Two Tears in a Bucket

by Traci Bee

  “Thomas!” Mae yelled.

  “Well, he ain’t.”

  “Granddaddy, Simone’s not my mother. Angela is.”

  “Alicia, tell her who her real mother is. You won’t get in any trouble. If your crazy-ass momma asks you how she found out, just tell her I told her.”

  “Well…” Alicia sighed as Jordan waited on the edge of her seat. “Simone is your mother, but don’t tell Mommy I told you.”

  “You serious?”

  “Yeah,” Alicia said. “And remember, I didn’t tell you.”

  “When you were lying up in that hospital, a teeny-tiny little baby, Simone, your real momma, sat up there with you every day by herself. She used to spend her whole paycheck buying you little designer outfits and everything. You even slept in the bed with her. I used to think she was gon’ roll over and flatten you like a pancake.” Thomas chuckled.

  “So if Simone’s my mother, where’s my father?”

  “We’ll save that for another day,” Thomas said. “I can’t believe your grandmother,” he reiterated, looking at Jordan. “She shoulda been told you the truth.”

  “Told her the truth about what?” Simone shouted as she walked inside the house.

  “That you’re my mother,” Jordan stood up from the kitchen table and walked toward Simone, staring at her as if she was seeing her for the first time. For the first time as her mother.

  Simone froze. She hadn’t expected that. “Who started this conversation?” she asked, her eyes fixed on Thomas.

  “You shoulda been told her, Simone. I didn’t know your momma was keeping that from her.”

  “Simone,” Jordan said, “if you my mother, how come when we out and people ask you who I am, you never say I’m your daughter?”

  The question cut deeply into Simone’s heart. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and led her back to the couch. “Jordan, baby, oh my goodness. Are you serious?” she said as she sat Jordan in her lap. “Who wouldn’t want you for a daugh­ter? You’re the prettiest little girl in the world, you’re funny, smart…oh my goodness, Jordan, believe me. I wanted to shout it to the whole entire world but you didn’t know. And I was scared if I told you, Angela would start playing tricks again, and I wouldn’t be able to see you. Now watch what happens when she finds out you know the truth.”

  “Well,” Jordan said, looking down at the floor, “if I’m your daughter, how come I live with her? How come I don’t live with you and Kayla?”

  Simone felt herself getting upset. “Jordan, you did live with me. Your grandmother was supposedly doing me a favor by watching you. Then one day, out of nowhere, she decided she wasn’t giving you back. I called the police and everything.”

  Thomas leaned against the archway that divided the kitchen from the living room. “Jordan, I don’t want you to be mad at Simone or your grandmother. Simone was young, and your grandmother’s just crazy.” His playful snicker caused Jordan to smile, too. “I’m just kidding, Jordan,” he said as he grabbed his camera from the kitchen table.

  Jordan looked up at her mother. “So, Simone, if you’re my real mother, where’s my real father?”

  “Uh, Jordan, I think you’ve had enough for one day,” Simone said as the unexpected flash from Thomas’s camera lit up the room.

  ● ● ●

  Angela could tell something was wrong with Jordan the minute she walked in the front door. She wasn’t her usual happy-go-lucky self, ranting and raving about where Simone had taken her or what she had bought her. Instead, she ran straight to her room and closed her door.

  “Did something happen this weekend that I need to know about?” Angela asked as she walked into Alicia’s room and closed the door. The smell of fingernail polish lingered in the air as Alicia coated her toes with brick-red polish.

  “Umm, something like what?” Alicia asked, more focused on the polish than her stepmother.

  “Where’d y’all go?” Angela huffed, crossing her arms impatiently. She was asking the questions, not Alicia.

  “To Simone’s father’s house.”

  “Did Simone’s father say anything to Jordan?”

  “Like what?” She blew her nails dry, not bothering to look Angela’s way.

  “Alicia, so help me. I’ma jump across that bed and make you eat that polish,” Angela threatened through tight lips. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Did Thomas say something to Jordan, yes or no!”

