Nobody’s Child (New Life Tabernacle Series Book 1) (10 page)

M
akayla knocked
on the door and hid the Chick-O-Sticks she’d just bought behind her back.

Mr. Jones opened the door and jumped back when he saw who it was.

"Good Lord Almighty! I sure didn't expect to see you today! Get on in here," he said, unlatching the screen door.

"I hope it's all right. Just dropping in like this. I would've called, but I don't have your number."

"Naw, naw, naw,” he said, hurrying her into the kitchen. "You done did it now, girl. I was just fixing to make myself a sandwich, but now that you’re here? That oven better watch out! I'm about to put a hurting on it!"

"Okay, but before you do…” She brought her hands up and presented him with the contraband.

Mr. Jones’ eyes grew big and he busted out with laughter.

"You know what I like!" He brought her to one of the kitchen drawers. “Since our old place was compromised, I came up with something new. Look at this!”

He pulled the drawer out to the very end, causing Makayla to think it would fall. Then she realized it only appeared to be fully extended. Mr. Jones had inserted a piece of wood that created a compartment only seen when the drawer was pulled out further.

“Impressive.”

Mr. Jones tapped the side of his head. “I got a stockpile of brilliant. Right here.”

“I can see that,” she said, tickled.

“You ever bring some candy and Olive Oyl’s with you, just mash it back in there when she's not looking, got it?"

"Got it."

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

"Yes, sir! This has turned out to be a great day, indeed! Now, where do you stand on fried chicken?"

"I'm a wholehearted supporter."

"All right, then. I'm gonna show you how it's done. You ain't never had fried chicken like my fried chicken. And my cornbread? You gonna be praying for mercy.”

He flitted about the kitchen, filling the counter with flour and spices, knives and a bowl, cornmeal and a baking pan. Makayla sat down at the table, enjoying the show.

"Now wait a minute, Mr. Jones. My grandmother was from Louisiana and she could throw down in the kitchen."

He stopped and turned to her, one hand on the counter, his shoulder raised up to his ear.

“Lemme explain something to you… When I go to the grocery store," he said very seriously, his voice almost a whisper, "I can't roll my cart past the meat department without fryer chickens trying to jump in it. I mean they fight one another to get in my basket. Do you understand what I’m saying? Did chickens ever beg your grandmother to take them home with her like that?"

Makayla covered her mouth and giggled. "I'm gonna have to say no."

"That's what I thought," he said with a wink. "Now, learn something. You’re about to witness a master at work."

Then, just as he was unscrewing the lid off one of his many spice jars, he became solemn again.

"While we on the subject of cooking, let me just say this—don't ever let Robin cook for you, you understand?"

For a moment, he just stared at her, waiting for a response. But she wasn’t sure what to say or even what was going on. Then she saw the twinkle in his eye and caught his meaning. She had to lean over on the table for support, she laughed so hard.

“Mr. Jones! Why would you say something like that?”

“Look here, I love my little girl. And she can do more than most people, but cooking ain't one of them."

He turned his attention back to the ingredients on the counter, chuckling.

“I’m just trying to keep you outta danger. She knows better than to go near a stove, but as much as she loves you, she might attempt it.”

"Really?"

“Lord, yes! All she talks about is Makayla this and Makayla that."

While his back was turned, Makayla opened the voice recording app on her phone, started it, and set the phone on the seat of the chair next to her. With some proper maneuvering, perhaps she could get him to say something she could use.

"I'm glad, too. Not being married. Living alone. She travels so much and… Well, she's been through some tough times and I worry about her. A lot less now, with you around." He turned for a moment and flashed the smile he’d passed on to Robin.

Makayla offered a weak smile of her own. She felt a twinge of emotion she couldn’t quite identify. All she knew was, it didn’t feel good.

"What was she like growing up?"

"Smart as a whip. Always reading a book when she should've been doing something else."

"She went to UTA, right?"

"She did. She did. For a while anyway. Ended up at UCLA, though. That's where she finished out.”

"Why did she go all the way out there?"

He remained silent as he put the pan of cornbread batter in the oven. She could see he was trying to decide how to answer. After he closed the oven door, he used the towel flung over his shoulder to wipe the counter. When he finally did speak, his voice was low and husky.

"I've never been one to advise a person to run from a problem, 'cause problems just gotta way of following you wherever you go. But sometimes, you gotta run, 'cause if you don't, you just won't make it."

