Of Things Unseen

by L. Jaye Morgan

  Chapter 15

  IT WAS A LOVELY SATURDAY afternoon, made lovelier still by the fact that Nikki agreed to make the long drive out to my house. There would be the requisite Atlanta traffic but I told her it shouldn’t take longer than 30 minutes.

  It took 48 minutes.

  By the time she walked through the front door, Nikki was in a foul mood. I, on the other hand, was feeling good. My pain was at a minimum, I had slept through the night for the first time in weeks, and my morning shower hadn’t been a chore. They were small victories, but victories nonetheless.

  “Why the hell do you live all the way out here?” asked Nikki. She flung herself onto the couch and slammed her purse on the table. “I hate Atlanta.”

  “I hear you. Maybe you should go back to New York. Find yourself a nice shoebox to live in and eat ramen noodles for the rest of your life.”

  Nikki snatched her sunglasses off her face and glared at me. “Don’t think I won’t fight you in your own house.”

  I laughed, a hearty belly laugh. I hadn’t done that in a while. “You want something to eat? Drink?”

  “What you got?”

  “Um, sodas, juice. You see the bar over there. For food, I have some shrimp and grits from last night. And peach cobbler”

  She rolled her eyes, still in a mood. “You know what, just give me some water and some cobbler. Please.”

  “Okay. Let me ask you something.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Do they even have peach cobbler in Brooklyn?”

  “First of all, bitch—”

  “You want it warmed up?” I asked, already walking into the kitchen and away from her rebuttal. Needling her about New York was one of my favorite past-times, but only because she got so sensitive about it. I had visited a few times and enjoyed myself, but I told Nikki I hated it just to get her riled up. Worked every time.

  “Of course I want it warmed up, heffa!”

  “You want some ice cream with it?”

  “Now you know I can’t have dairy.” I did know, but I had fun asking her. I busied myself a few feet away in the kitchen, preparing her snack. “So tell me where we are,” I said.

  “Okay. The girl who went missing yesterday is Jeneice Harwell. She lived off of Courtland Road.”

  “Oh, I know where that is.”

  “Her parents reported her missing. Nobody saw anything but her roommate thinks she heard the person in their apartment.”

  “Oh my God, she was there? That’s like my worst nightmare.”

  “Right? So obviously we’re gonna put out another article tonight.”

  I returned with Nikki’s order. “I watched the ten and eleven o’clock news last night. They didn’t even mention her.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Me either. But you know what I was thinking? For the article, I think you should mention that detective we talked to at the rally.”

  Nikki perked up. “Speaking of, I looked him up. He’s not in command so I couldn’t find his name on Townsend County’s website.”

  “Yeah, I know, I looked him up too and was wondering about that,” I said as I walked back into the kitchen to fix myself a plate of cobbler.

  Nikki paused, a steaming fork full of cobbler hanging mid-air. “What made you look him up?”

  “No reason. Just curious.”

  “Uh huh.”

  I sat on the couch with my plate on my lap and noticed that Nikki was staring at me with a sly smile on her face. “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Anyway,” she continued, “I did some digging and I found a picture of him at a charity event with his dad. It said something about him being one of the top robbery detectives in his department.”

  “Robbery?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Well, I thought so too, at first. But then it hit me. The county is like, 90-something percent black but the commissioner, chief, deputy chief, on down are all white. And you saw the head of the task force for our case.”

  “Yep. White.”

  “Right. So I’m thinking this Detective Dunn is just a puppet. A black face they sent out to deal with the unruly negroes.”

  I shook my head. It made sense, unfortunately. “Sounds about right. I still think you should mention him, though. Whatever the reason, he showed up.”

  Nikki swallowed a mouthful of cobbler. “So when I write this up, should I also mention how handsome he is?”

  “Why would you mention that?”

  “I don’t know. Seems kinda relevant right now.” That was Nikki, always talking out the side of her neck. Just messy, for no reason at all.

