Forgive Me (18 page)

“May I have the address?”

“Let me check her records. If I'm not mistaken, the family requested to let you know where she'd been moved. They want to meet you.”

The nurse double-checked Maggie's chart and read the notes left by the Director of Nursing. She scribbled the name and address of Serenity Hospice on a sheet of paper and handed it to her.

“She's not too far from here. Take I-465 to the Michigan Road Exit. Once you get off the exit, go down about four lights. Serenity is on the left. Can't miss it.”

“Thank you.”

She took her items and headed to Serenity. First, she was dealing with her mother's stalking, now Ms. Mag's illness. Aunjanue had grown fond of Ms. Mag. She didn't mind being called Felicia, and she didn't mind the periods of sleep Ms. Mag indulged when she visited her.
Dear God, don't let this be the last time I see her.

She dialed Roger's number, but it went straight to voicemail. Relieved, she ended the call. His life had been fielding scholarship offers from colleges and universities around the country with his parents. Guaranteed a full ride because of his SATs and magic on the football field, he'd grown distant with all the attention he'd received his senior year. He didn't pressure her for sex, but the thought of him being with someone else occupied her mind; her intuition hinted at another girl.

She dialed Lake; he answered on the first ring. “Onnie, are you home yet?”

“Not yet. I went to see Ms. Mag, and she's been placed in hospice. I have a quilt and fruit for her, so when I drop it off, I'll head home.”

“Have you talked to Lasheera? I've been calling her, but she won't answer.”

“She was asleep when I left home. She woke up long enough to tell me I could borrow the car, then turned over again.” She paused. “Is she okay? She hasn't been herself since Mom got out of jail.”

“Onnie, I'm not sure,” he said. He changed the subject as not to
alert her. He planned to get to the bottom of the situation. Soon. “Was Zion home when you left?”

“He said he was bored and went down the street to play video games with Hakeem.”

“Good. Do you mind watching him while we go out on our double-date with Caleb and Stephanie tonight?”

“Sure. Roger is out of town anyway.”

“Please call Stephanie and have her wake Lasheera up. I don't want to be late tonight.”

“I'll call her now.”

She ended their call. For the first time in years, she felt alone. Tarsha had been promoted to shift leader at Panera, so their hangout time had diminished. Roger traveled the country with his family every weekend visiting colleges and universities, and Lasheera floated around in a state of disorientation. There was no one with whom she could share the postcards or the ominous feeling she felt. She dialed the Wilson's number. Stephanie always cheered her up with her zany sense of humor. The Wilsons' marriage was only the third one she admired.
If
she ever got married, she'd love to have the type of interaction she witnessed between Caleb and Stephanie. He doted on her, complimented her in public and private, set goals, and acknowledged Stephanie as his strength. The Mosleys' and Lake and Lasheera's marriages were also worth emulating.

She waited for Stephanie to answer their home phone. She was surprised to hear Caleb's voice. “Mr. Wilson, is Ms. Stephanie home?”

“Aunjanue, she's not home right now. Is there a message I can give her?”

“Yes, Uncle Lake asked her to call Auntie 'Sheer and wake her
up. She's been groggy and out of it. Ms. Stephanie can get her going.”

“I'll tell her to call. She's out getting a mani and pedi.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wilson.” She waited for him to hang up, but heard him lingering on the call. “Mr. Wilson, is there something else you have to say?”

“Aunjanue, I didn't want to ask this, but I've been worried about you since you got sick in class. Is everything okay?”

No way would she share her feelings with anyone. People would accuse her of being crazy for trying to protect Tawatha, but she couldn't explain her feelings regarding her mother. She trusted Mr. Wilson, but she didn't want to tell him everything.

“Mr. Wilson, it's the situation with my mother.”

“I understand. My heart goes out to you and the circumstances. If you need someone to talk to, I'm willing to listen.”

“I appreciate it.” She waited a few seconds. “I'm headed to see Ms. Mag. She's been moved to hospice, and I have a few Thanksgiving gifts for her.”

