For Your Love

  “I have to tell you that Melody’s agreed to see you only because I asked her to.”

  Amari shook his head. “Then I don’t want to see her, if you’re making her do it.”

  “Nobody’s making me.”

  Trent and Amari turned at the sound of the female voice.

  Melody was a beautiful woman. Tall. Skin the color of dark coffee. The snug yet tasteful fit of the charcoal-­gray wool dress showed off her opulent curves. Dark hair brushed her shoulders and the makeup was perfectly applied.

  “Hello, Amari.”

  “Uh, hi,” he stammered.

  Trent now knew where Amari got the curve of his lips and the cut of his nose. His son bore a strong resemblance to Griffin, but he bore an equally strong resemblance to Melody.

  “I didn’t want to do this meet with you, mainly because I don’t like having to deal with how selfish I was back then, or to hear that I did the wrong thing in giving you up. But”—­she turned to her husband—­“Ernie’s asked me to, and no woman should deny her husband something so simple.”

  Her icy eyes caused Trent to wonder if theirs was a troubled marriage, and if that might be the source of Carlyle’s air of sadness.

  She took up a position by the drapes and looked out at the snow. “So here’s the deal,” she began. “I was a stripper at a little club outside the city.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Amari. “Yes, I danced around naked for money.”

  “I know,” he replied.

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Griffin told me.”

  “Ah, Griffin. Real stand-­up guy, that one. Did he tell you we were only together about two weeks?”

  “No.”

  “We were. I thought we were working on something permanent and good, but I woke up one morning and he was packing his things. Said he was getting restless and needed to get back on the road.” She went silent, as if thinking back. Trent sensed she was harboring pain, too.

  “And so he left. No forwarding address. No number. Didn’t say if he was coming back. Gave me a kiss good-­bye. Jumped on his bike. Gone. I was nineteen. A month later, I found out I was pregnant.”

  There was another silent moment. “I kept dancing, hoping no one would notice, but after a while, they did, of course. I was fired.” She added sarcastically, “Nobody wants to see a pregnant stripper. Had no job, so I couldn’t pay rent. Got evicted. Parents had kicked me out years before for being fast and stupid—­couldn’t go there. Went to stay with a girlfriend. Her man started hitting on me. She put me out. I had no place else to go. So I went home to my parents.”

  She chuckled bitterly. “Have to give it to them, though. They took me in even after all I’d put them through in high school. But even pregnant I was trying to run the streets. Still partied, drank, got high. Did all the things a mother-­to-­be shouldn’t.” She turned to Amari. “No health issues because of that?”

  He answered softly, “No.”

  “Good. I didn’t want a baby. I saw the awful lives some of my friends had because they’d gotten pregnant too early, and I didn’t want to be them. They all looked tired, unhappy. Only a ­couple of their boyfriends stayed around after the babies were born. They were struggling. Living on welfare. Houses filled with roaches. I wanted to be able to go to the club when I wanted to and not have to worry about babysitters or any of the other stuff tied to kids. Shots, diapers, ear infections.”

  “So you gave me to the state.”

  “I did. You would’ve had a real bad time had I kept you. I went back to dancing. Living here and there. Always broke. Taking the bus. Hoping to find a man to take care of me. Kissed a lot of frogs back then.”

  “And I went into foster care, living here and there with ­people who got paid to beat me up, starve me, and treat me like shit. I slept on pissy mattresses and lived with crackheads. Never went to the same school twice, which meant I couldn’t read. Teachers didn’t care. Most of the foster parents didn’t, either. So to give myself something to do, I started stealing cars.”

  She turned, surprise on her face. “Wait. When were you adopted?”

  “Two years ago. I was in the system until I was eleven.”

  Her mouth dropped. Her eyes swung to Trent, who nodded to corroborate Amari’s story.

  Amari continued, “So, in the words of Langston Hughes, my life ain’t been no crystal stair, either.”

