by Tracy Brown
That all changed on the day of Doug Nobles’s grand funeral at the Frank E. Campbell funeral chapel on Madison Avenue in Manhattan. Cars lined the surrounding blocks as droves of mourners showed up to pay their respects to Nobles. Fur coats and diamonds of all sizes and colors adorned them as they poured in through the large doors leading into the chapel. The smell of flowers filled the air, and arrangements of all kinds—sprays, large bouquets, and plants—dotted the room. Beside the heavy mahogany casket where Nobles lay in repose, a large canvas portrait sat atop an easel. Camille recognized the image of Nobles as one she’d seen on a number of occasions. In it, he was dressed in his favorite blue velvet bathrobe as he sat in his favorite chair, which resembled a throne. His face bore a slight grin and his right hand held one of his fine Cuban cigars. The canvas was elegantly framed with an engraved brass nameplate affixed at the bottom. A pianist played softly in the corner, and Camille noticed a videographer capturing the service on film. Camille took a seat in the row closest to where the family would be seated. After all, she was married to the deceased’s surrogate son.
The family began their processional into the chapel, led by Mayra, who was escorted by Tremaine. Celia followed, escorted by Mikey. Next came Gillian, who walked in hand in hand with Frankie.
As they neared her row, Frankie locked eyes with his wife. Camille’s jaw tightened. Frankie turned away and continued as if he barely noticed her presence. While the rest of the family, including Doug’s sister and her children, filed in, Camille’s gaze was fixed on her husband. Even as the officiator began the service, all Camille could do was stare ahead at Frankie, who was seated in the row ahead of her. She saw Gillian bow her head and cry and watched as Frankie wiped her tears with his handkerchief. As tears fell from her own eyes—mourning the demise of her marriage more than the fall of Doug Nobles—Camille couldn’t help but ponder the fact that her husband was not there to wipe them away. He was too busy with Gillian instead. Their hands still clasped, the two of them spoke softly to one another throughout the service. Camille could make out some of what they were saying to each other. At one point Frankie leaned in to Gillian and tenderly swept a lock of hair out of her face. “It’s all right, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
Camille could hardly stand it, and she felt terribly embarrassed. She was relieved that her sister and her friends were not there to witness the spectacle her husband was making with another woman. Still, there were dozens of people there who knew that she and Frankie were married, and she could certainly imagine what they must be saying or thinking as Frankie wrapped his arms around Gillian, who was now sobbing hard. Finally, as the service came to an end, the minister invited the attendees to come up for the final viewing, beginning from the last row of the chapel. Camille sat still in her seat, her eyes shielded by Gucci sunglasses, which did a wonderful job of masking the hurt and palpable sadness she felt as she watched her husband.
When the time came for her row to move forward, Camille fell in line with the mourners ahead of her as they inched toward the casket. Passing Frankie’s row, she stared at him and was dismayed that he didn’t even seem to notice her at all. He certainly made no attempt to acknowledge her, his attention focused solely on Gillian, who seemed to be coming undone. She was crying harder than ever now, no doubt dreading saying her final good-bye to her beloved father. Camille lingered at the casket and touched Nobles’s cold hand as she said a silent prayer for him. Then she moved along and watched from the back of the chapel as Frankie tenderly led Gillian toward her father’s casket.
The sound of Gillian’s sobs reverberated throughout the room as she all but passed out at the sight of her father lying still in his coffin. She appeared to go weak in the knees, and Frankie held her up with his arms, supporting her around her small waist. She cried into his chest, and he stroked her hair softly while his own tears fell. As she watched the two of them, so united in their grief and in their love for the man who had been taken from them so suddenly, Camille’s heart broke into a thousand pieces. She began to understand what drew them together so strongly, and she did her best to fight the feeling of defeat that crept up within her.
“Oh, Daddy . . .” Gillian’s voice was so filled with sorrow and misery that Camille almost felt sorry for her. But that soon changed when Frankie gripped Gillian tightly and led her out of the chapel, and right past Camille as if she were invisible.
