Chapter Seven
When Chairese walked into the store, Taylor’s past flashed before her eyes. At fifty, one would think life had matured a person, both in their thoughts and lifestyle. In high school, Chairese was labeled gossip queen. She talked way too much and almost always at the wrong time. Why they ever became friends, only the angels in heaven could say. It was amazing really. Chairese was still the fast-talking, news-seeking woman Taylor knew several years ago.
“Is that man my father?” Joi had asked.
Taylor opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She looked at the customers browsing the aisles, trying their best not to stare. Taylor wanted to disappear, but Leah was standing next to her with innocent eyes, waiting for an answer. God, what do I say? Do I tell her that I disobeyed your commandments and ended up getting pregnant by a married man? Although it was the truth, the words were hard to say. Joi deserved an honest answer, but Taylor couldn’t bring herself to expose her faults. No, she was not going to admit any wrongdoing. Not now and certainly not in her boutique with everyone watching.
“I-I-I’ll come back tomorrow,” Chairese said, as she backed out of the store. The other customers soon followed suit at Linda’s request.
“Jesus,” Taylor cried, “Jesus, Jesus.” She didn’t know what else to do. Jesus was the only one who could save her now. She grabbed her clip-on ponytail and smoothed its mane. Silently, she cried, Why is this happening? To avoid shedding real tears, Taylor moved around the store and Joi followed, demanding to know the truth.
Joi cornered her in the shipping section of the store and asked, “Does he know about me?” Unable to move without applying force, Taylor was shocked at her daughter’s gumption. When did she become so bold? She should put this much aggressiveness into her schoolwork, she thought as she tried to move out of Joi’s way.
Realizing that Joi wasn’t going to give up, Taylor had to think of something to say. She tried to explain the situation as best she could. “He was an old friend and . . . we were young and . . . we thought it best that we . . .” Nothing Taylor tried to say felt right, so she eventually opted to keep quiet.
Unsatisfied with Taylor’s attempts, Joi stormed out, slamming the glass door with such power, the mannequins in the window display shook. Taylor should have stopped her, but she couldn’t move. The shame of her past immobilized her and rendered her speechless. She stared at the door until her vision blurred and reality set in. Joi was not coming back into the store.
Leah crept up behind Taylor and tapped her arm. “Here, Mother,” she said and handed her a warm bottle of water that she kept under the counter.
“Thanks, baby,” Taylor replied and rubbed her eyes. Though Leah was being thoughtful, Taylor wasn’t thirsty. She took the water from Leah’s shaking hand and hugged her. “Let’s close up early, sweetie. How about we grab some cheese steaks for dinner?”
Dressed and ready for an evening church service, Lance dried dishes as he listened to Taylor’s account of what happened in the store for the third time, while she washed the dishes from dinner. Even though he would be late, Taylor asked him to stay until all of the dishes were clean.
“Don’t get so worked up, Tay,” he said and grabbed a plate from her hand before she threw it on the dish rack. “We knew she was going to find out one day, right?”
“Yes, but we were supposed to be the ones to tell her.” Taylor lathered another plate with soap and scrubbed it clean. “We agreed to tell her after she graduated.”
“Things don’t always work the way we want them to,” Lance said, keeping a close eye on the clock. He wanted to get to church before praise and worship ended. As an usher, most of his labor was spent seating people before the sermon began. “For whatever reason,” he continued, “God has chosen this to be the time.”
“I wish God would’ve given me some kind of warning,” Taylor stated and immediately recalled the still voice that whispered in her ear a few nights ago. God had indeed given her notice. She rinsed the last plate and gave it to her husband to dry then looked at the clock above the wooden cabinets. “Where do you think she is? It’s been over two hours. I tried her cell a few times, but she didn’t answer.” Taylor let the water out of the sink then twisted the dishrag until it was no longer dripping wet.
Lance moved to the other side of the kitchen and cut a huge slice of Taylor’s famous lemon pound cake. Avoiding eye contact on purpose, he said, “She’s with Ray. She called while I was getting dressed.”
Taylor dried her hands on her pants leg. “What do you mean, she called? And why are you just telling me?”
“I-I didn’t—”
Taylor snatched the towel off his shoulder and threw it on the drying rack. “You know how worried I’ve been, Lance. How could you not tell me she called?”
Shoving half the cake in his mouth, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Tay. I figured I’d give you both time to calm down. She’ll be home soon. Rayven’s sister is going to drop her off.”
