For Your Love (8 page)

Trent had fought hard to be stoic growing up, so that no one would see his pain. “You were my port in the storm. Thank you for raising me.”

“I wasn't going to let Mal do it,” she tossed back in her frank way. “As much as I love him, I knew he didn't have the maturity, plus there was the alcohol, so—­it was you and me.” She quieted for a moment, as if thinking back on those years. “You favor her a lot, you know.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You look like a typical July, but I could always see her in your face, too. Still can.”

That made him smile.

A horn sounded outside. Lily. It was time to go. She opened her arms, and he stepped into her hug to be buoyed by her love. “You are one amazing old lady.”

She hugged him tighter. “Most of this gray hair is from you, mister, but for your love it's been worth it.”

He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for your love, too.”

“You're welcome.”

On the walk to the car, Tamar's words resonated within like a heartbeat:
The hole in your heart has been filled.
And that's how he felt.

Lily got out of the car and walked into his arms. They held each other tightly. “I'm so happy for you,” she whispered.

Indeed, he felt like the happiest man in the world. He was married to a beautiful force of nature, father to a pair of awesome sons, and he'd just spent the afternoon getting to know the mother he'd been longing for his entire life. “Thanks for loving me.”

“No problem. You ready to talk about it?”

“How about we wait until we get home. That okay?”

“You bet.”

On the drive back to town, he didn't know if he was overreacting or being a wimp, but he wanted to think about this privately for a while longer. Finally he too had a mother. Growing up, he'd wondered more times than he cared to acknowledge whether there'd been something wrong with him, whether it was his fault that she never came to see him. Of course, he never lacked for love or guidance, but Mother's Day was always hard. He'd wanted to be able to buy cards for his mother the way Gary Clark and his other friends did for theirs. He'd wanted to see her smile, give her presents for her birthday and for Christmas, and sit beside her at church on Easter morning. Over the years he'd convinced himself that the hole in his life didn't matter; so what if he had no mom cheering for him in the stands at his sporting events, or to talk with on the porch on starry summer nights or take pictures of him and Lily on their way to the prom? Tamar had done all those things and more. But in the hidden recesses of himself, he'd always wanted Rita Lynn Merchant to suddenly appear and tell him how much he meant and how much she loved him. Being with her today was like being given a cool drink of water after crossing a desert. Lily and the boys filled his world with purpose, love, and joy, but his life had felt incomplete because of one small missing piece. Now that piece was in place, and he couldn't be happier.

They reached the Power Plant parking lot, and he said, “Thanks. I'll see you in a few minutes.”

When he got home, Lily was in the living room and, true to her word, silent, waiting until he was ready. He went into the powder room off the kitchen, splashed water on his face, and paused for a moment to view his reflection in the mirror.
What a day.
He flashed himself a smile, dried his hands, and went to talk with his wife.

 

A
fter lunch, Amari sat at his desk. He was supposed to be checking out the slide show of Jacob Lawrence paintings Mr. James was showing on the screen, but instead he was sneaking peeks at Kyra and trying to figure out why he found her so fascinating. By a fourteen-­year-­old boy's standards she wasn't hot at all, but she had the cutest little nose, and her eyelashes . . .

“Ground control to Amari July.” He was startled by Mr. James's voice. “Are you with us, my friend?”

“Um.” Amari heard the snickers from his classmates. “Sorry. What did you ask?”

“The name of this painting?”

Amari liked the Lawrence paintings, and with the test coming up on Friday, he'd spent some time over the weekend looking at a bunch of them on the Internet. He knew the title. “
The March
. It's from Mr. Lawrence's Toussaint L'Ouverture series. Painted in 1995.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Brain gave him a thumbs-­up. Kyra looked impressed, which made his heart speed up and feel stupid.

After the art unit, they took a break. He and Brain were in the hallway when Kyra and Leah walked by, and he had to force himself not to stare her way.

Smiling, Brain asked, “How's that flu thing coming along? You cured yet?”

Grinning and embarrassed, all he had for his BFF was “Shut up.”

“Maybe Dr. Reg can give you something.”

“KMA, Brain. KMA.”

Brain laughed, but then turned serious. “You should ask her to sit with you at the movies Friday night.”

“And have her say no? I don't think so.”

“Hey, she might say yes.”

“No. Not taking that chance.”

“Well, whatever you do, before you can be any kind of official with her, you have to talk to her dad first. Remember me having to do that with Leah?”

