Body By Night (22 page)

D’Andra sat stunned. She was sure she’d heard incorrectly. Had her mother just uttered the name Carter Johnson? The same name as Night’s stepfather? There was no way, absolutely no way she could have heard right. Her mother’s voice was weak, she’d almost been whispering. D’Andra relaxed the tension that had immediately built up in her shoulders. She took a deep breath, determined to hear better this time.

“Who’d you say, Mama?”

“Carter Johnson,” Mary repeated in a slightly stronger voice. “The woman…his wife’s name is Valerie,” she added, furthering the proof that D’Andra had heard correctly the first time.

“I’m so ashamed to tell you this but your father’s right here, D’Andra, in Los Angeles. He’s been here this whole time, practically the whole time you’ve been begging to get to know him.”

Mary placed her head in her hands and sobbed quietly into them. D’Andra sat and watched her, dazed, partly wanting to reach out, partly wanting to run out. There were so many emotions running through her, she couldn’t tell which one was more prevalent at any given moment: love for her mother finally telling the truth, hate for it having taken so long, shock at the fact that her father was alive, and living in L.A., sadness for all the time together they’d missed; numbness at how she could possibly break this news to Night and his mother. Her biological father had raised her lover as his son.

D’Andra rose from the bed and walked to the window. A couple chatted animatedly as they walked to the parking lot, hospital employees walked with heads down and purposeful strides, others talked on their cell phones. A plane flew overhead and a bicyclist navigated between the sidewalk and the grass. Outside, life went on as normal. But here in this room, D’Andra’s world had been turned upside down.

“Talk to me, D’Andra. I know that after all these years of your asking me to do it and me acting a fool and refusing I have no right to ask. But talk to me. What are you feeling, baby? I know you probably hate me now, but do you think there might come a time when you forgive me?”

“It’s a little more complicated than you realize,” D’Andra answered, still looking out the window.

“I…I don’t understand. Granted, I don’t have Carter’s number but I know some people who are still in contact with him. I can make sure you have his information…to contact him. I know that’s what you want.”

“You don’t have to look him up, Mama. I know where he lives.” She turned around to find Mary’s surprised eyes fixed on her.

“You mean to tell me you already know Carter Johnson?”

D’Andra’s laugh was without humor. “Yes, in fact I met him in this very hospital a little over a month ago. He was here visiting his wife, Val.”

Mary’s frown deepened, not making the immediate connection. “But what were you doing here? Were you doing some type of work or something?”

“No, Mama. I was here specifically to see her. Carter Johnson is my boyfriend’s stepfather, Mama, and Val is Night’s mother.”

“Oh, my God.” The full ramifications of Mary’s secrecy slowing began creeping through her initial veil of disbelief. She looked at her daughter, now standing dry-eyed and resolute. “D’Andra, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Oh, God,” she repeated. “What have I done?”

Cassandra and Jackie entered the room laughing but immediately sobered.

“What’s the matter?” Cassandra asked. “Dee, why is Mama crying?”

“It’s a long story,” D’Andra answered. “About my father.”

That night, despite the strong desire to take another personal day, D’Andra went to work. But the closer she got to the hospital, the slower she drove. She dreaded walking into the lobby and onto her ward. Night’s mother, Val Johnson, was there waiting for her visit. Waiting for her to pop in around twelve-thirty, the way she usually did, soon after beginning her eleven to seven shift. D’Andra didn’t see how she could avoid Night’s mother, but she also didn’t see how she could face her. Or Night, who was probably already wondering what was going on. He’d called her three times and left two messages. It was the first time since her initial encounter with Jazz that she hadn’t returned his calls.

Elaine noticed something wrong immediately and as soon as they’d gotten their assignments from the chief nurse, she pulled D’Andra into a supply room and closed the door.

“I know Black people don’t pale, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“I have,” D’Andra responded. “The ghost of my mother’s past.”

Elaine could sense D’Andra was fighting back tears, trying to keep herself together. She placed a gentle arm around her friend’s shoulders.

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

D’Andra shook her head. “I don’t know where I’d start. I’m still trying to sort it out myself. You know the saying that truth is stranger than fiction?”

Elaine nodded.

“I’m living that strange truth right now.”

Elaine didn’t understand, but instead of asking probing questions remained silent.

“It’s about my father,” D’Andra said a few seconds later.

“Oh, honey,” Elaine said, hugging her friend more fully. Now D’Andra’s tight-lipped, pained expression made sense. She stepped back, placed her hands on D’Andra’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “So…you now know the name of your father?”

“Yes,” D’Andra answered. “And that’s all I can say right now.”

The two left the supply room after that and before long were absorbed in their work routine: taking vitals, passing meds, making reports. Her first patient was Frieda, who wide-awake at eleven-thirty, wanted to chat. That in itself wasn’t unusual to D’Andra. She often slept during the day, lay awake at night, and talked one’s ear off. No, the point that made its way through D’Andra’s muddled emotions was that Mrs. Frieda Lee Miller did not call her Grace.

“Well there you are, D’Andra,” she’d said smoothly, as if she’d said her name that way every day.

