Stand Your Ground: A Novel (8 page)

At the same moment that the toast popped up, a voice behind me said, “Hey.” Both sounds made me jump a couple of inches into the air.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning around, I faced Raj. If I didn’t have such contempt for this man, he might actually be a little attractive in that Boris Kodjoe perfection kind of way. Though that wasn’t my kind of man at all. I needed ruggedness, an obvious bad-boy attitude. Raj didn’t have that on the outside like Tyrone. What he had was worse; he had evil on the inside.

“You don’t scare me.”

He nodded. “You didn’t give me a chance earlier, Jan, but I really wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Marquis.”

Though there was little that I believed or trusted about Raj, I did know that he loved his nephew. Back in the day when he was my beloved brother-in-law, he was our go-to babysitter. Anytime Tyrone and I needed help with Marquis, Raj was there. But we were a long ways away from those days.

“Thank you,” I said, and then, turned my attention back to the toaster. If I could’ve thought of a way to be even ruder, I would have done it.

“How’s Syreeta?”

It had to be grief because I couldn’t remember ever being so angry this many times in one day.

I swung around, and with all the pain in my voice that came from losing my son, I said, “She’s good, Raj. Now that her face has stayed out of the way of your fists.”

It wasn’t enough for me that I could almost see the heat rising beneath his skin. No, since he was bold enough to come to my home, since he was bold enough to confront me, since he was bold enough to ask about my best friend, I had to go in. “And don’t ask me for her number so that you can track her down and beat her again.”

“I would never do that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I already know she’s in Germany.”

That made me pause and get mad at Tyrone all over again. My husband and I had a deal; he was never supposed to tell his brother anything about Syreeta.

“Look,” Raj began, holding up his hands as if he were surrendering to me. “I didn’t mean any harm by asking about Syreeta. I just wanted to know how she was.”

“I already told you. She’s away from your fists.”

He pressed his lips together like he was holding back words. Then he had the nerve to say, “Please tell her I asked about her.”

“I’m not telling her a thing about you. If she’s lucky, she’ll die without ever hearing your name again.”

That got to him, I could tell. But it got to me, too. I didn’t want to talk about death right now—not even with Raj.

But it was just that I really didn’t like this man. He and I had fought a battle that he almost won. It had started because of my girlfriend Syreeta. I couldn’t even remember how many years ago it was when I introduced the two, but only months after the introduction, they’d become live-in lovers. That had lasted for years.
Until their lovefest turned into some kind of boxing match that only Raj could win.

I would never forget that first call.

“Jan, please, come and get me,” Syreeta cried.

“Ree! Where are you?”

“At home. Raj got mad, and he hit me.”

“Oh, my God,” I said, not able to believe it.

“He beat me up,” she continued.

“I’ll be right there.”

I still had a couple of hours to go before I was supposed to get off from work, but I told my supervisor that I had a family emergency and she let me clock out. I raced to Raj’s apartment, and when I got there, I was shocked to see that my best friend had lied. Raj hadn’t beaten her up. He’d kicked her ass like she was a man.

There had never been a time when I shook as much as I did when I helped Syreeta toss a couple of things into an overnight bag. I got her out of there, but then the next decision was where she would go. She didn’t want to come home with me, and I agreed, thinking that my home would be the first place Tyrone’s brother would look. Not that I ever thought Raj would go up against his brother; still, I didn’t want to take that chance. So we checked her into a Ramada Inn.

When I was sure she was okay, I left her at the hotel and went home to find out from my husband what the hell was wrong with his brother.

Tyrone was just as shocked as I was, though, and he kept asking me, “Are you sure?” as if I couldn’t trust my eyes.

“I’m sure. And she needs to have your brother arrested.”

Tyrone had called his brother, not reaching him until the next morning, when Raj told Tyrone that he was at the hotel, picking up Syreeta.

“We just had a little lovers’ situation,” Raj had convinced Tyrone.

I
was shocked, until I spoke to Syreeta.

