Bring on the Blessings (23 page)

“I did.”

“Cletus is locked up.”

“I heard that too.” Seeing him brought back all the sadness. “They’re going to tear down my house,” she whispered emotionally.

He looked down at his shoes.

She knew that if she stood there a moment longer, she’d break down. “I have to go and see if Tamar needs my help in the kitchen,” and she left him standing there, alone.

When the party ended, the families walked back in a group to their homes down the road. Roni watched Zoey, who was paired up as always with Devon and wondered about this child she was fostering. How could she, a woman fighting her own demons, be there for the little girl when Roni couldn’t even be there for herself? The shootings that had driven her into seclusion seemed to have happened ages ago, yet the memory of all the blood and screaming and people running remained so vivid it could have happened yesterday. Reg had accused her of using this fostering as another excuse to run away, and he’d been right. Her producer was trying to get her to go back into the studio. He’d promised her she wouldn’t have to tour to support the project if she didn’t want to, but she knew what the fans would be expecting. They’d been waiting for her to resume her career for so long, and not touring wouldn’t be fair. So instead of dealing with all the things she needed to deal with to try and make it happen, she’d told her producer no, because she wouldn’t have time due to the commitment she and Reg had made to being foster parents.

It was a cop-out; he knew it and so did she. Roni missed her music and she missed performing, but the memories of that terrible night in Boston were still so raw and painful she was afraid that when she opened her mouth to sing again, the only sounds that she’d make would be screams.

Lily tucked Devon in and looked down on his sweet face. “Did you have a good time, tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How are we doing, as a family, you and I?”

“We’re doing okay,” he replied softly. “I like it here.”

“Good to know. Did you know that I have a son, named Davis?”

“No, ma’am.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “He lives in California and he wants to meet you.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “He wants to ask you if he can be your big brother. He’s never had a brother before.”

“For real?” he asked, his accent prominent.

She laughed. She’d never seen him this animated. At that moment he was pure eight-year-old. “For real. He wants me to get a Web cam so you two can talk and see each other on the computer. Would that be okay?”

He nodded excitedly.

She gave him a motherly caress across his brow.

“Never had a brother either. Just my grandma.”

“And she’s looking down smiling, I betcha.”

“I miss her.”

“I know you do, honey, but she sent you to me and Davis and Tamar and Ms. Bernadine and everybody here so that you’d have somebody to keep loving you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” She gave him another soft touch. Feeling the way her heart swelled, she knew she’d made the right decision taking him in. “You get some sleep.”

“’Night, Ms. Lily.”

“’Night, Devon.”

The Garlands weren’t sure how to handle the night ahead and worried over the same questions they worried over every night since they discovered Zoey playing the piano. Would she want to sleep in her room? Would she get up in the middle of the night and start playing the piano again? Should they bed her down in their room? Would that help to keep her fears at bay? They didn’t have a clue.

“Well, Doc,” Roni said, “you’re the resident child expert. What should we do?”

They were outside sitting on the porch. Zoey was inside watching her last Nickelodeon selection for the evening.

“Wish I knew,” Reg confessed.

Before Roni could reply, Malachi drove up. When he got out of the truck they waved, he waved back. They expected him to turn toward Trent’s house but he came up their walk carrying the largest stuffed animal they’d ever seen.

“Got something for Zoey,” he said, struggling a bit with the thing.

Once they were inside, they could see it was a tiger.

A smiling Reg called, “Hey, Zoey. Come look.”

She appeared, wearing her green Disney Princess nightgown. When she saw the tiger her face widened with astonishment.

Malachi was encouraged by her reaction. “This, little button-nosed girl, is Tamar.”

Mirth flashed in Zoey’s eyes.

“Yep, named after that crotchety old lady up the road.”

The Garlands grinned.

Malachi then knelt beside the giant tiger and spoke directly to Zoey. “I saw this Tamar in the store this morning, and she asked if I knew a little button-nosed girl named Zoey.” He paused a moment to look her in the eye and ask, “You do know that I’m an animal doctor and that animals talk to me?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I am and they do. She said she wanted to meet you because she thought you might need her.”

