The Prodigal Son (A Reverend Curtis Black Novel)

by Kimberla Lawson Roby

  “So have you found anything?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Well, if you don’t find something soon, you need to hire a private investigator. I told you that last night. Pay them whatever they ask for.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m going out for a while, but my clothes need to be washed. I have some stuff for the cleaners, too.”

  “Oh…I was thinking I’d wait a couple of days…until we have a few more pieces to add to the load.”

  “I hate seeing dirty clothes and you know that. I want them washed today.”

  “Okay, baby, I’ll do it.”

  Dillon rolled his eyes in disgust. She always had to try him. It was as if she liked making him go off.

  “I’m outta here,” he said.

  “Baby, wait.”

  Dillon pursed his lips. “What, Melissa?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “Why do you hate me so much?”

  Dillon threw his hands in the air. “Oh, here we go.”

  “I’m sorry, but I just wanna know because I do everything I can to please you. Everything…but it’s never enough.”

  “Yeah, but didn’t I give you an opportunity to leave? Haven’t I always told you I would never marry you? I’ve always been honest about that, so why are you complaining?”

  “Do you hate me because you’re seeing someone else?”

  Dillon laughed and shook his head. “You know what? You just get back to doin’ what I told you. Good grief,” he said, leaving the room.

  After all the times he’d declared to her, “I don’t love you, Melissa,” she still had the audacity to question him about their relationship. Wasn’t it humiliating for her? Especially since he’d always made it clear that he didn’t love her. He actually wondered where these sudden inquiries were coming from. He wasn’t going to worry about them, though, not when she was nobody important and she didn’t have a dime to her name. He was doing her a favor just by letting her live with him for free, so he didn’t know what her problem was. He didn’t know why she couldn’t be happy with the way things were, when she knew nothing was going to change between them.

  Dillon went back to their room, slipped on his jeans and white V-neck pullover and headed out to the garage. He never bothered telling Melissa he was leaving, but as he backed halfway out of the driveway, he rolled down his window and spoke to his lawn guy, Roger. Roger was maybe in his late thirties, and he did a great job with cutting the grass, but he wasn’t the brightest person Dillon had ever met. As a matter of fact, Dillon sometimes wondered how he’d been able to start his own business. He was a little on the country side, too.

  “Hey Mr. Whitfield, how you?”

  “Can’t complain. Nice day today, isn’t it?”

  “Yep,” he said, eyeing Dillon’s SUV. “Man, I sho do like that ride of yours.”

  Dillon smiled. “Thanks. To tell the truth, I like it myself.”

  “I’d give anythang to drive somethin’ like that.”

  “If you keep working the way you do, you’ll have one in no time.”

  Roger laughed, with two teeth missing—one on the top right and one on the lower left. “Nah, I don’t think so, Mr. Whitfield. Cost too much money for me.”

  “You never know,” Dillon said, but Dillon knew Roger was right. He would probably never own anything slightly close to what Dillon was driving. “Well, I’d better get going. See you later.”

  “Take care, Mr. Whitfield.”

  Dillon wasn’t sure why Roger never called him by his first name, especially since Roger was easily ten years older than him. Maybe it was just his way of offering respect to a client.

  Dillon drove out into the street, but before he could drive away from the house, his phone rang, and he got irritated. What did she want now?

  However, when he looked at the display, he saw an unknown number from the Atlanta area. It was likely his aunt calling him from work.

  “Hello?” he said, turning onto the next street and heading out of the subdivision.

  “Dillon?” a woman responded.

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Tina. I’m a very close friend of your aunt Susan’s.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “No, sweetie, she isn’t. She passed away a couple of hours ago.”

  Dillon pulled his SUV to the side of the road and stopped. He sat listening to the woman, but he no longer heard a word she was saying because all he could think about was the way he’d rushed his aunt off the phone last night. She’d told him how much she loved him, but he hadn’t wanted to hear it—he hadn’t wanted to discuss anything accept the love he needed from his father, and now the one person who truly did love him was gone. The woman who had raised him and who had done everything she could for him was no more—and all she’d wanted was for him to come see her. Now, as he thought back to their conversation, he couldn’t help realizing that her plea had sounded a little desperate. So maybe she’d been sick and hadn’t told him. He couldn’t imagine her keeping that kind of a secret, but now he wondered. Then he cried like an infant.

  Chapter 19

  What a night. Matthew couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed Racquel so badly, and to his surprise, she’d given him all he could want and then some. It had almost been like being with another woman because even during some of their happier times, she’d never been so forward and aggressive. He wasn’t sure if her intense desire to make love to him stemmed from her being intoxicated or if maybe she simply missed him as much as he missed her—and maybe she’d had a huge change of heart. He chose to believe the latter because it made him feel better and also because he didn’t want his wife to have to drink just to be with him. He couldn’t deny, though, that she was definitely a happy drunk. She hadn’t said a harsh word to him, and she’d told him multiple times how much she loved him. She’d laughed a lot, too, mostly at her own jokes, but she’d laughed nonetheless, and Matthew liked that Racquel better—as opposed to the bitter, angry, and cruel Racquel he’d been dealing with for far too long.

