The Morning After (26 page)

Colin could hear the regret in her voice. “How'd you find out?”

Jennifer paused and looked toward Essie's house before responding. “God revealed it to me. It's a long story, but I'm just glad that He opened my eyes before it was too late. Even if T.K. doesn't take me back—which I wouldn't blame him if he didn't—I'm glad I found out the truth before I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

Colin nodded silently. He could write the book on biggest mistakes. He looked skyward at the faint sound of a thunder roll. “Let me go ahead and do this real quick. I want to get Austin-Boston out of your hair so you can get to your meeting tonight without getting caught in the rain. Just give me about ten minutes.”

“Okay. I'll have him ready.” She assumed a bent knee position on the porch so that she was closer to Colin's level and whispered, “Alarm code is 1130.” She returned to her full height and smiled. “Mr. Ben's birthday was November thirtieth.”

Colin waited until Jennifer was inside her house before he headed next door. Once inside Essie's home, he deactivated the alarm system and placed the door key on top of the floor model television set. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and looked around the spacious area. The shelves once cluttered with whatnots and photographs were empty, but the living room was still in place. Sealed and labeled boxes lined the floor in an orderly fashion, waiting to be transported to storage.

The house was quiet, but Colin could almost feel Essie's presence. He walked to the far corner of the living room and touched the pinewood casing of the grandfather clock that had come to define the elderly woman who'd once lived there. Essie always talked about God's perfect timing; often citing Ecclesiastes, third chapter as a biblical reference to support her belief. She said that God never made mistakes and that He knew everybody's predicaments before they ever got into them. Essie declared that there wasn't any problem too hard for God to solve; people just needed to have the patience to wait on Him to move in His own time. Now, more than ever, Colin hoped that she was right.

The kitchen looked almost untouched. Colin stood in the middle of it and viewed the big wooden spoon and fork that still hung over the stove, the stocked spice rack that was posted on the wall above the electric can opener, and the blue oven mitt and matching pot holder that lay on top of the microwave oven. The sink had two dishes inside: a cereal bowl and a spoon. Odd since no one had lived there in over a year.

Colin made his way back to the living room, having no idea why he'd come into the house or what he was looking for. He took slow steps toward the bedroom, feeling as if he were about to invade Essie's privacy as he gave the door a cautious nudge. The hinges made a long, faint, creaking sound, and it almost seemed like the door opened all on its own. Colin's push had been gentle, but the door opened fully; coming to a halt only when it hit the doorstop.

Colin didn't walk into the space right away. From the doorway, he noted the country theme of the room. The same straw hat that hung on the wall above the headboard when Essie was alive was still in place. The large wooden rocking chair still sat in the corner near the head of the bed. Essie's sewing machine remained to the immediate right, nestled between the door that led to the master bathroom, and the one that led to the closet. Colin took a few steps inside. The bed had been disturbed. The patchwork quilt had been pulled away from the rest of the covers. That's when it dawned on him. This had to be where Angel had fled. She and Austin had slept here.

Approaching the bed, Colin reached out and touched the pillow where he knew Angel's head had lain. He'd bet anything that if he sniffed the fabric he'd be able to smell her hair products. Colin brought the pillowcase to his nostrils and inhaled. There it was. Just like he knew it would be.

Placing the pillow back where he found it, he took a seat on the mattress and buried his face in his hands. He was burdened with a mountain of regrets that he wished he could undo. “Lord, please forgive me for any wrongdoings; whether they were sins of commission or sins of omission. Forgive me for any ungodly thoughts that may have crept into my head and for any level of disrespect that I may have displayed toward my wife and son; intentional or not. Please soften Angel's heart to forgive me, and help me to be patient with her. Whatever she's going through that had caused her recent distance, you knew about it even before she began facing it. I ask that you do a work in both of us so that we can come together and talk rationally as man and wife. Help us to put you first and allow you to work out these unfamiliar issues that we're facing. Put us on the right track so that we will please you in all that we do.”

Colin paused. He hadn't planned on praying, but the words were pouring out like water from a fountain—the kind of fountain wherein children pitched pennies and made wishes that couldn't possibly come true without the help of a miracle. “And Lord, please help me not blame Nona.” All day long, Colin had been having peculiar feelings about his assistant, and he didn't know why. He didn't want it to be brewing hatred prompted by his desire to point the accusing finger at her. It wasn't her fault. Not completely anyway. “I'm sorry for not listening to your voice when you were clearly instructing me to place distance there; telling me that the relationship was leading to trouble. Lord, I take full responsibility for the consequences of my disobedience, but I ask that you have mercy, and grant me pardon for my hardheadedness. Let my insubordination not destroy my marriage and my family. Bring harmony to my home, and allow your peace that surpasses all understanding to rest and rule.”

