Forgive Me (8 page)

N
icolette washed clothes for a sleepover as Victoria contemplated ignoring her mother's call for the seventh time. She knew the penalty for ignoring the call would be a personal visit, and
that
she couldn't endure. Victoria grimaced at the sight of her mother's name.
Dammit!

Three weeks had passed since The Capital Grille debacle. Emory kept his distance, and her mother was a tad too gleeful about their breakup. When Lillith called, it wasn't to comfort her or ask how things were going. It was simply to say, “You did the right thing. The man would have been more trouble than he was worth.”

Victoria sighed before answering the call. “Hello, Lillith.”

“Don't sound so enthused to hear my voice, darling. I called to check on you.”

Is that what you call it?
“I appreciate the call, Lillith, but you shouldn't have. Really.”

“Nonsense. Mothers are supposed to nurse their lovesick daughters back to a state of common sense. Now tell me you don't feel better now that
he's
not around.”

“I miss Emory, Lillith. I miss his voice, his laughter, and the way we cooked together.”

“Are you serious? You put on quite a few pounds being with him, in case you didn't notice. If he had stuck around, you two would
have been twins, wobbling around, looking like candidates for
The Biggest Loser.”
Lillith giggled into the phone and said, “Stop!”

Victoria knew the giggling meant one thing: Lillith was entertaining one of her cubs. She marveled at her mother's ability to attract younger men, even after a stroke left her mouth slightly crooked and partial paralysis on her right side. Lillith's clothing left little to the imagination, and she pretended her small pot belly didn't exist. She stuffed her size fourteen body into size eight clothing and dared anyone to challenge her style of dress. Victoria wanted so badly to call Lillith
mom,
but that wasn't a possibility. Lillith ripped a page from the Joe Jackson School of Parenting and insisted Victoria call her by her first name. Not Mom. Not Momma. Not Mother. Before she left Victoria in Marguerite's care, Lillith told people Victoria was her niece. Victoria often wondered if Leland, her father, would ever come back into her life, or if Lillith's overbearing ways made him disinterested in having a relationship with her. A weird, clicking noise captured Victoria's attention.

“Lillith, what is that sound?”

Lillith giggled again. “It's Bobby clipping my toenails. He's giving me a pedicure. Afterwards, we're going out for drinks and dinner at the Mardi Gras Café tonight. Isn't that sweet?”

Victoria dry heaved. Bobby Yoder, a twenty-six-year-old valet, had been dating her mother the last six months. When he wasn't driving Lillith's car to run errands, he was propped up on her sofa eating chicken poppers, guzzling beer, and commentating with Reece Davis as if he deserved a seat at an ESPN desk. Lillith didn't want to hear that Bobby needed and had found a mother figure in her. The thought of Lillith being intimate with Bobby churned her stomach.

“How is my granddaughter doing?” Lillith asked.

“Nicolette is doing laundry for a sleepover.”

“A nine-year-old washing her clothes. I bet the two of you miss Alva, don't you? A nanny is a treasure in this day and time.”

Victoria cleared her throat. “I speak with her often. She returned to Antigua. We miss her and enjoyed the time she shared with us.”

“Humph, if I had a nanny, you couldn't tell me anything.”

Victoria heard Bobby say, “I gotcha back, Lill,” as he continued clipping her toenails.

“I bet you do,” said Lillith.

Victoria's doorbell rang, saving her from the smart quip she had ready for Bobby and Lillith.
Saved by the bell.
“I have to go, Lillith. Someone is at the door.”

“We might stop by on our way out tonight,” said Lillith.

“I won't be here. I'm taking Nicolette to her sleepover, and then I have a few things to do. Enjoy your night out with Bobby,” said Victoria. She ended the call, disgusted by Bobby clipping her mother's toenails.

Victoria sped to the front door. She hoped Emory was ready to talk face-to-face. She peeked through the side panel curtain and saw Yvette and Marguerite's smiling faces. Yvette held up a pink box from Cami Cakes; Marguerite held up a Publix box. She wasn't ready for visitors and had held Marguerite and Yvette at bay with phone calls. She knew they'd eventually get tired of talking on the phone. She opened the door.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked.

“You thought you were slick with the phone calls. We had to make a personal visit to make sure everything is okay with you. Besides, Foster told me to tell you if you can go to work, you can come to church,” said Marguerite. She placed the boxes on a hallway
console table and removed her jacket. Yvette followed suit and gave her jacket to Marguerite to hang in the hall closet.

“Let's go in the kitchen. I'll make some coffee and watch the two of you eat these goodies. You both know I'm trying to lose weight,” said Victoria.

“You have a seat with Yvette while I make the coffee,” said Marguerite.

“This is confessional, so you're allowed a tiny treat. You look like you're down a few pounds already,” said Yvette.

“Stress and more stress,” said Victoria. “If I've lost weight, it's because I can't sleep or eat. I'm embarrassed about the way I acted at the party.”

Marguerite busied herself making coffee while Yvette and Victoria sat at the island. Marguerite worked Victoria's kitchen like an old pro, removing dessert plates, forks, and napkins from cabinets.

“We bought a dozen goodies from Cami Cakes and a cake from Publix. We'll all share these treats,” said Yvette.

“I'm not hungry, but I'm glad you're here. I just hung up with Lillith, and she's going out again with Bobby tonight.”

“Marguerite poured coffee and joined them at the island. “I will not talk about my crazy sister today and her love interests. This visit is all about you, Victoria. How have you been?”

“I'm not sure. I think I did the right thing. I can't express what I feel. Emory is the nicest man I've met in years, but for some reason, I can't trust him or anyone.” She looked at Yvette. She dropped her head and took a chocolate coconut pecan cupcake from the box.

