Chapter 12
When a day went by without his calling, Carol thought that Alex was angry. After two days went by . . . she knew for sure. That second day she called, but left no message. But now, day three, she waited until she heard the sound of the beep.
“Alex, it’s me, Carol. I called to see how you were doing, and to apologize for what I said. It sounded judgmental and since I’ve never been shot, I have no right to tell you how to feel about it. I have more to say, but . . . not in a message. Please give me a call.”
She ended the call and went into her office, determined to get back into the flow of life. The holidays were over; the New Year had begun. Today she’d received an e-mail from Jeremy about the community center. Since other projects were on hold because of the weather, he planned for a group of volunteers to join the work crew and finish the interior. They’d fallen behind, but with the help of additional hands on deck, their goal of completing the center in time to host a Black History Month gala could be realized.
She reached for her phone. “Happy New Year, Jeremy!”
“To you, too, Carol!” Jeremy’s deep voice bounced against the walls of Carol’s neat office/library. Amazing how much her classmate now sounded like his minister dad. “How was LA?”
“Blue skies, warm weather . . . you know, the usual.”
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“You’ve never been to LA?”
“No.”
“How did I miss that?”
“Guess it never came up. And to be clear, I’ve been to California, to San Francisco and other cities in the northern part, but never to LA.”
“You’ll have to go; it’s pretty cool.”
“LA seems full of fakers, people perpetrating. I don’t fit in to all of that.”
“Everyone isn’t faking, Jeremy; there are some really wonderful people who live there.”
“I’ll get their numbers from you before I visit.”
“Ha! Please do.” She sat back, scrolling social network sites while she chatted. Jeremy was a good, upstanding guy, married with children; an example that all African-American men weren’t lost. He always made her feel good, which is why becoming a partner by investing in his business had been both a no-brainer and a fairly profitable, highly rewarding decision. “I got your e-mail about the community center rehab push this Saturday. Count me in.”
“Excellent. If we can get at least fifty volunteers on board we can finish the project in two weeks, giving the interior designers a week to apply the finishing touches in time for a February celebration. The tentative opening date is still the seventh, correct?”
“Yes, flyers and invites are going out this week, so no matter how it looks inside, we’ll be doing something that day! I hate it that we’re cutting it so close.”
“Life is exciting when lived on the edge.”
“After this is over, I’ll take my life a little less exciting, thank you.”
“I hear you. It has been a little crazy these past two months. Who are the featured guests? Anyone famous or noteworthy?”
Carol flipped to another screen. “We’re mixing a little fame and noteworthiness with the extraordinarily ordinary. Some of our homegrown gospel greats will open it up, along with the mayor, who’s agreed to be a part of the ribbon-cutting ceremony earlier that day. We’ve reached out to Courtney Vance, David Alan Grier, and Byron Allen, all from Detroit, and asked for guest appearances. There’s some interest, but it depends on their schedules. And we’re crossing our fingers that the queen of soul will grace us with just one number.”
“Aretha Franklin? That would be amazing!”
“Yes, one of the women on the board says she’s good friends with her cousin. So . . . you know how that goes. We’ll see.”
“Of course, you could always drop a dime and get your girl Gabriella.”
“I knew she’d be too busy to make an appearance, but she has promised a sizable donation.”
“Cool.”
They continued talking and while Carol was thankful for the distraction, thoughts of Alex never strayed far from her mind.
“What’s up with you, dog?” Grant looked at Alex as he passed the couch on the way to the black leather recliner. “You’ve been in that same spot for the last three days.”
Alex gave him the side-eye. “I moved around. You just weren’t here.”
Grant reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the muted sports channel. “I understand, though.”
“You do?”
“Sure. If I’d gone to California, enjoyed eighty-degree weather for five days, and then had to come back here and wade through snow . . . I’d be mad, too. I don’t mind you staying here, but since the doctor said it was cool to travel, I don’t know why you came back.”
“He gave me a conditional release. But now that you mention it, I guess since Marlon is back home I could ask the doctor to refer me to a colleague in LA.” He frowned. The thought of leaving Detroit didn’t feel good. The last conversation he’d had with the only reason he’d stay didn’t feel good either.
“Man, the way you’ve been moping around, and the way you’re frowning right now, I’d get on the next thing smoking!” Grant paused, surfing the channels until he reached the NFL Network. “Unless there’s something more on your mind.”
This got Alex’s attention. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, dog; I’m asking you. From Christmas to when you returned from LA I barely saw you. Thought maybe you’d hooked up with a babe or something.” Silence, so much so that Grant muted the TV. “Is that what happened? Has a shorty come and gone, leaving a brother shook?”
“Nobody’s shook!” Forgetting about his healing wound, Alex jumped off the couch. And immediately wished he hadn’t.
“Sorry, man, I—”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” He gingerly placed a hand on his side as he moved toward the kitchen.
“Alex, you all right?”
“I’m fine; just forgot about my condition for a minute, that’s all.” His phone buzzed. He looked down, ignored the call, and placed the phone back into his sweats pocket.
Grant followed him into the kitchen. “Look, I’ve got something to take your mind off of whatever is going on with you. It’s physical labor, but not enough that you can’t participate.”
“What type of physical labor; you want to play some ball or something?”
Grant passed him, reached into the fridge, and pulled out a beer. “Even better, my friend; even better.” He motioned to Alex, who nodded that he’d take a soda.
“When is it?”
“This Saturday. You game?”
“Why not?” Alex felt his phone ding; she’d left a message this time. Probably offering another reason why she sided with a criminal. “I’ve nothing better to do.”
Alex leaned against the counter, enjoying the feel of the soft burn as the ice-cold cola traveled down his throat. Grant had left the kitchen without telling him what he’d agreed to participate in on Saturday. On his last visit, the doctor had reminded him to take it easy. Didn’t matter. Whatever it was had to beat channel surfing and Internet games. Plus anything that would take his mind off Carol—how much he missed her and how badly he’d like to see her—was worth a little pain.