The Little Girl

by Stacy-Deanne

“Klein told me. I don’t want you anywhere near Presley.”

  “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

  “I hope not.” The bangs of her short, auburn crop haircut got in her eye when she batted. “It’s bad enough Khadija Moore’s stirring things up. My daughter is not some pawn to use for publicity or to further anyone’s journalism career.”

  “I want to do a thorough story on your daughter’s case so I can make a difference.”

  She laughed. “You know how many reporters have told me that?”

  “If I didn’t care then why would I be here?”

  “To get an early jump on the next big racial tension story in America. What’s next? Protests and marching?”

  “That’s already happening,” Klein said. “Khadija had her people in front of City Hall today.”

  “God.” Channing rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Mr. Abraham—”

  “Anderson.”

  “Anderson. You don’t have my permission to do a story on my daughter.”

  “I don’t need your permission, ma’am. I have every right to cover the story.”

  She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Even if I don’t want you to do it?”

  “I would like your consent but if you don’t give it I still have to do my job.”

  “Job.” She cocked her head to the right. “That says it all right there.”

  “Anderson’s a good guy,” Klein interjected. “I’m not keen on him doing this either but there is no one I’d trust who’d be fair and accurate.”

  “No.” Channing caught the glances from the nurses in the nurse’s station and sighed. “That’s final.”

  “May I see her?” Anderson asked.

  “Hell no.” She stood against the door. “Next thing I know her hospital pics will be all over Twitter.”

  He sighed with a torn expression. “You’ve got the wrong idea of me.”

  “Goodbye, Anderson.” Channing sat, crossing her legs. “I’d like to say it was nice meeting you but it wasn’t.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Sonjay, this is amazing.” Anderson took another bite of the tangy meatloaf at the dinner table that night. “You’re beautiful and you cook great too? Klein better hurry up and marry you before some other guy snatches you right from under him.”

  Klein ate beside Sonjay, beaming. “Now you see why she’s the ruler of my universe.”

  “I’m so glad you like it, Anderson.” Sonjay smiled. “The meatloaf is my mother’s recipe.”

  “I wish my mother could cook this good.” Anderson chewed the creamy macaroni and cheese. “She burns wieners.”

  They laughed.

  “My mom and dad run the soul food restaurant on Fifth Street.” Sonjay smiled. “My great-grandfather started it.”

  “I have to check it out before I leave. I love soul food.”

  “He took African-American studies, loves soul food and old school R&B.” Klein chewed. “Sure you’re not a brother under there, Anderson?”

  He chuckled, dabbing his mouth. “Do you like teaching?” he asked Sonjay.

  “Yeah, I love kids.” She wiggled, blushing. “Always wanted a house full.”

  Anderson chewed, watching her. “What grade do you teach?”

  “Fourth.”

  “I’m sure you’d make a great mother. Your face lights up when you speak about children.”

  “She wants to pop out them babies now.” Klein cackled, grabbing her hand. “It’s best we wait and then we can create our own little community.”

  “Why wait?” Impatience peeked through Sonjay’s face despite her smile.

  “I’m busy getting things together in my career.” Klein looked at Anderson as if he expected him to agree. “It can be rough bringing up kids in a toxic environment like politics.”

  “What about you, Anderson?” Sonjay finished her last sliver of macaroni and cheese. “Anyone special in your life?”

  “Nah. I’m focusing on my career too.”

  “Klein said you were married before.” Sonjay’s eyes widened. “How long?”

  “Eight years.” The lump returned in his throat whenever Anderson thought of Tyla. “Her name’s Tyla.”

  “That’s a beautiful name.” Sonjay tilted her head, gazing at him. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. How long have you been divorced?”

  “Five years.” He ate more meatloaf.

  “Why did you get a divorce?”

  “Honey.” Klein nudged her. “He might not want to discuss that.”

  “It’s okay. Money issues made smaller problems bigger. She was a struggling fashion designer, and I was just getting started with a real job in journalism. We caved to financial pressures and we were unhappy so we let the marriage go.”

  Sonjay sipped from her cup. “Are you on good terms?”

  “We have nothing to do with each other. We didn’t have kids so there wasn’t a need to stay in each other’s lives. I haven’t seen her since the divorce.”

  “You’re not still in love with her?”

  “Honey.” Klein propped his arm on the back of Sonjay’s chair. “Cool it.”

  Sonjay studied Anderson while chewing. “Anyone since her?”

  “Not anyone serious.” Anderson covered his mouth and coughed. “Your sister is interesting.”

  “I’m sorry she gave you a hard time at the hospital. She’s going through so much. I’m sure she didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Anderson nodded. “I take it you and Channing are close.”

  “We’d die for each other.” Sonjay sat back. “I’m glad you want to do a story on Presley. I told Channing she should use the media to bring national attention to this. It’s bigger than her and Presley. It’s about racial injustice and how blacks can be treated like crap and no one gives a damn.”

  “She won’t give me the time of day.”

  “I’ll try to warm her up for you.” Sonjay wiped her mouth. “Not promising anything but we’ll see.”

