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Where is Kami? Parke K. Jamieson VI wondered for the countless time. His seventeen-year-old daughter was on her first date. Why did little girls have to grow up? Why did they like boys? Why was Kami testing him? He should have installed the tracking app on Kami’s phone—a recent birthday gift—like he’d wanted. But oh no, his wife, Cheney, said he was overreacting and to trust Kami. Parke did, but he was suspicious of any boy or man, whose last name wasn’t Jamieson, within ten feet of his daughter. It was their overactive male hormones he wanted to place on ice. He checked the time on his watch again. Now, thirty-two minutes late was proof he wasn’t overreacting. He was just a concerned, overprotective, and loving father.
If he even motioned he was tapping his phone to call or text Kami, Cheney gave him the eye that he’d better not. Wives could be scary, and if a man loved his wife, he’d better let her have the upper hand every now and then.
Flexing his muscles, Parke folded his arms and trained his eyes on the entrance of the banquet room. Despite the ruckus of little people’s screams of delight around him, Parke kept his position. His cousins and their families chatted and released hearty laughter as his irritation swelled, ready to explode.
This was not the mood he wanted to possess for a get-together to celebrate family, recite oral history that everyone should have memorized by the age of five, and to play Afrocentric and Black American history games.
As the Jamieson’s clan expanded, their homes could no longer accommodate the many generations under one roof. That explained why sixty-three Jamiesons locally and across the country were at the Hyatt Hotel in St. Louis on a Friday night to kick off the long Memorial Day weekend. The banquet room could easily hold a hundred-plus guests.
The casual weekly family gathering he had enjoyed as a boy defaulted to monthly to accommodate each family’s lifestyle. For a while, the gatherings even became a hit-or-miss affair. That’s when his father, Parke V—called Papa P by his adorning grandchildren—put his foot down. Enough was enough. He issued a written decree that the entire family would come together for an evening of bonding among the generations every spring, summer, fall, and winter. There would be no excusable exceptions unless there was death or illness. His father even went so far as having the head of every household sign it, because family meant everything.
The Jamieson wives loved the idea of letting someone else do the cooking and cleaning while everyone had a good time. The elegant white linen tablecloths and bright overhead chandeliers mocked the occasion of its guests. The night was about fun, games, and food. The Jamieson women opted for designer jeans and high heels. How did his wife and the others glide across the floor with such precision? he wondered. In contrast, the teenagers and smaller children were outfitted for comfort and play time. There were so many little ones.
Parke wouldn’t be surprised if the Jamiesons surpassed a couple hundred in attendance within the next few years with the diligent efforts of his youngest brother, Dr. Cameron Jamieson, leading the family tree search, uncovering one descendant at a time. As Parke’s mind wandered, his eyes didn’t—they were locked on the entrance. Schedules were shuffled and appointments pushed back. Everyone with Jamieson in their DNA was expected to show up and on time, so Kami was flirting with an uproar from her grandfather...and him. He huffed.
His wife blocked his view. “At ease, Mr. Jamieson. She’ll be here soon.”
He relaxed. Cheney was a distraction without trying. Her features always mesmerized him. Even after fourteen years of marriage, she was stunning and had less gray strands than him. After tonight, he was sure more would have sprouted by morning.
“I’m cool.” He slipped his hands in his pockets.
“Liar.” Her eyes twinkled, a sign that she was in tune to him. She brushed her soft lips against his and turned to leave when he grabbed her hand and returned a kiss of his own. She knew how to kiss him and make everything better, easing the stress that had been there moments earlier. A house could be on fire and he wouldn’t know it.
When he fell in love with her, Parke meant with everything within him until death only they would part. “Later, you and me, our bedroom, by the candlelight.”
She lifted a brow and sashayed away.
How could Cheney be so calm? Kami was their only daughter, so shouldn’t she be a mama bear or something? He held his breath until Cheney had disappeared from his sight, then he exhaled, and his mind returned to the problem at hand.
