Chapter 19
Hours later, Monet walked into her kitchen after changing out of her church outfit. She took a ceramic bowl from the cabinet, walked to the stove, and ladled spoonfuls of the leftover stew into the bowl. Though she had cooked a traditional Sunday dinner, she had a craving for stew that wouldn't be denied. She set the bowl on the counter and cut herself a piece of cornbread, put it in the microwave and warmed it. Then she sat at the table, said a prayer, and began eating.
Duane had come over after church, and Derek joined them afterward. Duane, Derek, and Marcus walked upstairs from the basement and sat in chairs around the kitchen table. They talked about the NBA while waiting for Monet to finish eating.
“I have tickets to the Bulls game on Sunday,” Derek informed Marcus. “You're welcome to join me.”
“Let me check my schedule at work and see what the assignment chart looks like. With Monet not working, I've been putting in some overtime,” he told his brother-in-law.
“Fine, just give me a call,” Derek said.
The brothers lived in a three-flat apartment they owned on the southeast side of the city. They were confirmed bachelors. Both men claimed they hadn't found the right woman they wanted to settle down with. Duane had been dating a woman named Elise for the past ten years. He said they were content with their relationship just the way it was. Derek, on the other hand, went through women like the seasons. He was every bit the player he claimed to be.
“Is there anything new with Monet's case?” Duane asked. He stood up, went to the refrigerator freezer, and took out a gallon of French vanilla ice cream. “Anybody want some?” he asked.
“I'll take a bowl,” Derek replied.
“None for me,” Marcus said. “Well, you know we found Monet's purse not too far from the hospital. Her wallet and keys were taken out of the purse. The locks have been changed on the house, and we put in an alarm system. We've dusted Monet's car for fingerprints, but our culprit's prints weren't in the AFIS database, nor was his DNA in CODIS. So we're kind of at an impasse for now.”
“That's too bad,” Derek said. “Don't let me find that guy before y'all do. I swear it'll be on. It's too bad that he's walking the streets waiting to prey on other women.” Derek scraped the bottom of the bowl, eating the last of his ice cream.
“Do you want more?” Monet asked. “There's more in the freezer downstairs.” The brothers shook their heads.
“So Marcus, what did you want to talk to us about the other day?” Derek asked as he pushed his chair away from the table.
He burped, and Monet frowned and said, “Eww, I know Momma trained you better than that.”
“Excuse me,” he mumbled.
“Anyway,” Marcus interjected, “I received a call from a prisoner at the Dwight Correctional Facility. Aron Reynolds will be released from the facility shortly, and he's looking for a sponsor on the outside.”
Monet asked in a strangled tone of voice, “Our father?” Her eyes grew as round as salad plates as she looked at her brothers.
“The one and only,” Marcus answered. He looked around the table to gauge everyone's reaction. “He's paid his debt to society.”
Derek looked uninterested; he wore a bored expression on his face. Duane, on the other hand, was just as flabbergasted as Monet.
“Now, that's what I call news. Why did he call you?” Duane asked.
“He doesn't have anywhere to stay, and he needs someone to vouch for him, for lack of a better term,” Marcus stated.
“How do you know it's really him?” Derek asked. His foot tapped rhythmically on the tile floor.
“Well, I'm a detective, so of course I checked out his story,” Marcus informed them.
“So that's where he's been for the past thirty plus years? And what was he in jail for?” The words slipped out of Monet's mouth like rapid fire.
“Your father is the type of man, if it weren't for bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all,” Marcus said. Monet and her brothers hung onto his words. “He was imprisoned thirty-five years ago for murder in the first degree,” he informed the trio succinctly.
“Mercy me,” Monet whispered. “Do you know what happened?” She tried to wrap the words Marcus had just spoken around her brain, but was struggling.
“From what I was able to piece together, he was imprisoned about a year or so after he moved from Alabama,” Marcus enlightened them.
Duane shook his head in doubt. His eyes were as round as Monet's. “I wonder if Momma knew what happened to him.”
“She probably did,” Monet said. “One way or the other, believe me, she knew.”
“Well, I hope you told him no,” Derek announced. “Our lives are set and established, and we have no room or place for him this late in the game.”
“Speak for yourself,” Monet advised Derek. “He's our father.”
“Monet, is being pregnant rattling your brain or something? You heard Marcus say our father is a murderer.” His voice rose when he said the word murderer.
“What did you tell him, Marcus?” Duane asked, reserving judgment.
“I told him that I had to talk to you all and see what you think. If it makes you feel any better, Derek, I've made contact with the prison officials and from all reports, your father has been a model prisoner for the past twenty-five years,” he said.
“I say no, let the chips fall where they may for the old man. We don't owe him a darn anything,” Derek announced.
“We owe him our lives,” Monet said. “Without Daddy, none of us would've been born. I think we should help him.”
“You would think that,” Derek snorted. He stood up, went to the refrigerator and removed a pitcher of ice tea.
“What do you think, Duane?” Monet ignored Derek. Whenever the siblings squared off against each other, usually Duane sided with Monet.
“I think we should proceed with caution, and have Marcus continue to check things out a bit more. He's already gotten the ball rolling, and now it's up to us to see how far we want to carry things.” Duane's tone was grave.
“That's a good suggestion. I don't think Momma would want us to turn our backs on him. So we've got to do the right thing,” Monet said.
