Les Tales (21 page)

Ron and I sat next to one another in Jimmy's office during the first meeting we had called since our initial gathering after the shooting at the center. Ron was professionally attired, as usual, in black slacks and a blazer with a white shirt and a mustard- and black-striped tie. His demeanor was somber yet aggressive.

“I have to apologize again, Jimmy. I didn't know there would be a problem with Lewis. Cassandra and I tried to pick the best-suited kids to volunteer at the game.”

“I understand you had no way of knowing,” Jimmy responded. “So far, we've done a good job at reassuring the community that the center is a safe place for their kids. People were worried. Your comments to the media were helpful. We appreciate you standing up for us.”

Ron had used his name and his clout to help ease the tension surrounding the center. He had invited journalists and reporters to attend his mega-church following the incident, and during that service he had prayed and had urged the community to continue its support of the center. We Are One had built a reputation as a premiere institution for youth, and it had even been compared to some nationwide services, like the Boys & Girls Clubs, and Ron refused to allow the incident to discredit the center as a trustworthy place.

“Where are we with Lewis?” I asked Ron and Jimmy.

Ron responded, “As you know, Lewis's mother contacted me to ask if the church could post bail for him, and I had to tell her no, she'd have to raise the funds on her own. Her family wasn't able to get the money, so Lewis has been in jail since the shooting. He's being charged with attempted murder. The church will continue to pray for his family.”

“And Eddie?” I asked.

“He had surgery to remove the bullets, and his organs have suffered severely. The prognosis is better,” Jimmy answered, removing his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. “He lost his ability to use his right arm, but he was finally able to go home over the weekend.”

“We will not give up on that young man, because our God is a healer. The church is praying for him too,” Ron added quickly. “Taryn, Cassandra and I will continue to work closely with you through this.”

We all jumped out of our seats, alarmed by the sound of a door slamming down the hall.

“Where is she?” a recognizable voice yelled.

“Right this way, baby,” Ms. Sheila said.

We heard scurrying outside Jimmy's office before the door sprang open, though no one knocked.

“Look who's here,” Ms. Sheila announced.

Jenna, dressed in jeans and riding boots, with a multicolored poncho draped over her upper body, darted into the room with her hands on her hips. Her cheeks flared red from anger.

Ron coughed, cleared his throat, and hacked again. He stumbled backward two steps, and I jumped up to catch his stuttering feet. Nervously, he smoothed his hair.

“Jenna, what are you doing here?” I questioned. Jenna had come home for Thanksgiving break the prior weekend, and before I left for work that morning, she'd told me she would be having lunch with one of her high school friends.

I looked to Ron, who, with his eyes closed, was in prayer. A repetitious litany of “Jesus” and “God” escaped his lips.

“Is it true?” Jenna screamed.

Jimmy walked from behind his desk and grabbed Ms. Sheila, who was propped against the door frame, by the elbow on his way out. He closed the door.

“Is what true?” I said.

“What Nina told me. Is it true?”

“Nina?” My stomach curled as I felt Layne's familiar, faraway kick from the grave. “How do you know Nina?”

“I never met her until two hours ago, when she showed up at our house, telling me my father is a big-time pastor here in the city, and worst of all, she told me that you know him and that you've kept it from me.” Her words came fast. She was winded, heartbroken as she released them from her mouth. “Please tell me you haven't been lying to me all these years.”

“Jenna . . .” I reached for her, but she pulled away.

“Oh my God, it's true, isn't it? She knew everything about us . . . Layne, you, me. How did she know all those things?” she cried, her voice high-pitched, resembling the screams she would wail at two years old, when in the midst of a temper tantrum. She retreated behind Jimmy's desk, her back to me.

“I can explain,” I offered.

“Explain what? That you're a liar?” She didn't turn to face me. “Nina said Layne was so shocked and hurt that you kept this from both of us. How could you?”

The fast-paced events unfolding before me began to come clear. Nina, spiteful after I had exposed her and Amber to Dean Henry, causing an end to their affair and her career, had sought revenge by twisting the truth and exposing the one secret I had kept from Jenna all these years.

