Chapter 14

“The girls told me to tell you hey,” Klarke said as she and Deborah drove toward Marcus Theatre to catch a movie. “They really miss you.”

“I miss them too,” Deborah said.

“You know, just because you don’t want to, you know”—Klarke used her hands to mime smoking a joint—“doesn’t mean you can’t come hang out with us sometime.”

“Okay. Well, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer,” Deborah said, knowing she had no intention at all of doing so. That would be like being on a fast and meeting them at a buffet.

“When you first stopped accepting my invitation to hang out, I thought that maybe it was, you know, the whole thing about me going to jail.”

“Oh, heavens, no,” Deborah said.

“I mean, finding out that I’d been incarcerated for murder was one thing, but being incarcerated for murdering a child was a whole other thing.”

“But you explained to me what happened,” Deborah said. “It wasn’t you who killed Reo and Meka’s first baby. It was that evil baby mama of his, Meka herself.” Deborah shook her head. “I can’t believe she let you go to jail for it.”

“While she ran off with the love of my life and got pregnant with another kid.” Klarke fell silent for a moment. “I know we shouldn’t question God, but I don’t get it. There are women who would give their sight to know what it feels like to give birth, to hold and smell a child of their own. This woman kills her baby and then, just like that”—Klarke snapped her fingers—“she gets another one.”

“I know what you’re saying,” Deborah said.

“And you know what really pisses me off whenever I think about it?” Klarke said. She didn’t wait for Deborah to answer. “Not only did that witch let me go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit, but she let my baby girl go to jail too.”

“What?” Deborah said, totally surprised. “I guess I am going to have to Google you,” she joked, “because this is all news to me.”

“Save yourself the time and just read the book,” Klarke said.

“Wait a minute.” She held her hand up. “A book has been written about this?”

Klarke nodded. “Uh-huh. Reo wrote it.”

“But I’ve read all of Reo’s books, and I’ve never read a book about you guys’ life story.”

Klarke bit her bottom lip, as if she was debating whether or not to continue. This was a secret that no one knew outside of the Laroques and Reo’s publisher.

“What?” Deborah said. “Girl, don’t stop now. Don’t leave me hanging. You know how anxious I get. You gon’ have me smoking again.”

Klarke laughed. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Reo did write a book about our lives, but he wrote it under a pseudonym. It’s called The Root of All Evil. He wrote it under the name Joylynn M. Jossel.”

Deborah thought for a minute. Her eyes then lit up. “Wait a minute. You talking about that book that famous producer turned into a movie?” she asked excitedly.

Klarke had a mischievous grin on her face. “That’s the one.”

“Oh, my God!” Deborah put her hand on her chest. “That movie was so frickin’ good. I went right out and bought the book. It was even better than the movie. I tried to research the author. All I could find was the Web site and a Facebook fan page, with more posts from fans than from the actual author. I couldn’t find author tour dates or anything.”

Klarke turned to Deborah and winked, then put her eyes back on the road.

“Oh, wow,” Deborah said. “Guess that explains it.”

Klarke smiled and nodded.

“Can you imagine how many more copies of that book would sell if readers knew that the author was none other than Reo Laroque?”

“I know. I know,” Klarke agreed. “That’s the same thing his publisher told him, especially when J. K. Rowling did the same thing with that book she put out under another name.”

“I remember that. When the book first dropped, nobody was really buying it,” Deborah said. “Her publisher had given her a nice-size advance and had put marketing dollars behind it, which they weren’t making back. They didn’t see themselves recouping unless they revealed the author’s true identity.”

“And when they did,” Klarke said, picking up the story,” that book shot to number one on Amazon within minutes.”

“And that’s exactly what would happen for you guys,” Deborah mused.

“The movie pushed up the sale of the book very well. And, of course, it recently came out on DVD. It can be ordered on pay movie channels, and a deal with Netflix was just negotiated. Plus, whenever they run an advertisement for the movie, book sales go up again. When Reo initially wrote the book, he said it wasn’t all about money, but about getting our story out.”

“But it was written like it is fiction,” Deborah said.

“Reo figured the public would be more apt to purchase it if they thought it was fiction, versus a book based on the life of someone who wasn’t like a movie star or something. Granted, in the book world my hubby is a pretty popular guy.”

“Tell me about it,” Deborah agreed. “He’s won more NAACP awards for best fiction than I can count.”

“But a popular author doesn’t compare to a famous music artist or actor.”

