Wade walked over to Liz and kissed her on the cheek. Marcus and Monet looked at each other warily. Then Marcus nodded his head.
“Hello, Marcus,” she said. “I called Duane and Derek and asked them to come over. They should be here any minute. There was no need in you going over what happened at the prison multiple times.” Then she popped a strawberry inside her mouth.
“Something smells good in here,” Wade observed. He looked at the stove and at the two women. “Who cooked?”
“Liz made oxtail stew and homemade biscuits. She's been here all afternoon spoiling me rotten. And I've loved every minute of it.” Monet mugged.
“I enjoyed spending the day with Nay-Nay. She's spoiled me enough in the past; it was fun to give back to her.” Liz smiled.
The doorbell chimed, the tones pealed throughout the house. “That's probably Duane and Derek. I'll let them in,” Monet said, and started to rise from her seat.
“No, you stay there, I'll get it,” Wade offered as he looked at Marcus, who was still standing next to the cabinet. Marcus shrugged his shoulders. Wade walked out of the room to the front door.
“Marcus, this is your house, why don't you have a seat?” Liz suggested. “I hope you don't plan on standing up during the entire time everyone is here.”
“No, I don't. I'll be back in a minute. I need to run downstairs to the basement.” He left the room, and when he returned, Duane and Derek were in the kitchen greeting everyone. Duane asked Marcus how he was doing, and he replied fine.
“Since this is a family matter, I think Wade and I should go home,” Liz announced, and Wade nodded his agreement. Then the two of them left.
Derek sat at the table while Duane prepared bowls of the oxtail stew for him and Monet and heated the biscuits in the oven. Marcus informed his family that he would discuss his visit to prison after dinner. Marcus and Derek filled their bowls with steaming stew, and everyone's bowls were cleaned in no time while everybody chatted about inconsequential matters. Marcus, Derek, and Duane returned to the stove for second helpings.
After everyone had finished eating, Duane poured himself more lemonade. Then he took a deep breath and said to Marcus, “What happened in Dwight?”
“First off, Wade and I met with the warden and correctional officer, and then later we met your father.” He looked at Duane, Derek, and then Monet, and then continued speaking. “I know you want to know my impression of him, and I can say that he seems to be contrite about how things went down in the past, and of course he wants to meet you. And he's also looking for someplace to stay after he leaves prison.”
“Did he seem to be reformed to you?” Duane asked. “That's my biggest concern.”
“I'm a little bit more cynical than Wade is, and I tend to take a wait and see attitude. Wade, on the other hand, thinks your father was sincere, and the guards who work closely with him think he's ready to enter society. The head warden mentioned there were problems when Aron initially came to the prison. He was somewhat unruly, fighting and that kind of stuff. He admitted Aron had settled down and become a model prisoner.” Marcus got down to the nitty-gritty.
The siblings contemplated his observations. Then Monet asked her husband, “Do we look like him?” Her chin rested on her arm that was propped on the table. “From what I can tell from the pictures Momma saved of our father, it appears we favor him more than her.”
Marcus nodded his head. “Yes, between your parents, his were the dominant genes, and he passed them to you three.”
Derek rolled his eyes upward and muttered, “Just what I wished for when I was growing up, to look like a convicted murderer.”
Monet and Duane frowned at their brother. Marcus made a decision not to mention Aron's comment about Monet's attacker being in jail until his tip could be checked out.
“I think this would be a good time to discuss Dad's living arrangements,” Duane suggested. He turned toward his sister and asked, “Nay-Nay, do you have anything sweet to snack on?”
Monet nodded her head. “There's always ice cream in the freezer and fresh fruit.”
“Well, he's not coming to stay with us,” Derek announced. He looked at his brother challengingly, like he was spoiling for a fight.
“I don't see why not. He's our father,” Duane protested.
“Why can't he stay with Monet and Marcus since they have more room than we do?” Derek looked at Monet, and then at his brother-in-law.