  “Girl, please. It’s not like that. I thought he was nice and I appreciated the things he said. Plus he’s from around here and he’s black. I just don’t think it’s fair for him to get caught up in the criticism. It’s not his fault.”

  Nikki pulled out her phone and scrolled before shoving it in my face. It was a picture of Detective Dunn taken at the rally. “Plus he’s kinda fine, right?” I wondered when she took that picture because I was with her all night and never saw her pull her phone out.

  “Will you stop?” I asked, annoyed.

  Nikki giggled. “I’m sorry but you sound like you have a little crush.”

  “I am a married woman,” I said plainly, on the defense.

  “So?”

  “So ain’t nobody thinking about that man. He’s old anyway.”

  “So is your husband.”

  “You really wanna fight today.”

  She giggled. “He was feeling you, too.”

  “Stop.”

  “Bitch, do you really think he ran across the park in them church shoes just to give your narrow ass a business card?”

  I shook my head and tried to pretend I wasn’t affected. “Now you’re getting on my nerves. Let’s talk about something else.”

  Nikki stopped laughing. “Yeah, I have something to tell you.”

  I was alarmed. She was rarely serious, always laughing her way through everything, annoying as that was. “Okay.”

  “I’m actually...married now.” She spoke slowly but I still didn’t understand.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I asked.

  “We had been talking about it and we decided to just do it. We went to the courthouse yesterday morning and now I’m Mrs. Reese.” With those words, she broke into one of the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen affixed to her face.

  “Are you serious?” It was a prank. Had to be. She wouldn’t do something that stupid. She wasn’t a stranger to doing stupid things, and the scar on my shoulder from the time we broke into the boys’ dorm is proof of that. But secretly getting married was beyond.

  “I’m serious, T.”

  “You and Rashaun?”

  “Yes, I think you’ve met him. Dark-skinned, long locs.”

  “Why would you do that?” I asked.

  “Damn, can you at least congratulate me before you start with your bullshit?”

  “Congratulations. Why would you do that?”

  She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “We wanted to get married, so we did. It’s that simple.”

  I shook my head repeatedly. “What about your parents? What about your dad?” I stood and walked a few feet away. I was getting anxious and needed to move.

  Nikki’s eyes followed me. “I haven’t told them yet but they’ll be alright.”

  “I doubt that. He didn’t even get to walk you down the aisle.”

  Nikki shrugged. Still in shock, I looked at her hand. “He didn’t give you a ring?”

  “I have a ring, Tamara,” she said as if she were explaining something to a five-year-old.

  “Does it have a diamond in it?”

  “It’s a platinum band.”

  “Is he planning to buy you an actual ring?”

  “It is an actual ring.”

  “Without a stone in it?” It didn’t compute. Who does that?

  “Okay, you know what?
Let me make it easy for you. You’re Tamara and I’m Nikki. We’re two different people who want two different things. You did the whole big princess thing and I supported that even though it wasn’t my style. Why can’t you support me in this?”

  I sat on the floor and stared at my best friend. It wasn’t what I had envisioned for her, not by a long shot. “Are you happy?” I asked.

  “I’m very happy.”

  “Well, I guess that’s all that matters.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m happy for you, I really am. I love you. I just want the best for you.”

  “Yeah I get that but honestly, sometimes you have a hard time distinguishing between what’s best and what you think is best.”

  I’d heard a version of that before. “I’m sorry.”

  Nikki nodded.

  “Are y’all gonna do a honeymoon, at least?”

  “Down the road when all of this is done. Things are jumping off for me, career-wise. This is the most exposure we’ve ever had. Page views are through the roof. It’s not the time to go away.”

  Of course. Nothing could ever stand in the way of Nikki’s career, not even love. Truthfully, I was crushed. I’d always thought I’d be her matron of honor and throw her a bridal shower and the whole nine. She was right, she wasn’t into big fancy weddings and that was fine but she could have done something small. It wouldn’t have killed her to consider her parents and her best friend.

