The Morning After (4 page)

He held the phone to his ear and channeled all of his energies into remaining professional. “Yes, ma'am. . . . I understand, and I apologize on behalf of . . . Right. Right. I have everything I need in order to take care of it. You have been given every reason to be upset, Mrs. . . . Yes, ma'am. . . . Absolutely. I will give you a follow-up call next week. Yes, ma'am. Wednesday at the latest. Yes. Yes. All right. I under . . . Yes, I understand that, and we'll be in touch. Yes, ma'am, you have my word. Thank you, Mrs. Chambers. Have a good day. No, ma'am, I'm not trying to be facetious, I was . . . Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry that your day has already been doomed due to our incompetence. Yes, ma'am. The level of our stupidity staggers me as well. I fully understand your disdain, and I will take care of it personally. Yes, ma'am. You have my direct number if you need anything further. Sure thing. Bye.”

Swear words that hadn't been a part of his vocabulary in years seemed to dangle on the end of Colin's tongue. Not the everyday, made-for-cable-TV words, but the
really
offensive kind. If he could just whisper them in the wind, he knew it would somehow relieve the insurmountable frustration he felt inside. Colin figured that if no one heard him, all would be well. No harm done.

But someone
would
hear him. And offending
Him
would be far worse than ruffling the feathers of any of his coworkers or the bank's clients. Even with the knowledge of it all, the temptation was still there. Colin had been saved for a long time, but submitting to God's will wasn't always easy; especially when everything around him seemed to be unraveling at the seams. Colin closed his eyes and prayed in silence. These days, he found himself doing a lot of that. When he was done, the desire to spit profanity had diminished, but the aggravation remained.

“That was thirty whole minutes of my life that I'll never be able to get back,” he muttered while massaging his temples.

A bachelor's degree in accounting had trained Colin to be masterful when dealing with numbers, but it didn't prepare him to deal with irate customers like the woman with whom he'd just spoken. Although the call ended minutes ago, he could still hear Mrs. Chambers's shrilling accent ringing in his ears. The department store owner's voice was an annoying mixture of Fran Fine's from
The Nanny
and Karen Walker's from
Will & Grace
. It was enough to make any man lose his religion.

“Mr. Stephens, are you all right?” Her perfume marked her presence even before she spoke.

Colin looked up to see his new assistant, Nona Wright, standing in his open doorway with an armful of files that he hoped weren't being delivered to him. “Yes, Nona, I'm fine. Thanks.” Colin rallied to assemble as genuine a smile as he could, then added, “Is it five yet?”

Nona laughed. “Not quite, but it's almost lunchtime if that makes it any better.”

Colin shook his head and grunted. “I'm forwarding my phone to you for now,” he informed Nona. “When you leave for lunch, just forward the calls into your voice mail. I'm going to need some quiet time to catch up on these accounts in my inbox.”

“Will do.” Nona disappeared around the corner, and to her boss's relief, the files in her hand disappeared with her. The perfume lingered.

It had been a rough year for Colin Stephens. What had been one of the happiest moments of his life—the birth of his son—had within hours, turned into one of the most traumatic. Shortly after Colin cut the umbilical cord and tearfully held his firstborn in his arms, he'd gotten the news of Essie's death. Mason had left the message on Colin's cell phone, and it was information that Colin kept from his wife for a full twenty-four hours. He knew that as soon as Angel found out that the woman she loved like a second mother had died in her sleep at 3:57
A.M.
, on the very same day and at the exact same time that Austin was born, she would be devastated. And she was.

Angel went into a deep depression immediately upon hearing the news, and for almost six months, Colin was forced to function like a celibate single father. It was the reason why he could relate, in part, to what Elaine must be going through with Mason. But Colin and Angel's situation had been different. Colin hadn't been celibate by choice, and his wife hadn't been denying him by choice either. At least, not spitefully.

Although he still had the demands of his nine-to-five job, Colin had become somewhat the sole caretaker of not only his son, but also his wife, who still hadn't healed from her labor and delivery. Neighborhood friends like Jennifer and Elaine had stepped in to help when they could, but for the most part, Colin, alone, bore the cross that Essie's death had delivered to his household.

