Murder My Past

by Delia C. Pitts

  I clutched a hand to my stomach to make Swann think it was my wound aching. Not my heart. With that hint, he hurried away after a minute of thin good-byes.

  Pearl Byrne trekked from Poughkeepsie to spend an afternoon. It was comforting to see her familiar navy-blue suit, the square skirt wrinkled across the lap from her train ride. She’d traded the block-heels for black sneakers with floppy laces and thick crepe soles. But her pale legs still looked lovely.

  Her tears didn’t help. In fact, they caused fresh pain in my chest. The duty nurse hustled to my room after I triggered some over-sensitive monitor at the nurses’ station. I waved off her frowns and mumblings about the machine’s beeps. I told Pearl to stay as long as she could.

  Pearl unsnapped her purse to pull out a crumpled white sheet of paper. She read a dry email message from Rick Luna. Ricardo Luna, Chief Executive Officer, as he signed it. He managed six words to wish for my recovery. And twenty-five more to invite me to the grand opening of Rook Cleaning Service’s newest office in Hialeah. I guess after our phone condolence swap, Ricky was feeling generous. His control of Annie’s company was secure now. He could keep the name she’d given it. That soothed my heart. A bit.

  Brina asked Pearl about the cleaning business. At first, I figured the questions were just politeness. But as the exchange deepened, the two women talked boss to boss. They leaned forward in their chairs, knees touching, faces near, as if they were exchanging breaths. They drilled into finances, networking, client services, and marketing. When they hit employee management, I closed my eyes. They talked on.

  A question about Annie lifted the veil of sleep. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to doze.

  Brina wanted to know what kind of person Annie was: “How did she build her business from scratch?”

  Pearl’s response was sharp: “She was a natural leader. She could have been a great teacher or a champion coach. Anniesha knew how to motivate, how to guide. How to award the gold stars or snap the ruler. When she demanded something, her people never said, how? They asked, how much? Then, they delivered double.”

  The voice slowed as Pearl sighed. I wondered if she was crying, but I didn’t open my eyes to see. This was woman-to-woman talk. I wasn’t invited.

  Softness cushioned Pearl’s next words. “I thought about her so much these last few weeks. Trying to figure her out. Anniesha wasn’t perfect. Not even near. She was selfish and reckless; greedy and short-sighted too. Is vengeful too harsh a word? Maybe, but that’s what comes to mind. Her judgment of people was clouded. And that’s putting it kindly. She liked what she liked. And wanted who she wanted. Anniesha was full-speed ahead, consequences be damned.”

  Pearl shuddered to a stop. Brina whispered, “Annie raised trouble. She broke the rules and charged after the life she wanted. She was disruptive.”

  “Disrupter. Yes, that’s her exactly.” Pearl gritted out the words. “You think it’s why that poor girl shot her? Because she couldn’t be Anniesha?”

  “Maybe so. Not envy or fear. Despair.”

  “I guess we can’t know for sure about Anniesha. Now she’ll never get to speak for herself.”

  “No, not for sure. Not ever,” Brina said.

  Her sigh let me raise my lids, as if I was returning to consciousness. I blinked, shifting my gritty eyes to take in the two women. They squeezed hands, smiled at me, then pressed back in their chairs, releasing the connection.

  With me awake again, the talk dwindled. A few minutes later, Pearl rose to leave. She called me SJ and patted my hair. She squeezed me until the shredded muscles in my stomach protested. Her sudsy vanilla scent curled around me. I clung to her and pounded her square back as hard as I could. She was a link to Annie I didn’t want to lose.

  When Pearl left, Brina settled on the bed. She draped her arm over my shoulder and laid her head against my neck. Her knees pressed behind my thighs. I dozed again, this time drifting through clouds of pink butterflies and dented blue Buicks. I wrestled with guns, twisted silver bracelets clamped on both wrists. Fluttering pink wings whipped the odor of musty decay with candy perfume into a blizzard circling my head.

  I yelped and started upright, sweat stinging my eyes. Brina squeezed my arm, then stroked my hairline. “Hey, baby, hey. It’s all right, you’re all right. Wake up, you’re safe.”