“Frankie,” Camille called out to her husband. But he ignored her and walked Gillian out and ushered her into the limousine that awaited them.
Camille stood alone at the back of the chapel and watched as Mayra and Celia cried out in anguish as they bid farewell to the man both women had loved a great deal. Camille, too, cried—finally accepting that she was mourning the loss of her husband as well.
When all of the mourners had exited the chapel, pallbearers loaded Nobles’s casket into a waiting horse-drawn hearse. Once the funeral sprays were laid on top of it, the coachman set off toward the cemetery with a long processional of cars trailing behind it. Camille followed in her SL600, crying bitter tears of shame, anger, and pure pain.
At the cemetery, a large crowd gathered around as the minister prayed. All heads were bowed, except for Camille’s. She was staring directly at Frankie, watching as he linked arms with Gillian. When the prayers were done, Mayra set a flower on the casket and broke down. Gillian went to her mother’s side and wrapped her arms around her, and the two of them embraced warmly as they headed back to their car. Frankie stood at the casket, and tears slid slowly from his eyes. He missed Nobles so much and felt a loss he hadn’t felt when his own father had passed away.
“I love you, Pops,” Frankie said softly. He set his flower down on the solid casket and turned to walk away, and came face-to-face with Camille.
“Hello, Frankie,” she said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Frankie looked at her with a slight snarl and then glanced over her shoulder at Gillian, who was watching from the limo. “What’s up?”
Camille’s long hair blew in the cold winter breeze and she pulled her mink tighter against her body. She looked up at Frankie and took a deep breath.
“Frankie, what’s going on with us?” she asked. “Since the shooting, you haven’t even called me or answered any of my messages. I’ve been waiting to talk to you so we can figure out what went wrong and try to fix it.” She reached and took his hand in hers. “I love you, Frankie. And I miss you so much. When are you coming back home?”
Frankie shook his head and looked at the ground. He hated to break her heart, but he had to be honest about what he was feeling. Still holding his wife’s hand, he led her a few feet away from the other mourners, and sighed.
“Camille . . . I wish you wouldn’t have come here.”
She felt like she’d been punched in the face. “Don’t I belong here? Am I not your wife?”
He nodded. “Yes, you are.” He looked her in her eyes in order to convey his sincerity. “But I think it’s safe to say that me and you have gone in different directions, Camille. I’m not happy with you. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“Don’t say that, Frankie.” Camille’s voice cracked with emotion. “Don’t give up on us like this.”
He shook his head. “I’m not gonna keep telling you what you want to hear. Or avoiding you because I’m not eager to hurt your feelings. I never wanted to hurt you, sweetheart. You’re a good woman. Just not good for me anymore.”
Camille’s tears ceased, and she felt a venomous rage build up within her. “You are not leaving me for that bitch!”
“I’m not gonna do this with you right now, Camille. This ain’t the time or the place—”
“What is the right time, Frankie?” Camille lost all decorum.
He turned and began to walk away from her.
“Frankie! Frankie, don’t you dare walk away from me!” Camille couldn’t believe that he was ignoring her and acting as if she were a stranger to him.
Celia came over and hugged Camille. She had watched the whole scene unfold and could see that Camille was unraveling. Celia consoled her as she dissolved into tears, and stroked her back in an attempt to comfort the heartbroken woman. Everyone had seen Frankie cozying up to Gillian all day while ignoring his wife. Celia, for one, was appalled by his behavior. “Keep your dignity, Camille,” she said. “Don’t let anybody take you outside of your character.” She smoothed Camille’s hair. “Wait here.”
Celia walked off after Frankie. She called out his name, and he stopped walking and turned around to face her. She caught up to where he was and shook her head.