“I feel like I'm enduring the calamity of a modern day Job.” Three months into what had been the biggest trial of his adult life, Colin shared his heart with T.K. in a private telephone conversation. “I mean, I don't have the repulsive sores that the scriptures note that Job had. But every day that I roll out of bed to come to work, this sleep deprivation makes my body feel like it's been hit by a train.”

From the other end of the line, T.K.'s reply had been, “Well, there's nothing wrong with feeling like Job as long as you handle the situation with the same faith that he did. Despite those sores and even the mocking of his wife, Job stood strong in his belief that God would work things out.”

“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,” Colin had said in remembrance of Job's declaration in the biblical passage.

“That's what he said,” T.K. agreed. “And although your wife is going through a hard time right now, you know she loves you, and she would never tell you to curse God and die, as Job's wife advised him to do. And for sure, you don't have Job's fair weather friends, who stood around accusing him of doing something dastardly to bring the trial on himself. You have people in your corner who are going before the throne of God for you daily, Colin.”

“I know, and I appreciate that, man.”

“God expects us to watch over our brothers in the time of need,” T.K. had said. “You don't have to thank me or anybody else. I know you wouldn't even think twice about doing it for me.”

“You're right,” Colin had replied. “And I know that it's the prayers of the righteous that are keeping me sane right now. Keep praying for me, Coach.”

“I will, Colin. As a matter of fact, let's take a minute to pray right now.”

It was calls and prayers such as T.K.'s that eventually broke through the unseen barrier that for months had prevented Angel from enjoying her son or her husband. Colin still recalled the morning he woke up to the surprise of tender kisses being planted all over his face. At first he thought he was having an erotic dream. He'd had several of them over the months, with his wife in the starring role, so this one wouldn't have been the first. After a moment to gather his wits, Colin came to the pleasant awareness that this time it was reality.

Angel hadn't initiated any affection toward him since the moment she found out that her beloved Ms. Essie was dead. In that time period, their son had grown by leaps and bounds, and at a week shy of six months old, he was already holding up his head on his own, balancing his bottle without assistance, and even trying to scoot across the floor of his playpen to reach for toys. Angel's misery had caused her to miss it all, but it seemed that her recovery would make it all well worth it.

But Colin's celebration was short-lived. Aside from that early morning surprise rendezvous, Angel had given little time to anything else other than motherhood. As if she were trying to make up for lost time, she'd thrown all of her attention and energy into being the loving mother that she'd failed to be during all those months of misery. While Colin was glad that she was no longer in a deep depression, it almost felt to him as though she'd gone from one extreme to another.

To add more tension to his already stressful existence, a week after Angel regained some sense of returning to her normal self, the state of affairs at work began spiraling out of control.

“It has been determined that someone—most likely, someone on our staff—has been embezzling money from this branch of Wachovia Bank, and as of today, a major investigation is being launched. Everybody, myself included, is a suspect.” Those were the words that the bank's president spoke at an impromptu Monday morning meeting with the managerial team.

Being that Colin knew he was innocent and had nothing to hide, he didn't expect to be affected by the investigation, but he was. A work environment that in the past had been a joy to be a part of, turned so uptight that Colin began to despise the very act of walking through the glass doors. And after four and a half months of rigorous inspections, investigations, and interrogations, Colin had had his fill and was all but ready to walk away from a $75,000 annual income. For him, it just wasn't worth it.

“But baby, if you leave, you'll look like you had something to do with the missing money,” Angel had said to him after one of what had become their rare lovemaking sessions.

“It's not like I'd be the first to leave,” he'd pointed out.

“No, but you'll be the first one to leave who had the inside track to commit the crime. Just be patient, baby. God will work it out.”

Angel's encouragement and his patience eventually paid off when the investigation came to a thunderous close seven days later. Colin stood in his doorway and watched in awe as Ralph Snyder, his counterpart, the man he'd shared many lunches and several laughs with, was read his Miranda rights and escorted from the bank in handcuffs in the presence of his coworkers and the bank's midday customers.

The shake-up left a vacancy for a Senior Audit Manager that Wachovia didn't seem to be in any hurry to fill. According to them, a second audit manager wasn't an immediate need, and the current slumping economy wasn't giving them any encouragement.

