Rhythms of Grace (29 page)

The truth must have hit him like a bullet. He collapsed into the chair behind him. “I didn’t do this. You’ve got to know that.”

“We can’t talk about the case.”

“I just need to know that you believe . . . in me.”

“Always.” But I knew he could see things behind my eyes. Questions. That seed of doubt I was battling to uproot.

My receptionist’s voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Jenkins? Call for you. Line two.”

“The little woman?” Brian rarely mentioned Mindy Bentek or the wedding plans he and I no longer discussed. He stood and started to pace.

My finger lingered over the blinking light, then pushed another button instead. “Can you take a message please? Yes, I know she’ll be disappointed. Tell her I’ll call her at lunchtime.”

I turned to him, swallowed hard. “Let’s get it over with. You didn’t come here to talk about the case. This is about Joyce. You’re mad and we both know it, so let’s just do it.”

“Why are you all in my business? Calling Joyce about me. And did you know that she’s dying? Did you?” Brian’s words were sharp again, but they were cutting both ways.

I got up, looked him eye to eye, something few people dared to do. “Your business came to me. And about Joyce, yes, I knew. I saw she didn’t look well and I asked. It took a lot to get it out of her—”

“Whatever. You can call her, gossiping about me, but you can’t call me to tell me something important. You haven’t changed.”

“And neither have you.” I was amused for a second, but just as quickly, I returned his hardened look and held up both hands. “You done?”

“I guess.”

“All right. I have an appointment waiting, so I’ll make this quick. First, I called Jerry regarding the case I’m working on.”

Brian just glared at me.

He wasn’t putting it together. This was starting to feel like charades. I swept a hand over the pictures on my desk. “Read between the lines.”

It suddenly registered on his face. “Why would she come to you? You don’t even do that kind of law.”

Okay. He figured it out. That was as far as I could go. It was my turn to be quiet. “I can’t discuss this with you.”

“Bentek is probably loving this. They’ve got it in for me over here, a lot of those guys. I go to the city commission meetings and ask questions they don’t want to hear. They’d love to smear my name.” Brian moved toward the door. When he reached it, he looked back over his shoulder. “There’s no way out for me on this one. We can’t legally prove we’re related so you won’t get off it. Don’t go down with me. Save yourself.” He paused before turning away. “Just let me fall.”

I closed the distance between us and put my hand on his shoulder. “If you’re innocent, I’ll do what I can to prove it.”

Brian put his hand on the door, but I didn’t let go of him.

“But if it comes to that, we’ll both fall,” I said. “Together.”

“You don’t have to, you know. You could just walk away.”

I did it before. We both have. My grip faltered. “I know.”

40

Monique

After two weeks the school’s media ban had been lifted and I saw things I’d never seen in a classroom before: headphones, crazy clothes, and chaos. At first, I’d been a little scared and taken my place at the front of the class, never daring to look back, but each day brought me back another row until I could see the vacant eyes of my peers. Their faces were blank, unconcerned. Though I knew I’d have to move back up sometime, switch to another school, today I just wanted to blend in, to be someone other than the math teacher’s daughter. Once people heard my name called the first time, everything changed. I could see it on their faces. So I raised my hand fast, never allowing any teacher to get to my last name.

This math class wasn’t a class at all for me really but some kind of community service hour where I’d tutor students studying to take the proficiency test. My schedule—peer tutoring, leadership seminar, Latin—still read like Daddy was hoping for Harvard. I wasn’t. I’d tossed that dream out the window on the way home from Rose Hill. Now I wasn’t sure if it had ever been my dream in the first place. Now, I just wanted to fit in, to belong to something.

The class filled. The purple-haired girl I’d seen the first day sat beside me. She had her phone back and took it out frequently to text someone. Finally, she looked my way with what I mistook for a smile. Like a fool, I grinned back.

She leaned back from me like I had the plague. “What you looking at, Moesha?”

“Nothing.” I said, fingering my new braids, vowing to judge smiles more carefully next time. She’d have to try a lot harder than that to offend me. I’d been the only black student at Rose Hill for two long, lonely years.

My dad came in next, which I wasn’t expecting, followed by a dark-skinned woman in a pink suit and matching shoes. I knew without asking who she was. My mother had told me about her many times. This was Zeely, the woman my father had planned to marry instead of my mom. The woman I’d kept him from by being born, the woman I was still keeping him from. And she looked so good that I didn’t know whether to hate her or ask her for fashion advice. At the sight of her, any hopes I’d had of our family holding together slipped away.

A coat brushed against my face as a tall boy with freckles shoved into the desk beside me. I turned away before he had a chance to blast me. These kids were so rude. I opened the math book I’d been given, turned to the section for the day.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling the book down.

I swallowed hard; now close enough to really see him, especially his eyes gold in a ring of green.

My daughter’s eyes.

I gripped the desk.

I’d never known the boy’s real name, so I hadn’t been lying when I told everyone that. We’d talked online for a while, biding time until I’d made it to Testimony one weekend to meet relatives. He’d had a party that, despite the other people there, I eventually realized was planned to celebrate me alone. After that night, I’d never seen or heard from him again. He had deleted his MySpace and changed his cell number.

He looked different now with a ’fro instead of locks. He’d grown some too. Sometimes I’d wondered if I hadn’t made him up altogether. But now he was here, leaning close, kissing my hair.

“Doll, is it you? What happened? I lost my phone. My mom went loco about the MySpace. You look so good . . . Why did you run away from me?”

I looked up front at Zeely and my father, thankful for once that his attention was occupied. My hand pressed against his, a feeble attempt to stop him from caressing my shoulder. My fingers found my lap again. There was no use.

He’d found me.

