P. G. County

by Connie Briscoe

  “I told you, it wasn’t like that. I just asked Jolene a few questions, and she offered to ask around. I never asked anybody to dig up dirt. That’s not even like me, Ashley. You know me better than that.”

  “I thought I did. But ever since I’ve been dating Kenyatta, you’ve been acting so weird.”

  “I haven’t been acting weird,” Candice retorted. “It’s you who’s acting weird. You never dated a black man before. I’m trying to be patient about this, Ashley, but—”

  “What’s so different about dating a black man and having black friends? Huh? You never had a problem with us having black friends. Why is this so different?”

  “Don’t act stupid with me, Ashley. You know what’s different about it.”

  “You know what, Mom? I would never have figured you for this shitty behavior before. But you’re more like Granddad than I thought, and he’s the biggest bigot around.”

  It was all Candice could do to keep from slapping her daughter at that moment. “Don’t you dare talk like that around me. I’m still your mother. And don’t say that about your grandfather.”

  “Well, it’s true. He uses ‘nigger’ all the time.”

  “He’s from the old school.”

  Ashley waved her arm defiantly. “You always have excuses. Why can’t you just stay out of my business? Stop calling around asking questions, period. It’s embarrassing. And this family isn’t exactly perfect. What about our background?”

  Candice frowned. “What about it?”

  “Oh, please,” Ashley replied indignantly. “Our ancestors were slave owners. When I did that history project in the tenth grade and learned about that, I was so embarrassed.”

  Candice sighed. “You can’t compare that with this, Ashley. Everyone in the South owned slaves back then unless they were poor. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your ancestors were many things besides slave owners, things you can be proud of.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ashley said sarcastically.

  “It’s true. Your great-great-great-grandfather owned a lot of land near Richmond, Virginia. And his son George started a business in Massachusetts after he moved up there.”

  “Big deal,” Ashley retorted. She grabbed a lock of hair and twisted it around her finger. “And you know what? I always thought it was weird that we only have one picture of George and none of his first wife.”

  “Oh, Ashley,” Candice said with annoyance. “Now you’re making a big deal out of nothing. They didn’t have instant cameras back then. It wasn’t so easy to take a picture. You had to hire a photographer and—”

  “But there are plenty of his second wife and children on our side of the family. If George’s dad was this big-shot landowner, they could have afforded to take more pictures.”

  “Maybe George’s first wife died before they had pictures taken or maybe he left them behind when he moved to Massachusetts. I don’t know.”

  Ashley shook her head doubtfully. “There’s something fishy about old George. There are no stories about his childhood in Virginia, like where he went to school, or about his first wife. It’s like he suddenly materialized in Massachusetts with a new wife.”

  “Ashley, if you want to know more about your ancestors you can always do the research. I’ve been meaning to do that myself. But what has all this about dead ancestors got to do with anything we’re talking about now?”

  “I’m just saying that our family background isn’t perfect,” Ashley said. “Remember that before you start spying on other families.”

  Chapter 16

  They pulled up under the portico to a line of Benzes and Jaguars, and the doorman opened Barbara’s side of their Benz sedan. As Bradford directed the porter with their Louis Vuitton luggage, Barbara climbed out and looked across the vast estate, now blazing with fall colors. She breathed deeply, taking in the crisp, clean mountain air.

  Finally, she was here—at the Greenbrier in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia. The elegant resort hotel was a world away from the dirt-poor Virginia where she grew up.

  They checked into their suite, dressed for dinner and then had a wonderful multicourse meal at one of the restaurants for which the Greenbrier was noted. Bradford was charming and attentive—pulling her chair out as they sat, asking how her meal was and listening closely to everything she said. It felt like one of their early dates. God, he was such a handsome man, she thought as he signaled the waiter and ordered cognac for himself and coffee for her, especially under the glow of this romantic candlelight.

  “I’m glad you decided to come with me,” he said after a toast. “We should do this more often. Just you and me, alone together.”

  “We used to get away a lot. But …” She stopped and shook her head sadly.

  “I know.” He opened his suit jacket, then reached across the table for her hand. “I haven’t been the best husband to you. I know that. But I’m going to change,” he said earnestly.

  “I’ve heard this all before, Bradford.”

  He nodded understandingly. “But I mean it this time.” He paused and chuckled. “I’ve said that before, too, I guess. But I really understand the error of my ways now.” He shook his head. “I’m not a total cad, you know.”

  She looked down at the table.

  “What I’m trying to say, Barbara, is that I really want us to try and make things better. I don’t want us to just drift like we’ve been doing or you toying with the idea of leaving, which I assume you have …” He paused, waiting for her reaction.

  She took her hand out of his grasp. She wasn’t going to deny it. Let him squirm a bit. “I’m tired of the way things are, Bradford.”

  “That makes two of us. You and the girls mean a lot to me. I understand that now, and I really hope you’ll try to work things out with me.” He paused and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Maybe this will help you to at least begin to forgive me.”

  He held out a Tiffany box with a white bow, and she smiled. Those little blue boxes always lifted her spirits. Maybe not as much now as they did when she and Bradford were first married, but it was still a thrill to have one placed in her hand.

