m calling the police.”

  “You’re not calling anybody!” He wasn’t laughing anymore.

  The phone tumbled from her hand as she fell to the floor, reeling from Peyton’s backhand slap across the face and from being called a female dog for the first time. She tried to brace herself against the ottoman, but Peyton yanked her head back and grabbed her by the throat.