Forgive Me (12 page)

J
amilah unlocked the side entrance to her home office. The meeting with Roberta and Lasheera was set after Belinda spotted Tawatha crouched down in sunglasses and a gardening hat across the street. Although Tawatha wasn't ordered to stay a certain distance from Lasheera or Aunjanue, Jamilah gave her specific instructions not to bother them. Societal reintroduction took time, and Tawatha should have known better than anyone she wouldn't be welcomed with open arms—not this soon, and maybe never. Still, Jamilah felt a civic duty to help Tawatha after rumblings of inappropriate behavior by jurors surfaced.

Jamilah checked the coffee machine and the food tray, careful to include Roberta's favorite creamers, pastries, and coffee flavors. She'd only spoken to Roberta by phone since Tawatha's release two months ago, and each tense conversation ended with Roberta vowing not to speak to her daughter. Stalking was a serious crime, and Jamilah wanted to address Tawatha's actions before they got out of hand.

Jamilah placed the elementary playground photo of herself, Lasheera, and Tawatha on her desk. She angled the photo so Roberta could see how much her friendship with Tawatha and Lasheera meant. The three of them wore matching green corduroy jumpers, paisley green-and-white turtlenecks, and green Keds.
Tawatha had tied the jump rope around her waist in a bowtie as they hugged each other; she flashed a missing-front-tooth grin in the center of the girls. “It's easy to love someone when they dot all their i's and cross all their t's,” Jamilah said, repeating a saying her late mother used when reprimanding her for being unsympathetic toward others.

Jamilah missed her parents but was glad they'd both passed away before Tawatha committed the horrible act. Her solidarity with Tawatha would have strained their relationship. After they died—her mother from breast cancer, her father from a massive heart attack—she inherited her childhood home. The insurance money enabled her to finish her undergrad degree and attend law school at Indiana University. She modeled her mother and Roberta's frugality by negotiating with a contractor to have the basement transformed to a home office. The space enabled her to see clients as well as keep people away from her living space. The separate entrance allowed no access to her dwelling.

She looked up from the photo and spotted Roberta walking past the old-fashioned, ornamental light pole installed a month ago. Taken aback by Roberta's appearance, she stood to open the door for her. A palsied gait replaced Roberta's fast, hip-switching stroll. Roberta's hairdo, usually a healthy mane of fire-engine red or honey-blonde, roller-set curls, sat limp on her shoulders—gray, dull, and frizzy. Not only was her hair uncharacteristic, but her throwback outfit shocked Jamilah. She wore a horrid floral, long-sleeved dress, riding boots, and no coat. The forty-degree weather at least warranted a decent jacket. She opened the door and attempted to hug Roberta, but she stood, arms glued to her sides, and gave Jamilah a
let's-get-this-over
look.

Jamilah moved aside to let Roberta into her office. She waited until Roberta sat to speak.

“Thank you so much for coming today, Ms. Roberta. Lasheera should be here soon. May I offer you some coffee?”

“Actually, that would be nice. I can't stay too long because Johnny is taking us shopping. After that, we're dropping some items off at Gleaners Food Bank for Thanksgiving. The holiday is around the corner and we make a contribution every year.”

“I remember when you'd get us all together and take food to Gleaners when we were younger. It's good to know the tradition is still going,” said Jamilah. She poured Roberta a cup of coffee and added her favorite creamer. She placed a blueberry cheesecake Danish on a dessert plate and set it before her.

“Thank you, Jamilah.”

Roberta sat back in her seat and enjoyed the treats. The coffee provided a much-needed boost. She dreaded facing Jamilah but felt she had to get some things off her chest. She finished her food and placed the items on the side of the desk.

Jamilah looked at Roberta and regarded how much she'd aged since the children died. Her puffy, red eyes hadn't seen sleep in a long time. The hard creases across her forehead sat defiant, refusing to slacken. Wrinkles set in her face, making her look older than her fifty-six years.
She's given up on life.

Jamilah cleared her throat and eyed her watch. “It's ten minutes after ten. I wonder why Lasheera's running behind this morning. She's generally the first one here.”

“I can say what I have to say and be on my way. I understand your friendship with Tawatha goes back a long way. I'm not in agreement with you getting her out of jail, though. Shouldn't that have been some kind of conflict of interest?”

“Not necessarily. I've read of people going to law school with the specific purpose of helping their imprisoned relatives go free. She needed someone to help her.”

“That's your opinion. I think she would have been better off thinking about her actions day in, day out. Let's say, for the rest of her life.”

“Ms. Roberta, she'll have to face her actions the rest of life—in or out of jail.”

Roberta pulled her stringy hair off her shoulder. “This is Onnie's senior year in high school. I wanted to keep her, but looking at her brought back so many sad memories. Lake and Lasheera stepped up to the plate to help do what I couldn't do. Tawatha coming home is going to disturb the balance they've created for Onnie.”

“I'm sorry Tawatha went to their neighborhood. I will speak to her when I meet with her later today about staying completely away from the family. I called you and Lasheera here today to simply ask if you'd reconsider seeing Tawatha. She misses everyone and wants some type of connection.”

“'Milah, I understand what you're trying to do. I can't see my child right now. I still love my daughter—I really do—but I didn't raise her to do what she did. Do you know how embarrassing it is knowing your child is a murderer of children? I know I made a bad decision when I got involved with her father; he was a married man at the time, but I didn't know it. I lost Tawatha's twin sister, Teresa, to pneumonia, so Tawatha knows what it's like to lose someone close.”

“No one is accusing you of the crime,” said Jamilah.

“They are. Family members accuse me when they won't let me visit. Strangers accuse me by shunning me once they find out I'm
her
mother.”

