Second Chances (2 page)

“I know, I just mean…this was something
Dad
really
wanted…”

Nichole trailed off, realizing what she was saying. 
Lakeisha sighed.

“I’m doing this for him. You know that, right?”

Nichole nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Did you think about going to Northmont too?”

“I did,” Nichole said. “But I’m not going to transfer. It’s
my senior year, and it would be too hard to transition.”

“That’s alright,” she said.  “You have too many friends. Too
much to give up. It’ll be rough for Kenni, but she’ll be alright. She’s a
strong girl.”

“She is,” Nichole agreed.  “And she’ll get through this.”

“How about the college hunt? Still searching for somewhere
you want to go?”

“I think I decided on one I like.”

“If you need any help, let me know.”

Nichole smiled.  “I will, Mom. I promise.”

Lakeisha knew Nichole would never ask for help. Lakeisha had
never gone to college, though she’d always wanted to, so it wasn’t her area of
expertise. She helped as much as she could, and her goal was to make Nichole as
strong and independent as possible.

College was simply outside her world of knowledge. She was
intensely proud that Nichole was going.

“Maybe you should look for a part time job. Or an
internship.”

“I don’t know about an internship,” Nichole said.  “It seems
like a lot of work and I won’t even get paid.”

“It’s worth it, though,” she said.  “For the experience.”

Nichole shrugged.  “Maybe.  I’ll ask around and see if any
law firms are accepting resumes.  It can’t hurt.”

Another sharp pain ripped across Lakeisha’s abdomen.  She
doubled over in pain.

“Mom?”

“I’m alright,” she said, gasping.  She forced herself to
stand.  “Guess I hit my side harder than I thought.”

Nichole wasn’t convinced. “Should we get you to a doctor?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said.  “I just need some sleep.”

She forced herself to smile and then walked down the hall to
her bedroom.  Agony threatened to rip her stomach open, but she refused to show
it.

She made it inside the room, locked the door, and let the
pain overtake her. She buried her face into her pillow and curled into a ball,
crying.

Ten minutes later, the pain subsided.  She lay on the bed,
exhausted and with a sheen of sweat on her skin.

The episodes were getting worse and more frequent. They had
started in her side a few months earlier and gradually spread, covering her
entire midsection and intensifying.

She had gone to the emergency room when it first started. 
The doctor said it was probably indigestion or gas. They hadn’t bothered to run
any tests and told her it would pass, but come back if it got any worse.

The bill she received had been in the hundreds for a simple
examination, something she couldn’t afford; she hadn’t made a second trip.

A few minutes passed and she was feeling better. Good enough
to get up and walk around a little bit. She wandered to the kitchen and opened
the back door, breathing the cool night air.  The house was quiet, which meant
her children were asleep.

She lay back down in the lonely bed, wishing like she did
every night that she still had her husband beside her.  He died five years
earlier in a car accident, only months after Tyler was born.  He had left her
alone to raise the children with barely enough life insurance to pay for his
funeral.

He was the one that had fought to get his children into a
better school. He was the one that believed in the future, that his children
deserved a better life than their parents had.  He was the one that put their
names on the lawsuit and demanded equality from a deaf world.

And he was gone.

“Remind me why I went into law.”

“You did it so you could help people,” Deborah replied, not
looking up from her magazine.

“Really?” Richard said, scratching his chin.  “I thought I
did it so I could bring paperwork home with me every night.”

“That too.”

Richard sighed, rubbing his tired eyes and glancing over at
his wife. She was sitting on the couch beside him, reading Vanity Fair in her
night gown. She had shoulder length brunette hair and green paste on her face
that was supposed to clean out her pores.

They spoke quietly, just above a whisper, so they wouldn’t
bother their children. Richard was still in his work clothes even though it was
almost ten o’clock.  Both of their children sat on the other couch, watching
some police procedural show. The volume was kept low and they sat close.

“I think I watched too many TV shows when I was young,”
Richard said. “I thought it was all glamour and court rooms, giving closing speeches
that would win over a jury.”