  “Before this happened Thompsonville was a peaceful community,” Klein said. “Since the accident everyone’s split. It reminded us that things hadn’t changed so much.”

  “You’d think after having a black president in office that America had outgrown this,” Sonjay said. “But there’s no cure for racism.”

  “We have to keep educating,” Anderson said. “It’s about stomping out ignorance and fear.”

  “Anyway enough of this gloom and doom.” Klein laid his napkin in his plate. “I forgot to tell you something, Anderson. You’re staying with us.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. I won’t take no for an answer. I can’t have my best friend staying in no hotel.” Klein grimaced. “Sonjay and I discussed it and we want you here with us.”

  She smiled. “We’d love it if you stayed.”

  “I can’t put you guys out on short notice.”

  “We have this giant, two-story palace.” Klein spread out his arms. “It’s just me and Sonjay. You’re more than welcome and it’ll give us a chance to reconnect.”

  “I’d love it.” Sonjay smiled.

  “It’ll be like the good old days.” Klein reached across the table and smacked Anderson’s forehead.

  “Ow.” Anderson rubbed it, grinning.

  Klein sat again. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Okay.” Anderson scooted his chair from the table. “I gotta get my stuff from the hotel. Would you mind taking me to the car rental place?”

  Klein stood with his head high. “Your wish is my command.”

  ****

  Klein and Anderson returned home an hour and a half later.

  “Lucy, I’m home,” Klein shouted, mimicking Ricky Ricardo.

  Sonjay dashed through the hallway with a dishtowel. “Ricky!” She ran into his arms.

  Anderson laughed, carrying in his bags. “You guys are insane.”

  “Did you get a car?” Sonjay asked Anderson.

  “Yep.” He stood aside as she looked through t
he window.

  “A Mazda.” She whistled. “It’s nice.”

  “Just something to ride around in.” Anderson put his hands in his pockets. “What have you been doing?”

  “Getting ready to do the dishes.” She slapped Klein’s butt with the towel. “It’s Klein’s turn but since you’re here, I’ll let you two catch up.” She kissed Klein. “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

  Before she left, the doorbell rang.

  Klein checked the peephole. “It’s Dex.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Klein opened the door and Dex moved forward.

  “Klein.”

  “Uh-uh.” Klein gestured for him to move back. “I don’t want your double-crossing ass in my house.”

  “Let me explain.” Dex made eye contact with Anderson. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dexter Reinhardt.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Anderson approached with his hand extended, ignoring the evil eye from Klein. “I’m Anderson Abraham.”

  “Ah, the reporter.” Dex gripped Anderson’s hand with a sturdy shake. “Klein told me about you.”

  Klein stepped in front of Anderson. “How could you take Lancaster’s case?”

  “I’m just doing my job. I didn’t do it to hurt anyone.”

  “We’re supposed to be friends and you take that case without telling me?”

  Dex’s shoulders dropped. “What good would that have done?”

  “You could’ve given me a head’s up.”

  Dex leaned back, batting his eyes. “Kinda hypocritical don’t you think?”

  “What?”

  “You judge me for taking the case but too much of a chicken shit to stand up for your fiancée’s niece?”

  Klein balled a fist. “You son of a bitch.”

  “Klein,” Sonjay said. “Calm down.”

  “How can you judge me when all you care about is looking good for Bordeaux so you can further your career?”

  Klein grabbed Dex by the shirt.

  “Klein!” Anderson grabbed him. “Stop, all right?”

  “Wanna hit me because I’m telling the truth?” Dex ripped away from Klein’s hold. “I didn’t come here to fight. Don’t let this come between us.”

  “You should’ve thought about that before you took Lancaster’s side.” Klein held the door. “As long as you’re defending the man who put Presley in a coma, we can’t be friends anymore.”

  “Fine.” Dex fixed his blazer, walked onto the porch and glanced at Sonjay.

  She turned away, Anderson noticing an awkward tension between the two.

  “Don’t come around here again, Dex,” Klein ordered. “You’re not welcome anymore.”

  ****

  The next day Anderson scanned the aisles of the small grocery store until his gaze landed upon the medium-brown black woman stacking cans of vegetables on the shelf.

  Channing glanced at him, rolled her light-brown eyes, and continued stacking. Even the oversized, black smock and uniform didn’t deter from her mesmerizing looks.

  He took measured steps toward her. “Hi, Channing.”

  She overlooked him, poking out her glittery, pink lips. “Leave me alone.”

  “Please, hear me out.”

  “I don’t wanna hear anything you have to say.” She got cans of cream corn out of the box beside her and placed them on the shelf. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll tell my supervisor you’re harassing me.”

  “God, you are stubborn aren’t you? Can’t you hear me out?”

  “No.” She got more cans from the box. “You reporters are all alike. All you care about is a story but not the people behind it.”

  “That’s not true.” He moved aside as a woman passed with her cart. “My little sister Beth was hit by a car when she was eight.”

  She held a can in midair and looked at him.

  “We were playing out in the yard and her ball rolled into the street.” He gazed at the vegetables on the shelves. “She was in the hospital for a few days then she died.”