Colin had little choice but to ready himself for the challenge. He had no idea that his one-time work acquaintance had left so many accounts, such as the one belonging to Mrs. Chambers, in such disarray. Taking on Ralph's accounts had almost doubled Colin's workload, leading to many days of working overtime. The bank had pacified him with a modest pay raise and by hiring him a personal assistant to replace Edna Shields, the fifty-something-year-old woman who'd served as assistant to both Colin and Ralph, but chose to leave the company during the chaos. Colin couldn't blame Edna for leaving, but he sure hated to see her go.

Nona Wright wasn't the first to apply or interview for the vacated position, but she was by far the most persistent. She followed up so often that Colin basically hired her just to shut her up. The way he saw it, anyone who wanted a job that badly, deserved a chance. It turned out to be a good move. Nona was a dedicated and dependable assistant who was just as efficient as Edna had been, but even with the administrative help, Colin's duties were still sometimes overwhelming.

“I'm getting ready to leave for lunch, Mr. Stephens.” Nona overran Colin's thoughts as she knocked on the frame of his office door and stepped inside. “Are you planning to take a break for lunch?”

“I don't think I'll be able to today, Nona. Did you forward the phone into your voice mail?”

“I did.” Nona paused. “I can stop somewhere and pick up something for you. If you're not gonna leave the office for lunch, at least you'll still be able to eat.”

Colin looked up and smiled. “That sounds good. I'd appreciate it.”

“Oh no, I'll take care of it,” Nona said when she saw him reaching for his wallet. “You've been really patient with me these last couple of months as I've learned the ropes around here. The least I can do is treat you to a burger or something. What do you have a taste for?”

Colin wasn't used to being treated to lunch by any of his fellow coworkers, but the show of appreciation was a refreshing change. “Thanks, Nona. I'll have to return the favor one of these days.” Tapping on his desk with the eraser of his pencil, Colin debated what to eat. Once upon a time, he could leave work and ride home on his lunch break to spend a few quality moments with his stay-at-home wife and young son, but those days had become distant fond memories. “How about a spicy chicken sandwich meal from Wendy's?” He liked those. “Does that fit your budget?”

“I think I can swing it on what y'all pay me,” Nona said with a laugh while turning away and making her exit. “I'll bring it to you on my way back from lunch. Is that okay?”

“That's perfect,” Colin said. “Close the door on your way out, will you?”

“Okey dokey.”

With lunch taken care of and left in the quiet of his office, Colin focused his eyes on the pile of work that was displayed on his desk. The sight of his workload was sobering, and he leaned back in his chair and groaned. Needing a jolt of vigor that would help take him through the rest of the day, Colin picked up the phone and dialed. It would be a while before he'd again have the luxury of driving to his home on Braxton Way on his lunch break, but Colin knew that if he could hear his wife's voice, the second half of his day would be better than the first.

Thomas King. That was what his first and middle initials stood for, and nobody at Alpharetta High was privy to the knowledge of it. As a matter of fact, few people outside of his immediate family knew, and as far as Coach T.K. Donaldson was concerned, he'd like to keep it that way. Thomas King Donaldson was the name that belonged to his natural father—a man that T.K. never knew. His mother had been replaced by a new lover shortly after she told her boyfriend that she was pregnant, and for the life of him, T.K. couldn't understand why she still chose to name her child in honor of the bum. But she did. For a while, T.K. considered changing his given name. Even as a child growing up in Oregon, he recalled hating his legal identification and what it signified.

When T.K. completed seventh grade, his family relocated from Portland to Atlanta—clear across the map—and he seized the opportunity to make a new start. No longer would he be known to his peers as Thomas Donaldson. Instantly, he adopted his initials as if they were his legal name, and from that moment, everyone he met was introduced to T.K. Donaldson. Even his mother honored his wishes to change the way he was addressed. T.K. figured that she had lived to regret naming her son after such a worthless human being and was just as relieved to rid the name from her tongue as he was to rid it from his ears.

Regardless of the challenges that he'd faced as a child growing up in a single-parent home, T.K. had become one of the fortunate ones. His mother cared enough about him to place him in a mentoring program, and a higher force made sure that his mentor was also a man of God. By the time he was in high school, T.K. Donaldson was not only a thriving student, but he was also a dedicated Christian, heading an off-campus ministry where fellow classmates flocked on Friday nights for prayer and Bible Study. He was active in sports, playing basketball and competing in track and field. Running became a passion, and even after he graduated from high school, he continued the sport; only failing to make the 1992 U.S. Olympic team because of an injury he suffered in the qualifying meet. The United States would have swept the medals in the 400 meters relay competition had he been there; T.K. was sure of it.