“Yeah, I know,” Deborah said with a sigh. “In my make-believe world, books have as big of an influence on society as music does.” Deborah shifted the conversation back to their initial subject matter. “There’s a part in the book I was wondering about.”

Klarke nodded, a signal for Deborah to go ahead.

“If I’m not mistaken, didn’t I hear you mention a few months back that Jeva is still one of your good friends?” Deborah asked Klarke.

“Uh-huh,” Klarke confirmed.

“But in the story it says that her daughter’s father was a man she’d had a one-night stand with in a strip club when she used to strip. Later it was learned that the man was, in fact, your husband at the time, Harris, who is now your ex-husband.”

Klarke nodded.

“Was that part true or something you guys added for drama, to beef up the story line?”

“No, it’s true,” Klarke said without hesitation.

“And you’re still friends with her to this day?” Deborah said with a strained tone.

“Yep.” Klarke nodded again.

“If you can forgive ole girl for all that, then I guess my beef with Helen is plain stupid,” Deborah said.

“Helen?” Klarke questioned. “Who is Helen?”

“Girl, never mind,” Deborah said, shooing her hand. “I’d have to write a book about that one for you to read.”

Klarke laughed.

Deborah stared at her for a minute.

“What?” Klarke asked, feeling Deborah’s eyes staring at her.

“You have to be one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,” Deborah said.

Klarke smiled humbly. “It was all Him.” She pointed upward. “We can do all things through Christ Jesus, who strengthens us. That’s what Vaughn tells me all the time. Hey, I might not have been raised in the church or had a praying grandmother, but I have a praying daughter.”

“I know that’s right,” Deborah said. “As long as somebody is praying for you, you can’t go wrong.”

“Amen,” Klarke said. “Prayer has surely helped me.”

“There are times when I’ve felt that nothing could be worse than what I’m dealing with, and then I hear your testimony. Umph, umph, umph.”

“I hear you, girl. Somebody talks about us, steps on our toe, and we ready to lose our mind. Cussing people out, throwing wineglasses at folks. Then you look at all Jesus went through, and that man never said a mumbling word.”

“Don’t even remind me,” Deborah said. “The smallest things set me off, and I lose my mind. I have even put my hands on a person or two.”

“You preaching to the choir,” Klarke said. “When I found out my ex-husband had fathered a baby with another woman, I went to that broad’s house and mopped the floor with her. Now that’s when a sista should have gone to jail. I wasn’t even in my right mind when that happened. Talk about snapping. That was not a good time in my life at all.”

“I know he’s the father of your children, but that Harris was a low-down cheating dog all the way around, wasn’t he?”

“Girl, sleeping with folks right up under my nose and having babies with them. These men are something else.”

Something Klarke had just said triggered a thought in Deborah’s mind. “Not all men, though, right?” She let out a nervous chuckle. All men would include her own man, and Klarke’s too, for that matter. “Reo’s a good guy. You haven’t had to deal with any type of cheating in your marriage, have you?”

Klarke paused. “I’m not one to ever put my husband’s and my business out there, but I can say that our marriage has been tested with infidelity.”

Deborah was truly shocked to hear that. “Oh, my goodness. I can’t see Reo as the cheating kind.”

Klarke stopped at a red light, turned to Deborah, and asked, “Who said anything about Reo being the cheat?” With that, Klarke turned back, waited for the light to turn green, then pulled off.

***

For the past couple of days, ever since Klarke had alluded to having stepped out on Reo, Deborah’s mind had been blown away. There were so many questions she had wanted to ask Klarke, but clearly, if Klarke had wanted to elaborate on something, she would have. Instead, she had pulled into the movie theater parking lot, and they had enjoyed the movie.

Afterward, Deborah hadn’t broached the subject again. She didn’t want to be the kind of friend who pried and asked questions. But she had to admit that her opinion of Klarke had changed greatly. This was why she really needed the facts about the situation. Had Klarke cheated on Reo years ago, early on in their marriage? Had Klarke cheated on him as payback perhaps for not believing in her before she went to jail and for getting back with Meka? Not that Deborah ever condoned cheating, but an explanation might give her a different opinion about the situation.

“Ready to watch some Love & Hip Hop?” Lynox asked as he exited their bathroom and walked over to the bed, upon which Deborah was already lying, racking her brain about Klarke.

“Do we really have to tonight?” Deborah whined. She had her own reality show going on in her head.

“Come on. You know I get some of my best stuff for my books from ratchet television.” Lynox climbed in bed and grabbed the remote.