Zoey’s dark eyes met his. He smiled kindly, “So, here you go. She’s real strong and she’s real fierce. Tigers get hungry a lot and she’ll eat anything that scares you. Make sure you feed her lots of that kind of stuff because the more she eats the stronger she gets. Okay?”

To his surprise she gave him a big hug, then grabbed up Tiger Tamar. It was almost as big as she was, but she managed to carry it to the stairs and up them to her room.

“Thank you so much,” Roni said, giving him a fervent hug. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Thought it might help.”

Malachi walked back to the door. Reg shook his hand. “Thanks again.”

“No thanks needed. I know what it’s like to be alone in the dark.”

With that said, he departed.

Upstairs, Zoey was making Tiger Tamar comfortable in the bed. She got her a pillow for her head and tucked the green-and-white top sheet over her so she wouldn’t get cold, then she climbed in too. The bright orange striped fur was soft and the whiskers tickled her hands. Zoey liked it that the tiger had big white teeth because they looked like they could eat lots of rats.

A few minutes later, when her new folks came into the room, she sat up, gave them both a gigantic hug, and Mama Roni started to cry. Zoey wasn’t sure why, but she thought they looked like happy tears. Daddy Reg ruffled her hair.

Mama Roni opened the curtains so the moon could get in. She turned on the light in the little bathroom and then the Tinkerbelle lamp over on her new green desk.

They whispered good night and after they left, Zoey put her arm around Tamar’s soft, warm neck and tumbled into a soundless sleep.

Sheila Payne hated menopause. If it wasn’t the hot sweats giving her fits, it was the insomnia, but tonight it was both. She looked over at the lighted dial on the clock on her nightstand: 1:00 a.m. Barrett was beside her, sleeping like the dead. Admittedly jealous she lay there in the dark. Hoping a dry shirt would help, she crept out of bed and tipped into the bathroom.

She’d learned over the course of this craziness her body was going through to keep extra shirts at hand, so each
night she left two in the bathroom in case she needed to change.

She rid herself of the damp one and wriggled into a dry one with the Marine Corps crest in the center. She turned off the light, opened the door, and tipped back into the dark bedroom. Thinking maybe a small glass of juice or water might help her get to sleep, she quietly left the room and soundlessly closed the door.

In the hallway, the crack of light showing beneath Preston’s door caught her attention, so she went to see if maybe he’d fallen asleep with the light on. She knocked softly, “Preston?”

She heard scrambling, so she opened the door just in time to see him stuff a book beneath his pillow. Closing the door softly behind her she viewed the guilty-looking face and said kindly, “You should be asleep, Son.”

“I know. Just getting ready to put out the light.” He reached up to hit the switch on the lamp.

“Don’t even try it,” she said with a smile. She walked over and stood by the bed. “What’re you reading?”

“Me? Nothing.”

She reached under his pillow and pulled out a book that had to weigh five founds. Intrigued, she read the spine.
W. E. B. Dubois: Biography of A Race. 1868–1919.
“What are you doing reading about W. E. B. Dubois?” she asked, blown away. Barrett had a copy of the same title in his library.

The defensive look on his face made her hastily explain, “Please, I’m not fussing at you. I’m not. I think this is so cool.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Very cool. I don’t know any teenagers willing to tackle something like this. This is wonderful.”

“You really think so?”

She nodded and handed the book back.

“Where I come from you get laughed at for reading stuff like this.”

“Not in this house. So do you like history, or do you like the book because it’s a biography?”

“Both. I like history and I like books.”

She leaned back and smiled. “You and the colonel have a lot in common.”

“What makes you think that?” he asked suspiciously.

“A love of books and history. Books and history are his thing.”

“I thought being a hard ass was his thing.”

She grinned. “Don’t tell him I said this but being a hard ass is his thing. Books are his thing too. Loves to read.”

“You’re lying.”

She raised her hand. “If I’m lying, I’m flying.”

She could see him digesting that. “Wait until all of his books are shipped here. You’re not going to believe how many he has.”

“Think you can ask him if I can borrow some sometimes?”

