For Your Love (20 page)

As they glided over the open snow, Bernadine thought that if she hadn't loved this man before, she sure loved him now. He'd taught her to fly a kite, treated her to her first picnic in a pickup truck, taken her on her first high-­speed chase, and now a sleigh ride. “This is wonderful, Mal.”

“You like it?”

“I do. I really do.”

“Wanted to give you something money can't buy.”

“You did.” Her ex-­husband, Leo, had had all the money in the world, and by comparison Mal would be considered a pauper, but Malachi July was wealthy in ways Leo knew nothing about. She looked forward to priceless moments like this until death did them part.

“Are you nervous about meeting your sister?” Lily asked Trent.

They were standing in the baggage-claim area of the airport, waiting for his mother and her family to arrive. Devon was holding up a sign he'd made, “Grandma Rita” written on it. He said he wanted her to feel like a celebrity. “In a way, yes. The last time I had a lawyer in the family, I needed another lawyer to get rid of her.”

“You are so crazy.”

And then there they were: his mother, her husband, and his half sister. Trent hurried to meet them.

“Trent!” Rita cried.

He swept her up.

“I'm so glad to see you!”

She embraced Lily and her grandsons next. She then introduced Paul and Val.

Trent shared a shake and a quick hug with Paul, and then with Val, who eyed him affectionately. “Glad to finally meet you, big brother.”

Any unspoken worries he might have harbored about how she'd react to him were instantly swept away. “Hey, sis. Same here.”

“So, you're Devon,” Val said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Your dad sent me the video clip of your band. You all were pretty good.”

He dropped his head shyly.

“I can't wait for you to grow up and be famous, so I can have front-­row seats. She turned to Amari. “Hello, Amari. I'm pleased to meet my nephew.”

“Glad to meet you, too. How was your flight?”

“Way too long. I was so anxious to get here and meet you. Your dad says you're into cars.”

“I am.”

“So is your grandfather, Paul. Maybe next summer you can fly out and see a NASCAR race with him.”

Trent thought Amari was going to fall over. The stunned kid looked from his aunt to his grandfather and asked, “NASCAR? As in,
NASCAR
?”

Paul chuckled. “I can't get your grandmother or your aunt Val to roll with me, so I'm looking forward to having a buddy.”

Amari turned to Trent, and then back to Paul. He appeared speechless.

Lily asked, “Shall we keep your grandfather, Amari?”

“Hell—­I mean heck, yeah!”

As they all laughed, Trent said, “Let's find your luggage and move this love fest to the house.”

They'd just loaded the bags and themselves into Lily's SUV when Trent's phone sounded. It was a text from his cousin Griffin:
Call me later when you get a minute
. Trent paused, feeling a sense of foreboding, but told himself it was just his imagination. He made a mental note to touch base with Griff that evening. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to celebrate being reunited with his mother. Everything else would have to wait.

The two families spent the afternoon eating, opening gifts, and having a good time. Trent knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care. Each time he glanced Rita Lynn's way, he found her watching him as if to make sure he hadn't disappeared, and he felt the same way.

Mal stopped by to meet Paul and Val. He only stayed a short while, after which he left with a wave on his way next door to Bernadine's.

That evening they had dinner at Tamar's, and after returning home, Trent remembered he was supposed to call Griffin. His cousin picked up right away. They spoke of general things first, like how Thad and the Oklahoma July clan were faring and how much Amari loved the bow-­and-­arrow set Griff sent him for Christmas. “So were you just checking in, or is something on your mind?” Trent asked, finally.

“Yes on both, but the latter involves you and our son.”

Trent tensed. “Meaning?”

“I've been contacted by Melody's husband. He wants to meet Amari.”

Trent didn't know what to say. Melody was Amari's biological mother.

“You still there, cousin?”

“I am. Just trying to figure out my response.”

“I had the same reaction, especially when he admitted that he was the one initiating contact, not his wife.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I asked him if she knew he was reaching out. He said yes.”

“Do you think he's telling the truth?”

“The man's a congressman. They always lie, especially to those of us with Native blood.”

Trent reacted with a smile.

“But he's a former reverend—­which may or may not be any better, considering the church's history with our ­people, but he sounded legit.”

“So how do you want to play this? Do you want to talk to Amari about it?”

“No. Leaving this up to you. In fact, if Amari agrees to meet with him, you should be the one to go with him. You're his dad in the eyes of the law, and I'm afraid that if I go, and Melody does decide to get involved, it'll be the Thrilla in Manila revisited. Our history's pretty toxic. Amari doesn't need to be in the middle of that.”