  Matthew inhaled and exhaled, stretched his body, and then glanced over at the clock on his nightstand. He’d thought it was much earlier, but it was already seven o’clock. He normally got up at six, which gave him plenty of time to get dressed, feed MJ, and then get him ready for Aunt Emma’s. But today, he was going to call into work to let his boss know he wouldn’t be in until around noon.

  Matthew looked over at his wife, who was still sleeping, wondering how she was going to react when she woke up. Maybe he was being naïve, but what he hoped was that she would tell him she no longer wanted to leave them and that she would then rush into MJ’s room, scoop him out of his crib, hug him as tightly as possible, and tell him she loved him more than life itself. That’s what Matthew hoped for, anyway.

  He lay there thinking back over his life, thinking about his job at the bank and thinking about his future. Mostly, though, he waited for Racquel to open her eyes so he could talk to her. Maybe they would even make love again, or better yet, he’d take the day off so they could spend it together.

  Sadly, though, when he looked over at her again, he saw her staring straight at him, and she seemed repulsed by his presence.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” she spat.

  Matthew faced the ceiling again and closed his eyes. His worst nightmare had been realized. She’d sobered up and had turned vicious again.

  “I hate it when you look at me. And why can’t you sleep in the living room?”

  Matthew listened in silence. He couldn’t speak if he wanted to.

  “I can’t wait for you to get out of here. Oh and just so you know, that little sexcapade of ours last night meant nothing. I did that for me. I know you think you’re the only one around here with needs, but I’ve got needs, too.”

  Matthew couldn’t take any more of her mean comments, so he got up and went into the bathroom.


  Racquel stormed behind him.

  “I need some money.”

  “What does that have to with me?” he said, turning on the vanity faucet. He didn’t look at her, though.

  “Everything.”

  “Whatever, Racquel,” he said.

  “Are you gonna give it to me?”

  “For what? So you can blow it on a fifth of liquor?”

  “If that’s what I choose to do with it.”

  “Well, I don’t have any money. I’m the only one who works around here, remember?”

  “You’re the only one who should be working. I took care of your child for a whole year, remember?”

  Now Matthew turned and looked at her. “You mean our child, don’t you?”

  “Look, are you gonna give me the money or not?”

  “Nope.”

  “I knew I never should have married you. You’re such a weakling. You make me sick.”

  “Why don’t you go back to bed, Racquel? Or maybe turn on one of those pathetic reality shows of yours. I’m sure some rerun is on.”

  Matthew cast his eye at her through the mirror, and she looked as though she wanted to kill him.

  “You know what I wish?” she said. “I wish you would drop dead. I wish I never had to see you again.”

  “You’re sick,” he said.

  “I’ll show you sick,” she yelled and knocked his head to the side with her hand.

  “Why do you keep putting your hands on me, Racquel?”

  “Because you deserve it. You and that tramp you call a mother.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I need money. I told you that already.”

  “And I told you I don’t have any.”

  “You’re such a loser,” she said and walked away.

  Just then Matthew heard MJ talking—his kind of talk, anyway—and when Matt went into his room, MJ was sitting in the middle of his crib, playing with a toy, but when he spied his father, he pulled himself up by the rail.

  “Hey little man. Good morning. You hungry?”

  MJ smiled and bounced excitedly when he felt Matthew lifting him up. Matthew looked at his son, something he did all the time, but today he truly looked at him. Then he made a decision. He and MJ were moving out.

  Chapter 20

  Dillon stared through his front windshield, completely dazed. He’d replayed every word his aunt Susan’s friend had told him, but he couldn’t believe she was gone. She was actually dead, and he would never see her alive again.

  He sat in his truck, still parked at the side of the road, and finally he picked up his phone. If there were ever a time he needed his dad’s love and support, it was now, so he called him.

  “Hey son,” he said right away.

  “Hey.”

  “So how’s it going?”

  “Not good. My aunt Susan just passed.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Her friend Tina called me, but I was too upset to ask any questions.”

  “Had you spoken to her lately?”

  “Just last night.”

  “Really? And she was fine?”

  “She didn’t say anything was wrong.”

  “Gosh, I tell you…I really am sorry to hear this.”

  “I’m still stunned.”

  “Are you planning to leave for Atlanta today?”

  “No, I was thinking first thing in the morning. I’ll need to meet with the funeral home as soon as possible.”

  “I understand.”

  Dillon wondered when his dad was going to offer to go with him. Surely, he wasn’t planning to let him travel all the way to Georgia by himself.

  “And you don’t have any other aunts or uncles, right?” Curtis asked.

  “No, and with the exception of a couple of cousins, I’m her only living relative.”

  “I hate you have to go through this, son, but God will give you strength. He’ll comfort you in your time of need.”

  All this biblical and spiritual encouragement was fine and well, but Dillon needed more from his father. He needed him to get on a plane and stand by his side until he buried his aunt. Since it didn’t sound as though he thought that kind of support was necessary, however, Dillon decided to flat-out ask him.

