A Sister's Survival Page 5

  “Yeah, but if you would have told him the truth from jump, I could be in my son’s life, and your boy would just have to deal with the chips that fell.”

  “Since that ain’t how things went down, then that’ll never be the case, you hear me, Q? Now please stop threatening to tell him anything. Please. If you care about me, care about Chance, or even my other kids, you’re going to have to take this secret to your grave.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that, Ma.”

  “You’re going to have to try. Anyway, did I tell you that I’m getting closer to my due date? I’m about to drop this one soon. And that’s all I’m trying to focus on right now.” She wrung her hands together, and for a moment Q felt bad for Coco.

  “So, you see, I don’t need you bugging me like you been doing. Seriously. I know you think I’m a bad mama, but I can’t wait to have this baby. This is gonna be my last one. I swear to God it is.”

  She placed her face in her hands and wept. Wept about her poor decisions that made her life what it was. Why was she so reckless and wild? Why couldn’t she be more sensible when it came to her relationships? Every decision she’d made so far only brought her a world filled with trouble. Coco’s emotions had been all over the place lately. And Q was already familiar with the drama that went down in Coco’s household. Calhoun would call Q on the phone, complaining like a little bitch. At least that’s what he used to do. Lately he’d been tight-lipped, which was why Q got curious and wanted to pop by and see what was up.

  “All right then, Coco. I won’t bother you about Chance.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  She told him thanks, then walked him to the door so he could leave her in peace.

  * * *

  Alita nervously stood outside Jerrod Dawson’s door. Her leg was shaking and her forehead was wet with moisture.

  Although the temperature was mild on that early March afternoon, her hands were inserted inside a pair of cheap cloth gloves that she’d purchased from a grocery store. She wore a long coat, dark sunglasses, and her head was covered by a slouchy cap.

  Alita made sure to ignore the house that stood directly across the street from his home. She did not want to look at it. The terrible memories deeply lodged in her heart prevented her from acknowledging that house. She turned her back against it and used a gloved finger to ring Jerrod’s doorbell.

  A young man of medium height, thin, and with two pointed ears, he quickly welcomed her inside.

  “Hey,” she greeted him. Alita removed the sunglasses and glanced at the living area. “Is your mama or kinfolks here right now?”

  “Nah,” he muttered. “They won free tickets to the rodeo. They won’t be back for hours.”

  “Good!” she replied and sighed in relief. She barely wanted to see Jerrod, let alone his family members. Alita stood there checking out the impressive array of furniture and the artwork that decorated the walls.

  “Go on and have a seat,” Jerrod finally told her. “You act like you haven’t been here before.”

  “Jerrod, please don’t start. You know how I feel about this. I don’t know why we can’t meet somewhere else besides here.” Feeling agitated, she went and sat on the edge of the couch. Her voice was almost a whisper as she spoke. “Coming here always feels strange—but no way I’ll let you come to mine. I still feel like a shithead. Always have.”

  “We don’t have to talk about that. We can talk about other, more important things.” Jerrod decided to sit right next to Alita. He was so close to her she could smell his musty odor like his clothes hadn’t been washed. She scooted over to allow a healthy distance between them.

  “How are things going with you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even and light.

  “’Bout the same.”

  “Hmm, I figured that. That’s the only reason you stay in touch. ’Cause you say things are not good. That you can’t catch a break,” Alita replied, her face tight and pinched. “But somehow I don’t believe you.” She rose to her feet and pointed. “This furniture . . . it looks and smells brand new. It’s not that low-budget cloth couch that poor folks buy. This is a couch that says I’m grown. I’ve made it.” She allowed her gloved finger to stroke the leather sofa and eyed him. “How can you afford these kinds of things if you don’t have a job?”

  “I do have a job.”

  “Oh, really? And when were you gonna tell me?” Instead of waiting for his answer, Alita spun around and headed for the vestibule.

