Envy

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  He took my hand and helped me to stand. “I love you, Keisha.”

  He may have been waiting for me to say it back, but when I didn’t, it didn’t seem to matter to him. ’Cause right there in the middle of the park, he kissed me deep.

  Buck and I had kissed a lot, but that was all we’d done. Because I was already pregnant when I met him and once Mama found out, she told us not to do anything to hurt the baby. Then, after Nzuri was born, I never wanted to go anywhere or do anything that didn’t include my baby.

  But now we were out, we were alone, and I guessed it was time. Buck didn’t say anything when he led me to the back side of the park and found a soft spot on the grass. He laid me down, lifted my dress, and lowered his pants. And right there, we had sex.

  It turned out that the grass was soft, but the ground wasn’t. That didn’t matter, though, because being with Buck was the opposite of being with Mr. Stanley. Everything about Buck was the opposite. My skin never matched with Mr. Stanley’s, but even though Buck was black-black, he was a better match for me. And Mr. Stanley never talked to me, and the whole time, Buck told me how much he loved me.

  By the time we finished and Buck gave me a kiss that felt like forever, I loved him, too.

  After we fixed our clothes, we sat on the swings for a little while longer before we strolled back down the streets. I couldn’t wait to see Nzuri; even though she wouldn’t understand, I wanted to tell her she would always be safe because it would always be me, and her, and her daddy.

  But when we turned to my street, I slowed down a little because what I saw didn’t make sense: a fire truck and an ambulance.

  I began to run and Buck did, too. But since I was running to get my baby, he couldn’t outrun me. Right as we got to the house, Mama stepped out with Mrs. George, the next-door neighbor, holding her up by her arm.

  “Mama.” I was so out of breath. “What happened? Where’s Nzuri?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. I dashed into the house, thankful that it wasn’t that big, and into the bedroom I shared with my baby.

  The crib—was empty.

  “Nzuri,” I screamed as I ran through the house searching every room. I kept calling her like I expected her to walk out and say, Hey, Mama, even though she wasn’t old enough to utter a single word or take a single step.

  When I couldn’t find her, I charged back outside, and now Buck was holding Mama. Dashing over, I ripped them apart. “Mama, where’s Nzuri? Where’s my baby?” I yelled.

  Mama wept, but through her tears, she shook her head. “She’s gone, baby.”

  “She’s gone? Where did she go?”

  “She died.”

  I whipped my head from side to side. “Babies don’t die.”

  Mama shook her head, Buck nodded, and I released a wail that went all the way to heaven, or maybe it was to hell, I didn’t know. It was a shriek that could be heard into eternity, then finally took me out and made me see nothing but darkness . . .

  I SHOOK MY head to rid that memory and blinked back my tears. This was why I never thought about Nzuri, never looked at any pictures of her, never visited her in the cemetery. Because any thought of her took me back to that darkness that was so black, so heavy, it strangled me and one day would keep me there forever.

  So I fought hard to keep thoughts of Nzuri away. But sometimes that darkness inched back, sneaking up. It lurked around me now, making me remember how I fainted that day. How later on, Mama told us she’d gone into the room to check on her, and Nzuri wasn’t yellow anymore, she was blue. How the doctors told us she’d died of something that was a syndrome. A syndrome that made healthy babies go to heaven.

  Sudden infant death syndrome and God had taken Nzuri from me.

  Mama and Buck had buried my baby together because I couldn’t do it. But after they had that funeral, Mama was never the same. She didn’t work too much, so we never had any money and had to keep moving from one house to another. Then Mama got sick, and over the next six years, she got sicker every day. By the time we moved to the back of Mrs. Johnson’s house, I knew the end was close for Mama. And I had to live through the death of someone else I loved.

  But while it was the end for Mama, that really was the beginning for me. Because right after that, Regan came to White Haven . . .

  “Mama!”

  The sound of her voice made me squeeze my eyes together and hope that I could thrust away the darkness. When I opened my eyes, right in front of me was the light.

