Those simple words from a young man who’d felt the same separation as Raven, lifted her heart and spirit.
Eric sprinted out of the room and closed the door to his bedroom. She could hear the sounds of gentle sobbing coming from his room, the first time he’d shown any grief over Jaylon’s passing. Raven waited outside his door, giving him a moment of privacy and trying to bring her own emotions under control. When his cries subsided, she knocked and paused.
“Come in.”
Raven sat on his bed, hugged him, and they grieved together, silently and completely.
“I always thought she didn’t like me,” Eric whispered hoarsely.
“That wasn’t it.”
When Raven became pregnant with Eric at nineteen, Jaylon tried to work her way back into her life, insisting that since Raven was so young, and still in college, she should be the one to care for the little boy.
“It still felt like you all had some custody fight over me or something.”
Raven stroked his hair. “Well, sort of. When you were born she wanted to take over—you know Mama was like that.”
He nodded.
Eric had always been intuitive, and when he became old enough, he had commented on his grandmother’s lack of involvement, questioning once before if there had been a custody battle for him when he was younger. Raven, who’d never been one to lie, had told him a sliver of the truth in a way she believed he could understand. He said he did, but then he managed, with a few well-written letters, to bring Anita and Lorrie back into the picture after years of estrangement.
With that success in mind, he sought opportunities to bridge the gap between him and his biological grandmother. When his attempts at communication fell on deaf ears and a hard heart, resentment against her mother stirred again in Raven.
“I wanted to raise you on my own, especially seeing how my brother and sister turned out with too much indulgence and no discipline. The fact that I didn’t want Mom to take over didn’t sit too well, and she pulled back—all the way back—and didn’t have much to do with you at all.” Raven stroked his hair. “I didn’t refuse her help or advice, but she wanted the whole job of raising you when I was perfectly capable of doing it myself. I’m the reason she didn’t have much to do with you—”
“Mom, it’s not your fault,” he whispered, leaning his head on her shoulder. “It was still her choice. Things are what they are.”
For the first time Raven opened up to him, telling him what it was like for her growing up, telling him about the tumultuous relationship between the two women, and the husbands that had torn them apart.
“As heart-wrenching as the decision was, Anita moved out of the house and I didn’t hear from her in years. Mom was unwilling to give up the money James was giving her for the house…” Raven quieted a moment, leaving out the fact that she had been left to bear the brunt of her mother’s ire and James Ripley’s abuse.
In writing her second novel, Raven had taken all the hurt, pain and confusion, along with her emotions surrounding abandonment, and transformed them eloquently into words. When it was finally printed, she waited to give Jaylon a copy, afraid that the truth would put an even bigger wedge in an already unstable relationship.
She needn’t have worried. A couple of months after the book hit the shelves, while Anita was in Chicago visiting Eric and Raven, Jaylon invited Raven and Anita to dinner. When Raven walked through the door and saw a copy of her novel lying on the dinner table, her heart sank. She waited for Jaylon to lash out, hit her, do something. Even though Raven had changed their names to protect them, she still had exposed the women’s secret relationship. To her pleasant surprise, Anita pulled her in for a hug, begging her forgiveness. Right there, she poured her heart and soul out. Soon there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Jaylon asked Anita to forgive her, and Anita asked for understanding, if not forgiveness. A house that had once brought so much joy, then so much pain, finally became a place of healing. If her books never hit the bestsellers list, her writing, and Eric’s perseverance, had given Raven something money could never buy—peace.
All had been fine—until her sister Janetta came back on the scene, addicted to heroin, sleeping with anyone who had the money to support her habit, and trying every way possible to destroy the new relationship between Jaylon, Anita, and Raven. She almost succeeded. OJanetta had dropped her children on her mother’s doorstep without a word of please, thank you, or I’ll return for them soon because she thought DCFS might take them away. Then when she found out that they were getting money from the state, Janetta wanted to cash in—and had given Jaylon hell because of it. Another stress factor in Jaylon’s life.
Eric reached up to wipe away Raven’s tears as she said, “As I grew up, so many people called my mothers all these nasty words: dykes, lesbos, perverts, sluts. They didn’t understand that in trying to be mean to my mothers, they were hurting me more. I stopped going to church for a long time. Those people were the most hateful and judgmental. It pushed me away from wanting to know God—especially since some of those same churchgoers’ own secrets made them bigger sinners than they believed my mothers to be.”
Raven took in her son’s sad brown eyes, lips set a grim line.
“I didn’t think anything could compare with that pain—until I had you, and your dad decided he didn’t feel like being a father. You know the rest of that story, how he stayed away, never paid child support, shunned your attempts to get to know him, and only recognized you as his son once you became a bestselling author.” She sighed softly before saying, “Do you remember your reaction when he showed up that day?”
“I didn’t want anything to do with him.”
“That’s putting it mildly. You showed your independence that day, and I wondered if it was genetic. I knew I was in trouble when you never bothered to learn to crawl—you went straight to walking.”
Eric grinned. “Hey, I was in a hurry to get grown.”
