Forgive Me (9 page)

Lake wore a fitted muscle shirt, jeans, and boots as he manicured the lawn. Tawatha remembered a cute, chunky guy with a boyish face and an easygoing personality. The man doing yard work made Tawatha swoon. Everything about him, from his sexy glide to
teak wood skin glistening in the September sun, made her angrier that Lasheera had landed such a great catch. Tawatha remembered how much Aunjanue admired him as her art teacher. Jamilah mentioned he'd gone back to school to obtain his Ph.D. Tawatha surmised he was making more money and probably heading the household like a man should. Tawatha pulled a pack of Marlboro Lights from her purse, lit one up, and cracked her window. She continued to enjoy the view of Lake as his arms spanned the reach of the higher bushes. Zion joined him, making Tawatha sit higher.

Zion, Lasheera's son whom she created with a married man while doing drugs, followed Lake around the yard picking up discarded leaves. They set trash bags in the garage and began horseplay on the lawn. Zion's growth astounded her. He was almost ten and tall like his biological father, Marvin. His jeans and T-shirt were ironed so hard she saw the crease in the pants three houses down. His cotton candy Afro sat high and proud. He'd been a crack baby who had spent months in the neonatal intensive care unit before Lasheera was able to bring him home. Tawatha teared up at the memory of holding his frail hands through the glass incubator at St. Vincent's Hospital. “Life is moving on for everyone except me.”

She took another drag of her cigarette and continued to watch Lake and Zion in the yard. She had become so engrossed with their family time she jumped at the tapping of a black baseball bat on her window. She smashed the Marlboro in the ashtray. Re-adjusting her shades, she let the window down to address the woman wielding the baseball bat.

“May I help you, ma'am?” Tawatha asked.

The woman extended her free hand. “Belinda Rosewood. Your name?”

“T… Tina Lewis.”

“What are you doing sitting out here in the neighborhood? Looking for someone in particular, Ms. Lewis?”

“I'm out searching for houses. My realtor told me it's best to check out a neighborhood on a Saturday. I get to see how vibrant the neighborhood is,” said Tawatha. She gripped her trembling hands together.

Belinda made Tawatha's flesh crawl. She may have been decked out in pink, but there was nothing soft about her. Tawatha could tell she was a one-woman neighborhood watch, and she didn't like being the target of her vigilance. Belinda's small hands grazed the bat before she tucked it underneath her left arm. She pointed a pink, manicured finger in Tawatha's face.

“Are you looking to occupy the house or burn it down?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know exactly who you are, Tawatha Gipson,” said Belinda. She snatched the shades and floppy hat from Tawatha and tossed them on the ground. She cracked the bat in her hands and raised her voice.

“I will let Lasheera and Lake know you've been spying on them. If I see you in this vicinity again, Slugger and I make you regret you ever got out of jail!” Belinda pointed the bat at Tawatha's face. “You're not welcome here. Do I make myself clear?” Belinda picked up the hat and sunglasses and tossed them in Tawatha's backseat.

“Yes…ma'am,” said Tawatha.

Tawatha's trembling hands shook more as she wrestled with the keys. She started the car and sped from the subdivision, checking her rearview mirror as Belinda stood, caressing the bat and flashing a sinister smile.

L
asheera turned the blue envelope over again in the Walgreens parking lot. The huge envelope contained bills, clipped coupons, and a summons to appear in court from Zion's father, Marvin. She removed the summons from the blue envelope, wondering how Marvin had found her. He'd relinquished all parental rights four years ago when his wife said, “Not another dime is leaking out my house for your bastard son.” Like magic, Marvin signed the necessary paperwork, granting Lasheera sole custody of Zion. Lake's love and understanding helped smooth the transition from newlyweds to new parents. Shortly after Zion graced their presence with his boyish laughter and wide-eyed enthusiasm, Roberta approached them about taking temporary custody of Aunjanue. Roberta's arthritis and Johnny's migraines made them poor candidates for parenting a fourteen-year-old girl. Roberta loved her granddaughter, but her old bones were no match for the evolution of modern teens. She didn't know an iPad from an iGate, and she wasn't interested in learning the difference. Seeing Onnie on the weekends and at special school events satisfied her.

Lasheera knew Marvin's motive for visitation had everything to do with his wife's passing. Lake had slid the
Star News
obituaries to her over coffee and cereal four months ago. They were shocked that Marvin's wife had succumbed to a heart attack; forty-five seemed
too young to die. The obituary referenced her cause of death and the American Heart Association's “Go Red For Women” website for donations in her memory. Lasheera, stunned to learn Zion was listed as their son in the paper, offered her assistance for the funeral. Marvin rebuffed her, telling her their affair and Zion's birth played a part in his wife's death. So, she was shocked to receive the letter seeking visitation.
What is he up to?

Lasheera shook off the thoughts of Marvin and entered the pharmacy. She forgot to check up on Onnie and stepped to the end of the cosmetics aisle to call her. Onnie answered on the first ring.

“Did you make it to the location with the other students?” Lasheera asked.

“Yes, we're here. I think today will be a good day since Mrs. Maggie is quiet. Tarsha and I are going skating tonight, so I'll be home later.”

“We have church in the morning, so don't stay out too late,” said Lasheera.

“I'll be home by twelve. Roger is out of town with his parents, so no date tonight. Only skating.”

“Is he coming back in time for dinner with us tomorrow night?”

“I'm not sure. He texted me earlier, but I didn't respond yet. I'm getting the drawings together with the other students right now. I'll call him when I leave.”

“Be careful and mind your manners. Oh, and tell Caleb we have a double date soon with him and Stephanie. Lake will call him about the exact night.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll tell him.”

