The Sea of Aaron (22 page)

Sherry laughed, gave the younger woman a dismissive wave, and focused on Valerie. “Well, he was quite handsome,” she admitted.

“Okay, so aside from being handsome, what exactly did this man look like?” Valerie still did not believe it was possible that her mother could have been right.

“Tall, really tall,” the aide chimed in again. “He was light-skinned with black, close-cut hair. Very serious and businesslike.”

“Interesting,” Valerie said, swallowing hard. She turned back to Sherry. “Thanks for telling me about my mother. I hope we can talk another time, but right now I really have to run.”

Sherry nodded, and Valerie made a quick exit because she most certainly did not want to answer any questions about the identity of the man. The short description had made it clear just who the visitor was, but it didn't explain why. Why would Aaron have bothered to visit her mother and then not even mention it? What kind of game was he playing, anyway? And, last but not least, why was she so angry?

“Aaron, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet in Long Island this afternoon,” Valerie said as she opened the door to her Englewood apartment, allowing him to enter. His appearance, in an open-collared white oxford shirt and gray pants, took her breath away. He was flashing an even bronze tan that made his uniquely alluring eyes dazzle even more.

“I caught an earlier flight back to New York, and I didn't know if you would feel like taking the ride out to Long Island, so I came here,” he said.

It was early Sunday morning and Valerie had been intending to go to church. Her sensual, spontaneous side was elated to see him, but the rigid, stubborn side was annoyed at his timing. Now she would have to forego her plan and deal with him. The truly awful thing was that she felt defensive and awkward in his presence. Because of the circumstances, she really had nothing positive to say to her husband at this moment. She had wanted them to reunite in the neutral and more spacious environment of the Allard estate.

She was a mess—another negative—a chubby frump, devoid of makeup, in hair curlers, and clothed in a frayed pink bathrobe suitable for an indigent recluse. “I'm sorry there's no food in the house,” she said, turning away, moving toward the bathroom, deflecting even the slight possibility that he might kiss her. Or, worse, that he might not. “I haven't been shopping and…”

“I'm not a stranger and I didn't come here to eat,” Aaron interrupted.

You seem like a stranger,
Valerie thought but didn't say. Her heart sank even lower when he made no attempt to physically rein her in.

Aaron sat on the couch, sadly realizing the profoundness of his own words. It was a difficult time for both of them. They really were like strangers, and he didn't know what to do or say to break the spell, short of lying and telling her that he'd done a complete one eighty and was now ready to accept the possibility of a child-birthing nightmare and the end result.

“So how are you doing?” he asked, sounding insincere even to his own ears.

She hesitated in the hallway. “As well as can be expected.” She longed for him to come to her, sweep her off her feet, and tell her he loved her—that it didn't matter if they weren't a perfect family, but that he'd try to be a good father.

He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right, that somehow they'd get through this, but she wasn't being receptive. There was detachment in her eyes and an obvious hostility in her stance. Maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong about the depths of their relationship. Maybe she had never really cared about him as much as he had hoped.

“Have you made plans for the morning?” he asked.

“I just got up, but I was intending to go to church.”

“Fine. Don't let me stop you. We can always talk later.” He rose and stalked back to the door, putting his hand on the knob.

Idiot!
Valerie thought. “I didn't say you had to leave.”

He hesitated. “Then what are you saying?”

“Aaron. I hate this…the way we are. I can't stand it anymore.”

She spun around to face him, her dark eyes glowering. Despite the pathetic robe and the hair curlers that she was angrily yanking from her hair, he could still see the curving softness of her lips and the smoothness of her skin. He inched closer to her but was stopped cold by her question.

“Did you go visit my mother two weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Knowing where she was headed with this and not liking it, he shoved his hands in his pockets and took an exasperated breath. “I told her a while back that I would visit her. Is that a problem?”

Valerie bit at her lip. Why did he always have to be so blunt and confrontational?
Is that a problem? Is that a problem?
She resisted the urge to imitate him.

“No. It wasn't a problem, but it just doesn't make sense. You know she has Alzheimer's and she probably thought you were my father. What could you possibly talk to her about that would make any sense?”