  His words were flippant, defiant, and so on point, Trent wanted to give him a high five. He saw Ernie’s lips curve with a small, satisfied-­looking smile.

  She looked him up and down. “When Griffin showed up at my door, asking if I’d had his child, I assumed you’d been adopted as a baby.”

  “No.”

  “Wow,” she uttered softly, and turned back to the view outside. “But you’re doing okay now.”

  “I am.”

  “Good.” She turned to her husband. “Anything else?”

  His jaw tightened, and he shook his head.

  “Nice meeting you, Amari. Have a good life.”

  And she walked out of the room.

  In the silence following her exit, Carlyle said, “Amari, I’d like to stay in touch with you. Melody and I don’t have any children. If you’d care to come and spend some time with us during the summers, I’m sure she’ll relent at some point.”

  Amari didn’t even pause to consider the offer. “No. I’m sorry you don’t have any kids, sir, but she doesn’t want me around and I spent the whole first part of my life with ­people who didn’t. I’m not doing that again. It was nice meeting you.”

  Riding in the car back to the airport, Trent didn’t press him to talk but let him have his peace. It had to have been difficult for him because the way Melody sauntered out of the room had been difficult for Trent.

  When Amari finally did speak, he asked, “Do you think he wanted me to be his kid?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Neither one of them looked happy.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Was it okay for me to tell him what I did?”

  “The truth is always right, no matter what.”

  “Good. If had to visit him, I’d go back to stealing cars.”

  The light went red, so he stopped and asked, “Is there anyone here you’d like to see?”

  “No, Dad. I just want to go home.”

  “Okay.”

  When the light turned green, he drove on.

  It was late when they finally got home. Everyone was gathered in the living room watching the television and apparently waiting for their return, but Amari just said good night and went up to his room, leaving his dad to give them the details of the awful trip. Up in his room, he wiped at his tears he’d refused to let flow until then and put on his pajamas. A soft knock on the door made him hastily dash away the water. “Just a minute.” Seeing his red eyes in his mirror made him wish he could make the traces of tears somehow disappear, but since he couldn’t, he called out, “Come in.”

  It was his mom. “Hey, baby.”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Just came up to check on you. Dad said it was pretty rough.”

  “She was a bitch.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He could feel the emotions rising, and he didn’t want to cry, but he really did. And because Ms. Lily was so awesome, she already knew what was going on inside of him and just opened her arms.

  He practically ran to her, and she held him tight and he held her tight and sobbed out his heartache. “I love you so,” she whispered. “So much.”

  “It was terrible.”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “I wanted her to like me. I wanted . . .” He heard his pain echoing in the room, and he didn’t care because he was safe with this woman whom his dad loved. Since the day they met, she’d been in his corner, offe
ring unconditional solace, care, and understanding. Melody might have brought him into the world, but Lily Fontaine July was his mom, and as her tears mingled with his, he was so glad she loved him, too.

  He finally eased back and ran his palms over his wet cheeks. A silly thought came to him. When had he grown taller than her? “Since when did you get so short?”

  She brushed the tears from her own cheeks. “Smartass.”

  He grew serious, and their gazes held. “Thank you.”

  She whispered, “You’re welcome. Dads are good for some stuff, but sometimes a boy just needs his mom.”

  The truth in that curved his lips into a small smile.

  “I’m always here for you, Amari. Always. Okay?”

  He nodded and gave her another fierce hug. The hurt of the visit was still raw, but his true mom, this mom of his heart, had dulled it a great deal.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Eventually, yeah.”

  She cupped his cheek lovingly. “Then I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t stay up too late.”

  “I won’t. Good night, Mom. Thanks again.”

  She shot him a wink, and he watched her go. His door closed quietly.

  The next morning, Rita approached Trent for a favor. Lily, Val, and the boys were at the ice rink, taking advantage of the new skates Rita had given them all as gifts. Paul had gone along to drink hot chocolate. Having been born and raised on the island of Kauai in Hawaii, he didn’t know how to skate, and had no interest in learning.

