Betrayed (28 page)

“So Nikki is my sister?” Asia asked.

M
imi, Raphael, and Afrika watched in silence as Brenda quickly ushered Asia out of the room, followed by John. The silence in the room was cold and piercing like a Chicago winter with a chill factor of fifteen below zero. The silence was so cold and bitter you could cut it with a knife and serve it on a platter.

Mimi and Raphael sat there, and Afrika lay as still as a mummy in her hospital bed, numb from the news that had taken everyone's breath away. There were no parting words for the family who left the room in haste and not one of the three persons who remained in the room was willing to break the ice.
Beep. Beep. Beep.

Raphael was the first to move away from Afrika's bedside. He walked to the window where Asia stood earlier, careful not to look in Mimi's direction. Tears slid down his face as he recalled Brenda's abrupt and painful statement of who Afrika's biological father was. In his heart, he had known that Mimi was with child when he met her. He remembered the day they had met and how eagerly she had gone to bed with him…on that first date. But he wanted to believe that Afrika was his, although she looked to be full-term when Mimi said she was premature.

He looked back at mother and daughter. They had yet to acknowledge the bitter news. Raphael turned back to look out of the window, allowing his mind to wander. Now he understood
why Mimi was so reluctant to let Afrika come to North Carolina. Her secret was a ticking time bomb. Just like Victor, Mimi was afraid of what would happen should her secret be exposed. But Raphael loved Afrika as his own and always would. It was Mimi's deception, deceit, and betrayal that he was having a hard time swallowing.

Their lives were magical and wonderful for all of their marriage. And even though a child was part of Mimi and Raphael's wedding package, they loved and nurtured Afrika with all they had to give. There wasn't anything Raphael wouldn't do for his family; they were his top priority,
next to loving God
, as Mimi would often say.

Raphael remembered the day Afrika was born. It was a cold winter night in December and he and Mimi were already on Christmas break from school. Mimi and Raphael were living together in a one-room, second-floor apartment to save money in preparation for their pending marriage that was to take place on Christmas Day.

Settled in for the night, Mimi began to twist and turn because she was uncomfortable and then the moment of truth—her water broke. Little Afrika decided to come early in Raphael's estimation, and they braved the cold and headed for the hospital.

Lamaze classes didn't work as Raphael couldn't remember a cotton-pickin' thing he was supposed to in order to help Mimi through delivery. But there was nothing but admiration and joy in his heart when the doctor pulled the eight-pound, two-ounce baby girl from Mimi's womb, gave her to the nurse who patted her softly, and then the wails that woke up the hospital ward. Although covered in afterbirth, Raphael counted the fingers on each of the two hands and the toes on each of two small feet. She was pale in color, but Mimi told him later that by looking at the baby's ear, you could tell what color she was going to be.

Raphael grinned as if Afrika had come from inside of his being. He followed the nurses as they cleaned her up and brought her back to Mimi for her to hold and behold. It was a beautiful family portrait that would stick in Raphael's mind forever, and whatever question he may have had about his daughter's parentage, it was lost forever in the recesses of his mind. This was his and Mimi's child. And when Mimi said she wanted to name her Afrika, he agreed without question. He was a proud father.

“Daddy?” Afrika called out.

Startled, Raphael turned around and went to Afrika's bedside. “What is it, baby girl?”

“Daddy, I don't care what Asia's mother said, you are my dad, my only dad. I love you, not that monster who was on television.”

Raphael hugged her. “You will always be my daughter. No one can take you away from me. I love you, Afrika.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

Mimi sat on the other side. Raphael knew she was hurting, but so was Afrika. If the news was true, she shouldn't have had to hear it the way she did.

“Your mother loves you, too, Afrika.”

“But why didn't she tell me…why did I have to find out like this?” Afrika cried.

“Your mother went through a terrible ordeal a long time ago. She was probably afraid and ashamed to tell anyone,” Raphael said.

“How do you know how I felt, huh?” Mimi lashed out. “You weren't there. You didn't feel Victor's grubby hands pull me down and tear my clothes off.”

