Forgive Me (10 page)

Today, she handed out assignments to each student. She waved to Mr. Wilson, who joined them in the recreation room later than expected.

“Onnie, thanks for getting everyone started. Flat tire. I had to get a new one before I could get here,” he said.

Aunjanue smiled at him, glad he'd ditched his suit and tie for casual attire. If she could have a big brother, it would be Caleb Wilson. His vast knowledge of art captivated her and made her want to succeed in her endeavors. Her classmates giggled like little girls when he came near. He channeled his artsy side today with a crocheted skullcap pulled close to his ears. When he smiled back at her, his five o'clock shadow framed his angular cheeks perfectly. His chocolate skin, medium build, and easy stride fit his six-three build. His tie-dyed T-shirt and khaki pants made him look more like a student than a teacher. Her classmate, Wendy, had the nerve to say that he was sexy. The statement made her recoil. Aunjanue saw him as an old man, and wondered what teenage girl would think a thirty-two-year-old man was sexy.

“You're welcome. Everyone knows the person they'll be drawing. Of course, I'm with Ms. Maggie. She's calm today, so I should have her chalks completed before we leave.”

Mr. Wilson faced the students and said, “Thanks for giving up this Saturday. You have no idea how much this means to the senior citizens in this facility. Some of them have no relatives or friends, so spending time with them is community service for you and a great gift to them.”

They nodded and looked at the room numbers and names they'd been given.

Aunjanue addressed her classmates. “The seniors are expecting us, but we don't want to wear them out. Let's plan to be back here within two hours,” she said. “Will anyone else need more than two hours to finish their drawings?”

No one protested, and they filed out of the room to their respective adoptees. Mr. Wilson fell in stride with Aunjanue as she headed to Mrs. Ransom's room.

Mrs. Maggie Ransom, Majestic's most colorful resident, spent her mornings and most evenings in the TV room of the facility. She told anyone who would listen that her children lived in Detroit, but they were coming to get her soon and take her home. She called their names intermittently, the sons first, followed by her daughters. She chose Aunjanue to do her drawings. Ravaged by the onset of Alzheimer's, Ms. Mag, as the staff nicknamed her, called out to Aunjanue the first time she saw her. “Come here, Felicia, and bring me a cookie!” Soon, Aunjanue learned Ms. Mag had a daughter named Felicia. Ms. Mag had twelve children, in fact. Some were deceased; others chose to keep their distance. The first conversation they shared was a hodgepodge of Ms. Mag singing, reminiscing about the past, and chiding Aunjanue to look in the shoebox beneath her bed. Majestic Acres encouraged interaction between the students and patients, but they were neither to accept gifts from the residents nor to bring items to them. Aunjanue always managed to stave off the shoebox request, afraid Ms. Mag might offer something family members wanted to remain with relatives.

She stood at Ms. Mag's doorway with Mr. Wilson. Ms. Mag sat in a green leather chair, the embodiment of the old adage: “Good black don't crack.” Her blemish free, rich, dark skin could put an African mask to shame. Her housecoat and comfy slippers were covered by a quilt draped across her lap. She'd received her weekly
hairdo from one of the CNAs. Her salt-and-pepper plaits hung past her shoulders and had colored rubber bands tied at the ends. She leaned over to place a jar of peppermints on her nightstand. She focused her attention on the doorway and said, “Felicia, what are you and your husband doing here?”

Aunjanue looked at Mr. Wilson and winked. He bowed his head in agreement. “We came to see you today to draw your picture. Don't you remember I told you I was coming back to capture your beauty?”

She took a seat across from Ms. Mag as Mr. Wilson sat on the bed.

“Felicia, you're going to have to do more than draw a picture to capture my beauty, fine as I am,” said Ms. Mag.

She focused her gaze on Mr. Wilson. “I'm finer than cat hair and cleaner than the board of health,” said Ms. Mag.

Mr. Wilson laughed before regaining his composure.

“Are you laughing at me, Henry?”

“No, ma'am. I didn't expect you to be in a joking mood today,” said Mr. Wilson.

“I never liked your husband, Felicia. He's handsome as all get out, but he's not the one for you. You're gonna see what I mean one day,” said Ms. Mag. She folded the quilt and placed it at the foot of her bed. Her private room was a luxury her children gifted her when she moved in.

Aunjanue averted her eyes from her teacher, afraid looking at him would make her laugh also. She pulled up the matching green leather chair and removed items from her sketch bag. She flipped the pad to the drawing she started the last time she visited Ms. Mag.

“When do you all leave for Detroit?” Ms. Mag asked.

“We go back on Monday,” said Aunjanue. She sketched Ms.
Mag's face with care, paying careful attention to her hooked nose and glassy eyes. She wanted to make sure she captured her as she was in that moment. She also planned to sketch a younger version of Ms. Mag. She would ask the director of the facility for help with that feat.

“When do you plan on giving Felicia some children, Henry? I'll be too old to hold my grandbabies soon,” Ms. Mag said to Mr. Wilson. She laced her arthritic fingers together and waited for an answer.

“Ms. Mag, I've been working so much that we haven't had time to make children,” he said.

“Well, it's good you're working. You have to hold on to a job in this day and time,” said Ms. Mag. She yawned, drifting off to sleep as Aunjanue framed her eyebrows.

“Does she always call you Felicia?” he whispered.

“Most times. I come to visit her often, and she shares so many stories about her childhood and her children. I wish they'd visit her sometimes.”

“She has you, so that's what matters,” he said in a low tone.

They sat quietly, watching Ms. Mag's chest rise and fall. Aunjanue sketched the photo of her, pleased Ms. Mag would have a replica of herself, even if she didn't know it. As she framed Ms. Mag's lips, the elderly woman roused, looked at Aunjanue and said, “Don't you trust Henry, Felicia.”