The prayer was emotionally draining. Colin took a breath and concluded with, “It is in Jesus' name that I ask all these things. And by faith, I thank you in advance for what you're going to do . . . in your own time. Amen.”

When Colin opened his eyes, his sight locked onto a shoebox sized container that was sitting on the floor beside the bed, in front of the nightstand. It was a colorful box, and he didn't know how he'd not seen it earlier. When he attempted to pick it up by the handle on the lid, the top lifted off instead. Colin's first instinct was to replace the cover. Whatever was inside wasn't any of his business. But the collection of photos and papers inside provided to be too tempting for him to ignore. He picked up the box and placed it on his lap. As he began thumbing through the contents, the first thing he noticed was the folded letter that Essie told Angel she read every night before going to bed. It was the last letter that her husband, Ben, had written her before he was killed in World War II. They'd found the letter clasped in Essie's hand on the night that she died.

“That was some kind of love,” Colin whispered as he bypassed the letter and looked further.

The box was a treasure chest of mementos: more letters from Ben, outdated postage stamps, a silver cross necklace, the deed to Essie's house, a man's gold band that Colin assumed was Ben's wedding ring, and several photos. A worn black and white photo of three girls grabbed his attention. The threesome appeared to be in their early teens and wore long dresses and hairdos that made them look like a wannabe version of The Supremes.

The words:
Essie Mae, Lillie Pearl, and Annie Belle. Mama made our dresses and we thought we were too cute even for the camera,
were written on the back. Colin laughed out loud. They all had the same smile, and even before flipping the photo over and reading the neat cursive scripting, he had guessed that they were Essie and her two older sisters. Even though the years had erased some of the details of the picture, it was easy to see that Essie had been the most attractive of the three.

Other photos included one with the words
Buddy and Emma Jean
written on the back. Those were the names of Essie's parents. It looked to be more of a painting than a photograph. It had probably been retouched for preservation purposes. Her father sported a dark, aged suit and had a cigarette dangling out of the side of his mouth. Her mother, a heavyset woman, wore a nice, handmade dress and matching gloves. They made a handsome couple. Most of the other photographs were of people that Colin didn't know, but one drew him in and held him. Something about the child in it looked oddly familiar. He brought it closer to his face to get a better view, then flipped it over.

Colin stood straight up, sending the box and its contents tumbling to the floor.

Her hands were so clammy that a stain of wetness could be seen on her leather steering wheel when she released it to prepare to get out of her car. Upon parking at the edge of T.K.'s property, she'd seen someone peek through one of the curtains, so she knew that her arrival was common knowledge inside the house. Jennifer had been given no time to sit in the car and collect herself.

A steady, moderate rainfall had made the drive to Stone Mountain a bit longer than normal, but she still arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule. Had Jennifer been anywhere else, she would have pulled into the driveway to put herself closer to the front door. But the homeowner's association in T.K.'s upscale subdivision didn't permit that. Vehicles had to either be pulled into the garage, or parked at street side. It was their way of keeping the driveways oil-free.

Just as she gripped the handle to open her door, the garage door lifted, and Jennifer watched T.K.'s Ford Escape slowly back out. Where was he going? Had he thought about the whole thing and changed his mind about speaking with her? Was he leaving so that she and Jerrod could have the time alone? That wouldn't do. Jennifer wanted . . .
needed
to speak with both of them. Her mind raced, trying to think what she could say or do to stop his exit. There was no time to be coy; she was in the process of preparing to blow her horn when the Escape came to a stop. T.K. flashed his headlights, climbed out of the driver's seat, and motioned for her to pull into the vacated space beside his Corvette.

Still the gentleman. Jennifer couldn't believe she'd let him get away.

From her rearview mirror as she parked, Jennifer saw T.K. pull the truck in the streetside place where her car had once been. Then he got out and jogged under the shelter of the garage, wiping water from his face.

“Thank you.” The words almost got hung in her throat, but she said them. Jennifer noted the way the rain made T.K.'s Ralph Lauren polo shirt cling to the lean muscular upper body that had been gifted to him by years of running. If he didn't change into something dry, she wasn't going to be able to get through the evening without making a total imbecile of herself.

T.K. returned her gaze for a short time while he slung excess moisture from his hands and arms. “No problem,” he said, then pointed toward the side door that would lead them into the house. “Come on in.”

The coolness of the den welcomed them as they stepped inside. Only a few days had passed since the last time Jennifer had been here, but as she looked around, it seemed like a lifetime.

T.K. led the way from the den into the living room and pointed toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. Jerrod will be down in a second.”

“Thanks.” He was being so cordial that Jennifer wanted to cry. She would feel better if he would just scream at her and tell her what an idiot she was.