“Okay, Mimi. You're right, I don't know how you felt or what you went through, but Afrika doesn't need to hear the details.”

Mimi closed her mouth and looked at her daughter who somehow thought it was her fault. They say the truth shall set you free,
but all it had done was make her life miserable. If only Afrika hadn't wanted to come to North Carolina, she could've taken her secret to the grave or could she? Mimi looked up when she heard Afrika call her.

“Mommy, I'm not mad at you. I'm hurt because you kept your secret from me and pretended you wanted nothing to do with Asia's mother when all the time you were trying to protect… protect me.”

“Yes, protect you, Afrika,” Mimi said. Mimi looked at Raphael. “Baby, I'm so sorry that I deceived you, betrayed your love. And although you won't believe this, the moment I saw you and you spoke to me, I knew you were my soulmate. Don't ask me how I knew; I just did.”

Raphael smiled, but didn't go to Mimi. He gave Afrika a kiss on her cheek and looked across at Mimi. “Let me have the key, Mimi. I need some air.”

Mimi went to her purse and pulled out the key to the car. “Raf, please promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

“I can't promise you anything.” Raphael took the keys and proceeded to leave the room. He turned back and looked at Afrika. “I'll be back, baby girl.”

A
nxious to read the results of her blood work, Sheila dropped her purse and the other mail she'd retrieved from her mailbox onto the couch and turned on the television. Sitting on the arm of the couch, a broad smile lit her face as she raced to open the sealed envelope, a step closer to marrying her man.

Sheila held the piece of paper tight in her hands. Her eyes began to bulge as she scanned the contents, little that they were. Like a slow tremor, her hands began to shake and her mouth opened up as if someone found the magic button that exposed a hidden door. Tears fell from her eyes before she ever made a sound—and then it was only the sound of paper being shredded into tiny little pieces.

Whimpering, Sheila finally moved from the place that had her paralyzed for more than a few moments and went in search of the gun that Victor had so conveniently returned to her. It was his mistake because he had placed a death sentence on her and she was going to return the favor.

“HIV positive?” Sheila wailed, as she finally retrieved the gun from the back of her clothes closet where she'd hidden it after Victor had given it back to her. “How can I get married now?” Sheila shouted as she continued on her rant. “I've waited all my life to find the one man I truly want to spend the rest of my life
with, and now I've got to tell him that I'm HIV positive…that I could possibly get AIDS.”

Sheila twirled the gun around and around in her hand. She kicked off her pumps and rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, blowing air out of her mouth at two-second intervals. She looked like a deranged woman on the verge of a breakdown, ready for a showdown with either the law or the white-coat doctors who'd come ready to put her in a straight jacket.

She stood with her legs spread apart, wielding the gun in the air, with black mascara running down her face. The large sculptured mirror that hung on the wall in her room captured the moment. Catching a glimpse of herself, Sheila passed the gun from one hand to the other, took off the black and white houndstooth light wool jacket that complemented her sleeveless black shift, and picked up the gun again.

“When the police come to cart me off to jail, my hands will be up in total surrender!” Sheila shouted to no one, continuing to point the gun at the ceiling. “I'm getting ready to commit a crime that will have all of Durham talking for days. I'm going to riddle his body with so many bullets, he'll wish he'd never put his nasty infected penis in my body. But what will he care? He'll be dead meat.”

Poised to shoot, Sheila abruptly dropped her hands at the sound of the knock on the door. “Oh, Victor, if that's you, you'd better get your running shoes on. I'm going to shoot your ass dead on the front porch. You'll never infect another person again.”

With a tear-stained face, Sheila marched the few feet to the door, her arm out ready to shoot. She didn't ask who it was because the surprise was going to be on the visitor standing on the other side of the door. Sheila took her time unlocking the door, all dramatic like she was rehearsing for a gut-wrenching scene in a play. She
put on her evil face, slowly turned the knob, and snatched the door open, her finger steady on the trigger. Shock, then anger, registered on her face as she began to swing the gun.

