Less Than Perfect Circumstance

Less
Than
Perfect

Circu
mstance

Less Than

Perfect

Circumstance

A NOVEL

Kristofer Clarke

Second
Twin
Publishing

Landover, MD

A
LSO
BY
K
RISTOFER
C
LARKE

‘Til It Happ
e
ns T
o You

Published by
Second
Twin
Publishing

Copyright
© 2009
by Kristofer Clarke

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, business, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, place
,
and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover and
Author Photography by Emmanuel
Fisher
for
photographybyemmanuel.com

Cover design by James Jefferson for

PlatinumPixels, LLC

Typesetting:
Sherdava Lopez-Sandoval

ISBN 978-0-98515
28-0-2

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

[March 2012
]

This book is dedicated to Love and Dream

When you love, love hard; when you dream, dream big.

Never be afraid to Love or Dream

A  C
  K  N  O  W  L  E  D  G  M  E  N  T  S

______________________________________________________________

First and foremost, giving honor to GOD.  Thank you for your countless blessings and for the gift of words. I’m thankful for always allowing me to come to you in prayer. I am humbled and grateful.

FAMILY PORTRAIT

I am thankful to have family that continues to show their love and support. Your phone calls have lifted my spirits more times than you know. Thank you to my mother, Paulette Clarke-Ranglin, your love is unmatched and unconditional. Thank you for being an important constant in my life. I admire your strength, and I love you.

Thank you to my sisters, Maxine Clarke-Weakly and ShanyaRanglin-Graham, for your constant support and love. You are the best sisters in the world. I love you so much.

To my little lady, Shakoya Samuels, continue to grow beautifully.

Thank you to strong grandmothers, every aunt, uncle, and cousin, for always loving and appreciating me. Thank you to my nieces and nephews. I love watching you grow. Enjoy being young, carefree, and innocent. Make your parents proud.

LIKE FAMILY

Thank you to my 2
nd
mother, M
elanie Harris-Countee, for your
years of love and guidance. I owe you so much. Thank you to Jean and James Howard, for being there from the beginning. You are greatly appreciated.

Thank you to Troy A. and Janice M., for understanding my complexities and simplicities, and for giving me your shoulders and ears when I needed them most. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am to have you both in my life. Your friendship is invaluable.

THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR

Thank you to many great friends: Maurice B., Dr. James D., Joe W., Jonathan W., Amos P., Marcus G., Dr. Regina K., Wyman D., Isaac S., and Kendrick A. Thank you for understanding my focus and dedication. Thank you to Tanisha M. for your
much appreciated
feedback. To
those friends who are not mentioned, you are equally important; the next book is yours.  

Thank you to Thomas S., my teacher, mentor, and friend for your words of encouragement. Your “hang in there kid” has gotten me through some days. You’ve
influence
me in more ways than you will ever know.

To Devaunte Nicholson. Thank you for gracing the cover to this novel with your image.

Thanks to Erica P. You do what you do well. Thank you for taking the task of ed
iting, seriously.

Thanks to Eustace Mark for sharing your knowledge of the process. Your guidance is greatly appreciated. Visit Eustace at www.eustacemark.com.

Thanks to those who unknowingly inspire me everyday.

Lastly, thank you to those w
ho support me by purchasing
this novel. As you read, I hope you enjoy the escape, the ride that I experienced in writing this novel. Thank you for trusting my ability and sharing this journey. I pray GOD will continue to give me
the strength to write books
you will always look forward to reading. Enjoy!

Love, Peace, Happiness

Kristofer Clarke

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

If I Knew Then

Dexter

This wasn’t supposed
to be my consequence for finding and falling in love. Had I just walked across the street and kept my head and eyes forward, I wouldn’t be lying in this bed wondering how I got here.

When I woke, my head was still pounding, and I couldn’t stop the images of that dreadful day from infiltrating my thoughts─every time I closed my eyes, there they were. The headaches came and went, and at times I felt as if my head had been stuck between tightly wound vintage wooden clamps. Resembling someone who had been awakened from one bad dream and into another, I sat up in my bed, stared at the digital clock whose bold, red numbers slowly came into focus, and then glanced across the once perfectly decorated bedroom. I was disappointed at how I had allowed love to affect my life.
For
the first time, I had been able to move without the excruciating pains that surrounded my previous attempts. Almost everything seemed foreign to me. I plunged backwards into my expensive pillow top mattress,
pulled the sheets toward my neck, unsuccessfully attempting to escape back into deadened sleep.