  “Yes,” Alicia mumbled, looking shamelessly at Angela.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes…he told Jordan the truth. That Simone’s her mother.”

  Angela fumed. “Why didn’t you say something to me?”

  “’Cause she was fine all weekend. She didn’t get upset until she came here. What’s the big deal anyway? Simone is her mother.”

  Angela sprang across the room and slapped Alicia across her face, leaving the imprint of her hand in her flesh. “I’m her mother,” she growled.

  Angela stormed from the room, slamming Alicia’s door. Although tempted to talk to Jordan, she decided against it. She was too upset to approach her now. If anything, she needed to make sure the pieces to her puzzle were still intact.

  Tucked neatly in a secret file, hidden deep in her closet, were the papers from years ago. The papers Beatrice signed on behalf of Kevin, which allowed the judge to grant custody to Angela and Ricardo. It was all perfectly legal. Or was it?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Early 1996

  Simone was a natural when it came to selling homes and catering to the needs of her clients. The top-selling agent in her office, Simone celebrated her success by trading in her Camry for a brand-spanking-new white Lincoln Navigator. Everything in life seemed to be going great. Jordan knew who she was and practically lived with Simone. Business was good, and Simone didn’t have a financial worry in the world. Life would be perfect, if only she could find a faithful companion. Always ready and willing to offer his love was good ole Andre Perkins.

  “So,” Andre whispered as they sat on the leather couch watching a movie in the dark. Girly flicks weren’t his thing, but he sat watching Love and Basketball with Simone anyway. Kayla was stretched out asleep between them. “You gonna tell me you don’t love me anymore?”

  “Of course, I love you, Andre. I just don’t love us.”

  “What you mean by that?”

  “The name calling, the lies, the strippers, you strolling in all hours of the night, the silent treatment, your attitude.” Simone looked at him and asked, “Any of that sound familiar? I mean, what we’re doing now is how we were in the beginning, but this ain’t us. I mean, at least not the new us.”

  “Simone, everything you’re saying is true. But please believe me when I say nothing happened between me and Sunshine.”

  “Whatever, Andre.”

  “I’m serious, Simone, and I’m sorry for everything. I know how it looked, and I can imagine how it sounded. I just wanna make it up to you.”

  “Make it up to me for what? Because I’m doing good?”

  “Damn, how easily we forget. Did you need a down payment on your truck, or did the value in the Camry hold up like I told you it would?”

  Simone was speechless. So much had happened that she’d forgotten how lovingly generous Andre used to be. In the forefront of her mind was the lying, cheating dog he’d become.

  “Look, I don’t know when things turned. All I know is that I love you.” He draped his arm across the back of the couch and gently massaged Simone’s neck with his fingers. “Why don’t you let me take you away this weekend…to see if we can mend things? Let me see if I can make you fall back in love with me, or back in love with us.”

  “I can’t, Andre. I have appointments.”

  “Can’t you reschedule them, just this once?”

  “You know the last time we went away, you—”

  “Simone!” Andre huffed, cutting her off. “Stop living in the past. Let’s just have a nice weekend and see if we can’t
start over. We have to at least try.” He looked down at Kayla. “We owe that much to her. I don’t want her to be like every other child out there, being raised by only one of her parents. I want her to have both of us every day.”

  Simone sighed. She was hesitant and it showed.

  “We don’t have to hop on a plane, but let me plan a little weekend for you. I’ll make it one you won’t forget. I promise.”

  The weekend came, and things didn’t go according to plan.

  “I’m sorry, Andre,” Simone said as she pulled into the driveway of a house she was trying to sell. “I rescheduled all of my appointments, and then these clients called talking about backing out of their contract. I can’t just let it fall through. It’s my biggest deal, so I gotta do something to save it.” She pulled the visor down and flipped open the mirror to apply a little gloss to her lips. Not enough to be glamorous, but a modest dab to accent her smile.

  “Ah, man,” she said as her clients pulled into the driveway behind her. “They brought their mothers.”