  She gaped.

  He nodded, eyes watering. “It took me years before I could face it because I blamed myself. I kept thinking there was something I could’ve done to change things, but it happened so fast.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” She looked at him with obvious concern. “I blame myself for what happened to Presley too. If I’d taken her to school that day then maybe what happened wouldn’t have.”

  “We can’t change the past.” Anderson wiped his eyes, regaining his composure. “I want to help Presley because I didn’t help my sister.”

  “That’s commendable but what makes you think blasting Presley’s story will help anything? That’s happened over and over yet has anything changed?”

  He got closer to her, inhaling Dark and Lovely. “You use Dark and Lovely?”

  “How did you know?”

  “My ex-wife used Dark and Lovely.”

  “Your ex-wife?” She batted her eyes. “You married a black woman?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Klein said you had an interest in the culture.” She chuckled. “I guess in the women too.”

  He closed his eyes and sniffed. “I always liked that smell.” When he opened his eyes, she was staring right at him. “Let me prove you can trust me. Will you reconsider taking part in my story?”

  She exhaled. “I—”

  “Channing?” A mature white woman with grayish-brown hair and a drooping chin approached them. “You need to get back to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman eyed Anderson, strutting away.

  “Is that your boss?”

  “We can talk about this later, okay?” She grabbed a can of peas out the box. “I’m not interested in changing the world.”

  “What if Lancaster walks? Could you live with that if you don’t do all you can to stop that?”

  Khadija flounced toward them wearing huge, gold hoop earrings bigger than her head. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? It’s my friend from Boston.”

  Anderson groaned. “I’ll talk to you later okay, Channing?”

  Khadija laughed. “Don’t leave on my account.”

  He rolled his eyes and left.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Khadija watched Anderson walk out the aisle. “I can’t stand his Mr. Nice Guy ass. He’s full of shit.”

  “I can’t talk,” Channing said. “I’m working.”

  “Working?” She turned in a circle. “I don’t see no one working. I see you hiding is what I see.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve got to get involved, Channing. How can we make people listen to us if Presley’s own mother isn’t doing anything?”

  “I told you I’m not letting Presley’s accident get turned into some kind of circus for publicity or television ratings.”

  “I care about that little girl. Look.” Khadija pulled out a wrinkled flyer. “We’re having a meeting at the Welmont Community Center about Presley Wednesday night. I’m inviting every person I can find. Spread the word. It’s time to unify, Channing.”

  Channing read the flyer.

  Khadija smiled, rocking from side to side. “You’re the guest of honor.”

  “I’m not sure I can make it.”

  “This is for your daughter.” Khadija’s arched eyebrows rose to her forehead. “What will it look like if others take the time to show up and you don’t?”

  “Will there be cameras?”

  Khadija shrugged. “One or two.”

  “Not interested.” Channing held the flyer out to her, but she didn’t take it. “I agree with your message but not your methods.”

  Khadija crossed her arms. “What methods are those?”

  “Your bullying makes the situation worse.”

  “Did you call Nate Lancaster a bully after he ran over your daughter? So what if I’m a bully? Someone should be.”

  An elderly white couple passed them and glared a
t Khadija shaking their heads.

  “See I have power with these white folks,” she shouted behind them. “They fear me because I call ‘em out on their shit.” Khadija stood with her back erect as a soldier. “One thing you can’t call me is silent or a pushover. I want justice so this won’t happen to another black child again. How many times do our children have to hurt or die at the hands of the white man?”

  Channing exhaled.

  “We’ve got to do something once and for all.” Khadija punched her palm. “The time is now, sista. Do this for your daughter.” She scoffed. “I bet you’ll let Anderson write his story, huh? All he’ll do is whiten the story up, so it makes Lancaster look like the victim.”

  People looked around, whispering.

  “Okay, you need to go acting like this,” Channing said.

  “I’ll act how I feel like it.” Khadija stomped her foot. “You should be ashamed, Channing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If Presley was my daughter Nate Lancaster wouldn’t be breathing let alone walking around free but he is because of your doormat behind.”

  “How dare you?” Channing slammed a can of sweet peas on the shelf. “It’s my kid laying up in the hospital with tubes hanging out of her, fighting for her life. Get the hell out my face, Khadija.”

  “I’m not stopping. Somebody has to fight for that little girl since her momma won’t.”

  ****

  The sound of a car driving through the gravel road awoke Anderson from daydreaming on Sonjay and Klein’s porch that evening.

  He leaned forward on the bench as a wine-colored Nissan Rogue parked in front of the house. A second later, Channing’s lovely face came into view.

  He straightened up as she approached in a summer dress with a thin shawl around her shoulders.

  “Hi.” She stopped at the porch, the air alive with the tart, chemical smell of Dark and Lovely. “They’re gone?”

  “Yep.” He placed his hands in his lap. “Klein’s working late and Sonjay had to see a parent about a student.”

  “I couldn’t call to check if they were around because my phone needs charging.” She had smooth legs, and the dress brought attention to the feminine curves he hadn’t detected through her uniform. “I always forget to charge it.”