“I could, but it might mean more to you both if you asked.”

“Trying to get us to bond?”

She smiled but didn’t reply.

“Is he going to make me start exercising?”

She was confused. “Why do you think that?”

“The way he kept looking at the equipment at the rec center and then looking at me.”

Sheila shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Do you want to start exercising?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got asthma. I could die running around,” he said, feeling the need to explain.

“True, but do you know who Jackie Joyner Kersey is?”

“From the Olympics? We read about her in school for Black History Month.”

“She has asthma too.”

Preston stared.

“Yep. So, you don’t necessarily have to die, I guess, huh?”

“I guess not.”

She left the subject alone. Preston would certainly be leaner if he lost thirty pounds or so, but she wasn’t fostering him to force him into doing something. She did plan to make sure he continued to eat healthy foods, though, and for now that would be her focus. “In the future, if you want to stay up late and read, be my guest. I’m going back to bed. Don’t be up too late now; you have a date with a paintbrush in the morning.”

“I know,” he replied glumly.

She walked over to his door but before she could leave, he said, “Mrs. Payne?”

She turned to him.

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome. See you at breakfast.”

A
few days later, Bernadine got a fax from the PI firm looking into Zoey’s past. According to the records provided by the Florida Child Agency, Zoey had an aunt, her mother’s sister, but the address hadn’t been a current one. Bernadine’s investigators found her. The next morning, Bernadine was on a plane to Toledo, Ohio.

Bernadine had the hired driver of the black town car slow down so she could see the addresses on the fronts of the pale stone houses. The neighborhood was upscale. Well-maintained lawns and perfectly placed flowers led the eye to three-car garages and rolling driveways. “Here it is. Stop, please.”

He stopped the car and she checked her paperwork one more time to make sure the address on it did indeed match the one on the house. The driver came around to open her door. She stepped out and started up the walk. On the other side of the street a woman working in her yard stopped and
stared, but Bernadine ignored her as she pressed the bell and waited for someone to come to the door.

It was opened by a middle-aged woman with frizzy brown hair pulled back into a tail. She was dressed in standard soccer mom sweats. Brown. Her surprise at finding Bernadine on her porch was quite plain. She pulled herself together though, stammering, “May I,
uh,
help you?”

Bernadine smiled to set her at ease. “Hi. I’m Bernadine Brown. I’m looking for Yvette Raymond Caseman?”

“Why?”

“I’d like to speak with her about her niece Zoey.”

Even larger surprise. The woman shot a quick panicked look down at the idling limo as if trying to see if someone, presumably Zoey was inside.

“She isn’t with me,” Bernadine offered quietly.

The woman visibly relaxed, which didn’t endear her to Bernadine at all.

Yvette asked, “Are you one of my sister’s friends?”

“No. I’m a social worker. Your niece is one of my cases.”

“Oh. What do you want with me?”

“To ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind?”

“What about?”

Bernadine had hoped to have this conversation inside and sitting down, but that didn’t seem to be what the aunt wanted, so she asked, “Do you have any idea why she doesn’t speak?”

“No.”

When she didn’t elaborate or ask more, Bernadine sighed inside and plowed ahead. “What about her musical training?”

“What musical training?”

“Her piano playing? Did she take lessons?”

“I wouldn’t know. My sister played, though. Maybe she taught her. She won a scholarship to Juilliard after high school. My parents didn’t want her to go so far away, but she was determined. Bonnie always got her way; always.”

Bernadine let the sibling snipe pass. “Zoey plays as if she were classically trained.”

“Bonnie played like that from around age four. No lessons—no training, just played. Everybody
oohed
and
ahhed
over that, of course, calling her a genius. When she got the Juilliard scholarship, you’d’ve thought she was Christ on a bicycle the way people fell all over her.”

“I take it you two didn’t get along?”

“No. She was spoiled, selfish, and manipulative.”

“Are your parents still living?”

“No. I’m the only one left—outside of my kids.”

“And, Zoey,” Bernadine reminded her quietly. “May I ask why you didn’t take her in after your sister’s death?”