“Fool, what's wrong with you?” Phyllis shouted, snatching the gun from Sheila's hand and pushing her into the interior of the house. “Are you some kind of crazy? You could have killed me.”

“But I didn't.”

“Who were you trying to kill?” Phyllis asked, dropping the gun on the coffee table.

“You don't want to know!” Sheila hollered.

“Look at you,” Phyllis went on, dropping her purse on Sheila's couch. “You look like a snot-nosed kid that's been smoking crack. All right, I'm here. What's going on with you?”

“Get out, Phyllis. I'm not in the mood to talk to you or anyone else.” Sheila plopped down in one of her green chairs.

“Well, something has got you like this. You were all bells and whistles when you left work today. Did Jamal threaten to cancel the wedding?”

“Shut up, shut up! You don't know nothing.”

“Calm down, sweetie. I was messing with you. This is serious. Do you want to talk about it?”

Tears began to fall again as Sheila searched for the piece of paper with the bad news. Then she remembered; the piece of paper was now in tiny pieces. Not able to accept the verdict the paper rendered, she had torn it up as if the disease would go away.

Sheila sniffed and Phyllis walked over and sat next to her on the arm of the chair. “What is it, sweetie? What's got you wanting to kill somebody?”

Sheila's face looked like black marble fudge. Every time she wiped at her face, the water from her tears and the mascara would mix and form a new pattern. Sheila tried to hold her head up and
look at Phyllis, but she couldn't. She began to cry profusely, until her body began to shake.

Phyllis got on her knees in front of Sheila and grabbed both of her arms. “Tell me what it is, Sheila, so I can help you.”

“I…I…I'm HIV positive.”

Phyllis dropped Sheila's hands and jerked back as if she had been bitten by the disease. “Did you say HIV positive?” she asked, getting to her feet.

“Yes, Phyllis. I'm HIV positive.”

“Jamal did this to you?”

“No, it wasn't Jamal.”

“How do you know it wasn't Jamal?

“Because we've always used protection.”

“Surely the great Victor Christianson didn't give it to you.”

“Why do you believe Victor didn't give it to me? Just because he lives in a fine home on the other side of town, drives the latest model car, and has a little money in his pocket? He is in no way somebody's millionaire, but I'll tell you what he is. He's a ho; a bona fide ho…and don't say it; I'll save you the trouble. I deserved what I got for sleeping with him.”

Phyllis looked at Sheila with downcast eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know, Phyllis. How can I get married to Jamal with this death sentence hanging around my neck? This weekend I'm supposed to experience the happiest day of my life. Now, I have nothing to look forward to.”

“Maybe you can explain it to Jamal. If he loves you, he'll understand.”

“It's not that easy, Phyllis. I feel like my body is a booby trap—a time bomb ready to go off. It's easy if you get a little cold with the sniffle and sneezes. You go to the drugstore, pick up some cold
medicine, and in a few days you're all right. Not so with HIV. Death is what I have to look forward to. I'll have to take some expensive drugs that I may not be able to afford and sit around and wonder how long and when will it become full-blown AIDS. I can't live like this.”

“They are making remarkable progress with AIDS research. You've got a fighting chance, Sheila.”

They both turned when they heard the door rattle. Without a second thought, Sheila jumped up and scooped the gun off the coffee table. Victor walked into the room in a starched pair of jeans, white shirt, and a blue linen blazer. He was startled to see Phyllis.

Sheila held out the gun, her nostrils flaring.

“Don't do it, Sheila,” Phyllis begged. “Don't do it.”

“What's up with her?” Victor asked Phyllis. “That virus you had has gone to your head.”

“You've got that right, Victor Christianson. I have a virus but it hasn't gone to my head.” Sheila walked closer to Victor, who began to back up.

“Phyllis, what's wrong with this crazy bitch? I bought her a nice house to stay in, fixed her up with diamonds and pearls, and I can't come in my own house?”

“You asshole, don't talk like I'm invisible. I'm standing right here, right in front of you. But you won't for long because I'm going to sentence you to death like you've done to me.”