Sweet Bye-Bye
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, incidents, and dialogue, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are imaginary and are not intended to refer to any living persons or to disparage any company’s products or services.
Copyright © 2004 by Denise Harris
All rights reserved.
Warner Books
Hachette Book Group, USA
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at
www.hachettebookgroupusa.com
First eBook Edition: September 2004
ISBN: 978-0-446-53457-4
Contents
15: San Francisco’s Got a Lot of Birds
36: Setting the Record Straight
This book is dedicated to my son, Jerry.
Keep Him close and follow your dreams.
Love,
Mom
I’d first like to take this opportunity to say thank you to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I can do everything with you and nothing without you.
And I would like to give a huge hug and thank-you to my family for enduring with me through this incredible experience. To my parents, Overton Harris Sr. and Evelyn Harris, thank you for always supporting me. To my grandmother Delthine Tolbert and my grandparents who’ve passed on: Odia Tolbert Sr., Maggie Lee Glover, Joe Riley Harris, and Olar Glover.
To my brothers Michael O’Neal Sr., Thomas Harris, Overton Harris Jr., Otis Harris, and to my son, Jerry Gaines Jr., my sister-in-laws, nieces, and nephews—Terry O’Neal, Tasha Harris, Latoya O’Neal, Leah Harris, Tenisha Harris, Tevin Harris, Michael O’Neal Jr., Cameron O’Neal, Jordan O’Neal, Elijah Harris, Josiah Harris, Mya Harris, Tarrel Harris.
To Jerry Gaines Sr., Charlene, Tommy, Pam, Tammy, Charles, Myresha, and the entire Gaines family. To Aunt Shirley, Professor George “Uncle Sonny” Jones and family, Aunt Louise Courtney, Aunt Henny Courtney and the Courtney families in Barstow, California, Aunt Grace and Uncle Sam Archer, Aunt Lula Mae Dixon, Odia “Brother” Tolbert Jr., James Glaze and family, Linda and Kenny Logan, Nancy Harris, Priscilla Tolbert, Karen Tolbert, Norene “Angel” Dixon, Marlene “Molly” Dixon, Rosemary “Rosy” Dixon, Lawanna Tolbert, Marcelus Anthony Davis and family, Tanae Lastar Bowens, Atara Tolbert, Daniel Brown and family, Montrel Williams, Marcel Antonio Williams, Dijon Boswell and family, the Perkins family—Ronald Jr., Patrice Perkins, Susanna, RJ, Ronnie, Frankie-Dijon and Irene, Lisa Tolbert, Tanya Logan, Lisa Prince, and Deanna Gaston. To the Hatchett family, the Tolbert family, Aunt Sis and the Meadors family, Katie Calloway and family, Dorothy Clemmons and family, the Glover family, Ray Dillingham Jr., Jennifer Dillingham, Kamisha Dillingham, Cecilia Dillingham and the whole Dillingham family, the Cummings family, Latreva Cooke, Ryan Cooke Jr., Hanna Cooke, Haley Boucher, Lavisha, Tiffany Pigg, Obed Pigg, and Damion Brown, Tanisha Hopkins, Porsche, Shay Shay, Fabian Vickers Jr., Shaprice Chan, Andrew Chan, Kristen Quarrels, Ashley Quarrels, Shavondria Davis, Treyvon and Peto, Justice Roxbury, Patrice Watkins, Zack Deed Jr., Gloria and Teray, Betty “Moma Betty” Duncan, Sandra “Mama Sandy” Webster, Anita “Mama Nita” Edwards, Karen Williams-Edmond, John D., and Georgia Williams and family, Barbara Willis, Shelly Willis, Florence Danae Willis, Mandisa and Brian.
