The Morning After (19 page)

“I said something funny?”

“Naw, dog. You ain't said nothing funny, but it's funny that you sounded just like a preacher when you was talking.”

Jerrod frowned for more than one reason. “Two things you can't call me,” he said, just before playfully throwing a piece of candy across the room. “A preacher and a dog. Deal?”

Toby picked the M&M from his lap and popped it in his mouth. “Whatever you say, man. Now, when are you gonna call your mama?”

Another frown appeared on Jerrod's face. This one lasted much longer. “Man, I told you I wasn't calling her. She was blowing my phone up all day yesterday, and today's calls started rolling in at seven o'clock this morning. Probably as soon as she got up for work. Woke me up out of my good sleep. I finally turned the whole thing off around noon and put it away. I can't deal with her right now.”

Toby crumpled an empty candy bag in his fist and tossed it in a nearby wastebasket like a basketball. For a kid who didn't like sports, he had skills. “You should call her.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Toby?”

“Look, J. You can stay here as long as you want to. I enjoy the company. Good to have somebody to just shoot the breeze with around here. But are you sure you want to keep hanging around me? People might start to think you're . . .” Toby finished the sentence by holding out his right hand, palm faced downward, and rocking it left and right in quick motions. It was a signal that the kids in school used when referring to homosexuals.

Jerrod sucked his teeth. “Man, please. I ain't worried 'bout what nobody say 'bout me. And I'll bet you a million dollars, they won't say it to my face. Don't nobody want to mess with me right about now. All I need is a reason.”

“Cool. Then stay,” Toby said. “But you shouldn't make your mama worry about you. No matter how mad you are at her. You ain't got to talk to her. Text message her. Call the house when you know she's at work and just leave a message. But it ain't right for you to make her worry like that.”

“If you was me, would you call your mama?” Jerrod challenged.

“No. But I'd call the answering machine.”

Jerrod lay back on his blankets and stared at the ceiling. “I'll think about it.”

Something strange was going on. What it was, she wasn't quite sure. But her womanly instincts told her that her marriage was in even more trouble than she knew. Angel looked at the clock on the wall, staring at the second hand as it ticked its way from the six to the twelve. Those thirty seconds alone felt like a lifetime.

Eleven
P.M
.

A part of her wished for a phone call from any one of the hospitals in metropolitan Atlanta. If a voice on the other end of the line told her that her husband had been in a horrible accident and was brought in with his life hanging in the balance, at least then she'd know that Colin didn't have a choice in the matter. If he were in the ER, with tubes running down his throat and doctors pounding on his chest, at least then she'd know that the only reason he wasn't at home was because he couldn't be.
Couldn't
. . . not wouldn't. There was a difference.

But something inside of Angel told her that it wasn't an accident that was keeping Colin away. It wasn't even work.

There was something else. S
omeone
else. Angel gasped at the sudden thought.

Colin had never been this late coming home. She had called the office twice and got no answer. Called his cell phone three or four times. More like five or six. She'd lost count. Each time, she got the same message: “I'm sorry you've missed me. Please leave a name, number, and brief message, and I promise to get back with you at my earliest convenience.”

Promises, promises. There was no way that Colin hadn't had the opportunity to call her back. Not after all these hours. What could he be doing that a
convenient
time to return a call hadn't yet presented itself? Angel's heart thudded in her chest. She'd seen enough
Oprah
and listened to enough Michael Baisden to know that when men made sudden unexplained changes in their routines, something wasn't right.

Usually she'd be in bed by now, but Colin's absence had kept her wide awake. The house had never been so spotless. Since putting Austin to bed, Angel had washed the dishes, wiped down the stove, mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the carpet in the master bedroom, waxed the wood flooring in the living room, dusted the coffee and end tables, scrubbed their whirlpool bathtub, and sponged down their shower stall. Now she was separating loads of clothes in preparation of laundering them.

Each time that Angel had listened to Elaine moan about her marital grief, she thought to herself that nothing could be worse. What could be more demoralizing than having a husband who walked around the house, displaying the conduct of a celibate monk?

