Sweet Violet and a Time for Love (9 page)

“Yes, Ava. That cough doesn't sound good. I'm glad you're finally getting it checked out. This baby's going to need a godmother around to keep this mother on the right track.”

“Honey, I'm old.” She chuckled as she moved toward the room's curtain-covered doorway. “I'll gladly be the godgrandma, if your mother's okay with that, but you need to get one of your younger girlfriends to take on the duties of godmother.” She must have seen the face I made, because she stopped walking, turned back to face me fully and offered pointed advice. “Stop blocking out the world, Sienna. Stop blocking out Leon. Stop being so stubborn and inflexible. And tell Roman, when he wakes up, that I stopped by. Bye.”

I listened to her footsteps disappear down the hallway, a steady, stable beat in the chaos of the emergency room.

And then another pair click-clacked in. Black shoes. Uniform shoes.

“Mrs. Sanderson St. James?”

“Yes?”
Why can't anyone get my name right?
I looked up at the officer staring down at me. I recognized him as the one who had been talking to Alisa back at the scene.

“I understand that you had a question about your son's attack. Please know that we are doing all we can to find the assailants and bring them to justice.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your efforts. I just wanted to get more information about the robbery. What exactly was stolen?”

“From what I've learned, a couple of credit cards we found scattered a block away, as well as his ID. Surprisingly, that's all.”

“Surprisingly?”

“Well, his phone was still on him as was his cash.”

“His phone? And cash? They didn't take his money? That's good. Odd, but good. How much did he have on him?”

“Huh? Oh.” The officer had become preoccupied with a message on his phone. “A five dollar bill, a dime, and a penny. Excuse me.” He pointed down to the phone. “I have to take this call. Hello, Sergeant Tim?” He stepped out into the hallway, leaving me to wonder why that dollar amount was bugging me.

A five dollar bill, a dime, a penny.

Five dollars and eleven cents.

$5.11.

I picked up my own phone, realized that my hands were shaking.

511. The same number that had been on that broken pocket watch in Sweet Violet's battered purse.

It's all a coincidence,
I told myself, as I had been telling myself over and over for the past few months.

“I suggest you go on about your way before I put the ‘n' in Violet and acquaint you with my bitter side,”
were Sweet Violet's words at our meeting back in November, in this very emergency room.

It's all a coincidence. Just the same, my fingers quivered as I dialed a number on my phone. He answered on the first ring.

“Leon, can you come back here? I need you.”

See, I listen,
I wanted to tell Ava
. I'm going to lean on him, let him be closer to support me.

But I also trusted my instincts.

There was nothing random about Roman's attack, or coincidental about the numbers involved. I felt it, and the certainty of that conclusion soared to a new height of awareness inside of me.

This attack was a personal declaration of war from an unknown, unseen enemy. I wasn't sure if Sweet Violet had a role in all of this, but I was determined to find out.

“She's an old, homeless woman who probably doesn't even know her bag is missing. Why can't you let this go?”

It was the Monday morning after our first big fight.

Leon was heading out the door to get the day started at his bakery when he noticed the bag dangling off of my arms.

“I'm just going to keep it in my trunk in case I run into her somewhere. That's all.”

“Really, Sienna? I thought we agreed that you were going to let all the extra stuff go. You have enough on your plate without compromising more of our time together.”

“No, I'm not compromising our time. If anything I'm compromising what I would like to do just to keep you happy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I'm not going to be walking around the streets of downtown looking for her, as you fear. Keeping the bag in my trunk simply allows me to give it to her if I happen to see her as I'm driving around. See, I'll be safe and no harm will be done.” I could hear the bite in my tone. “If she gets her bag back, fine. If not, I'll have peace in knowing that I tried.

“That's what you're telling me, but we both know that's not what's going to happen. There's no way you're going to let that bag stay in your car without you making every attempt to find her, and get involved, and rescue her, and spend more time trying to help her instead of focusing on us.”