To Delisia Lemmons, John and Felicia Waldon, Makesha Smith, Wendell and April Ferguson, Roy and Franchesta Hammond, Angela Webster, Kimberlay Williams, John and Sandra Scott, Lashone Williams, Solomon and Jennifer Cason, Jengea Phillips, Jeanette Bell and family, Danny Williams, Kim Tingoncieng and Kevin Farley, Abdul Mahid Kargbo and the Kargbo family, Susanna, Alen, and Lark James, Darryl Mills, Conley Gaston, Savonda Blaylock and family, Maurica Taylor and family, Nakia Epperson, Adrian Duncan, Miss Duncan, Zim Miller, Eric Bell and family, Porter Deese, Alton Pearce III, Letha Harris, Charlene Adams, Brenda Curry and family, Daphne Williams. Peter Atherton, Terry Brown, Cheryl Morris, Layra Jackson and family, Frances Larkins, Beverly Larkins, Betty Sloan, Linda Lavow, Juanita Newell, Mary Kelly, Kayla Lemmons, Sydney and Hunter Waldon, Ania Ferguson, Micah Butler, Rodney, Ryan, Jasmine, Rhakim and Rolan Edmonds, Brian Kyrie, Breanna Phillips, Andre Phillips Jr., Cameo Phillips, Dkhari Phillips, Jordan Davis, Mia MaKenna Farley, Marcus Hammond, and Naomi Hammond.
To all of my writer friends, teachers, colleagues, and role models who are taking this journey with me, thank you for all of the love, encouragement, words of wisdom, and support. Renee Swindle, Eric Jerome Dickey, Lolita Files, E. Lynne Harris, Terry McMillian, Junot Diaz, Tbone, Elmaz Albinader, Diem Jones, Jackie Luckett, Kira Allen, Leslie Easdale, Kamal Ravikant, Jante Spencer, Phillip Whilhite, Jay Laplante, Victoria Leon Gurerro, Willy Wilkinson, Erika Martinez, The San Francisco Writers Group—Wil Lutwick, Jean Washington, Marita Valdmanis, Ruta LaFranco, Andy Moore, Marc Cohen. To Juevenal Acosta, Edie Meidav, Sarah Stone, Eric Martin, Carolyn Cooke, Calla Devin, Melinda Misuraca, David Dzurick, Denise Bostrom, Alia Curtis, Kristina Del Pino, Dawn Gernhardt, Paul Stukowski, Anna Rosenblat, Anika Hamilton.
To the Sorors of Alpha Kappa Alpha Soroity Inc., and Xi Gamma Omega chapter in Oakland, Danii Taylor @ Studio 36 Hair Creations by Danii salon in Hayward, California, Vona-Voices Writers Workshops in San Francisco, Maui Writers Conference, to Paula Aloi, Brandon, Kelley Konnof, Master June Yoon at Sky Martial Arts, Gregory Ben and Pankaj Mohan over at Microsoft.
To my angel network: Mike Lynch, Betty Weibe, Hal Pearson, Charles Buettner, Richard Moore, and Donna Jackson. Thank you!
To my pastor, Bishop Ernestine Cleveland-Reems, and my church, the Center of Hope Church in Oakland, California. What an awesome praying place!
To my publisher, Denise Stinson, and the Walk Worthy Press family. My words can’t thank you enough. But I will try—you believed in me and my work from day one, thank you. But also, thank you for the title, and your artist for the great cover! They rock. I love them. Thanks!
To my editors, Frances Jalet-Miller, Mari C. Okuda, Karen Kosztolnyik, Roland Ottewell, and the folks over at Warner Books. You guys are fantastic-al! Thank you!
To the readers, thank you for supporting me and this project.
I hope you have a great time reading the story of Chantell Meyers (and all the drama and issues and love that she brings to the table!).
Well, I’m going to go get started on another book, so I’m signing off. Feel free to visit my Web site at denisemichelleharris.com, and drop me a line or two; I’d love to hear from you. Until the next time, God bless.
Take care and keep Him close, Denise Michelle Harris
A New Beginning
I
t was a Tuesday afternoon, I’d say about 12:45, and my next appointment was near my parents’ home. I had a little over an hour to kill, and a serious craving for a fruit salad. My stepmother, Charlotte, who I’d known was in Portland visiting her sister, had a knack for picking the sweetest fruit in the market.