“We didn't talk about much at all. I had to remind her over and over again who I was, until she finally got it, and for the most part, she quoted Bible scriptures and I pretended to listen.”

“Did you discuss me?”

“She asked about you and I responded.”

“Well, tell me exactly what you talked about.” Valerie's voice rose. “She's my mother, not yours. I have a right to know.”

Aaron stepped farther back. “I find it rather amusing that you dislike her so much and all of a sudden you're telling me, with impassioned fervor, mind you, that she's
your
mother and not mine.”

Boy, did he know how to push her buttons and make her feel like a demented, spoiled brat. Her voice dropped lower, but nonetheless remained rife with tension.

“If you can manage to get over your great amusement, I still want to know what you talked about.”

“She asked me if we were happy and I told her the truth,” he said.

“The truth? I see…the truth about your not wanting our baby. Did she sympathize with you…tell you that she never wanted me or my brother, either?” Valerie suddenly had a vision of her own child, her son or daughter, running happily to Aaron, calling him Daddy, wanting to share a special moment with him and seeing him turn coldly away, telling the child to go to her instead—or, even worse, the image of the child trembling in fear of him as Jasmine's stepson had. The vision shattered her to the core.

“Valerie, you're overreacting, blowing this whole nonsense out of proportion,” Aaron said.

“Stop patronizing me!” Before she even realized what she was doing, she seized a magazine off the coffee table and hurled it across the room.

Aaron's eyebrows rose. She turned away, embarrassed by her rage.

“I'm sorry.” She retreated. “This is so dumb…arguing about my mother when the real problem is us. Aaron, I don't even like myself anymore and I can't live like this. We…” her voice quavered.

“Should separate,” he finished.

“Yes.” She couldn't believe she was responding so unemotionally now.

“Consider the Allard house a gift,” he said without missing a beat. “You can do whatever you like with it. When and if the baby is born, I will support it materially. If you need anything else from me, just ask. As for the apartment in Manhattan, that was mine in the beginning and shall remain mine.”

Uninhibited tears streamed down her eyes and he swam in her hazy vision, but, even in that unfocused state, she could tell he was no longer looking directly at her—that he probably didn't even notice the tears. He had severed himself physically and emotionally from her. She struggled to catch her breath and strengthen her own wall of defense. Although his words were as cold as ice, he was being generous enough. She certainly wasn't going to challenge him in court over any of his assets. She wasn't that vindictive or stupid.

“When you decide on the divorce, I'm sure we can settle amicably,” he concluded.

There, the “D” word was out and he was leaving.
No!
her inner voice screamed.
Don't walk away from me. Don't leave. Please
. But she stood frozen and mute as he opened the door and slipped soundlessly from her universe.

***

Valerie did not make it to church that day, and she called in sick at her job for the next two days. Her phone rang incessantly, but was ignored. All she did was mope around the apartment, sobbing intermittently and polishing off a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream. When she finally got around to answering the one phone call that the voice mail didn't pick up, she was annoyed that it was a nursing home employee reminding her that she hadn't picked up her mother's laundry and asking if she would like them to do it instead.

Running a comb through her tangled hair, she got dressed in whatever frightful ensemble she could find and arrived at the nursing home.

“How's Aaron?” Ruth Ann asked the minute she stepped into the room. Valerie ignored her completely—didn't even look at her—and opened the wardrobe to remove the laundry bag. She began stuffing her mother's clothes into it.

“Are you angry?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Valerie muttered, dragging the bag across the floor, preparing to leave.

“Valree…don't be angry like that. It's not good for you and the baby.”

“Who cares?”

“I care.”

Valerie dropped the laundry bag and dabbed at her eyes, which, courtesy of sleepless nights, resembled those of a raccoon. “You asked me about Aaron…well, you won't see him ever again because he's gone. We broke up.”

“He's coming back,” Ruth Ann said almost defiantly. “You can get him back.”

“I don't
want
him back. He doesn't love me.”

“He does love you and he loves the baby, too. Get him back.”

“How?” She glared at her mother. “What should I say?”

Ruth Ann's mouth opened and closed. “Ask your father.”