“I knew she was sick, but I didn't realize she had been placed in another facility.”

“I just found out today. I hope I'm not too late. I've grown so fond of her.”

“Really, Felicia?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

They laughed at her alias.

“Henry, I bet she'd love to see you again.”

“No, she wouldn't. I'm the devil, remember?”

They both laughed as Aunjanue found a parking spot at Serenity.

“I'll tell her you said hello, Henry.” She said goodbye to him and entered hospice. The nursing attendant gave her Ms. Mag's room number, and her heart sank as she entered the room. A
middle-aged woman seated next to Ms. Mag knitted an afghan as she hummed along with Lou Rawls on the radio, singing “You'll Never Find.” Aunjanue cleared her throat, and the woman looked up from her project.

“May I help you, Ms.?”

“I'm here to visit Ms. Mag. I'm Aunjanue Gipson, and I brought her a quilt and some fruit.”

The woman lifted her glasses to peer at Aunjanue. “You're the one she calls Felicia, aren't you?” The woman stood to shake her hand as Aunjanue confirmed her question with a yes. “I'm Mag's daughter, Hattie. It's so nice to meet you. Have a seat, young lady.”

Aunjanue pulled up a seat and placed it at the foot of Ms. Mag's bed. She'd lost a significant amount of weight, and her face had sunken in. Her skin, usually glowing, dulled underneath the light in the room. Rapid breaths made the blanket covering her body rise and fall.

“What's wrong with Ms. Mag?”

“She's on the countdown now. The doctors gave her three weeks. We'll be lucky if Momma makes it to the end of the month.” Hattie leaned forward and readjusted her mother's blanket. “She's tired and doesn't want to be here anymore.”

“I'm sorry to hear the news. I loved visiting her.”

“I believe you kept her alive all this time.”

“Ma'am?”

“Momma went downhill after Felicia, our baby sister, died.”

“Felicia is dead?”

“Yes. Passed on in 1978.”

“All this time I thought she was alive.”

“If you listen to Momma long enough, you'll think she is. Truth is, I don't think momma ever accepted Felicia's death.” Hattie completed her row of handiwork. “Pass me my purse, dear.”

She gave Hattie the purse and watched her dig a wallet from the bag. She leafed through photos, pulling several from the clear wallet sleeves. “Come closer so you can see my little sister.”

Aunjanue moved closer to Hattie. She was careful with the photos, as some were fading, and others were crumpled around the edges. As she looked at the alluring young woman standing outside a dance studio in a body suit, ballerina flats, and her hair pulled together in a decorative bun, she understood how Ms. Mag might have mistaken her for Felicia. Felicia's shapely figure appealed to the men standing in the photo's background; they eyed her with hunger and lust. She seemed oblivious to their desires as she waved to the camera.

“Where is she standing?”

“She was outside a dance studio in Detroit. She danced most of her life and wanted to attend Juilliard. Things were fine until her body began to develop. She was a little too thick to do traditional ballet, but I wanted to see her with the Alvin Ailey Troupe. She was a fox, Aunjanue. You couldn't tell her she wasn't Thelma from
Good Times.”

“Who is Thelma, and what is
Good Times?”

“How old are you, Aunjanue?”

“Seventeen. I'll be eighteen soon, though.”

“Good Times
was a sitcom from the seventies. I bet you can find it on TV Land or TBS.” As Aunjanue passed the photos back, Hattie eyed her baby sister. “Now that I'm looking at you, you and Felicia could have been sisters. She was the family flower child—always seeking fun and new adventures.”

“If you don't mind me asking, what happened to her?”

Hattie sighed. Recounting Felicia stories made her nauseous because everyone in the family felt they should have done more to save her. “One day, Felicia just up and told Momma she was
moving to New York. Momma fought her every step of the way, but she gave in after Felicia told her she was moving in with Daddy's sister, Aunt Rachel. Next thing we knew, Felicia said she was marrying a fellow dancer named Henry Brooks. Momma didn't like Henry from the moment she met him. He stepped in our house for Sunday dinner like he owned the place, criticizing Momma's cooking, our house, and everything about us. Felicia sat there like a little wounded bird—not a chirp in our defense.