  “So how long you gon’ be?” Andre asked with little patience.

  “I don’t know. Hopefully not long.” Flipping the visor back up, she threw on her professional smile and whispered, “Wish me luck,” as she climbed from the truck.

  Simone’s clients stayed in the house for over an hour. Every so often, she went outside to check on Andre, but the last time she checked, he’d reclined the seat and dozed off.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they were gonna take that long, but I saved the deal and got a referral,” Simone rejoiced later. “Aren’t you proud of me?” she beamed, while backing out the driveway, but Andre didn’t share in the blissful moment.

  “Andre?” she said again, stealing a quick peek at him as he stared out the window, ignoring her. Now see, this is the dumb shit I’m talking about, she screamed inside, immediately regretting that she’d cancelled her other appointments.

  The tension in the truck was suffocating. After riding in silence for nearly ten minutes, Simone was ready to yank out her hair.

  “You’re really killing me,” she mumbled, braking for a traffic light.

  “I’m killing you?” he shouted back.

  “Yes, Andre. You act like I scheduled the appointment on purpose. I told you what happened.”

  “Simone, you could’ve cancelled it! You didn’t have to show them the house.”

  “Cancel it and what, let it fall through? I had to show them damn near twenty houses before they finally agreed on that one,” she raved. “And now I’m just supposed to let it fall through?”

  “Man, whatever.”

  “No, Andre, it’s not whatever. I don’t get a paycheck every two weeks anymore so it can’t just be whatever when I have a mortgage.”

  “Fuck you and your mortgage!”

  “Fuck me? You know what?” The light turned green, but Simone didn’t budge. Instead, she popped her locks. “Get out!”

  “What?”

  “Get the fuck out!” she repeated over the blaring car horns. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “You ain’t said shit.” Andre opened the door and hopped from the truck. He pulled something from his pocket and threw it forcefully inside before slamming the door. Whatever it was hit Simone in her thigh and fell underneath her seat.

  Speeding through the light, her thigh stung from whatever it was Andre had thrown at her. She turned on the interior light and fished around under her seat until she felt the object.

  What the hell is this? she thought with the small jewelry box in hand. She shook it but nothing rattled. She flicked off the gift box top, flipped back the velvet top of the jewelry box and gasped at the sparkling solitaire diamond ring. It wasn’t a ‘Lord-have-mercy, smack-ya-momma’ diamond, but it was a ring nonetheless.

  “Oh my God,” she whimpered. “He was going to propose?”

  Visions of a fairytale wedding waltzed in her head. She could picture it all—her modern-day gown that would make Cinderella jealous, her hair in a Hollywood pinup fit for the red carpet, the ice sculptures, her wedding cake—all of this and more in the midst of a white Winter December Wonderland theme.

  Engulfed in the fantasy, Simone whipped an illegal U-turn and drove down the street searching for Andre. She had to find him. They had a wedding to plan for the end of the year.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  1997

  The foamy white bubbles floating on top of the water popped, one after the other. Kevin sat on the tub’s edge, tapping his foot to the familiar melody, providing the perfect serenade for a romantic evening. He recognized the catchy tune and hummed along with the melody. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn’t place the song or the words.

  Kevin swished his finger around in the tub. It was nice and tepid, just the way he wanted. He stood, removed the towel from his waist, and offered his hand to his date—the faceless woman swaying seductively to the music. She recognized the tune, as well. He could tell just by the way she hummed that her voice was just as pleasant as her curves. She followed Kevin’s lead and untied the sash around her red silk robe. The sleek material slithered down her mouthwatering bosom and voluptuous hips and rested on the small ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor. Kevin took her soft, manicured hands into his and led her to their bath in the warm tub of sour smelling milk. The bloody dreams that had once haunted him had gradually faded. Night after night, mysterious music played in his dreams as he romanced the same anonymous female.

