Authors: Michelle Larks
Faith (17 page)
“You know Marcus. He was pretty much just the messenger. He said he'd continue to check my father out and keep us posted.”
“Do you want to see your father?” Liz queried.
“A part of me does, but the other part is scared like a kid.” Monet tittered nervously. “I feel like he rejected me, and that's a feeling I've carried with me all my life. Most of the time, I've pushed those feelings to the back of my heart, but tonight they came raging out like a thunderstorm.”
“I can understand that,” Liz said. “As children, we want to feel unconditional love from our parents. As adults, we understand that life doesn't always work that way. It doesn't lessen the feeling of rejection, but it helps knowing parents aren't infallible. Did your mom ever talk to you and your brothers about your father?”
“No, not much. I pray that things go well with my dad, me, and the boys,” Monet commented.
“Speaking of prayer, shall we?” Liz asked.
“I think this would be a great time. Shall I go first?” Monet asked.
“By all means,” Liz took her Bible off her nightstand and held it in her hand. They always liked to pray while holding onto the Word.
Monet bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Gracious Father, thank you for allowing me to see another day. All praises to you. Though I am going through some issues, I still have a house to live in, clothes on my back, and you provide my daily bread. Lord, I ask that you put love in Marcus's heart. Most of all, God, give me strength for what lies ahead, and I know if I can lean on you and trust your guidance, which I will, I know that everything is going to be all right. Amen.”
“Amen,” Liz echoed. Like Monet, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Father, thank you for waking us up this morning, clothed in our right minds as we went about doing your business, giving you the thanks and the praises. Lord, bless our biological families, along with our church family. Lord, take care of the sick and shut-in, heal their bodies and minds. Lord, keep your unchanging hand on my sister, Monet. Father, she is carrying a heavy burden. All she has to do is release her worries to you, and you'll take all her hurt and fears away. Father, continue to work with Marcus. Put love in his heart and help him trust in you and have faith, because you are the only one who can make a way out of no way. When we fall short, help us to see the error of our ways and do better. Amen.”
“Thank you, Liz. That was a heartfelt prayer.” Monet had nothing but good things to say about her friend's prayer.
“Thank you,” Liz said modestly. “Your prayer wasn't shabby either. Well, I've got to get up in the morning, so I'll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep, and don't worry so much. We want a happy baby.”
“You know me so well.” Monet sighed. “I'll try, although I have a craving for ice cream now.”
“Handle your business, sweetie. I'll talk to you later. Goodnight.”
Monet told her the same, and the friends disconnected the call. Monet held the phone thoughtfully in her hand for a minute before placing it back in the base. She lay in the bed, debating if she should go downstairs for the ice cream that seemed to beckon her from the freezer.
Chapter 20
After tossing and turning in the bed for fifteen minutes, Monet rose and sat on Marcus's side of the bed. She badly wanted to talk to her husband about the emotions swirling around in her head regarding her father's request. But Marcus had made it clear by his actions over the past few months that he was just staying at their residence for her protection and nothing else.
He never asked about her doctor's appointments, and outright refused to discuss anything regarding the baby. If Monet was in the kitchen when he arrived home, he greeted her politely, and then headed for the basement, usually with a bag containing his dinner in hand.
Monet looked up at the ceiling, and an idea blossomed inside her head. She hadn't been in the attic in awhile, and maybe there might be a better picture of her father in her mother's possessions than the one she had. Monet and her brothers only had small Polaroid snapshots of their father, which were tattered and fading.
She rose from the bed and picked up her robe from the end of the bed. She walked out of the room and to the staircase leading to the attic. She walked carefully up the ten steps, and when she reached the top, she twisted the doorknob and flipped the light switch on. She walked the length of the room to boxes simply labeled M
OMMA'S
S
TUFF
that were neatly stacked against a wall on the south side of the building. Monet felt closer to her mother among her possessions.
OMMA'S
S
TUFF
that were neatly stacked against a wall on the south side of the building. Monet felt closer to her mother among her possessions.
Her mother's antique rocking chair sat on a wall near the boxes, and Monet walked over to the chair and sat down. She removed the top from the first box and laid it on the floor next to the chair. Then she began burrowing through the items inside.
She found a copy of her father's birth certificate and her parents' marriage license. She hastily put some of the items, like report cards, diplomas, and old family photos of her mother's family back inside the box. She decided to check one more box before calling it a night. She would resume her search in the morning.
