Forgive Me (5 page)

“Royce, how was your day today?”

Tawatha rejoined him on the sofa and grabbed the food bag from the coffee table.

“I had some business to take care of with Millie. We finally sold our last piece of property in Winona Lake.”

“Does she know I'm here?”

“No, Tawatha. Only my business partner knows.”

“Bet Mr. Conyers isn't happy, is he?”

“Well, he thinks I could have used better judgment, but the last time I checked, fifty-nine was old enough to handle my own business.”

Tawatha stopped mid-chew, placed her sandwich back in the wrapper, and sidled next to Royce. She rubbed his leg and nibbled on his ear lobe.

“You're also old enough to handle business with me,” said Tawatha.

Confused, Royce removed her hands from his thigh. “Tawatha, what are you doing?”

“Earning my keep,” she said. She attempted to kiss his lips this time, but he tucked his lips inward so she'd be unsuccessful.

Royce stood. He was embarrassed his body betrayed him. He couldn't hide his erection and wondered why he hadn't anticipated this.

“See, you want me.” She stood to hug him, but Royce stood his ground.

“Sit down so we can talk,” said Royce. Tawatha pouted and fell back on the sofa. Royce paced until he could calm himself. “We have to establish some ground rules. I never meant to mislead you in any way, Tawatha. My generosity isn't some sick bid to have sex with you. The only regret I've had outside of losing my daughter is not helping my childhood cousin, Quenton. We grew up together, were scholars, and got full-ride scholarships to IU. Something went wrong our freshman year. Quen was arrested for theft. He never bounced back after the first arrest, and the family tagged him The Habizzle, or the habitual offender.

“We turned our backs on him, never letting him stop by for food,
showers, or anything. He stopped by Hinton and Conyers one day to ask for one hundred dollars, and I treated him like gum on my shoes. I may have tossed him a ten and told him to get lost. He looked awful and smelled like he'd fallen in a hog trough. Last I heard, he walks up and down New Jersey Street panhandling people for change. People call him Lean on Me for some reason. I've never been able to find him. I vowed after our last encounter that if I could help someone, I would.”

Tawatha cupped her hands over her mouth. She remembered hearing the name Lean on Me from Lasheera's crack days. “My how the tables have turned,” said Tawatha.

“Excuse me?” Royce asked.

“Nothing. I know Lean on Me through a former friend. I mean, I don't
know
him, but I'm aware of his activity on the streets.” Tawatha decided to tuck that golden nugget in her memory bank until the time was right.

“Small world, isn't it?”

“It gets smaller every day. Listen, I guess I owe you an apology, Royce. I've never known a man to
not
want something from a woman. Everyone has a price and I thought…” Her voice faded.

“You need a paradigm shift, Tawatha.”

“A what?”

“Paradigm shift. It's a change from one way of thinking to another.” Royce stood. “I have to get to the house. I have some consulting contracts to flesh out, and then I'm going to bed early. Call the main house if you need anything.”

“Royce, thank you again for all you're doing. I'll find a way to repay you. I promise.”

“If you want to repay me, be here when your parole officer comes around. He came by the house and did a top-to-bottom inspection
last week. Since my address is your new residence, he said he'd be doing a once-a-month mandatory check on you. It could be at any time, so stay near the house.”

“What if I need to get around?” Tawatha thought of the unexpired license she still possessed.

“The keys to the Ford Focus are in the main house. Millie bought the car for her nephew in high school but took the keys from him when his grades never rose above C's. You can drive it if you like.”

Tawatha walked Royce to the door and gave his back a fatherly rub. She felt ashamed of how she came on to him.
I have to change my old ways. Every man isn't about sex.
“Royce, after this sandwich and the news, I think I'll turn in early, too.”

Tawatha reclined again, uncertain of how she would fill her days. She'd tried with no success to reconnect with her loved ones. No one wanted to see her or believed she had changed. There would be no three musketeer action she once enjoyed with Lasheera and Jamilah. Jamilah was still in her corner, but skipped town after the trial with her new boyfriend. They wouldn't reconnect for at least two weeks.

She took one more bite of her sandwich, placed it back on the coffee table, and grabbed the remote. Since becoming a mainstay in the news, Tawatha didn't enjoy watching headlines as she did before going to jail. Tonight, however, she wanted to reacquaint herself with local events. She appreciated Royce's generosity as she aimed the remote at the huge flat-screen TV.

Andrea Morehead of WTHR-13 stood outside Easley Winery anchoring an event. She stopped individuals as they went inside the building. Tawatha noticed several faces from local publications as they milled around in black-tie finery. Tawatha turned up the volume when she spotted a tall, thin woman speaking with Andrea.
Andrea held the microphone closer to the woman as she smiled for the camera.

“Shandy, what does tonight mean to you?”

“Andrea, this is a chance to give back to the community and help the youth of the city obtain scholarships.”

“What items are you auctioning off tonight at the banquet?”

Shandy motioned to a man whose hand gestures conveyed that he was the life of the party. Tawatha did a double-take when the love of her life neared the camera. Shandy whispered something in his ear as he ran his fingers through his curly mane. To Tawatha's chagrin, he had cut his locks years ago.

But looking at him now, she warmed at his model looks. He was the best lover she'd ever had, and she never got over the fact they couldn't be together. She sat back on the sectional and wondered what the child they'd created looked like. The Indiana Department of Corrections forced her to give up their daughter, Jameshia, for adoption. She wondered if Jameshia had her father's eyes, creamy skin, and beautiful smile. Did Jameshia have a mass of unruly curls, or did her new mother keep it braided or plaited with bows? Awash in memories of their past, she scooted closer to the screen to hear him speak. Her stomach flipped as he kissed Shandy on the cheek and looked at Andrea to answer the question.

