Forgive Me (29 page)

She blushed and covered her mouth. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“What do I owe you?” Camille asked, reaching for her purse. She touched Hannah's hair. “You did an amazing job. I'll be bringing her back here again.”

“It's on me and Isaak. No charge.”

“I thought Isaak was kidding with me about this,” said Brandon. “I'll give him a call after the concert tonight.”

Brandon slipped Hannah's coat on. They left the salon, a picture-perfect family. Hannah, holding her father's hand, hung on his every word. Spent from seeing his daughter and unable to reveal his identity, he pondered the meeting. He knew that it could be the last time he saw her, unless he squirmed a way into their lives.
Too complicated.

A strange emotion overtook him. He locked the front door and reclined in a styling chair. He sat for hours, rehashing how he'd arrived at being a man who'd have no contact with one of his
children. He spied his watch and turned on the television. The Children's Choir aired the Christmas concert each year. He waited for the live broadcast to start. He didn't have to wait too long as Hannah stepped to the microphone with the younger children.

She sang “The First Noel” with the choir, and James imagined she sounded like an angel. Their voices blended well, and he watched his daughter as the camera panned over the children. She stood down front. The camera zoomed in on her. Too painful to continue watching, he turned off the television as she sang, “born is the King of Israel.”

“Emory, this is the craziest thing we've ever done!” Victoria yelled over the Christmas Eve crowd.

“Well, you waited until the last minute to get your mother a gift!” he shouted, his pitch as loud as hers.

They made their way through Phipps Plaza, practically walking sideways in the sea of last-minute bargain hunters. Victoria gripped Emory's hand tighter and held her purse close. Christmas time was thieves' paradise, and she didn't want to give anyone reason to think she had money to spare.

“What does Lillith like?” he asked.

“Besides Bobby?”

Emory gave Victoria a stern look, not pleased with her criticism of Lillith's mate.

Victoria huffed. “She likes purses, perfume, and chocolates.”

Emory pressed his fingers to his temples. They were close to most of Lillith's loves.
Decisions, decisions.
Emory pointed to the Coach store. “Let's go in and get her something here. We need to get back home before it's too late.”

They ducked into Coach, greeted by a friendly salesgirl.

“May I help the two of you find something?” she asked, her face screaming,
let's do this so we can all go home.

“I'm looking for a nice purse for my mother,” Victoria answered.

“What's her style?” asked the salesgirl.

“Nothing too flashy, but not exactly conservative. A nice, middle-of-the-road bag will do fine,” said Emory.

“Sounds like she might like a hobo bag. Follow me,” said the salesgirl.

They followed her to the back wall, admiring the displays of shades, purses, and wallets.

Victoria rarely left home to shop on Christmas Eve. In her past life, all her Christmas shopping was done by December 1st each year. Emory put off shopping this year; they agreed they'd give homemade gifts to family and friends. Lillith practically begged for a new purse. Victoria thought it would be a nice gesture after her cancer scare.

The salesgirl pointed out the hobos and left them. “Take your time and let me know which one you like,” she said.

Victoria picked up several purses. Money wasn't an object. She'd make sure Lillith loved her gift. Victoria's hands collided with another woman's hands as they both reached for a sand-colored hobo.

“Oops…we've got greedy fingers,” the woman said to Victoria. “You go ahead. I have two already in different colors.”

“I'm sure the storeroom is stocked,” said Victoria. They laughed. Victoria's laughter subsided when she looked at the woman. They recognized each other.

“What's your name?” Victoria asked.

“Bria Hines,” she answered.

Victoria was sure it was Bria. Bria's lips clamped shut, making the silent moment more awkward. She looked for Sidney to rescue her, but he'd disappeared.

“How are you, Bria?” Victoria asked.

“I'm well, Victoria. And you?”

“I'm fantastic. I'm shopping for my mother with my fiancé, Emory,” she said.

Emory had wandered off near the men's items.

“What brings you to the Atlanta area?” Victoria asked.

“Sidney and I are visiting his relatives throughout the holiday season. We'll be here until the New Year. We'll go back to Indianapolis on January 5th. We plan to hang out and watch the peach drop,” said Bria. She continued to search for Sidney in the crowded mall.

Victoria didn't want to postpone the inevitable. With grit and determination, she asked, “How is Aruba doing?”

A pall fell over Bria's face. “She's doing better.”

“As opposed to?”

“Victoria. Did you know—” Bria paused. “Let's step outside the store a moment.”

Victoria gained Emory's attention and pointed to the door. She followed Bria to a bench where they sat.

“Have you had any contact with Aruba?” Bria asked.

“Not since Winston's funeral. She's tried to call me, but I didn't want to talk to her.”

“She tried to commit suicide a few months ago. Sidney and I went to visit her last month in Augusta.”

“She's in Georgia now? When did she move back?”

“A few months after the funeral. She's with her parents and James right now.”

“James is here, too?”

“He's back and forth between here and Indianapolis. He came back to check on her and Jeremiah.”

“I'm genuinely sad to hear about the suicide attempt. I wouldn't wish suicide on anyone.”

“I always wanted you to know I felt badly about how your marriage ended.”