He sat in one of the kitchen chairs, dropping like he’d aged twenty years. From the sun coming through the window, Makayla could see his eyes were wet. She felt ashamed for being the cause.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to upset you."

He wiped his eyes and cheeks with the back of his hand. "Nothing for you to be sorry about. I'm a be all right. Especially after I get some of that cornbread." She looked up, relieved to find him grinning. “Just put it in and it’s already smelling good. Ooh Lord! I’m the best at what I do!"

H
e wasn't exaggerating
. The meal was, hands-down, the best she'd ever eaten. She never would’ve thought it possible, but Mr. Jones out-cooked her grandmother by a mile and a half. And just as he’d predicted the last time, they ended up on the couch and recliner, like a couple of beached whales.

But as much as Makayla might have enjoyed nodding off in front of the TV, happy and stuffed, she had work to do.

"Mr. Jones? You still want me to help you with those photos?”

He took out the toothpick he was working on his teeth and started laughing. “You sure did say you was gonna do that. Now let me see…" He pushed himself up out of his recliner. "I'm pretty sure Honey kept all the books she bought for ‘em in her closet. They might be in one of the picture boxes, but I don't know which. Let me check on that right quick." He went down the hallway and disappeared into the room at the end.

Makayla wondered if she'd have time to sneak into Robin's old room and look around. There
had
to be something in there. It looked like a museum exhibit kept in mint condition. Maybe there was a diary or journal stashed somewhere.

Quietly, she got up and went to the hall. She stood still, listening for any movement. It sounded as though Mr. Jones were taking things out of the closet. But how much? And for how long? Makayla turned back to the front room, but hesitated.

Robin would be back Wednesday and Makayla’s chances of being in the house alone in the near future were slim to none. She had to do it today. Now. Once Mr. Jones was back in the front room, there was a good chance he wouldn't be leaving again.

As quietly as possible, Makayla made her way down the hall, keeping her ears open for any sound that would signal his coming.

The door to Robin's old bedroom was slightly ajar. She gently pushed on it. The hinges squeaked and she froze, waiting for Mr. Jones’ reaction.

There was a rustling sound coming from the back room. It was steady, no pause. He must not have heard. If he were looking through the boxes, which is what it sounded like, she needed to be quick.

She stepped over the threshold and the second she did, a ringing sound pierced the quiet of the small house. It scared her so bad, it took a moment for her to realize the sound was coming from her own phone.

Before she could think what to do, she heard Mr. Jones in the room and could tell from the movement and sound, he was on his way out.

She bolted out of the bedroom and down the hall. He opened his door just as she rounded the corner.

"Would you get that, baby girl?" he called out.

She tried to steady her voice and hide the panic that had taken her breath. "It's just my cell phone, Mr. Jones. Sorry it's so loud."

"Oh, that's fine. I'll be out in a minute."

She heard the door close and picked up her phone. She looked at the screen. Speak of the devil…

"Hello?"

"Girl, you were supposed to call me when you got out of church."

Yeah, well, I'm kinda busy trying to case your old bedroom. Thanks for ruining that, by the way.

“Hey, Robin. Sorry. I forgot."

“Oh, it’s all right. I'm just giving you a hard time. Did you eat already?"

"Yes, ma'am."

“Yes,
ma’am
? Okay…” Robin chuckled. “Not just Ramen noodles, I hope."

"No. I ate real food. You would approve."

"That's good. How are the driving lessons going?"

Makayla leaned forward to look down the hall. Every second that passed took her further from any chance of getting in that room.

"Fine. Um, had you needed to talk to me about something?”

“Uh, no… No. I just hadn’t heard from you, so—“

“Why don’t I call you later?“ When she was met with silence, Makayla realized her mistake in not covering the impatience in her voice. “If that’s okay. It’s just—I’m in the middle of something.”

“No problem. I'll let you go.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Talk to you later."

“Bye.”

After she disconnected, Makayla tried to persuade herself to give it a second go. She thought she was gonna flat out have a heart attack when she heard the phone ring and wasn't sure she was prepared to experience that again, much less, that soon. Her heart was still beating as if it were about to explode.

But she really didn't have a choice. It was now or never.

Just to be safe, she powered off her phone. No sooner than she entered the hall, she heard it. The high-pitched ringing.

