The Morning After (17 page)

Angel's eyes grew. “Did you get to meet him?”

“Him and his wife.” Elaine said it like she was proud. “And when we approached him, he addressed Mason by name, so not only had they met like Mason said, but the preacher remembered him like they had a real relationship or something.

Mother Tides invited us to dinner, but we came on back home and ate.”

Angel felt a twinge of disappointment. The story lacked the exciting ending that she'd conjured in her mind. “So, you just came home and ate. That's it?” Maybe she wanted to hear about somebody else's love life because she hadn't had much of one of her own lately.

Elaine nodded and shrugged like she didn't understand it either. “The ride home was real quiet, like Mason had a lot on his mind. He never even talked about the spiritual experience he had. It was almost like he was there in the car with me, but not there at the same time. We had regular conversation when we got home, and we ate dinner together. But when it was time to go to bed, he climbed on the sofa as usual.”

Angel quickened her pace to keep up with Elaine, who had suddenly begun taking faster strides. Their arms were pumping again, and the momentum for the exercise had returned. But Angel had the feeling that Elaine's depression was returning as well.

“It's gonna get better, Elaine. Let's pray that God's move on Mason yesterday was the start.”

“Yeah. God moved him down the aisle of the church, but He didn't move him back in the bedroom.” Elaine's tone had turned bitter.

“One step at a time, girlfriend.” Angel hoped that her chipper tone sounded authentic. She really did want things in the Demps household to get better. But one thing that Angel knew for certain was that having a husband in the bedroom still didn't equate to happiness.

He sat at his desk and tapped the hardwood surface rhythmically with the bottom of an empty plastic water bottle. It was the tenth sixteen-ounce bottle he'd drained down his throat since reporting to work seven hours earlier. It had been a part of an unconscious, unsuccessful attempt to drown a mixture of emotions that threatened to prevent him from performing his duties as an educator. All it had really done was sent him to the teachers' lounge for frequent bathroom breaks.

The school didn't have windows that he could look out of, so T.K. just stared at the wall closest to him. It was plastered with posters of some of the best track and basketball superstars that the United States had ever produced. Colorful, life-sized action shots of Jesse Owens, Wilma Rudolph, Bruce Jenner, Mary Decker, Carl Lewis, Joan Benoit, Edwin Moses, Florence Griffith Joyner, Evelyn Ashford, Valerie Brisco-Hooks, and Gail Devers, covered one side of the wall, while glossy images of Julius Ervin, Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Michael Jordan, Dominique Wilkins, Patrick Ewing, Jason Kidd, Shaquille O'Neal, Charles Barkley, David Robinson, and Tim Duncan wallpapered the other.

“How can she be even thinking about marrying anybody but me?” T.K. asked the question out loud, like one of his sports heroes had the answer that even God hadn't been kind enough to provide.

Nothing about the past several days had made sense. First, Jennifer suddenly became cold and distant. Then she completely cut him off, not answering or returning his phone calls. And if all of that wasn't strange enough, a call from Jerrod on Saturday evening all but paralyzed T.K. He could barely move as Jerrod spoke frantic words that were as foreign to T.K.'s ears as broken Greek.

“And she gonna stand right there in my face and tell me that she's marrying
Devon Washington
.” Jerrod had said his father's name like it was clabbered milk. “Coach D, she had the nerves to tell me that she was doing this mess for me. Talkin' 'bout it's the best thing for us. She said Devon told her that he wanted to make us a real family. Said the best thing he could do for me was to make it legal and be my daddy.” A swear word slipped from Jerrod's lips; a word T.K. had never known him to say before. Then, without missing a beat, the boy added. “I can tell that fool what the best thing is that he can do for me. I can tell both of them what they can do for me.”

That was when T.K. stepped in to defend two people that he didn't think deserved his support or Jerrod's respect. He only defended them because it seemed like the Christian thing to do. God commanded that people honor their parents, but T.K. wondered if Jerrod should get a VIP pass for what he'd been through.

“You can't talk about your parents like that, Jerrod. I won't let you. No matter what they did.” Even saying the words left a bad taste in T.K.'s mouth. His defense of them was far from genuine, but he stuck to it anyway. “I know that you're hurt, man, and I understand that. But you still need to watch what you say. They're still your parents, whether you like them right now or not.”

That ticked Jerrod off even more. Before T.K. could say anything else, he heard the dial tone; a result of Jerrod hanging up the phone on him.