“Leon, you are taking it way too far. It's just a bag of dirty clothes and an old purse and it's going in the trunk of my car.” I grabbed my keys and marched out of the door like he had done yesterday.

No kiss good-bye.

What was happening to us? And why?

My usual Monday morning routine of getting up and heading out to my therapy practice felt anything but normal. And why?

I still needed to tell him I was pregnant, but given our unfinished argument, I had no idea how or when to share the news. As I started the engine, I stared over at the bag of belongings—the housecoat, the slippers, the purse with the broken pocket watch hidden inside its lining—and knew on an intellectual level that dealing with it was more trouble than it was worth.

But something in me would not let it go.

The bag of belongings and my mission to find its owner was setting off all kinds of trouble in my home front, but I could not explain the unshakeable feeling I had to pursue the matter. Maybe it was the pocket watch that looked heirloom quality that had me wanting to reconnect it to its owner. Perhaps I was just feeling a bit off from being too close to a crime scene Sunday morning. Maybe the combination of too little sleep and too many hormones had twisted my judgment and soured my mood.

No. It wasn't just my hormones or lack of sleep. I could not shake the nagging feeling that I was missing, or had missed something important, and that is what was bothering me.

“Are you a cop?” the young man with the old eyes and cigarette hanging from his lips had asked me the day before when I attempted to return the belongings of Frankie Jean, Sweet Violet, or whoever she was.

And I was pretty sure that I had seen the same young man in a black car down the street from the shelter the first time I went there, when I dropped the woman off. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but something in the attire and mannerisms seemed one and the same.

And then there was the man I'd seen near the emergency room entrance when I first showed up to help. He had been mingling near the greenery by the door, seemingly unnoticed by anyone but me. When I tried to point him out, he'd disappeared.

Was that the same young man?

I felt silly thinking of these things and trying to draw conclusions.

My cell phone rang just as I turned right onto President Street, heading toward 83 North.

“Sienna.” Leon's voice sounded through my Bluetooth.

“Leon,” I answered.

A long pause.

“Let's meet up for lunch.” Leon broke the silence with these words followed by a loud sigh.

“Okay,” I answered immediately.

Another long pause.

“I'll have Darci change my schedule around and I'll come to your shop to eat.” This time I ended the silence.

“Sounds good, Sienna. Okay. I gotta go.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, babe.”

We both hung up and I hurried my way up 83 to 695 to get to my Dulaney Valley office suite. I knew a full morning of children needing clinical services awaited me.

Play therapy.

After dealing with that client last year who I suspected of being a terrorist, child's play was all I wanted to handle professionally from now on.

I didn't want to manage grownup issues anymore.

Shoot, I was having a hard enough time managing my own grownup issues.

 

 

I was typing up case notes for a child who had attachment issues when my longtime office assistant, Darci Dudley, knocked on my door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sienna.” She ran her fingers through her red hair and shook it: a clear sign that a cute man was somewhere nearby. “You have a visitor.”

“Send him on back.” I smiled and shook my head as she headed back to the waiting area.

A few seconds later, a gentleman with a tan suit, close shave, and a bouquet of lilies, daisies, and roses stood in my doorway. I started running my fingers through my own hair as the fineness in front of me tilted his head to one side, bit his lower lip.

Leon.

“I don't want to fight with you anymore, Sienna, and I couldn't wait for lunchtime to tell you that.”

We stared at each other a few heat-filled seconds and then I could hold it in no longer.

“Leon, I think I'm pregnant.” Breath held.

I watched his face go through every state of emotion like a radio dial—fear, wonder, anxiety, concern, exasperation—before finally tuning in to a station, a state, of pure joy.

“I'm thrilled, baby. That's the best news I've ever heard in my forty-two years of living.”

We looked at each other in awe and silence and I realized I'd never shared a moment like this with any man before.

Ever.

