“Mom, I’m not Relly. I’m Rellz,” I said, somewhat angry.
“Relly, come on inside. I just made some cookies, fresh out of the oven, just the way you like them.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the house, then toward the kitchen.
“Relly, baby, grab two glasses out of the cabinet and pour some milk in them,” she said once we were standing in the kitchen.
I was freaking out right now because not only did she think I was Relly, but she also thought I was still a little boy. I didn’t know what to say or do as I grabbed two glasses to pour milk into.
“Baby, why you getting home so late, and where’s your brother? I hope you weren’t out there running those streets with that boy. I never understood why that boy is so hardheaded,” she said, wiping her hands on the apron that she was wearing.
“Mom, I don’t know where he is,” I said, feeling weird.
“Well, if he isn’t in here by the time dinner is done, he will not be eating tonight. Finish up, and go get your homework done before dinner is ready.”
I got up and walked toward the living room. On the wall behind the entertainment center she had hung just about every picture she had ever owned of Relly. It was kind of like a memorial to him. I didn’t notice any pictures of me anywhere. Did I feel some kind of way? Hell, yeah, I did. While growing up, I had never felt like she favored Relly over me. I guessed that was because I was always in the streets. She had Relly’s obituary in a frame on the wall. I felt a tear trying to escape as I remembered that I didn’t get to say good-bye, because I wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral.
I heard keys turning in the door, and I turned around to see an older man entering the living room. I had to do a double take because we shared the same features. When Relly and I were growing up, we didn’t have a father in the house, and even though we had never met our dad, I knew without a doubt this man had to be our father. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and then he walked over to me and pulled me into a bear hug that I wasn’t feeling. Again, I went back to being that thirteen-year-old who had yearned for his father for all his thirteen years, and this time a tear did fall, and I hugged him back. If Tasha could see me now, she sure would think I was a punk.
“Rellz, I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, pulling away and looking me over.
I gave him a perplexed look, not knowing how to respond.
“I know you have questions, but please have a seat. I’m going to start, and if you still have questions when I’m done, feel free to ask,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. I just walked over to the couch and took a seat. He took a seat across from me.
“Rellz, when I met your mother, she was at the club with a few of her friends. I was the DJ for some uptown dude who was celebrating his birthday. Your mother flirted with me the entire night. At the end of my set, I was packing up my equipment when she approached me and asked if I wanted to hang out at this after-hours spot and get something to eat. It was already late, so I told her to take my number and we could hook up at another time. She wasn’t happy that I had said no, but she took the number.” He paused for a moment and stared at me, as if trying to gauge my reaction to what he was saying.
He went on. “We hooked up a few days later. She was feeling me, and I was feeling her, but I wasn’t looking for no relationship. I was just looking to have a little fun, so we messed around on and off for about a month and then lost touch with each other, for whatever reason. A few months go by, and I get a call from your mother, yelling into the phone about how I’m a liar. Somehow she had found out that I was thirty-eight and not twenty-eight, like I had told her, and she also knew that I was married. How she found out, to this day, I still don’t know, but she said the only reason she was calling was that she was pregnant with twins, and I was the father.
“She kept in contact each time she went to a prenatal appointment. I didn’t agree with how she was handling me with the pregnancy, but being as I was married, there wasn’t too much I could do. She wanted me to leave my wife, but at that time I just wasn’t willing to. So about a month before she was to deliver, she went into labor, which was normal with twins. She couldn’t reach me, so one of her ratchet friends called my home. To this day, I have no idea how she got my home number. Anyway, her friend told my wife that my sons were being born, and I needed to get to the downstate hospital.
“So when I got the voice mail on my cell phone that Miriam was in labor, I rushed to the hospital, not knowing my wife had got the same message. When I walked into the hospital, all hell broke loose. My wife tried to fight your mother, who was sitting in a wheelchair and couldn’t defend herself, so her friend started fighting my wife. They were rolling on the floor, throwing punches. I mean no holds barred. Security and I tried to break them up, because clearly someone was going to be arrested if I didn’t get my wife out of there. I pulled her up off the floor, and she started swinging on me. I had to put her in a bear hug and carry her out of the hospital, kicking and screaming. Your mother screamed after me, shouting that if I missed the birth, not to bother coming back. My hands were tied. I had to decide between leaving with my wife or seeing my firstborn sons being brought into this world. Long story short, that day was the last day I saw your mom.
“After the delivery, she was pissed that I wasn’t there, and she didn’t put me on the birth certificate. I could have fought for shared custody, but my wife wasn’t trying to hear it, so I just let her be. I regretted that decision, especially when I got the call thirteen years later from my good friend, telling me that one of Miriam’s boys had been killed. I showed up at the funeral but was asked to leave by your mom. She basically embarrassed me, calling me a deadbeat and saying it was my fault he died because I wasn’t in his life the way I should have been. It really hurt me that she blamed me for not being there, when she made the decision for me because she refused to accept the fact that I was married.
