Less Than Perfect Circumstance (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

AND THE ANGELS WILL SING

Dexter

Just as I was finally able to clear the air with my father, he was gone.
How cruel
, I thought. I hated funerals just as much as I hated hospitals. Now it was the idea that one eventually led to the other. I watched the parade of mourners walking to and from my father’s lifeless body. I wanted to remember the good times my father and I shared, but the good were so few and far between.

Eleanor, what the hell are they crying for, messing up my good suit with their tears
is what Marvin would have said if he were alive, but this he couldn’t control. I remember my father joking one Thanksgiving, saying, “When I die, just laugh and be glad I’m not here setting you kids straight.” Set us straight, he did. Strangely I was going to miss parts of my father. 

Rather than sitting in the front of Holy Spirit All Christian Church staring at a man who I barely recognized, with the exception of the Charcoal Ecru Tic Stripe suit and Cambridge striped tie I gave Marvin
two Christmases ago, I opted to sit in the back. Eleanor sat in the front with her head resting on Deidre’s right shoulder, dabbing the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief that was probably already soaking wet. Eleanor never cried while Marvin was in the hospital, now she was letting everything out.

Briana spent most of the ceremony with her head in her father’s lap. She was going to miss her grandfather the most. She wasn’t just daddy’s little
girl,
she was granddaddy’s little girl, too. J.R. was more mad than sad. He sat there unemotional and seemingly just as lifeless as his grandfather. When he stood to speak, his eyes had a heartfelt sadness about them. His face was tight. Whether he was mad at my promise that his grandfather was going to be ok, or if he was mad at God for taking his
pop-pop
away from him, no one knew. Someone was going to have to answer all the questions building inside of him.

Dorian and Lena sat on the bench behind Eleanor. Dane stood near a window halfway between the pulpit and the back door, positioning himself where he could see how the family was holding up.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”  Belinda greeted.

She was elegantly dressed, as usual, wearing a long black Georgette Ball skirt, beige beaded shell top, black satin sling-back heals, and a small leather clutch purse. Even at a funeral, she was dressed to kill, and I didn’t expect any less.

“You’re not late. The man isn’t in the ground yet.”

“Good to see you smile.”

“Thanks for being here.”

“Are you holding it together?” Belinda asked. 

“Take a look around you. I have one of the few dry faces in here.” 

“Not trying to mess up your make-up?” Belinda joked.

She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. Once again, she was there to make me laugh when I should be crying. She waived at Dane who nodded in acknowledgment.

“Hey, where is…?” I asked
,
realizing Belinda had arrived alone.

“Don’t even ask. I hope this doesn’t come off insensitive, but your father isn’t the only thing dead these days.”

“Please, don’t tell me...”

“Okay. I won’t tell you that the bliss that you saw a couple weeks ago didn’t last longer than your flight back to Miami,” Belinda interrupted. “Oh, I don’t need to tell you that. We’ll have plenty of time to talk. We’re disrespecting your father.” She lifted her head towards the front of the church.

“Even in death, the man demanded respect.”

My next breath was deep, and as I exhaled, my shoulders dropped, as if the weight of my father’s and my own stubbornness had finally been lifted.

When I looked up, Eleanor was standing behind the pine casket eulogizing her husband. She stood sandwiched between a cross of white mums and red roses, and a double hearts made of red and white Carnations.

“My dear Marvin,” she began. “I can’t begin to tell you how much your love, your honor, and your respect has meant to me. My husband, my best friend, my better half, God never promised you would be here forever, but the time that he allowed us to experience together was filled with love and laughter.”

Eleanor’s speech was halted by tears, which she gently wiped away.

“In life we spoke at night before going to bed, and in your absence, we will do the same. I don’t know how I’m going to go on without you. I miss you with all my heart. I love you. I love you. I love you,” she continued. 