That was true. Lynox recorded every reality television show that aired. He’d watch them all, then figure out a way to incorporate the story lines into his books, putting his own signature twist on them, of course.

Being a connoisseur of the written word herself, Deborah knew that if an author had a great idea, then there were thousands of other writers across the map with that very same idea. It was a matter of how each author told the story. No idea was new. There was nothing new under the sun taking place in books, songs, and movies. The artist just had to craft it in such a way that the consumer didn’t feel as though it was the same old story, different writer.

Deborah thought those reality TV shows were scripted or just ignorant. Lynox insisted that with everyone addicted to one reality show or another, right down to Christians and their preacher shows, preacher’s daughters shows, gospel artist shows, and what have you, there was something in them that resonated with people in society, and he wanted to capture it in his books. With everything he penned hitting the New York Times best sellers’ list, he was doing something right.

“All right. We can watch it.” Deborah gave in.

Lynox already had the television on and was viewing the list of recorded shows before Deborah even replied.

Not even three minutes into the show, Deborah was shaking her head. “I don’t understand how he managed to have two women and neither one of them knew about the other.”

“Oh, they knew. Women don’t care. They turn a blind eye just to say they have a man or was bad enough to steal somebody else’s man.” Lynox laughed.

Deborah turned toward him, irritated that he thought women being played for fools was funny. She instantly got an attitude. “Well, I hope you don’t ever think I’ll let you get away with that kind of crap.”

“Oh, girl, stop.” Lynox laughed again. “You wouldn’t do nothing, just like these women ain’t doing nothing.” He pointed to the television. “You know you love me, girl.”

“I do, but I love myself enough not to be sharing no man when I know there is one out there who will want only me. One I’ll be enough for.”

“You are more than enough woman for any man,” Lynox said, “but it’s not about that. Men don’t cheat because their woman isn’t enough. They sometimes cheat because she’s too much.”

“And just what does that mean?”

Lynox was trying to have a conversation with his wife at the same time that he watched television. “It’s just that, you know, today’s woman is so independent. It’s not her fault. Men have failed women to the point that roles get reversed. If the woman isn’t paying half the mortgage and the bills, she’s paying the majority of them. Some men sell women a dream, but then they break the promise and leave them alone . . . with two or three kids to take care of. They have no choice but to be the head of the family and the head of the home. So when a good man who knows his role comes along, there are two things going on,” Lynox said.

By now he had paused the television, realizing he’d opened a can of worms that Deborah wasn’t going to let him worm his way out of.

“Go on,” Deborah urged, as if waiting for him to scratch his throat with his toenail, now that he had ended up with his foot in his mouth.

“That woman is going to be so used to taking care of everything that it’s not going to matter when a man comes along and isn’t the provider he’s supposed to be. Another thing that can happen is that that woman does have a man who is helping out, and she’s so happy to have him that she’ll take more crap than a little bit. That woman who feels that she doesn’t need a man can’t make a man feel needed. Then someone else comes along who makes him feel needed. It’s not about what she looks like, but what she makes him feel like.” He raised his hand up to the paused television. “And there you have it. That’s life.” He hit the play button.

“That’s BS,” Deborah said, then turned her attention to the television.

For the next ten minutes Deborah and Lynox watched as one of the male reality stars got the two women he was seeing at the same time to meet up and talk.

“He is the man,” Lynox said, as if he was cheering the guy on.

Deborah turned and looked at Lynox, who was grinning from ear to ear. She couldn’t believe her husband was cheering on this man for his shenanigans. In her eyes, that meant that he was condoning his behavior. Or maybe even Lynox was living vicariously through this man, wishing this was something he himself could engage in.

“That’s what they get. They ain’t nothing but some gold diggers, anyway,” Lynox said, talking to the television.

Even though she knew it was only a show and even though it was labeled reality, there was a lot of acting going on in front of that camera. Deborah couldn’t believe some of the beliefs Lynox was expressing. Did he really think it was ever okay for a man to treat women the way the man on the television was treating women? The more Lynox laughed and chuckled, the more the water in her mental pot began to boil.

“I can’t even believe you condone that type of behavior from a man,” Deborah finally said. “If you feel what he’s doing is okay, then who is to say you won’t turn around and treat me like that?”

“I’m not condoning it,” Lynox said. “But you heard the guy. He’s in love with two different women. It happens.”

“It happens?” Deborah was in shock now. “You can’t be in love with two women. When you love someone, you don’t do something that you know will hurt them. Him starting up a relationship with another woman while he’s already in a relationship with one is not love. You are defending this jerk, which makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Lynox asked.