J
ames circled the street once more to make sure he had the right address. He dedicated this Saturday to spend time with Jeremiah and to check out the property his mentor, Isaak Benford, allowed him to live in during his stint in Georgia. Isaak, the catalyst for James's business success, offered the property when he found out he'd returned to Georgia to reconcile with his ex-wife. James's chance meeting with Isaak's wife, Katrina, started a partnership surpassing mentor-mentee status. James considered Isaak a friend, and he appreciated his support. Isaak, owner of the real estate investment company, Benford and Associates, owned and rehabbed properties around the country. When James told him he was staying in the central Georgia area, Isaak had his cleaning team prepare a house he'd recently purchased in Augusta. His corporate partnership with Cort Furniture enabled him to fully furnish the house. James looked at the address he'd received from Isaak's text again and pulled into the driveway.

“This house is nice,” Jeremiah said. This was the most enthusiasm he'd shown since James's return to Georgia.

James dialed Isaak's number. Isaak answered on the first ring.

“Did you find the property, Boss Man?”

“Found it. We haven't gone in yet, but I had no idea the house would be this huge. I don't know if I can repay you for this one, Ike. I'm speechless,” said James.

“I'm waiting on a call from Mitch about some of his friends who own barbershops on Wrightsboro Road. I know you're used to having your own barbering space, but he'll hook you up so you can push your products and do some hair. If he doesn't contact me, I'm sure he'll reach out to you.” Isaak paused. “How is Aruba doing?”

James looked at Jeremiah. “Sit here while I go around back, Lil Man.” Jeremiah frowned and crossed his arms. “I'll be right back.”

James stepped out the car and walked around back. He loved Georgia weather; it never got Midwest cold and remained in the high 70s throughout the early fall. James ran his fingers through his hair and stood near the grill on the deck.

“It's one day at a time, Ike. She's under psychiatric care and taking Lexapro. She's not talking much, but the fact that she's talking is progress.”

“Has your mother-out-law gotten better?”

“Outlaw sums it up! Man, this is a short conversation. It would take all day to discuss that foolishness. She's softened enough that we're taking turns getting Aruba to the doctor, but she's still not happy I'm here.”

“Keep me posted and let me know if you need anything else.” Background noise interrupted the conversation. “Katrina said hello.”

“Tell her I said hi,” said James. Jeremiah joined James on the deck with Edmund's Barbecue and Catering bags and a drink holder.

“I'm hungry,” Jeremiah whispered.

“Ike, I've got to go. I'll call you once I inspect the house.”

“Please do. And James, I mean it when I say that you're in our thoughts and prayers.”

“Thanks, Ike.”

James ended the call. He gave Jeremiah the key and instructed
him to open the front door as well as the patio door once inside. He appreciated his in-laws for raising his son since the divorce, but James felt a stronger sense of responsibility in raising his son. Winston Faulk, Jeremiah's stepfather, didn't live long enough to make an impact in his life, and he'd be damned if another man would step in and raise his son. He'd opened up to Shandy about leaving Jeremiah at the daycare and home alone, but he was a changed man. He would show Darnella, Lance, and Jeremiah he could lead his family. He'd gotten his financial house in order, curbed his appetite for women, and he was committed to being a visible presence in his son's life.

“Come sit at the table with me,” said Jeremiah, slicing through James's thoughts. He stood at the patio door gesturing for his father to join him for barbecue.

James walked into the kitchen area. In his wildest dreams, he would have never imagined making the connections he'd made over the last five years. Not only had Isaak provided a place for him to stay, Mitchell Coleman, his salon contact, texted several numbers of other salon owners in the area. He sat down across from Jeremiah, removed food from the bags, and said, “Lil Man, check the fridge to see if we have any ice.”

Jeremiah sat, his wooden stance apparent to James. “Son, did you hear me?”

“My name is Jeremiah, not Lil Man. Grandma Nella and Great- grandma Maxie call me Jerry. No one calls me Lil Man, though. That's a baby name, and I'll be ten soon. Besides, Great-grandma Maxie said it's thuggish.”

“Jerry it is, Son. I was so used to calling you that when you were younger. It's a force of habit. Sorry.”

Jeremiah checked the freezer for ice. Surprised that food filled
both sides of the double doors in abundance, he turned to James. “I thought no one lived here.”

“This is my place for a while, Son. I moved back to help out with your mom until she gets better.”

“What happened to the lady you lived with in Indiana? Grandma Nella said that Mom did all the hard work and Shan reaped the benefits.”

James hadn't anticipated blows so early. He planned to ease back into the relationship with his son little by little. He wasn't prepared to answer adult questions with a nine-year-old, but now was better than later.

“What else did your grandmother say?”

“I'm not supposed to share this because I overheard her talking to her friend, Ms. Ann, but she said Mom would have never been in California with Dr. Faulk if it wasn't for you.”

James's jaw tightened. He watched Jeremiah rip open a packet of hot sauce and pour it on his pulled pork sandwich. He let Jeremiah chew his food and have a swig of lemonade before he resumed his questions.

“How do you feel about things, Jerry?”

Jeremiah shrugged. He looked James in the eye for the first time. He'd avoided contact with his father since he arrived from Indiana. Looking at him now, he missed the times they'd play in the front yard, or when James took him for ice cream or to the park. His grandmother said he imagined those incidents, but he remembered them as if they had happened yesterday.

“I wish you and Mom could get back together now, but it's too late. She's sick. You have another woman, and she lost everything after Dr. Faulk died.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We had a big house when we first moved to California. But Dr. Faulk got sicker, and Mom and the nurses had to bathe him and take care of him. We wound up in an apartment and had to put our stuff in storage. I don't want her to be hurt by another man. She should stay single.”