Forgive Me (3 page)

Darnella's mind wandered to Winston's funeral eight months ago. His health deteriorated shortly after they'd moved to Los Angeles five years ago. News of his Lou Gehrig's disease took everyone by surprise; he was a noted cardiologist who'd been wooed to Cedars Sinai and was the perfect picture of health. Darnella believed in reaping and sowing, but to see her daughter reap the consequences of her choices was heartbreaking. First, they downsized from a gorgeous mansion to a small townhouse. Afterward, Winston's confinement to a wheelchair left Aruba with no choice but to be his caretaker around the clock. Several nurses came in to assist with his care, but Darnella watched Aruba massage Winston's limbs, adjust his feeding tubes, brush his teeth, and keep his skin bathed and oiled to prevent chafing and bedsores. Jeremiah took a backseat to Winston's care. Two neighbors and their children made sure Jeremiah had playtime, video games, and a loving environment to vent whenever he questioned Aruba's love for him.

Winston succumbed to the disease two days short of their third wedding anniversary. The funeral was a sea of doctors, lawyers, family members, and curiosity seekers. Darnella's shoulders slumped at the memory of Victoria, Winston's ex-wife, rubbing her daughter Nicolette's hair and whispering in her ear as they wept arm-in-arm on the front pew. They both declined a final viewing of Winston's body. Darnella later overheard someone quoting Victoria as saying, “I only want to remember the good times.”

Darnella shooed away those thoughts and refocused her attention on Aruba. Aruba seldom came out of her bedroom, and when she was alert, she picked at her food and stared out the window at the flower gardens in a camisole and panties.

“What a tangled web we weave,” muttered Darnella.

Darnella stared at her watch. She'd give Aruba five more minutes before entering the room.

She headed toward the den and called out, “Lance, is Jeremiah still across the street at Mama's with George's grandchildren?”

Lance, her husband of almost forty years, looked up from the latest issue of
Auto World.
“Yes. I walked over there a few minutes ago and those boys were upset that Maxine had them watching CNN. She only allows one hour of video games, then nonstop CNN
HLN
. After that, you know it's on to reading the
New York Times.”

“If you can play games, you can learn.” They repeated Maxine's words in unison.

Darnella sat next to Lance on the sectional and laced her hands with his.

“Did Aruba eat?” asked Lance.

“Her food is still sitting outside the door. I'll have to reheat it. I didn't want to just barge in, but I'm getting anxious about her behavior.”

“She's been through so much, Nella. I feel bad about how all of this ended.”

“I feel responsible for this. If I hadn't …”

Lance covered her lips with the tips of his fingers before she could rehash
her
past indiscretions.

“Thank you for forgiving me, Lance. I'm so sorry I hurt you.”

“Nella, that was over twenty years ago. We were both young and foolish. I did my dirt, too. Let's move past that time.”

“I can't help wondering if Aruba knew about …”

“Please don't say his name. I'm not defending our daughter, but James wasn't exactly the best husband. She got confused and lost her way.”

Darnella pulled Lance closer. She looked at him and marveled
how good time had been to him. At fifty-nine, he was better-looking now than when they met in high school. He was still “The Towering Wonder,” the nickname he was given as Harlem High School's standout forward. Women were always drawn to his smooth, dark skin, muscular frame, and a smile that made them strike up a conversation just to see his teeth. His eyes had the same mesmerizing effect. The Stanton men were generational legends in the conquest department. She realized why Aruba was so drawn to James. He was like her father in so many ways.

“When is Aruba's next appointment?” Lance asked. He rubbed Darnella's shoulder.

“She has a checkup next Tuesday with her podiatrist in Augusta.”

“You know what I mean.” He stared at her and raised his eyebrows. “You didn't make the appointment, did you?”

Darnella sighed. “She won't agree to seeing a psychiatrist.”

“Nella, this isn't up for debate. She's gone past being in a funk. Something's wrong with our daughter that's beyond our control. She needs to talk to someone. I'm not saying she needs to take medication. I ain't with people taking all these antidepressants anyway, but something has to give. She won't eat or bathe. She barely talks to us, and she acts like Jeremiah isn't even here. I'm tempted to reach out to James for help. At least for Jeremiah's sake.”

