Forgive Me (32 page)

Tawatha placed the DVDs on the table. “We have
Soul Train,
the hippest trip in America.
The Jeffersons. Friends. Frazier.”

“Tawatha, I do have cable,” said Jamilah.

“I know. If we're having an old-school party, we should watch episodes we've seen and recite the lines like we did back in the day,” said Tawatha.

“Leave it to you to complicate things,” said Lasheera. “We did have fun reciting those lines, though. I remember the time we all deepened our voices and kept saying ‘The Help Center' like Louise Jefferson.”

“Yea, we did! Ms. Roberta got so upset with us for repeating it,” said Lasheera.

“Not to mention the crazy shenanigans of Dee on
What's Happening!
If that had been my sister…” said Jamilah.

“Lasheera, that actually was you. You were never good at keeping secrets,” said Tawatha.

Jamilah placed hot wings, pizza, breadsticks, and drinks on the table. They feasted, laughed, and challenged one another.

“'Sheer, I never thanked you and Lake for doing such a great job with Onnie. She turned out well.”

“She was easy to raise. She has morals and a genuine desire to do what's right.”

“Thank you,” said Tawatha.

“Since you brought up the subject, I don't mean to step on your toes, but I want to thank you for something,” said Lasheera.

“Oh, boy.” Tawatha shifted on the floor.

“I'm glad you stopped sending Onnie—”

A loud bang on the door interrupted their conversation. The banging continued.

“Who is it?”

“Do you think it's Momma?” Tawatha asked.

“I don't know who it is, but whoever is banging on my door like they're crazy better have a darn good excuse.”

Jamilah walked to the front door, yanked it open, and called to Lasheera and Tawatha at the sight of Stephanie standing at the door with CJ.

“We're here,” said Caleb.

Aunjanue focused her eyes in the hotel parking lot. The Fairfield Inn and Suites. She wasn't familiar with the hotel, but sleep called her, and she was ready.

“I have your key. I'll get your bag while you get inside. My room is next door.”

Caleb grabbed her bag from his car. Aunjanue opened the door and waited for Caleb to bring her bag in. He set it next to the side of the single bed in the room.

“Will you wake me up in about an hour?” she asked.

“Sure. Have you decided what you want to eat?”

“I don't want fish, and I don't want chicken. We can come up with something in between. I just want a snack before everyone gets here later.”

“Sounds good.”

“Wait one second. I have to go to the bathroom, then I have to give you something out of my bag. I'll be right back.”

Aunjanue took her purse in the bathroom. She texted Chloe, asking her to bring the set of colored pencils she'd loaned her. She waited for Chloe's response. She went back out to the room to give Caleb the sketch pad she'd accidentally taken from class.

“I have a sketch pad to return to you, Mr. Wilson. I took it by
mistake and I wanted to make sure I gave it back.” She handed him the pad as her message alert sounded. “It's probably Chloe,” she said.

She opened the message. “THE TRIP WAS CANCELLED TWO DAYS AGO. WHERE ARE YOU? DIDN'T U C MY FB POST?”

Caleb snatched the phone from her hand, pushing her on the bed. He restrained her, scaring her as she struggled to break free from his grip.

“Don't fight me. I'm not going to hurt you. Promise me you'll stop moving.”

“Mr. Wilson, what are you doing? Please don't hurt me.”

“Do as I say and you won't get hurt!”

She tried to breathe, but the weight of his body constricted her. She stopped moving.

“I'm sorry to handle the situation like this, but this was the only way I could be with you.”

“Mr. Wilson, what are you talking about? I don't want to be with you.”

“Aunjanue, why are you acting this way? After all the sacrifices I've made for you. After all I've done to be with you.”

Her grandmother's Oxygen network marathons came rushing back to her memory. Police said not to fight an assailant. To pretend to go along with the ruse. Mr. Wilson had to feel the thumping of her chest. She also thought of Chloe's text. No matter how many times she told her friends she didn't do Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, they didn't believe her. They assumed she lurked under an alias; however, after her siblings died she shut down all her social media avenues after being harassed by well-meaning but eerie people who wanted to make sure she was okay.

Slightly above a whisper, she asked, “What sacrifices are you talking about?”

“Do you know how long I've wanted you? Do you know how long I've wanted to be with you?”

Caleb held her tighter around her waist. “I fell in love with you the day I saw you on the news at the funeral. You looked so vulnerable. You were left by yourself by a whorish, selfish mother who cared more about running the streets than she did about you.”

Tears trickled down Aunjanue's face as he held her closer.

“Who do you think sent you the postcards? Who do you think wrote your mother all those letters in prison?”

“Mr. Wilson!”

“My name is Todd. Todd Sibley. Not Caleb Wilson. Todd Sibley. If we're going to be together, you need to know who I really am and what I'm about.”

“Please let me go.”

“Get up!”

Todd took her to the bathroom. He made her watch as he flushed her cell phone down the toilet.

“We don't have to worry about anybody calling us back. We're going to leave when it gets dark, so until then, relax.”

Aunjanue's hands trembled as he held her closer and took her back to the bed.

“Take your jeans and shirt off.”