Once again, he chided himself for not being home to inspect Kami’s date. He had prepped for a counter interrogation since having a conversation with her about behavior that offended God and her body. Plus, he emphasized the consequences of sin—sexually transmitted diseases, including HIV, teen pregnancies, and other adult topics he hadn’t been prepared to have.
It had been his misfortune that an important client’s delayed flight caused their meeting to start late. Anybody else, Parke would have rescheduled without blinking. He believed in putting family first, but Mr. Rogers’ portfolio was worth millions, and managing it was Parke’s bread and butter for his family.
Like any good father, Parke had practiced his game face and memorized a list of questions to intimidate the young man. Last night, he couldn’t sleep well because he was armed and ready to attack. He could thank the airlines for thwarting his plans.
In his office, he had paced the floor, thinking of a Plan B. He’d phoned his wife. Surely she had demanded Kami reschedule her date, especially since Cheney was still at the salon. A hair appointment on the same day with the other Jamieson wives became a girl’s entire day out. Did they synchronize their shampoos and styles at the same time to create an impromptu spa-style outing or something?
“Sweetie, Kami isn’t going to a slumber party, and I wouldn’t consider going to a matinee, sinister. The movie is an hour and thirty-three minutes. I checked. They may beat us to family night. Your mini-me is at home. Pace can meet the young man and get a feel for him. Chill,” Cheney had said and disconnected the call while giggling with the other ladies in the background.
Not liking that option, Parke had called Kami himself.
“Hi, Daddy,” she answered cheerfully.
“Hey, my favorite daughter.” He smiled himself.
“Dad, I’m your only daughter.” She paused. “I’m trying to get ready for my date. What time will you be home?”
Get ready? Parke frowned. She had more than enough time. “That’s why I’m calling. My client is running late, and I’m barely going to make it home in time for our family meeting, and you know your grandfather doesn’t like us to be late,” he had reminded her. “Your mom is at Talise’s salon with your aunts.” He took a deep breath, preparing to break her heart. He counted: one, two, three... “I think you should reschedule your date until your mom and I can meet him face-to-face.”
The shriek that followed punctured his eardrum.
“Daddy, that’s not fair. You said I can go. You talked to him over the phone...” She recited a checklist of the pre-screening questions he had asked. “We’re only going to see a movie before coming to the family meeting—game night—get-together.” Families had different terms for their gathering. They all meant the same—family better be there—on time.
Talks over the phone were deceiving. Kami’s so-called date, Terrence, knew the right words and tone to use.
Her rebuttal was convincing. The t’s had been crossed and the i’s dotted, still... Kami was a good daughter and the oldest girl among her younger cousins. Everyone looked to her for babysitting services because she was mature and responsible, he tried to reason within himself.
“Pace is here and so are my other two knucklehead brothers. They can meet him...”
His firstborn was so much like him, even-tempered until tested. Between Kami’s tears and pleas, Parke gave in and reluctantly passed the baton to Parke K. Jamieson VIII aka Pace to vet the guy when he arrived. Paden, barely a teenager, liked to mimic his older brother, and so did the youngest, ten-year-old Chance.
Like many of the Jamieson men, Pace inherited the height and threatened Parke’s six-foot-plus stature. His eldest son was all muscle. Kudos to excelling on the high school’s wrestling team. Despite all his musings about the situation, Kami had the last word when his client knocked on his office door.
That had been hours earlier. Now, Parke scanned the room and spied his two younger sons making another trip to the buffet table. He shook his head, amused. All three of his sons, and sometimes Kami ate meals with gusto as if they were in a third-world country.
Parke wasn’t complaining. God had been good to him. This family was why he worked hard to make sure his wife and four children didn’t go without. Sighing, he checked the time again. Ten more minutes had passed during his distraction. He didn’t care if Kami Jamieson was seventeen with the mindset she was as grown as any twenty-seven-year-old. He would go on a hunt for his daughter. Kami knew how to elevate his blood pressure.