“Tonight, we're auctioning off gift certificates in various denominations for services at our four salons. The smallest amount is one hundred dollars, and the largest amount is twelve hundred dollars.” Shandy moved closer and wrapped her arms around him. “We want to make sure the ladies and men of Indianapolis are looking their best. Every Dixon's Hair Affair salon is equipped to do that and so much more.”

“Thanks for stopping by to chat with me,” said Andrea.

They strolled into the winery, smiling, and giving the impression of a perfect couple.
Why wouldn't he be with me? What didn't I do?

Tawatha admired his drive.
Four locations.
She eyed the laptop Royce pointed out earlier and wondered why she hadn't thought of the idea that was suddenly brewing. She retrieved the device from the desk, turned it on, and waited for it to boot up. Royce typed out the user name and password for her on a slip of paper that he'd placed on the desk. She sought the answer to her questions through Bing. In less than ten seconds, she had the addresses of each of James's locations. She jotted the addresses down.

James Dixon, if you give me one more chance, I know I can make you happy.

A
unjanue waited outside for her best friend, Tarsha. The stuffiness of the house and the breaking news story of her mother's release from prison sent her to the comfort of her backyard flower garden for fresh air and regrouping.
How could someone let a murderer back on the streets?
She waited for dusk to arrive and hoped a hint of darkness would keep the neighbors at bay. Aunjanue, or Onnie as she was known to friends and family, assumed the backyard would shelter her from impending commentary. Since being granted guardianship to Lake and Lasheera by her grandmother, Roberta, Onnie accepted pity heaped on her by the community as God's way of helping her breathe. Once known as “the art student who's gonna make a name for herself,” she quickly became “that poor girl whose mamma up and killed three of her kids over somebody's husband.” After her brothers and sisters perished in the fire during her sleepover at Tarsha's place, strangers approached her at odd moments. In Kroger, a woman gently pushed her aside in the self-checkout line and paid for Onnie's field trip snacks. “It's my way of helping you through this,” insisted the woman. She slid a one hundred-dollar bill in the cash slot, waited for the change to flow in the lower receptacle, and thrust the change in Onnie's hands. She disappeared before Onnie could protest or return the change. Other times, people stared, and acknowledged
her with a nod or sigh. Sometimes she could hear them say, “I hope she's okay.”

Onnie removed a pair of gloves and a bag of Miracle Gro, her favorite cultivator, from the gardening table in the shed. Times like these called for turning dirt and talking with her best friend. This year, Lake suggested she plant peppers and tomatoes along with her flowers. She looked around at the burgeoning hollyhocks and azaleas in the yard. She imagined her sister, S'n'c'r'ty, sniffing the beauties and complaining they didn't smell like roses. Her brothers, Grant and Sims, would probably clip them and place them in a vase for cute girls at school. They were gone but not forgotten. They lived on in her memory. She sketched drawings of how she imagined them now.

“You doing okay, Onnie?” asked Mrs. Rosewood, her next-door neighbor.

Startled, Onnie grabbed her chest.

“I didn't mean to scare you, dear. I saw the news story earlier, and well, I was worried about you.” Mrs. Rosewood, donning her after-work attire of a soft-pink velour tracksuit, matching Keds, and a bottle of sparkling water, joined Onnie near the flowers.

“I'm okay, Mrs. Rosewood. I needed to get out of the house for a few minutes. I'm waiting on Tarsha now.”

“I'm so glad she's coming by. You know I'm not one to pry, but remember my doors are always open for you.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

They hugged and Onnie watched her amble toward her house.

Onnie knelt now, gloves hugging her trembling hands, and the bag of Miracle Gro keeping her company. She sprinkled the plant food on the dirt and willed herself to keep her evil thoughts at bay. She hated her mother and hoped she didn't try to get in touch with her. Her hate for Tawatha escalated the day she left Castleton
Square Mall. A man walking behind her said, “Damn, you are the baddest woman I've ever seen.” She quickened her steps, embarrassed by the attention she received and the familiarity of his words. Men spoke the same sweet nothings to Tawatha when they went out together. She went home that day, tried on her new outfit, and quarter-turned in the mirror. Tawatha's image stared back at her. Onnie purchased a T-shirt and jeans from the mall; they fit perfectly. She looked just like her mother with her delicate, rich brown face, hefty breasts, small waist, and large derriere that garnered date offers and inappropriate conversations wherever she went. Little did those men know, Onnie hated math, but her equation about life was simple: man
plus
sex equaled children and complications. She vowed to remain a virgin until she married,
if
she ever decided to take that path. She'd be a professional student if necessary, acquiring more degrees than a thermometer if it meant not being lovesick like her mother. She dated Roger Keys, captain of the Northwest High School football team. He respected her and didn't pressure her for sex, but she suspected someone was keeping him company when she wasn't around. She pulled weeds from the peppers when a familiar voice called out. “Couldn't wait for me, could you?”

She spun around to see compassion flowing from her best friend's face. “Tarsha.”

“Come join me on the swing,” said Tarsha. She held up a bag of goodies from her part-time job.

Onnie ditched her gloves and headed to the pergola with Tarsha, regaining her appetite as the smell of chicken stew watered her mouth.

“I thought you didn't get off until ten,” said Onnie as she grabbed the Panera Bread bag from Tarsha.

“I told my boss I had a family emergency. You are family, right?”
said Tarsha. She swatted Onnie's hands from the bag and removed chicken stew, an apple, and sweet tea. She placed a napkin on the swing, laying the food out so Onnie could eat.

“You didn't have to do that. I'm glad you did, though.”