Instead, he disappeared around a corner without another word, leaving her to her thoughts. Jennifer didn't blame him for not wanting to be in the same room with her for any length of time. She imagined that if he could find a way to breathe different air than she did, he'd do that too.

Jennifer stood slowly when Jerrod entered the room. Tears clouded her vision as she looked at her son. On the drive over, she promised herself that she wouldn't get emotional, but it was a promise that she wouldn't be able to keep. As the tears spilled onto her cheeks, she didn't try to wipe them away. “Hey, baby,” she whispered.

“Hey, Ma.” Jerrod looked away as if he couldn't bear to see her cry.

“Sit with me?” It was an odd sounding statement /question, but she was glad when her son complied. Jerrod's behind had barely touched the leather on the couch when Jennifer spoke again. “I'm so sorry, baby. I'm sorry for everything. I don't know what I was thinking or why I didn't talk to you first. You deserved so much better than that. It wasn't just my life that was gonna change, yours was going to change too, and I'm so sorry for not considering your feelings.”

Jerrod shook his head. “I just can't believe you could do something this stupid, Ma.” He sounded like he was glad to finally unburden himself of the heated thoughts he'd been holding in for days. “Everything was going so good and you just jacked it all up by bringing that no-good, trifling fool—”

“Jerrod.”

The firm, one-word warning caused them both to turn around. T.K. stood in the entrance-way with his arms folded and his back resting against the wall. He'd changed into dry clothes. For Jennifer, it was a relief and a disappointment at the same time.

“Start over,” he demanded.

Jennifer wiped her tears and looked back at Jerrod. It was obvious that T.K. and her son had had some kind of discussion about how the teenager was supposed to handle tonight's meeting. “It's okay,” Jennifer interjected. “I want him to be honest and say what he feels.”

“He can do that without being disrespectful,” T.K. insisted. Then he looked back at Jerrod. “Start over, kid.”

Jerrod's posture slumped and his back fell against the cushions of the sofa. As if declaring to Jerrod that he meant business, T.K. approached the fireplace that was across from the sofa and looked at the boy. T.K. spoke no words, but his eyes were intense. Jerrod sat up straight. Even Jennifer repositioned herself under T.K.'s stare.

“I just don't want him in my life, Ma.” Jerrod's new tone was barely above whispering. “I been getting along just fine without him, and that's the way I want it to stay.”

Jennifer's eyes dropped to her lap. “I thought the dream of every boy who had grown up without his father was to get to know his dad.”

T.K. made a grunting sound and Jennifer looked up to see him shaking his head like her words couldn't have been further from the truth.

“Not me, Ma,” Jerrod said. “I can't say that I ever even wanted to know what he looked like, let alone get to know him personally. Now you got me wanting to change my middle name.” Jerrod kicked the airspace in front of him. “I used to like it before I knew it was
his
name too. Now I got to live the rest of my life knowing that I not only got his name, but I got his ugly face.”

Jennifer reached forward and touched her son's hand. “Jerrod, you are not ugly. You're a very handsome boy. Always have been and always will be.”

“Yeah. I used to think so too before I saw where I got it from,” he grumbled, displeasure contorting his face. “When I get grown, I'ma change my name
and
get a facelift.”

T.K. broke into a soft chuckle, and Jennifer struggled not to follow his lead. She bit her bottom lip in an attempt to maintain control, but Jerrod wasn't amused.

“Glad y'all think it's funny,” he added.

“No, sweetheart,” Jennifer assured him. “It's not funny.”

“Yes, it is,” T.K. refuted. He leaned against the mantle of the fireplace. “Disappointments are gonna come, Jerrod. People are going to disappoint you and it won't be in your control to change everything.” Jennifer noted the look he shot her way when he said the words. She looked at her lap as he continued. “I'm named after my father too, Jerrod; got his
whole
name. And in order for your dad to be a lower-life individual than mine, he'd have to live in hell and be Satan's right hand man.”

Jennifer's eyes found him again. T.K. had never told her much about his father other than the fact that he never knew him. She didn't know he was such a scoundrel, and she didn't know that T.K. was named after him either. As he continued to speak, T.K. had pain in his eyes, and Jennifer wanted to jump from the sofa and hold him. But she knew better than to try.

“You know what my father did?” T.K.'s eyes were locked on Jerrod, but Jennifer felt as if he were posing the question to both of them. “Not only did he abandon my mother when he found out she was pregnant, just as your dad did, but he beat her. My mother told me that his words to her were, ‘If you don't get rid of this baby, I'm gonna beat him out of you.' That's what he told her.