Ask yuh fahhhthuh.
The obnoxious words tumbled out, their mocking cadence reverberating in Valerie's ears like chalk scraping on a board.
Mommy, Mommy, there's a monster in my room; can I sleep in your bed? Ask yuh fahthuh. Mommy, where
do babies come from? Ask yuh fahhthuh. Mom, I need…Ask yuh fahhthuh.
She remembered the sailboat, the abandoned atoll off Belize, and she recalled very vividly Aaron laughing at this very imitation of her mother.
Ask yuh…

Gripping the laundry bag again, she rushed out of the room and nearly collided with her Aunt Marilyn, who was about to enter.

“Valerie?” Marilyn exclaimed in surprise.

“I'm sorry,” Valerie shrieked, the bag thumping behind her. “I can't talk now.” She didn't stop, even though Marilyn called to her again and attempted to follow. She just kept walking until she was outside, loading the bag into the trunk. Once she was back home, she barricaded herself in the bedroom.

Within an hour, her aunt showed up at the door.

“I'm sorry about what happened earlier,” Valerie said as they settled in the living room. “I've been under a lot of stress lately and, at this point, my mother's getting to me.”

“Your mother told me that you and your husband are having problems,” Marilyn said.

Valerie frowned. Even though Jasmine had said it might be a good idea, she still did not want to discuss Aaron with her aunt. “It's nothing.” She gestured flippantly. “You shouldn't take anything my mother says seriously. She's in her own world most of the time anyway, and, even before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, she's never shown any interest in what goes on with me.”

“Valerie.” Marilyn cleared her throat and looked disturbed. “I know my sister's always been a little…er, odd, but in her way she really does care about you, and your brother, too. I hope you don't get so angry that you stop visiting her.”

This was the first time Valerie had ever recalled her aunt admitting that Ruth Ann was odd before the Alzheimer's diagnosis. “I wish I could stop visiting. I don't get my mother, and I've never gotten her. You say she cares about us in her way, but I don't understand what that way is. When my father was alive, she always depended on him to solve all her problems and ours. She never gave any input at all.”

“There were things that happened to your mother long before you were born that made her that way,” Marilyn said.

“We all have our stuff,” Valerie said coldly, her mind ricocheting back to Aaron. “Just because our past lives may have been troubled doesn't mean we completely shut down and ignore the present.”

“That's true,” Marilyn said, “but your mother—”

“It's always about my mother, isn't it?” She stood up abruptly and went to stare out the window at the afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. “Yes, Aaron and I are having some issues. I certainly didn't expect any advice from her, but when I got there to pick up her laundry, she kept on prying into my personal life, as if she really was concerned, and then when I finally gave in and sort of asked her what I could do, she told me to ask my dead father.” Valerie laughed. “She's been saying that since I was born. She still thinks he's alive.”

“You have a right to be upset,” Marilyn said slowly. “But I'm trying to tell you something that you need to know. It's a secret that's been kept way too long. I'm sure your father would have told you at some point, but he died before he had the opportunity.” She hesitated for a moment and then continued slowly. “Something very traumatic happened to your mother, way before you were born. It was a crime.”

Valerie felt a paralyzing numbness creep silently into her bones as she tried to imagine just what that crime might have been.

“I'm telling you this only because I don't want you to hate your mother the way I hated my own mother,” Marilyn said, her voice shifting into a trancelike monotone that masked emotion. “When Ruth Ann and I were very young, our father and mother lived in a nice rented house in Washington, DC, where our father worked for the railroad. He was saving to buy the house, but then he died in a train accident. My mother didn't even attempt to try any other options, just dragged Ruth and me back to Blue Heron, South Carolina, where she and her mother before her had lived—back to the Sumner estate to work as a maid for the wealthy Sumner family. Ruth Ann and I were five and seven years old and we lived in a tiny run-down cottage on their property—little more than slave quarters, actually.”

“I know about that part,” Valerie said.

Marilyn ignored her comment. “Joseph and Marianne Sumner had two teenage sons and three younger daughters who were around our ages. The family owned a lot of property, as well as the big paper mill where almost everyone in the town worked. Our mother worshipped the ground those people walked on. She would literally die for them. She loved them and their children more than she loved us.”