Roman's father had been out of my life before I even missed a period. I'd never been a parent unalone before. I'd never had a pregnancy partner, a labor coach, someone to sit next to me at little league games or recitals who had the same stake in the matter as I did.

I never had it, and I never before realized how much I'd missed it.

“Leon?”

“Yes, wife and mother of my child?” He was licking his lips.

“Shut the door.”

The deluge of memories, of old arguments, of lingering regrets hung over my head as I followed Leon from the emergency department's waiting room at Metro Community. Roman had been moved to an inpatient unit. “Just for observation,” the head doctor of the ED said.

“He looks worse than he really is,” Leon assured me as we took the elevators to one of the general med/surg floors. “Truth be told, due to the high profile nature of the case and your involvement, the medical staff is probably doing all they can to cover themselves. Roman's fine. He will be fine.”

I'd said very little since Ava left. Though I'd called Leon back to the room, and he'd joined me immediately, ginger ale and graham crackers in hand, I couldn't get out any words.

$5.11.

He would think I was crazy, overthinking, if I brought it up, I was sure. And maybe I was overreacting.

I needed Roman to wake up. I needed him to tell me exactly what he remembered.

“They really did this hospital up, didn't they? New furniture, new floors, flat-screen TV. These private rooms rival our hotel suite.” We'd beat Roman to the room and were sitting on upholstered chairs by floor-to-ceiling windows offering sweeping views of downtown Baltimore.

“Please, Leon. It's nice, but it ain't no hotel. And the fact that we are comparing our current situation to a hotel room instead of our own home, or better yet, our anniversary suite in Miami, does not help me feel any better.”

“Well, I tried.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I glared at him. My attempt at including him in my personal pain was backfiring. Everything and everyone was getting on my nerves right now.

My son was here in the hospital, a victim of a crime I wasn't convinced was random, and any effort to talk about my fears would be dismissed as irrational by Leon, I was sure.

I was angry with him at what he hadn't even done yet and he didn't even know why. I looked away from him, looked out the window.

“I have a delivery,” a chipper voice sounded from the doorway. A transport aide with big, graying blonde hair and a raspy voice pushed the bed carrying my son into the room. “I'll let the nurses know he's up here now and they'll be around to speak with you soon.” She positioned the bed, set the brakes and turned on the television without us asking.

A black-and-white Western complete with gunshot pops and war cries filled the screen. Roman stirred a little in his sleep. He'd be awake soon. I was encouraged. The aide left the room after setting down a fresh pitcher of ice water.

“What's going on, Sienna?” Leon eyed me from his seat. I felt small in mine, helpless, as I waited for my son to wake up.

“What's going on? My son was viciously robbed and attacked.”
And I think there's more to it than the police are aware of,
was what I didn't say. What I couldn't say. I shut my eyes.

“You can't trust everything in front of you. Some things you have to smell first. Sometimes you got to believe the scent before you believe your eyes.”
Her words from one of our talks in the plaza.

“Our son.”

I opened my eyes. “What did you say?”

Leon swallowed hard. “I said ‘our son.' I didn't father him, and I wasn't there to see him take his first step, but you know that I helped with navigating him through the murky steps of his teen years. I was there at his basketball games and I was there taking pictures on your front steps on his prom night. We went to the movies and he told me about all his girlfriends, half of whom you never even knew about.” His fingers gripped the bottom of the seat cushion. “He calls me Dad, Sienna, or have you even noticed?”

“And yet you kept me from meeting with him earlier today.” I could not keep the bitterness out of my tone. “Perhaps if I had crossed the street right when I initially planned to do so, perhaps if I had just gone to talk to him instead of letting you convince me not to just yet, perhaps we would not be in this hospital hotel suite.”

“Sienna—”

“No, you listen. You want to know what's wrong? I'll tell you. Yes, I'm upset about Roman being hurt, but I'm also upset because I think that something else is going on, something more deeper and scarier that I can't even talk to you about because all you will do is try to diminish my fears and knock down my gut feelings and somehow turn this around to make it seem that I'm doing something to or against you.”

