Nobody’s Child (New Life Tabernacle Series Book 1) (20 page)

W
hen Makayla came to
, most of the lights were off, except for the lamp on the side table by the couch. She had no idea how long she’d been out. From where she lay, she could see Kim's light on under her bedroom door and she could hear the muffled sound of gospel music on the CD player.

It was the way things always went.

Come morning, Kim would tell her she’d prayed all night and God had forgiven her for her moment of weakness. Then she’d sit there, looking at Makayla, waiting for her to say she forgave her, too.

But Makayla couldn’t think about what would happen in the morning. She couldn't think about anything other than the word playing over and over in her head.

A waste…

A waste.

Waste.

It shouldn't have hurt so bad. Kim said things like that all the time. So what? But it
did
hurt. And deep. But why?

Makayla didn't have to think on it long.

She’d always wanted to believe her mother was out there, somewhere, missing her. But in the back of her mind, Makayla couldn’t shake the feeling she hadn’t been wanted. By her mother or anyone else.

Something unwanted was something unnecessary. Something unnecessary was… Well, a waste. What Kim said was true. That's why it hurt. Makayla was a waste.

The admission made her eyes sting and her throat burn. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Hard. Hard enough to cause pain that would outweigh the urge to cry.

No. There would be no more tears. Crying was for babies. Just like fairytales. She was no Cinderella. Her mother wasn't coming to rescue her. And the so-called God grandma told her about? He was just about as real as everything else she’d believed in.

That all ended today. No more wishes. No more hoping. That mess was nothing but quicksand. All hoping and wishing did was pull on you and pull on you hard, then once you were out of strength, it swallowed you whole. The truth, on the other hand, was rock solid. It might be ugly, but at least you could walk on it.

Wincing, Makayla gingerly rolled over onto her side and pushed herself up from the floor. She could already feel where she'd have bruises in the morning. Something had changed though. The physical pain used to make her feel helpless and lonely. It used to make her long for the comforting arms of a mother. But now it made her strong.

She took a deep breath. Deep enough to make her ribs expand as far as they could go. The pain was intense, but somehow invigorating. There would be no more cowering. No more fear. No more crawling into her tiny bed at night, praying to a God that didn’t exist.

Next time she got hit, she’d let it add to the fire now burning in her belly. Despite the split lip, Makayla couldn't help but smile as she wiped the splattering of blood and saliva off her face. Things had changed all right. From now on, she was going to give as good as she got. And then some. Kim. Damien. Her mother. All of them.

Unwanted? Please. By the time she was done, they'd wish she'd never been born.

A
t least
, that had been her plan. But now, five years later, the only one wishing she’d never been born was Makayla herself. Her entire life had been one long joke, and today, the punchline.

Her mother? Not her mother. Her actual mother? Dead. Her father? A pervert. The man she thought was her father? Not even close.

Makayla shook her head and stared at the ceiling, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the irony-filled day.

Like Robin, Makayla found something about Marcus familiar when she met him. Just then, as she’d recalled that horrible fight with Kim, she realized why. It was Marcus who was Kim’s favorite gospel singer. It was his voice Makayla heard during Kim’s all-night “prayer sessions.” The recognition she’d experienced wasn’t because he was her father, she’d just remembered an old CD cover.

The apartment was so quiet, she could hear her own breath as it moved in and out of her body. In, out. In, out. But for what? What was the point of living if there was nothing but loss and anguish before inevitable death? Where was the purpose in that?

The questions were ones she had no answers to, but if her grandmother and Robin were right, if God did exist and listened when people prayed, maybe He could make sense of it for her.

"If You are real… If You actually do exist," Makayla whispered into the darkness, “please help me. However You can, just please, help me.”

Whether it was the mercy of God or just plain old exhaustion, within minutes, Makayla found herself drifting off into a sweet and much-needed, pain-free sleep.

F
or a split second
, Makayla didn't recognize the room she woke up in and broke out in a cold sweat. But when she tried to jump up, pain radiated throughout her body and she remembered everything. No sooner than she did, Rodney's wife, Denice, shrieked.

"You're alive!"

She was a few feet away, in the kitchenette, at the stove. Makayla could smell eggs cooking. The aroma was the perfect companion to the pop and sizzle of the bacon in the skillet.

"Girl, I must've put a mirror up under your nose at least a dozen times between last night and this morning! I just knew you were either gonna end up dead or brain-damaged…” She shook her head, as if either outcome would’ve been equally troubling.

Makayla could only blink. She’d talked to Rodney several times, but all of her interactions with Denice consisted of the woman peeking out at her from behind a door, a wall, or Rodney himself. She didn't know she
could
talk, she’d certainly never heard her do it.