Taylor picked up a jug of Tide from the floor and carried it to the laundry room behind the kitchen. She wanted to scream, but that wouldn’t have changed things. She placed the detergent on a shelf above the washing machine. Lately, Lance had shown more concern for Joi than his own wife.
“Mad at me?” Lance asked when he entered the shed.
Taylor couldn’t answer him. If she opened her mouth, an argument would have ensued. She aligned the laundry essentials and sanitizers on the shelf so that the labels faced her.
“I’m sorry, Tay.” Lance touched her forearm to get her attention and defended his actions. “Joi was upset, you were upset, and I was in the middle. If I told you where she was, you would’ve tried to call Ray’s mom or gone over there and—”
“You don’t know what I would have done,” she snapped and marched around him.
Lance held on to her hand as she walked by. “Okay, I made a bad call. But both of my favorite women are hurt. I was wrong and should’ve told you she was safe.”
“Yes, you should have,” she replied. “I was worried sick.”
Lance pulled Taylor close to him. “Please forgive me. I’m tired of all the bickering between you two. I thought you both needed a break.”
Taylor pouted like a child. She was tired of all the turmoil, too. And her home life was starting to affect her job. Lance wrapped his arms around her, and she let her guard down. Though at times they differed in opinion, she loved him. And, more importantly, she knew Lance loved her, too. Not many men would marry a woman pregnant with another man’s baby. “Sometimes I worry too much. But, lately, Joi has me on edge all the time.”
“As long as I’m your husband, you don’t have to worry at all. That’s my job,” Lance replied. “Everything will be fine. There’s nothing we can’t handle together. God will give us the strength we need.” Lance let go of his wife and buttoned his usher jacket. He took a few steps, and the jacket popped open.
“A little snug, huh?” Taylor teased.
“It was that cake.” Lance sucked in his stomach and buttoned the jacket again, this time holding it in place.
If she did nothing else, Taylor made sure that Lance was fed on a regular basis, treats and all. She didn’t want his mother criticizing her for being an “independent” or “new millennium” woman. Excluding Friday and Saturday nights, unless Lance had a desire to cook, Taylor made dinner.
“You and the boys better go,” she said. “You’ll miss all of the service. I hate that Leah and I aren’t going with you.”
Leah was just as concerned about her sister and begged to stay home. Knowing how much she cared about Joi, Taylor and Lance allowed her to miss family night service.
“You’ll be at the next one,” Lance said and planted a kiss on his wife’s lips. “Being here when Joi comes home is more important. The boys and I should be back before eleven,” he said and left the kitchen.
Taylor poured water into a small teapot and placed it on the stove. A good cup of green tea with honey was what she needed. As the flames warmed the bottom of the pot, she sat down and reorganized the miscellaneous items on the table: the salt- and pepper-shakers, the sugar bowl, and the stack of Jet magazines. Just as her mother had done, Taylor gathered the tiny books together and put them into one pile next to the napkin holder. It was silly to hold on to such an old and odd tradition, but it was hard to let some memories go.
The house, which originally belonged to her mother, had been the birthplace of many rituals: some fond—singing by the Christmas tree, others melancholy—the nights she cried because of something her father had done. Taylor thought the memories of her childhood in the house would die the day she buried her mother, but God worked a miracle. On her third wedding anniversary, Lance surprised her with the deed to the house. How he managed to pull that off was still a mystery, but words would never be able to express her gratitude.
Recalling all the positive contributions Lance had made in her life, Taylor felt a bit remorseful. She didn’t pity Lance. She genuinely loved him. But there was a time when her heart preferred the affections of another man, a man whose passionate feelings for her dwindled over time. Jerome.
Lance’s family never understood what he saw in Taylor that was so special. But it wasn’t for them to understand. God knew Taylor needed someone of his character and magnitude. God had spoken to Lance’s heart, allowing him to see beyond her faults and straight to the treasure she harbored inside. Taylor suspected her in-laws accepted their union for Lance’s sake. Since he was the only boy, Gram and her daughters depended on him greatly.
The in-laws were kind enough, never speaking to her too harshly, and they treated her children well. Taylor supposed that was all that really mattered. Every now and then a snide remark or gesture of insensitivity would creep through, but she had learned to ignore such behavior. Besides, Lance seemed to be immune to the way they treated her. Every time Taylor complained, he’d insist she was exaggerating the facts.
All Taylor wanted was to feel like a part of the family. Having lost her mother when she was in her early twenties, and her father months after Joi was born, Lance’s family was all Taylor had. That’s why she’d taken their subtle criticisms for so many years. She believed they’d eventually grow to love her unconditionally. After fourteen years of marriage, she was still waiting for that prayer to be answered.
