Envy

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  That had been such a devastating year, a horrible time. And even now, as I remembered, I could still feel that pain.

  I was pregnant.

  And I had no idea what I was going to do. When I first suspected it, I thought I’d be able to handle it—because of Mr. Stanley. He’d been there for me and I’d been there for him, too. Doing all kinds of things with him on Wednesdays.

  Now that I was pregnant, though, it had all changed. When I used to pass him in the halls, he wouldn’t say anything, but he would give me a wink or a smile on the sly. But now he didn’t even look my way. His eyes never wandered toward me . . . and when they did, it was as if he saw me by accident, but then he treated me as if I were invisible.

  I was far from invisible, especially the way every day my belly protruded even more. It was still a secret, though. No one knew except for Buck, and I was so grateful for my new friend.

  From the day I’d met him in Walmart, Buck had stayed by my side. Every day, he met me at the bus stop and walked me home. On Fridays, he’d stay at my house, sometimes all night, since Mama never came home till the next day.

  And every day when I saw Buck, we had almost the same conversation:

  “What am I going to do? I can’t have no baby.”

  “I know. But I got you, boo. We’ll figure this out.”

  “How?”

  “Well, there are people who take care of these things. You can get an abortion.”

  “But they don’t do abortions down at the clinic anymore,” I said. “All of those churches got that place closed down.”

  “I know. But there are still private doctors who do them.”

  “Yeah, and those doctors cost so much money. I’ve checked.”

  “I told you, I got you. I’m trying to round up some money now. My cousin Que just got in the game.”

  I knew what he meant by that—his cousin was selling drugs. They were some of the biggest moneymakers in White Haven.

  He said, “I asked him if he could lend me the money, but he’s putting all of his money back into his business. He said he’d see what he could do, though.”

  I nodded, though I had no hope.

  “No matter what happens, you not gonna be by yourself. I’m gonna be here for you.”

  “I’m gonna have to tell my mama soon.”

  “Don’t say nothing yet. Not till we figure out which way to go. Just keep wearing your big clothes.”

  I did what Buck told me, wearing sweatshirts, even when the temperature was above eighty. Like Buck said, it worked at home. Not that Mama didn’t care about me, but she had to work so much, she didn’t have time to check out what I was wearing or notice how much weight I was gaining. When we were home together, I just kept on my bathrobe.

  Then, on one of the regular days when Buck walked me from the bus stop, I paused and kissed him at the end of the driveway when I saw Mama’s car parked there. But while I was kissing him, he wasn’t kissing me.

  His eyes were wide open, and then he said, “I think that’s your mama.”

  I whipped around and saw Mama standing on the porch with her hands on her hips. There was only one time when she stood that way—that meant trouble.

  I didn’t even turn around and say anything to Buck; I just rushed away from him and scooted up the walkway. “Hey, Mama.”

  Her blond hair swung behind her back when she said, “Keisha. LaVonne. Jones.”

  That was the second bad sign—my full name. She glared at me and then her eyes rose over my head and I knew she was looking at Buck.

  Dang! I should’ve told him to get out of here, to run all the way to wherever he was going. But I wasn’t going to turn around now.

  I was shaking, but I had to ask, “Mama, what’s wrong?” My voice trembled along with the rest of me.

  “Are you pregnant?” she asked me.

  I was stunned . . . How did she know? I looked down at my belly, wondering if it was sticking out that much.

  That was the only answer Mama needed. “You are pregnant.” Then she glared over my head once again. “You’ve been having sex with that snotty-nosed boy over there?”

  I gulped, trying to think of how I was going to tell her about Mr. Stanley. But before I could get the words out, I heard footsteps on the pavement. Two seconds after that, Buck stood by my side.

  “Yeah, Ms. Jones. I’m the baby daddy.”

  I turned to Buck with wide and wild eyes. What was he talking about? I had never told him about Mr. Stanley—he had never asked. But we sure ’nuff knew that Buck wasn’t the father. We had just started kissing.

  Looking straight at my mama, Buck kept talking. “I just want you to know, Ms. Jones, that I’m gonna take care of Keisha and our baby.”

  Mama’s glare softened—just a little—as if she already liked Buck. And then she said, “Well, you two come on in the house. We have a lot to talk about. And one of the things is that school said you can’t come back there.”

  Now I was so shocked I couldn’t move at all. At least, though, I knew how Mama had found out.

  But Buck said, “Yes, ma’am,” to Mama, then took my backpack from me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the house, into the living room and then, onto the sofa.

  Mama marched in behind us, sat across from us, and folded her arms. But that didn’t scare Buck. He talked as if this were really our baby—telling Mama his plan about going to the clinic to get me and the baby some care, and how he was gonna find a job, probably at Walmart as soon as he turned sixteen, and then, he’d take care of both of us.

  By the time Buck finished, Mama’s arms were down by her sides, and she was leaning forward, smiling, and asking Buck when she was gonna meet his people.

  Her final words to Buck that day were, “Well, all right now, you’re stepping up. I like a man who steps up.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Buck said. “That’s what I’m trying to be. I’m trying to be a man.”