“Don't call me
ma'am
. I'm not that old. Auntie Sheer is fine.”

“I will, Auntie Sheer.”

Lasheera ended the call feeling more at ease. Since Tawatha's
release, she called Onnie frequently to make sure she was safe. Caleb Wilson, her new art teacher and protégé of Lake's, looked out for Onnie's academic and social well-being. He didn't show favoritism, and he kept her in line when she seemed disinterested in class. She'd been an active participant in class since Tawatha's release. He promised he'd make sure to keep her on task in class, especially since he had caught her daydreaming several times the past few days.

Lasheera tucked her cell phone in her purse and combed the aisles for clipped coupon items. The coupons were her grocery list since she never veered from planned purchases. Lake was a stickler for saving money. He'd influenced her in more ways than he knew, and she wanted him to know just how much she appreciated him. She planned on going to the pharmacy on the way out for their meds.

“Excuse me, Ms. Lady,” someone called from behind.

“Yes?” Lasheera spun around, hesitant at first but not wanting to appear snobby. She stood her ground but was alarmed by the woman's disheveled appearance.

“My car broke down a few miles up the road, and I need some gas money. Can you help a sista out?”

If she has a car, I have a jet,
Lasheera thought as she looked her up and down. The stout woman's eyes bugged as she held her hands out for the money. She shifted back and forth as if she had to use the bathroom, but stopped abruptly when another patron walked down the aisle. The holey, New York Knicks T-shirt she donned hadn't been washed in weeks; neither had she. Her cargo pants, equally dingy and sliced with a knife or scissors, offered a peek-a-boo effect to legs filled with scrapes and cuts. She scratched underneath the baseball cap she wore, stopping only to look at
the grime beneath her nails. When she opened her mouth to speak again, Lasheera winced at the jagged remains that were once teeth.

“You looking at me like you don't believe me. Tell you what, you can take me up the road and I'll show you my car. Matter of fact, Raymond is waiting in the car for me,” she said. She eased closer to Lasheera. “If you could help me out with some gas and something to eat, I'll be so appreciative.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't have any money to help you.” Lasheera scrounged around in her purse, remembering the Popeye's gift card Lake received from one of his former student's parents. Filled with angst, she gave the card to the woman.

“This card contains fifty dollars. This should get you something to eat. I hope that someone else can help you with some gas. Have a good day,” said Lasheera.

Lasheera turned too slowly before the woman swept her up in a hug. Nauseated now, Lasheera held her breath as the woman's rank body odor filled her nostrils.

“Thank you. You just made my week. I'll go out here and find somebody else to help us, but at least I'll have something to eat,” said the woman. Satisfied, she clutched the gift card and disappeared through the magnetic entryway.

Lasheera sat in a seat near the pharmacy now. She had to process the encounter. Homeless or not, the woman struck a chord with her.
Did I ever do that to anyone?
Lasheera shook off the guilt of her crack days and steadied herself at the pharmacy counter. Her favorite pharmacy technician waved to her.

“Picking up today, Mrs. Carvin?” the young lady asked.

“Yes, there should be one prescription for me and two items for my husband, Lake.”

The technician punched away at the computer and took Lasheera's
payment for the items. Too shaken up by the chance meeting with the homeless woman, Lasheera declined the post-purchase consultation.

The woman's smell saturated her scarf and sweater. Memories of Tawatha and the smell of the woman ignited a feeling that was becoming familiar. She wanted a hit of crack so badly she could taste it. She'd staved off the feelings lately because Lake, Aunjanue, and Zion needed her. They would never forgive her if she traveled down that road again. She made her way to the car in a haze, drove off, and stopped at the KFC drive-through for a Coke. She needed something to wash down her Extra Strength Tylenol. She pulled into an empty space in the lot and removed her pharmacy bag. She opened the bag, removed the bottle of pills, and noticed an error. The bag read
Lajuana Carvel,
not
Lasheera Carvin
. She eyed the bottle, fancying it a hush-hush miracle: Lajuana Carvel took Ambien.

Lasheera remembered Roberta needing a sleep aid after the children's deaths. Ambien calmed her down like no other drug. Lasheera couldn't sleep, wasn't eating as much, and found it difficult to keep her mind off drugs.
I'll take a few until things calm down.

She placed the white bags back in the glove compartment and crept out of the KFC drive-thru. “Thank you, Walgreens, and thank you, Lajuana Carvel.”

T
he art students met in the Majestic Acres Retirement Community's recreation room per Onnie's request. Mr. Wilson encouraged her drawing idea, and the Recreation Director green-lighted her Sunset Canvas Project. Onnie's desire to spend more time with senior citizens grew stronger after Roberta isolated herself from family and friends. Gone was the vibrant, spunky grandmother who enjoyed watching her stories, frequenting riverboat casinos, and making batches of homemade peanut brittle. Onnie reasoned that if a life-altering incident like the fire could change a woman with a good support system, then how do elderly men and women with no relatives handle day-to-day living? Roberta's father-in-law, Herman, spent four years at the Majestic Acres Retirement Community before moving on to a different facility. Onnie enjoyed visiting him with Roberta and Johnny after church. She loved sitting with him, brushing his shock of white hair, and sharing endless bags of orange slices and circus peanuts. A natural-born storyteller, Herman spun yarns about his segregated childhood, leaving Onnie in awe about how much times had changed. During one visit, Herman lamented the only picture he'd taken as a child was stolen in a home invasion. Onnie sketched a charcoal drawing of how she visualized Herman as a boy. He adored the drawing so much he carried it from room
to room to other residents. Soon, they requested she do charcoals of family members, pets, and homes. She enlisted the help of her classmates, and the Sunset Canvas Project was born.