“He said he’s sorry, and he won’t do it again.”

“Syreeta, you know that’s not true.”

“He means it. And I believe in giving everyone a second chance. I love him. And I know it won’t happen again.”

I had prayed that night that Syreeta was right; it turned out that she was wrong.

But even as I remembered that time and how awful it was, gazing at Raj now, standing in front of me with an expression that looked like I’d cut him, I wished I hadn’t talked about death.

It was just that every time I saw this man, I wanted to hurt him. He’d caused so much chaos—not only with what he’d done to Syreeta, but also by what he tried to do to me . . . and Tyrone.

“I’m sorry,” Raj said. “About everything, Jan, I’m really sorry.”

I didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the grief that had my heart so hard. But all that came out of me was, “You’re right. You are sorry.”

“You’re not going to give me a break, are you?”

“No more than the breaks you gave to Syreeta. Let me see.” I held up my fingers as if I were about to count them off. “You gave her a broken nose, a broken arm, a broken—”

“I’ll leave now.”

I lowered my arms. “Do that.”

He took a couple of steps away from me and turned back. “I’ve changed.”

“I think Charles Manson says that every time he’s up for parole.”

“Wow!” He shook his head. “Well, I’ve heard that you’ve changed, too. I guess that’s something that you, me, and Charles have in common.”

He turned around and walked out, leaving me alone with that zinger ringing in my ears.

Damn!

My son had just been murdered and now I had to deal with this? There was no way I would be able to handle it.

No way.

I
was in this never-ending state of inertia. The clock ticked, but time didn’t move. My days became known by numbers and today was day three. The third full day of my life without Marquis.

But then I rolled over in my bed and felt the cool sheets. In my mind, I changed the number of this day. Now this became day two. The second morning that I woke up without Tyrone in the bed next to me.

I pushed myself up and once again wondered—where was my husband? Had another night passed when I’d slept alone? It wasn’t until I was sitting all the way up that I noticed a piece of paper peeking out from beneath his pillow.

Babe: I’m at Raj’s house. We’re working on a few things. Mama’s there with you. And I left the car. Call me the moment you wake up. Love you, babe. Need you. Call me.

“Love you, babe,” I whispered as I folded the paper in half. “Need you, too.”

My husband’s concern showed all through the note. He cared so much that he didn’t want me to be alone. But he didn’t care enough to be the one here with me.

Reaching over to the nightstand, I picked up my cell phone.
I scrolled, then clicked, then asked, “May I speak to Detective Ferguson, please,” when the phone on the other end was answered.

And like yesterday, I didn’t have to wait.

“Ferguson.”

“This is Janice Johnson. I was calling to see when I would be able to . . . see my son.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson,” he began in that friendly tone again. I’d expected something else this morning; I’d expected to feel as if I was becoming a nuisance. “I can check on that and get back to you.”

“Please do.”

Like yesterday, I hung up without a good-bye or a thank-you. I didn’t have room for niceties as long as my son was being held hostage.

The tap on the door made me look up, and when I said, “Come in,” Delores stepped inside my bedroom.

“Good, you’re awake.” She was already dressed, today donning a black wrap dress. “I didn’t want to knock too early.”

“I was just getting up.” I raised the paper that I still held. “Tyrone left me a note. He stayed with Raj?”

Delores nodded as she sat on the edge of our bed. “Nobody is getting a lot of sleep around here.”

I didn’t bother to tell her that she was wrong about that. Breathing was almost impossible and eating was almost unthinkable . . . but sleeping? I was doing that well.

She continued, “They knew you weren’t comfortable with Raj and his friends being here. So, since they wanted to talk about . . . some things, they headed over to Raj’s house.”

My eyes narrowed.

Delores added, “Tyrone wanted me to stay with you and take you over to my place this morning.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I hope Raj isn’t trying to talk Tyrone into doing something stupid.”

Delores popped off the bed, pursed her lips, and looked down at me as if I’d just insulted her because I’d insulted her son.

