Suspicions (7 page)
Authors: Sasha Campbell
“So, Candace . . . you got a man?”
I looked up from my page. “Nope, but I'm seeing someone.” Technically, I was seeing someone, starting tonight. Hopefully there would be a lot more after that. Chauncey licked his lips again. I was ready to reach in my purse and hand him some ChapStick.
“So I guess there's no chance of me taking you out to dinner?”
I laughed. “Damn, smooth. Is that how you do it?'
He looked confused. “Do what?”
“Make your tips by asking females out while you're playing with their feet. I saw how you were looking at that chick sitting under the nail dryer, staring up at her with your pretty eyes while licking your lips.”
“So you like my eyes?” he asked with a confident smirk.
Why was he twisting my words around? Okay, so maybe I do think his eyes are sexy, and maybe he does remind me of Michael Ealy from
Barbershop 2
, but I'd been damned before I tell him that. “All I'm saying is that I'm not in the mood for some muthafucka running game. Been there and got the stretch marks to prove it.” He shook his head and had the nerve to start laughing. “What the hell is so funny?”
Barbershop 2
, but I'd been damned before I tell him that. “All I'm saying is that I'm not in the mood for some muthafucka running game. Been there and got the stretch marks to prove it.” He shook his head and had the nerve to start laughing. “What the hell is so funny?”
“You, sexy.”
The way the word
sexy
rolled of his tongue caused me to squeeze my thighs together while I watched as he walked over and retrieved some hot towels. He laid them across my legs and I exhaled. Chauncey signaled for the next customer to take a seat and I sat there pretending to read my book, but really, I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe how quickly he had given up. Most dudes kept asking me out until I either said yes or cussed them out.
sexy
rolled of his tongue caused me to squeeze my thighs together while I watched as he walked over and retrieved some hot towels. He laid them across my legs and I exhaled. Chauncey signaled for the next customer to take a seat and I sat there pretending to read my book, but really, I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe how quickly he had given up. Most dudes kept asking me out until I either said yes or cussed them out.
When Chauncey came back a few minutes later to paint my feet, he didn't even bother to strike up a conversation about anything other than if I was happy with his service, and I must say, he did one helluva job. I paid him. Gave him a reasonable tip because I was paying him for his service, not his looks, then moved over to the foot dryer and listened to him laughing with another client. Chauncey was definitely a hit with the females. Like I said, he wasn't at all what I needed in my life.
I got up to leave and Tiffany signaled for me. “Get on over here and let me see your feet.” I came over still wearing those disposable flip-flops. “Ooh, I love the way he put a pink rhinestone at the corner of your big toes.”
“Yeah, I do look kinda cute,” I giggled, then wiggled my hips to the beat of the music all the way out the door. For some reason, I couldn't help it, I had to take one last look. I glanced through the glass and found Chauncey watching me. He was staring so hard I was trapped in his spell. He stole my breath away. I don't know how long I would have stood there staring through the window if someone hadn't tapped me on my shoulder.
“Uh, excuse me.” My head whipped around to stare at some chick with a unibrow, waiting impatiently to get inside the salon. With that thick bush, she looked like one of those aliens from
Star Trek
. I hope for her sake she was here to get those eyebrows waxed. I moved out of her way and hurried over to a white Pontiac GT parked on the corner. Mama let me borrow her car for the afternoon so I could run to the store before going to pick up Miasha.
Star Trek
. I hope for her sake she was here to get those eyebrows waxed. I moved out of her way and hurried over to a white Pontiac GT parked on the corner. Mama let me borrow her car for the afternoon so I could run to the store before going to pick up Miasha.
I was on my way to Dominick's grocery store and was still thinking about Chauncey. I didn't need a college education to understand I liked everything I saw. It's a damn shame, but I was more interested in knowing about Chauncey than I was about my date tonight. For the life of me I couldn't even remember that dude's name.
The second I pulled into the parking lot, Tyree called. “What do you want, Tyree?” I barked.
“What you think I want? To see my daughter. To come by and break you off some money and maybe take y'all up to White Castle's for some burgers.”