Trent agreed. He knew Griffin to be one of the saner members of the Oklahoma clan, but he'd been a habitual heartbreaker his entire life. “What's the congressman's name?”

“Ernest Carlyle.”

“
The
Ernest Carlyle?”

“The one and only. How he wound up married to Melody is anyone's guess.”

Carlyle had been representing his Detroit constituency for decades and was one of the higher-­profile members of Congress. “Text me his number, and I'll put it in my phone. I want to talk to Amari first.”

“Sounds good. And Trent, sorry to be passing the ball to you in this, but you'll be better at it than I'd be.”

“Thanks . . . I think.”

“Let me know what you decide to do. And if Amari wants to talk to me, he knows he's always welcome to call.”

“Okay, Griff. I'll keep you in the loop.”

“Appreciate it. Later.”

And the connection ended.

Amari was spending the night over at the Paynes', and Devon was at the Garlands', so only the adults were in the house when he stepped back into the living room after the call. Apparently, Lily could see something wasn't quite right.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

He told her.

“Amari's been dreaming of meeting her, but this doesn't sound like a dream come true,” Lily said.

“I know. I'm not sure
what
this sounds like.” He was still wondering about Carlyle's motive for wanting to meet Amari.

“What kind of mother would refuse contact with her own child?” Rita asked.

Val said, “Not everyone is like you, Mom. She may have legitimate reasons for putting him up for adoption, and that has to be respected, no matter what. We don't get to pass judgment.”

“I agree,” Trent said, “but when that child is your own, you take a more personal view. He's hurting inside. Just like I was before you contacted me, Mom. When there are no answers, you get filled up with all kinds of doubts about your self-­worth, and I hate that he's having to deal with it.”

“So what do we do?” Lily asked.

“I'll talk to him when he comes home in the morning, and see how he feels.”

“He's going to want to go.”

“I know, Lil. I just don't want him to be hurt any more than he already has. We know he's a survivor, but he's been through so much in his life. It would be nice if he could get some type of closure.”

The room quieted for a moment as they all mulled over the situation. Finally Paul said, “All we can do is hope for the best. He's blessed to have the love and strength of you and Lily behind him.”

Trent said, “Thanks, Paul. I just hope it's enough.”

 

J
ust as Lily predicted, Amari wanted to go see Ernest Carlyle. “I want this to be over,” the boy said. So now, with the aid of his phone's GPS, Trent navigated the Detroit highways, and the intricacies of them brought to mind the years he'd lived in LA. There was of course snow on the ground, like back home, but apparently there'd been no recent snowfall because the piles lining the streets were pocked with oil, dirt, and grit, reminiscent of the national media's portrayal of the once-­vibrant city. Amari had grown increasingly quiet since they picked up the rental car. Trent wondered if he was thinking back to his old life, and the differences in his world now. “Anything familiar, son?”

“Not really. I know this is the west side. I lived east. Still looks the same, though. ­People waiting on the bus, cars rusted out from the salt. Liquor stores. Little grocery stores. Looks bleak now. Never noticed that when I lived here. Winter was always the worst time for me. No gloves. Paper coat. Always cold. Always hungry.”

When Amari glanced over, his eyes held muted sadness. “I'm glad I'm not that kid anymore.”

For the rest of the ride he observed the passing landscape but remained silent.

The Carlyle home was in an affluent neighborhood, with large homes and spacious snow-­covered yards. The cars parked out front sparkled in the bright winter sun. Trent pulled into the driveway, as he'd been instructed to do, and cut the engine. They sat in the silence for a minute or two. “We can still turn around and go back to the airport,” Trent said.

“No, we're here now. Might as well go in and see what happens.”

“I got your back.”

“I got yours.”

They were ushered in by a woman wearing the black-­and-­white uniform of a maid. She led them into a quiet, book-­lined room with floor-­to-­ceiling drapes framing the single window, in front of which stood a large, ornate desk. Carlyle entered a few minutes later. “Welcome to my home, Mr. July, Amari. I'm Congressman Ernest Carlyle.”

Trent had seen Carlyle more than a few times on television. He was always dressed impeccably, and today was no exception. The hand Trent shook was firm and solid. “Pleased to meet you, Congressman.”

“Call me Ernie.”

“Trent.”

Amari shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Trent noted Carlyle's small show of surprise and wondered if the man hadn't expected Amari to have manners. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, Trent vowed to reserve judgment until he saw how this played out.

“Please sit. Are you two hungry? Can I offer you some refreshments?”

“No thanks,” Trent said, and looked to his son. “Amari?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks.”

At Carlyle's invitation, Trent and Amari sat on the soft brown leather couch, but their host remained standing, leaning back against the big desk. “Thanks for coming. I know you didn't have to.”

