Guilty of Love (35 page)

“
Oh no, I left Wilma on the
phone.” She detangled herself from Parke and raced back into the
kitchen, her support-team trailing. Retrieving the phone, Cheney
apologized. “I’m so sorry. Yes, yes, I’ll be here to sign the
contract. Thank you.”

Wilma chuckled. “Congratulations,
foster mom. See you in an hour.”

After the call, the three stood in
Cheney’s kitchen sniffing, drying teary eyes, and
hugging.

“
You’re going to need a
swing set in the backyard,” Mrs. Beacon commented.

“
Do we have enough toys?”
Parke asked.

Cheney folded her arms. “Wait a
minute. Whose kids do you think they are anyway?”

Mrs. Beacon and Parke answered without
hesitation. “Ours.”

***

A distant ringing bounced off Cheney’s
bedroom walls. She scooted farther under the covers, burying her
head into a fluffy pillow. When the realization hit, Cheney
rummaged for the phone. “Hello,” her voice forced out, drugged with
sleep.

Wilma’s voice was on the other end
rapidly explaining a child’s needs. She pushed herself up in bed.
Clumsily, she switched on the night lamp. “Okay, okay.” Cheney took
a deep breath. “I’m awake, I think. Now, repeat
everything.”

“
I have a two-year-old girl
who was just removed from a home after a drug bust and eight family
members were arrested. She’s being checked out at Children’s
Hospital. Can you meet me there and take custody of
her?”

“
Sure.” They disconnected.
Rubbing her eyes, she looked cross-eyed at the clock: 3:42 in the
morning. “Why can’t people do illegal drug activity during normal
business hours?” As she pushed back the covers, Cheney debated if
she should call Parke—nah.

After three hours waiting in the
emergency room, Cheney chided herself for not waking Parke. “Isn’t
it like a man to sleep through the night while the woman stays
awake with the child?” She chuckled, sipping on her third cup of
coffee as she tried to recall all her emergency foster care
procedures. Mrs. Beacon had already agreed to care for any little
ones during the day if Cheney couldn’t take off work, and Parke
volunteered for the nights and weekends, if needed. But she had no
plans on going to work today.

Wilma appeared, carrying a beautiful
little girl with two forgotten braids. She wore a dingy once-white
T-shirt and pink corduroy overalls. She looked frightened and
tuckered out. “This is Kami Fields, a biracial child of a
fifteen-year-old White teenage mother, who’s pregnant with another
child. Her father is a seventeen-year-old African-American whose
income comes from selling drugs—coke, crack, and heroine. This is
his second parole violation. It doesn’t look good.”

What a bad environment to rear a
baby,
Cheney thought, reaching for the toddler, Kami pulled
back, clinging to Wilma.

“
I’m sorry it took so long.
Since she was around drugs, we had to conduct developmental tests
and give her a physical.”

Cheney swallowed hard. “Is she
okay?”

“
Luckily, she is.
Otherwise, I would have to place her with specialized foster
parents instead of with you. I hope you can take a few days off
work.”

“
Not a problem. I have
vacation time. Plus, my immediate boss knows I underwent training
to become a foster parent.”

The women talked as Kami dozed. Cheney
took the sleeping child, wrapped her inside her trench coat, and
left. She laid Kami in the car seat the hospital lent her, fumbling
with the straps. Sitting behind the wheel of her Altima, Cheney
called the executive office and left a message for her boss that
she was taking off. Next, Cheney speed dialed Parke. It had
happened. Cheney Reynolds was a foster parent.

“
Hello.”

“
Parke—”

“
Hey, babe, I was dreaming
about you last night. Want to know what about?”

“
While you were dreaming, I
was at the hospital.”

“
What!” Panic filled
Parke’s voice. Cheney heard his razor shut off. She would’ve roared
with laughter if her precious foster child wasn’t resting behind
her.

“
Yeah, I’ve got a little
girl. She was removed from a drug house with only the clothes on
her back.”

“
What’s her name?” Parke
sounded in awe.

“
Kami,” Cheney hushed,
smiling. “She’s a cutie.”