I don't care about my crazy grandmother and the Sumners' lofty assets,
Valerie thought, struggling to keep her mouth shut so her aunt would get to the point sooner. The only thing she could focus on was the mystery of the crime that had allegedly been committed against her mother. She dreaded hearing it, but at the same time she needed to.

“And?” She looked uncertainly at her aunt who had hesitated.

“Ruth Ann and I were always close, even though our personalities were opposites. I was the wild one,” Marilyn said. “When we were little, my mother made us work with her around the Sumner estate, and we always had to say ‘yes ma'am' and ‘no ma'am' to the adults and, even worse, we had to call their children Miss and Master so-and-so.” Marilyn flinched at the memory. “We had no childhood at all. When we weren't working or in school, we were in church. All our clothes and toys were hand-me-downs from the Sumner kids, who were like royalty. That was not the kind of life I wanted.”

“Aunt Marilyn, what happened to my mother?” Valerie demanded, turning away from the window, pacing across the floor.

“Hold on. I'm getting there. By the time I was around twelve or thirteen, I started defying my mother, sneaking out of the house, hanging out with bad kids, running all over the place. When my mother's older cousin, Arleen, came from New York State to visit us, my mother convinced her to take me back with her to live. Ruth Ann wanted to go, too, but my mother wouldn't let her. I felt bad that we were separated, but it was the best thing that ever happened to me and the worst thing for her.”

“Would your cousin have taken both of you?” Valerie asked.

“Yes, but my mother wouldn't part with her because Ruth Ann was this nice, sweet, obedient girl who never got into trouble and never openly defied her. She did have flaws, though. She was so pretty that grown men, black and white, would literally stop in the street to gape at her when she passed by. Some women might think beauty would be an asset, but it was more of a curse to her because she was extremely shy and she didn't know how to deal with the unwanted attention. She…she was absolutely terrified of people. When we were going to school, I was her only friend, and I was the one who always had to speak up for her and fight her battles. It wasn't that she was simple-minded or anything, she got better grades in school than I did. She was just extremely shy.”

Valerie sensed exactly where this nightmare tale was heading, and she exhaled loudly.

“When Ruth Ann graduated from high school, college wasn't even in the equation and she couldn't get a job on the outside because she didn't know how to relate to people, so my mother forced her to work as a domestic for Logan, the Sumners' oldest, married son. This was in the sixties, so there wasn't much else for a black woman to do in a small town.

“Well, Ruth Ann told me she was alone in the parlor dusting one morning, when Logan came in. She said he was acting really strange and she tried to leave, but he came after her. She said she fought him, but he overpowered her and…and he raped her.”

Valerie's blood ran cold and her throat went dry, even though she had prepared herself for just that revelation. “Lo…Logan Sumner?” she stammered. “Isn't he a congressman or senator?”

A long silence ensued. “Yes,” her aunt finally said. “Yes, he is a senator now.”

“Was he arrested?” Valerie asked, knowing exactly what the answer would be.

“No. He was never even formally accused of the crime. There was no justice for a black woman then, and Ruth Ann knew it. She didn't tell anyone the day it happened, but she quit the job, stopped talking completely, and refused to leave the cottage. The truth probably would have never gotten out if she hadn't become pregnant. When our mother found out, she said it was Ruth's fault. She accused her of being promiscuous and leading Logan on. She defended that rapist even though she knew her daughter had never flirted in her life. She kicked Ruth Ann out of the house and said she never wanted to see her again.”

“Oh, my God.” Valerie stood still, hands balled into fists. “No wonder you hated her. I can't stand her, either, and I'm glad we never met. How could she treat her own daughter that way?” The question was rhetorical, and, even if Marilyn had replied, the information wouldn't have registered. “What did my mother do?”

“She called me,” Marilyn said. “I went down to get her and she came to live with me in Newburgh. By that time I was on my own, renting an apartment and working in a sewing factory.”

“And what happened to the baby? Did she…?”

“He was born. The baby was Greg.”