He did. Brain had to speak with Mr. Clark before he and Leah could do stuff like sit together at the movies. Everybody liked Leah's dad, but Mr. Jones was a thousand feet tall and looked like Megatron. “Oh god. Now I know I need to find a cure. Quick.”

Mr. James called the class back to order, and Amari settled in for the rest of the day's work. He hazarded a look Kyra's way and found her watching him. He quickly averted his eyes and returned to his assignment.

After school, he was up in his room when a text appeared on his phone. It was from Leah.
FYI. She likes you too.

After reading it, twice, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Trent was still on a high after his awesome connection with his mother as he sat in the kitchen, watching Lily get dinner ready. They traded off the cooking chores, and it was her turn this week.

“I'm so happy for you, baby, but I'm still trying to get over what her parents did.”

“I know, but I guess they thought they were doing the right thing.”

“But for whom?”

He couldn't answer that. He kept seeing his mother in his mind's eye and smiling.

“But at least the mystery's finally solved. I know you were hurting, not knowing.”

“Yeah, I was. Not sure how Amari's going to take the news, though. He's working through his own abandonment issues, and we were sort of in it together.”

“I can't see him not being happy for you.”

On the surface Trent didn't either, but underneath, he wasn't so sure. Sharing the issue seemed to have helped Amari manage his feelings. “Wish there was something we could do about his situation. I hate having him going through life like I have, wondering and not knowing, doubting his worth.”

“Me too, but we can't unless she changes her mind, and there's no indication that she will.”

“Do you think this will affect Devon in any way?”

She shrugged. “Hard to tell with him. He knows where his mom is. Now, whether he's old enough to understand the circumstances surrounding his birth, I've no idea. But I'm sure he'll be happy for you, too.”

Devon's mom, Rosalie, was in a beautiful, well-­run facility for the mentally impaired. His birth was the result of a sexual assault. They'd all met her for the first time during an emotion-­packed trip to Mississippi a few summers ago.

Thoughts of Rosalie sent his mind back to his own mother, and he wondered what she might be doing. He wanted to call her and talk some more, but he and Lily made a point of spending the evenings with their sons, and for him that would always be a priority. He'd call her later.

“If your mom's coming to dinner tomorrow, you might want to talk to Amari before she comes, but I'm sure he'll be fine.”

He hoped so. “And I have a half sister now, too. I always wanted sibs.” Both he and Lily were only children.

“Me too—­which is why I'm glad Amari and Devon have each other. If they can work out the kinks, I think they'll be closer as they get older. Amari isn't the problem. It's Devon.”

“He'll be okay. Just needs to grow up. Think I'll take them camping in the spring. Devon mentioned going fishing with his grandmother. He might enjoy that.”

Lily looked so doubtful, he chuckled. “We'll see.”

After dinner, the boys cleaned up the kitchen, then headed upstairs to tackle homework. Trent let them work for an hour, then went up to speak with Amari. He found him in his room, looking at artwork on his laptop. “How's the homework going?”

“Good. We're studying great American artists, and this week it's Jacob Lawrence. I like this stuff.”

Trent glanced down at the paintings. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Yeah, this one. It's called
The March
. It's based on General Toussaint L'Ouverture and the ­people of Haiti fighting against France. When I get old enough to have my own place, I think I might buy some of his prints.”

Trent eyed the painting, with its vivid red and black brushstrokes, and thought about how far his son had come. The Amari who'd initially arrived in Henry Adams knew everything there was about stealing cars, but had no idea who Jacob Lawrence even was. The idea of that Amari buying prints one day would've been ludicrous. “It is nice.” Trent paused before saying, “Something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“My mother came to town today.”

Amari's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “Get out!”

“No. In fact, she's over at Tamar's right now.”

“Where's she been?' ”

He explained the story, and when he was done, Amari shook his head sadly. “Wow. She thought you were dead? That was some cold stuff her parents did. Man.”

“I know.”

“Are you happy?”

“Very.”

“Then I am, too. Do you think she's going to mind that you have two adopted kids?”

“No. I already told her about you and Devon, and she can't wait to meet you. She'll be coming to dinner tomorrow.”

Amari searched his face. “I think this is awesome, Dad. Really, really awesome.”

“Do you?”

“I do. You came in here because you were worried about how I'd take it, right?”

Trent nodded at his remarkable oldest child.

“No worries, Dad. None. I'm getting another grandmother. What kid wouldn't want that? As for my mom?” He shrugged. “It hurts, but not so much that I'd be mad at you or not want you to connect with your mom. You're a great dad, and great dads deserve great things.”

“Had to come up and make sure you were okay. You mean a lot to me, son.”