41

Grace

I talked to the baby today. I told her I was sorry for
trying to kill her. I think she understood. It’s a girl, I
think, but I hope I’m wrong. Being a girl is a difficult
thing. Men don’t have to think so hard. Or at least I
don’t think so, although Daddy thinks too much. I told
her to just keep quiet and try not to get too big while I
try and think of something.

Diana Dixon

“Who was that girl with Jerry in the hall?” I loaded salad onto my fork, staring at the baby in a travel crib next to Thelma. She had beautiful eyes, that little girl.

Zeely nibbled on a french fry. “That was his daughter, Monique.”

“She’s striking. And so tall. She could model easy.”

My friend pointed a potato stick toward the baby. “She’s his too.”

“Wow. Such cute kids.”

“You act surprised. It’s not like he’s ugly.”

It’s not like he’s cute.
“No, but I wouldn’t have expected those girls to be his.”

Zeely shrugged. “They look like him to me.”

“I guess.” I opened another pack of salad dressing, immediately wishing I’d brought my own from home. I puckered.

“Nasty?”

“Too much vinegar.”

“Want some of mine?” Zeely pushed her cheeseburger across the table.

“No thanks.” Zeely’s size six cheeseburgers would become solid fat on me. “Let me ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“A guy left a message last night. A lawyer. Brian’s brother? Maybe he said friend. Ron Jenkins. Do you know him? He sounded . . .”

“White?” Zeely pinched off a piece of the sandwich. She bit half and put the other part back on the plate.

I pulled down my bottom lip. White. Did my old college roommate describe me as black? Or Kim, my old prayer partner from church? What about Jackie, my neighbor before I moved away? I looked over at Zeely, a darker version of all three women—they had the same personality, painfully blunt. Would my friends say I was black? Absolutely. “Yes, he sounded white.”

“He is.” Zeely picked up the whole burger this time and took a bite.

A trail of vinaigrette dripped onto my shirt. I thought of the picture in my drawer, the one I’d seen this morning. “Is he the redhead in the graduation picture? Between you and Brian?”

“Yep. That’s Red.”

“Red? I remember you talking about him, but I just didn’t see him as . . .”

“White?” Zeely laughed this time.

“Yes, that. Real light skinned maybe. Light enough to make you wonder. Like Joyce.”

Now Zeely seemed irritated. “So now that you know, does it change anything? Does it matter?”

“Not to me. It must matter to you though.”

Zeely sat up straight. “Why do you say that?”

I dabbed my shirt. “Because you never mentioned it before.”

42

Ron

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Hello, Dee. How are you?”

I couldn’t help but smile as the coat checker reached for my coat at the Sterling Club. No matter how many times I came here, my best times were usually spent as I checked in my coat. I pushed past the woman’s outstretched hand and hung my coat on the first hanger.

She looked around, both worried and delighted. “Here’s your ticket, Mr. Jenkins. And please stop hanging up your coat, you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

The things I’d looked down on from my window lately played through my mind. It pained me that of all things in town for anyone to worry about, they would waste their concern on whether a grown man hung up his own clothes. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. Next time I’m here, I’ll come in and toss my coat on your head and storm to my seat. How’s that?”

She shook her head. “We’ll both get fired. They’ll know you’re fooling. And when I don’t sling it back at you, they’ll know I’m fooling too. You know I don’t mind what you do, but I have to be careful. You should too. They already think . . .” Her voice faded as she rearranged my jacket on the hanger, just for effect.

Considering that what seemed frivolous and even enjoyable to me might cost Dee a much needed job, I apologized. I knew what people at the club thought of me. The trick of it was that they had no idea what I thought of them. I stepped away, whispering something Dee already knew—that I’d much rather have had lunch with her than any of them.

Except Mindy, of course.

Of course.

Dee patted her salt-and-peppered afro and said she understood but I should try and have a nice lunch anyway. Eat something. Said that she’d told the fellas in the back to put a little twist on my plate: sweet potatoes instead of white, hot sauce hidden in my greens, and cornbread instead of yellow cake. Most of all, she said, I should smile. Mindy looked to be in a good mood.

I doubted that, but thanked her anyway and passed the maître d’ to Mindy’s table—soon to be our table. I couldn’t help thinking of Brian as I approached. He’d sop this place up like butter, both reviling its luxury and reveling in it at the same time. Though he wasn’t going to church anymore, Brian still had something honest at the core of him. Something true. My life had turned into one big lie.

“On time? That’s a first.” Mindy stood to greet me. I didn’t realize until she rested her hand on my arm that my whole body had tensed in preparation for a barrage of kisses or some unexpected spit in my ear.

I’d seen her briefly at the office, but she looked different now, both better and worse. Her face seemed radiant, but her eyes were streaked red, cried wide. I tipped her chin up. “Getting enough sleep?”

She sniffed and not from a cold. “You know how it goes, surfing the Net for research and next thing you know it’s 2 a.m. No sleep, Min weeps.” She offered a weak smile.

I’d come to say something today, to do something, to try to be honest and true. Mindy’s tears hadn’t been part of the equation. I could deal with a lot of things, but watching a woman cry wasn’t one of them. Still, if I didn’t speak up now, there’d be a lot more tears in the years to come. It was now or never. “I need to talk to you about something.”

My intended waved for the waiter. She gripped her elbows and leaned forward, pushing the tablecloth out of place. If I’d heard something at church, it wasn’t true, she said. People could be so jealous. Didn’t I know that? Didn’t I love her?

Before I could answer, the waiter arrived with sparkling cider. Astute enough to sense the tension, he suggested house salads and moved quickly away. I wanted to tell him to wait for me, but there could be no more running. This was it.