D’Andra offered a half-hearted greeting and then focused on her work.

“Did you know I have a new friend?”

“No.”

“Well I do, her name’s Val. She’s a smart lady, that one there.” Mrs. Miller’s voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I’ll tell you something else. She’s colored.”

Rather than respond, D’Andra motioned for Mrs. Miller to lift her tongue so her temperature could be taken.

“Do you know we know some of the same hymns? She grew up Baptist just like I did, except I was in Georgia and she was in Mississippi. Everyone knows Georgians are the true Baptists.”

In her depressed state, D’Andra became agitated. But when she looked up, Mrs. Miller had a twinkle in her eye.

“Yep, that Val Johnson is a mighty fine woman and she’s raised a strapping son.” She looked at D’Andra a moment before continuing. “Well my word, I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together before. He’s perfect for you, D’Andra. Val’s son.” Mrs. Miller squealed with delight, as if she’d just discovered the cure for cancer or the secret to youth.

“He’s kind and considerate and loves his mother. He came to visit her the other day when I was in her room. Brought her some candy and I made such a fuss over it that the next day he brought me some too. Now that’s a kindly gentleman if ever there was one.”

D’Andra never said a word. She felt if she so much as opened her mouth, a flood of tears would come out.

But Mrs. Miller had never had any problem with one-sided conversation. She touched D’Andra’s arm lightly. “If you want, I can put in a good word for you. I think he respects this old woman,” Mrs. Miller said, pointing a bony, purple-veined finger towards her chest. “He’ll listen to me.”

D’Andra shook her head and said, “No, Mrs. Miller. Don’t do that.” And then she fled the room.

By sheer will, D’Andra finished her rounds. She took her break, but instead of going to the cafeteria, she walked outside to the smoker’s area. Here, in the quiet of the early morning, D’Andra finally gave into her tears.

She’d been crying for several minutes when she felt a soothing hand on her shoulders and a warm body sit down next to her.

“I saw you come out here,” Elaine said gently. “Thought you might like some lavender tea…and some Kleenex.”

D’Andra looked up and smiled through her tears. She took a tissue from the box Elaine offered, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she took the cup of tea laced with just the right amount of honey and sipped slowly. After a few more moments, Elaine spoke again.

“I also brought you the biggest chocolate chip cookie I could find. I know it’s not medically proven, but I personally think chocolate cures just about any ailment one could have, including a shattered heart.”

“Thanks, friend,” D’Andra said, before going into another round of sobbing. Elaine held her gingerly, patiently, until the moment of anguish subsided. As she did so, she tried in vain to figure out what finding out about her father had to do with D’Andra avoiding their new favorite patient, Val Johnson.

“Val asked about you earlier,” Elaine said after D’Andra had once again blown her nose and was now absently munching on the cookie. “She’s used to you stopping in as soon as you get to work and wondered why she hadn’t seen you. Night called as well, first his mother and then the front desk. Still don’t want to talk about what’s going on?”

In that moment, D’Andra knew that sharing the burden of the truth she’d learned might help to lighten it from her heart. She felt she could barely breathe, and knew from personal experience that situations often looked different in another person’s eyes. She knew Elaine’s would be a fair, non-judgmental perspective. She was the only one D’Andra could even imagine sharing this with: she didn’t want to talk to Cassandra about it and the thought of discussing it with Chanelle or Connie felt equally uncomfortable. But after looking at her watch, she knew that now was not the time.

“I do want to talk about it,” she said rising. “Maybe that will help me gain perspective. But there’s no time now, and I know you have to rush home right after work, so Max can leave for work.”

“I can spare a few minutes,” Elaine said readily. “Plus I can call my next door neighbor’s teen. I don’t think she has to be at school until nine. I’ll tell her I’ll drive her to school if she watches the kids. Then we can talk.”

The rest of D’Andra’s shift went by in a blur and before she knew it, it was a quarter to seven. She seriously considered not going to Val’s room, but that act felt cowardly even with her hurting. She decided to just pop her head in, say hello, and then use having to clock out as an excuse to not stay long. After five more minutes she gathered her courage, walked down the hall and peered around the door into Val’s room.

Val was awake, alert and watching television. She turned her head almost before D’Andra’s face was barely visible. “There’s my angel! Girl, you had me worried about my favorite nurse in all the world. Now come on in here and tell me how your mama’s doing.”

D’Andra willed herself calm and dared her eyes to shed a tear. “I just stopped by to say hi,” she said quickly, before the dam burst again. “Sorry but I was really busy tonight. I’ll see you later, Miss Val.”

“But baby, I’ve got something for you, something I made.”

Whatever she had would have to wait. D’Andra fairly ran down the hall, to the clock out center and then to her car, forgetting all about sharing her burden with Elaine.

She wouldn’t be able to run away from Night as easy. Seeing his GMC as she purposely passed instead of turned down her street, she circled the block and entered the alley to her garage from behind the building. Cautiously she walked to the elevator, being careful not to be seen through the large paned windows.