“That's not entirely true. There's more to the story,” I told her, only she continued to throw questions in my direction.

“”Did you really accept money to keep me a secret?” Jenna turned around and looked to Ron, as if noticing him for the first time. She absorbed Ron's features, a partial mixture of her own, until her eyes coated with tears. She bent forward, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She heaved, but nothing came up.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered. “She said you would be here.”

“It's just a coincidence that he's here, Jenna. He's helping to repair the damage after the shooting we had at the center.”

“The shooting you told me all about, except for the part about
him
helping? Him being my father? How could you do this to me?” She turned to me, disgusted. “I just asked you about my father and you acted clueless.”

I reached for her across Jimmy's desk. She jerked away, then leaned against a small window, her arms wrapped around her body in a protective hug.

“I didn't tell you I didn't know who your father was. I told you we'd talk about it later. You caught me off guard. I didn't know what to say.”

“How could you keep this from me?” she demanded again.

“We thought it was for the best.”

“To deny me my father! How is that the best?” she challenged.

I struggled to provide the proper explanation. “We had a family. Ron had a family. We didn't want to disrupt either household.” My eyes pleaded with Ron for assistance.

He finally spoke. “Jenna, don't blame this on your mother. We both made this decision.”

Her anger turned to pain, and more tears fell from her eyes. “How could you know I existed and not want to know me? How could you ignore your own daughter?”

Ashamed, he lowered his head. “I don't have an answer that would satisfy you. Here, have a seat.” He led Jenna to the chair he had been sitting in before she arrived. “I knew this day would come. I just didn't know when. I should have been more prepared.”

He sat down next to her.

“Your mother is a beautiful woman who has raised you the best she could. You must understand that. Your life would be unbelievably different had she not had the will and the skill to make a better life for both of you. For over half your life she did it without any help from me, and to her I am grateful for that. Your mother and I met again here at the center when you were eleven. By that time I was a pastor, married, with two young children at home. Your mother had dedicated her life to Layne, and we agreed it was best not to mingle the households.”

“What? You're no better than her. You call yourself a man of God and you have a secret bastard child no one knows about?”

He tried to hold Jenna's hand in his, but she snatched it away. “I'm sorry. I wish I could change this.”

“No, you don't. You've had years to make this right, and you didn't.”

“I know this isn't easy,” he said, attempting to understand.

“Easy for who? You? Mom? You don't know anything. You're just mad because you two got caught.”

Ron's eyes met mine. The natural reddish-brown color of his eyes had darkened. He returned his focus to Jenna. “I know because I know someone this has happened to.” His forehead crinkled into deep indents. “My own father had a daughter I didn't know about until I was around your age. She grew up quite troubled, tossed from foster home to foster home after her mother died young. Even though my father knew she existed, he didn't reach out to her. At around sixteen she found a family that adopted her and got her on a good path. They helped her find my father a few years later.”

Jenna, still angry, with heavy breathing and frowning eyebrows, listened quietly.

“My mother and father had been married twenty years when my siblings and I met my sister. She showed up at our house one day, announced who she was, and demanded an explanation from my father. Like me, he had failed at doing the right thing when he had the chance. He said he didn't know what to do.”

“This sister . . . do you still talk to her?” Jenna asked.

“My sister decided not to stay in contact with us. She was still too hurt that my father hadn't sought her after her mom passed, so she moved on with her life. Every now and then we cross paths, but for the most part, we don't hear from her.”

“How could you make the same mistake as your father?” Jenna wanted to know.

“I should have learned from my father's mistake, but I didn't. I'm asking for your forgiveness. From both of you.”

Jenna looked to me and then Ron with red, tear-filled eyes. “I'll try,” she said softly.

“There are still many unanswered questions for you,” Ron continued. “Your mother and I will do our best to answer all of them. Taryn, forgive me for not being man enough to step up and be a father to Jenna the way I have been to the children I have at home. We made the decision together, but I should have stood firmer in doing what was right, because I knew better. I have hurt all three of us by lacking that courage to speak up when I should have.”