“For one, I wonder why you know so much about why a man cheats, and for two, I wonder how you can be okay with something like that.” Deborah was fit to be tied.

“I’m not saying that I would ever do it. I’m just saying I can understand why some men do.” Lynox was speaking his mind, but he did not realize that he was about to make Deborah lose hers.

“I honestly had no idea this is what you thought about infidelity. Talk about unequally yoked.” Deborah rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the television.

Lynox paused it once again and then placed the remote on the bed, between himself and Deborah. “This is stupid. We are the ones arguing, and this doesn’t even have anything to do with us.”

“It has everything to do with us when you are rooting for him and cheering him on, blaming the women and calling them gold diggers. I’m an independent woman in the sense that I do my own thing. I don’t clock in for anybody. I started my own business, and I’m my own boss. Is that too much for you? Does that intimidate you? Make you feel less needed?”

“I don’t even want to watch it if it’s going to cause us to argue.” Lynox went for the remote, but Deborah quickly grabbed it so that he couldn’t turn the television off. “Then you can watch it by yourself. I’m not doing this.” Lynox pulled the covers over himself as he simultaneously turned away from Deborah.

Before he knew it, Deborah threw the remote at the sixty-two-inch flat-screen television, which was mounted to the wall, cracking it.

“What the . . . ?” Lynox said, quickly sitting up in bed. His eyes traveled in the direction of the cracked television. “What the heck is wrong with you, woman? I know you have lost your mind now. Look what you’ve done to our television.” Lynox wasn’t furious as much as he was shocked.

Deborah looked at the television, shocked herself that she’d snapped that quickly. She hadn’t taken the consequences of her actions into consideration before acting.

Lynox snatched the covers off of himself and walked over to the television to take a closer look. Realizing that there was nothing that could be done with the now fizzled-out screen, which emitted only sound, he looked to Deborah. “You really wanted to throw that at me, didn’t you?”

Deborah put her head down.

He walked over to Deborah’s side of the bed as he spoke. “I’m not going to put up with this, Deborah. All of this because I didn’t want to finish talking about that nonsense of a show? Something that ridiculous set you off? That scares me.”

“Well, you had plenty to say at first, when you were talking about that cheating bastard. I was watching you watch television as if you wished you were that man. That’s what scares me.”

“Well, do you want to hear something really scary?” Lynox said, not waiting for Deborah to reply before continuing. “If things get to the point where I feel like the next time it’s my head and not that television, I’m not sticking around. And just know one thing. If I go, my boys go with me.”

Hearing that—hearing Lynox say that he would take her boys away—hit a nerve with Deborah. She jumped up out of that bed like a cat and landed square on her feet in front of Lynox. “Nigga, I wish you would!” Deborah snapped.

Lynox was appalled. He did not care for the use of the N word in any shape, form, or fashion. Nigga, nigger, and Negro were all ugly words in his book, even though he usually let her slide with the word Negro. He would never use those words around his sons or ever allow them to use them. And he dang sure wasn’t going to stand there and allow his wife to call him one.

“What did you call me?” Lynox had heard his wife very clearly. He wanted to give her a moment to think about what she’d just said and take it back, right before she vowed never to use that degrading word in their home again.

“You heard what I said, nigga,” Deborah said, not backing down one bit. He’d expressed to her many times that he didn’t care for that word, no matter the color of the person who was saying it. This time Deborah put so much stank on the word, it was like she’d taken her nails and scratched them down Lynox’s bare chest as hard and as deep as she could.

“Wow. And you call yourself a Christian.”

“Oh, honey, if I wasn’t, you best believe I’d be calling you something far worse than the N word, what with you talking crazy, saying some you gon’ take my boys from me.” Deborah rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I guess you’ve watched so much ratchet reality television that you’re acting like these women.” He flung his hand back toward the broken television. “I guess next you gon’ start clapping your hands to each and every syllable that you pronounce. You already calling me out of my name, so I guess next you’ll be calling our sons out of their names too.”

“I’m warning you, Lynox. You better stop bringing my boys into this.”

“Our boys,” Lynox retorted, correcting her. “And whenever it comes to the safety, well-being, and peace of mind of my boys, I will not bite my tongue.”