Once inside her apartment, she peeled off her clothes and headed straight for the shower. She ran the water as hot as she could stand it and then stepped into the stall. More tears flowed as she tried to wash away the events of the past twenty-four hours and the questions that entered her mind and refused to leave. Why had she kept asking about her father? Why had she insisted on knowing his name? Why had her mother had a heart attack now, just when things between her and Night were perfect. D’Andra was convinced that if her mother hadn’t gotten sick, this ugly truth would probably have never gotten out. Some people said that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, D’Andra thought snidely.
No, but it can kill you.
Of that, D’Andra had no doubt. Because a part of her spirit died at the mere thought of a life without Night in it.

D’Andra stayed in the shower until the water cooled and then stepped out and toweled herself dry. After quickly spreading cocoa butter lotion over her skin, she walked naked to her bedroom, ready to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and hide herself from her own reality. But it was not to be. She almost jumped fifty feet when she walked into her bedroom and found that she was not alone.

“Night! How…how did you get in here?”

“You gave me a key, remember?”

Belatedly, D’Andra remembered giving Night her extra key the morning the furniture store had called to say they were delivering her living room furniture. D’Andra had had a doctor’s appointment on the other side of town and couldn’t be there to let the men in. She’d never even thought to ask for the key back. Now, she wished she had.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t. I mean I’m not. I was busy last night and left my phone on silent and—”

“Didn’t you see me when you passed by the street and circled around to the back of the apartment? Isn’t that why you were trying to hug the wall like a shadow when you walked to the elevator, hoping that I wouldn’t see you? What’s going on, D’Andra?”

D’Andra felt as naked emotionally as she was physically. Suddenly she became aware of her nudity and reached into her closet for a bathrobe. All the while she was trying to concoct some kind of believable story. But D’Andra had always been horrible at making up stories. In the end, she was simply too drained emotionally and physically to lie. She knew this truth would be the end of her fairy tale romance. Mary’s confession had already cut out part of her heart. She figured she may as well give Night the information needed to finish the job.

She walked across the room, as far away from him as she could get, and took a seat on the floor. With her head down, she recounted the story as she had heard it. Her voice faltered a couple times and at times she wondered if she could actually utter the words about her mother’s complicity in Night’s mother’s miscarriage. But she did.

Night sat still and quiet as D’Andra talked, his expression going from concern, to confusion to something unreadable. At one point, D’Andra wondered if Night truly understood what she was saying, how her story affected them. When she finished, she repeated the most important part.

“Your stepfather, Carter Johnson, is my biological dad.”

Night continued to sit quietly for several minutes, his chin resting on his closed fist, his brow creased in concentration. D’Andra stared at him silently and watched his love for her ooze out of the room.

“Do you hate my mother now?” D’Andra asked, eerily similar to the question Mary had asked regarding D’Andra’s feelings for her.

It seemed another eternity before Night spoke. He didn’t look at her. “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, to be honest with you. Never in a million years could I have imagined this story.”

“Your mother never said anything about it?”

“I knew she’d lost a child, the little girl who would have been my sister.” Night cut a quick glance in D’Andra’s direction. “But I never knew why.”

D’Andra dared to approach the bed. She sat down next to Night and lay a shaky hand on his thigh. The gesture she’d done on countless occasions now seemed foreign, invasive. Night was stiff as a board.

“If your mother was with so many men, how is she so sure Carter’s your father?”

“She seems very sure, but I guess there’s always the possibility that he’s not.” For the first time in her life D’Andra found herself hoping someone was
not
her father. “We should do a paternity test,” she continued. “If your stepfather, if Carter is willing.”

Night rose from the bed. “I need to go see my mother.”

“Are you going to tell her what I’ve shared?”

“Of course,” Night said, a little too forcibly.

“Do you think she’ll tell my, my father?”

Night looked at D’Andra then, really looked at her for the first time since he entered the apartment. Now he saw the paleness underneath her flushed cheeks, took in the bloodshot eyes, swollen from crying. He imagined the lone, lost girl who for years had searched for the other part of who she was and the mixed emotions she must be experiencing now that she’d found him. He knew the story she’d relayed to him wasn’t her fault, but he couldn’t help that his feelings toward her had shifted.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he offered. “I can’t imagine how you feel.”

“And I can’t imagine how you feel,” she replied.

“I’ll call you later,” he said as he walked out of the bedroom toward the front door.

He hugged her briefly. Not the deep, all encompassing, breath-taking hugs he usually gave upon their parting, but a see-you-later-bye hug, an it’s-been-good-knowing-you hug. There was no kiss. And then he was gone.

D’Andra stared at the closed door for long moments after he’d gone. She was all out of tears but stood, breathing deeply, trying to catch breath that suddenly seemed in short supply. She felt herself getting light-headed and quickly sat on the sofa. She knew her pressure was rising, and she practiced the breathing exercises she’d learned to restore some semblance of calm.

When she was able, she got up from the couch, walked into her bedroom, closed the blinds, turned off her phones, slipped off her robe and slid under the covers. She pulled the downy comforter over her head, pulled herself into a fetal position. All her life she’d wanted to know who her father was. Now she knew. But would the knowledge she gained be worth what it had cost her?