  There was nothing to be done about it now, though. I would pretend to be happy, just like I did with Val, although at least I could say I expected Rashaun to be good to Nikki. I watched as she ate her cobbler and she did seem content. I would leave it alone for now.

  “Alright, so the new article.”

  “Right, so I’m taking the angle that the department dragging its feet is what led to another girl being taken. I want it to have a sense of urgency, like if they don’t get their shit together, more girls will die.”

  “Okay, and what about broadening your reach? Your site was a good start but I think you should send a press release to some other media outlets. Definitely the Atlanta Constitution.”

  Nikki frowned at that. “But that would cut into my readership.”

  “Probably, but why does that matter? The more people see this, the more pressure on the police to do their jobs. And listen, I’m not saying give them your story. I’m only talking about convincing the public that these families need help. It’s about the narrative. These black girls were human. They had hopes and dreams and families and friends who loved them. They deserve our attention.”

  Nikki nodded. “No, I see what you’re saying. Do it. I think a press release is a good idea. By the way, that speech you wrote for Mrs. Scott was a winner.”

  “You think so?” It was nice to hear. That’s probably why she said it. To be nice.

  “Girl, yes. You heard the crowd. It landed.” Their response had surprised me. I shed a few tears, too, in part because of the emotion of the moment but also because they were my words. Maybe Nikki was right.

  “Honestly Nik, I was just winging it. I would love to take credit for it but I just looked through some old textbooks and looked up some speech writing stuff online.”

  Nikki frowned at me. “Girl, everybody’s winging it. Do you think I always know what I’m talking about?”

  “You seem like you do.”

  “Exactly. Nobody has any of this shit figured out. All you have to do is know enough to be a little bit more knowledgeable than the people you’re talking to. And please, take credit. Always take the damn credit!” In another life, Nikki would have made a great life coach.

  She finished her cobbler and downed the rest of her water. “Have you thought about parlaying this into something in PR? This is experience you can put on your resume.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, actually. But you know I’m limited right now, physically,” I said, gesturing toward my body.

  “I know but I’m not talking about a 9-5. I’m thinking maybe you set up an LLC, get you a virtual office, an assistant, and work from home. Take on as many clients as you’re comfortable with. I can help you set up, and of course I’d be a reference.”

  A smile spread slowly across my face. I liked how that sounded. “That’s a thought.”

  “Ain’t it? Just mull that over and let me know when you’re ready.”

  “That’s actually a really good idea.”

  “Of course it is,” said Nikki, winking for good measure. She took several file folders out of her bag. “Alright, get some paper. We have work to do.”

  Chapter 16

  WE HAD OUR MARCHING orders. We’d gathered pictures of the missing and murdered girls—the prettiest pictures where they were smiling brightest—and were putting together a press packet. As requested, each family had come to the rally wearing the t-shirts, buttons, and jackets they’d had made of their missing loved ones’ faces, and Nikki’s photographer had gotten some great group shots. The families had also brought their unused missing persons flyers, which had been arranged into a single document with my press release leading off. We were just about ready to go national with our push.

  Before she left, Nikki had warned me that things were about to get busy and that our names would be out there and forever connected to the case. It was exciting. I hadn’t felt this passionate about something in a long time, and it seemed like this one would actually stick. I was doing something that was going to make a difference to someone else. It was purposeful and I was doing it. It was an amazing feeling, and I wanted to keep it going while I had the motivation.

  After spending several hours doing research online, the only thing I learned about starting a boutique PR agency is that I had a lot to learn. I would be starting from scratch with zero contacts (excluding Nikki), no real experience, no mentor, and no money. And that last one was a big one. But I reached out to one of my former professors and in true black woman fashion, Dr. Jordan offered to meet with me in a few weeks to talk about my goals. I added the meeting to the calendar in my phone and the visual—one lonely meeting for the month, surrounded by empty white boxes representing each day of my life when I had nothing going on—stung a little. But I was optimistic, and I forced myself to envision a time when every box would be filled with meetings and tasks and opportunities. It was gonna happen for me this time, I could feel it.