“You know darn well I’m a good mother, so don’t even go there. I wish you would try to take them from me. No judge in his right mind would give you custody. You’re always somewhere writing or away touring. At least when you were always writing, you’d be here at home. Now you’re not even home, for the most part, when you’re writing.” Deborah was referring to the fact that Lynox had been spending a great deal of time working with Reo. “I’m the one at the PTO meetings, the parent-teacher conferences, the doctor’s appointments. I’m the one doing homework and everything else.”

Lynox typically didn’t engage in all this tit for tat with Deborah. Actually, for the better part of their relationship, they had never really argued. But in the past few months, that was all Deborah seemed to want to do. Now it was to the point where she was forcing Lynox to act out of character and respond to her.

“Yeah, but I’m the one who makes enough money so that you can stay home and do all those things,” Lynox retorted.

“Stay home and do all those things?” Deborah repeated, the very words leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “I don’t just stay home. I work too. Yeah, you might pay for the mortgage and all the bills, but you would be doing that whether I was here or not. But as far as you taking care of me and paying my personal bills . . .” Deborah shook her head. “I don’t think so. I pay my own car note. I get my own hair done, nails—”

“As you should,” Lynox snapped back. “It’s your car, it’s your hair, and they’re your nails. Why do black women think a man has to do all that for them?”

“Oh, so let me guess. Now I’m a gold digger, like the women on television? All black women just gold diggers with attitudes. Well, need I remind you that you are married to a black woman? But I guess you want you a white woman, then. Or one of them light-skin girls, like Klarke.” Deborah thought for a minute. “I bet she’s why you like being up over at Reo’s so much. Writing this book with him is an excuse.”

“Now you’re really talking crazy,” Lynox said, letting a chuckle come out under his breath. “Why would I be over in that man’s face, trying to get at his wife?”

“As far as I know, they might be into that type of thing,” Deborah said. “Wasn’t one of his little freaky-deaky books about a couple who did that type of thing?”

“That was just a book.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Reo has a thing about hiding his and his wife’s life behind the written word.” Deborah thought for a minute. “You know what they say. Writers always write about what they know. Wouldn’t surprise me if the three of you were over there getting it on.” Deborah didn’t actually feel that way. Yes, Klarke had alluded to the fact that she might have cheated on her husband, but Deborah didn’t honestly believe they were all over there making out.

“You disgust me right now,” Lynox said through his teeth. “I swear to God on everything, I really do just want to go get my sons and get out of here. Give you time to get your head together, because I’m really starting to believe that you are a nut job.”

“Threaten me about taking my kids one more time.” Deborah was enraged, partly because her husband had called her a nut job, but anything about her children superseded that.

“It’s not a threat. If you don’t get it together, you are going to wake up one morning and find me and my sons gone.”

“Ha. Tyson ain’t even your son, so I’d call the police and charge you with kidnapping so quickly . . .”

Lynox had stopped hearing Deborah after she professed that Tyson was not his son. She had said some cruel things tonight, had even called him out of his name, but that right there had taken the cake. She might as well have snatched his heart out of his chest, thrown it on the ground, and stomped all over it. He was frozen, with hurt etched all over his face.

The look that showed on her husband’s face was one Deborah had never seen before. A pain streaked throughout her being. If only she could reach out and take her words back. But they were long gone, embedded in Lynox’s heart, his mind, forever.

Lynox gritted his teeth together and began shaking his head. His look of hurt and pain quickly resolved into one of anger. “Tyson’s not my son, huh? Well, I guess if I told the judge about how children’s services got called on you before and how you denied even having a son for the sake of getting a man, perhaps he might end up not being your son, either. And that reminded me of something. I was at the peak of my career when we got back together. The fact that you went as far as even denying having a child, because you knew that was a deal breaker for me, just might make you a gold digger.”

At that point, not only was Deborah glad she’d struck Lynox in the heart with her previous comment, but she also wished she had more daggers to throw at him. Since she didn’t, she resorted to throwing her fist. Like a windmill, she began swinging on Lynox. “Muthasucka, don’t you eva, you son of a witch.” She cussed at him and hit him. Cussed at him and hit him. “I wish the eff you would, you witch-butt nigga!”

Lynox tried his best to grab her arms, but she had the strength of a madman at this point. She’d clocked him so hard on the ear that he liked to think his eardrum had busted. She was definitely getting the best of him, but that was only because his mother had raised him better, had told him never to put his hands on a woman. Like he’d told himself before, before he put his hands on his wife, he’d leave her first, and that was what he was going to do if he could get her to stop hitting him and scratching him up.

