by H.H. Fowler
****
Palm River had seen its share of troubles. The highest concentration of criminals in the area were juveniles, mostly involved in heavy drug trafficking and carjacking. Prostitutes roamed the residential streets and some were often picked up by police in front of people’s driveways.
As Dominic slowed his Honda Prelude to a traffic light, he looked at the dilapidated buildings that made the neighborhood resemble a clip out of a horror movie. He suddenly had a newfound respect for his mother and stepfather, who had the guts to stay in the area to pastor people who were looked down upon. To operate a church in this part of town; one had better possess not only the grace of God, but also His supernatural protection.
Dominic parked his car in front of a whitewashed wooden structure, got out, and then carefully climbed the rickety steps. He drove to this shelter every Thursday, after his two o’clock class, to help feed the hungry, who’d grown accustomed to the daily hot meals served there. As soon as he got inside the shelter, his stepfather threw him an apron. Rufus Claiborne took his work seriously and had done an excellent job instilling that message in his stepson.
“Put that on and get to work,” he told him. “Take a look out there, the line has wrapped around to the back.”
“I noticed as I was coming up,” Dominic said. “You’re tackling this by yourself? Where’s mum?”
“She’ll be back, she went to get some more bowls.”
“This is our biggest crowd yet,” Dominic said, as he poured a portion of lentil soup into a waiting bowl. “Soon, you guys won’t be able to operate from this shelter.”
“Son, we’re praying for more space,” Rufus said. “But you know – to get things done in this district is like putting the cart before the horse. Everything’s done backwards around here. Here…”
“What’s this?” Dominic said, inspecting the folded envelope, which he noticed was bound tightly with a red rubber band.
“Jill wanted you to have it. Actually; both of us wanted you to have it.” Rufus kept busy serving, only taking a quick glance to catch the reaction of the boy he’d called son for the last ten years. “Come on now, keep pouring that soup. You’ll have plenty of time to look at it later.”
Dominic quickly figured it out; he knew what it was. Rufus had been talking about dying a lot lately. He was three years from seventy, but appeared as fit as a forty-five-year-old. Dominic couldn’t imagine him leaving them any time soon. “This is your will, isn’t it?”
“Not now, son,” he said, turning away to acknowledge Jill as she charged through the back door. “Well, here she comes with all that speed. Always in a hurry…”
“Oh stop complainin’ old man.” Jill landed a wet kiss on Dominic’s cheek, and then tossed the grocery bags on the table behind them. “At my age, I’m in a race with life.”
“I don’t see why,” Rufus quibbled. “You’re only forty-eight.”
“My point exactly,” Jill spat, moving in next to Dominic. “How you doin’, baby boy?”
“You two won’t change,” Dominic chuckled, enjoying the playful banter between his parents. They’d always been that way with each other.
“And we ain’t fittin’ on changin’ either. Til death do us part, right old man?”
“Quit calling me old, woman.”
“What you want me to say, Rufy?” Jill threw a hand to her waist. “That you’re ancient?”
Dominic cracked up at that, spilling some of the lentils on himself. “Now look what you two made me do. Stop with the foolishness.”
“Who’s the parent?” Jill asked. “You or me? Don’t ever let me hear you tellin’ us to stop anythin’.”
“Leave the boy, Jill. You’re so grouchy.”
“Dominic doesn’t think so. Ain’t that right, baby boy?”
“Mum, I love you no matter what.”
Jill pulled her son toward her and planted another one of those wet kisses squarely on his cheek. “You see, Rufy. The boy loves me no matter what.”
“And so do I,” Rufus said. “We love you just the way you are. I won’t trade you for all the tea in China.”
“Awwwwwh, Rufy, that is so sweet. Come here; let me give you a smooch…”
“I’ll be right back,” Dominic said, untying his apron from around his waist. “I’m gonna take this call on the outside.”
It was the third time Abraham had called that day, Dominic observed as he stared at the name and number on his phone. Should he answer it? What was left to say? The connection he once held with Abraham had been broken. There was no way to fix this. The man was a fake. A pretender caught in the act of his lies.
“Why you keep calling? I have nothing left to say to you?”
“It will do no good avoiding me,” Abraham said. “Get over your self-righteousness and let’s talk man to man. You must learn how to master your emotions.”
“Quit the lessons. I don’t care to hear them.”
“My boy, you won’t need to hear them from me. Life has a way of making you its pupil.”
Dominic was ready to end the call right there and then. “You’re done? I’m busy helping my peeps.”
“Why are you so bothered by this? Are you afraid of your own weakness? You know every man has a weakness.”
“At least I don’t sleep around with prostitutes, then turn around and preach abstinence, if that’s what you’re saying.”
Abraham felt his heart crushing at the words of the young man into whom he’d poured so much. “I pray that your heart will not be hardened against me, for your sake. I hope –”
Dominic impolitely cut the connection, regretting he’d answered the call. Abraham always had a way of making him feel guilty, but he would not be manipulated into forgiving Abraham so easily. He spun on his heels and marched back up the rickety steps, not caring how they wobbled beneath his feet.
Chapter Twenty-Three