“The day I was scheduled to fly back home, I got a call that you had run away from home, and Miriam had had a breakdown. I searched high and low, looking for you, and even the police were involved this time. I was going to do the right thing by finding my son. I had already lost one, and I refused to lose another one. After months of not locating you and losing my wife, who left me because she just didn’t understand, I went to the mental hospital where your mother was being treated. She had been there for six months, and the doctors really couldn’t explain what had happened to her. The closest thing that made sense was that she had developed dissociative identity disorder, a mental disorder on the dissociation spectrum that produces a lack of connection in a person’s thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity.
“In your mom’s case, it fluctuates. For months, she lives in the past. She goes back to believing that your brother is still alive and you both still live at home. Her brain goes back to when you two were little boys. Sometimes she momentarily comes back to the here and now, but not so much. I have been here taking care of her because no one else was willing to dedicate their time to this type of mental illness, and not even the doctors know when, or if, she will ever be normal again. She has a caretaker who cares for her when I’m at work. Miriam really is not to be left alone. Well, son, you have the reason I wasn’t in your life. Do you have any questions?”
I thought about all that he had said, and it explained my mother’s earlier behavior. To be honest, I didn’t want to be angry anymore, and after listening to what went down, I could have had ill feelings about him choosing his wife over his first and only children, but I didn’t. I reached over and told him that I forgave him, and that I would like to concentrate on the future. He was happy and put me in a bear hug again.
“Did you meet the caretaker, Ms. Staples?” he asked me.
“No, I haven’t seen anyone with her since I’ve been here, but I haven’t been here long,” I said.
“Ms. Staples,” he called out.
A woman emerged from th
e basement steps. She was wearing a nursing uniform but no shoes. Something about her rubbed me the wrong way, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Ms. Staples, this is me and Miriam’s son, Rellz. Rellz, this is your mom’s caretaker,” he said, introducing us.
“Hello, Mr. Rellz. It’s very nice to meet you,” she said with a slight accent.
“How are you, Ms. Staples?” I replied.
“I’m doing well.” She paused. “Terrell, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going to finish up the wash,” she said.
And that was when it hit me. She was sleeping with my father. Isn’t that a bitch?
“That will be all, Ms. Staples. Thanks,” he said.
I wanted to say, “Cut the Ms. Staples bullshit.” His ass knew he be calling her something else when they were alone.
He turned and looked at me. “I know you have to leave soon, but I would like us to keep in touch. I am hoping that maybe you can come back to visit your mom too.”
I really didn’t know how to feel right now. I definitely needed some time to think, because my mom didn’t even know who I was, and I also didn’t know how I felt about my dad sleeping with the help while my mom was sick and in the home. Was it my place to break his fucking face open for disrespecting my mother? Oh, wow. The thug in me had come full force at the thought of someone hurting my mother. I held my composure as we exchanged numbers, and then I walked back into the kitchen to say good-bye to my mother before leaving.
“Mom, I have to go. I will try to come back next week,” I told her.
“Boy, stop being silly. You know I don’t like you out on a school night,” she said.
Seeing her like this was really hurting me, and it made me wish I could stay, but I knew I couldn’t.
“Miriam, he’s going to run down to the corner store, and he will be right back,” my father lied.
“Okay, boy. Hurry back. It’s going to be dark soon,” she said, hugging me.
I hugged her back. Once she released me, I stood watching her from the doorway as she set the table for four. Then I turned and left the house.
Kane
I just got off the phone with Tasha. We discussed what we thought about the reading of our parents’ will, and we both were in agreement. Trust funds had been set up for all the grandchildren, and all four of their remaining children were getting an undisclosed monetary amount. It had been set up that way to avoid any conflict. Tron’s funds were going to be handled by a lawyer who was a friend of my father. My parents had wanted their home to remain in the family, but Tasha and I were on the fence about that because neither of us wanted to live in the house our parents were killed in. We also didn’t want to make any harsh decisions without Jason. It had been over a year now that he’d been missing. We decided to wait for about a month or so before deciding. I was cool with it because I already had enough on my plate.
Rena was at a high risk for miscarrying, so the doctor put her on bed rest until her next appointment, which wasn’t until next month. I had been missing work taking care of her and Raina. Rellz had suggested that Raina stay with him until Rena was feeling better, but I hadn’t asked her yet, because Raina was a big help to her mom and to me too. To be honest, I was thankful that Raina was here because sometimes her mom drove me crazy. Raina knew this, so she always did something to diffuse the situation. The little gestures always worked, as they took our minds off of arguing.
As I stood in the kitchen and cooked dinner, my thoughts drifted to my parents. I really missed them, and I had yet to grieve for them. Right after the funeral and burial, Rena’s pregnancy became high risk, so I had to shift my focus from my parents to Rena. The doctor had said that stress could be the cause of this, but it didn’t stop her ass from always stressing about things that didn’t matter, which was stressing me in the process, so we had been arguing more. Lately, I’d been trying to ignore some of her crankiness by chalking it up to her being pregnant.