Denice came around the small counter separating the tiny kitchenette from the main room, with a plastic cup in hand. She thrust it at Makayla.

"I don't know nothing about no concussions or any mess like that. But on TV, the first thing they do is give the victim some water, so drink up."

She stood there watching, her bony wrists on her skinny hips, making sure Makayla swallowed every last drop.

Handing the cup back to Denice, Makayla asked, “Where’s Rodney?”

"Chile, Rodney leave here early. Got to be to work by four. But don't worry. I don't bite." She flashed a jack-o'-lantern grin and returned to the kitchenette.

"Rodney say y'all can go meet with the super when he get off. And he's gonna stop by the gas station and let Amir know what's up on his way home. And we already decided you can stay here till you get back on your feet."

Makayla didn't know what to say. “I… Thank you.”

“Just as long as you keep one thing straight. First off, I don't know why you tangling with someone like Antoine—“ Makayla opened her mouth to explain, but Denice cut her off. "And I don't want to know. But from now on, stay outta his way. I do not need that kind of trouble up in here. You understand me?"

Makayla nodded.

"Well, all right then." Denice came back to the main room with two plates piled with scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. "You slept straight through breakfast, so I guess we'll just have to be ‘ladies who lunch.’”

Makayla didn't know why Denice found the phrase so funny, but her high-pitched cackle left her smiling all the same.

A
s she walked
home from work, grocery bags in tow, Makayla felt something she’d never experienced—a sense of well-being. It wasn't happiness, or even contentment, but it was better than the anger, anxiety and fear she'd gotten used to.

In the weeks since what she'd come to think of as D-Day, she’d found some normality.

Amir let her keep her job, which surprised her because with all the drama she’d had while working there, she was sure he’d want to get rid of her. He made her work nights until her face healed because he thought she’d make the daytime customers uncomfortable. It worked out though, because customers were less chatty during the night shift and for a while there, all Makayla wanted was to be left alone.

And though she never would've imagined it, she enjoyed staying with Rodney and Denice. It almost felt like being part of a family. It was something Makayla thought she’d never experience. The more she got to know them, the more she realized how blessed she was to have them. And the feeling was mutual. Especially for Denice. She took a genuine interest in Makayla, constantly asking questions: What was her favorite color? What was her favorite food? What music did she like? Which movies?

All in all, Makayla’s life was well. Certainly better than she could’ve hoped for. Her only complaint was Denice's insatiable love for all things Christmas. Christmas movies, Christmas cards, Christmas music—the woman couldn't get enough.

Being at work wasn’t much of an escape, either. Eight straight hours of carols coming from the speakers. Every customer wishing one another happy holidays. Trees and bushes and even windows—all strung with Christmas lights.

It was Makayla’s definition of torture.

She just wanted the season to be over. Maybe when it was, she wouldn't be reminded of Robin or Mr. Jones so much.

She tried not to think about them, but was rarely successful. And even on the few days she was, that success didn’t extend into the night. The dreams she had about them were sometimes good, but mostly, they were bad. She'd wake up sobbing and breathless.

Sometimes the nightmares were so awful, her cries woke Denice and Rodney up, too. They said it was okay, that they didn't mind, but Makayla still felt terrible about it. Not wanting to wear out her welcome, she bought sleep aids from the gas station. They seemed to help. Lately, she’d been dreaming less.

"Hi, Miss Makayla!"

Makayla looked up to see four little girls running toward her like a pack of wild animals.

That was another change that’d occurred since living with Rodney and Denice—Makayla had a social life. She'd become friends with the family that lived across the hall and even babysat on occasion.

"My monkeys!"

The little girls giggled as they fought for space to latch on to one of her legs. After hugs and kisses, they escorted her as she approached the building.

"You want to play hopscotch later?"

"Sure. I don't know what that is though, so you guys will have to teach me, okay?"

"Okay!" The girls sang out in chorus, their black, shiny braids bobbing as they jumped up and down. One of them said, “It’s easy. Even mommy can do it!”

“Good to know,” Makayla replied with a wink. “I just have to take these bags inside and then—“

She stopped when a flash of light caught her eye. It came from inside the window of a white van parked across the street. The same white van that had been there when she left for work that morning.

Makayla handed her bags to the girls.

"Take these to Ms. Denice. Then stay inside, you hear me?"

There were grumbles and complaints, but the girls did as they were told.

Looking around her, Makayla found a large rock and picked it up. She started across the street, testing the weight of the rock in the palm of her hand. Suddenly, the van’s engine started.

"Hey!" Makayla yelled. "I see you!"