Valerie gasped. “Then my…my father wasn't Greg's biological—”

“Your father adopted him as his own,” Marilyn interrupted. “Joel was like an angel. He came into your mother's life at the right time. She was living with me and refusing to leave the house because she was so traumatized. After the baby was born, I had to take care of him, since Ruth Ann was so removed from reality that she was incapable of doing it. Joel was the one who was able to bring her out of her depression. Sort of.”

Valerie returned to the couch and sat down heavily. She didn't want to believe what she'd heard, but it was too dreadfully detailed to be a fabrication and it also explained a lot of things. No wonder she and Greg looked nothing alike—why he looked Caucasian.

“Does Greg know this?”

“Yes. Joel believed he had a right to know the truth and he told him when he was eighteen.”

That explained another thing—the reason for Greg's anger, why he'd cut himself off from the family for five years. She shook her head as if to clear it.

“Greg knows about the circumstances of his birth, but Joel couldn't bring himself to tell him exactly who his biological father was,” Marilyn said slowly. “I don't think it would be a good idea for you to tell him, either.”

“Tell him? I'm speechless. What an awful story. And…and to think Logan Sumner got away with violating my mother and now is a state senator.”

Marilyn sighed. “Life can be cruel, as I'm sure you already know, but that happened over forty years ago, and you have to let it go. I've managed to put my anger aside because I know, even when crimes seemingly go unpunished, God is watching and He will repay. Logan Sumner may be a respected state senator now, but he's had some tragic family issues over the years, including a son who died from a drug overdose and a daughter who died from leukemia.”

Let it go. Let it go.
The words echoed in Valerie's head. Obviously her emotionally fragile mother never had, but despite everything she'd managed to eke out some semblance of a life. “Since my mother was so…so traumatized, how did she ever get together with my father?”

“Joel's family owned the apartment building where I was renting,” Marilyn said. “When he came home from the war he worked with his father for a while, maintaining the building, and that's how he got to meet your mother. It was love at first sight. He didn't care what her issues were, and he simply refused to give up on her. You should have seen them. He was so kind and gentle. He brought her flowers every day and talked to her, even though she didn't always respond. He took time with Greg and treated him like his own son. I'm sure your father's told you some of those family stories.”

“Yes.” Valerie still felt numb, but she now realized fully how her father had come to be her mother's knight and protector.

“After they were married, Ruth Ann was terrified of having more children,” Marilyn continued. “But Joel wanted at least one biological child, and somehow he convinced her to have you. He took on all the responsibility for both you and Greg because my sister couldn't. It was an agreement they had. She loved you, but she was afraid if she got involved, she'd contaminate you in some way, that you'd end up as emotionally crippled as she was.”

“That's ridiculous. I mean, I do understand how she came to feel that way, but I doubt very much that I would have been
contaminated.”
Valerie made direct eye contact. “Didn't it ever occur to anyone that my mother should have been seeing a therapist?”

“Therapy wasn't the first thing people—especially black people—availed themselves of back then. In the later years, your father did discuss the idea with her, but she never cooperated, and by then they had adjusted to using a higher power to help. They relied on God. Their lives were far from perfect, but they managed okay. And both of their children turned out well.”

“I…I wish I had known,” Valerie murmured, feeling emotionally drained. She still couldn't completely expel her resentment over the lack of relationship with her mother, but now the resentment could be blamed on circumstances and not the person.

Marilyn reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace. “That was so difficult. I hated telling you this, but we can't just abandon my sister. We're family.”

Valerie found a degree of solace in her aunt's embrace. “I was angry, and I suppose somewhat hormonal when I ran out of the nursing home, but I doubt I'd ever completely abandon her.”

Marilyn sighed. “I didn't want to think that you would, either, but since my sister hasn't really been much of a mother to you, I was afraid at some point that you might retaliate.”

“Can't say that I haven't been tempted, but good families don't just abandon each other,” Valerie said sadly, thinking about Aaron. Why couldn't he include that in his code of honor?

As if picking up on her unspoken vibe, Marilyn said, “It's very strange, but I think your mother sees some of the qualities in Aaron that she saw in Joel. I can't offer any marital advice because you won't discuss him with me, but there is something you need to consider.”

“What?”

“When your mother told you to ask your father, maybe she wasn't talking about Joel.”