“You give great speeches honey.”

“I haven’t been in a court room in half a dozen years,” he replied. 
“Ever since I was a public defender. Now I just go to board meetings and cut
deals with other lawyers to keep their clients from being litigated.”

“Do you miss the court rooms?”

“A little,” he said, shrugging.  “More than I thought I
would.”

“When you worked as a public defender you told me you hated
it.”

He shrugged.  “Most of the time I did.  But I hated the
cases I was being given, not the practice itself.  I just didn’t like the
system: it wasn’t innocent until proven guilty, it was—”

“Guilty until proven rich,” Deborah interrupted, glancing up
at him and smiling.  “You’ve told me.”

He chuckled.  “Yeah, I guess I have.”

“What are you working on tonight?” she asked.  She picked up
her cup of tea and took a sip.   

 “A filing.  One of our clients is getting sued in a patent
dispute, so we’re counter suing.”

“Is their claim legitimate?”

“In patent law?  I don’t think anyone even knows what a
legitimate lawsuit would look like.”

“Ah.”

“I have to submit a few documents tomorrow, then see how the
other team decides to play it.  If they want to settle out of court then it
should get resolved in a few weeks for under a million.”

“So you have some time?” she said.  “You don’t need to get
it all done tonight.”

“No,” he said.  “But I
do
need to look through these
resumes.”

He held up a stack of papers. It looked to be several
hundred sheets thick.

“For what?”

“A new intern,” he said.  “Our last two graduated, and we
need someone else to handle copyediting.”

“Need any help?”

“I think I’m okay,” he said.  “I’ve narrowed it down to
these four candidates. They are the most qualified.”

“Can I see the others?” Deborah asked, gesturing toward the
stack.

He shrugged and handed it over.  “Sure.”

She accepted the stack and set it next to her, glancing at
the top few resumes.  Richard watched her out of the corner of his eye, curious
what she would say.  One of the things he always loved about Deborah was that
she had an opinion about everything.

That, and she loved to argue.

“What time is it?” she asked.

He glanced at his watch. “Almost ten.”

“Ah,” she said, leaning forward and setting her tea down. She
raised her voice and addressed the children: “That means it is bedtime.” 

“One more show?” Sally pleaded.

She was just past her fourteenth birthday, and she also
loved to argue.  The only thing she liked more than arguing with her parents
was annoying them. Richard knew that, no matter what his wife said, she would
stay up to watch TV in her bedroom until past midnight.

“Bed,” Deborah repeated. 

Francis, their other child, yawned.  “Okay,” he said.  He was
younger than his sister by a few years, and completely the opposite in
personality: he would go out of his way to keep his parents happy, which was
good and bad. Richard always worried that they were forcing him to participate
in sports and clubs that he didn’t want to do, but was too scared to tell them
so.

“You both finished your homework, right?”

“Yes, Mom,” they said in unison.

“Then brush your teeth and finish combing your hair…”

All three disappeared from the living room, leaving Richard
alone.  He turned the television off and looked over the four resumes, trying
to decide which candidate he liked the most.

A few minutes later Deborah reappeared and sat next to him. 
She didn’t say anything, just grabbed a few papers off her stack and started glancing
at them.

“I like this one,” Richard said after a few minutes.  “He
was on his school’s debate team for three years and they went to the state
finals twice. He’s a junior.”

He handed the resume to Deborah, and she glanced it over.

“This one,” he continued, holding up another, “is starting
his freshman year of college, so he’s going to be able to work with us a lot
longer before graduating.  He went to a better high school, too.”

“Mmhmm,” Deborah said, glancing at the offered sheet.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just said: ‘mmhmm.’”

“You always say that when you disagree with me about
something.”

“I don’t disagree. They are both great candidates.  And I’m
sure those other two are as well,” she said, pointing at the other ones in his
lap.

“But…?” he prompted.

She laughed.  “But, three of them are men and all of them
are white. Your last two interns were also white men.”

