Doin' Me (11 page)

“I wasn't being deceitful,” she countered. “You assumed I was a broker and that I owned the place. You never asked me.”

He pushed back from the table and stood. “So it's my fault you're a liar?”

“No.” A lump formed in her throat; she swallowed hard. “You're right. I should have told you the truth, but you haven't exactly been an open book with me, either,” she declared. “I still don't know where you live. For all I know, with your disappearing acts, you could have a wife and kids somewhere.”

His fists pounded the table. “Look, if you still don't trust me, I'm out of here.” He knocked over the chair on his way to the front door.

“Wait!” Reyna ran after him. Peyton couldn't leave her alone tonight. What if the burglar came back? Even with insults, Peyton's presence gave her a sense of security.

She grabbed his arm just as he twisted the doorknob. “Please, Peyton, don't go.” He huffed but didn't turn around to face her. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth in the beginning. I didn't know how,” she admitted. “I was afraid you wouldn't like me anymore.” He still didn't budge. “Come on,” she added while stroking his triceps. “You said you cared about me. Doesn't that earn me another chance?” His muscles flexed beneath her touch just before he finally turned to face her.

“What about trust, Reyna? We can't have a relationship without trust. You keep questioning me, like I'm hiding something.”

“I do trust you,” she answered but hoped he wouldn't ask her to prove it again.

“Prove it. Let's move in together.”

Reyna covered her open mouth with one hand and, with the other, massaged the rapid pounding in her chest. “Are you asking me to move to the city with you?” she blurted out.

“No. Since your place is larger than mine, and I'm sure the rent is more economical, I'll move in here with you. That is, if you can trust me enough to live under the same roof with me.”

She didn't miss the sarcasm, just didn't address it. Thoughts of how she would explain a live-in boyfriend to Tyson and her mother filled her head. Then she wondered why she cared what her landlord and her mother thought of her. As long as she kept the rent current, why should Tyson care who she took up residence with? To date, she had yet to invite her mother to her home. That wouldn't change.

“That's a great idea. We can split everything fifty-fifty. With you around, I'll feel safer. Besides, you've practically been living here, anyway,” she said, hoping that was enough to make him stay.

He released the knob. “All right, if you're sure this is what you want,” he said, exasperated.

The anticipation of finally getting what she desired most caused flutters to roll through her stomach. Her fantasy could become reality, depending on her words. Peyton wasn't perfect by far, but then, neither was she. There were many things she didn't know about him, but with them living together, she would find out all she needed to know soon enough.

“Yes, I'm sure,” she answered with a smile.

Tyson's BMW came to a screeching halt after rounding a sharp corner in the hospital's parking garage. He steered his ultimate driving machine between two SUVs, hopped out, and dashed toward the garage stairwell. Kevin had called him forty-five minutes ago with the news that Marlissa's water had broken and that they were on their way to the hospital. Tyson, not wanting to chance missing the birth of his godson, had his secretary reschedule his morning appointments. Before leaving the office, he'd traded in his tailored suit for a pair of casual slacks and a pullover.

After securing a visitors' pass and before taking the elevator to the labor and delivery unit, Tyson stopped at the hospital's gift shop and purchased a floral arrangement for Marlissa and a huge stuffed teddy bear for the new arrival. He stepped from the fifth-floor elevator with gifts in tow, and instead of asking for Marlissa Jennings's room number, Tyson followed the noise, which resembled what one might encounter at a revival tent meeting. Mother Scott's and First Lady Drake's praying and singing vibrated down the hall.

He doubted the soft knock he gave on the door was heard over the makeshift praise and worship service happening on the other side. When the second knock didn't yield a response, Tyson eased the door open and stepped inside.

Marlissa's corner room was complete with a full-sized couch, a chair with an ottoman, a flat-screen television, a dresser bureau, and a full-sized crib. Soft pastel animals and shapes covered the walls. No doubt Marlissa had the best birthing room in the facility, thanks to Kevin being on staff as a highly respected ophthalmo-logic surgeon. Tyson guessed Kevin's status also served as the reason why the hospital staff tolerated the scene before him. First Lady Drake was stationed at the end of the bed, on bended knees, praying in her heavenly language. Mother Scott stood at the head of the bed, singing “Come on in the Room” and beating a tambourine. Both women were dressed in white. Marlissa lay panting while Kevin massaged her back. On the bedside table rested a large canister of what the prayer warriors referred to as anointing oil.

Tyson would have shaken himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, had he not witnessed the same scenario two weeks ago, when Leon and Starla's daughter was born. Starla's labor lasted only two hours, but by the time little Miracle entered the world, two nurses had received Christ as their personal savior. At the time, Kevin had cautioned the prayer warriors against repeating the shenanigans at his place of business. As usual, the plea fell on deaf ears. The prayer team of Scott and Drake operated by its own set of rules.

“How's it going?” Tyson asked his friend with a tap on the shoulder.