I hated listening to myself. I hated what I was saying, how I was acting, what I felt. Did pregnancy make a woman go crazy? I hadn't been pregnant in twenty-one years and last time nobody was around to swing along with my moods.

Was it just the pregnancy?

“Sienna—”

“No, I'm still talking!”

“And I didn't want to talk to you.”

The weak voice coming from the bed grabbed both of our attentions.

“Roman?” I jumped up from my chair, ran to his bedside.

“I said . . . I said . . .” He struggled to sit up a little before collapsing his head back down into the firm pillow. “I said I didn't want to talk to you. Leon knew that and I guess he was just trying to spare your feelings. But the truth is, I didn't want to talk to you then and I don't really want to now.”

I realized I'd held a single breath when he started speaking. I gasped for air, trying to come from up under the weight of all that was happening in our little hospital hotel room. “Roman, we have to talk,” I managed to squeeze out. “Look at you. This could have been worse. Roman, I'm so glad you're okay. I can't even imagine . . . We need to talk.”

“No, I need to talk, and you need to listen. You didn't give me a chance to when I came home over Christmas break. I tried, but you . . . you took things too far.” He shut his eyes, and though he was a full-grown man, as Leon said it, I could still see the outline of my little boy in the contours of his face. I reached out to stroke his cheek.

He flinched.

Why was he so angry with me? Was our Christmas flare-up that severe?

“I need to talk to Dad. Alone.” His eyes were still closed and he grimaced. He probably needed another shot of whatever it was that had knocked him out. “Alone, Ma.”

I looked over at Leon and he nodded back at me. Tears pooled in the rims of my eyelids as I wondered how Roman and I would heal the current rift between us.
And when did Leon become his go
-
to person?

Roman had spent most of his life dreaming about, looking for his biological father. Now he had what I'd never been able to offer him, what his DNA donor had never been able to give.

A chance to call someone Dad.

It was as if he didn't need me anymore, even now with his body broken and battered. I could not stop the tears from falling. The taste of salt lined my lips. “Okay, I'll go, but please know that I will listen to whatever you have to say when you are ready. It's just that what you are saying, it's hard for me, and I don't want to accept it. I don't know that I will be able to. But I will listen. I promise to hear you out.”

I turned toward the door.

“Sienna, wait.” Leon stood, walked to me and gently pulled me back over to Roman's bedside. “We are going to pray.”

“Hold on,” Roman mumbled. The meds seemed to be lulling him back to sleep. I had a glimmer of hope that maybe this whole line of conversation from him was just part of a crazy nightmare. Maybe he had been speaking out of his mind when he'd said he didn't want to talk to me.

But his eyes were open again and there was no denying the anger that overshadowed them. “Hold up, I told you where I stand on so-called spiritual matters now. Remember? I don't need you doing any praying right now.” He glared at Leon.

What?
Since when did my son speak against prayer? I cut my eyes over at Leon who mouthed to me, “It's okay.”

No. I shook my head. No, it wasn't.

What were all these conversations the two of them had that I was not privy to? And why? When had they talked and about what? And why hadn't I been included?

Roman and I had said about three words to each other since he stormed off on Christmas Eve. Clearly, he and Leon had said much more to each other since then.

Why didn't Leon tell me that they had been talking?

A scowl contorted my face as Leon grabbed my hand. He then placed his palm on one of Roman's shoulders. “This will be quick,” he said, as if giving both me and Roman a warning.

He raised his head, looked up toward the heavens. “Father, thank you for sparing Roman's life today.”

Roman sucked his teeth. Leon held my hand tighter and continued. “We know that all things work together for the good of those who love you and are called according to your purpose. Even when we can't see it, or understand it, you allow trials to happen to bring us closer to you. Father God, as we draw closer to you, it is my prayer that we also draw closer together as a family. All of us. All three of us.” He paused. “All four of us. In Jesus' name I humbly ask these things, amen.”