Her mom would be coming to sit with her tomorrow because Tasha and I had to be at my parents’ house to decide which items we would donate to the Salvation Army and other charities that my parents had been involved in. I knew I had agreed to wait a month before making a decision about the house, but I’d already made up my mind to sell it. I just had to get Tasha to agree. I knew she was going to feel some type of way about going against my mom’s last will and testament, but I had to convince her that when Mom wrote the will, she had had no idea that she would be murdered in her own home. Mom would understand how hard it would be for any of us to live in the house.
Rena made small talk as she, Raina, and I sat and ate dinner. I knew she wanted to know what had happened at the reading of the will, but I wasn’t ready to share.
“Kane, can you please hand me the salt?” she asked.
“Babe, I keep asking you to lay off the salt. It’s not good for the baby.”
“And how many babies did you have? I’m going to use just a pinch.” She frowned.
To avoid an argument, I just handed her the saltshaker. She was always being difficult, when I was just looking out for her and the baby. She knew her pregnancy was considered high risk, so why would she not be willing to cooperate, if not for herself, then at least for the baby? I guessed she wouldn’t be Rena if she simply compromised.
After dinner the three of us gathered in the living room and watched Frozen at Raina’s request. At first, I wasn’t feeling watching no kiddie movie, but I quickly realized that I needed to be prepared for these very moments when my shorty got here. The movie turned out to be a good movie too. Raina dozed off toward the end, so I carried her to her room. I hoped that Rena would at least let me smell, taste, or hit the pussy, but she made it clear she wasn’t in the mood and I knew why. She was petty like that. If I was not willing to share what had happened at the reading of my parents’ will, she was not willing to share the pussy. I grabbed the lotion and headed to the bathroom, because one monkey didn’t stop no show.
Lecia
I finally made the call to Tim, and now I was meeting up with his ass. I just hoped he wasn’t on no bullshit. If he said he wanted revenge like I did, then I wanted to get it popping without all the games. I made sure to carry my Smith & Wesson black clip-point blade, because—I couldn’t lie—he had scared the shit out of me last time. I was meeting him at the same spot as last time, Loon Saloon, and the only difference was I sat at a booth near the back, which was a better place to discuss business. He was twenty minutes late, but he walked slowly to the booth, like he was on time. He still looked handsome to me. He had that same rugged look, but the attire he wore today made me think he didn’t own an iron. He also appeared high, but that wasn’t my business. I just wanted to hear what he had in mind.
“How are you, Tim?” I asked as he took a seat across from me.
“I’m fine. Let’s get this business taken care of,” he said, sniffing.
“Okay. So what do you have in mind?” I asked.
“I was thinking of setting the house on fire while they are sleeping,” he said.
Now I knew this motherfucker had done lost his mind. I wanted payback, but I didn’t want to kill no damn body. I knew I popped all that shit when I was upset, but I wasn’t trying to kill nobody. I was thinking more along the lines of robbing Rellz or destroying some fucking property—not no fucking murder.
“I want revenge, but I didn’t say I wanted to murder anyone,” I said, looking at his ass like he was crazy.
“Look, bitch, I don’t have time for no backing out. I told your ass from the door that if you were serious to contact me. You contacted me, so now you have no choice,” he barked. “And don’t think about backing out once you leave here, because I will pay your ass a visit at 117-22 Jamaica Avenue, and your mom will get a visit at 108-15 Rockaway Boulevard. Fuck with me if you want. If I had no problem killing my parents, you should know I have no problem killing yours.”
Did this motherfucker just say he had killed his parents? What the fuc
k had I got myself into? And this motherfucker knew where my parents and I lived.
“Now listen, and listen good. I’m going to pass this burner to you under the table. Put it in your pocketbook. When we meet up to get this shit done, bring it with you,” he said.
I got nervous as hell as I looked around the bar for anybody who could help keep this motherfucker from killing me once I told him what he could do with his burner. Unfortunately, there was nobody in the bar but a bunch of old drunks.
“Bitch, do you fucking hear me?” He was trying to whisper, but he was actually yelling.
I reached under the table and took the gun and slipped it into my purse. I was from the hood and was far from stupid. I knew I should never put my hands on, or even have in my possession, a gun whose history I didn’t know—as it could very well “have bodies”—but my hands were tied. I knew for sure that this motherfucker would have done something if I had declined to take the gun, and since I had brought my knife to a gunfight, I was bound to lose.
“Okay, you can go. I will call you when it’s going down, and you better answer the phone,” he said.
I got up, looking around nervously and hoping and praying I made it home with this gun in my purse. This wasn’t my first time holding, but the difference was that I had trusted my brothers. I did not trust this loony dude who got high and whose ass was probably into all types of shit. His ass had already said that he killed his parents, and I didn’t know if he was just trying to scare me or if he had actually done them in.
When Loyalty Dies, So Does Love Page 17