Someone to Watch Over Me (20 page)
Read Someone to Watch Over Me Online
Authors: Michelle Stimpson
“I mean, one time they were all set for trial. My uncle's lawyers had made arrangements for and flown in all these experts to testify on my uncle's behalfâall on my uncle's tab, of course. When the prosecuting attorney saw my uncle's team was ready to put up a fight, the attorney asked the judge for a stay due to some frivolous technicality. The judge granted the delay for a week. Wasted thousands and thousands of dollars.
“The prosecutors kept playing games until my uncle ran out of money. When he was finally broke and could no longer afford to fly in experts and witnesses, the prosecutors were suddenly ready for trial. He was tried, convicted, and heavily sentenced. That's the way it goes in our courts.”
Flabbergasted, I coughed. “Did the judge know how much trouble your uncle's team had gone through to assemble a defense?”
Jacob's nostrils contracted. “Yeah, he knew. He didn't care. Lawyers find loopholes, judges interpret laws however they see fit any given day.”
Since O. J., I hadn't really thought much about court cases. I always felt he'd gotten away with murdering his ex-wife and her friend, and his “not guilty” verdict came as a result of shoddy police work rather than financial influence.
Jacob's account of his uncle's incident, however, caused me to reexamine the accused's options, or lack thereof, depending on wealth. I wondered if DeAndre's mother would have landed so much time in prison if she'd been rich. I imagined a lot of things in her life would have been different if she had money. Really, whose wouldn't?
With this change of heart, I asked Jacob if he'd help me get in touch with the Simpsons so we could get the ball rolling toward this prison visit. “I just don't want DeAndre to be distracted, you know? He's more focused in school, now that I'm trying to get him into a routine. Maybe I should wait until school's out to throw in this visit to his mother.”
“No worries.” He nodded. “I'll get in touch with DeAndre's peeps. And trust that God will work things out so DeAndre will see his mother again at the right time. People talk about how He's never late, but sometimes we have to realize, He's also never early. His timing is exact.”
“Thanks. I'll remember that.”
Jacob glanced toward the ordering counter. “How are their sandwiches? I'm hungry, actually.”
“I hear they're pretty good.”
He excused himself and later returned with turkey on wheat, cut down the middle. Watching him unwrap the entrée suddenly reminded me I hadn't eaten for several hours. My eyes must have given me away.
“You want one?” Jacob offered between bites.
Might be too much bread for me to eat the whole thing. “No. But . . . can I have just a little taste of yours?”
He scooted the untouched half across the table. “Here.”
“Oh, I can't ask you for
half,
” is what came out of my mouth, though my taste buds said otherwise.
half,
” is what came out of my mouth, though my taste buds said otherwise.
“You know you want to eat this sandwich, Tori,” Jacob teased. “It's printed all up in your cheekbones.”
Humor and hunger overtook me. I grabbed the sandwich, laughing unashamedly. “How do you always know what's going on in my head?”
“I don't,” he refuted. “But I know hungry when I see it.”
I asked him if he'd ever watched the television show
Lie to Me.
“It's all about reading people's body language to solve mysteries.”
Lie to Me.
“It's all about reading people's body language to solve mysteries.”
“Hmmm . . .” Jacob slanted his eyes, scrutinizing my face. “So what's the mystery behind you?”
I looked left, then right. “No mystery here. I should be asking you that question. They say preachers' kids have the darkest secrets.”
“You just made that up,” he sneered.
“Yes, but it's probably true. What gives? What deep, dark secret are you hiding?”
“I already told you.”
My nose wrinkled. “What?”
“Shonda. And the likes,” he uttered.
Gulping couldn't occur fast enough. “
Sex
is the worst thing you've ever done?”
I did that just the other week.
Sex
is the worst thing you've ever done?”
I did that just the other week.
“Doesn't get much worse than dishonoring your own temple.”
He seemed almost annoyed at me for making light of his most sordid sin. I had to explain myself. “I mean, there's extortion, armed robbery, mass murderâyou know, stuff that affects other people negatively.”
“There's also hypocrisy,” he stated. He leaned in toward me, his eyes glinting with sincerity. “Do you know how difficult it is to stand in the pulpit and preach holiness to God's people when you just crept out of someone's bedâand that
someone
is sitting in the audience?”
someone
is sitting in the audience?”
I had to give it to him. “Can't say that I do.”