But her fists were continuously coming at his face, and she was landing some pretty good blows. After so many blows and so much name-calling, Lynox couldn’t take it anymore. He turned his head and pushed her, hoping she’d land on the bed, but when he heard a thump and the cussing stopped, so did his heartbeat. Without even looking, in that split second, he knew something was wrong. He turned to see Deborah lying near one of the night tables, her head leaning up against it.

“Deborah, Deb, honey,” he said, racing over to where she lay. Deborah was nonresponsive. “Deb?” Lynox lifted her head, and that was when he felt the moisture on his hand. He pulled his hand from behind her head and noticed it was covered in blood. He then looked at the edge of the night table and saw a streak of blood on the front corner, which was where her head had slid down. “Jesus.” It was a low call to his Lord and Savior at first, and then it was a loud cry. “Jesus! Deborah, what have you done? Look what you made me—”

“Mommy, Daddy.” There was knock on the door, and Tyson’s voice could be heard calling out on the other side. “Mommy, Daddy. I’m scared.” Terror was in the little fella’s voice.

As badly as Lynox wanted to comfort him, he couldn’t let the child bear witness to the scene in the bedroom.

“Tyson, son, go back to bed. Wait there until Daddy comes and gets you. It’s okay.”

“But I heard Mommy. She screamed. I’m scared. I want Mommy. Did you hurt her again?” Tyson began to cry.

Lynox tucked his lips in and thought. “Tyson, please. Everything is okay. Go back to your room, and Daddy will be in to talk to you in a minute.”

“I want my mommy. I want to see Mommy.” He began to cry even harder.

“Tyson, son, okay. Just wait a minute. Go to your room and wait.”

“But I want—”

“Tyson!” Lynox’s voice was so thunderous, it echoed off the walls.

This only made Tyson cry even louder. Then the baby’s cries filled the room through the baby monitor.

“God, help us,” Lynox said, his eyes filling with tears as well. His family was hurting right now, and he felt so helpless. He didn’t know what to do. But there was one thing he had to do, and that was to call for help for Deborah.

Lynox went and grabbed his cell phone from off the dresser. He dialed 911. Once the operator answered, he spoke into the phone. “Yes, we need an ambulance. My wife was hitting me. I pushed her and . . . she’s bleeding. Please help.” Lynox gave the operator their address, since he’d called from his cell phone and the address hadn’t automatically popped up in the system. After that, the operator asked him a series of questions while she dispatched help to their house.

“Is your wife breathing?” the operator asked Lynox.

He walked back over to Deborah and put his hand on her chest. He could feel her heart beating. “Her heart is beating.”

“Check her pulse.”

Following instructions, Lynox took Deborah’s flimsy wrist and held it between his index finger and his thumb as he took her pulse. “Yes, I feel it.”

“Now put your ear to her nose.”

Lynox did so. A tiny wind hit his ear. “Yes, yes. Thank you, Jesus. She’s breathing. She’s breathing.”

By now Tyson had stopped wailing so loudly, but Lynox still could hear his tiny whimpers through the door. The baby must have cried himself back to sleep, because his wails were no longer blaring through the monitor.

“Good. That’s good,” the operator said.

The operator kept Lynox on the phone, instructing him not to move Deborah, in case she had some type of spinal injury. Since Deborah seemed to be as stable as possible for the moment, the operator decided to throw in some questions for Lynox.

“What happened to your wife again?” the operator asked. “You said you pushed her?”

“Yes. We were fighting. Well, she was fighting me,” Lynox said. “I pushed her. I didn’t mean to hurt her.” As strong as Lynox had tried to be thus far in speaking with the operator, he now broke down in tears.

“Sir, the medics are at your door,” the operator told him.

Lynox heard the doorbell ring. “I hear them. They’re here.”

“Okay. We can end the call, and they will take care of your wife.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Lynox was more than grateful to the operator for helping to make sure Deborah was stabilized and for sending help. He ended the call and walked over to the bedroom door. He turned and looked at Deborah. “I’ll be right back, baby. You’re going to be okay.” Lynox opened their bedroom door and darted right down the steps, not even paying attention to small Tyson, who was sitting against the wall next to the door.

Lynox was going down the steps so fast, he missed one and fell. He managed to grab on to the handrail to stop his fall, but not until he’d slid down about four steps. He pulled himself up and then ran to the front door.

“She’s upstairs,” he said immediately upon opening the door to the medics. He turned and ran up the steps he’d just fallen down. Halfway up the steps, he heard a piercing screech. “Tyson!” The blood drained from his body as he imagined the fear Tyson must be feeling from seeing his mother lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The last thing Lynox had wanted was for him to see his mother like that.

