Tangled Roots

by Angela Henry

  “Girl, I am so sorry about what happened. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll live,” she said sarcastically. I followed her back to her station. She was apparently packing up.

  “Did you quit?” I asked, gesturing towards the boxes.

  “I was leaving, anyway. I got hired as a stylist at a day spa in Dayton. That’s where I’m from originally. I wasn’t ’sposed to start ’til next month but I’m leaving before I get my ass killed.”

  “I feel so bad about what happened. I had no idea he’d be there that night. I —”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, cutting me off. “It ain’t your fault. I been known to run my mouth when I get a coupla drinks in me. I shoulda known better,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Unfortunately. I remember going out to my car. I had my keys in my hand and someone grabbed me from behind. He kept pulling whatever he had ’round my neck tighter and tighter. I couldn’t breathe. Kept telling me I had a big mouth and I needed to learn how to keep it shut. Next thing I remember is being in the ambulance. I never even saw the muthafucka. I didn’t even have time to grab my gun. It happened that fast.”

  “So you couldn’t even tell the police for certain who it was who attacked you?”

  “Nope, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. I’m sorry, girlfriend, I loved Inez to pieces but I can’t help you with this. I’m not trying to end up dead behind someone else’s shit.”

  I wasn’t about to ask her to risk her life again. So I thanked her and left.

  I arrived at my duplex barely remembering the drive home. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings or I might have heard the person who rushed up behind me, grabbed me by my hair, and slammed me onto the hood of my car. I felt all the air go out of my lungs and couldn’t catch my breath to scream. My head was being pulled back so hard my neck felt like it would snap. I felt hot breath in my ear and smelled familiar, lemony-scented cologne. I tried to twist around to see him but he had me pinned on top of my car and his handful of my hair made me wince with pain when I tried to turn my head.

  “You wanna end up like your friend did the other night don’t you, bitch?” I finally found my voice and opened my mouth to scream but only managed a loud whimper before he let go of my hair and clamped his hand over my mouth.

  “See, I can’t stand bitches who can’t mind their business and run their mouths about shit that don’t concern them. ’Cause that’s the kinda shit that gets you killed, understand?” He pulled me up by the back of my coat and spun me around to face him. I was still pinned between him and my car. I couldn’t even knee him in the balls. His face was so close to mine that I could see the pores in his nose and smell the liquor on his breath. He was drunk and his green eyes looked wild and crazy under the streetlights. He definitely looked capable of hacking someone to pieces. I was about to wet my pants. For a split second, I thought about trying to reason with him. But I decided it would be the equivalent of trying to talk a hungry lion out of eating me.

  When I didn’t answer, he shook me like a rag doll. “I said, do you understand?” My head snapped backwards and, remembering back to my tussle over my leather coat, I purposefully threw my head forward, causing my forehead to butt him hard in the mouth. He grunted and his hands flew to his mouth. I shoved him away from me and he overbalanced and fell. I turned to run but he grabbed at my leg. I pulled free, stumbled, and almost fell.

  “Bitch! I’m gonna kill you! Look what you did!” he shrieked at me. I turned and saw that his mouth was bloody and he spit out what looked like teeth. Uh-oh. I messed up pretty boy’s grill and he wasn’t taking it well at all. He lunged at me and I closed my eyes. That’s when a sound similar to the blast of a cannon sounded from behind us, stopping Vaughn in his tracks. I turned to see my seventy-two-year-old landlady, Mrs. Carson, standing on her porch, dressed in her striped housedress and faded terry cloth slippers, with a shotgun cradled against her shoulder and aimed straight at Vaughn Castle.

  “That first bullet was a warning, boy. The second one is for you. I already done called the police so get yo ass outta here before I put a bullet in it!”

  Vaughn looked like he wasn’t about to be punked by a little old lady but when the neighbors started coming out on their porches to see what the commotion was, he turned and ran down the street to where his Escalade was parked and we all watched as he drove off, tires squealing.

  “You okay?” asked Mrs. Carson, who had come down off the porch to where I was standing by my car. She’d left her shotgun on the porch. I’d heard her say on numerous occasions that she had one but had never really believed her. I was glad to be wrong.

  I nodded my head, still not able to speak, and let her lead me into her house where she fixed us both a glass of homemade peach wine.

  “Did you really call the police?” I asked after a few sips of the sickeningly sweet wine. We were sitting at Mrs. Carson’s kitchen table and her cat Mahalia stared down haughtily at us from her perch on top of the refrigerator.

  “Nope. Just said it to scare him. You gonna have one hell of a hickey on your forehead, missy.”

  I felt the tender spot where my head had connected with Vaughn’s mouth. It was sore and a little swollen. I was happy the skin wasn’t broken or I’d probably have to be treated for rabies.

  Mrs. Carson was strangely silent. I was expecting her to grill me about what was going on and then follow up with a lecture but instead we sipped our wine silently. She seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Please don’t tell Mama,” I pleaded. Dealing with my grandmother on top of everything else wasn’t something I needed.