Raven turned serious. “When he came that day, you were grown beyond your years, Eric. You’re already a better man than he could ever be. Do you ever regret that you turned him away that day? That you didn’t have a male role model?”
“Mom, I really think it’s more important that you raised me to be an honest, compassionate, and productive person—male or female. I never had a dad. I didn’t need one then and don’t need one now, at least not one like him.
“But I also saw the tears in the corners of your eyes,” she whispered, stroking a hand through his hair. “And I knew you felt the pain of rejection, and I could do nothing about it. I knew you were feeling many of the same things I did when I was young, but you were too proud to admit it.”
“Mom, it’s okay.” Eric walked to the closet, pulled a keyboard from the top shelf. “I remember when Grandma got me this.” He stroked the ivory keys. “She bought Kayla and Manny Nintendo games. I didn’t even want to play the keyboard, but she bought it, so I learned to play.” He shrugged again, plugged the cord into the outlet. “Kayla’s video game didn’t last a month and Manny never even played his, but I ended up in the jazz band at school and still play every chance I get.” He blinked, tickling over the keys, tears welling up in his eyes again. “She might’ve bought it trying to save money, but I think what she really wanted was for me to learn the piano because she’d always wanted to play and couldn’t. That says a lot.”
“God, she was horrible on that old thing, wasn’t she?”
“Better not tell her that,” Eric said with a laugh. “But she loved to hear me play.”
“Yes, she did, sweetie.”
“You know, when I found out she…died, I didn’t think I’d feel anything, because I really didn’t know her.” Eric looked down at the keyboard before fixing a gaze on his mother. “Yesterday I felt sad because you were sad, and it was okay ‘cause then it was all about you.” He looked away. “Now, I feel sad for my own reasons. I didn’t know her, and she never really knew me.”
Raven asked, “Do you beli
eve that people who read your books know you?”
“Some,” Eric said after a few moments. “Yeah, I guess they would.”
“Come with me.” She extended her hand. “Let me show you something.”
In the living room, Raven spread out the items she’d taken from the safe deposit box and passed the clippings and two of the novels to Eric.
“What are these things sticking out here?” He flipped open to a page and plucked a small yellow sheet from the top. “Hey, these are notes on my books.”
The back page had a full commentary, exploring the similarities of the characters and the plot to real-life events and people, ending with, Smart little fella, just like his mother.
Eric read it out loud, his voice wavering toward the end. “She liked my books!”
“Yep, gave them five stars, baby.”
“And I thought she only read the bible.”
“Well, evidently yours and mine made the cut.”
He fingered through an envelope. “And look at these!” It contained newspaper clippings from everywhere in the country. “Oh man, this one’s from the Atlanta Tribune, and this one’s from the Columbus Dispatch. I enjoyed that interview with Margaret Quamme.”
She showed him the pictures of the man she had found in the safe deposit box.
“I look just like him!” It was true. The only difference was that Eric had more of a tan. “So what are you going to do?”
“I’ll try to find him and…” She shrugged, unsure what she actually could do or where to start.
“Mom?”
“Hmmm.”
“Are you gonna call Pierce?”
She paused for a second or two before answering, “No.” She shook her head, refusing to meet her son’s eyes. “He wants too much from me. He wants me to give up my life here to be with him, but he won’t even think of moving to Chicago.”
“Why not meet somewhere in the middle, like Virginia, Ohio, or Pennsylvania? It’s not like you’ve got a lot else going on.”
Her head whipped up. “Watch your mouth.”
“It’s true,” he said with a mild grin. “I’m glad he took you to Hawaii. He is husband material, right?”
“There’s more to it than that, sweetheart.”
“No, there isn’t,” he shot back, ignoring her icy glare as he sifted through the clippings again. “You fall in love, get married, ride off into the sunset…”
“There’s definitely a lot more to it than that.” She gave him a hearty chuckle. How had she raised such an optimist when it came to romance?
Eric perched on the arm of the sofa. “You write about good relationships all the time.”
“Writing is one thing—”
“So put it into action,” he said with a wide grin and sly lift of his eyebrows. “I need to see an example—live and in person. It’d be nice for a change,” he joked and scurried away from the playful punch aimed at his midriff.
“I need some time, Eric.” She gathered up the remaining items. “You did your part. Let the adults take it from here.”
Eric trudged toward the kitchen to whip up something to eat, muttering, “It’s the adults that mess things up.”
He was sure right about that.
Twenty-Nine
Hours later, Raven had still put off calling Pierce because she knew a relationship with him would never work. Maybe a little drive-by nookie every now and then might, but a relationship? Never. The man was too stubborn. He wanted too much. Well, at least more than she wanted to give. So why call him and give him false hope?
She had settled in for the night and was jotting down the names of a few people who might know about her father when Drew called with Janetta on the line.
“I’ve already given as much help as I’m going to,” Raven said sourly. “We have the date and time. At this point, time is all I have to offer. Why don’t I call the people in Mom’s address book? Reverend Lowry said he would like you to hold the service at St. Thomas. It’ll save money, and it’s large enough to hold everyone.”