He frowned at the papers.  “These are the best candidates.”

“Are they?” she asked.  “On paper, these four are great
applicants, but no better than many of the others you already dismissed.”

“You don’t think they are qualified?” 

“I’m not saying they aren’t qualified, but you chose children
from rich families: they are all coming from amazing high schools and going to even
better colleges. All four of them come from money and will end up making a lot
of it whether or not they get this internship.”

“So?”

“So,” she said, “why not give this opportunity to someone
who could actually use the help?”

Richard felt a little defensive: “We are only looking for a
copyeditor.”

“That’s all
you
want out of this.  What do
they
get out of it?  For these four applicants, your firm is just a stepping stone,
along with many others, that will help them achieve their goals.  For some
people, this could mean a lot more.”

Richard thought about it for a second.  “Who do you
recommend?”

“Her,” Deborah said, offering a sheet to him.  Richard
hadn’t really noticed it in the pile, dismissing it after only a cursory glance.

“She went to an unaccredited high school,” he said, looking
it over.  “That’s as far as I looked on her resume.”

“She graduated with honors,” Deborah said.  “She also got
really good test scores on the SAT and ACT.”

“Above average,” he said, shrugging, “but the same as all of
the other candidates. Everyone here is above average.”

“But she worked harder to get there,” Deborah said.  “Since,
as you pointed out, she went to an unaccredited high school.”

He nodded, conceding the point.  “She doesn’t have a lot of
extracurricular activities listed.”

“You said all you wanted was a copyeditor. Not an Olympic
athlete.”

“Yes, but…” he trailed off, not really sure what he was
trying to say.  “It’s nice to see people who can put more down on paper, even
if it’s only
mostly
true. It shows that they have confidence in
themselves, that they know how to play the game.”

“Or, that their
parents
know how to play it,” Deborah
said. “Maybe this girl doesn’t know how to manipulate things in her favor.
Maybe you could teach her.”

Richard sighed, setting the resume down. 

“You said I only picked white candidates.  Is that why you
picked this one? When I went through the resumes, I didn’t take race into
account.”

“Maybe you should,” she said.

“So I should give this resume a leg up because she’s black?”
he asked.

“You said yourself that she’s on par with the other applicants,
so why didn’t she make it into your top four to begin with?”

Richard didn’t have a good answer for that.  Part of him was
convinced it had nothing to do with the other candidates being white. But another
part of him wasn’t so sure.

“All things being equal, I would say ‘no’ you shouldn’t add
race into the mix,” Deborah continued.  “But, are all things equal?”

Richard didn’t respond, but he did accept the resume.  He
glanced it over, frowning.

“So, you think Nichole Blake is the right choice?”

“I don’t know,” Deborah said, sipping her tea.  “But, I
think you have to ask the question: are you only looking for help, or do you
want to help someone else?”

“I got the internship!” Nichole said, running into the
kitchen and throwing her arms around her mother.

Lakeisha staggered to the side, catching her eighteen year
old daughter in her arms and laughing. 

“Easy there,” she said.  “Of course you got it. I knew you
would be selected for sure.”

“This is awesome! It’s one of the top law firms in the city!”

“When do you start?”

“Tomorrow,” Nichole said.  “First thing in the morning.”

“Congratulations,” Lakeisha said, smiling.  She gently
extricated herself from her excited daughter and walked to the stove to check
on dinner. “You don’t have to work weekends, right?”

“No, why?”

“Because Rico’s wedding is on a Saturday,” Lakeisha said.

Nichole laughed. “Mom, that isn’t for nine months!”

“I know,” she said with a shrug, “I just wanted to make sure
you didn’t have any conflicts.  No excuses to not go to his wedding!”

“I won’t have any excuses,” Nichole said. She looked at the
letter again from the law office and grinned.  “I think I’m going to go out and
celebrate tonight!”

“Okay,” Lakeisha said. “But don’t do anything crazy. You
will have to get up super early in the morning for your first day.”