  I leaned against the pillow. She lowered her head. Her braids rubbed my cheek. I thought of the tangled strands in these cases: Annie, Dreamie, Carolyn. Fear and desire plaited with frayed old threads of carelessness, revenge, and unruly love. I burrowed my head into the pillow, searching for a cool spot. Face pressed against my neck, Brina slept after a while. Then I did too.

  On the day before my release, Norment Ross dropped by for another round of gin rummy and straight talk. I won the card game, but as usual, he did most of the talking.

  “You put a big ole country scare on us there, partner. The little bit left of my hair turned whiter than a Klan rally waiting for you to come out of that surgery.”

  “Sorry, Norment. Didn’t mean to give you such a fright. Won’t happen again.”

  He beamed at my feeble pledge, then launched into another story. “I been shot a few times myself over the years, of course. Not everybody greets the numbers runner like he’s Santa Claus, you know. And then there was that time I tunneled into all the dirty deeds Ava Bunton and Dax Miles were up to when Old Man Bunton was out of town. All three of them lying, deceiving, no good hypocritical jackasses took pot shots at me. You know, after all these years, I never did figure out which of ‘em finally clipped me.”

  Norment’s grin broadened and his eyes danced in his shiny face. Was this another of his fables? But then he lifted the hem of his gold corduroy pants to show me a small black crater in his right calf.

  He tapped a long index finger twice on the bullet hole as I let out a whistle. “Were you hospitalized?”

  “For a tiny little termite hole like this? Naw. But it did lay me up for three weeks. Got the Blue Cross insurance for the agency after that. You’re covered as an employee because of that. We all got medical now.”

  He leaned back in the green chair, swinging his bullet-pocked leg over the upholstered arm. He was wearing the new yellow-and-red high-top sneakers Smoke Burris had donated to the Ross Agency fashion cause. The rapper 2-Ryght would be proud.

  “You know, that’s how me and Mei Young got together.” Norment hadn’t finished with the shooting story. “After I got hit, she toddled up from the Emerald Garden kitchen every day to see me. Started bringing a sandwich to my office at noon to save me the trouble of staggering to the restaurant. Best sandwiches I ever ate. Chicken roasted perfect, sliced thin, touched with homemade mayo. Just right. Those sandwiches, plus her famous green tea potion fixed me up quick.”

  “I never knew how you and Mei Young got together.”

  “You might not guess it, but that little gal can be quite a conversationalist when she wants to unwind and let her hair down. Quite a conversationalist.” Norment’s rich voice melted to sweetness. He prized Mei Young for many things, not just her flair with mayonnaise.

  “Mei came along at just the right time in my life. There’s no substituting for Dreamie, of course. But I’ve arrived at a good place after all this time.”

  Norment’s huge head swung to the left, taking in the jagged line of skyscrapers framed by the window. From this height, the surging city looked quiet, its vibrant colors dabbed to a rosy brown in the autumn haze. Like an old souvenir postcard mailed from the past.

  When he continued, Norment’s voice was sharper. Like his message.

  “You don’t never move on from that one big wound. The one great loss. From the life you might have led if she were still here. But what you do get is a solid chance to untangle those dreams of the past from the reality you’re in now.”

  He looked me in the eye as he switched from reflection to command. “Son
, you got a chance to escape the past. Make a new, better version of your life. Now. If you’ve got the guts to do it.”

  The challenge was unmistakable. I nodded to show I’d absorbed the lesson he’d shared. I didn’t try to form an answer. Annie was gone, Dreamie too. The future Norment pointed to didn’t scare me now. I could face it head on. Getting shot had cleansed me, rinsing away the debris of fond memories and the rubble of old regrets. The past could serve as prologue to my future, if I let it. Silence flowed around us in that hospital room, soothing and deep. I drifted on its stream for a moment, out of respect for the women we’d lost. And the better women we’d found.

  Then, as he often did, Norment switched subjects with a jolt. “You hear any more about that jacked-up little girl who shot you? She was some kind of loco fiend is the way I figure it.”