  Roars of chatter bounced off the pale gray walls of the recreation hall. Kevin rested his pen on the table and reclined on the back two legs of the chair, proud of the poem he’d just written in exchange for a box of Little Debbie snacks. This was by far his best composition.

  As he scanned the crowded recreation hall for Dre, his newest client, Kevin absentmindedly hummed the tune that had played so vividly in his dream. All day he’d hummed the tune, unable to shake the catchy little melody. With Dre nowhere in sight, Kevin glanced at his latest masterpiece, ready to read it again.

  Shit, this is worth more than a box of Lil’ Debbie’s, he thought. Tapping out the tune on the table with his fingers, he read the poem to the beat of the music.

  Damn, he chuckled to himself. The words flowed perfectly with the melody from his dream. This could be a song.

  The chitchat boiling over in the recreation hall settled to a simmer. Sergeant Powell’s tall, lanky frame stood in the doorway, his beady eyes darting around the room looking for somebody.

  Who the hell in trouble now? Kevin thought.

  “Kennard!” Sergeant Powell gestured to Kevin with a wave of his hand.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Kevin grumbled, wondering what he was being blamed for. He hadn’t been in trouble in years. Not since his rendezvous with Mr. Johnson. He’d met with the parole board once, and although parole hadn’t been granted, the commissioner had shared that if Kevin kept his nose clean and stayed out of trouble, parole would be an option.

  Grabbing his papers, Kevin headed to the door and followed Sergeant Powell out into the hallway.

  “Hey,” Sergeant Powell said, “I just wanted you to know that I recommended you for a job in the lieutenant’s office.”

  Kevin was shocked. He and Sergeant Powell had never had an altercation, but they weren’t the least bit chummy. “You recommended me? Why?”

  “’Cause,” Sergeant Powell responded with a simple shrug. “You one of the few in here that’s actually tryna get it together. Besides, half of these idiots can’t even write their own fuckin’ name, let alone work in an office. But hey,” he threw up his hands and took a few steps back from Kevin, “if you don’t want it, just let me know.”

  “Naw,” Kevin said, knowing a job like that would surely come with special privileges. He didn’t know the perks, but there had to be some. “I’ll take it.”

  “You’d be a fool not to. You start tomorrow evening.”

  At six o’clock the next evening, Kevin was escorted d
own the forbidden corridor that not only led to the lieutenant’s office, but the warden’s, as well. Gold-plated frames held pictures of all the officers employed by the prison.

  So this is their lil’ spot, Kevin thought. Standing before the lieutenant’s office, the guard tapped on the frosted glass door with his knuckles.

  “Ah, Lieutenant!” the guard called out in a forceful voice while pushing the door open.

  The dusty smell of books circled through the air of the tight, yet simple office of the lieutenant’s full-time secretary. The ceramic gadgets scattered on the small oak desk and the pinkish sweater with the dainty lace collar draped across the chair told Kevin that the full-time secretary was white, old, and country. Behind her desk were the solid double doors that led to the lieutenant’s massive office.

  The lieutenant swung open his door. Standing straight and tall like a decorated warrior, he looked Kevin up and down. Kevin knew not to expect a handshake or any other professional flattery. He was an inmate, the scum on the bottom of the guard’s boots.

  With a nod of his head, the lieutenant dismissed the escorting officer.

  “Have a seat, Kennard,” he ordered, pointing his nail-bitten finger toward the secretary’s chair.

  Kevin sat while the lieutenant disappeared into his office, reappearing seconds later with a yellow legal pad. He ripped off the top two pages and smacked them on the desk in front of Kevin.

  “I need you to type this memo. The governor just passed some crazy-ass law allowing female guards to work inside the cell blocks.” The lieutenant hovered over Kevin, breathing down his back. “They’re no longer confined to the visiting room. Now you guys will have access to some real pussy.” He chuckled sarcastically.

  ● ● ●

  Months into the job, Kevin had gained the lieutenant’s trust. It was nothing for Kevin to have the office to himself. Sergeant Powell popped his head inside the office on occasion to check on him, but even that seldom occurred.