  Babies don’t die.

  Bella said, “Look at my face.”

  I crouched down. “You look so pretty.”

  “I know.”

  I laughed. It was true—babies didn’t die. How could they? They weren’t old enough for God to be mad about anything. So babies couldn’t die. They just took over new bodies. At least, that was what I thought now when I looked at Bella. She was the light that Nzuri was supposed to be.

  Pulling her into my arms, I squeezed her as tightly as I could. Nzuri . . . Bella . . . the two were almost the same to me.

  37

  Gabrielle

  I checked out the spread in the greenroom inside Eso Won, a bookstore that had been a decades-long neighborhood staple. For the five hours I’d been here, there had not been a single blip. The streets were merry with the festivities, and Justus (with his entourage) played his part, moseying through the crowd taking pictures, signing autographs.

  Yet anxiety coursed through my veins.

  Because Mauricio and Justus were within twenty miles of each other. And my greatest fear was at any moment, those twenty miles would be twenty feet.

  Angst gripped me, even though I had spoken to both of these grown men and each had made a pledge to me:

  Justus: “I got this. I’m not trying to mess up anything today. This is all about me. No worries.”

  Mauricio: “I won’t do anything to mess up this day for you. It’s all about you. No worries.”

  Two men, so similar, so different. I had hugged one and kissed the other, praying they’d keep their promises.

  The moment I stepped out of the bookstore, I heard, “Mommy.”

  Bella wasn’t yet in my view, but her voice calmed my spirit. Seconds later, I saw my daughter barreling toward me, and then she jumped into my arms.

  “Look at my face,” she said.

  “Oh, my. You’re even more beautiful than you were last night. How did that happen?”

  She giggled and I hugged Keisha, then kissed my husband.

  “Hey, Gabrielle!”

  I glanced at one of the photographers we’d hired for the day.

  “Perfect timing,” the young woman said. “I’d love to get a couple of shots of you with your family.”

  “Definitely.” I held Bella, then inched closer to Mauricio on one side and Keisha on the other.

  The woman looked through her lens, then lifted her head with a frown. “I’m sorry,” she said to Keisha. “I just want the family, for now.”

  “She is family.” I reached my hand toward Keisha and pulled her even closer to me. “She’s my sister.”

  “Oh,” the photographer said before she lowered her eyes back to her camera.

  After a couple of shots, I said, “I’d like to get a few pictures with my husband in front of the step-and-repeat banner.”

  The photographer nodded, and I reached for Mauricio’s hand. When he took mine and squeezed it, the anxiety eased right out of me. In front of the banner, Mauricio and I posed and laughed and held each other, giving the photographer some spectacular candids.

  Then I heard, “Gabrielle, would you mind if our photographer took some pictures as well?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, my smile faded when I saw Veda Laurelton. What was she doing here? This certainly wasn’t a big enough event for the National Intruder’s senior editor to show up. There was only one reason she showed up anywhere—she was digging for dirt.

  But even though I wanted to tell her to go find a new hole to crawl into, I smiled. Be
cause as a publicist I knew all publicity was good publicity.

  “Veda, I’m surprised to see you.”

  “I’m sure you are”—she gave me the same plastic smile that I wore—“since we didn’t receive the press release for this.”

  “You didn’t?”

  She shook her head. “But I’m here now, so would you mind?” She pointed to the photographer standing beside her.

  I nodded, then turned my back as Mauricio wrapped his arms around my waist.

  As the photographer took a photo with a bright flash that was not necessary in this daylight, but that blinded me for a moment, Veda said, “What do you think about the post that appeared on our blog this morning?”

  I turned and faced Mauricio for a different pose, ignoring Veda. Did she think I spent any time reading their blog?

  She rephrased her question: “What do you have to say about the report that Justus is the father of your daughter?”

  My jaw dropped, and my arms did the same.

  “What?” Mauricio and I shouted together.