  “Alita. Wait. Listen up.” Jerrod ran behind her before she could grab the doorknob. “It’s a little piece of a job, Alita, nothing to jump up and down about. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  “What is it, Jerrod? Tell me.”

  “All I do is help my cousin out from time to time at this auto shop.”

  “Oh, yeah? Doing what? How much he pays you?”

  “It’s not a ‘he.’ My cousin is a female. She owns the shop and she teaches me how to do oil changes, battery installations, other minor maintenance. That’s it.”

  “How much does she pay you, Jerrod?”

  He shoved his hands deep in his pocket. “Apparently not enough. I’m still living with my mother and younger sisters, as you can see. In case you forgot, I’m forced to be the son and the daddy,” he said with a smirk.

  Alita’s face was pinched with frustration. She was sick of sneaking over to Jerrod’s house to give him money.

  Perhaps this explained why she was always struggling, although she did not want to think about the true reason for her monetary setbacks. Alita was getting to the point where she wanted to end this habit of harboring the biggest skeletons of her life.

  “Look,” she said. “Things are getting crazy. My son . . . he wants to go to college.”

  “Oh yeah? But the good thing about that, Alita, is that your son has a daddy in his life that can help him achieve his dreams.”

  “True, but now, uh, Elyse lives with us too.”

  “Oh, must be nice.”

  “Not as nice as you think. That’s one more mouth to feed. Another human being to worry about on top of all my other worries.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you at all, so if you want me to feel bad, stop wasting your time. Spare me with your troubles. We all got troubles.”

  Alita wanted to punch his face with closed fists, beat him into silence; just push him far, far away until she could no longer see him and what he represented.

  Jerrod studied Alita’s facial expression, her poked-out lips and an eyebrow raised so high he could read her mind.

  Even though he knew she was livid, he still recognized the same fire, same beauty that he had first noticed as a kid. The Reeveses used to live across the street from the Dawsons. Their families knew each other well. Alita and Burgundy would tease Jerrod and Dru about the “puppy love” that they’d shared when they liked each other in both elementary and middle school. But once they enrolled in high school, things grew very serious between the young couple. Even though Jerrod was shy, awkward, and clumsy, somehow he and Dru connected. She was smart, a go-getter. Back then, he was too. He had ambitions, oddly enough, and entertained thoughts about becoming an architect. And Jerrod was very in love with the girl who lived across the street. But then . . . his family life grew complicated, and things were never the same.

  As Jerrod stood there fuming about his past, Alita pressed her lips together and groaned with impatience. Wanting to smooth things over, he gently grabbed her by the elbow and began to walk. When she did not resist, he boldly reached for her hand with a confidence he barely felt. He coaxed Alita back down the hallway. She followed. But instead of returning to the living room where they’d been sitting, he continued on toward his bedroom.

  When Alita realized where they were headed, she stopped walking.

  “Um, what do you think you’re doing, Jerrod?”

  “Nothing. We’re just going in my room to talk. So, we can have more privacy.”

&nb
sp; “Boy, you must think I’m a fool.”

  “I know you’re not a fool.”

  “You must not know, or else you wouldn’t even try this. Are you out of your mind? Don’t get it twisted about what the fuck I am, ’cause you messing with the wrong bitch.” Alita spun around again, heading back to the living room. “I have no business being in that room; I barely have business being in this house.”

  “Oh, but you do have business here.” Jerrod smiled as he followed her. “Yet you’re partially right. The person you really came to see ain’t here and hasn’t been here in a while.”

  “Jerrod, please.”

  Every time she looked at him she wondered how she got herself into her situation: Jerrod blackmailing her for money or else he’d expose her secret.

  His mocking stare verbalized everything his words did not. Alita lowered her eyes, cursed underneath her breath, and reached inside of her purse. She retrieved an envelope thick with cash. She counted off twenty twenty-dollar bills, ten fives, and ten ones.