I huffed into the phone. “You know I can't stand that place. I always get me heartburn.”
“Well, Mickey D's then . . . damn, whatever Miasha wants.”
“What Miasha wants is a father who pays his child support on time. Who knows what responsibility is,” I retorted, then made a left at the corner.
“Damn, get off these nuts! I'm trying to be a daddy . . . even make you wifey, if you'd let me.”
“Not happening. I'm busy tonight. Come by tomorrow with some money. Miasha needs some new shoes.” I hung up before he started asking a bunch of questions. I was so sick of Tyree. He'll do good for a while, coming around regularly to spend time with Miasha, but the second he realized me and him wasn't happening, he'd start playing the disappearing act.
At the next stop light, I glanced down at my toes and started thinking about Chauncey again. Immediately, I pushed that thought away. After Tyree there was no more room for thugs in my life. I needed a real man ready for responsibilities. Not some brotha who was probably sleeping with every female who tipped him properly for his services. You better believe, first thing tomorrow, I'm calling Tiffany and asking her Chauncey's last name and then I'm looking him up in the clinic's database. Someone that fine had to have contracted something at least once. Maybe then I'd stop thinking about him.
7
Noelle
My best friend and I had just spent the entire afternoon shopping at Orland Square Mall. Now I knew what the expression “shop 'til you drop” meant, because after nine hours, I was dead on my behind. Macy's, Carson Pirie Scott, Coach, you name it, we were there.
“Whitney, I'll grab my bags later.”
She climbed out of my Acura TL, frowning. “When? After Grant's gone to bed?”
“Yep,” I said, and giggled because she knew me too well. “Grant told me to shop for our trip, but I think I went a little overboard.” I couldn't help it.
A perfectly arched eyebrow rose. “A little? Try a lot. You tried to buy out the whole damn mall.”
This was our first vacation and I was actually looking forward to getting away and spending time together in Aruba. Grant thought it was because I was excited about us being alone, but the truth of the matter is, I was looking forward to the trip because it was a week of sex and I was hoping to get pregnant. I know I promised Grant I would forget about having a baby, but I couldn't help it. It was all I thought about. We were in a financial position now that I could spoil my child. Grant and I got married right after I graduated. We struggled for years. I did hair while Grant went to school to be a teacher. I even did braids at home, trying to make all the money I could for almost four years until he graduated and got a teacher position. However, living on a teacher's salary, we never had much money. There were lots of things we went without. But not this time. I owned the hottest beauty salon on the south side of Chicago, and Grant had gone back to school two years ago and got a master's in English. We were financially in such a good position that our baby girl wouldn't want for anything. Ballet. Gymnastics. I know I was getting ahead of myself. I had to get pregnant first, and Aruba was the perfect location. A week ago, I stopped taking my birth control pills. The rest was now up to nature and the sexy little bikini I bought on clearance this afternoon.
“Whitney, before you leave c'mon in and have a slice of coconut cake. I baked it this morning.”
“Oooh! Yes, I will. You know I love your cake.” I helped load the trunk of her Lexus with her packages, then signaled for her to follow me up the stairs. Whitney's hands were planted on her round belly and I felt so jealous. I couldn't help it. I didn't want to be jealous, but I was. Whitney wasn't even married. I was. She and her baby's daddy weren't even together. Not that she cared. She wanted a baby, not a man, or so she says, although Whitney could have any man she wanted. Only she was very insecure and never knew just how beautiful she was. Whitney was tall and thin, and wore a short razor cut that was made for her heart-shaped face. I couldn't stand women like her. She was five months' pregnant and was barely showing, where someone like me looked nine months' pregnant when I was barely five. But despite how fat I looked, I loved being pregnant.
“It's crazy that all I want to do is eat.”
“A baby will do that to you.” I was talking from experience. She wouldn't know anything about that. I moved up the stairs and stuck the key in the lock.
“Noelle, what's that?”
I glanced over in the direction Whitney was looking and paused. “I don't know.” We have a long wraparound porch. I walked over to what looked like an infant's car seat. “Somebody must have left . . .” That couldn't possibly be what I thought it was.
