by Zuri Day
“The next day we all talked about it,” Shayna had told him. “Me, Mom, Larsen, and Jay.”
“Why would you want to discuss something so personal with them?” he’d asked. And not me first, he’d also wondered but had not voiced.
“Because,” Shayna had continued after a patience-inducing sigh, “Larsen and Jay grew up in the same neighborhood as us, and their dads (because each of them had a different one) knew some of the same people as my father. Jay called his father and it turns out that his dad knows my father’s cousin, the one with whom Mom lost contact so long ago. He’s going to try and help us find him, the cousin. So that I can get in touch with my father.”
Then Michael had heard Jarrell’s voice, low and muffled. “Thank you,” had been Shayna’s reply. Michael was still trying to figure out what it was he’d heard in her voice. Gratitude? Affection? He couldn’t tell.
Michael’s phone rang again. At least a dozen calls had been ignored since talking with Shayna, and that was just from the BlackBerry on the patio table. He’d also heard his landline and God only knew how many calls he’d missed on his phone, the one he used mostly for office and clients. The others he’d not wanted to talk to, but after glancing at the ID, picked up the phone. “Hi, Mama.”
“Hello, Michael. You must be at the office.”
“No, I’m at home.”
“Then why aren’t you answering your home phone?”
“I’m out back, on the patio.”
A pause and then, “What’s wrong, son?”
Michael told her. About the news of Shayna’s father and about Jarrell’s role in helping her contact him. “He supposedly has this girl in Vegas, and no interest in Shayna. But that’s not what my gut says, Mama. I don’t trust him around my girl.”
“It’s not him you have to trust, son. It’s Shayna. Does she know how you feel? Have you even told her you love her?”
“I did, and she didn’t say it back.” Michael realized his voice was precariously close to sounding like that of a two-year-old, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.
“Sounds like you need to step up your game.”
“You think I should go to Vegas?”
“I think you should do more than that. I think you should find a piece of jewelry to go along with those earrings you bought her.”
Michael ended the call, thinking about what his mother had said. He tried to look at the situation from Shayna’s perspective and realized that when he did, some of his anger faded. Here she’d found out the kind of news that was earth shattering and life changing, and all he’d been consumed with was the fact that her ex and not him had heard the news from her first. How must she be feeling now? What was she going to do? Thinking of Shayna and the surprising news about her father turned his thoughts toward Sam Morgan. So many memories, such a large part his father had played in his life, from the very beginning. Their activities had been varied and many: hunting, fishing, trips to the beach. But more than anything, sports had been the constant that had made him and his dad so close. All of the boys loved sports and played sports. But Michael was the only one for whom sports was a passion bordering on obsession. He remembered staying up nights, talking stats with his father, never tiring of hearing his dad tell stories about how he’d been a great football player and had almost turned pro.
Tears came to Michael’s eyes and fell as he remembered those good times, those heartfelt conversations, the wisdom and lessons his father had imparted to him. As he wiped his eyes, he realized that it had been a long time since he’d cried for his father. And in that moment he realized something else. He also cried for Shayna.
51
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” Michael leaned over and brushed his lips over Shayna’s.
“Thank you, Michael. This is so wonderful. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
This lover’s holiday had fallen on a weeknight, but that had done nothing to dampen the mood of the diners in the exclusive Foundation Room. A mostly members-only area atop of Mandalay Bay, the plushly designed interior was a paradise of East-meets-West, understated and elegant, with a sweeping view of the colorful Strip. Conversation had been hushed, and glances telling, as those fortunate enough to get a coveted reservation on this, the most popular of nights for the award-winning restaurant, had not been disappointed. Amid the teal heavy velvet curtains, priceless Oriental rugs, stark white linens, and silver changed after every course, came some of the best food Shayna had ever eaten: jumbo lump crab cakes, “street” tacos filled with Maine lobster, Angus beef tenderloin, creamed Swiss chard, sherry-braised mushrooms, truffle macaroni and cheese, and now, the pièce de résistance, a molten chocolate cake oozing with don’t-even-think-about-the-calories goodness. Michael had arrived in town just before seven. Since the start of their dating, this was the longest the two had been apart, just over two weeks. He’d picked her up at Beverly’s house, taken her to a showroom for the custom-designed dress and shoes she now wore, and continued on to this fancy restaurant—its ambiance as luxurious as the wine that Michael drank and Shayna sipped. Conversation had been easy, mostly about the Super Bowl and his time spent in New Orleans, a new client he’d picked up and another who, after a seventh arrest, he’d finally dropped. Shortly before the dessert course, conversation wound back around to Shayna, Vegas, her mother, and Jarrell.
“Your mother must be climbing the walls, having to stay in bed all day.”
“It’s driving her crazy, especially not being able to come and go”—run after her husband—“as much as she’d like. Larsen lost a couple drivers and his business hasn’t slowed since the holidays. It makes for long work hours, which Mom doesn’t like at all. Thank God that Jay has been there. He’s helped me keep her calm about the situation and focused on staying positive until she has this baby.”
