Five years earlier
"Little Ro, call your father and tell him dinner will be ready in twenty minutes," Arnita ordered her son. "Oh, and tell him I cooked his favorite. Fried chicken, sweet corn, biscuits and gravy."
"Okay, Ma, I will," the eldest of Arnita Mills' two children sighed, answering back as he stood over his little sister, Patrice, making sure she washed her face and hands before sitting at the table.
"Oh, and please tell him to try and not be too late either."
Roland Dean Mills Jr. was only twelve years old, but shouldered a great deal of responsibility for a boy of his age. Being the namesake of a stern but fair father was sometimes more than the rambunctious youngster could handle, yet he never wanted to disappoint the man he deemed as his time to time hero. Although, truth be told, making the usual shameful call night after night, summoning his dad home from his boy's house, was fast becoming a habit that was growing old with Little Ro. Each evening before he went to sleep, he'd pray his mother would get the courage to stand up for herself and stop being his father's doormat.
God, please give Momma strength to stop Daddy from going over to that nasty, stank looking lady's house all the time. I hate her and her dumb-dumb son. Amen.
The man of the house, Roland Sr., a carpenter by trade, was a tall muscular man in stature that everyone on this closely knit block on the west side of Detroit knew. Highly regarded wherever he went, whether it was out of fear of his quick fire temper or just plain respect, he was a force to be reckoned with. Migrating from Alabama, Roland Sr. had a swagger and southern charm that made him the perfect gentleman.
For those strangers who didn't know any better, Arnita was blessed with a perfect man. Omitting the common knowledge to those near him that he was involved in an ongoing affair with Salena Jackson, a single mother of one, who'd recently moved into the area and was known as the neighborhood good time girl who slept with just about anything that hopped, skipped or jumped as long as they paid her.
Removing that one negative and outrageous factor from the equation, the head of household rarely missed a meal with his own family. He was a good paymaster; never late on one bill that crossed the modest threshold of their brick framed bungalow. Not causing his wife to worry about the high mortgage, food in the cabinets or clothes on the kid's backs, Roland Sr. thought his blatant indiscretions, along with the sideway glances of pity his wife endured from neighbors, were somehow allowable.
"Did you call him?" Arnita asked her son a few minutes later. "Yes, Ma, I called." Little Ro secretly rolled his eyes at her stupidity of dealing with his daddy and all his madness.
"And is he on his way?" Arnita wondered as she set the table. "I don't want his dinner to get cold."
"Do you want me to go and get him from around the corner? I can." Receiving a cold, hard stare from his mother, Little Ro instantly regretted asking her that million dollar question, but couldn't help himself as he headed toward the door. "I know what house she stays in."
"What did you just say to me?" Arnita slowly approached her son with a look of venom in her eyes as Patrice watched, scared that her brother was seconds away from getting popped.
"Nothing, Ma." He wisely backed down, treading on dangerous ground, wanting to avoid trouble. "I didn't say nothing."
"I thought not." She angrily wiped her hands down her apron. In just those few seconds, her blood had boiled just enough to form a sweat. "You ain't so big that you can't get a whooping. Now go sit your wanna-be-grown-behind on that front porch and let me know the minute your father pulls up. You understand me?"
"Yes, Ma. I understand." He twisted his lip up as he thought about how his father was disrespecting his mom.
Arnita, five foot three with paper bag brown skin tone and shoulder length hair, took pride in being a devout, born again Christian. The thirty-eight year old mother stayed immersed in the Word, hiding from the reality that faced her daily as the busy bodied women in her church congregation made it their personal vendetta to give Arnita their opinion on her husband's extra marital dealings. Although most claimed they were just trying to minister to her, or share what God was revealing to them, Arnita knew they were just trying to meddle.
"For better or worse, richer or poorer," was Arnita's constant response to the women, trying to hold her head up and keep her dignity.
Unfortunately, Arnita Mills wasn't the only one who suffered the shame from her spouse's infidelity. Little Ro would catch it going to the corner store, at the playground and even in the lunchroom line. Ridiculed by his classmates for having a play step brother who was in the slow class, he tried his best to ignore the taunts, but stayed in detention as a result of physical retaliation, disappointing his parents.