  I SWIVELED THE chair away from the window. Buck had told my mama he was gonna be a man, and even though he was only fifteen, he’d been more of a man than any who had been in my life. He’d taken responsibility for a baby that didn’t have anything to do with him. And when he started really loving me, I was able to start loving that baby.

  The more Buck said that he was my baby’s daddy, the more I believed it, too.

  Until like five months later, when I popped the baby out of me. It hadn’t been all that bad, and Buck and Mama had been in the hospital room watching it all go down and all come out.

  When the nurse handed the baby to Buck, he had cooed over her like he’d never seen anything so beautiful. “Nzuri. That’s your name,” he said without ever talking to me about a baby’s name. I hadn’t thought about it really.

  But that name sounded pretty, and I really liked it when Buck explained to me, the baby, and Mama that Nzuri meant beautiful in Swahili. I didn’t know where Swahili was, but the name was fine with me.

  Buck had given our daughter her name, but that was just about all he could give her. Because without his DNA, he couldn’t give her the charcoal tone of his skin. And because of that, and because of Mr. Stanley, Nzuri came out of me as yellow as the rubber duck that was in the crib that Mama had already set up next to my bed at home.

  Mama hadn’t really seen the baby until Buck handed Nzuri to her. Even now, I shook my head remembering the look of shock or horror (I could never tell which) that passed over Mama’s face. She looked down at that baby, then looked up at me and Buck, and she only had one thing to say: “Oh, lawd!”

  The rattling knob on Gabrielle’s door brought my mind back to now, and that was a relief. It ripped my thoughts away from Mr. Stanley, but even more important than that, it took me away from Nzuri—and all that happened with her.

  Now there was a knock and, “Keisha?”

  I jumped up and dashed to the door. When I opened it, Gabrielle peeked in before she stepped in.

  “Why was the door locked?” She gave me a real hard side-eye
glance.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even realize it. I’d just come in here to make sure all the calendars were synced. I’m still trying to figure out what happened this morning.”

  She moved toward her desk and waved her hand. “That’s okay. It was probably like you said—when we got your new phone, it didn’t sync everything properly.”

  I nodded.

  “From now on, we’ll just double- and triple-check, because I cannot have another disaster like that.” She paused. “But thank you for getting those numbers together and giving them to Regan.”

  “You’re welcome.” I turned, but before I could step out of the office, Gabrielle said, “I have a question, though. How did you get into my computer?”

  Slowly, I turned and faced her. Giving those numbers to Mr. Flynn and Mr. Williams had not been in my plan. That had come to me this morning, and I wasn’t even sure if it would work—since I didn’t think I had the pass code to Gabrielle’s computer.

  But when I’d come up with the idea, I walked into her office and tried one code—the last four digits of her Social Security number.

  And it worked.

  People were so predictable. That was something that Buck taught me.

  I said, “I just hit the mouse; it was unlocked.”

  She frowned. “I shut it down last night.”

  I shook my head. “It was on this morning, so . . .” And then I added, “Remember we rushed out of here because Mauricio asked you to pick up Bella?” I shrugged. “Maybe in the rush . . .”

  She looked down at her computer. “Yeah, maybe.” Then glancing at me, she said, “Well, thank you for having my back.”

  She smiled when she spoke; I didn’t. I said, “Always. I’ll always have your back. Just like you have mine.”

  I spun around and walked from her office, already planning my next steps in my head.

  29

  Gabrielle

  After the morning I’d had, what I needed was some comfort food. So when Regan asked where I wanted to go for lunch, my expression told my best friend that the Hot Dog Shack was my eatery of choice today.

  Since it was just a few blocks up Wilshire, that was another advantage. We could take a walk, something I never did in Los Angeles, and I could walk out some of this tension, while enjoying the cooler September temperatures.

  We took the leisurely stroll, arriving just a smidgen before the lunchtime rush, and ordered our specialty hot dogs. Later, we exited to their courtyard and chose one of the red-and-white-checkered-tablecloth tables far away from the counter, where a crowd would congregate in just minutes.

  The wrought-iron chairs scraped the bricked ground as Regan and I scooted closer to the table. Then, as the sun beamed over us, we bowed our heads, said silent prayers, then dug into the chili-and-cheese dogs, which were too decadent to eat more than once every month or so.

  After I took that first bite, I closed my eyes and savored the treat. “I deserve this,” I said after a long sigh of pleasure. “Today has been a day.”

  “And it’s just noon.”

  “Thanks for not canceling on me.”

  At first the way Regan frowned, I thought she had no idea what I was talking about. “Why would I do that?” But then, just as quickly, she added, “Just because I have a business partner who doesn’t take her job seriously?”

  I chuckled, but Regan didn’t crack a smile, and I tilted my head. “You don’t think that . . .”

  Now she grinned. “I was kidding. Well, about part of it. About not taking things seriously . . .” When she stopped, her smile went away, too. “Are you sure that there was a problem with your calendar syncing?”

  I threw my hands in the air. “What else could it be?”

  “I don’t know.” She slowed down her cadence. “It’s just such a coincidence that the meeting wasn’t on your calendar and you weren’t in the office. Think about it—any other day, you would have been sitting right there when the Chancellor people came in. But today . . . when it wasn’t on your calendar . . . your father just happened to call you to come over . . .”