“I don't think that's a good idea, given the issues we have going on in this house,” Marcus said, sharing his thoughts.
“If we won't take him in, then where will he go?” Monet asked.
“He'll have to stay someplace, like a half-way house,” Marcus said. He stood up and began putting the bowls and utensils in the sink.
“Hmmm, I don't think we want that,” Monet said thoughtfully. Faith began kicking again. She rubbed her abdomen in circular motions, and the baby stopped her movements.
“What do you suggest then?” Derek asked. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“I thought he could stay in your garden apartment,” Monet said, as she wrung her hands together nervously. She looked at Derek to gauge his reaction to her suggestion.
“I don't think he should stay anywhere where he can come and go as he pleases. He needs to live somewhere where someone can keep an eye on him.” Derek explained his rationale. “That's why he should stay here. At least we know he won't try anything shady, knowing that a policeman lives in the house.” He put his hand on the back of his head.
“Actually, I agree with Monet. I think the garden apartment would be a good solution for all of us. We don't know what type of elements he'll associate with once he gets out, and whoever they are, they shouldn't be around Monet,” Marcus stated.
“So, it's all right if me and Duane put our lives on the line?” Derek whined.
“Keep in mind we're talking about a sixty-seven-year-old man. He wasn't a mass murderer or anything. Outside of the murder conviction, your dad's previous record consists of petty crimes, nothing that sends up a red flag,” Marcus said, trying to be fair. Plus, he didn't want to get stuck with Aron staying at their house.
“What do you think, Duane?” Monet asked. “You've been quiet.” She rose and poured herself a glass of milk, then put a handful of strawberries in a napkin and sat back down at the table.
Duane had been following the conversation thoughtfully, and he spoke with candor. “I think Dad's staying with me and Derek would be the obvious choice. Between the two of us, we can keep an eye on him. Momma's letters didn't seem to indicate an impending danger, and we know that she would have known and said something to us in the letters.”
“I swear I'm always outnumbered in this family,” Derek groused with an unpleasant tone in his voice. “Okay, I guess he can stay with us. But any hint of trouble, he's out and on the street.”
“Fair enough.” Marcus nodded. “I'll get in touch with the proper authorities, and get the ball rolling.”
“How soon will he be released?” Monet asked as she pulled the stem off a strawberry and dunked it in the milk. The men's eyes followed her actions, and they shook their heads.
“In a month,” Marcus stated. “That's why we needed to have this discussion now.”
Duane stood up and put the bowls and utensils in the dishwasher and wiped off the counter so his sister could relax.
Derek rose and pointed at Duane. “We need to get going as soon as Suzy Homemaker finishes his chores. I need to make a stop before we go home. So hurry up, bro.”
Monet clumsily got out of her chair. Marcus did a double take when he saw how large her stomach had grown. He looked angry. “Goodnight everyone, I'm going to call it a day.” He walked downstairs to the basement.
Duane shook his head sadly, then he, Monet, and Derek walked to the front door. Monet bade them goodnight, locked the door, and set the alarm. She turned off the lights in the living room and kitchen.
As she walked up the stairs to the master bedroom, Monet thought,
Lord, I'm going to meet my father. After all these years, my father, Aron Reynolds, will be in my life. I don't know what to expect from him or what he will expect from me. What I do know is that you have never steered me in the wrong direction. So, thank you, Father. I can hardly wait to see my daddy.
Her spirit was filled with wonderment from the possibility of having her father in her life
Marcus, on the other hand, was more skeptical. His motto was cons were like leopards, they never changed their spots. He also said Monet was too kind-hearted, and she had been taken advantage of more than once. He snorted and shook his head. He picked the remote off the cocktail table in the basement and turned on the news.
Though he tried to banish the thought of Monet and her burgeoning belly out of his mind, he failed miserably. Monet looked beautiful to him, and he admitted she had never looked better in her life. It was obvious to Marcus that she was happy about her impending motherhood.