Train up a child in the way she should go: and when she is old, she will not depart from it, God whispered from Proverbs 22:6.
He paused, then nodded before taking a deep breath. Right. He and Cheney had instilled godly principles in their four children, but as the only girl, Kami was special. He caught himself smiling. Ever since he and Cheney had adopted their only daughter when she was four, Parke had surrendered his heart to the little girl who shared so many of his features. Without DNA results no one would know better. Kami was truly a daughter after Parke’s own heart. It was love at first sight when he met Cheney’s foster child.
Suddenly, the source of his stress appeared in the doorway, and he didn’t like what he saw. In his opinion, the dude by Kami’s side wasn’t close to being acceptable “boyfriend” material. The Instagram photo his daughter had shown him couldn’t be the same person.
Left up to him, Parke would have handpicked someone from their church, but his daughter said they weren’t cute. Since beauty was in the eye of the beholder, what did she see in this guy? Pace had said Kami’s boyfriend didn’t pass. Parke brushed it off as his son taking his big brother role too seriously to irritate his sister. Clearly not. Now, Parke had to admit his son was a good judge of character.
Taking long strides, he made his way to the doorway. “Kami,” he said frowning. Since when did she smear dark makeup around her eyes and wear black lipstick? Oh naw. “You’re late, and why is there a Band-Aid on your wrist?” He eyed the young man with a glare. “If you hurt my daughter in any way...”
Immediately, Kami covered her bandage with her other hand, looked away sheepish, then met his eyes and stuttered, “Tango and I got matching tattoos. It’s small, Daddy,” she added quickly.
What? The response was caught in Parke’s throat as he zeroed in on Tango, whose name last night was Terrence. Tattoos covered his arms. How was there space for another one? Facing his daughter again, Parke released his roar. “You what? Have you lost your mind...and dignity? You know the rules, no body piercing or body paint...”
A personality surfaced Parke had never seen in his daughter. “You’re not my daddy,” she shouted at him, but was smart enough to step back after doing so.
That one sentence brought the room to a standstill. A few uh-ohs mingled with gasps.
Did someone discharge a weapon, because Parke felt the puncture wound to his chest? He staggered back. When he didn’t pass out, he stepped forward, inches from Kami’s face. Was that alcohol he smelled on her breath? Oh naw again. He shook his head.
“Listen to me, little girl, I don’t know who you think I am, but if you ever say that to me again, you will need another place to stay. I will not tolerate your disrespect—ever.”
He kept his voice steady as he issued his verbal assault. How could his loving little girl turn against him like that? Parke’s nostrils flared as he turned his attention to the culprit, then back at Kami.
“Jamieson may not run through your veins, but it’s in your heart... Don’t make me regret giving you my name.” Parke was about to dig deeper into his arsenal of all the times he had given her his undivided attention, read her bedtime stories, kissed her tears away when her brothers teased her, showed up at every one of her cheerleading events, attended father-daughter banquets, purchased braces... The list was endless. “You must have forgotten who you’re talking to...”
A touch on his arm gave him enough pause for Kami to run from the room in tears. Tango was about to retreat, but Parke stopped him. “You and I need to talk.”
“Parke, babe—” his wife’s soft voice calmed him— “I’ll go see about her,” she said as the other Jamieson women stood and trailed the hysterical teenager out of the room.
Terrence aka Tango straightened his shoulders. “Naw, I ain’t got nothin’ to say. You heard her yourself. You ain’t her daddy,” he smarted off, tempting Parke to step out of his safety of God’s salvation and commit bodily harm, but the thought of missing the rapture and not hearing Jesus say, “Well done” caused him to take a deep breath.
But if he heard one more person say he wasn’t Kami’s daddy, Parke might snap. In his peripheral vision, he saw two of his three sons coming to his aid. He expected nothing less from his boys. His wife made him the proud papa, even if only two came from her womb.