  “I want to talk to Marie,” Rita told her son.

  Trent paused. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “We need to get past this and move on.”

  So they drove there. Trent saw Marie’s truck parked outside. “Looks like she’s home.”

  Rita climbed the stairs. Marie opened the door to her knock, took one look at her, sneered, and closed the door in her face.

  Back in the car, Rita said, “Well, that was fun.”

  But Trent saw how deflated she looked. And at that moment, his respect for Marie was gone, and his feelings for her were forever changed.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Instead of being at home, packing for her getaway to Key West with Mal, Bernadine sat fuming in Judge Amy Davis’s courtroom. Judge Davis didn’t appear any happier, but Bernadine considered that small consolation. The matter before the bench had to do with Astrid wanting Tommy Stewart to be charged with breaking and entering and assault, but Steve Tuller—­who she was surprised to see representing Tommy—­wanted Astrid charged with false imprisonment and a laundry list of other charges tied to her allegedly drugging the young man and holding him hostage in a basement room of her house for almost a month. And since the local prosecutor had her hands full trying to figure out who should rightly be on trial, Judge Davis was trying to sort it out. It was a mess.

  Astrid, who had more hubris than anyone around, was representing herself. She seemed to believe the law should be what she said it was. According to Bernadine’s lawyer, James Edison, who was seated beside her now, Astrid had tried to get the case tried in Topeka, which had of course been nixed by the judge on the grounds that the alleged crimes happened locally and thus would be tried in her court. Astrid was still mad, and to prove it, she continued to argue with Judge Davis about the jurisdiction issue.

  “I still think that if I filed the charges in Topeka, we should be in Topeka.”

  “Ms. Wiggins, the matter is settled. Let’s move on.”

  Bernadine saw Steve Tuller shake his head at Astrid’s continued cluelessness.

  “Ms. Wiggins,” said Judge Davis, “please present whatever evidence you may have so I can make an intelligent determination on who’s being charged with what here.”

  Jim Edison, seated next to Bernadine, said, “I have never seen anything like this. I don’t even know what you’d call this. It’s certainly not a pretrial hearing. I don’t even know if this proceeding is legal.”

  Bernadine didn’t care what it was called, as long as someone threw Astrid in jail and she could hop on her jet and fly to Key West.

  “Mr. Stewart broke into my home and assaulted me.”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “Yes, some jewelry.”

  Tommy jumped up. “She’s lying! I didn’t steal anything from you, and you know it!”

  The judge banged her gavel. “Mr. Stewart. Your attorney will have a turn in a moment. Please continue, Ms. Wiggins.

  “He took my watch, which was on the wrist that he broke with the bat he used in the assault.” She held up the cast on her arm.

  Tommy would’ve jumped to his feet again were it not for the firm hand Steve Tuller placed on his shoulders.

  “Did you know Mr. Stewart prior to the break-­in?”

  “He worked at the gas station my family owns, but I’ve only seen him in passing. We’ve never had any significant interactions.”

  Bernadine’s jaw dropped at the woman’s ballsy lie.

  Judge Davis eyed Astrid silently for a moment. “Ms. Wiggins, I strongly encourage you to rethink your position on representing yourself.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Astrid snapped.

  “Okay. Do you have any more evidence to put Mr. Stewart at the scene of this alleged crime?”

  “No, just my side of the story. Which, with my family’s standing in the community, has much more weight than the story of someone who grew up in a trailer park.” Her contempt was plain.

  “We’re all equal under the law in this country, Ms. Wiggins.”

  “Whatever. I want him charged.”

  Judge Davis showed a small, cold smile and looked to Steve Tuller. “What do you have for me, Mr. Tuller?”

  “Affidavits from the police, saying they found no evidence of a break-­in.”

  “Because I was foolish enough to answer the door when he knocked, and he pushed his way in,” Astrid broke in. “That’s why there’s no evidence.”

