Forgive Me (13 page)

Lake calmed himself. He didn't want to jump to conclusions,
and he didn't want to accuse her of using again. The allegation would cause a fissure in the trust they'd spent so many years building. He tried a different approach. He lowered his voice.

“I didn't mean to yell. I got worried when Jamilah said you never made it to the meeting.”

“That was today?”

“We talked about the meeting last night. You went on and on about how you would give Jamilah a piece of your mind about setting Tawatha free.”

“We talked last night?”

“Right here on the bed.” Lake pounced up and down on the mattress for dramatic effect.

She hid her face in her hands, embarrassed.

“Z said you told him you'd take him to school when you woke up. Do you remember talking to him?”

She shook her head.

“What did you take last night? You said you had a headache, but whatever you took knocked you completely out.”

She glanced at the Advil P.M. bottle on the nightstand. She had flushed the pills down the toilet and replaced them with Ambien.
Blue is blue,
she reasoned. “Only two Advil PMs. I haven't been well with the Tawatha situation and all. You understand, don't you?”

Lake snatched the bottle from the nightstand. “Let me get rid of these.”

Lasheera plucked them from his hands. “I promise I won't take them before I go to bed again. You're treating me like an addict, and you said you wouldn't do that to me.”

Lake threw up his hands. If he took the pills, he'd be labeled a villain. If he let her keep them, he'd give her sidelong glances each night to make sure she wasn't taking them. Sidelong glances trumped being a villain.

“Did you really dread the meeting?”

“It had nothing to do with the meeting.”

“What is this about, 'Sheer?”

“I can't put it into words. I don't know. Something is missing.”
Make him think it's him.

“What's missing?”

“I know you're working on your doctorate and the journey is almost done, but I miss seeing you. We don't do dinner as much, and I miss going to the park and walking with you.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“I didn't want to say something and sound selfish.”

“We said we'd communicate about everything. Everything includes the good, bad, and the ugly. If you're feeling neglected, I can't read your mind. You have to let me know, baby.”

“I'm sorry, Lake. I won't let it happen again.” She blew her breath into her hands and dry heaved.

“Somebody needs to slay the dragon,” Lake joked.

“If you go fix Zion something to eat, I'll shower and get dressed. It's too late for him to go to school, so I'll log on to Skyward and find out what he missed today. I'll pull myself together so I can help him with his homework.”

“What do I get in return for slaving over a hot stove?”

“Depends on how satisfied he is after he eats.”

She stood, feigning shyness. Lake looked at her Wonder Woman lingerie set and wished they were home alone.

Zion yelled upstairs, “Would someone please help me with the pancakes?”

“Coming down in a minute, Z,” Lake yelled.

She blew Lake a kiss and jumped in the shower. She turned on the showerheads full steam. Somehow, she needed to find a way to get more Ambien.

P
aul Gauguin, today's featured artist, flashed before the students as Mr. Wilson shared the origin of his paintings. Aunjanue blocked Mr. Wilson's lesson on Gauguin because Van Gogh occupied her thoughts. Aunjanue removed the postcard she had received at the front office from her purse and flipped it back and forth. No one saw who left it for her, but the act had Tawatha written all over it. Who else would know her favorite artist was Vincent van Gogh? Who else would select the
Red Poppies
and Daisies
postcard?
Momma must have the holiday blues.

Thanksgiving was the only time of year Tawatha displayed motherly traits. She busied herself in the kitchen making Roberta's turkey, dressing, potato salad, and collard greens. Tawatha always made Aunjanue and her siblings prepare cakes, pies, and drinks. Aunjanue imagined her little sister, S'n'c'r'ty, pulling up a chair from the kitchen table, spreading Kool-Aid packets on the counter, and dumping too much sugar in their favorite pitcher. Her brothers, Grant and Sims, used Roberta's secret pecan pie trick: They substituted corn syrup with a large jar of caramel ice cream topping. Their pies were always a hit and requested at school raffles. The memories overwhelmed Aunjanue. She raised her hand.

“Mr. Wilson, may I be excused? I don't feel well.”

Mr. Wilson paused the Gauguin slides. “Yes, Aunjanue, you may be excused.”

Aunjanue grabbed her things and made it to the bathroom in time. She locked the stall door and dropped to the toilet fully clothed. She wept silently about the few positive moments she had with her mother. The memories created a chest-heaving sob. She grabbed tissue and wiped her eyes. She flipped the postcard over and read the words of the typed note again:
I want us to be closer. I can imagine life for you is difficult with all you've been through. I want to make it better. Please give me a chance. Love, T.

Her cowardly mother didn't even think enough of her to write the note out. Lasheera said her mother currently lived with her former boss, Mr. Royce Hinton.
He probably dropped this off for her.

Aunjanue and Tarsha talked about what she'd do if Tawatha showed up at the school or at her house. Surprised she still had love for her mother, she wiped the fresh tears away.
How on earth could I love such a monster? Pull yourself together, Onnie.

She stood, gathered up her things, and walked to the sink. She washed her face with cool water, her red eyes swelling by the moment. The bell rang, and she readied herself for Calculus. When she walked out of the bathroom, Mr. Wilson stood with his hands in his pockets. He approached her as she pulled her backpack up.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

Aunjanue pondered telling him about the postcard, but telling him was like telling Lake and Lasheera, and she wasn't ready for them to know yet. She didn't want to lie to him.