“Why, what is there to be negative about?”
Shayna hesitated for a moment before taking Michael into her confidence. “Mom has been suspecting Larsen of cheating for a long time. That’s one of the reasons she got pregnant, as a way to keep him.” Michael shook his head. “I know, it’s the age-old go-to that women have used since the beginning of time.”
“And one that hasn’t worked since then.”
“Exactly. But it is what it is, and for now, Larsen seems to be focused on work and his family. Jay has been honest with her, admitting that Larsen hasn’t been above a booty call here and there, but assuring that my mother is where his heart is. For now, she believes him.”
“When is the baby due?”
“In April.”
“I miss you, baby. Please tell me that you don’t plan on staying until then.”
“No. I talked to Coach and he needs me back there. The next Classic series meet is in Colorado Springs. Because of the altitude, we’ve got to train differently. I have to be back at work next week. But I’m worried about my mother. We’re closer now than we’ve ever been. It’s going to be hard to leave her. I’m thinking about doing the Classic and a couple other events and then taking a leave for two or three months after the summer meets are done.”
“To live here? In Vegas?”
“It’s not that far from LA. Just a forty-five minute plane ride. Maybe you could come down here when your schedule permits and I could visit you like every other weekend.”
“Every other weekend? Let me ask you something, and no, I’m not trying to be upset or upset you. I just want to know something.”
“What?”
“Does Jarrell know that you’re planning to do this?”
“Yes, but only because Larsen is his brother and they’ve talked about my mom.”
“Did your mom ask you to come down, or did Jarrell?”
“Jarrell did, but that’s only because he knew it was what my mom wanted.”
“Baby, it’s what he wants.”
“Remember when I found out about all the women and the phone numbers and you asked me to trust you? Well, now that’s what I’m asking you t
o do for me. This is something that I want to do as well. It will help me get closer with my mother, and to bond with my little brother.”
“So she knows it’s a boy?”
Shayna nodded. “I know you might not be one hundred percent in agreement with it, but since losing my grandmother, strengthening my relationship with my mother—and now that I’ve found him, my father—is very important to me.”
Michael reached across the table. “That’s why I’m here, baby. So that you don’t have to face situations like this alone. Even before you told me this, I had talked to Mama about it and she had an idea.”
“You talked to your mother about my mom’s pregnancy?”
Michael nodded. “More specifically, the bed rest. Mom suggested I hire a nurse to stay with your mom until she’s had the baby. I’ve already talked to Gregory and he’s putting out some feelers at the hospital. How does that sound to you?”
“Baby!” Shayna rushed over to hug him. “That’s such a wonderful idea!” When she pulled back there were tears in her eyes and as she sat back down, her joy had been replaced with worry. “But a full-time nurse is going to be expensive. I can’t believe you’d do all of that for me.”
“I’d do that and much more,” Michael said. “I told you, baby. I love you.”
This time it was Shayna who grabbed Michael’s hand. “And I love you, Michael Morgan. I really do. I love you.” She kissed him and then asked, “Would you be okay with me staying a little while in Vegas?”
“We’d have to look for a house or a condo,” he said with a sigh. “And I’d have to coordinate it with my schedule.”
“Why?” Shayna asked, truly perplexed.
“What do you mean, why? Because I’d be living down here with you, of course.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, Mr. Morgan,” Shayna said, kissing him again. “No problem at all.”
52
A week later, Shayna left practice and headed to her mailbox on National Avenue. Since most of her bills were paid online and the utilities came directly to the apartment, this trip was a rare occurrence. But Shayna had gotten the box while still in college and because she’d had the address for so long and the rent was so inexpensive, she kept it. It had been her most stable address to date. She walked inside, unlocked the box, and retrieved her mail. As expected, most of it was junk this and “to occupant” that. But there were a couple items from USC, including that year’s alumni gathering, and also a note reminding her that her latest dental checkup was way past due. She stopped at the large trash receptacle near the boxes, discarding the sale fliers and letters to the current resident. She was just about to toss two such addressed envelopes when she noticed a smaller, thinner envelope between them. She pulled it out, curious as to who would be writing her using something as archaic as a ballpoint pen. She turned over the envelope and read: This correspondence is being sent from an inmate at California State Prison, Solano. Shayna’s heart slammed against her chest. In the ongoing concern for her mother’s health, she’d almost forgotten about the letter (more of a note actually) she’d written to her father—and then mailed before she could lose her nerve. It was simple, to the point, containing only five lines:
Dear Antonio:
My name is Shayna and I am Beverly Washington’s daughter. Until a few days ago, I thought you were dead. I am twenty-five now, and would like to meet you. I have so many questions. If possible, please contact me.
