“I need you to keep an open mind.” Jamilla sat on the chaise next to Clarissa, taking her hand. “Think back. Is there anything that was said or done, given this new information, that makes sense when it didn’t before?”
Clarissa sat quietly for a moment in deep thought. She finally raised her eyes and Jamilla could see the tears forming.
Time was no more. The contemporary furnishings seemed to have dropped away and the two of them were suspended in midair. There was no sound as the air around them stood still.
“Not a thing.”
Chapter 10
Hot tears poured from Jamilla’s eyes as she raced through the city in search of the hotel. She’d passed the freeway entrance and now she was doubling back in hopes of getting as far away from Clarissa Holmes as she could.
When Clarissa had shared the family album with her, Jamilla was convinced that she shared the same parents as her other siblings, who all bore a striking resemblance to their mother. How could Fred Brewington have made such a horrific mistake?
Anger blurred her vision as she entered the on-ramp, doing more than seventy miles per hour. She felt relieved that she’d made the dry runs from the hotel to Clarissa’s house, because now she didn’t have to search for refuge.
The miles that separated her from the nightmare that was Clarissa Holmes was a blur. She pulled into the parking space, turned off the car, and fell onto the steering wheel, beginning to wail. She wallowed in self-pity and despair until she had no tears left to shed. She finally raised her head, wiped her face, and sat up straight. Suddenly, she had a newfound determination. She was sure that this setback was only a test—a test to see if she was really sincere in her quest. The scene replayed in her head like a bad movie that was way too long.
Clarissa’s manner had switched from confusion to compassion as she came to realize that this silly woman sitting in front of her had actually thought that they could be sisters—not just sisters but triplets!
“Jamilla, I’m sorry. As much as you want to make me one of your sisters, you know in your heart I am not,” she had said.
Jamilla had stared out of the window onto the street where she watched the boys play basketball. “Where does your birth certificate say you were born?” She refused to give up.
Clarissa had sighed. “Columbus.”
“Do you know what time you were born?”
“What does that have to do with anything?
“Please, Clarissa.”
“Twelve-oh-seven A.M.”
Hope flowed from her as she had slowly expelled air. She’d picked up her purse and stood. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Jamilla had slowly placed the long strap over her shoulder while she stared at the floor. She’d turned and walked toward the door.
“Jamilla, I’m so sorry this didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped.”
“Me, too.” Jamilla’s defeated tone had thickened the air with sadness.
Jamilla shook her head to stop the recorder that played in her head. She squared her shoulders and straightened her posture. “Clarissa Holmes, that is my sister, I will find you!”
She gathered her things, got out of the car, and headed for the hotel lobby. The smell of hot chocolate-chip cookies greeted her as the doors opened automatically. The pleasant woman at the desk surprised her with her familiar greeting. “Good evening, Ms. Dixon.”
“Hi.”
“We have some cookies fresh out of the oven. Would you like one?”
Jamilla realized she hadn’t had dinner and couldn’t remember if she’d had lunch. Breakfast was a distant memory, and she struggled with the thought that it may have been yesterday’s breakfast that she recalled. She was famished. “Sure.” She stepped closer to the desk, her hand extended.
“Did you have a good meeting?”
Taken aback, Jamilla did a double take and stared.
“Oh, I heard you on the cell phone as you walked through the lobby earlier.”
Jamilla relaxed slightly and said, “Oh. Yes. I mean, no.” She didn’t know how to answer the young woman’s question. She decided to change the subject. “I’d like a six o’clock wake-up call.”
“Are you taking our shuttle to the airport?”
“No.” Jamilla turned and walked toward the bank of elevators. She could feel the woman’s eyes boring a hole into her back.
When the elevator arrived on the ninth floor, Jamilla was relieved no one had joined her. She walked the fifteen steps to her room, slipped the key card in the electronic lock, turned the knob, and moved into the room as though she were being chased. Without removing her shoes, she climbed onto the bed and curled up into a ball.
She grabbed the thick, soft pillow and buried her face into it. She began crying softly, which gave way to moans. Soon she felt herself screaming. She didn’t know how long she’d had her face buried in the pillow when she heard a knock at the door. She quickly sat up and wiped her face. As she opened the door, the housekeeper was inserting the passkey into the lock. They frightened each other.
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” the flustered Hispanic woman said. “Would you care for turn-down service?”
“What time is it?” Jamilla asked, disoriented.
“Just before eight.” The woman’s accent made it hard to understand her.
What had she been doing for two hours? Had she fallen asleep? “No,” Jamilla said sharply, then decided to soften her tone. “I’ll do it myself, but thank you.”
The woman looked as though no thanks were necessary for her not to do work. She left without another word and moved down the hall.
Jamilla decided she needed to call someone—anyone. She set the security lock on the door and returned to the bed. She could see a large, wet spot on the pillow and her sadness turned to anger. How dare she flap around in this quagmire of despair? She hadn’t failed; she’d climbed a steep hill, only to find that there was a mountain on the other side of it. But she was that much closer to planting her flag on the summit.