“You see, my father wanted my mom to have an abortion to cover his adultery, cover his
crime
. He was a married man. A chronic cheater. A pedophile that always had some underage lover on the side. Thirty-six years old when my mama was fifteen. He befriended my mother, made her think he loved her, took her innocence, got her pregnant, and then wanted her to kill me to cover his tracks. When she wouldn't abort, he figured he'd do a bootleg abortion for her. Literally kicked her in the stomach with the steel toe of his boots to try to get rid of me.”

Jennifer placed her hands over her mouth. She had no idea. Devon had abandoned her during her pregnancy, but he'd never tried to harm her.

“She wouldn't press charges, wouldn't tell on him, nothing,” T.K. said. “Even after all of that, Mama still loved him enough to name me after the man. Thomas King Donaldson Jr.” He released a cold laugh and shook his head. “At thirteen or so, I started going by T.K. just so I wouldn't have to hear his name every time I heard mine.” He moved across the floor and sat on the space beside Jerrod. “Listen, kid. Don't nobody understand what you're dealing with more than me. But one thing I've found out in life is that there are some battles that only God can fight. In this world there have always been dads who are deadbeat and dads who will beat you dead. The best way to fight it is to not become one of them. You can change your face and change your name, but the truth of the matter is you will still be who you are, and the man who planted the seed that got you here will still be the same. You get what I'm saying?”

“I do, Coach,” Jerrod said, “but I guess you just better than me. I just can't do this. I can't live with him, knowing that he ditched us when he found out I was on the way. How am I supposed to play like I'm a'ight with that?”

Jennifer opened her mouth to speak, but it was as if she was no longer a part of the conversation.

“That's where we differ, Jerrod,” T.K. said. “You're wrong. I'm not better than you. In fact, you're gonna have to be a better man than me. See, I didn't have to live with my dad. I don't know why your mama decided to take your father back. I don't like it any more than you do, but I can't exactly look down on her just because my mom didn't go that route.” Jennifer fidgeted in her seat, but said nothing. “I believe with everything within me that if my mother would have had a choice in the matter, she probably would have taken my father back too. It was his choice to leave her; not vice versa.”

“Why would she take him back after he tried to kill her baby?”

T.K. shook his head. “I don't know, kid. I stopped trying to figure women out a long time ago. Take it from me; life is easier that way.”

Stillness settled in the room for a moment, and Jennifer decided that now was the time. “Jerrod, sweetheart; I—”

“I can't do it, Ma,” Jerrod broke in. He shifted so that he faced her now. “I heard everything Coach said, and I already know what you're gonna say. I know Devon is my daddy by nature, but I don't want nothing to do with him. Toby's got an apartment and he's living on his own. He ain't but a few months older than me. You won't even have to pay for my junk like Toby's parents pay for his. I'll get an after-school job and take care of myself. If you want to marry him, then more power to you. I ain't gonna try to stand in your way, and I ain't gonna try to make no trouble for y'all. All I'm asking is that you don't force him on me.”

“But, Jerrod—”

“Ma, every boy don't want to know who his father is, okay? Maybe every kid needs a father figure, but they don't necessarily need their daddies in their life to have that.” He turned and looked at T.K., then turned back to Jennifer and added, “I got a father figure, Ma. Coach D is a better daddy to me than that man will ever be. I'm not asking you not to make Devon your husband, Ma. I'm just telling you that I can't make him my dad.”

Tears glossed Jennifer's eyes once more. “That's what I'm trying to tell you, Jerrod. I came here to tell you that I'm not going to force you to live under the same roof with Devon.”

Jerrod's body snapped to attention. “For real, Ma?”

Jennifer nodded. “For real, sweetheart. I'm not gonna make him your daddy, and I'm not going to make him my husband either.” She felt T.K.'s eyes burn into her flesh, but she made an effort to hold her eyes on her son. “I made a mistake, Jerrod. A very, very expensive mistake. A mistake that may have cost me the best thing that has happened to me since you.” Jennifer didn't even look away from Jerrod when T.K. stood from the sofa and walked back toward the fireplace. But she hoped that he knew her next words were just as much for him as they were for Jerrod. “I'm sorry, Jerrod. I had prayed for God to send me something special; a specific blessing. And when Devon suddenly showed back up in my life, I thought he was the answer to my prayers.” She closed her eyes when her son reached forward and wiped away her tears with his hands.

“I messed up,” she said, choking on the heavier flow of tears. “I just want you to know that I love you very much.” It was then that she turned her eyes toward the man standing at the fireplace searching her. “Very much,” Jennifer reiterated before looking back at Jerrod. “I promise that I'll never allow anything to come between us again, never put another man's desires above our relationship. Never. I promise.”

Jerrod flung his arms around her neck and held on tight. Tears flowed from her eyes onto his shoulder.

“Forgive me?” Jennifer whispered.