The teapot whistled, and Taylor rushed to turn off the fire. She poured four tablespoons of honey into her cup then headed upstairs to wait for Joi. She should be arriving home soon, and Taylor wanted to prepare for the conversation. She walked upstairs slowly with her tea in hand and, with each step, anticipated the many questions Joi would ask.
“Mom,” Leah called from inside her bedroom when Taylor reached the top floor.
Tired and worn out from worry, Taylor had almost forgotten that Leah was home. She stood in her doorway and chuckled softly. With a faux fur shawl draped over her shoulders and her hair pulled back into a bun, Leah resembled an old woman. “Yes, baby,” she said.
Leah’s toes caressed the furry throw rug beneath her feet. “Did Joi call?”
Taylor blew into her mug then answered, “Not yet.”
Leah frowned then looked down at the book in her hand. “Daddy says that other man is Joi’s father, but not mine and the twins’.” Using her finger as a temporary bookmark, Leah closed the book. “That makes us half-sisters. That doesn’t matter really . . . does it?”
This was going to be more difficult than Taylor had imagined. “Of course not. It means that you have a different biological father.”
“Does Joi have other brothers and sisters?”
Taking a deep breath first, Taylor responded, “Yes, but that doesn’t change anything.”
Leah looked at her mother, her eyes full of wonder. “Were you married to him?”
Toying with different ways to respond, Taylor couldn’t come up with one that seemed appropriate. She wanted to lie, but she had already caused enough damage with her secrets. “No. We were never married.” Taylor prayed Leah would accept that answer without wanting to know more. She blew into her cup of tea again then took a tiny sip and swallowed hard. “What I did hurt a lot of people, especially Joi. I should have told her sooner.”
Leah reopened the book in her hand. “She’ll come back, won’t she?”
For a reason Taylor didn’t understand, Leah idolized her older sister. “Joi will be home soon. Don’t you worry.”
Taylor closed Leah’s door and headed to her bedroom. She pushed the door open and felt along the wall for the light switch before entering. Too many times she had walked in and jabbed her foot on an object on the floor or bumped into a piece of furniture.
Moving around the dreary and cluttered room, she searched for the set of lounge clothes she’d recently washed. She sighed as she placed her tea mug on top of the bookcase that was now positioned in front of her vanity. Taylor couldn’t wait for Lance to repaint the walls a brighter and more vibrant color. The current mocha walls were drab and boring. It was time for something brighter, to add a little spice.
Amid the congestion there was one area Taylor kept spotless, an area designated as a place for worship and prayer. Unable to find her more comfortable clothes, she unbuttoned her blazer then picked up an old and worn Bible from her nightstand. She cleared a path to her quiet place, careful not to step on the loose tools Lance had left on the floor. Once settled in her special chair, Taylor kicked off her ankle boots and slid her slightly swollen feet into the fuzzy slippers beneath the seat.
She could’ve kicked herself. Had she heeded the advice of her good friend, Kara, and left Jerome alone, she wouldn’t be in her current predicament. God had also given her a way out plenty of times, but she ignored every one of them. Taylor shouldn’t have let Jerome in her apartment that last time. She had just given her life to Christ and had walked away from a car accident practically unscathed. But that afternoon she was full of pain pills. That, coupled with her emotional state and the deep feelings she had for Jerome, her flesh couldn’t resist him. Now she had to reap the consequences because of her lust for a man that rightfully belonged to another woman.
Taylor threw her head back and closed her eyes. “God, what am I going to do with my daughter?”
Carrying two plastic bags of groceries in one hand, and a baby carrier in the other, Taylor struggled to get her screaming five-month-old daughter into their apartment. She kicked the door closed with the heel of her new Nine West boot and dropped the groceries on the floor. Quickly, she unfastened Joi’s straps. Humming the tune to an old gospel hymn, Taylor rocked her firstborn in hopes that she would settle down. But her cries persisted. She didn’t know what was wrong. Before climbing the stairs to her third-floor apartment, Taylor had tried to give Joi a bottle of milk and had checked her diaper, but Joi refused the food, and her bottom was as dry as a bone.
With Joi hanging over her shoulder, Taylor rushed into the kitchen and found a clean pacifier. By this time, Joi had cried so hard, she was hyperventilating and turning varying shades of purple. Taylor struggled to place the pacifier inside her mouth. She tried to hold it inside several times, but Joi continued to push it away firmly with her tongue. Taylor couldn’t take it anymore. The squeals of her child pained her heart, and she fought back tears. She needed to call someone with experience. But who? Kara was in Ghana doing mission work with the church, and her friend Sherry was not used to taking care of infants. Taylor called Lance’s cell, but got the voicemail. Over Joi’s cries she left a brief message. “Call as soon as you can.”
