Twisted Tales (25 page)

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Authors: Brandon Massey

BOOK: Twisted Tales
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“He’ll be okay,” Mom said, softly. “He just misses you, that’s all. You’ve been working a lot lately.”
“Let him stay up until I get home,” Tonya said.
“But you won’t get in until past his bedtime.”
“I know that, Mom. But letting him stay up later, this one time, won’t hurt him. It’s more important that he sees me tonight.”
“All right, then,” Mom said. “But he might fall asleep before you get here.”
“Maybe so. Let me talk to him again, please.”
Sniffling, Aaron came on the phone. “You coming home, Mommy?”
“Mommy will be there to tuck you in tonight,” she said. “That’s a promise, okay, sweetheart?”
He immediately stopped sniffling. “’kay.”
“I love you, Aaron.”
“Love you, too.”
Then her son spoke three words that echoed in Tonya’s thoughts for hours afterward:
“
Be careful, Mommy.”
 
Tonya was hard at work for the next few hours. Benita refused to work overtime—she claimed she had a date that night, which was probably a lie—so Tonya was able to labor without distraction. When the pizzas arrived, Roger strolling around magnanimously, announcing their arrival as if he was treating them to filet mignon and lobster, Tonya declined and kept working. She was determined to get out of there at eight o’clock and be home to tuck in her son at ten. Children took promises seriously, and if she failed to come through for Aaron, he would remember it for a long time and resent her for it.
“Working late?” a familiar deep voice from above her suddenly asked.
Tonya was so shocked to hear a voice that she almost screamed. She’d been working in solitude for over an hour.
The brother from the shipping department leaned against the cubicle wall, peering down at her. He smiled.
He had a nice smile. His teeth were straight and white. But that clench in her gut returned.
“You scared the mess out of me,” she said.
“My bad,” he said. He juggled a tube of glue in one hand. “I was on my way downstairs and saw you typing away ... thought I’d drop by to introduce myself. My name is Jamal. It’s nice to meet you, Tonya Washington.”
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s right there.” Capturing the glue in midair, he pointed at the nameplate affixed to the outer wall of her cubicle. “Tonya Washington. Sounds like the name of an actress.”
“Oh, well, yeah.” She laughed, ran her fingers through her hair. Why did this man make her so uncomfortable?
Jamal fixed her with a steady gaze. She knew, then, why he bothered her. It was the look in his eyes. He was intense, overly so. She liked serious brothers, didn’t go for the comedian type, but Jamal’s piercing stare was disconcerting. It was as though he was trying to peel away the vital layers of her—body, mind, and soul—with his eyes.
She squirmed in her chair. She wished he would walk away.
“How long have you been working here?” he asked.
Maybe if she acted busy, he would get the hint.
She swiveled to her computer and started typing. “About eight months.”
“That right?” He sounded conversational, not at all ready to leave. “How do you like it?”
She continued to type. “Hmmm?”
“How do you like working here?”
“Oh. It’s okay.”
“Yeah, I’ve been here about three weeks. I’ve seen you around a few times. Finally got the nerve tonight to come up to you and chat.”
He wasn’t making it easy for her. It had to be obvious to him that she wasn’t interested in talking. But he seemed to be one of those persistent men who didn’t readily take no for an answer.
“Well, I’m pretty busy here, Jamal,” she finally said. She softened her words with a brief smile. If you were too rude to men like him they were liable to go off on you—call you a bitch and cause a nasty scene. She couldn’t afford to let that happen here.
“I’m supposed to be working, too,” he said. He grinned, as if they were involved in a conspiracy together. “So you take the train home to ... Zion?”
“Excuse me?” She stopped typing. “How’d you know that?”
He shrugged. “There’s a train schedule on your wall there. I saw that you’d circled the Zion arrival times and figured that was where you laid your head.”
Had this man been studying her desk while she was away? She didn’t like this at all.
“That’s because I used to live in Zion,” she said, and wondered why she was lying. “I recently moved to the city.”
“Yeah? Whereabouts?”
“Southside.”
His eyes brightened. “I grew up on the Southside, Evergreen Park. Where you livin’?”
Shit, why did I have to say that? He’s going to know I’m lying if I can’t tell him which neighborhood.
As she was trying to think of a credible answer, Roger approached her desk.
“Hey, Tonya. We’re having a quick powwow in the conference room down the hall. Please sit in.”
“Okay, Roger. Be right there.” She wanted to kiss Roger for saving her.
She looked at Jamal. “Sorry, gotta go.”
“Take care, sister. We’ll talk again soon.”
I hope not,
Tonya thought.
She felt his unwavering gaze on her as she walked away down the corridor. Blessed with a shapely, sista-girl booty, and a hip-swinging stroll that men liked—her ex told her that she walked like a runway model—she downplayed her walk to a slow shuffle, to minimize her assets. She didn’t want Jamal to think she was flirting with him.
When she reached the conference room doorway, she glanced over her shoulder.
Jamal was still watching her.
 
When the team meeting ended fifteen minutes later, Tonya was relieved to see that Jamal had left. Worried that he was going to hang around her desk until she returned, she’d barely heard a word exchanged during the department discussion.
She found a Post-it note attached to her keyboard. She read it; the message was written in tightly packed cursive.
“Hyde Park would have been a good answer.”
There was a smiley face sketched underneath the sentence.
Jamal had written the note, she realized. And it was clear: he had known that she was lying about living in Chicago.
Okay, so what?
She thought.
I don’t know him. I don’t have to tell him where I live. It’s none of his damn business.
But the cautious part of her replayed her mother’s warning about crazy folk in the city, and the danger of being a young woman traveling home at night, alone.
Be careful, Mommy.
She exhaled. She was overreacting. Jamal wasn’t dangerous. He was just a brother eager to get to know her. He had a keen stare that made her a bit uneasy, but that didn’t mean he was a serial killer.
“So relax,” she muttered to herself.
She crumpled the note and tossed it in the wastebasket.
 