“Ms. Rober—” Jamilah was interrupted by her cell phone. Lake's name flashed across the screen. She held up one finger to Roberta and answered the call.

“Jamilah, how are you?” asked Lake.

“Doing well. Just chatting with Ms. Roberta. What's up?”

“Will you ask Lasheera to stop by the FedEx office near our house when she leaves you? I'm positive I left my jump drive in her purse.”

“Lake, Lasheera isn't here. We've been waiting for her to arrive.”

“What do you mean, she isn't there? She talked about the meeting, well, ranted about it, up until she went to bed around eleven last night.”

“Oh, I didn't know she wasn't onboard for the meeting.”

“Trust me, she was onboard. She had a few things she wanted to tell you about Tawatha's stalking. She should have been there at least an hour ago.”

“I'm worried now. What do you want me to do?”

“Don't sweat it. I'll run by the house to see what's going on. Worst-case scenario, she got a wild hair up her butt and decided she couldn't do it.”

“Please call me when you find out what's going on, okay, Lake?”

“I'll call you ASAP.”

Jamilah ended the call and resumed her conversation with Roberta.

“Is something wrong with Lasheera?” asked Roberta.

“I'm not sure. Lake said she talked about our meeting last night.”

A light tap on the door startled them. Jamilah went to the door, opened it, and hugged Johnny. Unlike his wife, he welcomed Jamilah with open arms. Jamilah took in the fresh scent of Irish Spring.

“Is everything alright in here?” he asked. Jamilah noticed his weather-appropriate attire and imagined he'd tried to make Roberta wear a coat. His London Fog trench coat clung to his strapping frame. She glanced at his polished black boots. When the three of them were closer, and before Johnny married Roberta, she, Lasheera, and Tawatha playfully called him the Black Falcon
behind his back because of his polished shoes. His gentle ways and dignified manner were no match for his rugged good looks. Retired from Chrysler Foundry, he was a salt-of-the-earth man whose calloused hands slipped in his pockets to give Tawatha's children five- and ten-dollar bills. Totally gray, he kept his beard and hair groomed to perfection and his dusky skin glistening with almond oil.

“How are you doing, Mr. J.B.?”

“I'll be better when Roberta's better.” He turned his attention to his wife. “Is everything okay in here?” He removed his fedora and sat next to Roberta. He massaged her left hand and held it tight. The worry lines on her face gave away her distress.

“I was telling 'Milah I'm not ready to reconnect with Tawatha right now. I may do it later, but whenever I think of that urn holding those babies …” She choked back tears.

“Darling, let's go on back home. We can do the food bank later. Go on to the car, darling. I'll be out in a minute,” he said to Roberta.

Roberta hugged Jamilah this time. She slumped her shoulders and exited the office.

“Mr. J.B., I didn't mean to upset her. I promised Tawatha I'd at least ask Ms. Roberta if she would see her.”

“Thank you for the attempt. I want her to reunite with Tawatha, but I want it to be in her own time, in her own way.”

“I understand. I'll let Tawatha know when I see her later.”

“Congratulations on finishing college and law school, Jamilah. I know your parents are smiling down from heaven at you.”

“Thank you, Mr. J.B.”

He tipped his fedora to her. He saw the photo of the girls on desk and picked it up for a closer look of what used to be. He smiled at Jamilah and said, “One day, it might be this way again.”

L
ake rushed home from FedEx, dropped his messenger bag at the door, and walked toward the stairs. Sounds from the family room halted him. “Lasheera, what happened? Ms. Roberta and Jamil—” The sight of Zion playing a video game infuriated him.

“Z, what are you doing home from school?”

“I missed the bus and Mom said not to disturb her. She said she'd take me when she woke up.”

“Where's Onnie?”

“Roger picked her up and took her to school. I should've rode with them.”

Zion's words fully registered. “When she woke up? You mean she's still in bed?”

“Mmm-hmmm.
I'm hungry, too. You both told me not to make pancakes, waffles, or bacon without adult supervision. We're out of cereal, and we have Pop-Tarts, but no juice. I can't eat Pop Tarts without juice.”

“Wait here, Z.”

Lake tossed his coat across the back of the dining room table. He rushed up the stairs, heart pounding and hands clammy. Lasheera's strange behavior didn't worry him because he knew Tawatha's release strained everyone. Still, he wouldn't accept any
excuse for her not taking Zion to school. Long deliberations and candlelit dinners brought them to where they were. They mutually decided she would quit her job at State Farm after learning Zion would join the family. Guardianship of Aunjanue sealed the deal. Lasheera's drug addiction robbed her of enormous chunks of time with her son. On the cusp of becoming a teenager, the twelve-year-old wore the scars of his mother's addiction in small ways. With tutoring from the family and a private tutor at school, Zion tested out of special education classes. Still, there were moments when he acted as if his new life would end tomorrow. Lake's patience with Zion made him calm down when he'd have temper tantrums or come undone at the slightest chore request. Lake and Lasheera revoked Zion's cooking privileges after a “surprise” deep-fried turkey dinner attempt ignited a fire in the garage.

Lake opened the bedroom door, rushing to Lasheera's side. He felt her pulse, sighing with relief when her chest moved.

“Sheer, get up! Wake up.”

She felt around the bed, grasping for covers. She pulled them over her head again and turned toward the window. Lake opened the curtains and blinds.

“What do you want?” she shouted. She sat up this time, scanning the room for the culprit who kept her from getting precious rest.

“I want to know why Zion hasn't been fed, why you didn't go to the meeting with Jamilah, and why our son is downstairs playing video games instead of studying Geography with his classmates!”

Her rapid eye blinks angered Lake. He ripped the covers from her body and tossed them on the floor.

“I race home thinking something's wrong with you and you're yelling at me?”