The combination of his concern for Jerrod's state of mind plus his confusion at Jennifer's actions had prompted T.K. to do something he hadn't done in ages: spend a Sunday morning at home doing nothing instead of going to church. With the demons he was wrestling, New Hope Church was probably the place T.K. needed to be most. Instead, he'd chosen to sit at home and wallow in his own pity, asking himself questions that he couldn't answer if he wanted to.

What was going on with Jennifer? How could a girl who felt so good for him turn out to be such the opposite? Just how long had she been seeing her ex? Was it really as sudden as it all seemed? What was going to happen to Jerrod now? Would Devon be the kind of father that the boy needed? How much had he changed since he denounced his girlfriend and unborn child all those years ago? Was Devon a God-fearing man who would be the household head that Christ ordained?

While T.K. didn't have the answers to all of the questions that bombarded him, one thing he knew for sure was that the future of his life, as he'd planned it, had totally unraveled. And he had no control over it. Jennifer was a grown woman, and if she could be so manipulative that she would use him then dump him like yesterday's garbage, then he was better off without her anyway. But Jerrod was different. Jerrod didn't have a choice in this matter, and after talking to him Saturday night, worried about his well-being more than ever. Although Jerrod wouldn't answer his repeated calls when T.K. attempted to reconnect with him after their phone conversation abruptly ended, T.K. found solace in the hope that he would be able to talk to Jerrod face-to-face after classes ended today. There was no track practice on Mondays, but Jerrod always stayed around and shot a few hoops with him in the gym or just kept T.K. company while he packed away his things in preparation to head home.

But not today. Jerrod wasn't among the children that piled off of the school bus this morning, and that just heightened T.K.'s anxiety. His phone calls to Braxton Park had gone unanswered. T.K. didn't expect Jennifer to answer because he figured she'd be at work. He wouldn't have wanted her to answer had she been there. Talking to Jennifer wasn't high on his list right now. What he did hope was that Jerrod would answer, even if answering would verify his suspicion that the boy had chosen to play hooky today. At least if Jerrod were at home,

T.K. would know that he wasn't roaming the streets doing anything stupid. T.K. figured that Jerrod wouldn't answer the phone if he saw his name or number show up on the caller I.D., so he devised a plan; implemented the star-six-seven code so that his identification would not be disclosed. But even doing that rendered futile. Still, he thought he'd give the cell phone one last try.

“Jerrod, this is Coach D.” His voice was stern. “I know you're getting my messages, and I'm about sick and tired of being nice about this whole thing. I'm not asking you to call me anymore. I'm
telling
you to call me. This ain't just about you, you know. I thought you were my partner; my right hand man. You think you're the only one who ain't happy about this mess? I can't believe you'd leave me hanging like this. You're being a spineless, selfish brat. How you gonna be mad at your mama? You're just like her. Ain't thinking about nobody but your own selfish self. Who cares about T.K., right? Just do what's good for you, and forget about everybody else. Is that your household rule or something?”

T.K. closed his eyes and took several shallow breaths, then some deep ones. His heart was pounding so hard that he felt it in his throat. Frustration had gotten the best of him, and he wished he could press a button that would erase everything he'd said and start over. But if such a button existed, T.K. wasn't technologically savvy enough to know which it was.

“I . . . I'm sorry, Jerrod. I didn't mean that. God knows I didn't. I'm sorry.” A long moment of silence passed, and T.K. knew his message would be cut off soon if he didn't wrap things up quickly. “I'm hurting, kid, and I know you are too. We need each other, man. I know you love your mama. I love her too.” Another pause. “And I mean that. I don't just love Jen, I'm
in love
with her. I never told you that, but I do. I love her and it's gonna take a minute to get over that even though I know she's with some other dude now.” Another pause. Longer this time. “I was gonna ask you for her hand, Jerrod. Already bought the ring and everything. Can you believe it?”

T.K. released a soft laugh. It was more at his own naïveté than anything else. He couldn't believe he'd been played for such a fool. “I thought I was gonna be the one she pledged her lifelong love to. I thought I was gonna be the one to complete the family. Thought it would be me who was gonna be the one you . . .” T.K. took a breath. “The one you called Daddy.” His voice cracked, and it was barely audible when he ended his message with, “I just need to know you're okay. Please, Jerrod. Call me.”

Snapping his phone closed, T.K. dropped it on a stack of incomplete paperwork that sat in the middle of his desk, then pressed his forehead against his clenched fists. When his phone rang just seconds later, T.K. squared his shoulders and straightened the slump from his back. His eyes darted to the telephone, praying that Jerrod's number would be illuminating on the screen.

“Jen?” he whispered with a scowl, pulling the phone closer to his eyes like he thought he'd misread the numbers on the display.