  Flash! The photographer took another photo of us standing with our mouths agape.

  “Your daughter?” Veda and the photographer turned toward Bella, who stood just feet away, holding Keisha’s hand. “Justus is her father, correct?”

  Bella and Keisha stood stiff, wearing matching expressions of confusion. The only relief I had at the moment was seeing Regan and Doug stroll up behind them.

  “Regan,” I shouted, “please take Bella over . . .” I stopped. It was hard to think when I couldn’t breathe.

  “To the jumping station,” Mauricio finished.

  Regan frowned, but she and Doug did as we asked, taking Keisha with them, too.

  Now Mauricio and I were the ones who wore matching glares. I said to Veda, “You need to take your lying—”

  “Don’t be mad at me,” she interrupted before I could curse her out. “Let me pull it up on my phone.”

  I had no idea why Mauricio and I stood there, but Veda found the post in less than ten seconds and read: “According to an unnamed source at Media Connections, Justus is the father of his publicist, Gabrielle Wilson Flores’s, five-year-old daughter, Bella, and—”

  “You better take this garbage out of here.” Mauricio stepped right up in Veda’s face, and I was afraid at that moment, he had no regard for the fact that she was a woman.

  “I’m just doing my job.” She shrugged. “Would you like to make a statement?”

  When I saw that vein throbbing in my husband’s temple, I grabbed his arm to save Veda’s life. To Veda, I said, “That post is a lie, and if you don’t get out of here, I’m going to have you removed.” Now I took my husband’s hand and dragged him away to the station serving lemonade. Oh, how I wanted something stronger. I picked up two plastic cups, then pulled Mauricio to the side.

  We sipped the lemonade as if it were wine and after a few gulps, I said, “I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I will find out. I think she made it up.”

  His breathing was still shallow. “She didn’t. Someone leaked that fake story.”

  “Who would do that?” I shook my head.

  “Who would do what?”

  For a moment, I closed my eyes and wished I could grab Mauricio’s hand, click my heels three times, and my husband and I would disappear to Tahiti or Dubai or Bali—it didn’t matter. Because Justus was about to be the water on the grease fire that simmered inside Mauricio.

  But because I couldn’t ignore him, I faced him, hoping I could get Justus to go back to wherever he came from.

  Before I had a chance, Mauricio stepped forward and spoke up. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Justus raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, bruh, but you better back up.”

  “You’re the one who planted that fake story.”

  “What fake story?” Justus’s face was creased with confusion.

  By the way he responded, I knew Justus wasn’t behind Veda’s lie. But Mauricio had fired the first shot, and Justus wasn’t the type to back down or go away.

  And neither was my husband.

  But I had to convince him, for the good of this world, to just leave this alone. “Babe”—I pressed my hand gently on my husband’s chest—“let’s go . . . get Bella.” Our daughter’s name was supposed to be the balm.

  “Nah. Don’t walk away,” Justus said, the determined agitator. “Let’s handle it.” He threw up his hands like he was ready to rumble. “What’re you talking about, fool?”

  “Justus!” I growled his name. “Back up.”

  He held up his hands but glared at Mauricio. “What? Your woman gotta speak for you now?”

  “No.” Mauricio stepped right into Justus’s space. “I’m doing the talking, and you better have a good answer.”

  Oh, God!

  “Why did the National Intruder walk up in here asking me and my wife if you were Bella’s father?”

  When that sly, slow grin spread across Justus’s face, I knew I only had seconds.

  Justus said, “Maybe that’s a good question since everybody knows you’re shooting blanks.”

  The time to stop trouble had just expired. “What?” I screamed in shock and fear.

  “Yeah,” Justus said to Mauricio. “We all wanna know—who is that baby’s daddy, ’cause it ain’t you, right?”

  “You better . . .” Mauricio growled.

  “I better what? Look, don’t be mad at me just because I’m the only man standing here.”