The injury snuffed his dream of being an Olympic medalist, but his love for the track brought him full circle; back to the same high school—Alpharetta High—where he'd set many records as a teenager.

“Thirteen point four seconds, Jerrod!” the coach yelled as his favorite student crossed the 100 meter finish line well ahead of the rest of the pack. “That's a new record for you, kid!”

“Wooo-hooo!” Jerrod jumped up and down at the news, not even taking a moment to catch his breath after the high-energy sprint. “Yeah, baby; yeah!”

T.K. looked down at his stopwatch again and grinned. Jerrod's time was only three seconds longer than Dennis Mitchell's, the man who had taken the bronze medal in Barcelona in 1992.

“That's good, huh, Coach D?” the boy said as he jogged back toward his teacher.

“That's better than good, Jerrod.” T.K. stopped short of telling him how close he was coming to national medal speed. Clapping his hands, T.K. looked out at the pack of boys and added, “Good job, guys, all of you are doing well. Keep up the good work.” He was careful not to show favoritism; at least not in front of the others. “Get some water and take a fifteen minute rest. Then we'll do some stretching before you go home.”

While the boys headed for the coolers, T.K. took to the track. Watching his students had stirred up a desire to take a few laps of his own. Every now and then, he envied the youngsters who had their whole lives and careers ahead of them.

T.K. was too old now, and he knew he'd never have the chance to realize his Olympic dreams. But he kept in shape, and at thirty-six he could still outrun some of his students. “Hey, Coach D. Wanna race?” But not Jerrod. He was the fastest of them all. The boy had just run from the water coolers to midway on the track where T.K. kept a steady pace, and he barely seemed winded.

“Not right now, Jerrod. You need to be taking advantage of this rest time,” T.K. said between pants of breath. “You guys have to jog in place and do a few push-ups before we take it to the grass for your stretching.”

“I'll be a'ight,” Jerrod said, slowing his pace so that the drum of his shoes against the tarp beneath him was in rhythm with his coach's. “You coming over for dinner tonight?”

T.K. gave Jerrod a side glance. “Not that I know of.”

“What you mean? You got somewhere else to be?”

“Nope.”

“Then why you ain't coming over?”

Looking again at Jerrod, T.K. smiled. “I haven't been invited.”

“Come on, Coach. You don't need no invitation. You always come over for dinner on Friday nights.”

“That's because I'm always invited,” T.K. said, bringing his run to an end after completing two laps. He took a moment to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath. Then, standing to his full six-foot-three-inch height, T.K. looked down at Jerrod, who was five inches shorter. “A man should never take a woman's kindness for granted, Jerrod. Just because your mom generally invites me over for dinner on Fridays doesn't give me the right to start expecting her to cook for me every week. When she invites me, I gladly accept, but if she doesn't, I know how to cook for myself.”

Jerrod pressed together his lips and slowly nodded, like he'd just been taught a valuable lesson about women. “But if she invites you, you'll come, right?”

T.K. beamed again. He knew that Jerrod had become quite fond of him over the past several months, and the feeling was mutual. He was grateful that God had chosen him to bring balance and provide a positive male influence in the life of a boy who had grown up much like himself. Before coming into Jerrod's life, T.K. knew the teenager had been fatherless and was starving for discipline and direction. He cringed to think what might have happened had he not been around for Jerrod after the death of Essie.

When Essie died, Jerrod began lashing out at those around him and showing strong signs of returning to a lifestyle that he'd barely been rescued from prior to her untimely demise. Losing Essie had been harrowing for so many people, and Jerrod seemed to have been hit harder than almost all of them. The aging woman had become the boy's lifeline, giving him guidance, wisdom, and understanding that he'd never known. It had been T.K. that God had given the strength to interrupt the setback that Jerrod had begun suffering. It hadn't been easy, but the results were rewarding.

“Will you, Coach? Will you come to dinner if Ma invites you?”