“I don't want to be like your sister,” Jenna suddenly stated, her disposition shifting from anger and sorrow to an eagerness to connect with Ron. “I want to know you. I want to know my siblings. It's not too late, is it?”

Ron's expression was strained. I knew that not only was his congregation unaware of Jenna's existence, but so too was his wife, Georgeanne. Ron stood and took Jenna in his arms. “No, it's not too late at all.” They hugged until they both opened their arms to me. I welcomed the warm embrace. The three of us cried together, for our own reasons, all of us shocked by the sudden, unplanned meeting between Jenna and Ron.

“With God, we will get through this,” Ron affirmed.

Jimmy rapped on the door and let himself in. He stood before all of us with his hands on the hips of his plaid slacks.

“What have I missed here?” Jimmy asked.

I broke from Ron's and Jenna's embrace and flung my arms around Jimmy's neck. More tears ran onto his shoulder. Jimmy had been a godsend when I was twenty years old and had remained a consistent source of support in all the years I had known him. I regretted having kept the secret from him, as well as from Jenna.

“It's a family reunion,” I whispered to him.

Stunned, Jimmy grabbed my shoulders, holding on to them but separating us. His eyes danced behind his glasses as he looked from me to Ron and Jenna. “I had no idea,” he eventually said, his normally strong voice soft.

“I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. No one knew,” I confessed. “Until now.”

“Is that what the camera was about?” he asked me.

I nodded.

“What camera?” Ron questioned.

“We're going to head to my office,” I told Jimmy. “We have some things to talk about.”

“Of course.” Jimmy shook Ron's hand and slapped his shoulder. “You're a good man, Pastor Ron. These ladies need you now more than ever.”

“No way can I live without them,” Ron said. The two men smiled at one another.

We left Jimmy's office and entered mine down the hallway, where we sat talking for three hours. Ron and I answered Jenna's questions, which ranged from what we were like as teenagers to what happened the day we reconnected, to how a woman she had never met knew about her father when she didn't.

Jenna broke down in tears once again when I told her about the day Ron saw her in person for the first time.

“It was a little over a year ago. We tried to remain inconspicuous, but it seems we were unsuccessful. Layne placed a hidden camera in my office shortly after, and from that, she confirmed that Ron was your father.”

Jenna nodded. “The money?”

“I have every dime of it, and it's all yours,” I assured her.

Jenna shook her head between her hands. “I still don't understand where Nina comes into all this.”

I sighed, unsure how to answer, wanting neither to condemn Layne for her affair with Nina nor to admit that I had one with Nina also.

“Nina is a woman Layne and your mom knew,” Ron stated. “I'm old school, Jenna. The rest is grown folks' business.”

Jenna laughed. “I remember Grandma used to say that when I was little.”

Ron checked his watch. “Before I go . . .” He reached into his pocket for his wallet. “This is Ron Jr., and this is Shonda.” He handed Jenna pictures of her siblings just as Jenna's senior picture slipped out of his wallet. She smiled at all the photos.

“We kind of look alike. I can't wait to meet them.”

Ron stood and opened his arms for another hug, which Jenna accepted. “I love you,” he told her.

“I love you too. I can't wait to tell my group I'm no longer a fatherless daughter.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Never again, my child, never again.”

Jenna and I sat in the second row of Ron's church and listened as the choir serenaded the congregation with its third uplifting and tearful song. Jenna and I hadn't been to church since we moved in with Layne, and Jenna, perhaps moved that we were in her father's church, appeared touched by this sentimental moment. After announcements were read by a perky teenage girl with braces, Ron rose from the pulpit and approached the podium. He wore a black robe over his suit, and his waxed shoes shone against the bright lights above him.

Ron leaned against the wood, his face stern, his sideburns glistening with perspiration. He looked at me and Jenna, then at his wife and children, who sat in front of us.