  “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed,” she assured me. Now I knew something wasn’t right. Even though I begged her not to tell, I never expected her to agree. Mama and Mrs. Carson are best friends and tell each other everything. Keeping something from Mama, especially if it was about me, went against the natural order of things.

  “Okay, what’s up? You haven’t asked me what’s going on. I didn’t get a lecture. Now, you aren’t even going to tell Mama I was attacked? Why are you acting so strange? You’re not sick, are you?”

  “Nope. Just tired and ready to go to bed.” She got up from the table and started rooting through a drawer by the sink. When she found what she was looking for she slid it across the table at me and I had to catch it quickly before it fell on the floor.

  It was a Swiss Army knife that looked like it had never been used. The blade was still quite sharp and very shiny.

  “What’s this for?” I turned it over in my palm

  “Well, what do you think it’s for, Kendra? It’s for protection. I’d give you my shotgun but I might need it. ’Specially if that fool comes back here to start some mess with me.” She drained her wineglass and took my half-empty one and put them in the sink. “And you need to go to the police first thing in the morning and report what happened tonight. I’ll back you up but I can’t deal with no police tonight. Stevie’s here.”

  That explained everything. Stevie is Mrs. Carson’s son and the Carson family fuckup. He’s almost fifty, has never had a job, and is in and out of jail due to his nasty little habit of taking things that don’t belong to him. He’s well-known to the Willow police department, and if they found out he was staying with his mother, they’d probably search her house and find a multitude of stolen property. Mrs. Carson has four other hardworking and law-abiding children, but sticky-fingered Stevie is the apple of her eye and she won’t hear a word against him. I listened closely and could hear the television on in her basement accompanied by loud snoring. Poor guy. Stealing must be very tiring.

  I looked down at the knife she’d just given me and looked at her questioningly. She visibly puffed up. “It ain’t stolen, Kendra. Now go on home before somethin’ else happens. And you better go down to that police station tomorrow or I will tell Estelle.”

  I wasn’t planning on going to the police unt
il after I talked to Nicole Rollins. Then I would go to Harmon and Mercer and tell them everything. But I wasn’t about to tell Mrs. Carson this. Instead, I hugged her, thanked her for the knife and for saving my hide, and headed for my own apartment. I had a late dinner of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and was in my nightshirt, all ready for bed, when I heard movement outside my door. I figured it was probably Mahalia lurking around looking for mice but I grabbed the Swiss Army knife just in case it was Vaughn Castle, back to seek revenge for his jack-o’-lantern smile. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. I didn’t hear anything so I flung the door open, startling the tall dark figure standing on my landing and causing me to drop the knife on my visitor’s foot, making a small hole in the toe of his expensive cross trainers.

  “Kendra, what the hell?” It was Carl, and he was a sight for sore eyes in a black nylon warm-up suit, smelling of Obsession for men. Instead of answering him, I leapt on him, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing him passionately. He responded enthusiastically, kicked the door shut, and carried me into the bedroom where we made up for lost time several times and in numerous positions throughout the night.

  “If I knew I’d get that kind of welcome I’d go away more often,” Carl said early the next morning as we lay in my bed wrapped around each other. I was pleasantly sore and sleepy, with my head resting against Carl’s chest and my thigh between his legs, nestled against his soon-to-be-erect-again penis. He was massaging my backside. I was warm and happy and, much like Mahalia after a mouse dinner, felt like purring. I looked at Carl with an expression that I hoped would let him know that I was ready for another go ’round. He looked at me with a sleepy smile that quickly turned to horror.

  “What happened to your head?” he asked, rubbing the tender spot on my forehead that had now become a large knot. I felt my forehead and was alarmed to find that the spot had swelled up even more overnight. I leapt out of bed and rushed over to the mirror and almost screamed. The knot had puffed and swelled so that it now extended outward almost an inch, making me look like a unicorn.

  “Damn, Kendra, I didn’t do that last night, did I?” Carl had gotten up and was standing by me in the mirror. I didn’t want to tell him about being attacked, so if he wanted to believe that the knot was caused by him knocking my forehead into the headboard during our bootyfest marathon last night, then so be it. The ridiculousness of the situation — complete with us both standing butt-naked and goggle-eyed in the mirror — suddenly hit me, and I started laughing hysterically.

  “Think of it this way,” Carl said, grinning like a fool, “you can always use it to hang stuff on.” I punched him in the stomach and he chased me back into bed.

  Later that morning, I sat in the kitchen with a compress full of ice pressed against my forehead while Carl cooked us breakfast. As I watched him cook bacon I realized I could get used to having him around all the time. A hot guy who knows how to cook bacon without burning it is definitely an asset in my book. I idly wondered if Morris Rollins knew how to cook.

  So far, Carl and I have managed to keep our relationship casual, since we live in different cities, and basically only see each other on weekends. I was worried that things would fizzle out if we were together more often. I didn’t want to push for more face time too fast since Carl is newly divorced from a white woman who left him because her disapproving daddy gave her an incentive by dangling a lot of money in her face. Even though he’s a pretty stoic guy and never mentions his ex, I know Carl still has to be smarting over the betrayal.