“Mommy, my mommy,” Tyson cried out when Lynox entered the room, followed by the two medics.

By this time, two officers in separate patrol cars had arrived on the scene. One of them rapped on the door while simultaneously entering the house. Upon hearing the commotion going on upstairs, and especially Tyson’s screaming, they drew their guns and scaled the steps. They couldn’t take any chances with a domestic violence call. When they entered the master bedroom, Lynox was trying to pry Tyson off of his mother.

“Mommy.” Tyson had blood on his hands and a death grip on his mother.

“Come on, Tyson. Help is here to take care of Mommy,” Lynox said. “She’s going to be okay.”

“No. Get off of me,” Tyson cried. “You hurt my mommy again. You hurt my mommy.”

“Sir, step away from the boy,” one of the officers said upon hearing Tyson’s words. He tucked his gun back in his holster, but the other officer kept his drawn.

“I need to take care of my son!” Lynox exclaimed.

“Sir, move now,” ordered the officer with his gun drawn.

Lynox looked over and noticed the gun for the first time. The man in him—the husband and the father—just wanted to protect his son, his wife, his family. But that black man in him knew better than to do anything but what the officers had requested. There wasn’t anybody videotaping this event, which might provide a modicum of safety, but then Lynox considered the fact that even when there was proof positive of police misconduct in incidents involving a black man and law enforcement, the officers still got away with unjustifiable shootings and/or injuries. With that thought, Lynox did what he would teach both his African American sons to do, and that was to obey the police regardless. Human survival was based on human behavior. Not only did Lynox want to survive this ordeal, but he wanted Deborah to survive it too. And he could see that his little situation with the officers was distracting the medics, so he released Tyson, put his hands up, and then backed up.

The officer who had put his gun away immediately snatched up Lynox and put him in handcuffs. This only made poor Tyson even more hysterical.

“Come on, son. Let us help your mommy,” the female EMT said to Tyson. “You want us to help your mommy wake up, right?” She spoke in as tender a voice as she could muster.

Tyson nodded and wiped his tears as his shoulders heaved and he tried to catch his breath.

“Okay, then I’m going to need you to go with the nice officer while we help your mommy.” She nodded at the second officer.

Tyson’s eyes followed the direction of her head nod. “Nooo,” he said. “I saw on TV the police shoot black boys like me. He’s going to shoot me.” Tyson cried harder.

“No, baby.” The EMT shook her head. “That was the police officer on TV. This isn’t that police officer. See? Look at him.” She once again nodded at the officer.

Once again Tyson’s eyes went back to the officer. He examined the police officer. Just as some white people might think all black people looked alike, for little Tyson, all police looked alike, and he wasn’t having it. He adamantly shook his head.

“Hello? Is everyone fine in here?”

A voice could be heard calling out from downstairs.

“That’s Mr. Charles,” Tyson said. “My best friend’s daddy number one.”

The second officer looked at Lynox for confirmation.

“Sounds like our neighbor,” Lynox confirmed.

“I’ll go talk to him,” the second officer said, while the first officer had Lynox off to the side in handcuffs.

The male EMT had managed to work on Deborah this entire time, while the female EMT had engaged Tyson in a conversation that had distracted him from his mother.

“Ugh.” The sound of Deborah moaning caught the attention of everybody in the room.

“Deborah!” Lynox shouted out.

“Mommy!” Tyson cried.

“See, baby? I told you your mommy was going to be all right,” the female EMT said to Tyson.

The second officer came back up the steps and into the room. Charles was with him.

“Sir, is this your neighbor?” the second officer asked Lynox.

Lynox looked over at Charles, who had a look of shock on his face as he examined the scene before him. Deborah was on the floor, in a pool of blood; Tyson was crying over her, with blood on his hands; and Lynox was in handcuffs. So many scenarios ran through his mind, but right now, Charles’s concern was for the young boy, who shouldn’t have been witnessing any of this.

Lynox confirmed that Charles was, in fact, his neighbor.

“Tyson, son, come with me,” Charles said. “I’ll clean him up and then take him next door.”

“Whoa. Hold up,” the first officer said, raising his hand to stop Charles from moving toward Tyson.

“It’s okay. Let him go with him,” Lynox said. “I don’t want my boy seeing this.”

“Is this gentleman family?” the first officer asked.