“
This
, that's what,” Angel sputtered, throwing down the pants she'd worn during yesterday's run, on a stack of dark-colored clothing. Venting about it made her feel better, even if there was no one around to listen. “Having a husband who's never at home is far, far worse. At least Elaine knows where her husband is. He might not be giving her the kind of attention she wants, but at least she knows no other woman is getting his affections either. I'll take her problem any day over
this
.” She flung one of Austin's onesies onto the pile with the whites.

“Where are you, Colin?” Angel yelled into house. She immediately covered her mouth with a shirt she'd pulled from the hamper. Austin was asleep in his room down the hall. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him. She pulled the shirt away and looked at it. The smell that teased her nostrils was foreign. It was definitely a woman's fragrance, but it wasn't hers. Angel took another whiff.

“Whose is this and how did it get in his shirt?” she pondered. Her heartbeat quickened even more when her eyes found a second clue. A stain. A
red
stain.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

Lipstick. And not the color of any that she wore. When it came to makeup, Angel stuck to neutral colors: bronzes, golds and browns. She never wore red makeup of any kind, but there was no mistaking that somebody with red lipstick had been with her husband. And whoever
she
was; she'd left her mark behind on his collar, where she'd apparently rested her painted lips against the left side of his neck.

She'd been separated from her family for so long that she sometimes forgot she had one. As far as Jennifer knew, both her parents were still living, but she was fifteen, pregnant, and scared out of her wits the last time she saw either of them. David and Phyllis Mays were in the middle of a messy divorce wherein they fought endlessly about their daughter. Not like normal, loving parents would though. David demanded that Phyllis have physical custody, and Phyllis insisted the same of David.

By default, Jennifer's dad won when he walked out without giving notice to his wife or his only child. His move forced Phyllis to accept guardianship. But when Phyllis handed her daughter an ultimatum: abort the baby or get out, Jennifer opted for homelessness. She couldn't kill her baby. She needed someone to love and someone who would love her back. The child growing in her belly was her last chance at finding either.

Ultimately, the frightened teenager was accepted into a group home where she was given prenatal care and a warm place to stay. For three years, she lived there with other unwed teen mothers from all walks of life. Despite their differences in race, social backgrounds, and family upbringing, all of them had at least one thing in common: parents that had disowned them, or no parents at all. Either way, they were on their own. Little girls who'd lost their innocence and their childhood to poor choices and unfortunate circumstances. Forced to be women way before their time.

At eighteen, each girl had to leave the nest. Ready or not.

Through hard work and determination, Jennifer made it. Worked her way from certain failure to become a college graduate with a good job who lived in a nice neighborhood. God had been good to her even when she had no real concept of who He was.

But in all of the favor she'd been granted in her life, Jennifer couldn't understand how she'd come full circle. She still had the college degree, the nice home, and the good job. But the one thing she loved most in the world—her son—had once again slipped through her fingers. All the transformation that had taken him from gang activity to good grades, from being a child she feared to a child she admired; all of it was filtering down the drain.

“Where did I go wrong?” she whispered into the darkness. “I'm only trying to do what's best for him. Can't he see that?”

Jennifer hadn't moved from the living room couch in hours. It was still afternoon when Jerrod stormed from the house in a rage after she'd tried to properly introduce him to Devon.

“Hi, Jerrod. I'm your dad. Good to meet you, son.” Those were the words Devon had said as he stretched out his arms to embrace Jerrod.

Jennifer had told Devon to be patient; to take everything one step at a time. Told him to let her do the talking and set the tone. But no. He had to walk into the house with his own agenda. If she had known that Devon would try to hug Jerrod or show any physical affection at all, she would have warned him differently. She knew her son better than anyone else. No way was he going to fall into Devon's arms like he'd waited his whole life to meet him. Jerrod had lived through the struggles with Jennifer. He knew the whole story of how Devon cruelly abandoned them when he found out that she was pregnant. He had gone without because his father had chosen the easy way out. Jerrod probably wouldn't have even shaken Devon's hand, let alone hugged him.

“Who you calling son?” Jerrod had snarled as he asked the question, and he looked Devon up and down like he was prepared for a head-to-head match if it came down to it. “I ain't none of your son. I ain't nobody to you, and you ain't nobody to me.
Believe
that.”

And it went downhill from there.

“Watch your mouth, boy.”