  She opened it and gasped at what lay inside—a beautiful sapphire and diamond ring.

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” she said. Over the years each one of his gifts of jewelry seemed to top the last. First it was pearls, then emeralds, then diamonds. Now it was a combination. She removed the jewel and placed it on her right ring finger. It fit perfectly. She held it out subtly and admired it against the light. The waitress came by and cooed appreciatively.

  “It’s beautiful, Bradford.”

  He smiled broadly, looking quite pleased with himself. In a way, what he was saying made sense. She had given this man thirty years of her life. He wasn’t as caring and honest as she would have liked, but they had come so far together. And she still enjoyed the respect and recognition that came with being Mrs. Bradford Bentley.

  Maybe Sabrina’s outrageous behavior had knocked some sense into him. He certainly seemed shook up by it. Or perhaps her hints of divorce made him realize how much he stood to lose.

  She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Even after all these years and a few extra pounds, he could still send a chill up her spine. She supposed that was another reason why it was so hard to let him go.

  Still, if she stayed, there were going to have to be some changes. “I’m glad to hear that you really want to try and work things out now. And I have to admit that my unhappiness isn’t entirely your fault. I need to get out there and develop my own interests. So …” She paused and squared her shoulders. “I’m going to get a real estate license.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A real estate license. I’m going to get one.”

  “What for?”

  “To sell houses. What else?”

  “C’mon, Barbara. You haven’t worked in years. And what do you know about selling houses?”

  “I sold furniture before we got married and I was damn good a
t it.”

  “Furniture is a long way from real estate.”

  “I helped you build our house.”

  He chuckled sarcastically. “Do you even know what an I-joist is?”

  She let out a deep breath. “I can learn. With the girls both grown now, I need to do something meaningful, something besides committee meetings and charity events.”

  Bradford looked up in exasperation. “What about working in Bloomingdale’s as a part-time sales clerk if you’re determined to work? Or Saks. You love to shop, and isn’t that your favorite store?”

  She ignored his sarcastic comments.

  “Fine, Bradford,” she said with tight lips. “I can see you haven’t changed one bit.” She shifted her gaze away from him and sipped her coffee.

  He sighed. “OK. You’re determined to try this?”

  She tapped her foot.

  “If you’re serious, I can ask a business associate of mine who’s a real estate lawyer to—”

  “No,” she interrupted firmly. “I’ll do it on my own.”

  “I was only trying to be of help.”

  “You can help by supporting me emotionally.”

  He smiled in resignation. “I’ll do my best. Real estate, huh? Tell me more what you’re thinking.”

  After dinner they strolled around the hotel and grounds. They talked, window-shopped the many boutiques and held hands as they walked back to their suite. She slipped into a new floor-length silk nightgown and dabbed a touch of Creed perfume between her breasts. It had been so long since they’d made love that it felt like she was on her second honeymoon.

  Chapter 17

  The park bench was still damp from the previous night’s rain and so was her blanket. Lee moaned and pulled the cover up over her head. Her body was sore from spending so many long cold nights on hard benches. Her stomach hurt from skipping too many meals. And her heart ached from missing her mama.

  She heard a noise and peeked out from under the blanket. The sun was just coming over the horizon, and she could see a man in a black cap standing near her feet and going through her purse. Lee knew from the funky odor hanging in the air and his tattered clothes that he was a homeless drunk.

  Her teeth were chattering, she was hungry as hell. She didn’t need this punk coming up in here starting shit. She had half a mind to pop him. The gun was right there under the towel she used as a makeshift pillow. Everything else she had in this world was in that bag. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. She threw the covers off, jumped up and lunged at him.

  “Get the hell away from there, you lame-ass punk,” she yelled as she pounded him with her fists, “before I put my foot up your ass.”

  The man was obviously caught off guard by her attack. He probably thought she was fast asleep. He stumbled back and threw his hands up to defend himself, and that was when Lee realized that he wasn’t black, as she had thought. He was white, but dirty as hell.

  She hissed, “Get the fuck out of my stuff.”

  She pushed him as hard as she could. But he had steadied himself by now. He sneered, pushed her back onto the bench and landed on top of her. Lee didn’t know if he was just clumsy drunk or had other things in mind. But he stunk something awful, and for the first time in weeks, she thought of Uncle Clive and his foul hands. She thought of all the nasty things he had done to her.

  She went mad.

  She screamed and cussed so loud her throat ached. She attacked the homeless man with every limb on her body—arms, legs, hands. She bit his cheek and spit in his face. “Get off me, you bastard,” she cried.

  The man jumped up, holding his face. “Crazy bitch,” he screamed, his face turning into an ugly scowl.

  She reached under the towel and jumped up, holding the gun at arm’s length and huffing and puffing to catch her breath. “Get the fuck out of here before I empty this sucker on your punk ass.”

  He vanished.

  Her shoulders shook with fright as she lowered the gun. A lone tear fell down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. She wanted to go home so badly. She had no business out here all alone.

  But then she thought of Uncle Clive’s lifeless body lying in a pool of blood on the living room floor, and she sat down and lowered her head to her lap.