“My sister died a crackhead. When the social workers said Zoey might be brain damaged because of the drugs, my husband and I decided we couldn’t do it. We have three beautiful, healthy children, we didn’t want them exposed to that.”

“I see. Well, she’s in foster care and doing pretty good so far.”

“Glad to hear it. Anything else?”

Bernadine reached into her purse and drew out a business card. “If you’d like to visit her or get in touch, just give me a call.”

She gave the card a dismissive glance. “Sure.”

Bernadine knew the aunt wanted her off the porch yesterday, but she had one more request. “You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of Bonnie I could take back to your niece.”

“Yeah. Hold on.”

She came back some minutes later and handed her an envelope. “I have to go now. I’m supposed to be picking up my youngest from kindergarten.”

Bernadine didn’t keep her. “Thanks for your time.”

The door was closed before Bernadine could turn around.

While the driver took Bernadine back to the airport, she slid the small photo out of the envelope. It was a high school picture, and the smiling face staring up at her could’ve easily been Zoey’s own, the two favored each other so much. Looking closer, Bernadine now understood Zoey’s obsession with all things green—it was the color of her mother’s eyes.

Bernadine presented Zoey with the picture when she returned home. As the little girl studied her mother’s face, the tears that coursed down her cheeks broke the heart of every adult in the room. She slowly traced a finger over the image, the memories obviously filling her while Bernadine and the Garlands looked on silently. Zoey turned sad eyes to Bernadine and held them there.

Bernadine whispered, “I thought you might like to have it. It was given to me by a lady who knew your mom.”

Zoey stared at the picture again.

Finally, Roni said to her, “Honey, I think there might be
a frame around here we can put it in. Come on; let’s see if we can find one.”

After they were gone, Bernadine told Reg about the trip to Toledo and her visit with Zoey’s aunt. When she finished, she added, “I don’t think Zoey’s going to get much support from her. She couldn’t wait for me to leave.”

“That’s too bad.”

Bernadine agreed.

“So, do you think her mother taught her to play?”

“Who knows. Truthfully we don’t know a whole lot more than we did before, except that the mother was a pianist.”

“And Zoey has a picture of her.”

“Yes. That made the trip worth it.”

They talked a bit longer, then she left to go home and rest.

Crystal met her at the door. “Did you find out anything?”

“Not much. How are you?”

“Doing good.”

Bernadine was dead on her feet. The only thing she wanted to do was hit the shower, the kitchen, and the bed, but she knew it was her duty to spend some time with the teen, so she kicked off her heels and took a seat on the couch.

“Now, tell me about Zoey.”

So, she did.

“Her auntie sounds rude.”

“Yeah. Good word.”

“Glad you got Zoey the picture, though. You hear anything on my mom, yet?”

Bernadine shook her head. “Nothing so far.”

“Wish they’d hurry up.”

“We’ll find her. Don’t worry. Now, I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll be in my room chilling.”

“Okay.”

Bernadine headed for her bedroom. She was glad to be home.

Early that next morning, she knocked on Crystal’s bedroom door. Breakfast was ready, but it wasn’t like Crystal not to come downstairs on time.

When the second knock went unanswered, Bernadine quietly turned the knob and peeked in. Shock filled her eyes as she saw the girl lying in the middle of the floor snoring softly. Confused, she walked over only to see something equally as surprising. Lying on the floor beside her slumbering foster child were sheets of white paper covered with drawings. Bernadine knelt, and careful not to awaken her hip-hop Sleeping Beauty, she scanned the artwork. The girl had a talent. There was a drawing of Zoey sitting in a huge chair and surrounded by demonic-looking beings. Another one that could only be Amari and Preston lay next to it. She’d drawn Amari driving a cool-looking car and leaning out of the window grinning. Horns had been added to his head, which made Bernadine smile. Preston was in the backseat leaning out of his window and holding a fat hamburger complete with bun, lettuce, and drips on his hand. Bernadine was amazed.

Picking up the rest, she walked over to one of the chairs in the room and scanned through them. There were ten in all, and all were outstanding. “Crystal. Wake up,” she called looking at a drawing of Devon in a choir robe surrounded by a bunch of ornate crosses. “Time to get up.”