Jamilla picked up the cell phone and entered a speed dial code. Augusta answered on the first ring. “I was wondering if I’d hear from you today.” Augusta’s voice seemed strained. The pain she felt in her heart was as real as the arthritic misery she felt in her knees. She wanted to ask her how it went, but knew she needed to wait until Jamilla was ready to tell. Something she truly understood.
“It wasn’t her,” Jamilla blurted.
Augusta was prepared to hear that Clarissa had rejected Jamilla. She wouldn’t even have been surprised to hear that the newfound sibling was hostile and angry, but that she wasn’t even her sister was something she hadn’t considered. “What?”
“You heard me,” Jamilla continued. “The Clarissa Holmes that I met today isn’t my sister.”
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what? It’s not your fault,” Jamilla said to ease her mother’s conscience, when in her heart she believed the opposite.
As though she could read Jamilla’s thoughts, Augusta began, “You know, there’s something your daddy and I never told you.”
Oh God, what more can there be? Jamilla held her breath.
Augusta waited three beats before she continued. “Your daddy made me promise him before he died, God rest his soul, that I’d tell you the whole story.”
“I don’t understand. What else can there be to tell?”
“I’ve been telling myself I was waiting for the right time. But the truth is, I was hoping that you’d give up the notion that you had to find your sisters, and I wouldn’t have to.”
“Mother,” Jamilla only called her that when she was upset with her, which seemed to be more and more of late, “what are you trying to tell me?”
Slowly the story of their trip to Dale and subsequent adoption unfolded. “So you see, I would have taken all three of you if I’d had the money. I tried to make arrangements with that old biddy, but she wouldn’t hear of it.” Augusta paused, trying to draw strength from her late husband’s p
resence, which she felt in the room.
“You bought me?” Jamilla stood and began pacing the well-appointed room. She didn’t know whether to be elated that the Dixons had spent their very last dime for her or angry because they didn’t have enough to get at least one of her sisters.
“When you say it like that, you make it sound like such a disgusting thing.” Now Augusta ran hot. “I would think you’d be appreciative instead of annoyed.”
“MaDear, I’m sorry. I don’t want to seem ungrateful. Actually, it’s just the opposite. I’m such a potpourri of emotions.”
“Times were different then, not to mention hard,” Augusta continued, a little gentler this time. “You almost never heard of black folks adopting babies through normal channels. It was usually when a relative had a baby out of wedlock or was a dope fiend. When I heard about you and your sisters, all I could see was the opportunity to have what I wanted most—a child.”
Jamilla returned to the bed and fell heavily onto the ultra-comfortable mattress. She was quiet and reflective as she listened to her mother breathe. She’d never once considered what it must have been like for her parents to want a child so badly they’d get one by any means necessary. “And you chose me.”
“I—well, actually, we both did.” Augusta chuckled slightly. “We knew there was something special about the three of you, but you were different. You seemed to need us more.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t really explain. It was what the old folks call mother wit. There was just something inside of me that connected with you.”
Speaking slowly and more to herself than to her mother, Jamilla said, “And I’m really glad it did.”
“What was that, baby?”
For a split second Jamilla thought twice about repeating herself. This time she spoke loud and clear. “I said I’m really glad you saw something special and chose me.”
“Me, too, baby girl. Me, too.”
Chapter 11
Several minutes passed as Jamilla sat thinking of the conversation with her mother. She didn’t know where this emotional journey was going to lead her, but she had to make the trip. Somewhere two women who were a part of her lived and breathed. Hopefully, their lives were full and rewarding like her own, and yet, she wondered if something within them yearned for her.
She hadn’t spoken to Maxwell in days, and she silently wondered how much longer he was going to be patient with her and this obsession. She picked up the phone, dialing his number. He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger.” His tone was even and cool. “I wondered if you’d ever call me again.”
You know, this thing rings just like it dials. “I’ve just been busy writing.” The truth was she hadn’t written a paragraph in almost two weeks.
“Ah.” Maxwell tried to believe her. “How’s it going? Will you make your deadline?”
Hell, no. “If I stick to it daily, everything will be fine.” Not a lie.
“Okay, but I don’t want you stressing yourself out the way you usually do when you’re at deadline, because all of us who love you end up paying the price.”
Jamilla blurted, “No, you don’t!” and then laughed at herself because she knew Maxwell spoke the truth.
Maxwell paused before he asked, “How did everything go with your meeting? Was your sister receptive?”
“I’d say no, but that wouldn’t be quite the truth.” Jamilla sighed. “To say it was a letdown is like saying your president is not too bright.”
Maxwell laughed. “Why does he have to be my president? But really, I don’t understand.”
“Your boy Fred Brewington sent me on a wild-goose chase.” Jamilla relayed the dismal story again without taking a breath, her frustration mounting with every word until she was done.
Maxwell whistled through his teeth and only said, “Wow.”
“Is that all you can say? After all, you’re the one who recommended this imbecile!” Jamilla’s wrath was misplaced, but like a stray bullet had no name, she reasoned, neither did good old-fashioned anger.
“He came highly recommended. But you must admit, based on the information he gave you, we both thought this woman was your sister.”