Little Ro did as he was told by his mother. He sat silently on the wooden steps of their house looking back and forth up the block for more than twenty minutes. He grew impatient awaiting any sign of his father, but just when he thought he'd die from hunger, Roland Sr.'s two toned pick up truck turned the corner, roaring into the driveway.
"Hey, Pops. You're late," Little Ro pointed out to his father as he hopped out of the truck and made his way to the porch.
"Yeah I know, so come on and let's eat," Roland Sr. stated nonchalantly as he rested his hand on his son's shoulder and they entered the house.
They both walked into the dining room at the same time. "I could eat a horse." Roland Sr. smiled as the smell of the delicious foods assaulted his nose.
"I thought I told you to tell me when he pulled up?" Arnita tugged her son's earlobe.
"Sorry, Ma. I forgot." Little Ro sadly found his spot at the table.
"What's the big deal, Arnita?" Roland Sr. stated after witnessing his son's demeanor slope.
"He's always forgetting something lately." Arnita judgmentally raised her eyebrow. It was obvious that Arnita was more disappointed in her husband's tardiness versus her son's forgetfulness. Her eyes dared her husband to call her on it as she turned to retrieve the pan of biscuits from the oven.
"Listen here, Arnita. I'm not in the mood to hear all that nerve wrecking complaining you doing," Roland Sr. scolded his wife as if she was a child. "That's why I stay away most of the time. That mouth of yours."
"Roland." She turned with a platter of hot biscuits in her hands. "Don't say that."
"I know you not telling me what to say in my own house are you?"
"No, but I-"
"But nothing!" he insisted as he sat down at the head of the table. "Just bring me my plate so I can eat and go take a hot shower."
Arnita, always the one to submit to her husband as her Bible instructed her to, prepared her family's plates and sat down, joining her husband, son and daughter at the dinner table. As the family lowered their heads, Roland Sr., who was the biggest hypocrite in the room, led them in a prayer before the family dug in, devouring almost every dish Arnita had lovingly prepared.
Inhaling the aroma of a homemade hot apple pie warming in the oven, the troubled husband and wife went through the normal ritual of idle chit chat.
"So, how was your day?" Arnita asked Roland Sr.
"Same as it always is," he huffed while pouring honey on the last piece of bread. "Long and drawn out. I swear if I didn't have you and these kids, I'd quit and let some other fool have that headache job."
"Just be blessed you have steady work as bad as the economy is."
"What you know about the economy? You ain't got no worries!" He barely looked over to acknowledge her.
"That's not true. It's getting harder by the day to stretch the food budget on these kids," she stated, watching her son and daughter drink their glasses of Kool-Aid. "And they say times are about to get much harder."
Roland Sr., with sticky fingers and crumbs around his mouth, glanced up. "Are you saying I don't give you enough to provide for my children? Are you saying I don't work hard enough?" Roland Sr. was now on the defensive side.
"No, I was just saying the prices at the grocery store are going up." She backed down, fearing her man's harsh verbal tongue lashing would increase. "That's all."
Little Ro and Patrice were used to the mental abuse their mother was forced to undergo and knew to just be quiet and stay out of grown folks' business as they were reminded constantly.
"Why do you always find something to get on my back about?" Roland Sr. asked his wife with a slight pound on the table. "I'm out there every day busting my butt and all you do is constantly complain."
"Humph! I guess that sleazy Salena is perfect, huh?" Arnita stated in an almost inaudible tone, as if she was second guessing even making the comment in the first place.
You could've heard a pin drop around the table as Roland Sr. dropped his fork onto the plate, giving Arnita a wicked grin. "What did you just say?"
Arnita took a deep breath before speaking. "You heard me, Roland!" she raised her usually timid voice, getting up out of her chair. She didn't know where this sudden burst of courage, or holy boldness as the women in the church would have called it, came from, but she was going to use it up while it lasted. "I do my best to make you and this family happy, and all I get in return is grief! I'm tired of being second best!"