Kevin appeared startled when he turned and found his friend standing behind him with flowers and a teddy bear that was big enough to occupy a chair of its own. His weary eyes relaxed a bit. “Hey, man. Glad you could make it.”

Tyson leaned forward. “They're not bothering you too much, are they?” he asked, with a nod toward the prayer warriors.

“What do you think? The supervisor has been in here twice all ready,” Kevin said through clenched teeth. “I've never been more embarrassed in my life. Would you believe they rubbed oil on the nurse's hands before they allowed her to hook Marlissa up to the fetal monitor?”

“Did you expect anything less?” Tyson said between chuckles. “Marlissa is their adopted baby. My guess is you haven't seen the worst yet.” He sobered at the sound of Marlissa's moan. “How is she holding up?”

“She's doing great.” Kevin turned back toward his wife. “Hey, babe, look who just walked in.”

When Marlissa ceased panting long enough to look over her shoulder and acknowledge his presence, Tyson thought his knees would buckle. The same thing had happened with Starla. For as anal and as stoic as he was, seeing a woman in pain reduced him to mush. He had to lean against the chair for balance, and it made a sound and interrupted the prayer warriors' flow. First Lady Drake stopped speaking her heavenly language, and then Mother Scott stopped singing.

“Do you mind?” Mother Scott asked, with a fist planted at her waist. “We're trying to have a baby here.”

Tyson started to apologize but considered that useless when it came to the radical mothers. He had learned early on to just let them rant.

“What do you mean ‘we'?” Marlissa panted out.

“Now look what you've done.” First Lady Drake swatted him with her prayer cloth. “You've made Marlissa lose focus. We're bringing a future prayer warrior into world. The atmosphere needs to be as spiritual as possible. If you can't get with the program, you're going to have to wait outside.”

“And what's with that big bear?” Mother Scott barked. “By the time the baby is big enough for that, he'll be old enough to read the Bible. I guess they didn't teach you common sense at that lawyer school.”

Tyson thought if Mother Scott considered the bear impractical, she'd be flabbergasted by the gifts he had in his garage for his godson, which included an electric train set.

“You're right, Mother. I should wait in the waiting room.” He set the flowers on the bureau. “Hang in there,” he said to Marlissa, then turned to exit the room. By the time his fingertips touched the doorknob, First Lady Drake's talk with the Lord had resumed, and so had Mother's Scott's off-key singing and tambourine beating. “I should have assigned them to Reyna,” he mumbled as he headed down the corridor, then wondered if he still cared about her.

He hadn't interacted with his wayward tenant in three months, outside of the monthly rental checks he picked up from his post office box. He knew she was still employed from conversations with Paige, but that was all he knew. He'd shared his predicament with his father. “Move on. If you can't be with the woman you love, then find a woman who loves you. She'll treat you right and make a happy home,” was what his father had told him. After the last rejection, that was exactly what he'd done. Tyson had moved on and had stopped praying for a relationship with Reyna. He hadn't meant to start dating; it had just happened that way, thanks to the tenacious Beverly Stokes.

Bonding with his father meant spending more time at his parents' home. Every Saturday, instead of a bland phone call, Tyson enjoyed brunch on the deck of his parents' home overlooking the San Pablo Bay. True to form, every Saturday, his mother had sung Mylan's praises, until finally orchestrating a “chance” meeting.

After a visual inspection, Tyson's first thought was to thank his mother for poking her nose into his personal life. Mylan's beauty was the perfect mix of her African American and Korean heritage. She complimented him on all points, from a keen intellect to a love of art. Most importantly, Mylan was a devoted Christ follower. Her only negative characteristics were the long hours she worked at the nonprofit organization she'd founded and an obsession with her smartphone. Ironically, Tyson categorized himself as a workaholic, yet he disliked the trait in Mylan. If and when he decided to make them an official couple, the constant texting and Facebook and Twitter updates would have to end. They had been out on a few dates and had engaged in numerous phone conversations. He relished the companionship and her physical beauty but had yet to develop feelings for Mylan equal to what he'd once felt for Reyna.

A rare emotion caused him to pace the waiting room. An excitement he hadn't felt in years bubbled in his belly. A few feet away his godson was being born. A life that he would have total responsibility for should Kevin and Marlissa become incapacitated. The thought that this could be the closest he'd come to actual fatherhood dulled the moment. Images of what could have been with the life he and Paige had created resurfaced. He'd long ago admitted the abortion was a mistake, but the remorse remained.

Pastor Rosalie Jennings and Reyna's mother, Jewel, entered the waiting room before Tyson could sulk over the worst decision he'd ever made.

“Where's Kevin?” Pastor Rosalie Jennings had a habit of asking him questions she already knew the answers to.

Tyson wasn't in the mood for his former pastor's games. “Where else would he be but in the delivery room with his wife?”

“How is Kevin holding up? Is the baby all right?” Pastor Jennings quizzed.