“Oh, come on!“ She ran back to the couch.

From the end of the hall, Mr. Jones stuck his head out the door. "Is that me or you?"

"It's you," she called back. “You want me to answer it?"

"Please."

She stood, reached over the easy chair and picked up the wireless from its cradle. "Jones residence, how may I help you?"

Silence.

Makayla wasn't in the mood.

"Hello? Are you calling for Mr. Jones?"

"Makayla?"

It was Robin. Of course, it was Robin.

"Hi, Robin."

"You're at my dad's house?"

Well, obviously…

Before she could answer, Makayla heard behind her, "Is that my Olive Oyl?"

She waited for him to set the box he was carrying on the coffee table, then she handed him the phone.

"How's my girl?" He looked over at Makayla peeking into the box. "Yeah, she's here. Been here all afternoon. We done had us a good time without you."

Makayla couldn't help but smile at that one.

He motioned at the phone and whispered loud enough for Robin to hear, “She's jealous you like to visit me and not her."

"You're more fun."

"Oh!" He slapped his knee. "Did you hear that, Olive Oyl? I'm more fun!" He laughed and winked at Makayla. "All right then. I love you too, baby. Uh, huh. I'll tell her. Okay. Bye." He returned the phone to its cradle.

"I was given a message. Since you spent special time with me, you have to spend some time with her, too."

Makayla nodded. "Will do."

He unfolded one of the three flaps still left on the dilapidated box. "Now, here's some of the pictures and albums. We’ll go through these before I bring out more. I just gotta run to the restroom, and then I promise I'll stop disappearing on you."

This was her chance.

"It's all right. I'm in no hurry."

No sooner than he closed the door, Makayla was in Robin's room, rifling through drawers and digging in the closet. Working faster than she would’ve ever thought possible, she flipped through notebooks and checked anything that could double as a hiding place.

She even looked under the bed in the hopes of finding something,
anything
, she could use, but all she got was dust bunnies and stacks of old Ebony and Jet magazines.

Disappointed, she backed out from under the bed. But just before she got up, something caught her eye. Behind one of the bedposts, against the wall, there was something reflecting light. Not like a mirror, it was far too dull for that. No, this was paper, but the kind that was slightly glossy. The kind used to make brochures or movie posters.

Using the tips of her fingers, she grabbed it and slid it toward her. She swiped off the layer of dust, trying not to get her hopes up. She had to read the words three times just to make sure she understood what she was looking at.

It was definitely the kind of thing she'd be able to use against Robin, but it was the last thing she ever expected to find.

W
hen Mr. Jones
came back into the front room, Makayla hoped he wouldn't notice, but he did. He stopped in front of her.

"You all right, baby? You look like you been crying."

She tried to laugh it off. "If I was gonna cry, it would have been over your cornbread, Mr. Jones. Nah, my eyes are just itching and burning. I don't know why. It happens sometimes." She tried to keep her voice light and even, but he still looked concerned.

"Go down the hallway, second door on the left. In the medicine cabinet you'll find some Visine. Get you one of them hand towels, wet it and clean your eyes. Then put that eye water in. That should take care of it. Soon as you get back, we gonna get to work!“

T
he next two
hours found Makayla hunched over Mr. Jones’ coffee table, hardly able to believe what she was seeing.

For years, she’d wondered about her biological family. What their names were, what they looked like, where they were from. And now, here they were, going back four generations. Their faces spread across the coffee table, looking back at her with eyes that mirrored her own.

"Now see here, this is my mother's father, Abel. From what I hear, he was the devil.”

Mr. Jones had been telling her about his family all afternoon. Crazy stuff. Like one aunt who got into regular fist-fights with her father as a teenager. When the two of them really went at it, they’d tear up the house from one end to the other, chasing each other with switchblades in hand.

Then there was the cousin who looked like the black version of Makayla’s grandmother’s favorite film star, Errol Flynn. And another who looked like she could've been Lena Horne’s twin.

Makayla couldn't get enough. She peppered Mr. Jones with question after question, to the point she was sure he’d get tired enough to kick her out the house. But instead, it fired him up. And with each story, her family tree grew. A family tree that, just a few months ago, didn't even exist.

A family tree she was getting ready to hack down.

"You must be tired of hearing all these old stories."

"No way. I love this. All of it."