Roland Sr. sat dumbfounded at a loss for words. His wife had never called him on his behavior before. And now, after seeing the hurt in her eyes and hearing the pain in her voice, he almost felt bad. He finally conjured up some words to speak, but before he could respond or reassure his wife of his half time devotion to her, his cell phone rang, interrupting the argument.
Taking the cell off his thick leather belt, Roland Sr. looked at the screen and saw Salena's number flash repeatedly. Confused on the reason she was calling him at this time, knowing good and well he was having dinner with Arnita and the kids, Roland Sr. disrespectfully pushed the talk button as his family listened in on the one sided conversation.
"Yeah. . .What? He did what? Why is he even over there? Is he touching you? I'm on my way!" Roland Sr. leaped to his feet, grabbing his keys and almost knocking his small daughter out of her seat.
"Have you lost your mind? Where do you think you're going right in the middle of dinner?" Arnita couldn't believe her eyes and ears as she and her two children followed her irate husband onto the front porch, watching him jump in his truck. "Roland!" Arnita called out. "You get back in here with your family right now! This is ridiculous! Enough is enough!"
"Arnita, y'all go back inside the house and tend to your business!" Roland Sr. yelled out as the nosy neighbors watched. "This doesn't concern you or the kids." He quickly backed out the driveway and was on his way back down the street in the same direction he had come from less than a half hour ago.
Having no choice but to do as they were instructed, Arnita ushered Little Ro and her young daughter off the porch and back into their home. Hours seemed to pass as the evening sunlight disappeared, making way for the glow of the moon. The kids had long since gone to bed as Arnita, who sat on the couch furiously awaiting Roland Sr.'s return, simmered.
I'm done! If he wants to be with that hussy so bad, he can have her, Arnita told herself, knowing in her heart that she didn't want to lose her family that easily. She closed her weary eyes for a few seconds, but was suddenly startled by the loud sounds of the telephone. Oh, I guess he wants to call with some sort of an excuse. Arnita recognized her husband's number on the caller I.D. and answered dryly.
"Yes, Roland," she responded angrily.
"Hello, Arnita?" A puzzled look came across Arnita's face. Although she was certain it was her husband's phone number that appeared on the caller ID, the voice speaking on the other end of the line was clearly not that of Roland's.
"Yes, this is Arnita." She paused, momentarily shocked at not hearing her husband's voice on the other end. "Who is this?"
"This is Salena." The woman's voice sounded grim.
"Salena? Salena Jackson? You have some nerve," Arnita started before she was cut off."
"Arnita, it's an emergency," Salena started.
"Oh, I bet. Well you can take your emergency to 911, sweetheart, but don't call my house-"
Once again, Salena cut her off. "Arnita, listen please. Don't hang up."
"How dare you. You've got some sort of nerve calling my house. Haven't you disrespected me and my children enough over the years?"
"Please, Arnita, just listen to me!" This time Salena yelled with authority and Arnita could tell something serious was going on. "There's been an accident."
"Why are you calling me on my husband's phone? Where is he? Put him on the line." As she became nervous by the seriousness of the female caller's voice, Arnita fired question after question out to her husband's long time mistress.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you." Salena started crying uncontrollably. "Roland's been hurt and the paramedics are putting him in the ambulance as we speak. He's on his way to the hospital."
"What?" Arnita's yells woke Little Ro from out of a deep sleep. "What kind of accident was my husband in? Where are they taking him? To what hospital?"
"I don't know. I don't know! But it looks really bad!" Salena's tears increased. "It's so much blood!" She made the last statement as if she was looking at the blood as she spoke.
The fact that Arnita hadn't appreciated Salena calling her one little bit now had to be put on the back burner as she dropped the phone to the floor and ran to get her purse. Little Ro, now out of the bed, stood in the doorway and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. At the same time, he watched his mother leave, rushing off to the hospital, somehow feeling like he'd never see his father alive again, and knowing that his young life would be forever changed.