  In addition to my burgeoning career, I had another, more personal reason to be happy. I was a little achy and slightly warm to the touch but that seemed to be my new baseline, and I was learning to tune it out. There were no shooting pains, no joint stiffness, and my appetite was back—I had eaten an omelet, a muffin, and five pieces of bacon that afternoon. So far, no stomach issues, but I was still on guard for that.

  It was getting close to five o’clock. Tony would be working until late in the evening and I wasn’t hungry yet. Cooking could wait.

  Instead, I gathered three baskets full of laundry, my favorite chore, and since I was feeling good, I set about dumping the clothes and towels into a huge pile on the bedroom floor. There was something so satisfying about attacking that mountain, folding everything, and creating neat and organized piles to be walked into the closets and put away. It was my ritual and I treated it as such. Even Tony knew the deal. He didn’t bother me on laundry days.

  I typically liked to do my folding mindlessly with the TV on. The background noise lulled me into a calm state where I didn’t worry, or even think, really. It also made me feel less alone.

  It’s not that being alone bothered me. I much preferred it, actually, but it hasn’t always given me peace. As far back as I can remember, I had spent significant periods of time by myself. I was an inquisitive child, always reading or studying something, but my times alone were accompanied by an all-encompassing feeling of emptiness. It was as if there was a big hole or gap that was demanding to be filled but nothing was near to fill it except me. And I wasn’t enough for it. Something was missing, I don’t know
what, but the hole needed something to fill it and it didn’t care for whether that thing was good or bad. Or evil.

  I spent years, at various intervals, alone with the emptiness. As a young child, I would sit with it in my room while Dre and Erica were off somewhere. During the school year, I would come home to it, make myself a snack, and find ways to amuse myself while I waited for those two to get home from high school.

  I didn’t feel neglected. After all, most of the kids on our block were latch-key kids. But there was something about being alone that was deeply impactful. In hindsight, I realize I had been waiting for something bad to happen.

  Some of my irrational fears developed during my formative years, the years I spent the most time by myself. I would cower in the guest bathroom during thunderstorms, certain that the dark gray skies would open up and send a tornado right over the top of my house like in The Wizard of Oz.

  Then I became deeply afraid of silence, tiptoeing around the house in order to avoid being heard. By who, I didn’t know, but whoever or whatever was listening, I didn’t want to disturb it or give away my location.

  I folded Tony’s grey V-neck, my favorite. The grey looked so good against his skin. I put it to my face and inhaled deeply but there were no traces of his scent. I missed him.

  I thought about my mother as I moved on to the dark pile. She must have had some of her own irrational fears. There were no butcher knives in the house when I was growing up. We had one of those wooden knife blocks sitting on the counter with only two knives in it; a serrated edge and a stumpy little paring knife. Every other slot was empty. We never asked Sheila about it, either. It was just one of those weird things that becomes normal in your home. It made sense now after talking to her about Andre. She’d obviously had a feeling about him. Maybe her subconscious knew he was dangerous.

  The 6 o’clock news came on, led by a police chase as the top story. “...the man is suspected of carjacking an elderly couple outside of the Target on Peachtree-Dunwoody...”

  I don’t remember when but at some point, I developed a fascination with the news. Watching it didn’t make me happy, but it did make me feel better when I was alone and scared. The burglars were always at someone else’s home. The murderers always killed someone on the other side of the county. The tornado had hit, but it hadn’t come within miles of my neighborhood. That was close! I would think, relief washing over me in soothing waves. But there was always a brief moment between the announcement of a crime and the announcement of its location when my heart would thump in my chest, my throat would get dry, and my hands would shake. And deep down, intertwined with the fear, there was excitement. Exhilaration, even. I must have liked being afraid. It may even be accurate to say I enjoyed it.