Monet gasped when she saw a large brown envelope with her name written on it in her mother's handwriting. Inside the envelope was a smaller envelope with her name written on it, which caused her to tremble with anticipation. She poured the pictures out of the larger envelope onto her lap. She quickly riffled through the photographs of her family at various stages of their lives.
Her eyes were drawn to a picture of her perched on her father's lap. Monet looked awkward; there wasn't a glimmer of a smile on her face in the black and white photograph. Aron, her father, looked uncomfortable; his arm was snaked around her waist. She was relieved to see pictures of her parents in happier times. The clothes they wore looked so old fashioned. There were pictures of her father and the twins. Aron looked pleased as punch holding the boys in his lap. As Monet continued to thumb through the portraits, she found an 8x10 picture of her father that she could give to Marcus.
Suddenly she felt tired. She put the pictures back inside the envelope, stood up and stretched, raising her arms over her head. Monet picked up the letter and put it in her robe pocket. Turning off the light, she walked downstairs, went into the kitchen, and left the picture of her father on the counter, where Marcus would see it when he left for work the next morning.
She went upstairs and to bed. When she fell asleep, visions of her father's face in the picture occupied her dreams.
At seven thirty the following morning, Marcus sat up in the sofa bed and his body ached. His joints told him that he was too old to sleep on the thin mattress of the sofa bed, but he had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. The bathroom in the basement had a shower, so Marcus went in there to bathe.
Thirty minutes later he had shaved and dressed. He converted the bed back to a sofa and then went upstairs to make coffee. Marcus went out the front door to get the newspaper, and went back into the kitchen. He sat at the table drinking his coffee and scanning the newspaper.
After he read the sports section, he closed the newspaper, stood up, and put his cup in the sink. He went back downstairs and picked up his wallet from off the cocktail table, stuffed it inside his pocket, and put on his watch. Then he returned to the kitchen, took his black leather jacket off the coat hook, along with his leather cap. He was walking out the door when he looked at the counter and saw the picture of Monet's dad. He picked it up and stared at it for a few minutes. Marcus thought,
Well, now, I know who Monet got that widow's peak from
. Then he put the picture inside his black leather briefcase and headed off to work.
Well, now, I know who Monet got that widow's peak from
. Then he put the picture inside his black leather briefcase and headed off to work.
Usually he and Wade rotated driving to work together. Their relationship had become strained as Monet's pregnancy advanced. Marcus sensed Wade's disapproval of how he was handling the situation. This would have been Marcus's week to pick up his partner and drive to work. After the two couldn't come to a meeting of the minds, they began traveling to work in separate cars.
Marcus clipped his Bluetooth device on the side of his ear after he got in his car. He pressed the remote for the garage to open and started the car. As he was driving, his cell phone rang. His foot pressed the brakes as he stopped for a red light.
Marcus saw Reverend Wilcox's name on the caller ID unit. “Hello,” he greeted her.
“Marcus, how are you feeling today?” she asked. She was at the Temple and had just finished her morning meditation.
“Good.” Marcus fought hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“That's great,” Reverend Wilcox said cheerfully. “How is Monet feeling?”
“She's doing well,” Marcus answered. His manners kicked in. “How are you doing, Reverend Wilcox?” He scowled out of his rearview mirror as a green Hyundai Elantra pulled up too close to his bumper.
“I'm doing just fine. I know you're wondering why I'm calling you,” she ventured in a more serious tone of voice.
“A couple of topics come to mind,” Marcus said evenly. He glanced back out his rearview mirror.
“Are you always this witty this early in the morning?” she joked. “I'd like to talk to you whenever you can make time for me.”
Marcus kept his eyes on the traffic around him. “If you want to talk about Monet and her pregnancy, then I really don't have anything to say.” His body tensed up.
Reverend Wilcox knew Marcus was going to be challenge.
At least he's honest
, she thought. “Actually, I wanted to talk about you, and see if there's anything I can do to help you cope with your home situation a little better.”
At least he's honest
, she thought. “Actually, I wanted to talk about you, and see if there's anything I can do to help you cope with your home situation a little better.”
“I appreciate you wanting to help, Reverend Wilcox, but there's really nothing you can say to make my life better. It's what it is, and I'm coping with it the best I can.”
“Well, it's been my experience in these types of circumstances that sometimes it helps to talk to someone, a minister or maybe a therapist, when one is going through a dilemma. I sense that you're not keen on talking to me, but would you make an exception this time? One talk, that's all I request.”