  My sentences crawled: “Norment, that’s not fair. Jealousy and ambition twisted Sally until she couldn’t see a way out, short of murder. She broke under the pressure. When she cracked, she caused a lot of suffering.” A weak defense. But then I wasn’t Sally’s attorney.

  Norment’s face squeezed in rage. “On the way down, Sister Nutjob got plenty of help from that sack of shit, Keith. Just a pissant little man who believed the big-time stories he heard from his own pecker.”

  My heart raced. Drops of sweat slid down the back of my neck as anxiety rose with this rant. The old man meant no harm, so I didn’t call him on it. It was important for him to get this anger out of his system now. Maybe I needed the release too. But as Norment continued, the sleepless hours ahead taunted me. I’d pay the price for these musings.

  “You’re waay too kind, son. That Anastos chick was flat out cray. Like I said to Brina, little white girl went insane in the brain with all that fancy education. It was more juice than her poor system could handle. Well, now she’s cooling her heels waiting for arraignment. No bail for that cocoanut. One thing for sure, she’ll get a Ph.D. in cuttin’ and cussin’ from the fine perfessors at Rikers university long before she arrives in court. Think she’ll plead guilty?”

  “She might. Or might not. Depends on how tricky her lawyers get about her mental state.”

  Norment huffed, ready to dive into damning lawyers and their slick ways. But I tossed a question nearer to both our hearts. “How’s Brina taking all this? I see her here in the hospital every day, but she doesn’t talk about how she’s feeling. Mostly to keep me calm. But she’s holding a lot inside.”

  Norment reared back in his seat. He stretched long legs to rest his feet on the bed. He steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips twice.

  “Sabrina’s like the hide of a yearling deer: tough, strong, but soft and tender too. Folds like a blanket, but she don’t never rip nor shred. That’s the best way I can describe her, soft and tough.”

  His eyes shimmered under a brilliant veil of tears as he continued. “But you’re right to worry, ’cause she took it hard when you got shot. She said seeing you cut down in front of her was the worst shock she ever experienced in her whole life. The way she cried that night like to slice me in two.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I mean... I feel guilty somehow. Like I…”

  “Aw, don’t be a blamed fool. None of it was your fault. None of it.” He blinked, then lowered his eyebrows. “Except for the part where you thought you’d play some idiot cartoon hero. That was you acting the moron, for sure.”

  Norment quirked his mouth into a half-smile at the picture of me as a comic book champion. I wriggled my feet to draw attention from the heat rising to my ears. But the old man wasn’t done with me yet.

  “Now comes the next test. Don’t flunk it. You gonna keep acting the fool now? You gonna try to take care of yourself at home after you get out of here tomorrow? Or you gonna accept when Brina offers you to come to her place for a while?”

  “I…I mean, she hasn’t asked me. I don’t know…”

  He stuck a long finger straight at me, poking the air with force. “And that’s what I mean by playing the fool. I’m telling you, she’s gonna ask you. And you better get straight in your head what the answer is. Else you risk causing lots more harm all around. Don’t be a moron. You got me?”

  “I got you, Norment. Thanks for that. For everything.”

  The next night when I left the hospital, Brina raised the subject, just as her father predicted. But in such a roundabout way, I almost missed it.

  After Miguel the nurse delivered the discharge papers, he helped me button a denim work shirt over my chest and step into gray sweatpants. Then he disappeared in search of the wheelchair required to cart me to the exit.

  I sat on the edge of the bed while Brina stuffed my t-shirts, underwear, and socks in a duffel bag. When she stowed the toothbrush, I asked about the health of my pet. “How’s Herb doing?”

  “You’ve been laid up here for ten days and you’re just now asking about your cat? That’s some kind of responsible, Rook.”

  I didn’t match her eyeroll, but I returned the smile. “I had a few other things on my mind. And anyway, Herb’s cool. He’s a resilient kind of cat.”

  She tucked a plastic razor into the duffle. “Since you ask, Herb is fine. I brought him to my apartment the night you went into surgery.”