Taylor walked into her bedroom and sat in a rocking chair, holding her wailing daughter close to her chest. She hoped the rocking motion would soothe her, but again she was wrong. Joi’s frets intensified. She stared at her daughter. Thin whelps spanned the length of Joi’s right cheek. Too afraid to clip her fragile and tiny nails, Taylor blamed herself for the marks. Feeling like an unfit parent, she started to cry. If only her mother were still alive.
There was one more person she could call. Her father. Although they had only recently reconnected after many years of separation, he was the only relative she had left. Hysterically, she explained the problem to him when he answered the phone. Unsure of what to do himself, he gave the phone to his wife.
Taylor’s stepmother diagnosed the situation immediately. “Sounds like she may be teething. Do her gums look swollen and red?” she asked.
Without delay, Taylor lifted Joi’s upper lip and examined her gums. No wonder the baby was screaming. Her gums almost looked inflamed. Taylor sobbed into the phone. “Yes, they are. What should I do now?”
“Well, ol’-school mothers would use a touch of brandy. That’ll numb the throbbing instantly. But you can also use some Anbesol.”
Anbesol. Taylor knew she didn’t have any brandy. She had given up drinking when she found out she was pregnant. But she remembered using Anbesol for her wisdom teeth. Gently, she lowered Joi inside her crib and kissed her. She raced into the bathroom and tore apart her medicine cabinet, surfing through all kinds of old medications, shampoos, toothpastes, and Q-tips. Taylor thought she’d hit the lottery when she found the barely touched tube of Anbesol. “Found it!” she yelled into the phone, happy that Joi’s pain could possibly end soon.
“Okay. If it’s not the children’s kind, use a very small amount and rub it on her gums. It might take a minute for her to settle down though,” her stepmother added.
Grateful for her wisdom, Taylor said, “Thanks so much.” She hung up the phone and did as she was instructed.
As predicted, Joi settled down, and her eyes grew heavy. Finally at peace, Taylor whispered into her daughter’s ear, “You wore yourself out, sweetheart.”
Looking at Joi, Taylor wondered if she had made the right decision. Choosing to have a child alone was selfish. She had never admitted it to anyone, not even her best friend, but Taylor chose to follow through with the pregnancy for the wrong reasons. She thought for sure Jerome would change his mind and move back to Philadelphia. But despite bearing his only daughter, Jerome still chose to be with his wife, the woman, in his words, he no longer felt connected to.
While Joi was asleep, Taylor put the groceries away then sorted the mail. Shuffling through it with speed, a slight smile crossed her face when she recognized Jerome’s handwriting on an envelope. She traced the letters of his scripting and said a quick prayer.
Since Taylor was seven months pregnant, he had faithfully sent child support. A part of her looked forward to the contact each month. Although he sent nothing but a check, there was a slither of hope that he’d insert a note saying he missed her and was on his way back.
Taylor tore into the letter with high hopes, just as she did every month. But there was nothing different inside. Just the same Chicago-themed check. No note. No request to see a picture of their child, and nothing that asked how she was doing. Jerome didn’t even know his daughter’s name. The only thing that was different was the number of the check.
Taylor dropped the envelope, and the check fell to the floor. She stood over her daughter’s crib and cried, her tears falling rapidly on Joi’s chubby legs. How could he deny such a precious gift? Taylor placed her hands in the prayer position. “I hope I haven’t ruined Joi’s life,” she cried. Growing up without a father was hard. She knew that firsthand. “God, please don’t hold my sin against my baby.”
Taylor’s intercom buzzed, and she wiped her eyes. Outside of her window she noticed Lance’s car parked on the opposite side of the street. Pulling herself together, Taylor ran to the front room and hurriedly ran her fingers through her hair before buzzing him in. As soon as she opened the door, Lance handed her a small paper bag. “I thought one of these might help,” he said.
A bottle of Children’s Tylenol, a tube of Baby Anbesol, and a round teething ring were inside the bag. Taylor looked at Lance and smiled. Jerome may not be the man and father Joi needed, but Taylor realized that God had sent one that could be.
Taylor opened her eyes and held tight to her Bible, rocking to her own rhythm, until she heard the squeak of the front door. She could tell by the soft footsteps that it was Joi, and regardless of the late hour, it was time to talk.