“Do you want to go get dinner?” Nichole asked.

“I would,” Lakeisha said, “but I already have this cooking. 
Besides, I have some stuff to take care of tonight.  Maybe tomorrow night?”

“Okay,” Nichole said.  “Tomorrow sounds great. And don’t
worry, I won’t be out too late.”

Nichole disappeared through the back door, leaving her
mother alone in the kitchen. Lakeisha turned the stove off and put a sheet of
aluminum foil over the steaming dish: macaroni and cheese with tuna mixed in,
Tyler’s favorite.  It was one of the few things he would regularly eat that his
sister Kenni could also stomach.

“Kenni!” Lakeisha called up the stairs. 

There was no reply from her moody child, so she climbed up
to the second floor and went to her daughter’s room.  The door was shut.

Kenni almost never shut her door. She liked to keep it open,
being mildly claustrophobic, and the only time it wasn’t was when she was
upset.  Lakeisha hated seeing her daughter so unhappy.

And things had been going so well.

“Kenni?” she asked, gently knocking on the door.

“Go away,” Kenni said, voice muffled.

“I’m going to go out for a bit,” she said.  “Do you want to
come with me?”

“No,” Kenni said.  “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Her voice was thick with emotion as though she’d been
crying.  She’d been crying most of the last two weeks, ever since they received
the letter from Northmont middle school.

Essentially, the school had sent a notice telling Lakeisha
that, despite the court ruling a year ago that Kenni and Tyler would be allowed
to attend Northmont elementary and middle school, the low income housing they
lived in was being reclassified by the city and the school district boundaries
had been redrawn.

Therefore, the terms of the decision no longer applied and
Kenni would need to return to her old middle school.   The letter informed her
that an injunction
could
be filed, of course, to change the terms of the
original decision to fit this new circumstance, but it would require a separate
case to hear the new situation.

Basically, it would cost a few thousand more dollars to keep
Kenni in the same school the courts already ruled she could attend, all because
of a well-orchestrated technicality.

The news devastated Kenni. It had taken her months to get acclimated
to the new school and make new friends. Some of the students were standoffish
in the beginning, but most had been welcoming and friendly.  

The anger and fear from the parents had even dissipated, and
everyone Lakeisha dealt with was polite and welcoming.   Once it was clear that
nothing terrible was happening to their school by bringing these new students
in, everyone calmed back down and relaxed.

During the school year, Kenni had made a lot of good friends
at Northmont, many of which invited her to their homes and several of which
even came here, to Kenni’s home.  Considering it was a two hour drive one way,
Lakeisha considered that quite a win.

None of those other students at Northmont knew what had
happened with this court case, and summer break was scheduled to last another
few weeks. With luck, none of Kenni’s friends would ever know that Kenni almost
wasn’t coming back to Northmont middle school.  Lakeisha would do everything in
her power to make sure Kenni didn’t have to change schools again.

Which was where Lakeisha was heading now, to solve that
problem. She needed to go to the bank to get a short-term loan. Then she would
be able to use the money to hire a lawyer and get the injunction filed. More
hoops and roadblocks, but she was determined.  With any luck, this time next
week Kenni would be reenrolled in Northmont Elementary, a solid week before
school started back up.

She didn’t want to say anything yet to Kenni, not until she
had the money in hand and had spoken to a lawyer. She wanted to make sure all
of the paperwork went through and there weren’t any problems before she got her
daughter’s hopes up. But, she was confident things would work out.

“Okay sweetie,” she said, leaning against the door.  “I’ll
be home later tonight.  Keep an eye on Tyler for me, will you?”

No response.

“I love you,” she said. 

The room remained quiet, except a single sniffle.

Lakeisha sighed and headed to Tyler’s room.  He was playing
a video game, engrossed, so she gave him a quick hug.

“I love you too, my little man,” she said, kissing him on
the forehead.

He pulled his arms free and kept tapping on his controller,
never taking his eyes off the screen.  “Love you too,” he said absently. 