He lowered his lashes. “I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror after church. On top of my sin, I damaged her faith in Christ. I couldn't witness to her to save her life.”
Jacob's regret over what I considered everyday (or at least every week) action hit me hard.
He's really serious about God.
Bayford must have something in the water because both he and Cassandra, who were both in my age bracket, seemed to have this holy thing all worked out.
He's really serious about God.
Bayford must have something in the water because both he and Cassandra, who were both in my age bracket, seemed to have this holy thing all worked out.
“So, to clarify, you're celibate?”
“Yes.”
“And you have no desire to . . . you know?”
“I didn't say all
that,
” he corrected me. “But this isn't about sex. Everyone has their own struggles. Some people struggle with gambling, drinking, overeating, lying. The list of human vices goes on and on.”
that,
” he corrected me. “But this isn't about sex. Everyone has their own struggles. Some people struggle with gambling, drinking, overeating, lying. The list of human vices goes on and on.”
I clamped and unclamped my teeth. “I thought we were supposed to be free from our wicked selves when we accepted Jesus. What's the song the choir sang last week? âYou will never be the same again.'”
Jacob raised one brow. “We are new creatures in Christ. Most of us just don't believe it.”
Chapter 21
J
ust when we'd gotten our weekly schedule down pat, DeAndre's school dismissed for spring break. Back in the day, the second week of March meant much-needed relaxation. Now, from the guardian's angle on the school calendar, this five-day recess signaled double duty.
ust when we'd gotten our weekly schedule down pat, DeAndre's school dismissed for spring break. Back in the day, the second week of March meant much-needed relaxation. Now, from the guardian's angle on the school calendar, this five-day recess signaled double duty.
The first few days passed uneventfully. DeAndre stayed at home with Aunt Dottie while I kept all my plates spinning, popping in between stops to make sure they ate and Aunt Dottie got to use the restroom. When I really thought about it, I don't know what I would have done without DeAndre's help. Most of the time, he played outside with Chase and the other boys. But he checked on Aunt Dottie regularly (at least through the screen door) and called me when he wasn't sure about something.
“Can me and Chase make a cake?”
“No, you
may
not.”
may
not.”
Next day. “Mike-Mike's pit bull big brother dog had puppies. Can I have one?”
“What?”
“Mike-Mike big brother Phillip dog.”
I slowed him down. “Mike-Mike has an older brother named Phillip?”
“Yes.”
“And Phillip's pit bull has given birth to puppies.”
“Yes.” DeAndre begged impatiently. “So
may
I please have one?” He probably thought using proper English would strengthen his case.
may
I please have one?” He probably thought using proper English would strengthen his case.
“No.”
I guess by Wednesday, DeAndre decided he wasn't going to ask me if he could do anything else because the answer was always negative. Rain limited his entertainment options. I asked him if he wanted to hang with me at the store and at the library, but he declined on the grounds that Elgin might make him work too hard and the library bored him when there was no puppet show. Deep down inside, I knew I should have made him come anyway. The only reason I didn't was because I didn't feel like hearing him whine the whole day. “Are you ready to go yet?” and “How much longer?”
The blabbering howls on the other end of the phone line later cut my extended library time short. “Ooooow, Cousin Tori! It hurts! It hurts!”
“DeAndre, what's going on?”
“My leg.”
“What happened to your leg?”
“Waaaaaw!”
I asked again. He screamed again. We weren't getting anywhere. “Where's Aunt Dottie?”
He hollered, “She's right here.”
“Put the phone up to her ear.”
I waited a moment, then directed her. “Aunt Dottie, if I really need to come home, press a button one time.”
Beep
.
.
“I'm on my way,” I said, hanging up. A million terrifying images scrambled through my mental camera. Was his leg cut? Broken? Burned? Bitten? Should I have called 9-1-1?
In the interim, I placed a call to Joenetta. “Can you get over to Aunt Dottie's? DeAndre hurt himself.”
“Who's watching him?” she barked.
“He's with Aunt Dottie.”
She hmphed me. “Like I said, who's watching
him
?”
him
?”
“You know, either you or his father is more than welcome to come get DeAndre any day of the weekâespecially this week since school is out.”
“I'm just sayin' little boys have a tendency to get in trouble when left to their own imaginations. You should have asked someone to come sit with Dottie while you ran your errands,” she accused, as though she were incapable of pitching in with her own grandson.