  This was all Mama’s fault. Why didn’t Mama stop him?

  Lee heard a key in the lock and nearly fell out of her seat at the kitchen table. Mama never got home from work before dark, and her baby brother went to an after-school program up the block until Lee picked him up at six.

  She slammed her history book shut and leaped up. It had to be Uncle Clive. She hated that man. He was so skinny, he looked like he was on dope. And he was so pale he could pass for white if it weren’t for that nappy head of his. But worst of all, he sat around the house with his legs wide open and his hands resting on his crotch.

  He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen dangling his keys in his hand. “You done ate yet, Lee?”

  “No. I ain’t hungry.” She grabbed her shoulder bag off the back of the chair and held it close to her body. She had to get out of there.

  He dropped the keys into his pocket and left his hand in there. “Now where you off to? It ain’t but four o’clock.”

  Her eyes followed his hand. She could see it moving around inside the pocket and she knew what he was doing. He never did that when Mama was home. She backed away.

  “I’m going out,” she spat.

  His eyes narrowed. “What about your homework?”

  Who was he to ask? He wasn’t her daddy. Her daddy was handsome. And rich. Nothing like him. “I’m done. I’m rolling over to the playground now, till it’s time to pick up Vernon.”

  “You better sit your black ass back down there. You know your mama don’t want you hanging around out there with that trash on the playground, Lee. You best stay put here with me till she gets in.”

  Better the trash out there than the garbage in here, she thought. She hated the way he was fondling himself. And she hated the way he always called her black like it was something evil. She was getting out of there, and the sooner the better.

  But he was standing right in the doorway with his hand in his pocket, and somehow she had to get by him without letting him touch her. She focused on his work boots.

  “I ain’t gonna be out long,” she said, trying to keep from spitting the words out.

  He smacked his lips. “Me and you could go out and get us some Chinese at that take-out place up the street. Then we can come back and eat it here and watch some—”

  She flew past him and nearly knocked him down. She ran through the living room and tripped over the tattered ends of the carpet, but she caught herself and kept on running.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, you little nigger? I’ll whip that black ass till …”

  She didn’t hear the rest. She was slamming the front door shut and running down the stairs. She didn’t like hanging out in the streets around these parts at all. But she despised being up there with that nasty man.

  And now he was dead. And good riddance. And to Mama, too, since she didn’t stop him from doing all those nasty things to her. Mama was smart about a lot of things but dumb as hell when it came to men.

  She wiped the tears away with a corner of the damp blanket, then stood and put the gun in her bag. She had long since dumped the car, when it ran out of gas. It was just as well. It would be too easy for them to find her with it.

  Right now she had to get something to eat. She was starving. She almost got caught the last time she lifted bread and bologna at Safeway, so this time maybe she would try to find a Giant supermarket somewhere.

  She sighed as she tucked the blanket under one arm and wearily threw the shoulder bag over the other. The days of sleeping in the car and eating at McDonald’s seemed like a luxury compared with this. She didn’t know what she was going to do when it got too cold to sleep outside. But she had to think of something. Winter was just around the corner.

  Chapter 18<
br />
  Terrence threw the sheets back and jumped up out of bed. A feeling of desperation washed over Jolene as she lay beneath the covers and watched his nude body walk across the hotel room and shut the bathroom door. Something was wrong, very wrong. She could see it. She could hear it. She could feel it.

  And it was her fault. Over the past couple of months, she had talked constantly of him leaving his wife. She had whined and nagged, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him all to herself so badly. She thought he was the answer to her dreams. Had she pushed him too far?

  “I thought you loved me, Terrence.”

  Long pause. “I do, baby. Don’t I tell you that?”

  “Then why do you stay with your wife? Why do you insist on staying with her if you love me?”

  Deep breath. “I told you. My boys.”

  “They will still be your boys. It’s your wife you’d be leaving. Not them.”

  Gritted teeth. Silence. Still, she pushed.

  “I don’t understand what’s stopping you, Terrence. We’ve been—”

  “For God’s sake, Jolene. Will you get off my back?”

  Lately the vibes between them were all wrong. They weren’t acting like lovers. They were acting like, well, a couple. A couple at the end of their relationship. He was different. They were different. Take this room for starters. It was a fucking Holiday Inn on the outskirts of D.C.

  A few months ago, Terrence would have booked them a room at the Hyatt, and they would have slipped in separately and discreetly to snatch a few precious moments together on a Sunday afternoon. This cheap, obscure hotel out in the middle of nowhere was definitely a step down. When she called him to ask where they would meet after church and he said the Holiday Inn, she thought she was talking to the wrong man. This sounded like something that cheap-ass husband of hers would have cooked up. Not Terrence.

  She and Terrence had once spent a very romantic night together at the Inn at Little Washington, about an hour’s drive outside the city. They had a fabulous, leisurely dinner at the restaurant, one of the best in the country, and spent a memorable night in one of the suites. It was beautifully decorated with antiques, and the bed was in a loft overlooking the sitting room. That was the most romantic time ever for Jolene. Everything was so elegant, and she had the man of her dreams at her side.