When Eleanor looked up, Dane stood in front of her with his hand extended, ready to walk her back to her seat. As she passed his casket, she kissed her husband on his forehead, and whispered, “I love you”, then straightened his casket spray, even though it hadn’t been wrinkled. Everything had to be perfect for her Marvin, even if the home he was going to wasn’t at 1856 Everglade Crescent.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The follow the leader funeral procession to Forest Glenn Cemetery was quicker than it actually seemed. Instead of driving in the car by herself,
I invited Belinda to accompany me
in one of the family limousines,
after all
,
she was like family
. Not too much was said, which was expected.

The gate to the cemetery looked like the proverbial Pearly Gates that everyone referenced when talking about their arrival in Heaven. The drive from the gate to the
grave site
had more twists and turns than a psychological thriller at the local movie theatre.  After the casket was removed from the back of the hearse and placed on the roller, it finally hit me; my father was gone. Pastor Desmond Donovan stood at the head of the casket preparing to read a scripture from his big white bible.

“Heavenly Father!” he began in prayer. “As we commit the body of Brother Marvin UdonisDeGregory to the earth from which he came…” he continued.

Wherever Pastor Donovan was preparing to send my father, I wanted nothing to do with it.

The few chairs that were provided were occupied by everyone except J.R., who was still sitting in one of the limousines with the door open. His Uncle Dane stooped before him. I walked closer and stood beside him.

“Hey nephew, are you okay?” Dane asked.

“Uncle Dane, my Grandpa isn’t coming back.”

When J.R. lifted his head, his eyes were cherry red and seemed swollen. His suit jacket was folded neatly in his lap, and his dress shirt drenched in tears.

Dane removed a handkerchief from inside his jacket, held his nephew’s face in his hands and wiped his tears.

“What’s the funniest thing you remember about your grandpa?”

“His jokes,” J.R. responded quietly, without thinking.

“That’s right, his jokes,” Dane agreed.

“I never thought they were all that funny, Uncle Dane,” J.R. said. Through his tears came a heavyhearted smile.

“I don’t think the old man wants you sitting here all sad and teary eyed because he won’t be here to tell those awful jokes again. You should at least say goodbye to him, don’t you think?”

“He’s never coming back.” J.R.’s smile was immediately replaced by sadness again.

“As much as we’re going to miss him, you are right. He isn’t coming back,” Dane said in an accepting tone.

“I know, Uncle Dane.” J.R. stood, adjusted his shirt, replaced his suit jacket and started towards his family.

Dane stood with his hand resting on the limousine door. When J.R. was a few feet away, he turned to face us and smiled. He was going to be ok.

Dane closed the limousine door and began walking slowly towards the crowd of mourners with both hands in his pants pocket.

Like J.R., saying goodbye was going to be hard for me, too. I walked across the street, and stood under an old oak tree, leaning on the trunk. My eyes pierced through dark sunglasses worn to hide tears that fell unpredictably. Belinda walked over and stood beside me.

“As crazy as our relationship was, I can’t believe he’s gone. Our lives would have been so much easier if we weren’t so busy being such jerks about everything,” I admitted.

“Honey, listen. You wanted him to accept you for who you are. To have settled for anything less would have gone against everything your parents taught you. Your father loved you. He was
n’t
always able to show it, but I don’t doubt he did. The good thing is you were able to sit and talk to him before he died.”

“That is a good thing, isn’t it? I definitely got some things off my chest.” I felt the tears rolling down the sides of my face.

From where we stood, I watched my father’s casket disappear below the earth. Eleanor stood with one hand across her belly and another holding a handkerchief to her face. Those who knew Marvin well consoled each other the best they could. 

Finally, as I walked past the grave, I looked down at my father one last time. The earth that surrounded him looked warm and I was certain now that he was going to be okay.

On
ou
r way back to the car, I was curious to find out what exactly happened with DaMarcus and Belinda, so I asked. 

“Are you sure you want to discuss that now?” Belinda asked.

“Hell, anything to distract me from this dreadful day.”

“Well,” Belinda began. “A few days after the ceremony, I received
a
card from Taylor explaining everything.”

“But I thought there was nothing to explain?”

“Hell, I did, too. But get this. DaMarcus is a daddy,” Belinda said, stopping for a moment and looking at me.