“Did Monet, Wade, or Liz put you up to this?” Marcus was suspicious. He put on his left turn signal and steered his Blazer to the left turn lane.
“None of the above.” Reverend Wilcox chortled merrily. She tried desperately to break the ice with Marcus and put him at ease. “Give me a little credit. Can you make a little time for your minister one day this week? Whenever you're available, I'll make myself available.”
He knew she wouldn't relent until he gave in, so he said, “How about Friday at five o'clock?”
Reverend Wilcox opened her date book, which lay open on her Pledge-smelling, wooden desk. “That sounds good. If you're agreeable, we can meet at the church.”
“That's fine,” Marcus answered tersely, as he turned onto the street where his station was located. He parked in the parking lot of the gray two story building.
“Okay, I'll see you then. And Marcus, know that you're not alone during what I know has to be a trying time for you and Monet. You have a lot of good people in your corner who would do anything to help you. Most of all, Jesus is there for you. All you have to do is call on Him and release your burdens to Him.”
“I know.” He exhaled loudly before disconnecting the call.
From out the corner of his eye, Marcus noticed Wade parking his jeep. He debated whether or not he should wait on Wade to join him, and decided not to. Marcus hurried out of his Blazer and opened the back door to remove his briefcase from the backseat. Then he walked rapidly to the building entrance and walked inside the station.
The noise level was minimal for a change. Marcus supposed the natives had stayed inside last night since the temperature had fallen below freezing, which may have deterred some would be criminals.
Since Monet's attack, the mood in the detective's room had changed. In the past the atmosphere had been upbeat. As the detectives waited on the clerk to distribute the reports and assignments, they would shoot the breeze. The subjects would run the gamut, from current events, hot dates, husbands, wives, and children, to the state of Chicago's sport teams and politics. Lately, the vibes had been somber, like everyone was attending a funeral.
Marcus didn't make eye contact with his co-workers as he walked into the large room to his desk. He said a tepid good morning to several detectives, then pulled out his chair, took off his jacket, and draped it around the back of the chair. He laid his hat on the desk, sat in his leather swivel chair, opened the briefcase, and took out his notepad and wrote notes in it.
Ten minutes later, Wade walked into the room carrying a couple boxes of Dunkin Donuts. He sat them on the counter, went to the coffee pot. and poured himself a cup of dark brew.
A detective named William Abrams walked over to the counter and said, “See, that's what I'm talking about. Good going, Harrison.”
“I figured we were due for a picker-upper.” Wade grabbed two jelly donuts and walked to his desk. After he set the coffee mug and a doughnut on his desk, he handed Marcus the other doughnut and asked, “How are you doing?”
“I'm okay,” he replied, not looking at Wade. He opened his desk drawer and removed the number for Aron's soon to be parole officer, and then turned on his PC.
The department clerk, Mona, walked into the room. She greeted the detectives and began passing out assignment sheets.
After Marcus's PC had finished booting, he logged on to AFIS as he did every morning, to see if there had been any hits in the database of the fingerprints found on Monet's car. Sadly, like previous days, there were none. He looked up from the computer monitor to see Smitty standing in front of his desk.
“What can I do for you?” Marcus asked in a neutral tone of voice.
“I just wanted to say that me and the guys,” Smitty gestured behind him, “haven't given up on finding Monet's attacker. We're still following up on leads, and however long it takes we will get him.”
“And you felt compelled to make that statement for what reason?” Marcus asked Smitty with a deadpan expression on his face.
“Well, we feel like you think we aren't giving our best effort in finding Monet's attacker, and I just wanted to reassure you that we are. You're one of us, and anybody that hurts one of ours, hurts us too. The team has met off hours, even sometimes on the weekends, to follow up on leads. Marc, we just wanted you to know that we're never going to give up.”
Wade nodded encouragingly at Smitty. Then he leaned back in his chair. He was at his wits end trying to think of something to do to bring Marcus out of his funk. He figured maybe Smitty talking to Marcus would let him know that he wasn't alone in his quest to find the attacker.
Marcus dropped his hands on the desk. His eyes stung, and he closed and re-opened them. All eyes in the room seemed to be riveted on him. Mona paused handing out the next assignment and even she stopped in her tracks to stare at Marcus and Smitty.
Marcus moistened his lips and said candidly, “Look, I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that you and the guys weren't doing your job. This whole ordeal has been trying for me and Monet. What I did think was that you guys kept me out of the loop and that bothered me.”
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