“
I bet she is,” Parke said,
chuckling. “I’ll go shopping and get her some clothes.”

“
Oh no, you don’t. Little
girls are supposed to wear matching socks, smell like flowers, and
have straight parts in their hair with colorful barrettes and
ribbons. What do you know about that?”

“
Are you saying I can’t do
my job as a foster dad? Watch me. I’ll call my secretary and take
off work; we can all spend the day bonding. Next time, wake me up,
sweetheart. I don’t want my new millennium woman to handle
everything by herself.”

She smirked after they ended the call.
Parke Jamieson was perfect. Had she created this African prince
from her own imagination? He was truly genuine, very caring, and a
determined Black man. Cheney’s opinion of him had come full circle.
He had been so committed to her cause and she was falling hard for
him. His branding kiss and enduring the foster care classes because
of her sealed the deal for her.

Cheney checked on Kami, then called
her neighbor. “I hope you’re working on breakfast because I’ve been
up most of the morning with my first child.”

Mrs. Beacon huffed while music from
Janet Jackson’s video blasted in the background. “Yippee. We got
ourselves a baby.”

“
We’ve got a scared little
thing who isn’t going to be happy to see you or me when she wakes
up,” Cheney mumbled tightly, glimpsing another look at Kami for the
thousandth time before she drove away.

Kami slept through the car ride and a
couple of hours more when Cheney got her home. “Finally, a little
girl to tuck in at night.” Cheney smiled as she scanned her
handiwork in the bedroom, then backed out the room, leaving the
door cracked.

It was almost eleven in the morning
before the child woke, and despite the aroma of Mrs. Beacon’s hot
biscuits, strawberry jam, and sausage links she brought to Cheney’s
kitchen, Kami whimpered, refusing a taste. When Parke arrived with
a large teddy bear, colorful balloons, and two large shopping bags
over-stuffed with sundresses, pants, lightweight jackets, pajamas,
and cartoon underwear, Kami stopped crying as she held out her arms
for him to pick her up. Cheney and Mrs. Beacon exchanged
dumbfounded expressions as Parke winked, cradling the child like he
had been a dad all his life.

“
Ya just gotta know what
the little lady wants,” he instructed.

“
Shut up, Parke,” Cheney
and her neighbor barked in unison.

***

Cheney’s house was the meeting place
for a family affair. Malcolm and Hallison arrived loaded with books
and clothes for Kami. Parke’s parents weren’t much better, dropping
off educational games, food, and offering free babysitting, calling
Kami their foster granddaughter. She hadn’t bothered contacting her
own family.

Less than a week later, Wilma phoned
to inform Cheney that Kami might go into traditional care because
the child’s maternal grandmother didn’t want to have anything to do
with a mixed child, and Kami’s teenage mother had yet to contact
the Division of Family Services to schedule any weekly visits. “The
dad’s family is so dysfunctional,” Wilma commented, “I doubt any of
them would survive the three-week kinship training classes. Most of
them are substance abuse offenders themselves.”

“
It’s amazing people live
like that,” Cheney said out loud. “And nobody would want to fight
for this beautiful little girl.

Wilma sighed. “It’s more amazing that
Kami isn’t a drug baby. God must’ve been watching over her.” Cheney
immediately offered to keep her longer. “Since you requested
emergency cases, she can’t stay more than a few extra weeks at the
most.”

Cheney observed Kami cuddled in
Parke’s arms, enjoying
Snow White,
a video Mrs. Beacon had
purchased. They were so natural as father and daughter. Parke
turned, met her stare, and smiled contentedly before giving Kami a
tight hug.

Happiness cocooned Cheney, too. Foster
care was the answer. Kami remained subdued and alienated for a
toddler, but she had begun following Cheney around the house and
eagerly expected her arrival at the day care the agency suggested
when Mrs. Beacon was unavailable. Parke stopped by every morning to
eat breakfast with them. In the evening, he returned, sometimes
bringing dinner, or to help prepare meals.