“Don’t do this.”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“Years ago, Doug did to me exactly what you’re doing to your wife right now. When he decided that he was in love with Mayra and that he was no longer happy with me, he didn’t have the guts to tell me that. Instead, he just began to spend more and more of his time away from home and in essence abandoned me. He left me no choice but to end my marriage, and he never really told me why. Maybe he just got bored with me, or maybe he ran out of love. Who knows? But you make vows to stay with someone till death do you part. You owe Camille more respect than you’re showing her right now. You keep ignoring her and, yeah, eventually she will go away. But you owe her better than that. Talk to your wife, Frankie. If Gillian loves you, she’ll be patient and give you the space that you need to do that.
“Doug loved you very, very much,” Celia said. “He was so proud of you. Now I need you to handle this the right way so that you can be proud of yourself.”
Frankie breathed deeply and exhaled. He had always respected Celia, and he had to admit that she had a point right now. He didn’t want to have this difficult conversation with Camille. But Celia made him realize that even though it would be difficult, it was necessary. He nodded and kissed Celia on the cheek. “You’re right,” he said. “Thank you.”
Celia gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll tell Gillian to give you a few minutes alone.” Celia walked away, and Frankie slowly walked back toward his wife. Camille had dried her tears and was standing bravely against the cold.
“I owe you an explanation,” Frankie said, trying hard to man up and level with Camille. “I’m in love with Gillian.”
Camille shook her head and fought back tears. “No, you’re not.”
“I am. And I love you, too, Camille. But it’s not the way it used to be. It hasn’t been that way for a while between us. Whenever you bring up the subject of us having a baby, it makes me so mad because having a kid would be like putting a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound. It’s not gonna fix the problem. I’m in love with somebody else. And I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I didn’t handle this the way that I should have. But I really didn’t mean to break your heart, Camille. You deserve better than that.”
She stared at her husband, so angry that she refused to cry anymore. She laughed at the irony that they were standing in a cemetery as their marriage died. “So that’s just it?” she asked. “All these years, and after everything we’ve been through . . . that’s it?”
He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, feeling truly sorry that he was letting her down. But losing Nobles had shown him just how fragile life could be. He wanted to spend his with the woman who made him happy. And that woman was Gillian.
“I know that we still have a lot to figure out. Marriages don’t get dissolved overnight. But I need to ask you to give me some space for a while so that I can sort everything out. Let me deal with everything that’s happening with Baron . . . and then I’ll come by the house and we’ll talk. Is that fair?”
“None of this shit is fair. You’re quitting on us.” She shook her head and threw up her hands in frustration. “Go,” she said. “Just go, Frankie.”
He stood there for a few awkward moments, and then he turned around and walked away, leaving Camille to cry alone.
One Way or Another
It was Christmas Day and Celia was on her way to the hospital to see about her son. She was still mourning the loss of Nobles, who still held the keys to her heart even after so many years apart. Now her son was fighting for his life, and she prayed each day that God would spare her only child so that he could have a second chance to get it right.
Her cell phone rang as she drove into the hospital parking lot, and she answered it. She had to pull it away from her ear when she heard Misa screaming into the phone. Celia’s heart paused and immediately she thought the worst. But Misa was screaming for a good reason.
“He’s awake, Miss Celia! Baron woke up! Where are you? He’s asking for you.”
“Thank you, Jesus!” Celia jumped out of her car and began running toward the entrance. “I’m right downstairs. I’m on my way up. Tell him that Mama’s on her way!” Celia did a happy dance as she jogged toward the elevator. This was the best Christmas present she could have ever received!
She entered Baron’s room and found him lying with his eyes barely open and Misa holding an ice pack on his forehead. When she saw Celia, a huge smile spread across her face.
“He has a fever, Miss Celia. But they said he’s gonna be okay.”
Celia inched toward the bed crying happy tears. “Baby, I love you so much. I’ve been praying so hard and Misa has, too. She’s been here every day. I’m so happy to see you back with us, baby.” She watched as Baron managed a weak smile. He was happy to be alive and even happier to see his mother. The night of the shooting was still a blur to him. But he remembered seeing his father slumped over in his wheelchair. He winced a little, both from the memory and from the pain that seared through his chest whenever he tried to move.