“We will do no such thing!” Darnella snapped.

“Nella, that's the man's child.”

Darnella pursed her lips and snatched her arm from Lance's grip. They'd visited Indianapolis last year for Black Expo and were amazed at how successful James's business had become. Make that businesses. As she lay arm-in-arm with Lance at the downtown Hyatt, she wanted to vomit at all the Dixon's Hair Affair
television commercials. He now had four locations. One location doubled as a salon and a barbershop. He had a children's shop that catered to boys and girls; a shop that catered to senior citizens only with press-and-curls, haircuts, and Wednesday Bible studies; and he had opened an all-natural hair salon that very week, which was billed, ‘the curly girl's cure for kinks.' ” Darnella fidgeted for the remote control to turn up the volume when she saw James being interviewed about his meteoric rise to success. Sitting next to him was that bony Shandy Fulton. Darnella watched them finish each other's sentences and discuss how they operated as a team. She rolled her eyes as they rattled off the addresses of the locations.
Aruba should be sitting there,
Darnella muttered under her breath.
He wouldn't be there if it wasn't for our daughter
.
Darnella flipped the channel before Lance could protest. Aruba was wrong for cheating, but his whorish ways played a part in her daughter's actions. Darnella burned over the realization that James was living the high life off the seed her child had planted. Now, Aruba was barely coherent and couldn't enjoy the harvest.

“As far as I'm concerned, James doesn't ever have to see Jerry again,” said Darnella. Her anger rose at the memory of the commercials and the interview.

“James has been reaching out to Jerry since the divorce. Look at how he went to California all those times to see about him.” Lance believed divorce shouldn't equal child abandonment.

Darnella sighed. “We were having a great time until the thought of James got my blood pressure up. It all seems so unfair that he's moved on and is doing well. I don't want to give Jeremiah any false hope.”

Lance nodded in agreement but said, “You should know by now life isn't fair. Besides, who knows what the future holds? I think
they could have a great father-son relationship if you stop blocking him.”

“I suppose you're right. It's taking me more time than I thought to get over this situation. I'll try to be more sensitive, but it feels so…I don't know Lance.”

“Baby, I'm going to check on Aruba. I'll let you sit and stew a spell,” said Lance. He rose and kissed Darnella on her cheek.

Darnella sat back and thought about how inquisitive Jeremiah had been lately. His mood turned somber whenever the boys in the neighborhood had outings with their fathers. They were gracious enough to take Jeremiah along, but he often bounded home with questions like, “When is my daddy coming to see me again?” or “If I joined the soccer or football team, do you think my daddy would fly from Indianapolis to see me?” Darnella didn't have the heart to tell Jeremiah, Lance, or Aruba that James called weekly to check on Little Man, the nickname he'd given Jeremiah when he was younger. She also didn't tell them about the generous checks James mailed to their home so Aruba and Jeremiah would be comfortable. They came like clockwork on Saturday mornings, and like clockwork, she removed those checks from the mailbox, deposited them into a Cubby Bear account she'd established for Jeremiah, and pretended James didn't exist. The only snafu she had experienced with her charade was Jeremiah's uncanny resemblance to James. Jeremiah had received an equal mix of his parents' good looks. His medium-brown complexion, light eyes, mop of curly hair, and natural swagger often made adults and children do a double take. Amy Russell, Jeremiah's classmate who lived two houses down, declared Jeremiah was her boyfriend as she snuck a kiss during a patio cookout. Marshall Washington, owner of The Banana Man Fruit Stand, an organic fruit vendor in the neighborhood,
often asked, “Ain't that boy Ethiopian or Middle Eastern? I know he ain't black.” Darnella always responded nonchalantly, “Does it really matter?”

When she looked at Jeremiah, she prayed a silent prayer that when he grew up, he'd have self-control, wouldn't be easily swayed by women's wiles, and that he'd be a man who worked hard and smart. She picked up the picture of Jeremiah sitting on the coffee table and smiled at her grandson's handsome face. She stroked the photo and caressed Jeremiah's face. She leaned forward to set the photo back.

“Nella, help me!” Lance screamed.