What was she doing calling him? What could she possibly have to say to him? Was she finally calling to tell him that she was back with her son's father? Jerrod was the one to disclose the catastrophic news. T.K. had yet to speak to Jennifer. She'd not given him the common courtesy of telling him that she'd ended their relationship. Any woman who could be that cruel didn't deserve to speak to anything other than his voice mail.

When T.K. dropped the phone back onto the desk, a nagging throb began to drum in the back of his head. This was just too much drama to him. Drama that he thought he'd left behind when he finally got over Deena's deception back in his days at Georgia State University.

“The church boy loses again,” he muttered at the irony of it all.

Deena needed somebody to fulfill her physical needs. Quench her sensual thirsts. Somebody who talked about strong Christian values, but didn't live by them. As disappointed as T.K. had been with her, he had to give Deena some grace. At least she wasn't saved. At least she didn't proclaim to be a born again Christian. What Deena did was sinful, but what more could he really expect from a sinner? Sin was what sinners did. Jennifer was supposed to be different. She was everything that Deena wasn't. Or at least she was supposed to be. Saved, virtuous, trustworthy, blah . . . blah . . . blah.

The size thirteen Air Jordan that T.K. wore on his right foot kicked the leg of his desk in annoyance. He was well aware of the fact that all Christian relationships didn't last, but having Christ at the head of it should have at least made the breakup amicable. This thing with Jennifer was about the dumbest he'd ever experienced. Everything was fine one day and then the next . . . bam! Everything went up into smoke. A whole year of his life
wasted
. T.K. wasn't even sure what Jennifer's motives were.

“Who knows? Maybe they were the same as Deena's,” he reasoned aloud.

Maybe her flesh couldn't stand the wait either, and she found the man that doused the flames when she was a teenager and signed him on to fill the position again. The thought of it sickened T.K., but he didn't know what else to think. Everything had happened too fast for there not to have been extended and extensive contact between Jennifer and Devon before Jerrod was made aware. Surely she didn't reconnect with and decide to marry this guy within just a few short days. She couldn't be that crazy. Not so crazy that she'd trust a guy who left her pregnant and eventually, a homeless, single teenaged mother.

Thoughts continued to bombard T.K.'s mind as he heard the beeping of his phone, indicating that a message had been left. He used the thumbs of both of his hands to place pressure on his temples, hoping to ease the headache. All the while, he wondered if he was just going to add insult to injury if he listened to whatever it was that Jennifer had said.

He released his head and began using his right hand to apply pressure against the individual fingers of his left, causing his joints to make popping sounds while he contemplated his next move.

Should he listen to the message or shouldn't he?

After running out of fingers on his left hand, T.K. switched. The joints on the fingers of his right hand crackled in the otherwise quiet classroom.

Did he want to hear what Jennifer had to say or didn't he?

Curiosity won over his better judgment. T.K. pressed the code to listen and held his breath.

“Hi . . . hi, T.K. It's me. Jennifer.” She sounded flustered and out of breath. “I know we haven't talked lately and I . . . I . . . I know that's my fault.”

“Dang skippy, it's your fault,” T.K. grumbled. “Get to the point and get off my phone.”

“I'll explain everything later,” she said.

“Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try,” T.K. responded to the recorded message.

“But right now, I need your help.”

“Need my help?” T.K. sneered, and his voice was filled with insult. How dare she even shape her mouth to ask him for anything? He picked up the phone and scanned the room, wondering which wall would be the best to sling it against. He'd enjoy watching it burst into a million pieces. If Jennifer thought he'd assist her with anything, he must look a whole lot dumber than he ever imagined. If she wanted help of any kind, she was calling the wrong man. She needed to be calling the one she chose over him.

“Jerrod is missing.”

Her statement was followed by a burst of frantic tears, and it froze T.K.'s arm in place. “What?” he asked, putting the phone to his ear for clearer hearing. “Missing? What do you mean, Jerrod's missing? Where is he?”

“He's gone, T.K.,” she wailed on cue as if she were responding to his interrogation. “I don't know where he is. He won't answer my calls. He won't return my messages. I haven't seen him since Saturday afternoon.” Jennifer paused, and T.K. could hear her trying to gather herself. “We had an argument about . . . well, I'll fill you in on all of that when you call. But it got ugly. Real ugly. And he left on his bike . . . in the rain. I thought he needed to put some distance between us and cool off. I thought he'd come back before his curfew time, but he didn't.” That was a prelude to another tearful outburst and Jennifer's next few words were almost lost in her emotions. “I haven't seen him since. I know it's a lot to ask. Especially under the circumstances. But I don't know anywhere else to turn, T.K. Please . . . please call me.”