“Why are we here?”

“I wanted to meet my wife's son. I've been wondering about him for some time now.”

“You aren't going to challenge my adoption, are you?” Amari asked pointedly. “Because if you do, you'll have to chain me down to keep me here. I already have a mom and dad.”

Carlyle seemed amused, and said to Trent, “You and your wife must be great parents to bring out such passion.”

“We do our best.”

“He's a fine young man.”

Trent sensed sadness in Carlyle but wondered if it was real, or if he was just imagining it.

“No, Amari,” Carlyle said finally. “This visit isn't about changing your life in any way. I've been a congressman for thirty years now, but before that I was a reverend. And although I no longer have a congregation, I am still a man of God. My wife owes you the gift of seeing her face. She also owes you an explanation as to why she made the decision that she did. You must have wondered about it.”

“I have, but I figured she didn't want me, so hey,” he offered dismissively.

Trent's heart broke because he knew beneath that swagger was a tremendous amount of pain, having lived with the same until he and Rita Lynn found each other again.

“I have to tell you that Melody's agreed to see you only because I asked her to.”

Amari shook his head. “Then I don't want to see her, if you're making her do it.”

“Nobody's making me.”

Trent and Amari turned at the sound of the female voice.

Melody was a beautiful woman. Tall. Skin the color of dark coffee. The snug yet tasteful fit of the charcoal-­gray wool dress showed off her opulent curves. Dark hair brushed her shoulders and the makeup was perfectly applied.

“Hello, Amari.”

“Uh, hi,” he stammered.

Trent now knew where Amari got the curve of his lips and the cut of his nose. His son bore a strong resemblance to Griffin, but he bore an equally strong resemblance to Melody.

“I didn't want to do this meet with you, mainly because I don't like having to deal with how selfish I was back then, or to hear that I did the wrong thing in giving you up. But”—­she turned to her husband—­“Ernie's asked me to, and no woman should deny her husband something so simple.”

Her icy eyes caused Trent to wonder if theirs was a troubled marriage, and if that might be the source of Carlyle's air of sadness.

She took up a position by the drapes and looked out at the snow. “So here's the deal,” she began. “I was a stripper at a little club outside the city.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Amari. “Yes, I danced around naked for money.”

“I know,” he replied.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Griffin told me.”

“Ah, Griffin. Real stand-­up guy, that one. Did he tell you we were only together about two weeks?”

“No.”

“We were. I thought we were working on something permanent and good, but I woke up one morning and he was packing his things. Said he was getting restless and needed to get back on the road.” She went silent, as if thinking back. Trent sensed she was harboring pain, too.

“And so he left. No forwarding address. No number. Didn't say if he was coming back. Gave me a kiss good-­bye. Jumped on his bike. Gone. I was nineteen. A month later, I found out I was pregnant.”

There was another silent moment. “I kept dancing, hoping no one would notice, but after a while, they did, of course. I was fired.” She added sarcastically, “Nobody wants to see a pregnant stripper. Had no job, so I couldn't pay rent. Got evicted. Parents had kicked me out years before for being fast and stupid—­couldn't go there. Went to stay with a girlfriend. Her man started hitting on me. She put me out. I had no place else to go. So I went home to my parents.”

She chuckled bitterly. “Have to give it to them, though. They took me in even after all I'd put them through in high school. But even pregnant I was trying to run the streets. Still partied, drank, got high. Did all the things a mother-­to-­be shouldn't.” She turned to Amari. “No health issues because of that?”

He answered softly, “No.”

“Good. I didn't want a baby. I saw the awful lives some of my friends had because they'd gotten pregnant too early, and I didn't want to be them. They all looked tired, unhappy. Only a ­couple of their boyfriends stayed around after the babies were born. They were struggling. Living on welfare. Houses filled with roaches. I wanted to be able to go to the club when I wanted to and not have to worry about babysitters or any of the other stuff tied to kids. Shots, diapers, ear infections.”

“So you gave me to the state.”

“I did. You would've had a real bad time had I kept you. I went back to dancing. Living here and there. Always broke. Taking the bus. Hoping to find a man to take care of me. Kissed a lot of frogs back then.”

“And I went into foster care, living here and there with ­people who got paid to beat me up, starve me, and treat me like shit. I slept on pissy mattresses and lived with crackheads. Never went to the same school twice, which meant I couldn't read. Teachers didn't care. Most of the foster parents didn't, either. So to give myself something to do, I started stealing cars.”

She turned, surprise on her face. “Wait. When were you adopted?”

“Two years ago. I was in the system until I was eleven.”