“DaMarcus is a daddy to what?”

I was certain if Belinda was expecting, or had some child hidden somewhere, I would have known about it.

“That little baby, Quinton, is his. Taylor and her boyfriend Chad did have a fight, but only after she decided to tell him that the son he
thought he fathered was created by sperm that came from my husband. One late night when they should have been carefully going through receipts, DaMarcus was busy going through her draws. Supposedly, the affair lasted that one night, but as he soon realized, one night and one time is usually all it takes for some shit to happen that you didn’t plan on happening. They got a little freaky, a little careless, I guess, and here comes Quinton. I’m not sure what the rest of the card said. Something about she couldn’t allow me to live a life with DaMarcus not knowing the truth, and that she knew he wasn’t going to tell me, blah, blah, blah.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Now I only wish she had choked on the words she sang at that damned ceremony.”

“B, that’s cruel,” I laughed, knowing I would have wished the same.

“You think. Shit, you should have heard what I was wishing for earlier.”

“No parts. Hell, I’m afraid to ask what you did to DaMarcus.”

“Nothing. I threw his ass out the same day. I don’t need the money, but I’ll make sure his pocket burns later. He has no idea what’s coming to him.”

“What?”

“When he came home, everything was packed and waiting for his ass on the front steps, and the locks to the doors were changed. I met him outs
ide, handed him the
card, and slammed the door in his face.”

“Did he even try to explain?”

“He didn’t say a word. He knew what he had done. He took his shit like he was supposed to, and I haven’t heard from him since.
He
”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

HOW CAN YOU MEND A BROKEN HEART?

Dexter

I was sitting at my desk staring at the folders for two clients whose cases were approaching quickly. With the accident, Belinda’s wedding, my father’s passing, and Belinda’s on-going divorce, I haven’t had much time to focus on anything else. There were other files on my desk that needed my attention, but they would have to wait their turn.

Thanks to Nikole and Janelle, most of the information I needed for those cases had been acquired in my absence. There were still a few things I needed to do, including setting up a meeting with the clients before I could proceed.

I picked up the files to put them to my briefcase before heading out the office door. I noticed a check with Ms. Davidson’s address. I held the check in my hand and smiled. Next to the check was the business card that belonged to Mr. Giovanni C. Dawkins. I thought about calling, but quickly dismissed it. I felt bad that so much time had
gone by. With the receiver in hand, I attempted to dial Mr. Dawkins’ number, but there was no dial tone.

“Uncle Dexter, how’s it going?” It took me a while to recognize the caller’s voice. Sha’len was sounding more like a man and less like the little boy I had loved like my own. He sounded all grown up.

“Things are going well, Sha’len. How’s college life treating you?”

“It’s been good so far. Not too different from high school, except the work’s a lot harder.”

“We know you can handle it,” I spoke with confidence. If anyone could handle the rigor of a college curriculum, Sha’len could.

“Yeah, I’m not worried. Listen, Uncle Dex, thanks for the laptop and the cash in my account.”

“You are more than welcome. Hey, if there’s anything you need, please don’t be afraid to ask, and good luck on the semester.”

“Thank you, Uncle Dex. I won’t.”

When I
finished talking with Sha’len, I paused for a minute, looking once again at the business card belonging to Mr. Dawkins. I had held on to the card long enough. Either I was going to use it or I was going to throw it in the wastebasket. 

So my rule about waiting three days before calling someone I had just met lasted a few weeks longer. I thought by now Giovanni had
probably forgotten about me. I didn’t want to go through the confusion and the twenty questions as Giovanni tried to figure out who I was or where we met.

“Law office, how may I help you?” Ms. Meleesa Summers-Preston sounded cheerful, as if her day in the office was just beginning.

“Mr. Dawkins please?” I requested.

“
Who
may I ask is calling?” she inquired.

After a brief introduction, she announced. “Mr. Dawkins, there’s a Mr. Dexter DeGregory wishing to speak with you.”

Her voice was extremely pleasant.

“Send him through,” Mr. Dawkins responded.