Promptly at eight o’clock, Tonya logged off her computer. She slipped on her snow boots, coat, hat, and gloves, knotted her scarf around her neck, slung her purse over her shoulder, and walked out of the office with purposeful strides. She had about thirty minutes to get to the train station on Canal and Madison streets. She had plenty of time since the station was only five blocks away, but when you were in the city, you moved with purpose, as if you had somewhere important to go and not a lot of time to get there. She loved the city’s energy. It was contagious.
Snow had been falling all day, and it had stuck; as the temperature dropped, the snow hardened into an icy crust. Taxis, cars, and buses rushed by, their tires rolling through dirty slush. Harried pedestrians strode along the sidewalks, snow crunching under their heels, frosty clouds billowing from their mouths. The infamous “hawk”—a frigid wind blowing off Lake Michigan—gusted down the city streets, howling and biting, forcing Tonya to pull her gloves more snugly on her hands and yank her hat down over her head to protect her tender ears.
She loved the city, but hated the winters.
She reached the station with fifteen minutes to spare, and headed into a Starbucks. A knot of people milled inside, snow melting off their shoes as they waited for their beverages. She purchased a Caramel Macchiato and carried it to the condiment bar to add a spoonful of sugar.
As she stood there stirring the drink, she saw Jamal walk past the coffee shop. He wore a black quilted bubble jacket and a black scully cap. She saw only his profile, but she was sure it was him. She felt it in her gut.
So what if it is him? Maybe he takes the train home, too, Tonya. That’s common for people who live in the city, you know.
But the careful side of her wondered if it was a bit too coincidental that he would happen to be in the train station at the same time as her. He probably knew when she was going home, and the train she would board, too. He’d read the schedule posted near her desk.
Without looking in her direction, Jamal vanished into the streaming crowd. She sighed.
I’m getting paranoid.
The paper cup of Caramel Macchiato was warm, but the warmth didn’t transfer to her palm. Her hand was clammy, as if dipped in ice water.
Her cell phone rang—a ring tone from the Gwen Stefani song “Hollaback Girl.” Tonya had downloaded the ring tone a year ago because she thought it was funny, and she hadn’t changed it since.
She dug the phone out of her purse. Her mother was calling.
“You about to board the train?” Mom asked.
“Yes, I’m at the station now.”
“You okay? You sound funny.”
She never had been able to fool her mother. Her mom had a nose for sniffing out her emotional states.
No, Mom, I’m not okay at all. Matter of fact, I’m feeling kinda paranoid about this guy I met at work. I think he’s following me ...
“I’m fine, Mom,” she said. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“All right, I was only making sure.” Her mother sounded skeptical.
“How’s my baby?” Tonya asked.
“He’s fine. I can tell he’s getting tired, but he’s got his little mind set on staying up till you get home.”
“I’ll be there soon.” Tonya checked the time. “I gotta go. The train’s about to start boarding.”
But her mother didn’t hang up. “You want me to pick you up from the train station?”
“That’s not necessary. My car is there.”
“It’ll be buried under six inches of snow,” Mom said. She sighed heavily. “I hate the idea of you being out there at night scraping ice off the car.”
“Mom, I really have to go. Stop worrying about me, okay? I’m almost thirty years old.”
“I know. But you’ll always be my baby.”
There was no way to respond to that, so Tonya assured her again that she would be fine, told her good-bye, and hurried to board the train.
 
The Metra/Union Pacific North line ran every hour from Chicago to Kenosha, Wisconsin, making twenty-five stops in between. It was a double-decker train, with several cars. At peak times, it could be quite crowded, passengers seated shoulder to shoulder and even standing up holding the hand straps. But when Tonya boarded at eight thirty-five, there were a lot of empty seats.
She found a seat in the corner, on the lower level. There were only a handful of other passengers sharing the compartment with her: a couple of businessmen dressed in trench coats, reading newspapers, a college-age girl with a backpack, and two young women laden with shopping bags from stores on State Street.
No dirty old men. No Jamal. He was undoubtedly sitting on a southbound train on his way to Evergreen Park or wherever the hell he lived.
The conductor announced their departure. The train expelled a blast of air as the brakes disengaged, and began to roll away down the tracks.
In retrospect, Tonya was not convinced that she had really seen Jamal at the train station. She had thought it was him, but as she had glimpsed only his profile, it could have been another man. All black people didn’t look alike, but some of them looked damn similar.
It doesn’t matter,
she thought.
All that matters is that I’m finally going home.
She couldn’t wait to see Aaron. She hoped he had managed to stay awake.
She slid her iPod out of her bag, popped in the ear buds, and turned on the player. Then she pulled out the latest issue of
Essence,
and began to read to the soulful sounds of Will Downing.
As the train wound its way through the dark, ice-mantled northern suburbs, the conductor passed through the car to punch their tickets, and then passengers began to disembark. One of the businessmen got off in Evanston. The two shopaholic women detrained in Wilmette. College girl left at Glencoe. The other businessman exited at Highland Park.

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