Jennifer was horrified at Devon's commanding tone of voice. Didn't he know that he was going to have to walk on eggs with Jerrod for a while? Jerrod was being disrespectful, yes, but Devon hadn't yet done anything to deserve the boy's esteem. He couldn't appear out of nowhere and expect to take on the daddy role just like that. This wasn't a fairytale movie, and it wasn't a fictional novel. This was real life. And real life just didn't work that way.

“Devon . . .” Jennifer thought she'd step in and save the day.

“I ain't yo' boy either.” Jerrod was the exact height of his father, and he stepped to Devon as if to dare him to repeat his words.

“Jerrod . . .” Jennifer wasn't sure which of them needed rescuing most.

“Don't worry, Jenny,” Devon spoke her name, but he kept his eyes on Jerrod. “Everything is gonna be just fine. Leave everything to me, baby. I got this. This boy ain't been raised worth nuthin'. No wonder he ended up in gangs and foolishness. He ain't had no daddy around to show him how to wear his britches, but that's about to change. We fixin' to be family now, and I'ma make sure he stay straight. He 'bout to be a star, and I ain't gonna let him mess that up.”

Jennifer wasn't certain what made Jerrod bolt from the house without so much as a good-bye. All she knew was that her son looked at her as though she'd spit in his face, and then he was gone. Jennifer hadn't seen him since.

“What was he thinking?” Jennifer pounded her thigh with her fist. She couldn't believe Devon didn't put more thought and preparation into his entrance. When she confronted him after Jerrod's departure, Devon promised her that the fresh air that the rain provided would do Jerrod some good, and that he would be back before she knew it.

That was nearly two and a half days ago, and Jennifer couldn't rid herself of the sinking feeling that she had lost the only blood family that she'd had left. First her grandmother, to death. Then her dad, to divorce. Then her mom, to abandonment. Now Jerrod, to who knows what. Maybe another gang. Maybe drugs. Maybe jail. In his state of mind, there was no telling where he'd end up.

Over the past year, when she had problems with Jerrod, the one person Jennifer could always depend on was T.K.

T.K.
The sudden thought of him sent warm tears spilling down her cheeks. She curled her legs beneath her body and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. She missed T.K.'s arms. Longed to hear him tell her that everything was going to be okay. Longed to hear him say, “Let's pray about it. Then we won't make a move until God says so.”

That was Jennifer's last thought before she grabbed the crumpled blanket from the arm of the sofa, wrapped herself in it and drifted off to sleep.

“Lord have mercy, child, what you done gone and did?”

“Hmm?” Jennifer stirred at the voice, but she pulled the blanket closer around her neck and once again, found slumber.

“Ah-uh. You gon' wake yourself right on up. I ain't got but a minute to talk to you, so you best make the most of it. Wake up, girl.”

Two nudges against her legs and Jennifer's eyes flew open. Her breaths came quick, and for a second, she could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. Jennifer lay completely still for a short span. Listening. Looking. But when she saw nothing but darkness, little by little, she relaxed. Chuckling softly at her own sleep-induced experience, she closed her eyes again.

“I ain't gon' tell you no more to wake up now.”

This time Jennifer shot up into a seated position. There was no question that she wasn't alone in her home. “Huh? Who's that?” She reached for something she could use to defend herself, but all that she felt were the decorative pillows on the sofa. They were too soft for anything except to smother someone with. That would take too long and be too much work. If she could dash to the kitchen for a butcher knife . . .

The echo of heartwarming laughter made Jennifer feel oddly at ease, but the familiar sound of it terrorized her equally as much.

“Calm down, child. It's just me.”

Jennifer blinked in rapid succession and looked in the direction of the voice that came from a place on the sofa not two feet away. The room was pitch black. “Ms. . . .” She felt stupid even saying it. “Essie?”

“Ain't you got a lamp over there somewhere? If you turn it on, you wouldn't have to ask.”

With a trembling hand, Jennifer fumbled for the switch on the tall floor lamp that was only an arm's length away. And when she switched it on and saw a living, breathing Essie Mae Richardson, sitting on the sofa beaming from ear to ear, Jennifer emitted a dog-like yelp and jumped to her feet. She cowered into the nearest corner, wanting to scream more, but was unable to find her voice.

Her horror was met with another unruffled chuckle from Essie. The grey-haired woman smoothed out her white dress and said, “It's all right, Jennifer. You ain't got to be scared.” She patted the surface of the sofa beside her. “Come back and sit down. It's okay.”

