After Hours (20 page)

“I wanted to be adopted so badly, I ached every night. I pretended that I didn’t care, but inside each passing day was like a penknife of pain. I wanted someone to choose me, to love me. I didn't care who--race, age, gender, I didn’t care. I just wanted
someone
to want me. But no one ever did. I remember the looks from prospective parents as they glanced at me then passed by. I would dream of someone reaching out their hand to me and telling me that we were going home.

“I followed all the rules and was good and smart, but it didn’t work. So I gave up. I didn't want to feel left out in the cold again. Rejected and tossed aside. I learned that wanting something that badly hurt too much. Sometimes it still does, and it hurts, because in quiet moments, I can still see that girl standing at the window staring out wondering Why not me? Why doesn't anybody want me?

“Curtis, as awful as things may seem, you have a family who wants you. They may have turned you away once, but not now.”

“You weren’t tossed aside.”

Amera blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re using the wrong words,” he said tenderly holding her gaze. “You weren’t rejected or tossed aside. You’re not an item or piece of junk that could be disposed of. You didn’t get adopted because nobody was worthy of you.”

She shook her head. “I’m not as worthy as you think. There’s a lot of pain in this house and so many lies. I’d wanted to do something for you, but that’s no excuse for causing you such pain. You’ve been lied to, but I’m the biggest liar of all. I’m not--”

He kissed her, then whispered against her lips. “No, not now.”

“But--”

He kept his voice low, his gaze intense. “Whatever you have to tell me, tell me at home. Not here.”

Camille touched her sleeve. “Amera, you have a home here if you want.”

Kyle nodded in agreement. “It’s not much, but it’s something, right?”

“Is anybody still interested in dinner?” Heidi called out.

They ate, but nobody enjoyed the food. Forty minutes later, Amera and Curtis were heading home.

“What did you want this visit to be?” Curtis finally asked, breaking the silence.

Amera shook her head. “It’s all silly now.”

“Tell me.”

“I wanted those things you mentioned.”

“Sitting by the fire, cookies and all that?”

She nodded.

“Okay, then that’s what we’ll do.”

And he made good on his word. Christmas morning he surprised her by serving breakfast in bed--Swedish pancakes with fresh strawberries and blueberries and a helping of whipped cream, before exchanging gifts. That evening after they indulged in a sumptuous seven-course meal, including chocolate truffles, they sat by the fire, eating gingerbread cookies and listening to the sound of silver bells on two large speakers.

“Two,” Curtis said staring at the flame.

“Two what?” Amera asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I can see us with two kids.”

Amera smiled. “A boy and a girl?”

He shrugged. “As long as they’re healthy, I don’t care.”

She turned to him surprised. “Really? I thought you’d want two boys.”

Curtis gripped his hand into a fist then relaxed it. “The only thing I want is to be a better father than my own.”

“You will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re already a better man.”

His sharp gaze caught and held hers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. Your father doesn’t care about anyone, but you do. Even though you pretend not to.” She lowered her eyes and sighed. As they sat on the couch with the lights dimmed and the fireplace aglow, Amera remembered the hotel room she’d set up for his proposal to Crystal. That evening hadn’t ended well and she knew this one wouldn’t either. She had to tell him the truth and face the consequences rather than have her heart broken when his memory returned. “There’s something you should know--”

“Tell me tomorrow,” he said then covered her mouth with his.

***

If only he could remember.
Curtis lay in bed beside Amera, desperately searching his mind for clues. She was going to tell him the truth soon and he wanted to be ahead of her. But he couldn’t move forward without knowing why the image of the umbrella haunted him. Who was the face he’d seen? He’d looked through several pictures and still nothing clicked. Why was his mind betraying him? He swore.

“Curtis?” Amera said.

“Did I wake you?”

“I wasn’t asleep. What’s wrong?”

He sat up. “Let me see the video of the dancing girl again.”

“The dancing girl?”

“Yes, the one who gave me the beads.”

“You’re thinking of her now?” Amera said with a slight laugh. “We have this beautiful moment and you’re thinking of her.” She retrieved her cell phone then turned on the video. “Happy now?”

No. He was missing something. “Do you have more images from this place?”

“Yes, I have another video and--”

“Show me.”

Amera eagerly got her tablet and showed him the video of Peale House. Curtis watched, remembering his boredom last time, but this time everything mattered--he looked at every room and every face. Then he saw him. One quick shot of a man passing through the hallway clicked. Suddenly, he knew who he’d seen that night.

The cold feel of a gun nozzle pressed to his head was the last thing Vernon expected to have with his morning cup of coffee. He stood out back of Peale House and had been enjoying the crisp late December morning until now.

“I really don’t like when people try to kill me,” a dark voice said.

Vernon swallowed, holding up his hands. “I don’t know--”

“Yes, you do.”

He let his hands fall. “You have no proof.”

“Not of that night, but I have plenty of information about you and this place, that could cost you a few years.”

“What do you want?”

“Was the bullet meant for me or her?”

“Does it matter?”

“Do you think I’d ask you if it didn’t?”

“It was just a warning to scare her off, nothing more. She was to stay away and nobody would get hurt.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Amera kept wanting to look at the books and that made us nervous.”

“That’s why the numbers didn’t work,” Curtis said, more to himself than to Vernon. “You’ve been doing some creative accounting and were afraid she’d eventually find some discrepancies. Right?”