The room was dark. The bright, early morning sun, blocked by the vertical wood blinds, tried desperately, yet in vain, to break the monotony of the room. My classique white chair and ottoman, strategically placed in front of the fireplace, were overwhelmed with clothes I was too ill to put away. After a few moments of contemplation, I sat up again, slowly maneuvered to the center edge of the bed, placed my feet on the hardwood floor, dropped my head in the palm of my hands and exhaled. I was alone, and for a brief moment, I wished I wasn’t.

My mother, Ms. Eleanor DeGregory, spent the last month by my side cooking, as I expected, cleaning and reading the Daily Post, most of which I slept through. I have never been the one to miss a meal, but there I was sleeping through everything. I’ve never considered myself a momma’s boy, but while Eleanor played nurse, maid and mother during my recovery, that was how I felt. The Percocet had made falling asleep a less difficult task, though I would only relive the near fatal accident in dreams I hated to remember. I wanted to put everything behind
me, but those dreams

among other things

were constant reminders.

My mother was in no hurry to leave. She had always been there for her children, and this time was no different. She was a very proud mother of four, and she had all reasons to be. We could have put her through hell. She could have been like so many of her friends, or
parents she’s met, driving to the nearest penitentiary to visit their criminal son or daughter, or running to a ruined crack-house to search and rescue a child she had lost to those elements, but we had spared all that agony. Fortunately for her, my siblings and I were all very successful, and were doing well in our chosen professions.

My name is Dexter Alexander DeGregory. I was the youngest and last of the
D
eGregory clan to leave my parents’ house. Although my siblings succeeded academically, I was, by far, the most focused. I attended and graduated Magna Cum Laude from Boston University
,
earning a Bachelor’s degree in Political Science, and later earned my law degree from Northwestern. An attorney in my own law firm, I was experiencing success as a professional as well.

I, along with two of my classmates from Northwester
,
had started our own practice after watching childhood friends fall victim to lawyers in practice, ill-prepared defenses, and lawyers whose purpose went no further than
the farthest zero in their checks
. Clearly, they w
ere their just buying time. They
didn’t give a damn about those the
y
defended, already convinced of their guilt. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but our perseverance had paid off. We invested everythi
ng we had

trust funds included

and had begun, very early, reaping the benefits of our investments. The firm started off as inexperienced, but very dedicated; those same descriptions made Abrahamson, DeGregory, and Dixon, LLC attractive to clients who couldn’t afford otherwise.
Our performance in several high profile cases, including a few wrongful death lawsuits, and freeing a couple of teenagers who were surely about
to spend their best years in prison, gave us the recognition we long sought. Ever since, our roster has boasted successful, educated lawyers who knew their craft well, and, in my absence, things had been no different.

Before the accident, everything went seemingly well for me. I had found love, again, and my law firm had a name recognized by
many

lawyers, judges, and those who sought our representation. Our reputation was impeccable. 

I didn’t come into this world alone. Often, alone was where I frequently found myself, and as much as I hated to admit it, I wished I had. My twin, Dane, who had decided to follow his dreams of becoming a successful actor by taking up residence in California, at times, made my life difficult. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the never-ending comparison to my twin brother, as if, despite my success, my relationships had rendered me inferior.

The oldest sibling, Dorian DeGregory, or as our father called him, Rian, was an Intelligence Analyst based in Columbia, S.C. Although the specifics of his job were classified, much of the stresses he was
warned
about didn’t trickle into his person life. Deidre DeGregory-Bridgeton, my only sister, was already a successful Commercial Lawyer in Washington, D.C. She played spouse to Marcel Bridgeton, an equally successful real estate developer, and mother to two children, the younger Marcel, Jr., and his older sister Briana Bridgeton.

The steam from a long, hot shower fogged the mirrors on the bathroom wall. I stood with my palms pressed against the porcelain sink, seemingly, trying to build confidence. I cleared a small section of the gold-rimmed mirror above the sink and stared at the bandage that stretched across my forehead. Underneath it was a visible reminder of the damage love had done to me. I stared at my reflection and saw someone I barely recognized. I shook my head in disbelief.
What the hell was I thinking?
I thought. I wasn’t certain what I was going to see when I removed the bandage, but removing it and accepting what I had experienced in the last months was part of getting my life back together. 

When I emerged from the bathroom
,
wearing one towel wrapped around my waist and another around my neck, I headed to my waln
ut chest of drawers. As I passed
the
full length
mirror, I was once again frightened by my reflection. I had lost pounds I really couldn’t afford to lose, and looked more like a fragile teenager than anything else.

Lying there for two months
restricted to soft foods and juices was nothing more than a prescribed weight loss program that had worked too well. I shook my head, not in disgust, but in disbelief, continued to the chest of drawers, and removed a pair of bleached white boxer briefs and white t-shirt. I walked towards the
night stand
, slowly got dressed, and proceeded to check my phone messages.