He couldn't find anything on television that he wanted to watch, so he removed his saxophone from its case and played through his aggressions. Later he got his clothing together for the following morning, and then pulled out the sofa bed and retired for the night, uncertain about his future with Monet, her baby, and now, her jailbird father.
Chapter 25
Contrary to Warden Jones's prediction that Aron would be released in a month, the process took close to six weeks. It was the middle of June on a Thursday before Marcus and Duane traveled to Dwight to pick him up from the correctional facility.
Monet had been ordered to stay off her feet and relax since she had now entered the beginning of her eighth month of Faith's conception. She was amazed at how quickly the time was elapsing during her pregnancy, and instead of the gentle fluttering that she had felt a few months ago, Faith was now kicking up a storm. On more than one occasion, Monet swore she felt the outline of a foot in her side. She continued to receive a clean bill of health from her doctor after her appointments.
Derek was supposed to come over and help Monet with chores around the house as she prepared a homecoming meal for Aron. Instead, he'd been a no-show. Monet guessed that he and Duane had had a disagreement of sorts. Liz and Wade had gone away for a couple's retreat weekend in Bloomingdale, Illinois.
Before Liz left for the trip, she'd baked Monet a red velvet cake and several sweet potato pies. Monet didn't have a clue as to her father's food choices, so since he was born in Louisiana, she decided to prepare a pot of gumbo jambalaya, along with shell fish, and a Caesar salad for dinner.
Her house was spotless. The wood floors shined, along with the tables and woodwork, thanks to Liz's help before her and Wade's weekend outing. Monet had lit vanilla scented candles throughout the house that morning, giving the house a pleasing scent. Sunlight peeped into every glistening window.
She took her cell phone out of the pocket of her blue and white striped smock top and tried calling Derek again, but was routed to voice mail. She closed the phone and slipped it back inside her pocket. She knew her brother would turn up when he was good and ready.
Last month, Wade had persuaded a kicking and screaming Marcus into helping him paint the baby's nursery. The men removed Gayvelle's old rocking chair from the attic and had taken it to a local upholstery shop. The new cushion matched the motif on the wall. And the chair now occupied a corner of the newly painted white walls with the rainbow motif. After they had finished their task, Monet couldn't stay out of the room.
The white lacquered furniture that Monet chose and Liz had ordered would be delivered within a couple of weeks. Lamaze classes had commenced at the hospital, and Liz accompanied Monet to class. If she couldn't make it, Wade gladly stood in. Monet should have been happy, except Marcus hadn't changed his position about the pregnancy. The couple's relationship had degenerated to that of strangers living in the same house.
Monet walked into the kitchen and peeped out the window to see if Marcus had returned from Dwight yet. There was no sign of her husband, brother, or father.
She decided to go upstairs and change into one of her favorite maternity outfits, and Mitzi followed her. Fifteen minutes later, Monet had finished dressing and returned downstairs. She went into the living room and plumped the pillows on the sofa when she heard Marcus's key in the backdoor.
Her heart was beating rapidly, her mouth felt dry as sandpaper, and her palms began sweating. She chided herself, C
alm down. It's only your father. You have nothing to fear.
Monet walked toward the kitchen as Duane called her name. Her legs felt as heavy as logs from the long awaited expectancy of finally seeing her Dad.
When she entered the kitchen, her eyes zoomed to her father, and she stared at him for the longest time. Her eyes took in her father's stooped shoulders, and the grey hair he'd combed back off his brow. Aron had shaved his unkempt beard, and bore little resemblance to the man Marcus and Wade had met in prison.
When Monet looked into her father's eyes, she saw a man humbled by his experiences and pain. All the memories she'd managed to suppress of him as a child, and the resentment she felt against him for deserting his family raced to the forefront of her mind, like a stallion running on an open range. She gulped audibly, and then smiled.