I wondered whom she thought that someone should be. Nevertheless, her words teamed up with the guilt already simmering inside me. I had no rebuttal. “Just meet me there. Bye.”
“Mmmm hmmm. That's what I thought.”
She beat me to the house and rallied at the door with dramatics worthy of an Oscar nomination. “Good Lord, this boy's leg is almost clear gone in the front.”
Never having heard such an inept description, I threw my purse on the couch next to Aunt Dottie and braced myself for the worst. Joenetta led me to my own bedroom, an odd triage for someone who had no business in my room in the first place.
DeAndre lay still on his backside with a scantly reddened hand towel covering the lower portion of his right leg. The lack of major blood loss lowered my anxiety level significantly.
His crying picked up again the moment our eyes met. “You're all right, DeAndre,” I assured him, rubbing his head. He covered his face with a forearm, his body jerking with each fresh whimper.
“He wouldn't let me touch it. Said he only wanted you.” She murmured, “I don't know why, since you're the one who let him get into this mess.”
No mood for an argument. Time for the great reveal. With Joenetta literally looking over my shoulder, I gently lifted the towel. She gasped, I breathed a sigh of relief. About six inches of skin covering DeAndre's shin had somehow been . . . rubbed off? Scraped off, maybe, but he'd survive. How on earth had he managed to engineer this freak accident? “What happened?”
He squealed between huffs. “I was . . . on your . . . treadmill . . . and then it . . . started going real fast . . . and I fell . . . and my leg got caught on the machine.”
“He's lucky he didn't break his neck,” Joenetta pointed out.
“Why were you on my treadmill?”
Joenetta answered for him. “Because he's eight years old and unsupervised, that's why.”
Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.
She added, “Both of y'all need a whippin'.”
“Don't get carried away,” I warned.
Save DeAndre's lecture for later. Joenetta and I coaxed him into allowing us to douse the wound with water. We agreed that he could test the water temperature before we positioned his leg under the bathtub faucet. No one would touch the wound itself.
“Okay,” he finally consented.
Next came the big peroxide scene.
“We have to kill any possible bacteria, DeAndre,” I tried to reason with him.
“How do you know there's bacteria on a treadmill?” he retorted tearfully, keeping his eyes on my hands.
I set the brown peroxide bottle on the rim of the tub so he could focus on the words that were coming out of my mouth. “The belt on that treadmill is covered with germs from the bottoms of my shoes. You don't want spit and smashed up bugs and dog poop getting inside your body, do you?”
He needed a moment to deliberate.
All of a sudden, Joenetta seized him, grabbed the peroxide and upturned the bottle, sending a river of liquid down his leg.
It all happened so fast, DeAndre barely had time to shriek, “Noooo!”
I yelled, “Joenetta!” and tried to jerk DeAndre from her clutch, but it was too late. White bubbles fizzed under the clamor of DeAndre's heart-wrenching protest.
After the initial oxidizing sting had visibly and audibly subsided, Joenetta loosed her grip on the child. He immediately wrapped himself around my waist and buried his face in my neck. The tone of his weeping altered now to include the pain of betrayal.
I stammered with rage, “How could you be so evil, Joenetta?”
She tsked. “I ain't got time to sit up here and talk through all this nonsense.”
“What else do you have to do, Joenetta? I mean, you don't work, you're not helping with Aunt Dottie, and you've been relinquished of your store . . . pilfering duties.” I'd wanted to pick a synonym for robbery so DeAndre wouldn't realize I'd accused his grandmother of being a thief. Turns out Joenetta didn't know the word, either.
“What you mean by store piftering?”
Conscious of DeAndre's attentive ears, I asked him to go in the other room with Aunt Dottie because his granny and I needed to talk privately.
“I ain't got nothin' to say to you,” Joenetta declared, stomping out of the bathroom ahead of DeAndre.
I remained on the tub's edge for a moment, collecting myself.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
Was this my fault?
Seven. Six. Five. Four
. Did we need to put DeAndre in day care?
Three. Two. One
. Why was I even raising him to begin with?
Ten. Nine. Eight.
Was this my fault?
Seven. Six. Five. Four
. Did we need to put DeAndre in day care?
Three. Two. One
. Why was I even raising him to begin with?