“No, but—” Lynox began before the officer cut him off.

“We can’t turn him over to anyone who isn’t family. We’ll have to call children’s services.”

“What? Are you kidding?” Lynox snapped. “Can my sons at least go with our neighbor until we call a family member to come pick them up?”

“There’s more children in the house?” the first officer asked.

“They have an infant son,” Charles interjected. “Tyson comes to our house all the time and plays with my son. It’s okay. They know us and trust us.” He looked at Lynox for confirmation.

“Yes. That’s right,” Lynox confirmed.

“Sorry. We can only release them to family.” The first officer was adamant about following regulations.

Lynox felt the officer was being a prick. But he was not about to jump bad with the officer, considering this officer might be the one in charge of driving him to the precinct if he were to be arrested. No way did he want this officer to Freddie Gray him, God rest that young black man’s soul. So Lynox was going to be as cooperative as possible.

“Can we at least call my mother-in-law to come pick them up?” Lynox asked.

“She better get here soon,” the officer said. He nodded at Deborah. “Looks like she’s going to the hospital and you’re going to jail.”

The thought of going to jail horrified Lynox. He wanted to defend himself and explain why he should not go to jail. But right now making sure his boys were safe and sound was his main priority. Making sure his wife was okay would be his next.

“Charles, can you please call Deborah’s mother?” Lynox asked.

Charles whipped his phone out of his pocket. Lynox rattled off her phone number as his neighbor dialed.

“Tell her to get here as soon as she can,” Lynox ordered. “Tell her you’ll explain everything when she gets here.”

Charles stood there with the phone to his ear. After the second ring, Deborah’s mother picked up. “Hello? Yes, this is Charles, your daughter’s neighbor.” He stepped out into the hall to finish the conversation out of Tyson’s earshot. The boy had already heard and witnessed too much.

“How is she? How is my wife?” Now Lynox could concern himself with Deborah’s well-being.

“She’s been able to tell us her name, the date, and everything,” the female EMT replied.

“Deborah’s mother is on her way,” Charles said, reentering the room and tucking his phone away.

Just then the baby could be heard crying through the monitor.

“Can I at least take Tyson with me to go check on the baby?” Charles asked the officer who seemed to be running the show. “We won’t leave the house.” Charles, too, wanted to be as cooperative with the officers as he could. Even though he wasn’t black and his chances of suffering police brutality were slimmer, he knew that a white man could get it too. Not too long ago he’d watched a video on the news of a white officer body slamming a white male he had in custody. The white male had died as a result.

“Yes,” the first officer replied, then nodded at the door.

“Come on, Tyson. Let’s go check on your brother,” Charles said, opening his arms for Tyson to come with him.

“But my mommy,” Tyson whined, grabbing hold of Deborah’s hand and looking at her.

“It’s okay, Ty,” Deborah groaned. “Mommy needs you to help her take care of your baby brother right now. Can you please go with Mr. Charles?”

Tyson thought about his mother’s request, then nodded his head while he wiped his eyes.

“Good boy.” Deborah smiled and gave Tyson’s hand a squeeze.

Tyson stood up and walked over to his best friend’s dad. He took Mr. Charles’s hand and was escorted out of the room, but not before he gave Lynox a glare.

Lynox’s eyes filled with tears. He hated that Tyson thought he’d hurt his mother intentionally. How would he ever get the boy to understand otherwise?

The second officer bent over Deborah and asked, “What’s your full name?”

“Deborah Chase,” she replied, still somewhat groggy.

“Who is this man to you?” The officer pointed at Lynox.

“My husband,” she replied.

“Mrs. Chase, can you tell us what happened? How did you get hurt?”

“My head,” Deborah said, reaching for her head.

The male medic pulled her hand back down as the female medic was cleaning and examining her head.

“I hit my head on the nightstand,” Deborah added.

“Did you fall?” the second officer asked. “Were you pushed?”

Deborah looked over at Lynox. Lynox couldn’t tell what the look Deborah was giving him meant. She still seemed a little out of it to him.

The first officer, the one who had Lynox in cuffs, spoke. “Ma’am, did this man push you into the night table?” The tone in which the officer spoke conveyed that he was hoping, wishing, and praying that Deborah would answer in the affirmative.

Lynox felt that the officer wanted Deborah to give him a reason to manhandle Lynox and throw him in the back of a police vehicle.

Deborah stared at Lynox for a few more seconds before she cast her eyes downward and replied, “Yes,” while simultaneously nodding her head. “He pushed me.”