Darnella dropped the photo, shattering glass on the floor. She ran down the hall to Lance. His screams grew louder as she neared Aruba's room.

“Baby, get up. Get up, baby.” Lance hovered over Aruba's slumped body on the left side of the bed.

Darnella darted next to Aruba's body, fell to the floor, and checked her pulse. She called 9-1-1 as Lance commanded Aruba to move.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Please send someone now! I think my daughter is dead.”

V
ictoria strolled arm-in-arm with Emory into The Capital Grille in Buckhead. They had spent so many nights at his house or hers poring over recipes and cooking new items that he insisted they go out on the town tonight. She agreed to The Capital Grille since this was the spot of their first date.

She stood next to Emory's hulking frame and couldn't believe she had actually given another man, not to mention love, a serious chance. It seemed like yesterday she had attended the funeral of her ex-husband, Dr. Winston Faulk, in Los Angeles. She knew she had taken his love and generosity for granted, but she never imagined a
friend
would swoop down and break up their relationship. That
friend,
Aruba Dixon, plotted and schemed until she had her man, a new ring, and an upgraded lifestyle in L.A. But God didn't like ugly, and He wasn't too fond of cute either. Victoria thought of the irony of Winston's Lou Gehrig's diagnosis and how Aruba spent their short-lived marriage taking care of him. She didn't get to enjoy the new lifestyle because most her days were spent in and out of the hospital with Winston. Although the L.A. digs were reconstructed for accessibility, Winston fell victim to a host of infections and was frequently hospitalized. Victoria almost felt sorry for Aruba. Almost.
Serves her right. Backbiting tramp.

As Victoria stood next to Emory, she blocked the memory of
the letter Aruba had written her. In it, she apologized for breaking up her marriage and asked if they could at least be cordial for the sake of her daughter, Nicolette, and Aruba's son, Jeremiah. When Victoria didn't respond to the letter, Aruba called several times. Once, Aruba called from an unknown number. The moment Victoria answered the unrecognized number and heard Aruba's voice, she ended the call and wondered when Aruba would get the hint they would never be friends again.
I'll forgive her when Hollywood stops making porn.
She was so stuck in the past she didn't realize they had been seated.

Emory held her hand and asked, “Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?”

Victoria glanced at her watch and gazed into Emory's eyes. “About ten times on the way here. Do you have something to confess?”

Emory rolled his head back in laughter. He shifted in his chair at the sound of Victoria's sweet voice and gazed lovingly at the woman he had fallen for two years ago. Victoria was the toughest conquest he had pursued, but that was fine with him. He'd grown tired of women throwing themselves at him because of his prominence and wealth. In fact, his status seemed to turn Victoria off. Fascinated by the beautiful young woman who moseyed into Haute Love two years ago with the sexiest legs he'd ever seen, Emory Wilkerson knew he had to have her. She seemed out of place in the nightclub. His heart went out to her when he realized she had no rhythm and struggled to dance to the thumping house music blaring through the club. He walked toward her to ask for the next dance when he recognized her sidekick and his former client, actress Marguerite Mason-Richardson. Marguerite's wedding to megachurch pastor, Foster Richardson, had been big news in the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
and the
New York Times
wedding sections. Foster's position as Associate Pastor at Canaan West Baptist Church evolved into his appointment as the Senior Pastor after the former pastor, Bishop Hosea Johnson, retired and moved back to Boston. When Marguerite dated Foster, she brought a sense of style and compassion with her from L.A. Soon, Canaan's membership swelled to over ten thousand members, and naturally, Canaan made sure their beloved pastor wed in style. Emory knew he'd scored another feather in his culinary cap when Foster reached out to him for his catering services. Emory's excitement over being handpicked by Marguerite to cater the affair was the ticket to launching his second baby: Wilkerson's On-the-Go Eatery Services. Emory, a sous-chef and Food Network producer, created WOTGES to help busy professionals enjoy individually portioned meals that were low in salt, fat, and sugar. The heat-within-fifteen- minute meals caught on with celebrities as well. Within no time, Emory had formed a team to deliver his goods throughout the Atlanta metropolitan area. Throughout the last year, he pondered the thought of Victoria being a part of his ventures.