“How’s Pops?” he asked. “Where is he?”
Celia glanced at Misa and they both looked saddened by the news they had to give him. Celia sat on the edge of her son’s bed and held his hand in hers. “Baron . . . your father didn’t make it.”
He started to cry, sobbing so hard that both women melted into tears of their own. “No, Ma . . . no . . . please tell me that he’s okay. Please!”
Misa felt so sorry for him. She couldn’t imagine how he must feel. Celia, too, was devastated for her son. She wished there were some way she could take on all of his pain and suffering. She would have gladly felt it for him so that he wouldn’t need to suffer the way he clearly was now.
What neither woman knew was that Baron was distraught not just over the loss of his father, but because he knew that it was his fault. It was his problems with Jojo, particularly the fact that he had killed his brother, that caused Jojo to shoot up the anniversary party. And now his father was dead. He blamed himself.
“His funeral was a few days ago, Baron. It was very beautiful. And he’s not suffering anymore, son. That’s what matters right now.”
He continued to cry, and Misa decided that she should excuse herself. She figured this was a private family moment and that she should allow them time to talk alone.
“Baron, Miss Celia, I’m gonna step out for a while. Go check on my son and get something to eat. I’ll come back up later on tonight.”
Celia nodded and smiled at Misa. “Thank you, sweetheart. Go on and spend Christmas with your boy. You’ve been up here so much that I know he misses you. I’ll be here for the entire day, so Baron will be fine.”
Misa smiled and nodded. Then she blew Baron a kiss and left the two of them to mourn Doug Nobles in private.
She went to her sister’s house, anxious to see her son on Christmas morning. He had been staying at Camille’s place ever since Baron was wounded. Shane was on break from school until after the new year, which made it easier for her to spend the time that she needed to at Baron’s bedside. She felt that nursing him back to health was her chance to solidify her position in Baron’s life, and she didn’t want to let it slip away no matter what. She was grateful that Camille had been caring for Shane during that time, and that she hadn’t complained about it. Since she hadn’t spoken to Camille in at least two da
ys, she had no idea that Camille and Frankie’s marriage had ended.
Misa rang her sister’s doorbell and was dismayed when Steven answered the door instead of Camille.
“Well, well, well, stranger,” he said, smiling. “Welcome back.”
“Hi, Steven,” Misa said, breezing past him into the foyer. “Where’s my sister?” Looking around, she noticed some of Shane’s toys on the couch, though he was nowhere to be found.
Steven followed behind her and shrugged his shoulders. “Camille went out. I don’t know where she went. She didn’t tell me. You know her and Frankie broke up, right?”
Misa’s head snapped around, and she looked at Steven in shock. “They did?”
He nodded. “Ever since then, Camille’s been out and about a lot more than usual. Since I don’t be going nowhere I’ve been keeping an eye on Shane.”
She frowned. She felt like a bad sister for not knowing what was going on with Camille and Frankie. “Okay, then. Where is Shane?”
Steven shrugged and looked around. “I don’t know where lil homie went. He was sitting in the living room with me watching TV a little while ago, but then he broke out.”
Misa walked into the living room and glanced at the TV, which was tuned to Cartoon Network, and she frowned. She wondered where Shane had disappeared to and why he hadn’t come running when he heard her voice. She felt a surge of guilt, wondering if her son was unhappy that she had returned. Seeing the dejected look on Misa’s face, Steven tried to ease her mind a bit.
“He’s probably playing hide-and-go-seek again. He likes to do that, especially since Camille’s been so busy running in and out. She’s usually too tired to play it with him, and I’m always willing. He does it like every day.” Steven laughed. Misa, however, was searching for her baby. She opened closet doors and searched the kitchen, calling Shane’s name all the while.