“Today I want to talk to you all about confession,” he finally told the congregation, his voice low and serious. “There comes a time in all our lives when our past catches up to us. Now, I'm not saying that in a negative way. I'm saying that God has a way of bringing to light everything that's done in the dark. I have to admit, ladies and gentlemen, that I'm not a perfect man. I am a man of God and strive to live in a way that honors Him. Sometimes even I fail. That is why today I must confess my own imperfections. John said, ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word is not in us.'”

Ron looked to me and Jenna. “As a young man, just shy of twenty years old, I fathered a child.”

Chatter erupted throughout the congregation as churchgoers began to speculate and gossip about his unexpected revelation. Since Jenna and I were new faces in the crowd, an elderly woman next to me eyed us curiously, wondering if Jenna was the child he spoke of.

“She's a beautiful young lady who I'm proud to call my daughter.” Ron opened his palm in our direction. “Please stand.” Jenna and I rose. “My daughter Jenna. You see, ladies and gentlemen of the Lord, God has a purpose in everything, and one of my life's greatest purposes is to be a father.”

Ron continued with his sermon, a personal profession of his sorrow for not owning up to his responsibilities the way that he should have. He asked the congregation for forgiveness and acceptance of his new, expanded family. His wife, Georgeanne, gorgeous but with a stale personality, sat under a large angled hat, her stiff smile failing to undermine the grimace on her face. Ron Jr. and Shonda, who were fifteen and nine, wiggled in their seats, twisting around to wave and say hello to us.

After service, members of the church flocked to me and Jenna, hugging us and telling us we were welcome at the church anytime. Not everyone was friendly, particularly the members of Georgeanne's entourage, who flocked around her and stuck their noses in the air as they stood at her side. It was Georgeanne's duty as first lady of the church to exemplify the forgiveness Ron had asked for from his congregation. She hugged me, barely, her arms floppy against my backside the brief moment she held me.

“We're happy to have Jenna join our family,” she told me. She embraced Jenna next, her hold tighter, which suggested she felt empathy for Jenna given the wayward manner her parents had handled the situation. Afterward, Jenna and I began to exit the church. On our way out, I glimpsed a woman who sat still in the last pew. As I got closer, I saw that it was Nina, bare faced, her naturally unruly hair pulled back into a bun similar to mine. She gazed at me and Jenna, her eyes dark and flat and her lips pursed. She got up and left with the crowd before we reached her.

Jenna and I walked into the corridor and stood near a picture of her father and Georgeanne, which was enclosed in a glass case. Jenna, who was taller than me, standing at five foot nine, stared knowingly into my eyes.

“I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I can put two and two together,” she said.

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Layne and Nina. And you . . . ,” she said, trailing off. I didn't have a response for Jenna, and before I could prepare one, she pulled me into her arms and hugged me hard. “Is it wrong of me to be glad she died?” she whispered in my ear.

“I've wondered the same thing myself lately.”

We had linked arms and started toward the glass exit doors when we heard someone call Jenna's name. We turned around to find Ron Jr. approaching us.

“My dad . . .
our
dad,” he began, correcting himself. “He wants to know if you can have dinner with us.” Ron Jr. was a well-dressed, smart young boy, and spoke like the privileged kids he attended private school with. “He said he'll drop you off later.”

Jenna turned to me. “Mom?”

“Of course. Have a good time.”

Hurriedly, she kissed my cheek and left with Ron Jr. I was putting on my gloves when a woman spoke to me.

“Shelley?”

My head shot upright, and I spun on my heels to face Clarissa.

She extended her hand to me. “Or is that not your real name?” Clarissa smiled delicately, slight crow's-feet registering about her eyes.

“I . . . um . . . Hi,” I stammered, looking around to see who saw us engaged in conversation, as if we were still partially naked at the mansion.

She leaned forward and whispered. “It's okay. You're safe here.” She winked.

I didn't know what to say.

“Thank God for church. My prayers have been answered.” She lifted her arms in the air like she was in worship. “I had hoped to see you again. You're just as beautiful as I remembered.”

“Thank you.”

“Walk with me.”

Clarissa led us out of the church and into the parking lot. We trod slowly, careful not to slip on the iced-over snow.