Victoria suspected Bria was trying to dump her abetting guilt.

“Well, what's done is done. Cloakers are as guilty as the cheaters.”

“Excuse me?”

“Cloakers. Covers for guilty parties.”

It took a minute for the accusation to sink in. “Are you accusing me of helping Aruba cheat?”

“Didn't you?”

“Victoria, I had no idea Aruba was cheating until the night of her birthday party. I learned the truth at the same time as everyone else.”

“That's news to me. I assumed…”

“You know what they say about assumptions,” Bria snapped.
Not on Christmas Eve.

“Listen, I'm sorry. I've had a hard time with all of this. Seeing you again brings up unpleasant memories. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“No need to apologize. I don't agree with what Aruba did or how she did it, but it can't be undone. I've thought of you often and wondered how you and Nicolette were doing.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I liked getting to know you when you lived in Indianapolis. We didn't hang out much, but I really liked you.”

Bria's words came as a shock. Victoria always assumed Aruba's friends resented her status and lifestyle. “Why didn't you ever say anything?”

“I liked you;
you
didn't seem to be too fond of women,” said Bria, pointing a playful finger at Victoria's chest.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Oh yes!”

Bria and Victoria chuckled at Bria's response.

“I've been told that before. I'm working on it.”

Sidney tapped Bria's shoulder. She stood. “Honey, do you remember Victoria Faulk?”

“I do. How are you, Victoria?” He shook her hand. “It's good seeing you again.”

“Having a party without me?” Emory asked as he joined them at the bench.

Victoria held Emory's hand. “Bria and Sidney, this is Emory Wilkerson.”

“It's nice to meet you both.” He waited for Victoria to reveal her friends.

“We knew each other in a past life,” she joked. Turning serious, she said, “These are good friends of Aruba's, honey. They're celebrating in Atlanta for Christmas and New Year's.”

“Maybe we'll run into each other again,” he said. “Baby, I went ahead and bought your mom the hobo. You ready to go home?”

“I was ready hours ago. Let's fight this traffic, Em.”

Victoria looked at Bria again. “Bria, tell Aruba I said hello.”

“I have a better idea. Why don't you tell her yourself?” Bria tore a sheet of paper from a small tablet in her purse and jotted Aruba's phone number down. “I'm sure she'd love to hear from you.”

Bria and Sidney disappeared in the middle of the last-minute shoppers, leaving Victoria staring at Aruba's number.

T
awatha tramped to Jamilah's house from Cracker Barrel, feet aching, back sore, and ready for a good, hot bath—or a good foot soaking—whichever one she mustered the strength to perform first. Tawatha resisted Jamilah's strict house at first, but the rules sounded better than going to a homeless shelter, Jamilah's second alternative for her. Since bringing her back from Augusta, Jamilah had helped her find a job as a server at Cracker Barrel, purchased her a used Toyota Corolla, and helped her establish a savings account. Jamilah gave her a one-year deadline, marked in red on a calendar that sat in her bedroom, to save money and get an apartment of her own. Tawatha wanted to crawl on all fours, but she took slow steps her bedroom.

She passed by Jamilah's bedroom and waved. “I'm home, 'Milah.”

Jamilah looked up from court briefs and returned the salutation. “How'd it go today?”

“Same old thing. It's Christmas Eve, so we were packed beyond belief. I'm glad we closed early.”

“You ready to go to dinner at Lake and Lasheera's?”

“I thought that was tomorrow night. Christmas dinner.”

“No. They have a Christmas Eve tradition.”

“I am dog-tired. Do I have to come?”

“Yes. This is the first night we'll all dine together, remember? Ms. Roberta and Mr. J.B. are coming, too.”

Tawatha groaned. “May I get an hour nap? Please?”

“We've got plenty of time. I'll wake you up in an hour and thirty minutes. I know it takes you forever to doze off.”

Tawatha headed to her bedroom. She took off her work Naturalizer shoes and rubbed her feet. She splayed her tips on the bed and counted out the day's bounty. When she'd tallied the dollars and change, her tips came to $95.18. She fell back on the bed, wondering when things would change. She missed being at Royce's, but he no longer accepted her calls. The final text message he sent her said, “I only want to see you once you're back on your feet. Stay strong. I know you can do it.”
Back on my feet. How long will that take?

Tawatha turned over on her stomach and imagined how the night would unfold. Her contact with her family had been so-so since returning from Augusta. A quick visit here, a phone call there. Nothing substantial. She thought the camaraderie would flow, that some of the good memories from years past would replace the distance they now experienced.
Who am I kidding?

She'd been banned from James's salons. Shandy had taken out a restraining order against her, and she no longer felt comfortable doing drive-by surveillance. James was becoming a far-off memory as well. She worked, came home, watched TV, and started the next day all over again. Jamilah knocked on her door.

“May I come in?”

“Sure.”

Jamilah came in, still dressed in her lounging clothes. “It's written all over your face. What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell that lie to someone who doesn't know you. Come on and talk to me.”

Tawatha blinked back tears. She intended to nap and get ready for dinner, but her world felt off-kilter.”