“They snuck off and got married, and Henry moved her to L.A. Early one Sunday morning, we got a call from Henry saying Felicia couldn't breathe.
He
said she fell asleep and didn't wake up; the police said Henry killed her after they went out dancing the night before. Henry finally said it was an accident, but Felicia didn't strangle herself. Momma gave up living after that night. She said she aged twenty years after Felicia's funeral.”

“She always lit up when I came by to do drawings of her. I understand why now.”

“I came down from Detroit to take Momma home. I didn't know she was this sick until I got here.”

Felicia's death made her think of S'n'c'r'ty. Another sister gone at the hands of someone else. “I won't disturb you any longer. I wanted to give her these gifts and go home. I'm watching my little brother tonight.” She set the items atop a dresser in the room. “May I hug her before I leave?” she asked Hattie.

“You may.”

She hugged Ms. Mag and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Ms. Mag. Safe travels on your journey.”

Ms. Mag cracked an eye and in a faint, whispery voice asked, “Felicia, what you doing here? Shut Lou Rawls off. I been through with him since he married that white woman. Play that boy with the Bible names.”

Curious, Hattie mouthed, “Who's she talking about?”

Aunjanue remembered Mag's love for WTLC 106.7. They listened to the station during visits and drawing sessions. She laughed and answered, “Luke James. She loves his song ‘I Want You.' ” She switched the station for Hattie as Ms. Mag went back to sleep. Aunjanue squeezed Mag once more and headed for the door.

“Honey, before I forget, I have something for you.” Hattie opened a closet door and retrieved a locked box. “Momma wanted you to have this. She said, ‘If Felicia comes back, give this to her.' ”

“We can't take anything from the residents.”

“She's not a resident; she's a friend. I loved the drawings you did of her, and so did she. I don't know what's inside, but let me get the key from my purse.”

Aunjanue waited for Hattie to give her the key. She held the box and hesitantly walked away. She stopped again. “Ms. Hattie, what happened to Henry?”

“He didn't go to jail, and we have no idea. Somebody said he moved to Canada. Ever since Felicia's death, Momma swore she had this sixth sense about men who didn't mean women any good.”

“Ms. Mag is something else. I'll come back and check up on her before Christmas.”

“You can try, but I can't guarantee she'll be here.” She gave Aunjanue a warm hug and the key.

“It was nice meeting you, Ms. Hattie.”

Aunjanue left the room, box in hand, and headed to her car. Her phone vibrated and she answered when Lake's name appeared. “Are you on your way home?”

“Yes, Uncle Lake. I'll be there soon.”

“Don't speed, but get here fast. Your Auntie 'Sheer is missing!”

T
awatha, still upset after the showdown with Royce, took advantage of Shandy's gift certificate. She sat in the car outside Dixon's Hair Affair talking to herself and looking in the mirror. “The nerve of Royce, accusing me of being a stalker. If he had family and friends who didn't speak to him, he'd want to be in touch with them,” Tawatha said to herself. She touched up her makeup.

She kept a stack of “treasures” in her glove compartment, which were mostly Googled items to keep her in touch, or at least at a lawful distance, between herself and family members. Royce stepped up his game to “protect” her; he had placed the Indiana stalking statutes in with her treasures. At the bottom of the print-out, he wrote the words in all caps:
RECIDIVISM. LOSS OF FREEDOM. NOT A GOOD LOOK
. Tawatha perused the paper again, reading the lines he'd highlighted in neon orange. She read the words aloud: “Indiana Code 35-45-10-1. As used in this chapter, ‘stalk' means a knowing or an intentional course of conduct involving repeated or continuing harassment of another person that would cause a reasonable person to feel terrorized, frightened, intimidated, or threatened.”