  Jerrod glanced at the roll of bills she handed him.

  He counted. “Four-sixty. Is that all?”

  “What the fuck? I told you I have bills. I have old bills, new bills, all kinds of bills.”

  “But I gotta put some of this money on Jack’s books.” Jack was Jerrod’s father, and he’d been in prison for going on two decades.

  “I don’t care if you give it all to a homeless man, that’s all I got for you today.”

  Jerrod laughed, then nodded, not wanting to push his luck.

  “Okay, cool, Alita. I’m just saying you did much better than this in the past.”

  “That was then. This is now. I’m sorry, but things have changed.”

  “I’ll bet your life hasn’t changed like mine did when you and—”

  “Jerrod, please. Don’t remind me. I feel bad enough as it is.”

  “I don’t care about you feeling bad. That’s what’s wrong with you, Alita. You only think about yourself. Not about me, my younger sisters, or even Roro. Why you never ask about her?”

  Roro was short for Rolanda; she was the same age as Alita and was the eldest daughter of the Dawson family. She and Alita had been best friends growing up.

  At Jerrod’s question, Alita couldn’t speak. Hearing the woman’s name made her feel numb and lifeless on the inside. To Alita, the past was gone. Roro was dead, like a ghost that came around, hovering, poking, prodding, and needling her.

  “Anyway,” Jerrod continued, “even though you don’t care enough about Roro to ask about her, I think you’d want to know that my sister is doing about the same. She may never be the way she used to be.”

  “Jerrod, y-you got the money. I did the best I could. What more do you want from me?”

  He decided to back off.

  “Okay, if this is the best you can do I’ll take it . . . for now. Anyway, I heard you got fired. That’s probably why you’re struggling like this.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Dru.”

  “Dru spoke with you?” She raised her eyebrow even further. “When was that? And how’d my name come up?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You’re a liar, Jerrod. You don’t forget shit, we all know that.” Alita hated that she and he had history; regretted that she was involved with the Dawsons in ways she despised.

  Alita realized she’d been at that house much longer than she wanted to be. What if his mother and sisters came home early? Even worse, what if Roro popped over?

  She looked at her watch, then at him. “I don’t know how you ended up talking to Dru, but I really wish you’d stay away from my family . . . just like I make myself stay away from yours. Word is bond.”

  Unable to stay in his presence any longer, she made up an excuse to leave, then told Jerrod goodbye.

  “When will I see you again?” he asked.

  “I’ll be in touch” was all she could offer him. She left the house, snatched off the cheap-feeling gloves and shoved them deep in her pockets.

  Alita hoped she would never see or deal with Jerrod again. But under the circumstances, a situation that could prove devastating if exposed, Alita knew that “never” was impossible.

  * * *

  When the Reeves sisters got together, it always seemed like an episode of Braxton Family Values was about to come on. Lots of talking, lots of arguing, and lots of love.

  That past January, they’d gotten banned from holding their Sister Day meetings at their favorite nail salon. So for their March event, the siblings decided to meet at Dru’s townhouse.

  Burgundy and Coco were the first to arrive at Dru’s.

  Coco looked a hot mess. She was dabbing her forehead with a piece of tissue. It got soaked with her perspiration, and she looked very uncomfortable.

  “Let me help you with that,” Burgundy offered.

  “No thanks, Sis,” Coco said with an attitude. “I don’t need your help.”

  Burgundy smiled. “And you ladies always accuse me of perpetrating. Coco, stop playing. You look miserable and sick as a dog. Dru, can you get her a cold drink of water or some orange juice, please?”

  Coco growled her disapproval but let Dru wait on her hand and foot until the doorbell rang again.

  Alita trudged through the doorway with Elyse walking in front of her. Elyse’s long lashes were coated with black mascara. She had on light green eye shadow, and her lips were a vibrant shade of red. She was dressed in a beautiful Afrocentric dress, and her hair was pinned up and secured by a head wrap.