The guy inside kept looking between her and his sideview mirror, waiting for an opportunity to move once the oncoming car had passed.

He waited. Makayla didn’t.

Despite the honking horn of the angry driver, she ran out into the street toward the van.

The van burned rubber, pulled out from the curb and squealed down the street, but not before Makayla sent the rock flying through his back window.

"
L
ooks
like we got a new neighborhood sicko," Makayla told Denice, taking off her coat.

"The white van?"

"Yeah. The girls told you?"

Makayla came to the kitchenette and leaned on the counter as Denice cut up the chicken thighs she’d just brought from the store.

"Naw. Earlier, I was in the lobby, getting the mail. Looked out and saw one of them long ol’ black things they put on the end of cameras."

A lens?"

Denice pointed with the tip of her knife. ”That's it. I yelled out the door I was calling the police. He left, but I bet he just drove around the block and parked again the minute I was gone."

“Ugh. Nasty. After what happened last time—“

Both women became still when they heard a loud thumping sound. It stopped, only to start again a few seconds later. Then they heard a voice. The sound was muffled, but the words were understandable.

"Come on, Makayla. I saw you come in the building when I was turning onto the street. I just want to talk."

Denice gave Makayla a questioning look.

"His name is Trey."

"Is he trouble?"

Makayla shook her head. "I just don't… He doesn't know I don't live there anymore. Once he figures it out, he'll go away on his own."

Denice looked as if she had more to say, but she kept it to herself and returned to slicing the chicken. Makayla went to the apartment door and listened. He wasn’t talking as loud and she had to concentrate to make out what he said.

"I know you're mad at me…" Silence. "I'm sorry. Okay? Just… Whatever went on with you and Robin—she's not good. She says she's fine, but she's not. She keeps asking if I've heard from you. Could you call her? Please? I—“

Makayla heard one of the other apartment doors open.

"Dude, I'm trying to watch Young and the Restless. I can’t hear nothing with you out here yapping.”

"I'm sorry, man. Really."

"Just keep it down and we’re cool. But so you know, you're wasting your time. Ain’t nobody lived in that apartment for weeks."

"Weeks? But I just saw her."

"I don't know who you saw, but whoever it was, she don't live there. Talk to the building manager. He'll tell you. That apartment is empty.”

"Oh, okay. Thanks, man."

"No problem."

Makayla heard the door close, then footsteps shuffle by. When she turned around, Denice was watching her.

"What was he saying?"

Makayla shrugged. "You need help with anything in there?”

Denice shook her head and turned on the pilot. "I'm good."

Makayla grabbed her phone out of her messenger bag and headed for the fire escape. "I'll be out here if you need me."

Once outside, Makayla shivered in the cool breeze and stared at her phone. It was nowhere near as nice as the one Robin bought her, but it did its job.

Makayla dialed the first three digits of Robin's number, a number she still knew by heart.

Maybe she could talk to her for a minute. Just to let her know she was all right…

She dialed the next three digits.

Her thumb hovered over the final one. A nine.

It was Trey who wanted her to call. He was the one who thought it would help. But would it? Help? Or would it cause more damage?

Makayla still had no intention of being a part of Robin's life. So why call? It wouldn't be fair to Robin. Especially after Makayla asked her to forget she'd met her and let her do the same. Makayla shut her eyes against the memory of their conversation. It still hurt to think about it, which was why she usually tried not to.

But that day, when she asked Robin to leave her alone, she never realized how much she’d miss her. How much she'd wish for just one more glimpse of her. For just one more chance to hear her voice. Thanks to Antoine, all the pictures and voicemails she had were long gone.

Gone…

Just like the phone. Just like the phone
number.

Makayla sat up.

The number Robin had for her was the old one. She didn't even know Makayla had a new phone. She could call Robin without Robin ever knowing it was her. It wasn't the most mature thing to do, but if it meant getting to hear her voice one last time…

Makayla entered the last digit. She held her breath as the phone rang. After a few moments, the call connected.

"Hello?"

Makayla covered her mouth with her hand. Against the coolness of the air, her tears felt hot on her skin.

"Hello?"

There was a long pause. Makayla told herself to hang up, but she couldn't do it.

"Makayla?" Robin's voice was small, hesitant. "Makayla, if this is you—“

Makayla pushed the red button to disconnect. Moments later, her phone rang. It was Robin. Makayla clicked IGNORE and powered the phone off. She put her elbows on her knees and rested her forehead against her forearms.

It didn't matter how well things were going or how much she’d come to love Rodney and Denice. She couldn’t be free from her past until she left it behind. She needed to get out of Texas.

As soon as possible.