Jennifer didn't know what to do or think. Her widened eyes remained fixed on a woman who looked just like the one she'd helped to bury a year ago. This couldn't be happening. Essie couldn't really be sitting in her living room. Jennifer had been one of the five people who'd gathered in Essie's bedroom along with the paramedics on the night the woman slipped into a peaceful coma. She'd been standing there at 3:57
A.M.
when the medics declared her dead. Jennifer had suffered through the crowded funeral and listened to Pastor Owens eulogize Essie; sat at the gravesite right alongside other neighbors and friends and watched the mortuary service lower her casket into the ground. She'd kept Austin many-a-day while Angel cleared out the belongings that Essie had left behind in her home. It just wasn't possible that the same woman was sitting on her living room couch looking as happy and healthy as ever.

“Girl, stop pinching yourself and come on over here and sit down. I ain't got all night to be fooling with you.”

Jennifer hadn't even noticed that her thumb and index finger were working hard, squeezing the flesh of her own thigh, trying to see if it was all a dream.

“Have I ever done anything to hurt you, Jennifer?” the woman asked, still patting the space beside her for Jennifer to occupy.

“N . . . No.” Jennifer could barely hear her own response.

“And I ain't 'bout to hurt you now,” Essie assured her. “Come on and sit down so Ms. Essie can talk to you for a spell.”

A spell
. That's what Jennifer felt she was under as she inched toward the sofa, choosing to sit on the space closest to the armrest. It seemed to be a safe enough distance from the living dead woman who was talking to her.

Essie readjusted her position on the sofa so that she faced Jennifer. “Now I can't deny that I ain't the happiest camper right now. For one, I had to leave my Ben to come and see 'bout you.”

Jennifer wondered what all Essie knew. She tried to look as clueless as she could. “See about me? Why?”

Essie shook her head as if Jennifer's dramatic act of innocence was the worst she'd ever seen. “Don't play games with me, girl. Like I said in the beginning, I ain't got but a little while to help you fix this mess you done got yourself in.” She looked around the room. “He ain't came back home, has he?”

With downcast eyes, Jennifer shook her head from side to side and blinked back tears. There was no need in putting on false pretenses and she knew it. She couldn't fool Essie in life, and apparently, she couldn't fool her in death either. Jennifer's fear was evaporating now. She still didn't understand how Essie could be sitting beside her and be in the grave at the same time, but she was glad to have her there. She needed her. “He doesn't understand that what I'm doing is for him . . . for
us
.”

“And how you reckon that marrying that boy is helping Jerrod?”

“Devon is his daddy.” Jennifer's tone was frank.

“Child, you and me both know that Jerrod ain't never had no daddy. Devon might have planted the seed, but it don't take no real skills to do that. Being a daddy is a whole lot deeper that seed planting. He wasn't never around to fertilize him, cultivate him, or help him grow up strong. You been the closest thing to a daddy that that child has ever had. At least, 'til T.K. And now, thanks to you, that's in jeopardy too.”

Jennifer looked away. Was there anything that Essie didn't know? “I . . . I, uh—”

“Been stupid,” Essie said. “That's what you been. You been just plain stupid.” A year in the cemetery buried under six feet of dirt hadn't changed her one bit.

Jennifer squirmed in her seat, wanting to say something in her own defense. But it was no use. Nobody understood that she'd made the changes in her life so that she could be positioned to receive the answer to her prayers. All she wanted was a husband for herself and a father for Jerrod. Was that so bad? Devon was offering both those things, and Jennifer just didn't see why everybody was against her on this. What could be better than Jerrod's actual father fitting the bill?

“Baby, let me tell you something,” Essie said, leaning forward with an expression on her face that said that all of Jennifer's thoughts had been read loud and clear. “In the Word of God, there was a woman that acted just like you. Her name was Sarah. She was Abraham's wife and had just about everything she wanted 'cept a baby. The Lord had promised her a baby, but she just couldn't wait on Him to do it in His own time. So what she went and done?” Essie paused, giving Jennifer time to answer the question.

“Uh . . . um . . .” Jennifer rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she thought. She was certain she'd heard this story before, but the combination of the unexpected question and having a dead woman pose it to her, threw her off. Her overloaded mind couldn't compute the answer quickly enough.