  “Is that . . . is that Elyse?” Burgundy asked.

  “You don’t recognize your own sister?” Coco asked, even though her mouth was wide open in shock just like Burgundy’s.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Dru asked with a smile. “She looks like a Nubian queen.”

  “Why you all done up like that, Sis?” Coco wanted to know. She tried to sit up and take a closer look. She could tell that Elyse had gained a little bit of weight. The young lady had actually sprouted some hips since the last time Coco had seen her. And those two little mosquito bites that used to function as her breasts? Well, now the mosquito bites were swollen like plump, juicy oranges. Coco waved around her flabby arms.

  “Lita, why you been hiding Elyse these days? What y’all two up to? You keep her from her family like you own the girl or something.”

  Alita hesitated. “As usual, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ ’bout, Coco. I sure wish you’d go on and have this baby ’cause your attitude sucks. You’ve been pregnant forever.”

  “And? So?”

  “So . . . the only thing known for being pregnant this damned long is an elephant.”

  “I swear to God, if I wasn’t stuck to this chair, I’d—” Alita laughed good-naturedly. “I’m just playing with you, girl. No need to get violent.”

  Alita set her purse down and looked around. “Can I please get something to drink? What does it take to get some service around here? Dru, I know your fridge is stocked with the good shit. Hook a sister up.”

  Dru smiled at Alita, knowing she enjoyed getting waited on from time to time. She obediently went to gather more cold drinks for her siblings. The ladies all settled around the living room. Elyse sat close to Alita and pointedly ignored Burgundy, who’d tried to facilitate eye contact with her.

  “I hope y’all hurry up and get through this meeting,” Alita said as she swallowed some hibiscus tea.

  “I agree with you,” Burgundy said, ready to get down to business. “The minute we wrap up, I have to head over to Morning Glory. A group of minority female entrepreneurs is holding a brunch there in one of our private meeting rooms. I’ll have to oversee everything and make sure it goes perfectly. If things go well, this could become a quarterly event.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Alita said. “How many people are coming?”

  “Um, around fifty to seventy-five. Maybe even more. And at thirty-five bucks a head plus that administrative fee . . . hey,
it adds up.”

  “Show-off,” Alita said. “Another way for you to take people’s money.”

  “Excuse me. We’re not taking anything,” Burgundy objected. “We do a great job catering these events. It’s top-notch. Plus, we provide a valuable service to the community.”

  “Excuse me back,” Alita said. “A service is free. You and Nate charge up the ass. Y’all are like banks trying to rip folks off. Last time I was at Morning Glory, I saw the new menu and the prices went way up. It used to be affordable to eat at your restaurant. Now you gotta be rich to eat some waffles, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a damned slice of bacon.”

  “Alita, shame on you. It’s not like you ever have to pay, or even leave a tip for the waiters when you come there.”

  “I’m just saying,” Alita told her. “I’m thinking about your customers. Why black business owners always gotta rob the black customers by getting all bling blingy and marking up those prices? You do know we can go to McDonald’s and eat for less than five bucks.”

  “Are you serious, Lita?”

  “I damn sure am.”

  “Look, you cannot even compare McDonald’s to us,” Burgundy replied in an exasperated tone. “Plus, I know what this is really about. And I don’t have time for Lita to be hinting around about her money issues right now—”

  “Not only that,” Coco butted in, “y’all better hope my water don’t break. Dru will have a fit if I mess up her carpet and so will Tyrique.”

  “Don’t even sweat it, Sis,” Dru told Coco. “I’m not worried about any carpet. In fact, why don’t you drink this tea that I made? It’s healthy, and it’ll be good for you and the baby.”

  “Thank you, Dru Boo,” Coco told her. “At least one sister is really concerned about me.”

  “I am, Sis,” Dru said, relieved that the topic had changed. “And why is it taking you so long to give birth? Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. The baby is good. She or he is just taking their sweet time.”