“So. Nina . . . is she still your lover?”

“You know Nina? You know Nina's real name?” I questioned.

Clarissa laughed. “Yes, I know of Nina. Once upon a time she was Nancy and I was Connie. All the newbies come up with fake names until they've acclimated.” She faced me. “So tell me. What's your name?”

I hesitated before answering. “Taryn.”

We approached a brand-new black Range Rover. Clarissa stopped next to the driver's door. “Taryn, I would love to meet for a cup of coffee.”

“Clarissa, I appreciate the invitation.” I stared at the snowflakes that had begun to fall. “I've been through a lot lately. I don't think I'm ready for what you're looking for.”

“You don't know what I'm looking for until I've offered it,” she told me. “Let's start with coffee and take it from there. Come on. Who doesn't love a good cup of java?”

I kicked ice with the pointy heel of my boot. “Okay. Yes.”

Clarissa reached into her designer bag and handed me her card. “Wonderful. Call me.” She pushed the remote to unlock her door, got inside the car, and drove off. Only once I was inside my own car did I look at the card. Clarissa Benson was a vice president at one of the nation's most renowned accounting firms. I slid her card into my wallet, smiling to myself. Nina was right. Voyeurs were everywhere, at every turn, and you never knew where you might bump into one.

 

 

Jenna and I had decided to travel for a portion of her Christmas break. She had returned home before our scheduled flight to New York City, where we would enjoy a seven-day vacation. I was finishing packing the night before our departure when I realized I needed more baggage. I went into the guest bedroom to retrieve another piece of luggage. My heart stumbled in my chest when I picked up a carry-on bag. It hadn't been used since our family trip to the Virgin Islands, and my mind recalled seeing it draped over Layne's shoulder as she brought it from the car into the house the night before she died.

I returned to my bedroom, placed the small carry-on on my bed, and began filling it with scarves and hats, the same accessories I'd choose for Chicago's weather. When I opened a side pocket to stow my jewelry, I found an envelope. On it was my name, written in Layne's handwriting. I flipped the envelope repeatedly in my hands, caressed the lettering, my finger tracing the large, loopy
T
at the beginning of my name. Finally, I sat on the bed and slowly opened the cream paper.

With the back of my hand, I wiped the salty tears that streamed down my face. Jenna knocked on the door and peeked her head inside the room.

“Mom, you okay?” she asked after noticing my tears. She sat next to me on the bed and stroked my hair, which I had begun to wear down regularly.

I sniffed. “Yes.” I placed the letter back in the envelope and set it on my lap. “It's from Layne. She wrote it the day before the accident.”

“What does it say?”

Another tear escaped and fell onto the envelope. I wiped it gently with my index finger. “It says everything I always wanted to hear.”

Jenna leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning.”

“The car will be here at seven. Meet me downstairs.” We hugged tightly before she got up and left. I set the envelope next to the carry-on, and then I continued adding personal items to it. When I finished packing, I positioned the luggage upright at my door and retrieved the small gold key from a dish on Layne's nightstand. Before I left to go downstairs, I pulled my hair into a tight bun, securing it with several hairpins. I took the letter into Layne's office, closing the door behind me. I sat at her desk and used the key to open the bottom right drawer.

I removed all of Layne's journals and tearfully replaced them with the letter. At last, I had what I had always wanted from Layne: a declaration of her love for me. In that moment, as I took Layne's journals to the shredder, I realized that I was and always would be the fruit of my mother's labor, the reverential offspring who clung to the roots from which she had sprouted.

Page by page, I erased the truth of Layne's past, my mind and heart focused solely on the future we'd never see.

With all that had happened since Layne's death, I wanted to act on the new woman I thought I had become: strong, independent, and carefree. And yet at my core I was my mother's child, a woman who wanted only to be loved in whatever form it came. I accepted Layne's profession of love with a sense of liberation, because in the end, Layne had wanted a new beginning with me. She might never have shown me, and now she would never be able to prove it, but I believed she loved me, just because she told me so.