Aron, in turn, looked at eyes that duplicated his own. Although Monet and her brothers strongly favored him, he could see the little dimple in his daughter's left cheek, so like her mother's. The tremulous smile Monet bestowed upon her father looked so much like Gayvelle's grin that Aron's eyes filled with tears, which he blinked back. Regret for lost years showed in father and daughter's eyes. Aron held out his hand, and Monet walked toward him and put her own hand inside his deeply callused one.
“Hello, Daddy,” she stammered. Aron continued holding her hand, and when she didn't resist, he pulled his daughter into a tight embrace.
When Aron released Monet's body, he said, “Hello, my daughter, it's been a long time. Too long. I hope in time you can find it in your heart to forgive a very foolish old man.”
Monet nodded and managed to say, “All I can do is try.”
Aron wore a solemn expression on his face, and then he smiled. “Look at you, all grown up and with child. Marcus and Duane didn't tell me that you're expecting a baby.” He looked over at his son, who shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“Yes, I am. I'm due next month.” Monet nervously pushed a strand of hair off her face.
“Well, I'll leave you three alone. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about,” Marcus announced, as he made his way to the basement.
“You're welcome to join us.” With her eyes, Monet pleaded with Marcus to stay. “I made enough dinner for you.”
“I'll pass for now. Maybe I'll get something later,” he responded. He opened the basement door and walked down the stairs.
Aron looked around the kitchen. “You have a lovely house. I was just telling Marcus and Duane that I'd love to help you with your garden. You must have inherited your green thumb from Gay.”
Monet felt a surreal sensation when she heard her father say her mother's name, considering how scant the time was when she saw them together. His tongue seemed to caress his late wife's name. Then Monet reminded herself they were young once upon a time and had dreams. It was unfortunate those dreams didn't reach fruition.
“Would you like something to eat?” she asked her father. “I know you must be hungry, Duane.” She looked over at her brother.
Duane gave her a thumbs up sign. “Sure, that gumbo smells good.” He walked to the sink and washed his hands. After he was done, Aron did the same.
Monet handed her father a paper towel and told him to have a seat. Aron would occupy the seat to Monet's left, with Duane on her right. Duane volunteered to put the food out on the table, and minutes later, Monet blessed the food, and the trio ate.
After Aron had eaten generous portions of the food, he pushed his chair back from the table and rubbed his stomach. “That's the best meal I've had in a long time. Thank you, Monet. Your mother taught you well. I can tell that you're a fine young woman.”
“Would you like to see the house?” she asked as she stood up. “Coffee is already in the coffeemaker. I thought we'd have some along with dessert. That is, if you drink coffee.” Monet began babbling. She took a deep breath. “Give me a minute to start the coffee, then I'll give you the two dollar tour.”
While she turned on the coffeemaker, Duane cleared the table. Monet then showed her father her house. She was proud of the place she and Marcus had called home for the past seventeen years. The fact that the mortgage was paid in full only added to the house's appeal.
They walked up to the second floor, and Aron was impressed. He couldn't imagine his daughter living in a place so fine. He reminisced about his and Gay's first home. It was a small four room shack in rural Alabama. Aron remembered the loving care Gay gave to the house, like it was a palace.
“I'm sure your brothers have also done well for themselves,” Aron observed after peeping into the bedroom and bathrooms on the second floor. “So this is the little one's room,” he said when they stopped in the nursery. “It's a very nice room. I grew plants in the joint and also did some carpentry work. Maybe you'll allow me to make something for the baby?” he asked hopefully.
“Sure,” Monet bobbed her head up and down, “that would be great.”
By the time they returned downstairs to the kitchen, the coffee was ready to be served. Monet noticed that Marcus had been in the pots and pans. The lid on one of the pots was slightly awry. She smiled at her father and Duane. “Why don't we eat in the dining room? I'll bring coffee and pie in there. Or would you prefer the red velvet cake?” she asked her father. “Duane, I know you want cake.” Duane nodded that cake was his choice.