Vernon nodded.

“Although you’ve been serving a large number of immigrants, and have huge donations to Peale House, you’ve been diverting some of the money into your pocket.”

“No one is getting hurt.”

Vernon felt the gun pressed harder. “Give me specifics,” the voice said. “How do you do it?”

“We target individuals who’ve been given asylum, because we know about the money they receive as part of their relocation from the US government, and Peale House qualifies as a ‘pass through’ for this funding. But instead of giving the recipients all that they’re entitled, we skim just forty-per-cent of the payment, because they don’t know the exact amount they should get.” Vernon swore. “There’s so much money, why shouldn’t we get our fair share? You have no idea what we’ve gone through.”

“And you think that gives you the right to defraud your fellow man? People who came to this country just like you.”

“They’re not like us,” Vernon said in an acid tone. “I didn’t get a free handout and neither did Florence. There was no Peale House for us. They swarm over here like flies and feast off our riches.”

Curtis stared at Vernon for a moment, seeing the young man his grandfather must have once been. A new immigrant who’d left his humanity back in a war torn land he’d escaped. He was a fighter, a survivor but somehow greed had eaten his soul. He remembered Amera’s words referring to his father:
He doesn’t care about anyone, but you do. Even though you pretend not to.
He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t care anymore.

“You have two days,” Curtis said, putting his gun away. “If you want to disappear I won’t stop you. But if I see you again, I’m taking you down.”

Minutes later Curtis stood on the other side of the street and looked up at the old building, thinking of the corruption it hid. Millions of dollars made and only a trickle going to the residents inside. He’d have to do something. He pulled out the bracelet he’d kept in his pocket. Maya deserved a better future than this. He glanced up and saw her across the street. She looked at him and her face lit up when she saw the bracelet in his hand. He offered a brief smile and waved, affected by the delight on her face. Without warning she ran into the street.

She didn’t see the car coming and the car didn’t see her.

Dorothy Swartz knew she had no business going into the hospital chapel. She’d stopped practicing the faith of her ancestors years ago and didn’t mind admitting that she liked Christmas music, although she thought the story behind it to be a cute fairy tale. However, that day something drew her to the chapel. Her sister, who was in the hospital recovering from surgery, was improving, but she needed a quiet place to rest.

She saw him the moment she entered. He was alone. A young black man, though at seventy-eight, everyone was starting to look young to her. He was large and fierce looking so she expected to sit down and ignore him. But then she spotted the look of devastation on his face and couldn’t turn away. She’d felt that same devastation when her first husband had died after only three years of marriage and when family members died across Europe from atrocities some still refused to believe. She remembered the pain of loss and wanting to renounce life and how long it had taken her to fight her way back to being whole.

She sat down beside him, compassion overriding a small sense of unease. “Do you need to talk?”

He shook his head.

“Is the news bad?” she asked, relieved that he hadn’t gotten angry.

“They don’t think she’ll survive the night,” he said in a low voice, raw with pain.

“I’m very sorry.”

He rested his arms on the back of the pew in front of him, his dark gaze fixated on the wall ahead. “I’m a fool.”

“Why?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m not supposed to care, it hurts too much.”

“You’d be a fool if you didn’t care, if you didn’t love.” She smiled when he looked at her with suspicion and surprise. “Yes. Cowards and fools are the ones with calluses on their hearts. Love is an act done by the courageous. Face the pain and love anyway. She may not last, but she felt your love and that is a timeless gift beyond measure.”

***

Amera raced into the hospital waiting room, still stunned by the phone call she’d received from Florence. “How is she?” she asked when she saw her friend.

“It’s not good. She’s in a coma.”

Amera fell into a chair then looked up and saw a familiar figure standing by the window. A chill swept through her. He looked like the Curtis of before--cold, lonely, distant. “What is he doing here?”

“He was there. He was by her side right after it happened. One of the attendants said Maya had seen him across the street and ran over to him. That’s when she got hit.”

What had Curtis been doing at Peale House? Was he looking to fund it as she’d hoped? She walked over to him.

“Go ahead and say it,” he said before she could speak.

“Say what?”

“That it’s my fault. That if I hadn’t gone there she wouldn’t have been hit.”

Amera paused, surprised by the fierceness in his tone. “Why would I blame you?”

“Because I blame myself. Every time I try...” He shook his head. “When I was a little boy I wanted to be a superhero and save the world. But my grandfather and father taught me how foolish that was. Every time we flew in an airplane, my grandfather would point out the window and say ‘See the cockroaches? You must always keep your distance from them.’ I learned early keeping your distance also kept you safe. Because it didn’t hurt as much. As a child I came to see that there were just too many problems. You fix one and a million others pop up and there was nothing I could do. Then or now.”

“So you stopped caring.”

“It was easier that way, but now I don’t see cockroaches or rats anymore. I just see faces everywhere. But there’s still nothing I can do.”

“You already did something.”

He turned to her, doubtful. “What?”

“You made her smile. You noticed her out of all the other children. All we want is for someone to say ‘I see you’, ‘you’re not alone.’ I know. I wanted someone to pick me out and look at me, not glance over me, but to really see me and you did that for Maya. Florence told me how she was planning a new dance, just in case I came and visited again.”

“Is that supposed to matter?”

“Yes, you made her happy and that’s priceless.”