Stand Your Ground: A Novel (10 page)

Or . . . someone will pay for our son’s death.

Slowly, I lowered myself back onto the sofa. There was no way this was going to end well. But what was I supposed to do? How could I stop Tyrone from doing what he really believed he had to do?

I was so caught up in the fear that when my cell vibrated, I jumped. Looking down at the screen, I frowned.

Private
.

I never answered private numbers in the past. But the past had changed my present. So with one hand I swiped away my tears, and with the other I accepted the call.

“Hello.”

“Janice?”

It was his voice. And it rendered me silent.

“Janice?” He called my name again.

It was the way he said my name, the way he always said my name, that made my heart flutter. Still.

“Yes, this is Janice.”

I said it as if he didn’t know.

“This is Caleb.”

He said it as if I didn’t know.

“Hi.”
And then I stopped because I couldn’t get my brain to tell me what to say next.

“I’m calling because . . . I just had to speak with you.”

The last time I’d heard his voice, he’d called and said those same words. But the last time, three years ago, I’d hung up on him. And that was exactly what I should’ve done now.

But I didn’t.

As if he knew that I couldn’t speak, he said, “I heard about Marquis, and I’m so sorry.”

I found my voice and a couple of words. “Thank you.” Then after I let a few more seconds go by, I was able to add, “How did you hear?” I only asked that question to fill up the space of time. Though I hadn’t been out much, the news had to be spreading, at least through the neighborhood. So it wasn’t such a big surprise that it had reached the church. My church. The church Tyrone, Marquis, and I used to attend.

But then Caleb said, “I saw it on the news. It’s on right now. And as soon as I saw it, I called you.”

“What? It was on the news?”

I jumped up and sprinted from the living room, glancing up to the second-floor landing before I dashed to the back of the house and our family room.

“Yes,” Caleb said as I searched for the remote. “You didn’t know?”

I didn’t even answer him as I clicked on the television. “What channel?”

“I saw it on NBC, but I’m sure . . .”

The rest of his words didn’t make it to my ears. My mind could only process one thought at a time, and right now what filled the television screen was most important to me. I sank onto the couch.

There was a man and a woman in the front, dozens of men behind them. The woman held the mic in front of the man, who wore brown fatigues and a brown beret, just like the rest of the men.

The man in the front spoke. “That’s all we want,” my brother-in-law said. “Justice for our family. Justice for Marquis. We want to make sure that murderers stop getting a free pass to kill black boys because of this racist law called Stand Your Ground.”

“I hope I didn’t upset you.” Caleb’s voice came through.

“No.” I pressed the phone to my ear, but I didn’t say more as the reporter said, “So there you have it.”

The woman, Clarissa Austin, was one of the main reporters in Philadelphia. She always handled the hard news, street news.

The camera had turned away from Raj and was now totally on her.

“This shooting happened three days ago, on Monday, the day after Mother’s Day. And the family has been given no information, no details about the death of their son. We contacted the police commissioner, but were told they have no statement at this time. Back to you in the studio.”

The camera switched to the news anchors at the desk of the local station, and the black man said, “So, Clarissa, the name of the shooter has not been released?”

The image switched back to the reporter on the street; she shook her head. “No, and that’s all Marquis Johnson’s family has been asking for, at least at this time. They want to know the name of the shooter, the circumstances of the shooting, and they want to know why, with another young, unarmed man being dead . . . why more hasn’t been done to move along the investigation. But we’re going to stay on this case.”

I muted the television, though my eyes didn’t leave the screen. It wasn’t until I heard, “Are you there?” that I remembered Caleb.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t seen the news report.”

“Well, then I’m glad I called. Again, I am so sorry, Jan. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Marquis was such a special young man.”

“It’s been tough,” I said. “And what’s even harder is that we’re just waiting.”

“I know. Waiting for the police to do an investigation has got to be—”

“No, not that.” And then it poured out of me. How I hadn’t seen Marquis, how I wanted to see him so badly, how I’d spent the morning like a crazy mother hanging outside of the morgue.