“Dinner is on the counter. Make sure to eat something.”

“Okay.”

Lakeisha watched him for a minute and then headed downstairs
to the kitchen. She left a note for Nichole, saying she was heading out for a
bit and would be back later that night, and then went out to catch the bus.

It was an hour and forty-five minute ride to the bank, and
by the time she arrived at her stop it was getting dark outside. The bus was
running late, a lot later than she had hoped, and she didn’t know if the bank
would still be open.

She stepped onto the busy sidewalk and headed quickly down
the road.  It was another nine blocks to reach the bank, and she was worried
she would miss her opportunity.  There wasn’t a lot of foot traffic this late in
the evening, so at least she wasn’t weaving through crowds to get there.

She hurried, feeling a tightness in her chest as she exerted
herself. She didn’t do a lot of exercise, and it was really showing as she
pushed her body beyond comfortable levels.

As she went, the discomfort grew worse, turning into a
throbbing pain in her chest and sides.  She fought it down and kept moving,
determined not to be late.

She arrived just as the sun was setting. A man stood out
front, chaining the front doors shut as she approached.

“Excuse me, are you closed?” she asked, panting.

The man looked surprised to be addressed.  “Yeah,” he said. 
“Everyone already went home for the night.”

“I only need a few minutes to talk to someone because I
need—”

He held up a hand to cut her off.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we
don’t have any more bankers here this late. Everyone is gone, and I’m just a
janitor closing up.”

She sighed. “Damn.”

“I wish I could help you out,” he said, snapping the lock
into place, “but you’re going to have to come back tomorrow.”

She rubbed her temples.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, fighting down a headache.  “I’m fine.”

“Well, when you come tomorrow, make sure it’s earlier,” he
said. “We close at six.” Then he disappeared down the sidewalk in the other
direction.

Lakeisha stood there for a few minutes, feeling a headache
pulse in the back of her head. She was annoyed and frustrated, but it was hard
to focus her thoughts.  She began feeling nauseous and weak, the pain in her
sides and chest growing worse. Dizziness crept in as well, and the world was
veering lazily in a circle.

She had to get home. She turned and walked back the way she
had come, but it was hard to clear her thoughts. Her vision was blurry and the
pain made it difficult to think straight. Something was wrong. She took a step
and fell sideways, barely catching herself before falling down.

Something was very wrong.

She staggered forward, leaning against the wall. The pain in
her abdomen built in waves, reaching a crescendo that sent her careening to the
ground.  She rolled sideways and felt something sticky on her chin. She wiped
her hand on it and saw blood on her fingers.

“Help,” she mumbled, trying to stand up. 

The streets were empty and she couldn’t see anyone.  She
fell back down and pain shot through her body.  She cried out, clutching her
sides.

Agony became her existence as seconds ticked past. She
crawled forward, trying to find someone, anyone, who could help her. She needed
to get to a doctor and find out what was wrong. 

It felt like hours later, and she felt hands on her.

“Help…” she said, her words barely audible.

There was no answer. Rough hands began patting her down. 
She felt things being pulled out of her pockets. She tried to fight back, but
she was too weak. The pain was overwhelming. 

She felt those hands on her purse, pulling. She held onto
the strap, refusing to let go.  They grabbed her fingers, pulling and prying
until the strap slipped free. The purse was gone.

And then the hands were gone.

She lay there, gasping, finding it difficult to get air. 
The world felt empty, hopeless.  It was an eternity before she heard anything
else. Sirens, voices, all of them distant and muted.  Her entire world was pain
and despair.

Lakeisha felt her body lifted like a ragdoll onto a gurney.
She tried to tell them to call her family, that she’d been robbed, that
something was wrong and she wasn’t healthy.  She tried to tell them that she
needed help, and that she was scared, but the words wouldn’t come out.

She felt the world spinning, light coming through pinpricks.

She felt the world tune out, replaced with a peaceful
serenity as her existence detached.

And then she felt nothing at all.