Aunjanue did as she was told. She placed her jeans and shirt in the chair and shrank beneath his leering. He ogled her body and asked her to turn around. No man had ever seen her without clothes, not even Roger. She was determined to play it safe and follow instructions. The look in his eyes, cold and distant, frightened her. He'd always been gentle and kind toward her. Now, she stared at this stranger who'd preyed on her from the day they met. She watched him disrobe as well. He placed his clothes on top of hers.

“Come here, Aunjanue.”

She walked toward him. He'd overpowered her on the bed, and she didn't want to exert herself before coming up with a concrete plan. She stood before him.

“Touch me, right here.”

He pointed to his chest, and she noticed the tattoo of Van Gogh's
Café Terrace at Night.
The tattoo, a perfect replica of the painting etched just above his heart area, moved with the thumping of his heart.

“Aunjanue, you're my heart and soul. I love you so much.”

She leaned in closer, noticed he'd etched her birthdate in the yellow awning above the diners, and fainted.

C
J extended his chunky arms toward Lasheera, having grown accustomed to her babysitting him. Stephanie's hair jutted wildly across her head. She clutched her inhaler, sprayed it twice in her mouth, and staggered into Jamilah's living room.

“Sit her down on the couch,” said Jamilah.

Jamilah and Tawatha steadied Stephanie until she was seated; Lasheera rocked the baby. Stephanie struggled to breathe. She pointed to the front door, but couldn't utter a word.

“Stephanie, breathe,” said Tawatha.

CJ whimpered and played with Lasheera's necklace.

“Help me,” Stephanie finally managed. “The car.”

“What do you need from the car?” Jamilah asked.

“The trunk.”

Tawatha ran to Stephanie's car. She didn't have time to play twenty questions, and she didn't want Stephanie to have a severe asthma attack on her watch. Glad Stephanie had left her doors unlocked, she opened the door to flip her trunk and noticed a black-and-grey steamer trunk in the back seat. She dragged the trunk out of the car and trudged it toward the house. She managed to hoist the trunk and drop it in the hallway. It was too heavy to carry. She joined Jamilah on the sofa with Stephanie.

“It's Aunjanue. She's in trouble. Call her. Call the school. Do something!” Stephanie said. She sprayed her inhaler a second time.

“She's gone on the trip. She'll be back,” said Lasheera.

“You don't understand! Dial her number now!”

Lasheera laid CJ across her lap while she dialed Aunjanue's number. “It went straight to voicemail.”

“He's done something to her! I know he has!”

“Slow down, Stephanie, and start from the beginning. You're not making any sense,” said Jamilah, rubbing Stephanie's back.

“The night I went into labor, Caleb and I had a horrible fight outside your house, Lasheera. We'd been moving the last of some items from the house to a storage unit. He always went to the unit alone, but this time, I went with him. I normally sat in the car, but I went inside to see what we had in the unit and what we could purge for a yard sale this summer. I moved a few things around and found an old steamer trunk. I touched it, and Caleb went ballistic!

“He accused me of snooping and told me never to put my hands on his things again. He moved the trunk from the unit. I didn't know what had happened to it until I went in the attic tonight to store some of CJ's things. I had a bad feeling about it, so I cut the locks.”

“Let me pull it around here,” said Tawatha.

Tawatha pulled the trunk near the center of the floor. She looked to Stephanie for permission to open it. Stephanie wiped her face and dug through the items, taking out a huge stack of documents.

“Lasheera, several months ago, I told you Caleb seemed hesitant to date when we first met, but warmed up to me when he found out we were moving to the Midwest. This probably explains why.”

Stephanie pulled out clipping after clipping about Tawatha, Aunjanue, the court case, and the verdict. She passed the items to the others as they looked on in horror. Articles about Aunjanue's academic accomplishments, her likes, and her goals were magnified.
On a separate sheet of paper, Caleb jotted notes about Aunjanue's favorite foods, her favorite artist, and her secret fears. He'd compiled the facts from magazine and online interviews conducted over the years. Lasheera's stomach knotted when she turned over a box of Vincent van Gogh postcards.

“Caleb did this, not Tawatha,” she said.

“Did what?” asked Tawatha.

“For months, Onnie received postcards with messages we assumed were from you. Each card was signed
T.
Everything coincided with your release, so we knew you did it, Tawatha,” said Lasheera.

Stephanie removed a huge manila envelope from the trunk and unfolded several documents.

“I came straight here with the baby, but Jamilah, I need you to take this and do a search on your computer.”

Jamilah took the information to her office as Tawatha held the baby. Lasheera dialed Lake and paced the floor. Jamilah typed in the name on the birth certificate and waited for search results. Todd Sibley's name appeared in multiple hits, all with the title of registered sex offender next to it. Jamilah printed out the information and ran back into the living room.

“His name is Todd Sibley, and he's a registered sex offender.”

“That can't be!” said Lasheera.

Stephanie's hands, shaking and barely able to straighten out the documents, passed around information again. The falsified birth certificate, teaching credentials, and degree all bore the name Caleb Wilson. Additionally, he'd placed stars by names and numbers with the word references underlined.

“We have to alert authorities and the school right now! If necessary, we need to drive to Nashville,” said Tawatha.