  “Oh, so now you’re a conspiracy theorist, and my dad is involved in this plot to keep me away from the office so that . . . what? Is he planning some kind of takeover?”

  After a moment, she shrugged. “How is your dad?”

  “He’s good.” I popped a french fry into my mouth. “He just wanted to check in and make sure everything was fine with me and Mauricio since Keisha is living with us. I think he was beginning to feel a little guilty about being the one who wanted her here, but she’s staying at our place.”

  “That’s a good point. And?”

  “And what? Are things good with Keisha being there?” I answered before Regan had a chance to. “We’re fine. I love having her there, and she’s not the reason why Mauricio can sometimes be a jerk.”

  Regan raised an eyebrow. “A jerk? Oh, tough language.” She laughed. “What’s going on?”

  I took another bite because I was going to need a little energy to talk about this. “Mauricio and I are good now, but for a few days, the air was sure salty between us. And you’ll never believe why.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed together.

  I waited several beats before I said, “Justus.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Again?”

  “That’s almost exactly what I said. This time, it was over me asking Keisha to get Justus coffee.” When Regan frowned, I filled her in on all that Mauricio had told me.

  “Wow. A cup of coffee caused all of that?”

  “No, it wasn’t about coffee, it wasn’t about Keisha, it was all about Justus. It just seems like any time Justus’s name is mentioned, the conversation goes left.”

  She nodded, though it took Regan a moment to say something. Then finally, “What is it with Mauricio? He knows you love him, so what is this jealousy about?” She shook her head. “It’s not attractive, especially on a man.”

  “He’s never recovered from Justus telling him that if he’d come back to LA two weeks before our wedding, there would have been no wedding.” I sighed. “You know how Justus is. He says crazy things like that to get under Mauricio’s skin, and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to stop Justus, and I don’t know how to stop Mauricio from getting riled up every time.”

  “Is this rivalry between them ever going to end?”

  “There is no rivalry. I loved Justus fifteen years ago. I’ve loved Mauricio since I met him in grad school. Mauricio is the man I married. Forever.”

  “Yeah, well . . . and Justus is the man who financed our business.”

  “Now you sound like Mauricio.”

  “I’m just sayin’, maybe I can understand your husband a little. I mean, it’s like he’s never going to get rid of this man who’s a major Hollywood star, who still acts like he’s in love with his wife.”

  I groaned. “It’s not like that. But anyway, Mauricio and I made up all the way this morning, and I’m going to put an exclamation point on that tonight.”

  She laughed and we bumped fists.

  But then, after a few bites and chews, Regan got serious again. “You know . . .” She stopped, then waved her hand. “Never mind.”

  I shrugged, refusing to ask Regan what she was going to say, and that was the key to get my best friend talking.

  She said, “This is all Keisha’s fault.”

  I was waiting for the rest of it, and when she said nothing else, I laughed. “Wow, I know you don’t like my sister, but you’re blaming her for Mauricio and me getting into it about Justus?” I didn’t give her a chance to respond. “That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”

  She put her hot dog down and leaned back. “Well, actually, from what you just said, she is to blame for your disagreement. At least indirectly. And that’s what I mean. She may not be the cause of any of this directly, but what do your missing a very important meeting this morning and your fight with Mauricio have in common?”

  I gav
e her the coldest, blankest stare I could muster.

  And how did she respond to my expression? She said, “I rest my case.”

  I slapped my hand on the table. “You have no case. You’re just crazy.”

  As if I hadn’t spoken, Regan said, “Keisha is the common denominator in both of these situations.” She sounded like she was giving a closing argument. “She had some part in this.”

  “Now you’re stretching your crazy.”

  My words did nothing to stop her. “Maybe, but there are people out there who are just bad luck, and I think your sister is one of them. She’s a bad, bad omen.”

  I leaned back. “Wow,” I said, adding a couple of syllables to the word. “Do you want to take back what you just said?”

  “No,” she said without any hesitation. “In fact, I want to double down. There is just something that is not right about your sister. I don’t know what it is, but before you and I started Media Connections, you know I prosecuted some shady folks, and she . . .” She tossed her napkin onto the table. “I know this is tough to hear, but I’m worried about you and your dad. I don’t trust that girl. Like I said, she’s a bad omen.”

  “So you’re saying my sister is evil?”

  Because of my tone, I expected Regan to really pause now and roll back her words. But not only did she not take them back, she doubled down—again. This time, though, she didn’t say anything. She spoke through her expression—an if-the-shoe-fits-your-sister kind of glare.

  Now it was my turn to speak without words. I glared right back, then pushed my chair from the table, scraping it loudly along the ground.

  “Gabby.” Regan called my name as I marched away from her. “Come on.”

  I didn’t even turn around and it was a good thing I didn’t. Because if I had, I would have cussed my best friend out. I would have cursed her with words that hadn’t even been invented.

  So since I already had enough on my plate to repent for, I just kept walking, hoping that by the time we saw each other once again, I didn’t still want to punch her right in the nose.