Don't Tell A Soul (7 page)

PAM

 

 

 

 

“H
ow long are you going to not talk to me?”

I look up from my laptop at Troy's pitiful-looking face. No, I am not talking to him. Haven't spoken a word since he tried to embarrass me and dismiss my writing career in front of his friend Logan.

“Look, Pam. I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I don't even know why I said it. I'm happy about your book deal.”

I bite my lip and twirl a pencil between my fingers. “You're not happy about it. You want me to get a job.”

“I want you to be happy. You should do the book thing, see how it turns out.”

“What are we going to do about our shrinking bank account?”

Troy shrugs. “God will make a way, right? Isn't that what you always say? All the prayers you send up, it's going to happen.”

Wrong answer. Wrong, wrong, wrong! This is not Troy taking the burden of our family off my shoulders. This is him making everything my and God's fault if it falls apart.

“Well, I am doing the
book thing,
as you call it.”

“Good. But can you do it somewhere else? Aria and Logan are on their way over here. Logan called in a favor with a producer who just did some incredible work for Beyoncé. We've got some tracks that will make number one songs.”

“So you want me to leave my home while you work?”

“It's going to be noisy. That's the only reason I ask.”

“I think I'll stay tonight. Maybe I can write a song lyric or two.”

Troy runs his hand over his head and sighs. “Pam, you don't have to do that.”

“No, really, Troy, it's no trouble at all. Let me get some snacks together, and I'll be right in to join you. I wouldn't want you saying that I'm not a supportive wife.”

Troy looks confused but doesn't try to persuade me any further. I snap my laptop shut and leave him in the living room. I wasn't going to get any writing done with Aria in my house, anyway, so I might as well see what they're up to.

I open the refrigerator to see what I can scare up in a few minutes. I have thawed-out chicken tenderloins, vegetables, and flour tortillas that are about two days away from going bad. Couple those with some sour cream and cheddar cheese and we've got chicken fajitas.

My son, TJ, peeks into the kitchen as soon as he hears pots and pans. Gretchen and Cicely tiptoe in, as well. They don't have to sneak, but I guess things have been so tense around here for the past few days that even my babies are walking on eggshells.

“Are you making fajitas?” Gretchen asks. “Can I help?”

“Of course.”

Gretchen's face lights up, and she goes to the sink to wash her hands and put on her apron. Cicely, who couldn't care less about cooking anybody's meal, plops down on one of the bar stools.

“So, Mommy, have you talked to Auntie Taylor?” Cicely asks.

I realize that it's Friday and I haven't talked to Taylor since last week at church. Yvonne, either, for that matter, and I need to get the details on her date. I've been so consumed with writing my new book proposal that I've lost a few days in my friends' lives.

“I haven't talked to Taylor. Why?”

Cicely's eyes widen. “Oh, so you don't know about Joshua?”

I stop chopping the bell peppers and put the knife down on the cutting board. “What about Joshua?”

“He got arrested at school on Wednesday.”

“The blood of Jesus! Arrested? By the police?”

“Yes, ma'am. They came up to the school and put handcuffs on him and everything. Then they put him in the back of the car. Auntie Taylor was up there crying like somebody died.”

“Why did they arrest him?”

“He punched Ms. Golden in the mouth and knocked out her dentures,” Cicely explains.

“I don't believe that!”

I wipe my hands and fumble for my cell phone. Gretchen takes over and heats oil in the big skillet for the chicken pieces. She really doesn't need me for this at all. Thank God, because I need to talk to my sister. I step into my study and close the door.

The phone rings three times. “Hi, Pam.”

“Taylor, what is going on? Cicely just told me about Joshua. Why haven't you called?”

“I did call, but your phone went right to voice mail,” Taylor says in a quivering voice. “I spent the last couple of days trying to get my baby out of the juvenile detention center. Spencer was finally able to get him released a few hours ago.”

“Why did they arrest him? The story Cicely told me can't possibly be accurate.”

Taylor sighs, and there's a long and pregnant pause. “Cicely was probably close to the truth. He's got this teacher who doesn't care for him, and she just won't leave him alone. I guess he didn't turn in an assignment, she chastised him, he talked back, and then she snatched him out of his seat. He doesn't like people putting their hands on him, so he kind of lost it.”

“What do you mean, he lost it?”

“He hit that old bat and knocked her dentures out, but she wasn't hurt.”

I let out a gasp just thinking about what I'd do to any of my children if they raised a hand to one of their teachers. “I can't believe Joshua did that! You've raised him better than that.”

“Well, that witch shouldn't have put her hands on my son. They did away with corporal punishment for a reason. So that these racist teachers can't put their hands on our kids.”

Now, I know Ms. Golden. I worked on the PTA with her, and both Cicely and Gretchen had her for fifth grade. She is a tough-as-nails woman who is somewhat old school. She doesn't tolerate back talk, and she makes the children say “No, ma'am” and “Yes, ma'am.” She is a great teacher and is not racist at all. Even though she works in our well-to-do suburb, she volunteers every year tutoring reading students in the urban school districts.

“I never thought Ms. Golden was racist, Taylor.”

“Well, she is. She doesn't like black boys. You have girls, so maybe that's why you haven't experienced it yet. You better hope TJ doesn't have her when he gets in fifth grade. Hopefully, she will have retired by then.”

“They haven't filed any charges, have they? He's just a little boy.”

“Girl, they talking about assault, but we're going to fight it. Right now we've got to worry about where Joshua's going to go to school. They expelled him.”

“Oh my Lord, Taylor, I'm so sorry. Do you think if he apologizes to the teacher that they'd overturn the decision?”

“Apologize? He didn't do anything but defend himself. She shouldn't have put her hands on my son.”