“I know. I know.” The wind that blew her angry sail had diminished, leaving her feeling alone and vulnerable.
Maxwell felt helpless and waited in silence for her to say more. When she didn’t, he asked, “You think a brotha can pull you away to have dinner?”
Jamilla snapped out of her stupor. “I’d really like that. But you don’t have to.”
“I know that I don’t have to. When do you get back?”
“I’ll touch down in Ontario at noon.”
“Then how’s tomorrow night?”
“Actually, that’s perfect.” Jamilla sighed slightly. “How about The Yard House in Long Beach?”
“I haven’t been there in years.” Maxwell smiled. “It’s a fun place. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Are you sure you want to drive all the way out there?”
“If I didn’t, would I offer?” Maxwell chided.
“No, I guess not. I’ll be waiting.” With that, they both hung up. Jamilla couldn’t stop the butterfly flight in her stomach. Why was she nervous to have a date with a man she’d been seeing for years? It made no sense on any level. She was always afraid she’d say something that would turn him off to the point he’d not want to see her anymore. While she pretended she didn’t care, if the truth be known, she did care—more than just a little. She believed he thought he could fill the empty space in her heart, but he was wrong—very wrong.
She wondered out loud, “I bet my sisters aren’t putting their lives on hold for me.”
Chapter 12
Jamilla tossed her keys on the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes. The flight back from Atlanta had been late, long, and laborious. Unruly children, sweaty old men, and rude flight attendants grated on any good nerve she thought she had left. Since she’d left little more than forty-eight hours ago, her hopes of finding her sisters seemed all but lost. She glanced at the clock and decided that though it was just before three in the afternoon, it was after five o’clock somewhere, and she went to pour herself a glass of merlot.
As she passed the refrigerator on her way to the cabinet that held the good wineglasses, she caught a glimpse of a picture of her with her parents when she graduated from law school. Her dad smiled so proudly. It made her long for him. After she poured the wine, she decided to retrieve the family album.
She sat looking at pictures from her infancy, and she thought back to how she’d never suspected that her parents hadn’t given her life. This newfound information from her mother had rocked her even more. She didn’t know what to think about her mother and father buying her. Even given her mother’s explanation, Jamilla had a hard time wrapping her mind around the concept.
She continued to peruse the pictures, refilling her wineglass until the bottle was empty. When she finally closed the last album, her head was buzzing and her heart ached. Except for the now infamous twelfth-birthday party, not one picture showed her with other little girls. Jamilla Holmes Dixon was always alone or with Augusta and Johnny. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. How was today any different? She really needed a girlfriend, especially today. Someone she could call and have her listen attentively as she poured out her heart.
“I’ll call Gloria!” Jamilla went to search for her friend from college’s phone number. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken, but she knew it hadn’t been that long ago. She found the number in her BlackBerry and dialed it on the house phone.
The familiar voice picked up on the first ring. “Hello.”
“Hi, Gloria, this is Jamilla.”
Silence.
“Hello? You there?”
“Yes,” Gloria Princeton answered flatly.
“How’ve you been?”
“I’m doing quite well, thank you.”
Jamilla wondered if this had been such a good idea. She’d called her friend to lift her spirits, but she was sure an overdue creditor got a warmer reception. “I’ve obviously caught you at a bad time. I’ll call you later, I guess.”
“Don’t bother,” Gloria snapped.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jamilla retorted matching Gloria’s tone.
“I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to call me after what you did, or should I say didn’t do.
“Gloria, what are . . .” Jamilla tried to squeeze her words between Gloria’s tirades.
“I thought we were closer than that!”
“. . . you talking about?” Jamilla managed to finish her question.
“Oh and now you’re going to act like you don’t know?” Gloria screamed so loud it was hard to decipher what she was saying exactly.
Jamilla’s mind raced as she tried to understand what the woman was talking about. Then Gloria’s fury helped Jamilla remember—her wedding! Gloria had married a mutual friend from college a few weeks—or was it months?—before. Gloria had even asked her to be an attendant. “Oh, Glo, I’m so sorry! I’ve been so wrapped up with finding my sisters, everything else is a blur.”
“That’s so like you, Jamilla. That’s all you ever talk about—you and your missing sisters. Well, you can stick a fork in our friendship because it is done!” Gloria Princeton slammed down the phone.
“That went pretty well, don’t you think?” Jamilla said to the purple pillow at the end of the sofa. She considered calling another old friend, but thought better of it. She knew she should be writing, but thoughts of Clarissa Holmes stifled all else. She was about to lay the phone on the end table when it rang.
“Hello.” Jamilla didn’t bother to check the Caller ID.
“Ms. Holmes. This is Fred, Fred Brewington.”
Her first instinct was to hit the OFF button. But something in her refused to allow it. “Yes, Mr. Brewington?” The coolness in her tone chilled even her.
“I’ve been out of town on a case and just returned to the office a little while ago and got your message.” Fred’s words rushed forward, as though he knew she wanted to hang up on him. “I’m so sorry that I made such a grave error. But, I’m sure you can see how this might have happened.”
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