  Steve Tuller kept talking. “Affidavits from the doctors on Mr. Stewart’s condition after his escape. Toxicology reports showing traces of a drug in his system consistent with Mr. Stewart’s claims of being rendered unconscious. I’ve also asked Ms. Brown to offer her testimony on Mr. Stewart’s appearance when he showed up in her office on the day of his escape.”

  “And I object to her even being here,” snapped Astrid. “Everyone knows she lies.”

  Judge Davis employed her gavel, snarling, “That’s enough, Ms. Wiggins.”

  Astrid didn’t looked cowed.

  “Anything else?”

  “You have Mr. Stewart’s account in your packet,” Tuller informed the judge.

  “Thank you. Now, what about this pipe he mentions? Did the police find it?”

  “No, Your Honor, but—­”

  Astrid cut him off. “Because there wasn’t one. He took the bat with him when he ran out. Probably tossed it somewhere.”

  “—­but, as I was saying,” Tuller went on, “we do have it.”

  Astrid stared with wide eyes.

  “And we have Ms. Wiggins on video, tossing the bag it was found in out of the window of her Cadillac while being driven by Mr. Meryl Wingo to Topeka. Inside were also about twenty-­five bags from one of the nearby fast food places. The police are testing the pipe for prints, and the fast food remnants for DNA.”

  “And you obtained this how?”

  “Mr. Stewart’s mother hired a private investigator, Sandra Langster, to look into his disappearance. Ms. Langster had Ms. Wiggins under surveillance at her home when she noticed Mr. Stewart coming out through the front door and running toward town. Mr. Wingo arrived at the home shortly after Mr. Stewart’s departure. Also on video.”

  “I object!”

  “To what?”

  “All of it!”
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  Judge Davis ignored Astrid. “Do you have anything to say about all this?” she asked the county prosecutor.

  The prosecutor stood. “Yes. Based on what we’ve just heard, my office will be looking at the evidence with the intent of seeking a warrant for Ms. Wiggins’s arrest.”

  “No, you will not!” Astrid screamed angrily. “Do you know who my family is?”

  A frail female voice said loud and clear, “Yes, I do, and on behalf of that family, once the prosecutor files her charges, I’ll be suing you for embezzlement, forgery, and anything else I can make stick!”

  Everyone turned to see an elderly lady wearing a silver mink coat enter the courtroom with the aid of a walker, escorted by three well-­dressed young men who looked like high-­powered lawyers.

  “Who are you?” asked a confused Judge Davis.

  “Mabel Franklin Lane. Astrid’s grandmother.”

  Later in her office, having said good-­bye to Jim Edison, Bernadine was on the phone with her pilot, Katie Sky, nailing down their flight itinerary for the next day, when Mabel Lane appeared in the doorway.

  “Katie. I’ll call you back.” Bernadine put down her phone. “Come in, Ms. Lane. How might I help you?”

  “Do you have a minute for an old lady?” The twinkle in her pale blue eyes filled Bernadine with amusement.

  “Yes, ma’am. For you, I have all day.” Bernadine would never forget the look on Astrid’s face when Mabel announced what she had in store. Now she watched as the old lady made herself comfortable, her team of lawyers helping her with her coat and walker.

  “I’m so pleased to finally meet you,” Mabel said. “Tamar has had nothing but great things to say about you and what you’ve done for Henry Adams.”

  She saw the surprise on Bernadine’s face. “Tammy and I grew up together. Not many ­people have a friendship that goes back over eighty years. Of course, the world was segregated back then, but her parents didn’t care, and neither did mine. In those days we were all just trying to survive out here on the plains.”

  “Tamar never mentioned knowing you.”

  “She always was one to keep her own counsel. It’s one of the things I like most about her, but she’s been keeping me abreast of the madness Astrid’s been causing. On behalf of what’s left of the family, my sincerest apologies. I have other grandchildren in Franklin, but of course none of them have wanted to stand up to her because she’s a bitch. But I’m a bigger bitch, as she will soon learn.”