Hello, Dexter, you know who this is. Get well, baby boy. Call me. Miss your smile.

The first four messages were from my best female friend
,
Belinda
,
who I had not seen since two days before the accident. She had offered to visit, which I declined, not wanting her to see me in the unsightly condition I was in. I wondered if I was ready to hear her I-told-you-so or eyes-wide-shut comments, even if she were right. She had longed for
our monthly dinners and movies

something we would continue once I was back to my old self. Our busy schedules left little room for anything else. Our monthly dinners were our way of making sure the other was maintaining sanity in the insane world that being in relationships had created.

Messages from Bryus and Trenton invited me to an
evening of
cocktails and a friendly game of cards. I had missed Preston and Tracey’s barbeque and graduation party for Sha’len, who will be attending the University of Connecticut on a half academic and basketball scholarship this fall.

Mental Note: Buy graduation gift for Sha’len
.

Calls from Deidre went unanswered, mostly because of the guilt I felt for involving J.R. in my affairs. Rian and Dane also left messages that went without response, certain that my mother had already spread the word about my misfortune. I was in no mood to enga
ge in conversations with anyone

family and friends alike. Messages of well wishes and immediate recovery reverberated across the room. Messages from those I didn’t feel like talking to
were
deleted as soon as I recognized their voices. It didn’t matter what they were calling about. Some people, unfortunately, just can’t take a hint.

Hey sugar, I am sorry. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I love you. I…

Messages Deleted.

I felt a tear in the corner of my eye, which I fought back. For thefirst time, my life seemed to have spiraled out of my control.

In sweatpants and house slippers, I descended the spiral stairs that led from my bedroom, disappeared briefly behind the glass partition and reappeared in the doorway of my stainless-steel appliance kitchen.

Breakfast would be a good idea,
I thought. Too lazy to cook, I walked through the kitchen and into the living room, passing the plants I had abandoned for so long. I stood just outside my front door and waved to Mrs. Williamson, who was on an early morning stroll with her 7-month-old son, Kory-Dean, and her pet puggle, Perfect. Mrs. Williamson lived a few houses up the street with her husband of several years.
They wereone of few young couples who lived in the little neighborhood, including a quiet, young lesbian couple who lived five houses up from the Williamsons.
The newspapers, still in their protective plastic covers, were stacked up neatly near the front steps.
It’s
like time had stood still, and I realized all in the world seemed unchanged.

“Dexter!” The voice of Artis Campbell came from a tan Jaguar –XJ8 as he drove along Bellmore Ave, NE. He had impeccable timing.
Of all the people I could have seen my first time out
,
it had to be Artis
.

Damn
! I thought. It had been a few months since I had seen or even spoken to my longtime high school friend, and I had my reasons. Artis pulled along the manicured lawn and watched as I walked ghostly towards him.

“It’s been a while, man. I heard about your accident. I stopped by a few times while your mom was here”.

“Yes, she mentioned a few people stopping over, but, honestly, I wasn’t in the mood for visitors,” I said.

I was eager to get my day started. My mind wondered from the conversation with Artis to thoughts of ways to limit our exchange, nodding and smiling when I thought my inattention might have been obvious. I knew Artis meant well; however, I didn’t want anyone, especially Artis, seeing
me
as I was that early sunny morning. Around Artis it was best to put your best face forward, and as far as I was concerned, I definitely did not have my best face this morning.

Besides his mustache and trimmed goatee, Artis hadn’t changed much since high school. He was notorious for twisting the truth, telling people about a worst situation that never existed. His
storytelling was very convincing
, too. He had been the cause of many confrontations at Dale Day Prep. As skilled as he was at orchestrating these schemes, he was always able to squirm his way out, stand on the side leaning on the orange-colored lockers that ran down the center of the hall, with a sick smile signaling some satisfaction he got as the events unfurled. Artiswas
a gossiper in high school, and although I could have given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he had changed with age, I presumed

Artis was, simply, too old to change.

“But you are doing better, right?” Artis continued
,
avoiding obvious signs to end the extended conversation I wasn’t prepared to have.

“Yes, I’m just trying to get things together. You know me.”

The house phone rang and provided the escape I needed.

“I better get that.”

I thanked Artis for his visit and hurried for the phone.

“Hey, I was expecting your voicemail. How are you?” Dane asked. Dane and I tried to connect at least once every day.

“Hey bro!” I greeted, still not feeling in the mood for conversation, even if it were with my brother.

“Sorry I haven’t had a chance to come check on you, man. I’ve just been really busy”.

Auditions, callbacks, and school provided Dane the busy schedule he’d always wanted. He had promised that a degree with his name on it would hang on the wall alongside the others no matter how successful he was in the acting business. My father called it something to fall back on, but Dane had no plans of falling back.