Amari offered up that beaming smile of his. “Do you know where she lives?”

“California.”

“Sweet! You think she'll let us come visit?” he asked excitedly.

“You can ask, and I'm sure she'll say yes.” Love for his son filled him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. “You rock, son.”

“Like no other, but that's because my dad rocks.”

Trent offered him a hand, and they went through a slow ritual handshake. “Thanks, Amari.”

“Are you going to tell Devon?”

“I am, but I wanted to talk with you first.”

“I appreciate that,” Amari replied quietly.

“I'll let you finish up your homework.”

Trent left the room, but before clearing the threshold he looked back and saw Amari staring off at something only he could see.

When Trent shared his news with Devon, the boy smiled. “I need a new grandma. Is she coming here?”

“Tomorrow for dinner.”

“Good. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do ­people put those ugly tattoos on their arms and necks?”

For a minute, Trent was confused, and then it came to him. Devon must have seen Bobby's tattoos at the meeting. “For a lot of reasons, I guess. Some ­people like to think of their bodies as a canvas and put artwork on it, like Crystal does with her paintings.”

“I think it's stupid and nasty.”

“Why?”

“I just do. I'd never do something dumb like that.”

“Then don't, but you don't get to decide what other ­people do or want. I take it we're talking about Crystal's friend Bobby?”

“Yes.”

“Are you planning on telling him you think his art is stupid and nasty?”

Devon's eyes went wide. “No. He's really big. He might beat me up.”

“Bobby's a nice guy. I don't think he'd beat up a little kid.”

“He used to be in a gang.”

“But he's not anymore.” Trent sighed. Now Devon had a new target for his disdain. Great. “Regardless of how you feel about his having been in a gang or his tattoos, I want you to keep it to yourself. Tattoos don't automatically make a person bad. Besides, you need to be more concerned about making Devon the best person he can be instead of judging others.”

Devon seemed to think that over.

“Also, Bobby's a grown-­up. I'm pretty sure the opinion of a little kid doesn't matter to him one way or the other.”

“Oh.”

Sometimes he and Lily had to be blunt with Devon, and this was one of those times. “Luke, chapter six, verse thirty-­seven, says what?”

Devon squirmed.

Trent waited.

“Judge not, and you shall not be judged,” came the small-­voiced reply.

Trent nodded and gave Devon's shoulder a fatherly squeeze. “Get your homework done.” And he left the room.

In the house next door, Bernadine sat with Mal in her kitchen. The two of them had just finished dinner, along with Crystal, who was now upstairs working on her homework. Mal had spent the past few minutes bringing Bernadine up to speed on Rita Lynn's visit, and she was glad to finally have all the details. “Trent has to be ecstatic,” she said.

“He is. Rita Lynn's pretty happy, too.”

“Having to spend most of his life not knowing if his mother is alive, dead, or just not interested has to have been hard for him.”

“Yes, but now they've finally connected. There were lots of tears.”

“I'm sure there were.”

They were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Bernadine stood. “I wonder who that could be?”

She opened the door to find Franklin's fire chief, Luis Acosta, illuminated under the porch light. “Chief Acosta?”

“Evening, Ms. Brown. Sorry to disturb you, but can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Come on in and have a seat. Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks.”

She ushered him into the living room, and they sat. She liked Luis Acosta, and not just because he was a tall, good-­looking man of Mexican-­American extraction. He'd initiated the aid compact after the Stillwell fire last spring, and she'd always be thankful for his big heart. “What brings you by?”

“Bottom line, my family and I need a place to stay. Astrid Wiggins has fired me because I disagreed with her about leaving you all high and dry, and we've been evicted. Effective tomorrow at noon. Is there anywhere in town here where my family and I might stay temporarily?”

Mal walked into the room.

“Hey, Mr. July.”

“Hey, Chief.”

Bernadine sighed. Astrid was tearing through ­people's lives like a rogue elephant rampaging through the bush. “So sorry to hear that. Mal, can you give Tamar a quick call about that last vacant trailer?”

Mal took out his phone and walked back into the kitchen.

Bernadine realized she knew nothing about Luis's family life. “The trailer has two bedrooms. Will that work?”

“Yes. There just me, my mother-­in-­law, and my two kids. My son can bunk with me, and my daughter can share the other room with her grandmother. Lost my wife a few years ago.”

“My condolences.”

“Thanks.”

“I wish we had a larger place for you.”

“It's a place. More than we had an hour ago. The trailer will be fine until I can find a new department to work for.”