“Is that a baby?” Whitney took the words from my mouth.
I reached down and removed the blanket and my heart stilled. There laid a beautiful little girl, barely six weeks old, with a Post-it note stuck to the front of a frilly pink dress that read,
Sierra
. She was wide awake and staring right at me.
Sierra
. She was wide awake and staring right at me.
Whitney rushed to my side and gasped. “Where did she come from?”
I shook my head. “How the hell would I know?” Who in the world would leave their daughter on the front porch of a stranger's house in late May? I looked to my left and then my right, checking to see if anyone was watching, then reached for the handle and carried her inside. Whitney grabbed a yellow diaper bag and followed. I placed Sierra on the coffee table, then the two of us just stared at her. Sierra was chocolate with a head full of curly hair. Her eyes were so familiar my pulse started to race. I had this weird feeling we had met before.
“She sure is a cute little thing.”
“Yes, she is.” I reached inside her diaper bag, looking for something that would tell me whom she belonged to. At the bottom of her diaper bag I found an envelope. Whitney got all up in my face, being nosy. What I saw scribbled on the front made my heart stop.
Gordon
.
.
It was my last name. I opened the flap and removed the card inside.
What done in the dark . . .
was in big bold letters. My eyes snapped to meet Whitney's, and I could see the look of surprise on her face as she tried to find the right words.
What done in the dark . . .
was in big bold letters. My eyes snapped to meet Whitney's, and I could see the look of surprise on her face as she tried to find the right words.
“I hate to say this . . . but, Noelle . . . that little girl looks just like Grant. Especially those green eyes.”
If there was ever a time I wanted to slap her, it was now. How could she even think such a thing? It was okay for me to think it, but for Whitney to suggest it was totally uncalled for. “Whitney, puhleeze! If that baby belongs to anyone, it's Scott.”
She rubbed her belly like it was no big deal. “Oh . . . yeah. I guess that is a possibility.”
I rolled my eyes at her for even hinting that Grant had been messing around with another woman. My husband would never do such a thing. He had no reason to. I picked up the baby and held her in my arms.
“Well, she's definitely a beautiful baby,” Whitney commented. She knew I was pissed and was trying to diffuse the situation. She never did like making me mad.
I couldn't stop looking at Sierra. She looked so much like my son. “Yes . . . she is.” She had the Gordon family's eyes and round nose. At that moment, I just knew this baby belonged to me.
I'm a grandmother.
For some reason, having a grandchild felt almost as exciting as having a child of my own. “I've got to see her feet.”
I'm a grandmother.
For some reason, having a grandchild felt almost as exciting as having a child of my own. “I've got to see her feet.”
“Her feet?” Whitney repeated and laughed.
“You'll understand when you have a child of your own.” I slipped off her little white bootee and smiled when I saw her flat feet and the burgundy birthmark at her left heel. Just like Grant. Just like Scott. I started laughing.
“What's so funny?”
“This is Scott's baby! I'd know those feet anywhere.” I kissed her little cheek, then lifted her in my arms and held her close again. “This is my grandbaby.”
“Good thing your old ass didn't try and have another baby. Your baby would have been younger than your grandchild.” She started cackling like a hyena.
Okay, it was time for Whitney's ass to go. I needed time to digest the whole idea. “Don't you have something better to do?”
“No, actually, I came in for a piece of coconut cake, remember?” I watched as she moved into the kitchen and helped herself. “So which one of them chicks you think dropped that baby off on your porch?” Whitney called from the other room.
“There's no telling,” I mumbled as I cradled my granddaughter in my arm.
Scott had a way with women. He was undeniably charming, just like his father. It started when he was a child and carried him through his teens. Girls flocked to him. By the time my son got to high school, I realized he was nothing but a ho. He would come home with a new shirt, pants, even Air Jordans the second they hit the street. Girls loved him and were willing to do whatever it took to get his attention. It was crazy. The house phone used to ring so much I had to change my number and made him get a job to pay for his own cell phone. Only he never kept a job because the women took care of him. Now, I'll admit my son is handsome, but he ain't all that. It's just he had a way of talking to women. Scott had a creamy brown complexion. I always admired how smooth his skin looked for a man, and long lashes that any woman would give her right arm to have. He was tall and built like a brick house, a running back who received a full athletic scholarship to the University of Wisconsin. He drove out Chicago in a brand-new Dodge Avenger. Scott said he bought it, but I didn't believe him. I knew better. Some girl was responsible.