Her response made Mr. Jones’ eyes light up. He went back to digging in the box closest to him and pulled out a burnt-orange photo album. Written on the cover were three words:

"Well then, I've got something here you really gonna like."

He flashed a wicked grin and opened the album. The first photo on the first page was a bare bottomed infant. Baby Robin Jones in all her glory.

“Bet that's a side of Olive Oyl you ain't seen before!" Mr. Jones slapped his knee and leaned over the arm of his chair, weak with laughter.

Makayla joined him. "Mr. Jones, you are wrong."

He nodded in agreement. "Ain't never been right."

He flipped through the pages, sharing anecdotes of Robin through the years. He told Makayla about her terrible twos and how she got her nickname. He reminisced about teaching her to drive and seeing her get dressed up for prom.

When he came to pictures of Robin just after she entered college, the photos abruptly stopped. That's when Makayla noticed the pattern. There was a gap in the pictures. All of them.

For a family that loved to document their everyday lives through images, there was just over one year consistently missing. Makayla looked at the backsides of the pictures spread out on the table and sure enough, the dates only went up to the spring of one particular year. The year Makayla was born.

But Robin wasn’t the only one that’d become scarce. It seemed everyone was missing in action. Her mother, her father and her grandmother, too.

Makayla went back to a box she’d looked through earlier and retrieved a stack of candids she’d quickly flipped through before. She hadn’t spent much time on them because most were of people she didn’t know. From what she could tell, it was a church function, probably from when Mr. Jones was still pastor. But if she wasn’t mistaken, the date was…

Makayla looked at the handwriting scrawled across the back.

The month on the date was March. Yep. That would’ve been about nine months before she was born.

She studied the picture with renewed interest. In it, Robin and her mother were seated beside others at a long table. Mr. Jones stood behind them, crouched to fit into the frame. They were all smiling.

Makayla stared at the face of the younger Robin and wondered if that smile was already hiding a secret. Her mother would’ve either just gotten pregnant or was about to become pregnant when the picture was taken. That meant she was around the same age in the photograph that Makayla was at the moment.

Seeing Mr. Jones occupied with the contents of another box, Makayla took out her phone and snapped a picture of the photo. She then slipped it back in to the stack and offered it to Mr. Jones.

“Mr. Jones, where are all the pictures taken after these?”

To say she was interested in his answer would be an understatement. She already had a theory, of course. If you were a pastor of a church and your only daughter was having a child outside of marriage, you’d want to keep that a secret. After sending her away, your next step would be to get rid of any evidence of that pregnancy, including photos.

That all made sense. But why would you also get rid of the photos taken before she began to show? That was what Makayla couldn’t figure out. Where were
those
pictures? She didn’t expect Mr. Jones to tell her the truth, but maybe his answer would give a hint to what the truth was.

Mr. Jones put on his readers and reached for the pictures. He went through them and when he got to one photo, his facial expression changed. He flipped it over before Makayla could get a good look at it. She had missed something. Something important, obviously.

She’d only bothered studying the photos with faces she recognized. Of course, those faces were Robin's and Mr. and Mrs. Jones’. But it was a face she
hadn’t
recognized, the one Mr. Jones saw, that was important. Could it have been her father?

Before she could ask to see the photos again, Mr. Jones gathered them together and took his glasses off. "She left later, after these were taken."

As much as Makayla wanted to press for more, something in her wouldn't allow it. The somberness that overcame Robin when questioned about the past was nothing compared to the heaviness she saw descend on Mr. Jones. Was he
that
ashamed?

Makayla swiped away the wetness at the corners of her eyes and cleared her throat. “I’d love to see more pictures of your wife. If you're not too tired."

He gave her a slight smile and put the stack of pictures at the bottom of a box, face down. Digging in another box, he took out a brown folder and motioned for Makayla to come closer.

Out of the folder he took several studio family portraits. One for every Christmas since the year Robin was born. Makayla commented on how lovely Mrs. Jones was, but Mr. Jones only nodded in silent agreement.

In every picture, they were the perfect family. Beautiful, healthy, smiling. Year after year after year. Until, of course,
that
year.

Again, there was a gap. But what caught Makayla's attention was what she saw next. The family photo for the
following
year.

All three looked just as beautiful and healthy as before, but the difference could be seen in their smiles.

Smiles completely devoid of joy.