  “Can you go with me?”

  Curtis paused for a few seconds. “Of course. I’ll be glad to.”

  Dillon swallowed tears for as long as he could, but soon they streamed down his face. He was terribly hurt over losing his aunt, but he was happy out of this world about his father accompanying him to her funeral. He needed someone to be with him more than ever.

  “Dad, I really appreciate this.”

  “It’s not a problem, and I’ll ask Lana to have one of her assistants check on flights and a hotel for the three of us.”

  “That would be great, Dad,” he said, wondering who the third ticket was for. Surely not that witch, Charlotte, because he didn’t want anyone infringing on their time together. “This really means everything to me, and I won’t forget it. Also, who else are you getting a ticket for?”

  “Melissa. She is going, isn’t she?”

  Dillon leaned his head onto the back rest and shut his eyes. How was he going to explain to his dad that he didn’t want her going anywhere with them? He didn’t want to be bothered, but he knew he had to pick and choose his words because he didn’t want his father knowing how much he despised Melissa. For now, he wanted his dad to believe he had the utmost respect for his fiancée and that he couldn’t live without her.

  “I’ll have to check with her. She’s starting a summer class at the university, so she may not be able to go,” he lied.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that. Well, just let me know.”

  “I will.”

  “You take care, son, and be strong. I know you’re hurting, but things will get better every day.”

  “Thanks again, Dad.”

  “Anytime.”

  Dillon hung up and sat a few minutes longer, thinking about his childhood and how happy he’d been—how his aunt truly had loved him like a son. He thought about the time she’d taken him to this huge amusement park and how he’d had the time of his life. He’d only been in second grade, and Aunt Susan had gotten on every ride he asked her to—even the ones she’d been frightened of. Then there was the time two of his third-grade classmates, Jason and Timothy, had bullied him and his aunt had come to his rescue. Not in the way one would have expected, though. Unlike most parents of a child who was being bullied, she hadn’t said a word to Dillon’s teacher or to the boys’ parents. Instead, she’d asked the parents if the boys could come over for a belated birthday party she was giving Dillon. Dillon remembered how strange he’d thought that was because he’d already celebrated his birthday three months before. Still, she’d invited them and when they’d arrived, she’d sat them down in the dining room, alongside Dillon. Then she’d set one blank piece of paper in front of each of them and asked them face-to-face why they didn’t like her nephew. They’d both seemed terrified and as if they were afraid to speak, and this was when she’d told them, “Maybe it’ll be easier if you just write it down.” They’d seemed dumbfounded, but his aunt had been serious. “Go ahead. Number your papers from one to five and write down all the things you don’t like about Dillon. Then, when you finish that, I want you to write down at least one thing he’s done to hurt you.” The boys had sat there in silence, not knowing what to do. So Aunt Susan had taken things a step further. “Let’s move on to spelling.”

  Now, Dillon had wondered if his aunt had maybe lost her mind because he hadn’t understood how spelling words was going to help his situation. Little did he know, though, his aunt had known exactly what she was doing.

  “Spell aunt,” she’d told them, and finally Jason had said, “A-n-t.”

  “No, I mean like your mom’s or dad’s sister,” she explained. “That kind of an aunt.”

  “I know,” Jason
said. “That’s how you spell it.”

  “Is that how you’d spell it, too, Timothy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then you’re both wrong,” she said, staring at them. How about bottom? Can you spell that?”

  This time Timothy smiled, clearly confident that he could get this one right. “B-o-t-t-u-m.”

  “That’s wrong, too. You wanna try that one, Jason?”

  Jason had shaken his head, no.

  “Really? And you boys are in third grade? That’s interesting, because Dillon knew how to spell these little baby words a whole year ago. But let’s try one last one. Dumb.”

  “That’s easy,” Timothy said. “D-u-m.”

  “Do you agree, Jason?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wrong again. But you know what? Maybe we should try some kindergarten words instead. Because I would hate for Dillon to tell everyone at school that neither of you could spell anything at all.”

  “I wanna go home,” Timothy had said, and then he’d started crying.

  But Jason, the leader of the two, had surrendered. “I’m really sorry, Miss Whitfield. We didn’t mean all that stuff we said to Dillon, and we want to be friends with him now. We like Dillon.”

  Needless to say, Jason and Timothy had never bullied Dillon again, and third grade had turned out to be one of his favorite school years—all because of his wonderful aunt, who’d been willing to do anything to protect him and make him happy.

  Dillon sighed deeply, drove to the intersection, and headed back to his house. As soon as he rolled into the driveway, though, he saw Roger and he was glad he’d slipped his sunglasses back on. Roger was a little slow, maybe even illiterate, but Dillon still didn’t want any man to see that he’d been crying. As he pulled into the garage, Roger spoke to him, and thankfully he kept working on the yard and never looked Dillon’s way again.

  When Dillon got inside, he went straight up to the bedroom but he cringed when Melissa almost ran into him. She’d been coming out of the room just as he’d walked in.