“There were so many, there is no telling which one is trying to get her claws in my son.”
Stepping into the living room, Whitney took a bite of her cake, then frowned. “You're right. There are too many. I told you before that boy was going to get someone knocked up.”
“You're supposed to be his godmother. How can you talk about him?”
“Because I love him I can talk about him. And your son is a ho and you know it. My baby and I are hungry and tired. I'll call you later.”
She turned to leave and I didn't stop her. I carried my grandbaby over to the table. Sierra smiled at me.
“You know your grandmother when you see her, don't you?”
When Grant finally got home from the baseball game, I was sitting in the kitchen giving Sierra a bottle. He dropped his keys on the table, moved over, and planted a kiss to my cheek. Ever since I prepared that romantic dinner things had gotten somewhat better between us. Grant was spending less time hanging out with his boys and more time at home with me. I still felt like something was missing, but whatever it was I was certain our trip to Aruba would solve the problem.
“Hey, whose baby is that?”
“Yours.”
My husband looked like he was about to bolt out the room. “What?”
I laughed, although I was somewhat disturbed by his behavior. “She's your granddaughter.”
Grant tried to laugh off his reaction. “I was going to say, if I have a baby, then someone robbed my sperm while I was sleeping.”
Good answer. For a second there I thought maybe there was something he and I needed to talk about.
Grant moved to the refrigerator and started to grab a beer, then swung around. I guess when the light bulb came on inside the refrigerator so did the one in his head. “Wait a minute . . . did you just say that's my granddaughter?”
“I sure did.” I nodded and held Sierra up so he could get a closer look. “Look at her. She's got your nose and eyes. She looks just like Scott when he was a baby.”
My husband stared at her for a long moment, then that scared look returned to his face. “How do you know she's Scott's?”
I quickly told him about coming home and finding the baby on the porch; then I showed him the note and Grant started rubbing the back of his neck. Something about his behavior made me feel uneasy.“What's going through your mind?”
“What did Scott have to say?” he asked.
“I tried calling him, but he didn't answer his phone. I left a message and told him he needed to call home ASAP.”
He raised an eyebrow. “In the meantime you need to call the police and report the child.”
“Why do I need to report her? She's my grandchild. I can look at her and tell she belongs to us.”
Grant stepped back, folding his arms, and released an impatient breath. “No . . . she belongs to someone else. You don't know if that's Scott's child for sure, and until we do, we have to report her to family services.”
“Fine, I'll call Tina,” I replied with a little attitude. Tina was a case manager at the Division of Children and Family Services. We had built a relationship after working together for almost ten years. “I don't care what you think, but this little girl is mine and I plan on keeping her . . . at least until I have a chance to talk to her mother and find out why she left her baby.”
Grant cut his eyes in my direction and frowned. “Listen . . . I already told you I don't want to raise any more kids. I'm forty and ready to start enjoying my life. We're supposed to leave for Aruba in two weeks.”
I couldn't believe his attitude. I put Sierra over my shoulder to burp her and followed Grant to our bedroom. “We're not talking about just any kid. We're talking about our grandchild. How can you turn your back on your own flesh and blood?”
Grant pulled off his jeans and reached for an old pair of shorts. He was getting comfortable, a good sign he was in for the night. His hanging out at the bar on Saturday nights was starting to wear on my nerves.
“I'm not turning my back. Grandparents are supposed to enjoy their grandchildren, then send them back home with their parents.”
“Yes, but Scott's too young to raise a child. And the girl who left Sierra obviously doesn't want to be a mother; otherwise, she wouldn't have abandoned her child. What kind of mother does that?”
He glared at me for a full five seconds before replying, “The kind that doesn't want the responsibility because she's too busy spreading her legs and hanging out in the street.”
My jaw dropped. “That's not fair.”
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