  “And how’d he take that?” I shivered in mock horror.

  “About like you’d imagine. First, he spit, then he scratched. Then he hid. Then he sulked. And went on a hunger strike.”

  “Sounds like the Herb I know. Did he ever come around to the new set up?”

  “After three days of nonsense, Herb decided he’d give the food at my place a taste. No poison, so he started eating regular. Each afternoon, when I’d come home to feed him, I’d find Herb sleeping in a different spot: the window ledge, then the sofa. The bookcase, then the arm chair.”

  Brina ragging on the yellow monster brought a painful laugh to my belly. I coughed once, then smiled to erase the frown on her forehead. I waved my hand to encourage her to continue the story.

  “Yesterday, Herb made it to my bed. He curled between the pillows. When I came in the door, he looked at me with a fierce frown, like an emperor disturbed from his beauty sleep.”

  I recognized my feline avatar’s role in this negotiation. I smirked, no teeth, like a cat would. “Herb knows what’s good for him and sticks to it. He’s a smart cat.”

  “Yeah, he is.” Brina grinned and folded the last t-shirt. She zipped the duffel and tossed it to the floor. “I’ll pull the car around to the entrance. See you in a few.”

  Miguel pushed my wheelchair through the hospital’s sliding front doors. He parked me at the curb as Brina steered her Honda around the traffic circle. A brisk northern breeze ruffled across my face, the first chilly hint of a new season. Exhaust fumes blended with cool fresh air to send a rash of goosebumps racing along my neck. When she arrived in front of me, Brina jumped from the red Civic and popped the trunk. She grabbed the duffel bag from my lap, threw it into the trunk, then unzipped it. Miguel hoisted me into the shotgun seat, leaving me to my fate.

  Brina dragged a black sweatshirt from the bag. She walked to the open side door and tossed the shirt in a high arc. It landed on my head. I pulled the sweatshirt over my face, twisting it until I got the left arm through the sleeve. The damage on my right flank wouldn’t allow me to raise that arm above shoulder height. So, I let the empty sleeve hang over my chest like a limp scarf. Pathetic.

  After watching my contortions, Brina eased the trunk closed. She slipped behind the steering wheel and looked at me along the curve of her eyes. She reached across me to tug at the seatbelt.

  When she clicked the buckle into place, I sighed. “Back where we started this whole ride, aren’t we?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Me, damaged goods, wrecked and unable to fend for myself. You, fixing me. Again.”

  “Is that how you
see this… this whatever we’ve got here?” She waved her hand between us.

  “Yes.”

  “Fix you? You think I’m looking to repair you, be your caretaker? Like I get a kick out of patching you up? You think I have some kind of Nurse Nancy fetish or something?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I gulped, then jumped in with both feet. “I can’t figure what you see in me. Or what you get from me.”

  She gathered a big breath, ready to shout. But then her voice dipped to a murmur. “What I get from you is joy. It’s as simple as that. And as complicated. You calm me when I’m edgy. When I’m brittle, you brace me. So, that’s it: I need the joy.”

  She hunched her shoulders, then shook her head. When she raised her eyes, she captured mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that before. I should have. But I’m lousy at a lot of things. Like trusting and opening and sharing. Losing a mother will do that to you. But there it is.”

  I laughed softly. “You’re talking to the champion of ducking and deflecting here. Losing a father will do that to you.”

  “No hope for us, then. We’re a matched pair.” She smiled though a sniffle.

  I tapped her chin with my thumb. “Yep.”

  “So, what’s it going to be?” She gripped the steering wheel in both hands, tendons in her knuckles popping. She looked straight ahead, like she was afraid of what I might say. “Do I drive you to your own place? Or do you come home with me? I told Herb you’d be around to see him, if that influences your answer.”

  I scratched my ear. “Like I said before, Herb is one smart cat. Smarter than me. I’ll follow his lead. Curled between the pillows on your bed sounds like heaven.” She chuffed and I laughed too.

  I tugged her hand from the wheel and raised her fingers to my lips. I wanted her to feel my answer as well as hear it: “Sabrina Ross, I choose you.”