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I know that Taylor overindulges Joshua a little bit. I thought that it was just because it was only the two of them for so long. I hoped that once Spencer came into their lives, she would be a little bit more balanced about that boy.

“What are you gonna do, then?”

“For now I'm going to homeschool him.”

“What about your job?”

“I'm taking a leave of absence. Spencer makes more than enough money to take care of us, and we've been stacking most of my checks for years. We'll be fine if I take some time off to get my son back on track.”

“What did Spencer say about you leaving work?”

Another loud sigh from Taylor. “He basically said that all of this is my fault. He's wanted to punish Joshua for his other outbursts, but I don't allow that. He's not hitting my son. So he said I might as well handle it.”

This is a touchy subject, and I don't even know if our friendship can withstand me telling Taylor how I really feel about this. I think Joshua could've used a good spanking a couple of times, but I don't think she believes in spanking. I can understand why she doesn't want Spencer to touch him, but I also know how much Spencer loves them both.

“Maybe Spencer's method is not such a bad idea.”

“You sound like Yvonne.”

“See . . .”

“Neither of you has been a single mother, so you have no idea what I'm going through.”

“But you're not a single mother anymore.”

Taylor clears her throat. “You just worry about getting that book published, huh? We're all looking for a reason to celebrate, so let's get it poppin', girlfriend.”

“Okay, Taylor, you can avoid the issue for now, but we're not done with this conversation.”

“I'm not avoiding anything. I'm just done talking about it. I didn't ask for advice, Pam.”

“You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's what you do. I know where to find you when I need you.”

I can hear the smile in Taylor's voice, and I know she doesn't mean to hurt my feelings. “All right, girl. You want to get lunch tomorrow? Maybe Yvonne can come, too.”

“Yes. We've got to grill her about Kingston.”

“Okay! She thinks we forgot.”

“She needs to go on ahead and get back on the horse. Luke is sure riding into the sunset. That loser is getting married!”

I chuckle. “Wow.”

“He claims he's changed. He's started a church.”

“Shut the front door!”

Taylor giggles now. “Yes, child.”

“Well, I guess anyone can change.”

“Mmm-hmmm. Anyone can start a church!”

I hear Aria's loud, shrill giggle in my home and decide it's time to end this conversation.

“See you tomorrow, Taylor. Troy and I have company.”

“Okay. Text me the place tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

After I disconnect the call, I walk back through the kitchen, where Gretchen has got everything under control. The chicken is sautéing with the onions and bell peppers, and she's added slices of chili peppers to the mix.

“You need any help?” I ask.

Gretchen smiles. “I got this, Mom. Daddy's
friends
are here.”

Gretchen knows me so well. She's been my shadow ever since she could walk, and she has discernment when it comes to my feelings. She knows that I do not like Aria, even though I've never said it out loud.

I put a fake smile on my face as I stride into the living room. Aria sees me and runs over to me. She gives me a tight hug and air kisses. I feel my body tense from this unwanted affection.

“Hey, Ms. Pam! Or should I say authoress Pam?”

“Um, Pam is fine.”

Logan hands me a colorful bouquet of mixed flowers and a gift bag. “I was a rude guest the last time I came by. This time I come bearing gifts.”

Now, this makes me smile for real. I inhale the sweet fragrance of the flowers and then open the gift bag. There's a small box with a beautifully decorated cupcake inside.

“Troy said you like baked goods,” Logan explains.

“I do, but I'm not sure if I need it. I'm on a diet.” A fact I am very much reminded of right now with Aria prancing around, wearing skinny jeans that hug her ridiculously large bottom. How can a woman even have that big a behind with those skinny legs? I thought big behinds came with big thighs. Mine does!

“You look great,” Logan says. “A grown man isn't afraid of a grown woman's curves. Isn't that right, Troy?”

Troy laughs out loud. “Don't discourage her, Logan! She's doing great on her diet. You are looking good, babe.”

I narrow my eyes at Troy and take a huge bite of the strawberry and cream cupcake. The sweet, creamy frosting gives me a sugar rush, which immediately lifts my mood.

“Enough kissing up to my wife!” Troy says. “Let's get started on this music. I can't wait to hear these tracks.”

Not knowing quite what to do with myself, I sit down on the couch and wait to see what happens next. Aria takes her usual place on the stool in front of Troy's keyboard. She always looks like she's posing there to me, with her head thrown back and her weave flowing over her shoulders. Troy and Logan go to the computer and load the flash drive.

The next thing I hear is a pounding, almost disco beat, but with a melody on top of it. It sounds like something you'd hear in a club or one of those rave things that teenagers have.

“That's hot!” Aria says. “But what am I going to sing to that?”

Logan holds up one finger, as if he's waiting for something. Then he sings, “I came for the party. Now, leave me alone. You didn't bring your boys. I didn't bring my girls. I came to get my party on. Baby, I'm grown. I'm gone keep on dancing till the break of dawn.”

After hearing Logan sing it a few times, Aria starts singing it in her rich voice. Even though I can't stand her, I never could deny that Aria could sing her butt off.

Logan kills the music. “See the vibe we're going for? Strictly club and a couple of really melodic mid-tempo ballads. You want songs that people learn by heart. That's the only way you go from being an aspiring artist to an artist that's making bank.”

I've never seen Troy speechless, but when Logan talks, my husband—the self-appointed big dawg in charge—gazes at him in awe like he's looking at a deity. I don't know if what Logan is saying makes sense or not, but Troy and Aria are lapping it up with a spoon.

“How many songs do you think I should do?” Aria asks.

“I think you should start out with five or six, almost like a mix tape, build the public interest, and then take it from there,” Logan replies.

Troy says, “And I get songwriting credits on the record?”