Joenetta had already hopped her broom and flown away by the time I joined DeAndre and Aunt Dottie in the living room. Peace abounded. DeAndre had propped his leg across Aunt Dottie's lap, and she'd used her left arm to blot wetness from the abrasion. She motioned for me to stand near her. She grabbed DeAndre's hand. He took mine, and I stooped down to take hold of her weaker hand. She tipped her head toward me.
“Father, we thank You for watching over DeAndre. This injury could have been worse, but we thank You that he'll recover nicely. God, help us all continue to work through Aunt Dottie's recovery and with the store.” There was too much on my plate to even start listing my needs. “Just help us with everything, God. Amen.”
“Amen,” from DeAndre, nodding from Aunt Dottie.
DeAndre and I had our after-the-fact discussion with Aunt Dottie sitting between us, participating via hand and head motions. My treadmill was off limits. DeAndre was not to stick a toe in my room. He apologized profusely. “I hear ya, Cousin Tori. I'm not goin' in your room ever again without permission.”
That settled, he and I made a trip to the nearest pharmacy, ten minutes away, to purchase gauze, tape, and a huge tube of ointment. We came back to the house and plotted an elaborate scrape-care plan.
“Do I have to use peroxide again?”
“Probably so, but it won't be as bad as the first time,” I explained. “You've toughed through the worst part already.”
Pride bloated his chest as he dabbed Neosporin with latex-gloved hands. The gloves were his additionâhe'd found them in Aunt Dottie's bathroom next to the hair dye.
Soon after his leg was properly medicated and covered, Wendy, the physical therapist, arrived for Aunt Dottie's session. I needed to get back to the store but, truth be told, I was too afraid to leave DeAndre home again. He'd have to stick with me during the last two days of this ridiculously unnecessary spring break.
A flash of horrifying magnitude barged through my head.
What's going to happen over
summer
break?
Really, I couldn't even allow my mind to go there. Aunt Dottie's right side grew stronger daily. She'd even begun muttering vowel sounds lately, weeks ahead of the speech therapist's prediction. Her brain had already begun to reroute some of her verbal functions. Hopefully, prayerfully, Aunt Dottie would be in much better shape by the time DeAndre finished third grade.
What's going to happen over
summer
break?
Really, I couldn't even allow my mind to go there. Aunt Dottie's right side grew stronger daily. She'd even begun muttering vowel sounds lately, weeks ahead of the speech therapist's prediction. Her brain had already begun to reroute some of her verbal functions. Hopefully, prayerfully, Aunt Dottie would be in much better shape by the time DeAndre finished third grade.
DeAndre and I returned to the store after Wendy left. The bandage, his new source of honor, sparked several sympathetic conversations with customers. “It hurt
real
bad,” he recounted.
real
bad,” he recounted.
Virgie pumped him up, reminding him to give each customer the whole story. “Tell 'em about the blood,” she'd yell from across the store. “You forgot about the peroxide part.”
By the store's closing hour, DeAndre's humble narrative about the accident had turned into a full-blown, harrowing tall tale worthy of a war hero.
Cassandra laughed, saying I should take a picture of the wound and put it in his baby book.
“I don't know if he has one.” I tidied the cashier area
“Have you tried to get in touch with the Simpsons?”
“Not yet, but I will soon. DeAndre wants to visit his mother in prison.”
Cassandra's lips compressed. She glanced around the store, obviously checking for DeAndre's location. “If you knew Z like I knew Z, you'd think twice about taking him to see herâunless the power of God z-zapped her prison cell and changed her permanently.”
“Changed how?”
“She came in here a few times with DeAndre before Aunt Dottie took over his care. I never liked how Z treated him. She'd cuss and yell at him, tell him he was stupid. Pop him way too hard, in my opinion.”
This news coming from the speedy poppin' queen herself.
“I see.”
“All I'm saying is if you decide to go, be prepared to snatch him out of the booth at a moment's notice. Aunt Dottie's is the best place for DeAndre. She's the best thing to happen to him. Well, her and you.”
“Thanks.”
Cassandra switched gears. “Hey, check this out.” She reached into the side pocket of her jeans. “Behold. My new cell phone.” She showcased a simple flip-style phone in the palm of her hand. “What do you think?”
“Nice, nice.” I surveyed the phone for her sake. I probably had one just like it . . . three years ago. Alas, things were 'a changing in Bayford. “What kind of calling plan did you get?”
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