  Justus’s chuckle wasn’t even all the way out before Mauricio hooked a right shot to his jaw, which knocked Justus back but didn’t knock him down. It was only shock that made Justus hesitate, and then when he charged my husband, it was all over.

  I GAVE BELLA an extra hug because she looked so scared. “Daddy’s going to be fine, okay?”

  She nodded, but there were tears in her eyes. “I wanna stay with you and Daddy.”

  I shook my head. “Please go home with Auntie Regan and Auntie Keisha. We’ll be home soon.”

  As Regan took her hand and led her from the greenroom, Bella kept her eyes on us, looking back the whole time until they were out the door.

  While Doug stood over Mauricio, Keisha said to me, “Is there anything I can do?” Then her eyes lowered to Mauricio sitting on the sofa.

  “Just go home with Regan and Doug and take care of Bella. She’s going to need you.”

  Keisha hugged me, then she said good-bye to Mauricio. He didn’t speak, just raised his hand, acknowledging her. After sharing a few whispers with my husband, Doug stood, hugged me, then followed his wife, my daughter, and my sister.

  When we were alone, I closed the door, then crossed the room and sat next to Mauricio. Like him, I leaned forward, my arms resting on my legs. The only difference: I wasn’t holding an ice pack to my left eye.

  “Why did you tell him?” Those were the first words Mauricio had spoken to me.

  “I didn’t.” Though I was pissed at having to even answer this, I did because what was most important right now was assuring my husband. “You know I didn’t tell Justus. I’ve told no one. Not even Regan, and I share everything with her. But this, your condition, has been just you and me. You know that.”

  He nodded. “So why would he even think to plant a story like that?”

  “I don’t know. And the thing is, I don’t think he did it.”

  “Nah, he did.” The volume of his voice rose. “This has his name on it.”

  “Why would he plant this story? How would it help him?”

  He shrugged. “He has one of two reasons. To get under my skin.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Or because he suspects it’s true.”

  If, at that moment, Mauricio had punched me the way he had tried to take out Justus, that would have caused me less pain than those words. “What are you saying?”

  Slowly, he faced me, and now . . . he didn’t say anything. At least not with his mouth.


  I shook my head and fought hard to stay calm. “How could you accuse me of this?”

  “I’m not accusing you. I’m asking about Justus.”

  “But when you ask about him, you do realize what you’re saying about me, right?” I cried. “Are we really in this place where you’re questioning whether you’re Bella’s father?”

  Again, he used his silence to slash my heart.

  “Oh my God.” I cried out to the Lord over and over.

  “Well”—his tone was so matter-of-fact in the middle of my pain—“I do have a condition.”

  “But the doctors explained that to us. We may have had a dozen if we’d tried when you were twenty-one, but why are we even talking about this? You know you’re Bella’s father. Forget about looking at her; all you have to do is look at me.”

  Mauricio held my gaze for a long moment before he turned away. I had to stand so that I could breathe. I folded my arms and leaned my head back, trying to return the tears to my eyes.

  “I can’t believe this,” I said.

  “Neither can I.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “It’s not that.” He shook his head. “Look at this from my side. How did Justus find out?”

  “I. Don’t. Know. Maybe he knows the doctor, maybe he knows someone at the clinic—hell, maybe he knows the man who delivers our mail.”

  We stayed in our places, and as time ticked by, I regretted its passage. Because in this place, time healed nothing; time just deepened our divide.

  Finally, Mauricio said, “So what do we do now?”

  I shook my head.

  “I have a suggestion.” He spoke as if he’d had a plan for a while. “I don’t know how we continue with Justus in our lives.”

  I swiped at the tears on my cheek.

  “I just can’t do it, Gabby.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best from this point. I’ll keep you two apart.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s the solution to you?” He didn’t give me a chance to respond. “I’m talking about you not representing him anymore.”

  “Mauricio, we’ve had this discussion. He is Media Connections. Without him, I don’t have a business.”