The teen finally opened her eyes, gave a sleepy groan, and was about to turn over when she saw Bernadine sitting in the chair. “Hey,” she said with a crooked smile.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor, honey?”

Crystal sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “Never had a room this nice. Don’t want to mess it up.”

Bernadine wished this fostering business had come with an instruction manual. She had no idea what to say to that, so she hoped the right words would come out. “You’ve been sleeping on the floor all this time?”

Crystal was fully awake by then. In reply she shrugged her thin shoulders. “Yeah. It’s so beautiful. It’s like something out of a magazine or that show
Cribs
. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“But it’s your room, baby.”

“I know but—”

“Crystal, I’m going to need you to not sleep on the floor.”

“But, Ms. Bernadine—”

“No, baby. I know all this high-class stuff is new. It was new for me once upon a time too. I grew up on the east side of Detroit sharing a little room with my two sisters.”

“You did?”

Bernadine nodded, “Yep, and my parents didn’t have the money to buy fancy stuff like this, but I learned over
the years that it’s okay to like nice things. I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich, and this is way better.”

Crystal smiled.

“This is our world, Crystal. Yours and mine, and this is how we’re going to be rolling. With nice stuff, beautiful rooms. When I take you to Milan next year for Fashion Week, are you planning on sleeping on the floor of the five-star hotel we’re going to be staying in?”

Crystal was staring as if Bernadine had just grown another head or two. “Milan,” she croaked. “Milan? Italy?”

Bernadine was impressed that she knew Milan was in Italy. “Yes, and Paris and Cairo and Senegal. I love to travel, and I’m planning on taking you with me when you’re not in school and,” she held up the drawings, “these are very good.”

“I’ve been drawing since I was little. I don’t usually let people see them.”

“When we go to Hays today, we’ll get art supplies. Brushes, paints, easels. Whatever you need or think you need, we’re getting. You have a gift, Crys, and I want you to start nurturing it. Who knows, you may wind up going to art school in New York or Madrid or some other cool place.”

Crystal dropped her head, and when she lifted it again there were tears standing in her eyes. “God.”

Bernadine smiled. “And you said God hasn’t been hearing you. Wrong!”

Crystal smiled.

Bernadine got to her feet. “So get up and get dressed. We have some shopping to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Bernadine left, Crystal shook her head in absolute amazement, then got up to get ready.

By the end of the day, Crystal had a bedroom filled with art supplies, and they were as precious and as wonderful to her as the little diamond sparklers in her ears. Until Ms. Bernadine came into her life no one had ever encouraged her in anything before, let alone tell her she was gifted. When Crystal finally decided to go to sleep that night, she crawled into her beautiful bed, content.

The female clerk at the County Agriculture Office sighed when Riley Curry came through the door. Every day for the past ten days he’d come in to ask the same question.

“’Morning, Ms. Clark.”

“’Morning, Mr. Curry. How are you, today?”

“Be better if I could see Cletus.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s been no word on the paperwork.”

“When do you think it’ll get here?”

She shook her head as she did every morning. “I don’t know. The hearing officers are pretty busy. They’ll get it to us as soon as they can.”

“Are they taking good care of him?”

“I’m sure they are. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here.”

When he left, she sighed.

Driving back, Riley was sad. He couldn’t imagine what
Cletus might be going through. He’d never been away from home this long before and probably thought Riley had abandoned him. Riley understood why they had to hold the hearing. Cletus had killed Prell, but he’d been protecting Riley, so he saw it as self-defense. He told the police about Prell hitting Cletus with the club, and they’d written down his version of the incident. If they put him to sleep, Riley didn’t know what he’d do.

Then there was the matter of Genevieve. He had no more idea what to do about her than he did Cletus. They no longer had a home. She was staying with Marie and didn’t seem to be of a mind to change that anytime soon. Seeing her at the recreation center, he’d expected her to have more to say, but the hurt in her eyes had spoken volumes. The life of Riley Curry, former mayor of Henry Adams, was officially in the toilet, and he had no idea how to fix that either.