Mrs. Summers-Preston forgot to mute the phone, or place me on hold. If Giovanni wanted to lie about not being in the office, he couldn’t.

“Mr. DeGregory, please hold while I transfer you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir. Have a pleasant evening. Please hold.”

A few beeps later, a masculine,
well composed
voice resonated through the receiver.

“Mr. DeGregory, I’ve been wondering when I was going to hear from you. After holding my breath and turning blue in the face, I figured I’d give up.”

Why didn’t you?
I thought. I smiled and apologized, assuring Giovanni that the long wait was nothing personal. I sat back in the chair and pushed it back to distance myself from the desk. I sat with my feet resting on top of the desk, one ankle crossed over the other. I was readying myself for what I hoped would be a long, pleasant conversation.

“It’s not that I forgot about you or anything like that. I’ve had a lot to deal with since we’ve met.”

“Another case taking more of your time and energy than you expected?” Giovanni inquired.

“Not exactly. If it were that simple, I would have called you a while ago.”

“Then what is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s my dad.
”

“Not getting along?” Giovanni assumed.

“He’s dead.”

I didn’t want to go through some drawn out explanation of what happened.

“You seem to have taken it well.”

“It’s not that at all, but what else can I do.”

“That’s so true.”

There was a pause in our conversation as if Giovanni was settling himself in some comfortable position as well.

“I didn’t think I would be hearing from you. I thought the opportunity to know this brother wearing the perfectly tailored suit and smile to match had been missed.”

“I wouldn’t have taken your card if I had no intentions of using it.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right. I mean, why even waste my time and a card you could have given to someone else?”

“There wasn’t anyone else who caught my attention.” Giovanni was being coy.

“It didn’t have to be at the courthouse. I was actually thinking about a potential client. Or some female attorney who might have shown some interest.”

“Then I would be wasting my time and a card.” 

“What do you mean?” I questioned as if I didn’t already know what Giovanni meant.

“I’m sorry. Do you mind holding a minute? I have to get this.”

Giovanni disappeared for a few minutes. With the receiver still pressed against my ear, I listened as he engaged in a pleasant, courteous conversation with an individual who was probably just as well mannered.

“Love you, Paisley. I’ll see you later.” Giovanni ended his conversation.

“I guess she beat you to it?” he said when he returned.

“She…?” I asked. I didn’t need an ex
planation, but Giovanni offered
one anyway.
“Yes, my daughter, Paisley.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m thirty-one,” Giovanni responded with pride.

“How old is your daughter?”

“She’s fourteen.”

“That means you were…”

“Yes,” Giovanni interjected. “I was about seventeen when I had her.”

“So when all the other boys were busy finding themselves on the basketball courts and football fields, you were busy getting busy.”

“Your first failed attempt at a joke,” Giovanni shot back.

We laughed.

“So what did you mean when you said you guessed she beat me to it?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to join me for dinner. Paisley and I were supposed to have dinner tomorrow night, but she’s having some friends and wanted to know if we could do this evening instead.”

“You’re a great dad, man. We can have dinner anytime. Have fun with your little girl. Here’s my cell phone number. If you have time, just give me a call. Maybe we could do something after.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks for the pleasant conversation, man. I’m looking forward to talking with you again.”

“Likewise, Mr. Dawkins. Enjoy your evening with the little one.”

“I certainly will. You be good.”

After my conversation, I gathered the files I would be giving much of my attention to once I got home. I hoisted my
bag
over my shoulder and headed towards the door. I bid Ms. Kami Ardossi a good evening and ordered her not to stay late.

As I exited the parking lot, I could have turned left, hit the thruway and drive the thirty minutes home on Bellmore Ave, NE. Instead, I was heading south on Penthouse Road to my favorite coffee shop I frequented, especially when work didn’t end at the five o’clock hour. I was definitely back in the swing of things.

There was something about Daily Grind that I loved, and I wasn’t just talking about the cup of Espresso Con Panna that warmed me on some cold mornings, or the Cold Cremosa I was prepared to order as I approached the counter. I received my Cremosa from the barista and headed towards a chair in the left corner. 