I remember a rich Sarah Vaughan-sounding voice flowing through my speakers as I pulled into my parents’ driveway. I closed my eyes and listened as the old sounds merged with the new over a smooth melodic rhythm. When I turned off the engine, I was still trying to figure out who was singing. I took my Dior sunglasses from my eyes and placed them atop my shoulder-length mane just so. I walked up the driveway with a click-click sound coming from the heels of my shoes.
The lawn’s long blades of vibrant green grass swayed lightly with the breeze. I chuckled because I couldn’t believe that my Home Depot-loving, do-it-yourself father had let it grow so long. Daddy was serious about his lawn, but I’d caught him sleeping on the job. I was going to tease him about it too, as soon as I got in the house. I smoothed out my white linen pants with my hands and passed through the garage.
I opened the door and yelled from the kitchen, “Dad!” My mouth started to water as I wondered if there were any mangoes in the fruit bowl. “Dad, it’s me, Chantell, your most favorite daughter. You home?”
I walked into the living room, past the pictures on the glass shelf. The picture of me and my boyfriend, Eric, stood out, probably because we were cheesing from ear to ear in front of Caesar’s Palace. Eric was holding me over his head, me lying sideways like a lovely assistant in a Siegfried and Roy magic show.
“Daddy, where you at?”
I went upstairs and heard the television on in my parents’ room. The bedroom door was cracked, and I pushed it open. “Dad.”
Golf was on the TV, but I didn’t see him. I walked in a few paces, and immediately felt faint when I saw his brown legs on the floor sticking out between the bed and the wall.
“Daddy!” His feet were still in his house slippers.
It felt like a dream. I ran over to the big almond-colored man in his late fifties. I knelt down and shook him, all six feet and 250 pounds of him, but he didn’t respond. “Daddy! Daddy, get up!” My heart beat faster as the reality of that moment set in. “Come on, Daddy, don’t do this. Wake up!”
His head was cold, and panic raced through me. “Daddy, please don’t die. God, please!” I flashed back to my mother. Her funeral. I remembered sitting down in the front row with Grandma Hattie, some relatives, and my dad. Everyone was wailing, and I sat there looking up at the roof and ignoring the light teal casket with my mom in it. “Oh God no. Not again.”
I wiped my dad’s forehead. My mind went to the last time my grandmother took me to church before
she
got sick and passed away. She’d bought me a new green dress and I wore it proudly as I sat next to her on Sunday.
First my mother, then my grandmother, then my best friend Keith . . . Then I broke down. “No! Noo! Nooo!” My voice was choking me, and I fought to speak. “What to do! What to do?” I felt under his jaw line for a pulse. There was a slight one.
“Daddy, listen to me,” I said. “You can’t leave me, okay? Okay?” He had dark circles around his eyes and he looked like he’d lost twenty pounds since I’d seen him a couple of days ago. I reached in my purse, found my phone, and dialed 911. With my father’s head resting on my lap, I sat there calling his name until the ambulance arrived.
The prognosis wasn’t good. Daddy had had a massive heart attack that required a triple bypass,
and
they’d found prostate cancer. Apparently, when he fell he hit his head, and he’d been unconscious for over an hour when I found him. As soon as we arrived at the hospital, the doctors rushed him into surgery and tried to clear the valves that led to his heart. A rush of uncertainty, instability, and loneliness came flowing back to me. I’d called Eric several times, but he wasn’t picking up.
I asked the doctor what they were going to do about the cancer, and he said that they had to do things one at a time. Once they got Daddy’s heart working, they’d get him started on chemotherapy. I was a complete mess, and that didn’t make me feel any better.
My father, my compadre, lay unconscious as I sat by his bed. Tubes were sticking out of everywhere, and machines were beeping. I didn’t know what to do. I’d called my stepmother, Charlotte, and she said she’d be on the next plane back to California. But why had she left him in the first place if he was sick?