“Why don't you give me a little bit of both?” Aron grinned back at his daughter. He and Duane walked to the dining room table and sat down on cushioned chairs.
“Here we go,” Monet said, after she brought the dessert and coffee into the room on a tray.
Aron cut a piece of the cake and put a forkful in his mouth. “This cake tastes wonderful. It melts in my mouth.”
“I'm glad you enjoy it.” Monet smiled. She ate a slice of potato pie.
“So how is it that none of you have any children, other than Monet, who has one in the making?” Aron asked, sipping his coffee.
“Well, Derek and I aren't married, and Monet is a late bloomer,” Duane said quickly. He grinned at his sister.
“We're a small family, but we're close. Do you have any sisters or brothers?” Monet asked her father.
“Yes, I come from a large family. There were nine of us; four girls and five boys. We were dirt poor and I couldn't wait to leave the back roads of Louisiana. We lived in a parish not far from New Orleans. I've always been a restless soul, so after I turned eighteen, I moved away from my parents' house. I lived in The Big Easy and worked as a longshoreman, loading merchandise on the docks for a couple of years, and then I moved to Alabama. One of my cousins lived there. I met your mother not too long after moving to Alabama, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Do you stay in touch with your people? I mean your sisters and brothers?” Monet asked.
Aron's eyes seemed to glaze over like he'd been transported to another time and place. “Yes and no. My parents are deceased. My brother, Paul, didn't want to have anything to do with me after I went to prison. But my little sister, Ernestine, used to write me. Then she stopped. I believe she's either very sick or dead. I would like to see her again. I'm sixty-seven years old, and I was the third youngest child, so many of my sisters and brothers have gone on before me.”
“That's too bad,” Monet murmured. She picked up her cup and sipped her coffee. When she set it back on the table, she said, “Momma made us promise that we would always remain close to each other.”
“That's good and sounds like something Gay would do,” Aron said respectfully. He cut a sliver of his cake with his fork and ate it.
“I know we have a lot of catching up to do,” Duane said, “but I'm curious as to why you left our mother and us.”
“I knew one of you was going to ask me that question.” Aron nodded his head. “And I figured it would be Derek. I practiced many times in my mind how I might answer that question. But the truth of the matter is I wasn't a good person back then, and all I was doing was poisoning my family. I knew I was making everyone unhappy and decided to cut my losses and leave.”
“Your leaving didn't have anything to do with Momma's gift?” Duane asked point-blank. He looked down and used his fork to push cake crumbs around his plate.
Monet unconsciously held her breath, waiting for her father's answer.
Aron pushed his plate away from him and looked at his son, surprised. “I guess I'm going to have to come clean with you all, no matter how painful it may be to me. Yes, I had issues with the gift, as Gay called it. It's not easy living with someone who knows your every thought and can anticipate your every need. I was raised Catholic, and the gift went against my teachings,” he said.
“So you're saying that you were religious?” Monet asked, puzzled. She had cloudy memories of her mother taking her and her brothers to a local Baptist church when they were small, but she couldn't remember her father ever attending services with them.
“Not as an adult,” Aron admitted. “But I was raised in the church, and we went to Mass every Sunday. Your mother didn't talk too much about her gift when we were courting. She merely said she had strong feelings about things, situations, stuff like that. I didn't realize I was living with someone who could read thoughts and heal people. It reminded me of voodoo. I had an uncle that a woman put roots on, and he was never the same after that. I guess I looked at your mother as someone like that woman.” He cleared his throat.
“She was so much more,” Monet said, her eyes becoming moist.
“I know that now. Sometimes people don't realize what they have until it's gone, and that was the case with me. I had a precious jewel, and I didn't realize that until I sat in that prison all those years and had time to think about the hurts I had caused my family.” Aron noticed Monet's glistening eyes, and he gently touched his daughter's shoulder. “I don't mean to upset you, Monet. We can talk about this at another time, if you find the conversation upsetting.”