“Sure I will. But don't you go telling her that, you hear? I don't want Jen going out of her way to try and accommodate me. Besides, I was thinking of taking both of you out to dinner after church on Sunday. So if she wants to skip a Friday, that's fine.”

The announcement seemed to please Jerrod. “Can we go to Benihana like we did the last time? I like watching them men cook the food in front of us. That was real cool. Ma liked it too.”

T.K. knew Jerrod had thrown in the last part for leverage. The boy knew that if Jennifer was impressed, T.K. would most likely agree to the return visit. “Yeah, we can go back to Benihana. That'll be your reward for breaking your own record today; how about that?”

“That works,” Jerrod said with his grin returning. “Thanks, Coach.”

“You're welcome. Now get back over there with the other boys so you can prepare yourself for our final drill and cooldown.”

As though T.K. had fired a starting pistol, Jerrod broke into a full sprint. Not since his own days as a young runner had T.K. seen a boy embrace the sport with such drive. Stopping at a nearby bench, the coach sat down to tighten his shoe strings. As he did so, T.K. came to another realization. Not since his college years had he been as enthralled by a woman as he was with Jennifer Mays.

Theirs was an instant attraction that T.K. found himself resisting, even though he didn't want to. Jennifer was beautiful and her heart was golden, but after his college relationship all those years ago, T.K. had promised himself that he would never again get involved with a woman who didn't know Christ as her personal Savior. It was just too hard to successfully sustain such a connection; not to mention that an unequally yoked relationship went against instructions clearly outlined in the Word of God.

T.K. and his college sweetheart dated for nearly two years, and their different priorities were a constant issue that kept their relationship strained. Like Jennifer, Deena was attractive, smart, and one of the kindest people he knew, but she hadn't dedicated her life to the Lord. Although they had openly discussed the parameters of their courtship, and Deena professed to be on the same page as he, T.K.'s vow of celibacy eventually became too much for her, and the woman stepped outside of their bond to find the satisfaction that her flesh needed. The experience was painful and embarrassing. They were both active and popular students on the campus of Georgia State University, so the breakup was a public one. It was an ordeal that T.K. promised himself and God that he would never go through again.

So when he met Jennifer shortly before Essie's death, the instant gravitation had red flags and whistles assaulting his eyes and ears. But only weeks after the funeral that brought droves of people to Temple of God's Word, Jennifer made a life changing decision at the very church where Essie had worshipped for decades. In many ways, T.K. felt like he owed Essie a posthumous deed of appreciation for putting him and Jennifer together. It had been the old woman's life that had been a beacon for Jennifer as well as many other people who lived in the subdivision of Braxton Park.

That was eleven months ago, and for nine of those eleven months, T.K and Jennifer had been frequent companions, seeing each other at least once a week; twice on weeks that either of them decided to visit the other's church on Sunday morning. And they spoke on the telephone daily.

Their relationship was ideal for T.K. Jennifer had her own life, her own friends, and a promising career working as an executive secretary at an insurance firm. She didn't smother him, and she didn't require that he spend all of his free hours around her. Jennifer treated him with the utmost respect, and T.K. returned the favor. Most importantly, she was his best friend. He could talk to Jennifer about anything, knowing that she would listen with unbiased ears. “Come on, Coach!”

T.K. looked up from the shoe that he'd been staring at robotically for a long while and saw several of the boys in the distance, waving their hands like they were ready to be done for the day. All of them enjoyed running, but few of them cared for the circuit training that he incorporated before they stretched their muscles.

Standing and taking the first steps that would eventually deliver him back to his awaiting athletes, T.K. focused his eyes on Jerrod, watching as the boy chatted and laughed with his classmates. What would Jerrod think if T.K. told him how he really felt about Jennifer? In front of her son, Jennifer had never kissed T.K. or even held his hand, so T.K. wasn't sure what Jerrod thought of their relationship. The definition of a girlfriend to a high school student was shallow compared to that of mature adults. What if T.K. told Jerrod that his affiliation with Jennifer wasn't just a casual one wherein they hung out on Friday nights or went to church together on Sundays? What if the boy knew that he thought about Jennifer during the day and dreamed of her at night? What if he knew that there was a little red box tucked away in T.K.'s nightstand that housed a ring that he was just waiting for the right moment to present?

T.K. smiled nervously to himself.
What will Jerrod say if I tell him that I love his mother?