Shayna
It was possible, evidently. He’d written her back. Her hand began shaking as she turned the envelope back over and read the front, upper left side:
Antonio Bell, #91437
PO Box 4000
Vacaville, CA 95696-4000
She noted that he’d spelled her name correctly, not changed it to Shana, the way some people did. His handwriting was strong, the strokes bold and slanted to the right. The pen he used held black ink. To Shayna the way he wrote his numbers hinted at his need for individuality. His number four was closed at the top, the way she made hers, and his seven had a line through it, British style. There were no loops or curlicues to his penmanship. She imagined him to be a straightforward, cut-to-the-chase kind of guy. The i in Antonio wasn’t dotted. Did that mean anything? Should Shayna stop dotting her i’s? she wondered. Hadn’t even met him yet and already she was trying to find ways to be like him. Was that a good thing? She wondered about that, too. One thing that didn’t need to remain a mystery was the contents of this letter. She hurried to her car, took extra care in opening the envelope so as to preserve it for all time, and reached inside. She carefully unfolded the paper. A picture fell out. She picked it up and saw eyes like hers, and a nose like hers, and a smile. The darkhued man sat on what looked to be a picnic table. He had on a light-blue shirt, a white T-shirt, and blue jeans. After staring at the picture for untold minutes, she placed it on her dash and picked up the paper. The letter had been written on a piece of paper torn from a notebook. It filled every line on one side of the page.
Dear Shayna:
I can’t tell you what it meant for me to get your letter. I’ve thought about you every day of my life, wondering how you were, who you were, hoping that you were okay. I don’t know what your mother told you about me, but from the time I learned of your existence I tried to become a part of your life. After your mother’s second marriage—WTH???—when she moved to Louisiana, my cousin lost contact with her. And after many years of trying to find her and you, I’m sorry to say that I gave up. But I never lost the hope that I would meet you. That’s why receiving your letter brought tears to my eyes.
Your letter stated that you have many questions. That’s understandable. So do I. I hope that one day soon we can meet, and have a chance to sit down and get to know each other. I know it’s a long time in coming, but I feel it’s never too late to start something new. Wow, I’m finally connecting to my daughter. Today is an answered prayer.
For now, I’ll say this. My full name is William Antonio Bell. I was born in North Carolina, but my family moved to Los Angeles when I was two. I don’t remember the South at all and have never been there. I went to Crenshaw High School. I loved sports and excelled in football. I was a running back and when I hit the straightaway, no one could beat me. I could run the forty in under 4.5!
I could have gone on to college ball, maybe even pro, but I got caught up in hanging with the wrong crowd, and trying to live too much life too soon. But I want you to know something, Shayna. Your father is not a bad man. Your father is a good man who made some bad choices. Maybe one day we’ll meet face to face and I can share my story. If I am blessed to ever have that time come, I’ll tell you everything.
Thank you so much for writing me. Please write again.
Your dad, Antonio.
P.S. Your brother, Antonio Jr., is six months older than you and lives in Atlanta.
Shayna read and reread the letter at least half a dozen times. Her emotions were as jumbled as sticky spaghetti, her mind swirling like water down a drain. Her mother had been married twice? She’d lived in Louisiana—which meant that Shayna had lived there as well? Or was that one of the times she’d stayed with Big Mama? Shayna wasn’t an only child, but had a brother? And for her the most amazing fact . . . her father was a runner! Big Mama had always assumed that Shayna’s talent came from her father’s side of the family. And she’d been right.
Wiping tears away, Shayna reached for her phone. Her first thought was to call Jarrell, the man responsible for finding the cousin who helped put her in touch with her dad. She touched the screen and tapped the name of the most important person in her life, the person for whom this news would matter most.
“Baby,” she said when he answered, “I just got a letter from my father.”
“That’s great news,” Michael exclaimed, “really great news.” Shayna could hear the smile in his voice, telling her how much he cared.
5
3
The next day, Shayna phoned Beverly from Michael’s home, where she’d gone directly after leaving the mail center. She told her about receiving the letter and of learning that she had a brother living in the Southeast.
“Are you going to go meet your father?” Beverly asked.
“Yes,” Shayna replied with no hesitation. “He’s in California State at Solano, which is near Sacramento. It will be a few months before there is a break in the schedule, but we’re going up at the first opportunity.”
“You and Michael?”
“Yes.”
“He supports this?”
“Yes,” Michael replied, having heard everything because the call was on speaker. “I do.”
Michael and Shayna listened as someone entered the room where Beverly was talking. A mumbled conversation ensued, with Beverly obviously holding her hand over the microphone. “Hold on a minute,” she said, once she’d returned to the phone. “Jarrell wants to talk to you, Shayna.” The implied message was to take the phone off speaker. Shayna did not oblige.
“I hear you’ve got good news, baby girl!”
“Yes, Jarrell. And I owe you a big thank you for helping to make it happen. I got a letter from my father.”
“Word?”
“Yes.” She relayed the same information that she’d given Beverly.
“Remember, baby. I’m right here. He probably knows my cousins; hell, some of them might even be in the same joint. When you get ready to go and visit him for the first time, I want to be right there. I’ve got you, baby. We’ll get through this, I promise.”
The male response was not the one that Jarrell expected. “Jarrell, this is Michael. We appreciate what you’ve done. Along with Shayna’s gratitude, I’ll add mine. But there’s nowhere for you to stand by Shayna’s side. I’m taking up that space.”