In no time, Cheney understood how
foster parents became attached. Once Kami left, the cycle would
begin again. She glanced at Parke who was watching her. He
stretched out an arm to welcome her in his embrace. Cheney’s heart
sank. She scooted close to them and buried her head into Parke’s
shoulder.

“
What’s the matter,
sweetheart, good or bad news?”

Lifting her head, Cheney’s saw the
tenderness in his face. “For me, bad news.”

Immediately on alert, Parke stiffened.
“Why?”

“
The more I spend time with
you, the deeper I fall for you.”

“
And that’s a bad
thing?”

“
This is as close to having
a baby as I’ll ever get.” She pointed to Kami. “Parke the seventh
won’t come through me.”

Loosening his arm around Kami, Parke
guided Cheney’s chin closer to his mouth, whispering, “If you’re in
deep, then I’ve got you right where I want you. I’m not going to
let you dig out.” Parke gave Cheney a thorough kiss, commanding her
to surrender.

Cheney felt herself drifting away into
a blissful existence until a sharp pain forced her to break away.
Her tormenting scream caused Parke’s lids to flutter open, and his
eyes bulge. Kami’s small fingers had gripped Cheney’s cheek. Red
streaks marred Cheney’s once flawless skin.

Kami’s usual blank expression
transformed into a game face—hateful stare, and a pout—designed to
instill fear into the fiercest beast. “Mine,” she spat out, hugging
Parke.

***

Parke jumped up with Kami clinging to
his shirt. “Cheney,” he cried. He was furious as her face welted
and bled. How could this little baby lash out like a wild animal?
Bonding with Kami was important, but Parke would protect Cheney at
all costs. She had suffered enough emotional abuse at the hands of
a man. No one, not even a small child, would hurt her again.
Fuming, he reached out and touched her face. “Let me see,
baby.”

His nostrils flared as he grimaced.
Turning to the toddler in his arms, Parke gave her his own game
face. “Kami, don’t you ever touch Cheney again. She’s mine.” He
pointed to his chest. Parke recalled his pre-service training
emphasizing no corporal punishment. He raised his hand and tapped
Kami three times on her tiny hand.

There was no reaction. She was
accustomed to abuse. Kami expected it, emotionally and physically.
Evidently she built a resistance against it. The child’s response
reinforced what Parke already knew from training class. Cheney
wandered into the kitchen and returned with a towel pressed against
her face. He couldn’t decipher her mood. Since her scream of agony,
she hadn’t said a word.

Cheney reached for the toddler. “Let
me have her, Parke.” Her voice was soft, gentle, and
non-threatening.

Kami resisted. Cheney cooed the
child’s name over and over until the toddler went willingly. She
sat and gently cuddled Kami on her lap. She rocked back and forth,
whispering, “I’m yours, too, Kami. Cheney loves you, and I’m yours,
too.”

Parke wanted to embrace them, but he
knew Cheney would have to handle Kami when he wasn’t around, so he
let her deal with it in her own way. Despite what she thought of
herself, the woman had strong maternal qualities. Cheney would be
his wife. She was a fighter, and every strong Jamieson woman had to
know how to fight for what she wanted and believed in. Parke hated
Larry for cheating Cheney out of bearing her own
children.

“
What about Aruba, or
another island for our honeymoon?” Hallison asked Malcolm as she
flipped through pages of a thick bridal magazine. He seemed more
focus on the curls in her hair than the pictures.

Wedding planner, Sara Duffy’s eyes
sparkled as she watched them. “Ah, true love. I can spot it
anywhere. Aruba is known for island magic.”

Malcolm stroked his beard, listening.
“I believe in Hali magic.”

“
Is your young man always
so focused?” The older pump woman with a slight gap between her
front teeth asked.

Looking at Malcolm under the hood of
her lashes, Hallison answered, “Always.” She brought two fingers to
her lips then touched Malcolm’s. His hand held her fingers in
place. “Keep that up woman, and we’ll elope.”

“
That’s where you’re wrong,
Mr. Jamieson,” Sara interjected, chuckling. “I’m focused on your
spending your money and giving you two a fairy tale
wedding.”