I talked to Caleb the way I used to. Talked to him the way I did right before I ended up in his bed.

“I can’t believe you’re going through this, and I know it’s scary. But you have to trust God. You’ve got to know that He’s not going to give you more than you can handle.”

It was one of those Christian clichés, but you know what? It was good enough for me. Because no one had given me anything else to hold on to.

“Is there anything that I can do?”

He was already doing what I needed—he was listening to me, he was understanding, he was with me on the phone, and I knew that if I asked him, he would be right here, sitting next to me on the sofa.

“No, but thank you for asking, thank you for calling.”

“Well, there is one thing that I want to do. I really would love to pray with you. I mean, I know maybe we shouldn’t be speaking to each other. But I feel in my spirit that we should. I feel like I should be there—”

“Janice!”

Startled, I sat up. Looked up. And there stood Tyrone.

How long had he been standing there?

“I’ll call you back” was all I said before I clicked off the phone and stood.

I expected my heart to be ramming its way through my chest, but it wasn’t. It didn’t feel like it was beating at all.

Tyrone frowned. “What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”

“Uh . . . uh . . .” I thought about all the lies I’d told before when I was involved with Caleb. I thought about how I’d promised Tyrone that I’d never lie again. “It was Wilma. You know, Wilma. From work. From the post office.”

“Oh, is she going to come over?”

“Yeah,” I said, then prayed that she wasn’t already over at my mother-in-law’s house.

He released a small breath like he was relieved. “That’s good, because I really don’t want you to be alone.”

Then stay, I thought.

He said, “I really want you to come with me.”

That was not going to happen, but I didn’t tell him that right away. Instead, I said, “I saw the news. They were talking about Marquis . . . with Raj.”

When he made no moves to grab the remote to replay what I’d just watched, I realized that he was not surprised. “Good! Great! We’re making progress.”

“They were talking to Raj,” I said. “And the Guardians were there.”

“You know the media is always interested in what the Brown Guardians are doing. That’s why they were there, that’s why they’re involved.”

“I wish you had told me.” Then I wrapped my arms around myself. “I just hope that the police don’t get pissed off.”

“They need to worry about the fact that I’m beyond pissed off,” Tyrone growled. I mean, he actually growled.

“Tyrone . . .”

The plea in my voice made him bring it all the way down.

“They’re not going to do anything to Marquis,” he said with certainty in his tone. “Now that the media is involved, they’re going to play their cards straighter. We still can’t trust them, but . . .” It must have been the way I shuddered that made Tyrone wrap me inside his arms. “We still can’t trust them, but now we have a better chance of everything going our way.”

I said nothing, just breathed and hoped and prayed.

“I just want you to understand,” he said.

I nodded as if I understood, though we both knew that I didn’t. But there was nothing more for me to say.

“I wish you would come with me,” he said again.

I guess there
was
one final thing for me to say. “No.”

Now he nodded like he understood, though we both knew that he didn’t. He said, “What’s going to happen when Wilma leaves? You’ll be alone.”

“Then stay. Stay so that I won’t be by myself.”

His eyes looked like the words he was about to say caused him pain. “I want to, but I can’t.”

I shrugged. “And I can’t.”

I could tell that I was breaking his heart, and I wondered if he knew how much he was breaking mine.

Tyrone leaned toward me, resting his lips on my forehead for a long, long moment. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I nodded.

“But promise me . . . if you have to, need to, go over to Mama’s.” Tyrone kissed me good-bye, turned around, and walked out the door. I followed him to the front, then, from the window, watched him jump into Raj’s truck and roll out of the driveway. But once he hit the street, he punched the accelerator, blasting off like he was on a mission.

Turning around, I sighed and returned to the family room. The news was still on, though there was no sign of the Guardians.

I sat for a couple of seconds, trying not to do what was on my mind. But still, I picked up my cell phone.