The fact that Pastor Rosalie Jennings didn't express concern for Marlissa didn't come as a surprise, but Tyson's blunt answer did. “Why don't you go and see for yourself how your son
and
your daughter-in-law are doing?”

Tyson's jaw dropped when Pastor Rosalie Jennings's shoulders slumped and she retreated to a seat, looking like a lost child. In all the years he'd known her, he'd never seen her look so defeated. Even when Kevin moved his membership from her church, she had had more spunk. Although she was to blame, the estranged relationship between her and Kevin had taken its toll on her.

“No,” she responded, looking around the waiting room, confused. “I'll just wait in here.”

Uncertain if the hopelessness act was genuine or manipulative, Tyson readily agreed. “Suit yourself,” he said, then went back to pacing, only this time he added a prayer for peace. If Pastor Rosalie Jennings caused Marlissa an ounce of distress, the prayer warriors would lay hands on her.

“It's time to push!” Mother Scott rushed into the waiting room, shaking the tambourine. “Come on, Ty . . .” Her words fell short when Pastor Rosalie Jennings stood up next to Tyson. She cleared her throat. “Hello, Rosalie.”

Pastor Rosalie Jennings returned the greeting in the same dry tone it had been offered.

Mother Scott turned back to Tyson. “Are you coming or not?”

He wanted to witness the actual birth but doubted he could handle it. The brightness in Pastor Rosalie Jennings's eyes helped him make up his mind. “Pastor Jennings, why don't you go?”

Pastor Rosalie Jennings sucked her breath in and placed her right hand over her heart. “Oh my, do you think I should? I mean, it is my grandchild. If anyone has a right to be in there, it's me.” She gripped Tyson's arm. “But do you really think I should go?”

Some things never change,
Tyson thought. The Holy Spirit prevented him from voicing his opinion of Pastor Rosalie Jennings's shenanigans.

“Look, we ain't got time for all this drama, Rosalie.” Mother Scott pried her hand from Tyson's arm. “You know you want to be in the delivery room—that's why you're here. We all know you don't like Marlissa.
We
ain't too fond of you, either, but we'll tolerate you for Kevin's sake. It ain't his fault he drew the shortest stick and got you for a mama.” She pulled the pastor toward the door. “Come on. We're bringing in a prayer warrior. Maybe with all that anointing in there, you'll finally get delivered of your issues. Hurry up so you can get washed up.”

Thunderous laughter poured from Tyson as soon as his former pastor cleared the door. “I love that pushy old woman,” he said between chuckles.

“Uh-huh!” Jewel cleared her throat.

He quickly sobered. With Pastor Jennings's dramatic performance taking center stage, he'd forgotten Jewel was there.

“Sorry, Ms. Mills. No disrespect intended.”

Jewel's lips twisted, then relaxed. “I know, and that was funny, but don't tell Rosalie I said that.”

Tyson observed Jewel carefully. A smile rested on her cinnamon face, but worry lines framed her ebony eyes. He hadn't seen her since Reyna moved into his town house. She appeared to have lost about twenty pounds. Tyson wondered if she had an illness.

“How have you been, Ms. Mills?” he asked, hoping to gain some insight into why she looked so tired.

“I'm good. How is Reyna? Have you seen her? Is she still working? Does she have enough food?” The questions gushed out like a geyser. “She won't return my calls, and I'm worried about her.” She began pacing back and forth. “That girl thinks she knows what she's doing, but she doesn't. She hates me, thinks I'm the reason her father abandoned her. She has no idea the sacrifices I've made for her.” She stopped pacing and plopped into a chair. Tears rolled down her cheeks and gathered beneath her chin.

Her agony sapped his strength. He sat beside her and rode out the emotional wave. Out of habit he reached for a handkerchief, intending to offer it to her, and then he remembered he wasn't wearing a suit.

“I haven't been the best mother. I haven't always given her the attention she needs, but I do love my daughter. I'm scared of her resentment of me. She's going to end up in something she can't get out of, just like I did. There are so many things I need to tell her.”

He groaned as he listened to Jewel's sobs. He didn't have a clue how to comfort her. She acted like Reyna had died and not just moved out on her own. He didn't know much about the Millses' family history, but Jewel's words and disposition indicated the pain ran deep.

He patted her hand. “Ms. Mills, stop worrying so much about Reyna. She's much stronger than you think. From what I've heard, she's performing well at the real estate office, and she pays the rent on time. She's doing well on her own,” he said, conveniently leaving out that he'd seen her at Skates, where she was practically sitting in some man's lap.

Tyson hoped his words reassured her; he wanted the conversation to end. His godson's pending birth deserved his full attention. Besides, Reyna had made it crystal clear she didn't want him in her business.

“I hope you're right, but I don't feel good about it,” Jewel said between sniffles. “She won't even give me her address.” She looked up at Tyson with glossy eyes. “If I had her address, I'd feel better.”