  “So, what’s going on with Timmy? Did he turn himself in yet?” I almost dropped my bag of ice. It was wishful thinking to imagine that the subject of Timmy wouldn’t rear its ugly head.

  “No, and we’re all getting really worried. Especially now.”

  “Why?” he asked, placing a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me. I filled him in on Olivia’s condition.

  “You know this doesn’t look good for him, don’t you? If he didn’t do it he really needs to turn himself in. My man Howard James is a hell of a lawyer. Timmy couldn’t ask for better representation. He’s even going to do it pro bono.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I feel really bad about this whole situation. Can we change the subject, please?”

  “Kendra, you haven’t gotten mixed up in Timmy’s mess, have you?” he asked between bites of scrambled egg. I could tell by his intense stare that it wasn’t a casual question.

  Damn! I really didn’t want to lie to him. I got up and emptied the melting ice from my compress into the sink without answering him.

  “Kendra, please tell me you’re not involved in this. You don’t know where he is, do you?” His cell phone rang before I could form my lips around a believable lie. He answered it but didn’t take his eyes off of me. Whatever the caller told him, I could tell it wasn’t good news. I watched as Carl ran a shaky hand over his face.

  “Damn. Okay, I’m on my way back now,” he said in a flat voice. He slowly put the phone down.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “John died a half an hour ago. I need to get back to Cleveland.”

  “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry,” I said, coming over to him and putting my arms around him. He hugged me back hard. I felt bad that in my excitement to see him I’d forgotten to ask how his brother-in-law was doing. Sadly, there was no need to ask anymore.

  Chapter 11

  After Carl left, I got ready for work. The swelling on my forehead had gone down some but the knot was still there in all its glory. I put a black headband on, leftover from my teenaged fascination with the movie Flashdance, and pulled it down low over my forehead. Okay, I looked like a fool but there was nothing else I could do to hide it except possibly use a Band-Aid, and that would look even more foolish. I headed off to work happy that Fridays are half days at the center. That left me with the whole afternoon to try and figure out a way to see Nicole Rollins without her husband being around. I thought hard, trying to figure out if anyone had ever mentioned Nicole having a job — maybe I could drop in on her at work — but nothing came to mind. I honestly couldn’t envision Nicole having a job other than spending her husband’s money, which meant I was going to have to do something that I really didn’t want to do: pay a visit to the Rollins home. I’d worry about that later.

  When I arrived at work, Rhonda handed me a message after commenting on my headband and telling me she had a torn sweatshirt and leg warmers I could borrow to complete my look. The message was from Leah Johnson, the volunteer coordinator at Kingford College, informing me that Shanda would no longer be volunteering at the center and would fulfill the remainder of her hours at another agency. I had a bad feeling about this. While I wasn’t surprised that Shanda didn’t want to be around me — and, to be honest, the feeling was mutual — I knew how much she loved working at the center and was shocked that she hadn’t called herself to tell Rhonda or Noreen she was quitting. I tried to get ahold of Leah Johnson for more info but she was in a meeting. An hour later she returned my call and told me that Shanda’s mother, not Shanda, had called her the day before to get her daughter’s volunteer assignment changed to Holy Cross Ministries. Even though I was pissed at Shanda, I was also worried. I decided to head over to her house to see if I could catch her before she left for her classes. I told Rhonda I had an emergency and left.

  Upon turning onto Shanda’s street, I saw an ambulance parked in her driveway and someone being loaded into the back. A near hysterical Bonita Kidd jumped in as well. I watched it pull out of the driveway and race off in the opposite direction. I felt my stomach start to churn. I pulled up in front of the house just as Rondell Kidd came flying out the front door wearing a tight, yellow, terry cloth sweat suit and black dress shoes. I really wanted to believe that he’d thrown that outfit on in a rush but I knew better. I watched him jump into his car and back down the driveway. I ran up to the car.

  “What happened?” I yelled through the open driver’
s-side window. I could see tears running down Rondell’s cheeks.

  “Shanda slit her wrist. I can’t talk now. I gotta get to the hospital.” I quickly jumped away from the car as Rondell pulled out of the driveway and tore off down the street. He didn’t even stop at the stop sign and almost hit another car.

  I got in my car and headed to the hospital. Shanda had tried to kill herself. Why? She had complained about her parents running her life, but slitting her wrists seemed like an extreme reaction to overbearing parents. More than likely this had something to do with Vaughn Castle. Did he threaten her? Did he beat her up again? How many women were going to suffer because of Vaughn? I arrived at the hospital and was heading into the emergency room when I heard someone calling my name. It was Morris Rollins.

  “My brother Rondell called and said they were bringing my niece to the hospital. I couldn’t get much sense out of him. You haven’t seen him, have you?” Rollins looked past me into the emergency room.

  “No. I just got here. He told me the same thing when I stopped by their house this morning.” I wasn’t about to tell Morris Rollins that his niece had tried to kill herself. That was his brother’s job.

  Rollins looked taken aback. “I didn’t realize you knew my niece.”