Tango grunted as he glanced at Parke’s backup. The young man would soon find out the joke would be on him. The Jamiesons were conditioned to diffuse volatile situations. They were too intelligent and god-fearing to engage in violence, but at the moment, Parke was praying hard not to make this an exception.
“I ain’t scared of them,” Tango boasted, and that’s when Parke heard chairs shift. Without looking over his shoulder, he could sense his brothers and adult cousins approach. Kami had stolen everyone’s heart in the family. She only had to whisper for help, and they would respond faster than any of Marvel Comics’ superheroes.
Although Tango seemed uneasy, he didn’t back down. “I’m strapped.”
“Do I look afraid or even concerned? You put my daughter in harm’s way carrying a concealed weapon and providing alcohol to a minor.”
Yeah, Tango needed to find another dance partner because Kami wasn’t the one.
With loving kindness have I drawn thee. You can’t be a fisherman of souls for Me if you let the devil bait you instead of using My Word as bait, God chastened him.
The thought of disappointing God sobered Parke again. “You are so over your head and you don’t know it. Our weapons aren’t carnal as your gun”—he doubted the boy had a license to carry the firearm—“but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds, casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ. If you have a Bible, Second Corinthians 10:4-5 are your references.”
“But if you want to tango, I got this,” Kidd voiced behind Parke’s back. Three years younger, Kidd was rough around the edges before God saved him, and at times, he was still rough.
“God’s got this. He doesn’t need our assistance.” Parke folded his arms and mumbled, “Yet,” then eyed the young man up and down as Mrs. Beatrice Tilly Beacon, known as Grandma BB, made her presence known. Two over buffed, warrior-looking bodyguards, Chip and Dale, formerly with the Chippendales out of Vegas, escorted her.
They were for show only because the eighty-something-year-old woman was fit and still possessed the ability to instill fear in folks. Parke had seen firsthand the unofficial family matriarch cane-whip a would-be assailant and send him to the hospital. Security had to physically remove her from the ER to keep her from finishing the job.
“At ease, men,” Grandma BB ordered her sidekicks.
Tango backed up as uncertainty draped his face. Parke reluctantly stepped aside so Grandma BB could be eye-to-eye with the young man.
“Kami’s father is being soft.” She twisted her lips as if she was rolling chewing tobacco in her mouth. She cracked her arthritic knuckles.
Excuse me? Parke was ready to challenge her, but knew better than to ignite the old woman’s temper.
“Grandma BB here, and I’m strapped. Show me your fire power—” she sweetly said—“and I’ll show you mine.”
“No,” several Jamiesons shouted as Tango’s eyes widened.
Hpmh. Grandma BB squinted at the young man. “Trust me, you don’t want to know my rap sheet. I’m a step ahead of you, Terrence Jackson Kelly aka Tango—this week.” She rolled her neck. “I know where you live, the name of your ma and pa, reviewed your juvy records, and have had you tailed for the past twenty-fours. I know your weaknesses and strengths.”
Parke’s eyes bucked. She had withheld information? They definitely would talk later.
“I have no qualms about decorating a jail cell. I’m daring you—no, begging you—to give me half of a reason to inscribe a permanent tattoo upside your head for...”
“Y’all are crazy.” Tango pointed to Grandma BB’s feet. “She’s even wearing men’s shoes. You’re probably a man who had a sex change.
“I can show my baby pictures, but you talked about my shoes and for that...” Grandma BB stepped forward. “Those are fighting words. They are top-of-the-line Stacy Adams. You got a problem with that? Yeah, it’s a size thirteen. Don’t believe me?” She growled and chest bumped the young man.
“Okay, enough,” Parke said, pulling her back when he wanted to witness a beat down.
“Y’all trippin’. I’m out of here,” Tango said.
“Need an escort?” Grandma BB didn’t wait for an answer as she shoved him toward the exit.