“Who appointed you to decide what's right or wrong?” Derek asked Monet. “Your own house isn't in order, and I don't think you need to be bringing more drama into this house. And anyway, I didn't hear Marcus volunteering this house,” he remarked with cruel candor. He looked down at his wrist to check the time.
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it. He folded his arms across his chest. This wasn't his battle to fight. He looked across the table at Monet, whose face seemed to crumble with agony.
She bit her lower lip and said carefully, “The last time I checked, the deed to this house had my name on it too, so I have some say so. And I didn't say I was bringing him here. If Daddy stays anywhere, it should be at you and Duane's place.”
The argument was beginning to escalate. “Hey,” Marcus said, whistling shrilly. Monet, Derek, and Duane stopped talking and looked at him. “Does anyone have a picture of your dad?” he asked. “I'm one hundred percent sure he's your father, but I want to make sure.”
“I have a picture upstairs in the attic with Momma's stuff that I brought back with me from Alabama,” Monet replied.
“I still think we should leave him be. He hasn't done anything for us in all these years, so he's not in any position to ask us for any favors,” Derek stated.
“I'm curious,” Duane stated. “I'd like to know his story; why he wasn't in our lives, and most of all, how he ended up killing someone?” He and Monet shivered. “I know you have his case file, why don't you share it with us?” he asked Marcus.
“I think he needs to tell you in his own words,” Marcus said as he yawned. “Well then, my work here is done. Once Monet gives me the picture, then I can verify that he is your father. And then you three can decide where to go from there.” He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Then he strolled to the basement door and went downstairs.
“Do you want to take anything home with you before I put up the food” Monet asked her brothers.
“I'll make myself a plate,” Duane answered. He walked to the pantry and took out a box of aluminum foil and Tupperware bowls.
Monet put a plastic lid on top of the bowl of stew and removed other bowls from the cabinet to put the food in.
“I guess we'll get out of here,” Duane remarked, after getting some food. Derek went to the foyer to get his and Duane's jackets. Duane walked over to Monet and said, “I'll work on Derek, and Dad will stay at our place.”
Monet's expression brightened. “Thanks. I think that will be the best place for him. Of course, he'll stay here sometimes.”
“I'll talk to you later,” Derek said, coming back into the kitchen. He put an orange and navy blue Chicago Bears skullcap on his head, the matching jacket, and gloves on his hands. “Duane, I'm going to warm up the car.” Then he left the kitchen, walked through the living room, and out the front door.
Duane looked at his sister, and compassion shone in his eyes. “Don't let Marcus and Derek work your nerves. They are two of the most stubborn men I've ever known. Call me if you need anything.” He squeezed Monet's arm gently. Duane and Monet could hear Derek impatiently blowing the car horn, indicating he was ready to go.
Monet followed Duane to the door. After he left, she locked it, and then returned to the kitchen where she put the food in bowls and in the refrigerator. She wiped the kitchen table clean and checked on Mitzi, who was in her bed asleep. She filled Mitzi's water bowl, flipped off the light switch, and went upstairs to the master bedroom.
After she had showered and changed into her nightclothes, Monet got into bed and read her Bible for a little while. Her mind tried to process the fact that her father had actually contacted Marcus. And she wondered how her father knew how to get in touch with her husband. Monet wasn't privy to the fact that her mother had given her father her and Marcus's address and phone numbers years ago. As Monet continued to ponder the mystery, she closed her Bible and put it on the nightstand when the telephone rang.
“Hi, Liz,” she said after she glanced at caller ID.
“Hey, Monet. How was dinner?” Liz asked. She picked up the remote and turned the channel to BET to watch Sunday Best. Wade was downstairs in the den watching the news.
“Today was a good day. I felt so uplifted after church. I think the nausea has finally passed. I fixed dinner and the boys came over. Marcus even joined us, sort of.” Monet crinkled her nose daintily.
“When are you going to stop calling those old brothers of yours
boys
?” Liz teased. “I know they've got to be close to forty years old.”
“Not yet, and they'll always be boys to me,” Monet mused as she pulled the comforter over her waist.
“What do you want to do first?” Liz asked. “Pray or talk?”
“Let's talk first. You'll have to keep me in your prayers even more after I tell you about the bombshell Marcus dropped on me and my brothers at dinner,” Monet commented.
“What was that?” Liz asked nosily. She waited for Monet to reply with bated breath.
“My father is alive,” Monet blurted out. “And he contacted Marcus.”
“You've got to be kidding.” Liz's mouth formed a perfect O. “That's unbelievable. So where has he been all this time?”
“Would you believe right here in Illinois, in prison?” Monet's voice trembled.
“Oh wow,” Liz exclaimed, as she sat upright in the bed. “That's too much. What is he in for?”
“Murder One.” Monet's tongue tripped on the word murder.
“Hmmm. So what did he want to talk to Marcus about?” Liz relaxed her body against the pillows.
“Well, his request was two-fold. He wanted Marcus to sponsor him when he gets out of prison, and he'd like to meet with me, Duane, and Derek, of course,” Monet explained.
“How do you feel about that, and how did your brothers take the news?” Liz asked.
“I'm still sorting it out,” Monet murmured softly. “Duane was open to the possibility, as you know he would be. Derek was another story.”
There was a moment of silence between the women. Then Liz asked, “Do you think your mother knew your father was incarcerated?”
“I've been asking myself that same question,” Monet admitted as she shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I really don't know. I always thought when he left her, that was the end of things for them. But now I'm not so sure.”
“What did Marcus have to say about all of this?”