“Dexter DeGregory, right?”

“That depends. Who are you?” I responded to the stranger sitting one table over, facing me.

“I’m sorry. My name is Trevor Harrison.”

“Have we met?” I asked, trying not to be rude.

“Under a less-than-perfect-circumstance, but yes, we have,” Trevor said.

“You’re going to have to give me a little for than that,” I said, and paused briefly.

I tilted my head and eyes towards the ceiling, waiting for the memory of a previous encounter with Mr. Harrison to fall. The name did sound familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I had heard his name before.

“I met you at St. Christian Memorial several months ago,” Trevor said.

He stood and walked over my table, and then sat in the empty seat across from me. I waited for him to continue.

“The accident you and your nephew were in…”

“What about it?” I interrupted, and slowly I remembered.

“I placed the 911 call. I also waited until your sister and brother-in-law got there.

“I guess this is my chance to say thank you,” I said.

“Hey, no need. If not me, the call would have been made by someone else,” Trevor said, dismissing any claim of heroism. “Your nephew, how’s he doing?” he continued.

“He’s definitely a tough kid,” I said, smiling.

“And what about that Patrick guy? I didn’t mean to listen in, but I overheard the conversation he had with your sister. And she wasn’t being nice with her warnings, either.”

“Oh, really
!?
She never told me they exchanged words.”

“Sounds like you found one of them, too,” Trevor said.

“One of them?” I asked, puzzled.

“One of those situations where loving him became more important than loving yourself. You have all the reasons why you should leave, but for whatever reason, you sit around rationalizing why you should stay. Before you know it, you’re lying on a hospital bed wondering what the hell love had done to you, or wishing you had the strength a long time ago to pull away from love’s iron-fist grasp. You wonder why it’s easier for them to stay around and hurt you, rather than leave you alone. Or, you wonder why you got yourself involved with them in the first place.”

“Well,” I said, drinking the last of my Cremosa. “I hope you have rid yourself of that kind of love, because I certainly have.”

“That makes two of us,” Trevor asserted.

“Thanks, Trevor. Call me,” I said, handing him a business card. “Your next Chai Tea is on me.”

“What?” Trevor said, looking on the outside of his container. “How’d you know?”

“I love the smell of honey and vanilla,” I said, leaving Trevor still sitting; smiling.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

When I was seated in my car, I sat back with my hands on the steering wheel, thinking about the conversation I had just had with Trevor. My thoughts brought a smile to my face. I sat back in the seat with my smile extending from ear to ear. As I drove off, I dialed Eleanor’s number.

“Hello, Mrs. DeGregory. How are you doing?

“I’m fine. I know the voice of my own son, no matter what disguise you put on it.”

“Oh, is that right. Guess you can never fool a wise old lady.”

“I’m not that old. And I don’t know why you even insist on trying.” 

“So what have you been up to?”

“I’ve been pretty busy getting some of your father’s things together to take to the Salvation Army and Goodwill.”

“Listen, mom. I never took the chance to tell you thank you.”

“For what,” Eleanor asked.

“That’s not important. Just say ‘you’re welcome’. That’s all I want to hear right now.”

“You’re welcome, son.”

“Listen, I wanted to come see you.”

“You don’t need an invitation. Just call me when you’re on your way.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I love you, and I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I am. I love you, too.”

I hung up from Eleanor and pressed the number 3 button to speed-dial Belinda.

“My favorite man, how are you doing?” Belinda answered.

“Listen, what are you doing tonight?”

“I haven’t made any plans. What do you have in mind?”

“Meet me for dinner at Le Tire Bouchon. I have so much to tell you. We can start by telling you about my mother, Connie Mears.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, baby, and I have all night. See you around 8?”

“Eight it is,” Belinda agreed. 

I held the phone and thought about Patrick, who I hadn’t spoken to since the accident. I wasn’t sure if I had forgiven him yet, and I didn’t know if I wanted to hear from him. I thought about messages I had received from him, and how I deleted them without a second thought.