Yvette hoped Victoria would open up about her past hurts. She refused to share things with her, leaving Yvette thinking she may have offended Victoria in some way.

“Is it because of Aruba?” asked Marguerite.

Victoria's side-eye look to Marguerite clued Yvette that a woman was involved in the standoffish treatment she'd received over the years. Yvette sat back and waited for the conversation to proceed.

“She's a factor,” said Victoria.

“Who is Aruba?” asked Yvette.

“I'll let her tell you,” said Marguerite. “I don't think it's my place to share what happened in her marriage.”

Victoria charged full speed ahead. “Yvette, I always told you my ex-husband died, but we broke up after a friend of mine…stole him.”

“Oh my. I'm so sorry to hear that,” said Yvette.

“Just to clear the air here, a man can't be stolen. People go where they want to go, but Aruba had a plan to take him,” said Marguerite. “She skinned and grinned in my niece's face until she had him. She moved on to California with him, but the joke was on her in the end when she discovered he had ALS.”

“That's payback and then some,” said Yvette. She turned to Victoria. “Is that why you never share anything with me? There has always been an aloofness there, but I thought I'd done something personally to you.”

“I don't trust people, especially other women. When I think about getting close to someone, I think of how she wore my clothes, drove my car, and spent time in my home. I'll never put myself in that position again with someone.”

Her words settled around the island as they ate their treats and drank their coffee in silence. Yvette rubbed Victoria's shoulder. Softened by the revelation, she realized crossing paths with Victoria wasn't about friendship; it was an assignment.

T
awatha pulled the floppy hat over her head, adjusted the oversized sunglasses on her face, and waved to Royce as she backed out of the main house garage. She'd marked this day on her calendar to follow up on job leads—or so she told Royce. Next to her were indeed appointment times for interviews at Marsh, Kroger, Burger King, and Federal Express. She'd spent several nights filling out online applications and printing out interview dates. The true nature of her outing was nestled beneath the printed sheets—addresses and directions to the homes for Roberta, Lasheera, and James—compliments of Switchboard, Spokeo, and Intelius. She'd grown tired of being ignored by her family and friends. Since they all purported to be Christians, she couldn't understand why they didn't want a decent relationship with her. She understood James's stance, but Roberta and Lasheera were a different matter. She'd learned from Jamilah that her mother decided to let Aunjanue stay with Lasheera and her husband, Lake, so she'd have the benefits of a younger, more vibrant family. Roberta and JB were capable of raising Aunjanue. She wondered how often Aunjanue visited her grandmother and what type of things she did for fun. Did she have a boyfriend? Was she sexually active? She'd searched her name online and found that Aunjanue's academic life hadn't suffered. A senior at North Central High School, she
participated in lots of activities that fostered her love of art. She'd also been accepted to numerous colleges and universities. She checked for Facebook and Twitter profiles but found nothing. If no one else bonded with her, she'd make sure to re-establish a relationship with Aunjanue.

She pulled the first map from her printed directions and looked at Lasheera's name at the top of the paper. As she navigated the I-465 S traffic, her envy intensified when she looked at the address. “How does a former crackhead find a husband and move into such a nice neighborhood? She got Lake, but I couldn't keep James,” Tawatha said. She didn't care what anyone said, James still loved her. He just didn't know it yet. He bided his time with the skinny woman on television until she got out of jail. Of this, Tawatha was sure. “If Lake can overlook 'Sheer's past, James can overlook the house fire. After all, I did it for him. We can get our daughter back and raise her together.” Tawatha's anger rose now; she turned up the oldies station and sang along with Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell as they belted out “Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing.” This tune accompanied many Saturday morning cleanings when she lived in California with her mother and twin sister, Teresa. Even now, Tawatha remembered sweeping floors and waxing windows with crumpled newspapers. “Yeah, I'll show Jameshia how to clean and cook.” Her solo conversation continued until she turned into the entrance of Lasheera's subdivision. For an extra fee, she received a birds-eye view of Lasheera's house. She parked three houses down and waited. She knew nothing of Lasheera's work schedule, but she figured Lasheera worked Monday through Friday.
Maybe she's out shopping this Saturday morning.

The oldies radio tunes mocked her as “Games People Play” by The Spinners began. She looked at the children playing in their yards, riding bicycles, and selling lemonade at colorful stands.
Mothers and fathers clustered in each other's yards were laughing and swapping stories. She hated their suburban souls with all her heart. “James and I can have this someday. I know we can.” A stray ball rolled in front of her car and Tawatha watched its owner retrieve it. The little boy waved to her and ran back to the game he played with four other boys. She thought of Sims and Grant then. She opened her purse to get her children's photos when she saw Lasheera's garage door open. Tawatha snatched her sunglasses off to get a closer look at Lasheera. She looked good from where Tawatha sat. Lasheera and Lake held hands as Lake walked her to a car parked in the driveway. Lasheera looked well. She had filled out in a womanly way; she didn't have to same body Tawatha had grown accustomed to seeing when she did drugs. Her hair had grown past her shoulders; she wore stylish jeans and a soft, green cashmere sweater with a decorative scarf tied in a triple loop. The September weather didn't warrant a heavy coat, so the sweater and scarf did the trick for the day. Lake leaned into her face, caressed her light-brown skin, and kissed her lips. He whispered something in her ear, causing them both to laugh and fall into each other's arms. She playfully pushed him away. They advanced a few steps, and Lake opened Lasheera's door. Once Lasheera was seated, they kissed again and Lake waved goodbye as Lasheera backed out the driveway. Tawatha scooted down in the seat and waited until Lasheera passed. She set her iPhone alarm for five minutes and sat back up to watch the neighborhood happenings. Lake reappeared from the garage with a weed eater. He trimmed shrubs and bushes. “He is fine!” Tawatha said.