“Hold the service at St. Thomas?”
She continued writing. “Yes, sir.”
“But Mom wasn’t Catholic!”
“It’s Lutheran, Drew.”
“She wasn’t that either.”
“What church would you say Mom belonged to?”
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “She went to so many of ‘em, but didn’t really join any.”
“That’s my point. Mom won’t care where it is, because she was everywhere, doing the church chit’lin circuit. And you know that little chapel at the funeral home will not hold all the people who’ll show up.”
Drew finally conceded. “Okay, St. Thomas. I’ll call Ms. Sullivan.”
Janetta rudely asked, “What about the money?”
“What money?” Raven shot back. “You mean the money you’re shelling out to help your brother with everything? I mean, with all the money you made from stealing Mom’s televisions and stereos, the funeral’s all paid for, right?”
“But—”
“No buts, that’s it.” She broke the connection without giving them another thought.
Picking the phone back up, she called each church her mother had attended––more than thirty in all. They would spread the news to everyone else. Then she contacted her mother’s former employer, followed by everyone in her mother’s address book, before finally falling asleep with the phone in her lap, thinking that somehow she hadn’t reached everyone who mattered.
The phone rang, jarring her awake.
“We need your help with Mama’s services.”
“Drew, I know you’re not still on that trip.” Raven rubbed her eyes and shifted to a sitting position on the sofa.
“You’ve got money!”
“Did you hear what the lady said? You—only you—are supposed to handle everything. That’s not clear enough for you?”
“You know she didn’t mean it that way.”
“You were close to Mama; you should know more than anyone else.”
“There’s not enough money.”
“Then that’s a problem, but certainly not mine. I’ve helped a lot behind the scenes where it counts.”
Raven heard a muffled voice in the background before Drew replied, “You could just give the money to me. Mama won’t know.”
“I’ll know, and trust me, Mama’s still hanging around enough to watch over everything—at least that’s what I believe. Money will come in from cards and well-wishers. Use it for what it’s supposed to be used for.”
“Janetta’s already calling people trying to collect money,” Drew mumbled.
“That sounds like something she would do.”
“She’s telling everyone to bring cash.”
Raven jerked up, disgusted by the lack of class. “And you’re telling me this because?”
He lowered his voice. “You know she’s going to keep it all for herself.”
“And that’s a problem for me because…”
“See, you never did give a shit,” he snapped. “Got all that money and never really tried to help us out.”
“Oh, so the time I gave you the money to buy your car, that wasn’t helping you? Or the time I gave you the down payment for your house, that wasn’t helping you? What about the time I gave you the money to pay your past-due child support and kept your ass out of jail? That wasn’t…” Raven blinked back tears of rage. “Fuck you! And don’t call my house again.” She slammed the phone down, resting her eyes before the shrill ring jarred her again.
“What!”
“Hey, don’t snap at me,” Ava said. “Are you still doing the expo this weekend?”
Oh, God. She’d forgotten the annual expo for women held at McCormick Place. For the last four years, she and Eric had been guest speakers for the writers’ seminar. Major advertising by the promotion company had stated that they would be there again this year.
Call waiting buzzed in.
“Hold on f
or a minute.” Raven switched over to the other line.
“Where’s the new clothes?” Janetta demanded. “Where’s all that jewelry? I know she had some new stuff in here!”
Raven broke the connection and returned to Ava. “Yes, we’ll still do it. I’m checking into the Hyatt.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Working will give me the break I so richly deserve. My family members have lost their damn minds.”
After a brief update from Ava, she pulled the plug from the wall.
Eric strolled in and noticed the cord dangling from the side of the end table.
“All the people who really need to reach us have our cell numbers,” Raven said. “When do you have to be back in New York?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
She stood, stretched and gave a small sigh before saying, “Pack some clothes, we’re about to be incogNegro for a little while.”
Thirty
The day after the signings and seminars at the Expo, Eric flew back to New York to handle the auditions Pierce had scheduled. People stood waiting for their chance at stardom, in a line that snaked around the corner and to the doors of the Hammerstein Ballroom. Unfortunately, at the moment, Pierce, Steve, and Eric had heard only a surplus of unparalleled no-talents, and they still had more than three hundred people to see.
Pierce looked out of the window as the Sunday morning sun hid behind the clouds. He wished he could do the same. His eyes watered from equal amounts of pain and shock. The high-pitched screeching from the woman standing before them bordered on fifty sets of nails dragging across a chalkboard.
Eric blinked and stared curiously at the woman, whose yellow—not blond—hair was a striking contrast to her ebony skin—just as her voice was a striking contrast to that of someone who could actually sing. Pierce sighed. Risqué had probably considered herself ambitious for choosing a Mariah Carey tune. The woman was ambitious just showing up and calling herself Risqué.
Steve brushed a shaky hand across his forehead and dropped it over his mouth, trying to stifle either a laugh or a scream—Pierce couldn’t tell which. Finally, Pierce ended the woman’s performance with a single lift of his hand. All he could manage was, “We’ll call you.”
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