“You know that the Guardians are nothing more than vigilantes,” I kept on, not caring about how Delores felt. “And if they do something, that’s only going to make this situation worse.”

“I don’t know how anything can be worse than this, Jan,” Delores said, resting one hand on her hip. “How can anything be worse than Marquis being dead?”

It must’ve been the way I glared at her that made her say, “Look, I just think that everyone’s nerves and feelings and emotions are fragile right now and—”

“That’s not it at all. Even if this weren’t about Marquis, I wouldn’t want to be involved with killers.”

“They’re not killers!” But then, when I stared her down, she backed down.
“Well, sometimes violence is what you need. Sometimes violence is the only language that white folks understand.”

I couldn’t believe this churchgoing, Bible-reading, scripture-quoting woman was saying this.

“Really?” I said. “What about the violence that hurts and even kills innocent people? Six people died in that car accident when the Guardians killed Watson.”

“That is sad,” she began. But then Delores had the nerve to shrug. “There are casualties in combat. Lots of good people die in war.”

And that right there was the problem. Because smart people, people whom I respected, were buying the Guardians’ propaganda, and then trying to sell it to others.

I glared at her, wanting her to take those words back. But she glared right back at me until she said, “I need to get to my house before people start coming by.”

“Coming by?”

She nodded. “You know, people want to keep us company, they want to make sure we’re okay.”

“So they’re not coming
over here
today?” I said. For the first time since Monday night, there was a little glee in my voice.

“No, we can all tell that it’s a bit too much for you,” Delores said. “With the way you keep going to bed early. It’s a little insulting when the hostess leaves.”

Hostess? This wasn’t a party, though last night, it sounded like one.

Our home had filled up with even more people than the day before. People sat around pontificating about how everybody, everywhere, was against every black person. The gathering had turned into a hatefest that had nothing to do with Marquis.

“We really need to get going,” Delores said. “Someone from your job called a little while ago and I gave them my address. They were on their way, so let’s get a move on.”

If I didn’t want to sit with all of those people in my house, why would I go to her house and do it?

“Uh . . . there are some things I want to take care of here, so . . . you go on and I’ll come later.”

Delores looked at me with a
stop lying
expression. “Tyrone doesn’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be alone.”

She tilted her head in question.

I said, “I mean, I’m not going to stay here. I’m going to go out.” I had two seconds to come up with a good lie. That was why only a bad one came out of my mouth. “I need to go shopping. Get some groceries.”

Delores looked at me. “If you want to stay here by yourself, that’s all you need to say.” She shook her head as if I’d annoyed her. “I’m gonna call Tyrone. He’s not gonna be happy.” She pivoted and marched out of my room.

I stayed in place, sitting on my bed, and since Delores had left my bedroom door open, I sat until I heard the front door open then close. Only then did I push myself up and out of the bed.

But once I stood, the silence hit me.

I’d heard this silence before. Times when I’d found ways to get Tyrone and Marquis out of the house. Back then, I craved the peace that came from this quiet.

But this didn’t feel like peace. The silence was so scary, so eerie, that I wanted to run after Delores and tell her to wait, that it would only take me three minutes to get dressed.

But I didn’t do that. Instead, I walked from my bedroom, into the hall, then a few more feet, and I faced my greatest fear.

Standing in front of Marquis’s closed bedroom door, I built up courage, and when I had enough, I rested my hand on his door, turned the knob, then pushed it open.

I inhaled, thinking just how normal it all looked. First, there were the miniblinds that were drawn as they always were.

“Marquis, open up those blinds. Open up those windows.”

“Mama, what’s wrong? I like it like this.”

“Your bedroom is like a cave. You’re not supposed to spend your life in the dark.”

“Who says?”

“God! It’s in the Bible. Look it up.”

I heard Marquis’s laughter as I stood in the hallway, and my glance roamed through his room, from his bed, to his desk, to the golf clubs that were propped up in one corner and his saxophone that sat in the other.