“I'm a little blue over the holiday season. I was thinking of my brothers and sister in class earlier, and I got full. I miss them so much.”

“Aunjanue, I can't bring them back, but I will keep you in my prayers. Stephanie and I will be over for Thanksgiving dinner at your house. Are you in the mood to celebrate?”

She shrugged. “Not now. Not while my mother is free.”

“Lake told me about her stopping by the neighborhood.” He closed the space between them. “Has she bothered you here at school? I've been looking out for suspicious activity.”

“No. Like I said, I got full thinking about my siblings. I'll be alright.”

“Please talk to Lake and Lasheera about your feelings.”

“They have a lot on their plates, and I don't want to worry them with my problems.”

“I understand. I'm sure they wouldn't mind.”

The bell rang again. “I need to get to class. I'm late.”

“I'll let Mrs. Philips know we were talking.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilson.”

“My name is Henry, remember?”

She laughed at Ms. Mag's name for him and headed to class. He'd made her comfortable without even trying. Each day an action unfolded, making her admire him more.

J
amilah calmed herself before heading to Tawatha's place. She couldn't believe, after all their talks and her instructions, Tawatha defied her by stalking everyone.
She wants to go back to jail.
Ms. Roberta's claims couldn't be refuted; Tawatha routinely stalked each of them when they were either leaving the house or getting in from errands. She had learned their routines and waited until they arrived. Lasheera and Roberta were blessed to live in communities with a strong neighborhood watch presence. Each similar sighting of Tawatha tagged her in a Ford Focus, floppy hat, and sunglasses. She never got out of the car; she scrunched down in her seat and watched random movement. According to Roberta, she hadn't returned to either area in a few days, but no one knew when she'd slither her way amongst them again.

Jamilah's meeting with Roberta resurfaced in her mind. Roberta was a second mother to the group; Jamilah felt a sense of sadness about the meeting because they never got to the crux of why she'd called her there. Lasheera's absence proved to be a blessing in disguise. Jamilah planned to suggest Roberta welcome Tawatha with open arms so she could begin the process of getting her psychiatric help. No one dared speak the obvious truth: Tawatha's elevator went to the top floor, but the door didn't open. Since elementary school, the three of them were, in fact, the Three
Musketeers. They jockeyed for monkey bar space, twirled each other in playground swings, and occasionally, they dared each other to slope like surfers on the slides. Mammoth trees, fresh air, and secret trails populated their school playground. Without fail, Tawatha disappeared in back of the school as the three of them hopscotched or played jump rope. She would slip away, undetected most times, causing the two to end their fun in search of their friend. They found her sitting on a rock or mindlessly pulling weeds from plants. Sometimes, she sang to herself; other times, she entertained a slew of imaginary friends. The most frightening act she committed was peeping in homes behind the school. Luckily, no one was home during her peeping Thomasina moments, but the girls were scared nonetheless. They coaxed her back to the playground and class, pretending nothing happened. As she aged, her actions were explained away with familiar phrases: “She's different…you know she's a free spirit.” Jamilah hoped time would stabilize her, but after the fire, she reasoned the issue had nothing to do with spirits and everything to do with illness. If only Roberta agreed to see her, the first visit would be the catalyst for helping Tawatha.

Her cell phone rang, bringing her back to the present. She saw Lasheera's name and answered, bracing herself for a showdown.

“Hi, Lasheera, how are you? Ms. Roberta and I missed seeing you.”

“Girl, I apologize for not coming. I overslept and couldn't get up on time.”

“The time-stickler Musketeer overslept, huh? There's a first time for everything.”

“I know it sounds absurd, but I've been having a hard time since you started your Good Samaritan
act!”
said Lasheera.

“Progress! The meeting was for you to get your feelings out, so please be candid about them. The tension between us keeps growing, and we're acting like children by not talking.”

Jamilah's peaceful tone knocked Lasheera down a few pegs. She'd called to yell and scream, but Jamilah, always the peacekeeper of the group, diminished her need to speak her mind in rudeness.

“'Milah, three children are dead because of Tawatha.”

“Let's not forget,
one
child might be dead had someone not pulled Zion from the street after he wandered into oncoming traffic after one of your many crack-smoking binges. Your son was taken away, but you've been fortunate enough to have a second chance with him.”

“Don't throw my past in my face. You know I was…” Lasheera paused as she recovered from the sucker punch.

“You were what?”

Lasheera blew an exaggerated sigh into the phone. She sat silent, unsure of what else to say.

“Let's try
in a bad place.
In need of love. In need of grace. Accurate assessment?” Jamilah asked.

“Jamilah, murder and drug use are two different things.”

“Since when?”

Lasheera's argument turned to dust in her mouth. Though she'd found love with Lake and had gotten Zion back, she longed for a better relationship with her parents. Currently, their communication was touch and go. They indulged her in cordial conversation, but no longer allowed her in their home. When family events occurred, they would call with the news and hang up, never allowing her a chance to ask questions. She knew this was her penance for all she had stolen from them. Moreover, it was the fallout of having pushed her mother's chest so hard after stealing money
from the family's beloved clown cookie jar. During the assault, her mother suffered a mild heart attack. The extended Atkins clan wished Lasheera had died for the way she'd treated her mom; they discouraged her from coming around.