It was Wilma
.

My lie still hung in the air—right next to the loneliness that Tyrone had left with me.

After only another moment of thought, I scrolled through the last calls, and saw it—
Private
.

I’d forgotten. Now how was I going to call Caleb back?

Was he calling from the cell that he had three years ago? Even if he was, I didn’t have that number, having deleted it on the night that Tyrone and I reconciled. Maybe I could call him at the church.

But I shot that thought down. I didn’t need to be talking to my ex-lover, my ex-pastor.

Especially not now.

I
was sipping coffee. Alone. Then I heard his car, probably Raj’s truck, when it rolled into the driveway. In the past, whenever one of us heard the other coming home, we’d meet at the door. But this morning, I didn’t even move. Just sat there sipping mocha. Because . . . the past had changed the present.

I listened for his movement, heard his footsteps on the walkway, his key in the door, the lock click, and then a few more moments and he stood next to me.

“Hey, babe.” He spoke and then kissed my forehead, as if his staying out all night was normal, an acceptable thing. As if he didn’t remember all that had happened when he stayed away like this before. Yes, the present was different from the past. But . . .

I wanted Tyrone to know I was pissed without saying it because it seemed so petty to be mad when we were dealing with all of this. But I couldn’t help it. I
was
mad. Because Tyrone didn’t want to spend his nights with me.

Now, of course, he could say that I didn’t want to spend my days with him, but my position seemed much more sound than his.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

I took a long sip of coffee, the coward’s way of not speaking.
But after I swallowed, I said, “I did.” What good would it do to let him know that this was the first night that I hadn’t closed my eyes? That I had lain stretched out on the sofa in the family room, staring at the recliner where Marquis should’ve been sitting. And that I had kept my eyes open, hoping and praying that Tyrone would come home to me, even if it had been just for an hour.

“We’re not doing much sleeping,” he told me as if I’d asked him. “But we’re getting things done.” He didn’t even pause. Just kept on talking as if this were a normal morning. “I hope Wilma stayed with you for a while. You didn’t answer my texts last night, so I just thought you were asleep after Wilma left.”

“Wilma?”

“Yeah, Wilma. When she came over yesterday. I hope she stayed for a while,” he said as he popped a K-Cup into the Keurig.

I was so mad that I wasn’t even going to cover up that lie. I just nodded—that was going to have to be enough of an answer for him. And then, when he just nodded, I got even more pissed. That
was
enough for him. It was like my husband didn’t even care about what I was going through, what I was going through alone.

When his coffee cup was full, he took a sip, then turned back to me. “I really hate that you were here by yourself last night.”

Well, at least he did care. Kind of.

I put my cup down on the counter and willed myself to keep my voice steady. Even though I was angry, an argument was not what I wanted. “I just don’t understand why you have to be out all night.”

He sighed as if he were tired of explaining it to me, but then responded as if he were trying to be patient. “We’re getting things done.”

“You still need to rest.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice a bit louder, his patience dissipating. “I can’t close my eyes. Because every time I come close to sleep . . .” He shook his head and began a new thought. “I wasn’t there for Marquis on Monday, but I’m damn sure going to be there for him now.”

I didn’t want to soften, but how could I not? I could hear the anger and the misery and the grief all rolled into his voice every time he spoke. Now my anger was just a fraction of what it’d been when he walked through the door.

He said, “Janice, I know you’re not happy with any of this. I wish you could be by my side as I fight for everything right for Marquis. But I get that you can’t. At least not yet. Not until we bury our son.

“But for me, his burial doesn’t mean what it means to you. In my head, I can’t see the funeral, I can’t see burying him, I can’t see anything except the justice that’s due to my son. That’s all my eyes can see.”

I got that.

And I got it even more when he stepped closer to me. “I just want you to remember that I love you. I love you so much.”

Before I could show him that I loved him, too, the doorbell rang. And the corners of his lips twitched.