Her mouth dropped. Her eyes swung to Trent, who nodded to corroborate Amari's story.

Amari continued, “So, in the words of Langston Hughes, my life ain't been no crystal stair, either.”

His words were flippant, defiant, and so on point, Trent wanted to give him a high five. He saw Ernie's lips curve with a small, satisfied-­looking smile.

She looked him up and down. “When Griffin showed up at my door, asking if I'd had his child, I assumed you'd been adopted as a baby.”

“No.”

“Wow,” she uttered softly, and turned back to the view outside. “But you're doing okay now.”

“I am.”

“Good.” She turned to her husband. “Anything else?”

His jaw tightened, and he shook his head.

“Nice meeting you, Amari. Have a good life.”

And she walked out of the room.

In the silence following her exit, Carlyle said, “Amari, I'd like to stay in touch with you. Melody and I don't have any children. If you'd care to come and spend some time with us during the summers, I'm sure she'll relent at some point.”

Amari didn't even pause to consider the offer. “No. I'm sorry you don't have any kids, sir, but she doesn't want me around and I spent the whole first part of my life with ­people who didn't. I'm not doing that again. It was nice meeting you.”

Riding in the car back to the airport, Trent didn't press him to talk but let him have his peace. It had to have been difficult for him because the way Melody sauntered out of the room had been difficult for Trent.

When Amari finally did speak, he asked, “Do you think he wanted me to be his kid?”

“Maybe.”

“Neither one of them looked happy.”

“No, they didn't.”

“Was it okay for me to tell him what I did?”

“The truth is always right, no matter what.”

“Good. If had to visit him, I'd go back to stealing cars.”

The light went red, so he stopped and asked, “Is there anyone here you'd like to see?”

“No, Dad. I just want to go home.”

“Okay.”

When the light turned green, he drove on.

It was late when they finally got home. Everyone was gathered in the living room watching the television and apparently waiting for their return, but Amari just said good night and went up to his room, leaving his dad to give them the details of the awful trip. Up in his room, he wiped at his tears he'd refused to let flow until then and put on his pajamas. A soft knock on the door made him hastily dash away the water. “Just a minute.” Seeing his red eyes in his mirror made him wish he could make the traces of tears somehow disappear, but since he couldn't, he called out, “Come in.”

It was his mom. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Just came up to check on you. Dad said it was pretty rough.”

“She was a bitch.”

“I'm sorry.”

He could feel the emotions rising, and he didn't want to cry, but he really did. And because Ms. Lily was so awesome, she already knew what was going on inside of him and just opened her arms.

He practically ran to her, and she held him tight and he held her tight and sobbed out his heartache. “I love you so,” she whispered. “So much.”

“It was terrible.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“I wanted her to like me. I wanted . . .” He heard his pain echoing in the room, and he didn't care because he was safe with this woman whom his dad loved. Since the day they met, she'd been in his corner, offering unconditional solace, care, and understanding. Melody might have brought him into the world, but Lily Fontaine July was his mom, and as her tears mingled with his, he was so glad she loved him, too.

He finally eased back and ran his palms over his wet cheeks. A silly thought came to him. When had he grown taller than her? “Since when did you get so short?”

She brushed the tears from her own cheeks. “Smartass.”

He grew serious, and their gazes held. “Thank you.”

She whispered, “You're welcome. Dads are good for some stuff, but sometimes a boy just needs his mom.”

The truth in that curved his lips into a small smile.

“I'm always here for you, Amari. Always. Okay?”

He nodded and gave her another fierce hug. The hurt of the visit was still raw, but his true mom, this mom of his heart, had dulled it a great deal.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Eventually, yeah.”

She cupped his cheek lovingly. “Then I'll see you in the morning. Don't stay up too late.”

“I won't. Good night, Mom. Thanks again.”

She shot him a wink, and he watched her go. His door closed quietly.

The next morning, Rita approached Trent for a favor. Lily, Val, and the boys were at the ice rink, taking advantage of the new skates Rita had given them all as gifts. Paul had gone along to drink hot chocolate. Having been born and raised on the island of Kauai in Hawaii, he didn't know how to skate, and had no interest in learning.

“I want to talk to Marie,” Rita told her son.

Trent paused. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “We need to get past this and move on.”

So they drove there. Trent saw Marie's truck parked outside. “Looks like she's home.”

Rita climbed the stairs. Marie opened the door to her knock, took one look at her, sneered, and closed the door in her face.

Back in the car, Rita said, “Well, that was fun.”

But Trent saw how deflated she looked. And at that moment, his respect for Marie was gone, and his feelings for her were forever changed.