I opened my eyes to see Roman glaring off in the direction of the window. I had many questions, needed many answers from him: about his plans, about the attack, about our relationship; but I knew everything was on pause.

“Okay, Sienna, give us a moment.” Leon gave me a reassuring nod.

My whole family and life felt dysfunctional. I'd thought getting married, having a husband, would be the final piece I needed to complete the puzzle of my life. Seemed like the puzzle had been broken up and started all over again the day I said, “I do.” My family of two had multiplied and obviously there was no consensus on what everyone's role was in our new unit.

I turned toward the doorway of the room, thinking about Leon's prayer.
All things work together.
Roman would not be getting on his flight tonight. A hospital stay was a heavy alternative, but maybe, somehow, someway, all of this, all of this, would turn out for our good and God's glory.

“You don't pray like you should, do you?”
A rotten tooth wiggled in her bottom gum line as she spoke, I recalled.
“Oh, you didn't think I knew about such things, did you? But I do. Ain't sayin' that I goes along with all the religion protocols, though. The Good Lord done gave up on saving my soul back when Kennedy was in office, but I know your type. Praying and singing and tapping your feet along to the worship, being all good with God because He got you through a dark spell. But soon as the light starts getting a little dim, you start second guessing that He's got an extra bulb and you start feeling the walls on your own, looking for a switch plate, trying to make the light shine yourself instead of waiting for Him to fix it.”

I sat down in an empty waiting room, a peach and gold area lined with sofas and chairs, magazines, and a couple of wall-mounted TVs. A game show was on and a studio audience roared with laughter and applause.

Of all the things going on in my life, of all the messages and matters I knew were waiting on my turned-off phone, of all the questions I had for Roman, the doubts I had about the case in which I was a witness, the fears I had about me and Leon and the baby, for some reason, all I could focus on at the moment was a distant memory of a conversation I'd had with Sweet Violet.

And then I thought about that Christmas dinner that had spiraled my relationship with my son into complete and utter darkness and chaos, as far as I was concerned. Sitting alone in the waiting room with my eyes closed, I could recall our holiday disaster nearly word for word. The memories, the images, the sights and smells and sounds rolled through my mind like a video projector.

 

 

“Maybe we should wait until I'm twelve weeks before we tell him.”

“No, this is the one time he'll be home until spring break, and I think this news should be told in person.”

Christmas Eve.

Leon was dressed in a long-sleeved pale green polo shirt, tan khakis, and a red and white hat with a jingle bell attached to the tassel. He'd been smiling all day while helping me to prepare for our Christmas feast. Really, he took over the preparations, stating that he wanted me off my feet. “You're carrying my child. That's enough work for you to do right now,” he repeated as I tried to regain control over my kitchen. Truthfully, I didn't mind his insistence on helping. My first trimester nausea had not yet peaked and just the sight of the roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, and other dishes made me feel like running to the bathroom.

“Roman's been an only child and he turns twenty-one in March. This baby is going to be a shock to him. If something goes wrong with this pregnancy, we would have gotten him all worked up for nothing.”

“Roman will be excited and the baby will be fine,” Leon spoke as he inspected a piece of fine china. Though it would only be the three of us, we'd decided not to spare any expense or hold off on the good flatware.

Our first Christmas as husband and wife. Our big announcement to my son. Christmas Eve dinner.

If this was not a big enough occasion to break out the good china, I didn't know what was.

“You look beautiful, Sienna.” He winked at me.

Wearing a red empire dress with satin trim, I felt beautiful. My hard-earned waistline was about to go through a major upheaval, so I was determined to wear all my favorite outfits while I could still fit in them. I'd found this dress at a thrift store while looking for toys and games for my therapy practice. Though I seldom bought secondhand clothes these days, this dress, which still had the price tag on it, had called to me from the rack.