No one, especially those who loved her, had the heart to tell Katherine that the new look had actually aged her.
She was ready for a new man. Not too old, though, maybe forty-fourish. She was still Kate. And a warm-blooded woman such as herself couldn’t end up in the arms of an old man.
Knowing she needed a change, she accepted her daughter LaWanda’s invitation to come to California and help her with the boys. Her two sons had joined a gang, a dangerous one. And because LaWanda worked two jobs, she was unable to supervise them as much as she would like.
LaWanda assured Katherine that she would only need her help for a few months. And by the end of June, she would have saved enough money to buy her family a home and move from their apartment complex, where the gangs prevailed.
Katherine silently vowed that by the time she returned back to Michigan in the summer, she’d be wearing a brand-new husband for the warm weather. So, Katherine, in her reemergence to the beauty and passion of life, her life, decided to give her daughter that time.
“Yes, Mama. Everything’s just fine here. Yes, I’m still going to church every Sunday. Giving all my problems to God.” Ginger smiled as a calm peace filled her heart.
“I know Christian and Autumn are okay. It’s Sierra I’m worried about.”
Bending over, Ginger bopped Autumn in the head playfully. She’d slipped and smeared the thick cream over Ginger’s eye. “Take your time,” she said, grabbing a paper towel from the kitchen corner and cleaning her eye. “They dropped the charges, Mama. Apparently the Nobles just wanted to teach the kids a lesson. Problem is, the parents suffered more than the kids did.”
“Praise the Lord,” said Katherine, “my prayers have been answered.”
“Mama, are you okay? I’ve never heard you talk like that before.”
“Time for me to turn my life around. I ain’t getting no younger, you know. LaWanda, me, and the kids all started going to church on Sundays.” Then the old Katherine surfaced: “You know they got some mighty fine men in them churches. Probably make a good husband for LaWanda. She needs a man around them bad kids she’s got. Can’t hardly do nothing with them.”
And we won’t even mention you looking for a husband too. Huh, Mama? “So I guess you stopped drinking?”
“Can’t give up everything right away. It’s gonna take a little time, but I’m praying on it. You mark my words, by the end of the summer, my taste for alcohol is gonna be a thing of the past. Strongest thing I’ll be drinking is orange and V8 juice.”
“Hold on a minute, Mama.” She didn’t want Autumn to hear this part of their conversation. “Baby, can you go to your room and play with your Barbies for a few minutes, while Mama talks to Granny?” She waited a few moments until she heard the creaking of Autumn’s toy box. “I’m back.”
“Something wrong?”
“Not really, Mama. You were right about keeping my mouth shut in the bedroom. I blew it.”
“What are you saying, Ginger? What did you tell Jackson?”
“About my attempted rape.”
“When . . .”
“I told him last year, but it happened two years ago.”
“Ginger! Wha —”
“Mama, it’s more serious now. A young girl is dead. The same man that tried to rape me, raped her.” Ginger told Katherine the entire story, from the accident she staged to cover up the assault to the trial scheduled in two months. Katherine felt the same way as Ginger did, that she should testify.
“I knew something was bothering you Christmas. You can’t hide nothing from your Mama. You should know that by now. I’ll fly in for the trial.”
“Thanks, Mama. But you just left. The sexual assault counselor will be there with me. She’s called and assured me that we have a good case. The prosecutor is sure he’ll get a conviction. I won’t even have to be inside the courtroom — just when I testify.”
“I’ll be there, Ginger.”
“I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Ginger said good-bye to her mother. She knew then that no matter how wonderful Mrs. Hattie B. Montgomery was as a mother, no matter how endeared she was to her children, Katherine was Ginger’s hero. She was an icon. With all her imperfections, she was just what she needed to be — Ginger’s mother. There could be no other.
“See, Mommy? I told you so.” Autumn had climbed up on the vanity to look in the mirror, as her mother scooted back, holding a hand mirror in her right hand. Ginger closed her eyes for a second, thanking God for the miracle. Then, opening them again, she adjusted the mirror squarely before her, checking again to be certain. Sure enough, there was a black speckled spiral pattern on the crown of her head. Her body felt as if shooting sparks had ignited inside her.
It had been nearly three years, and up until now, there had been no signs of her hair growing back. With renewed faith she’d tried to accept the fact that it would never grow back . . . and now, now she was jubilant . . . ecstatic.
She cradled her daughter in her arms as they rubbed each other’s noses, a chilled little button nose against a toasty, keen one. “Guess what, sweetheart. You’ve got a surprise coming too.”
Autumn’s eyes bulged as she turned to face the mirror, possessive arms still curling around her mother’s neck. “What, Mommy?” asked Autumn cheerfully.
“Your bridge is coming.” Ginger traced a line down the center of the child’s angelic face. “See?” She pressed her cheek against her baby daughter’s exuberant smile. They turned away from the mirror, hugging each other.
The phone interrupted their happy moment. “I’ll get it, Mommy,” said Autumn, trying to reach the phone before the answering machine caught it on the third ring, but Ginger beat her to it. Jackson had always changed the recordings on their answering machine, and Ginger never learned to do it right. She felt so uneasy about talking into the recorder that the message would always sound forced.
“Jason! It’s so good to hear from you, sweetheart. I miss you.” Ginger splayed her hand over her heart, rocking back and forth on the stool as she talked to her son. Autumn took her position again behind her mother, taking more time, carefully massaging her mother’s scalp.
“I miss you and the kids too, Mama. I should be home by August. That’s the month of the family reunion isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised you remembered. I didn’t mention it that last time we talked. You doing okay way over there by yourself?”
“I’ll be bringing someone with me, Mama. Is that okay with you?”
Autumn was begging to speak, nudging her mother’s back with the bend of her bony knee. “Sure, sweetheart. Anyone special?” Before he could answer, Autumn grabbed the phone.
“Hi, Dink. I love you, Dink.” Her pearly-toothed smile spread across her face as she filled in her brother on the latest happenings in Detroit. The new records, rap groups, teenage talk. Even though she was only eight years old, Autumn had more songs memorized than Sierra did, could dance like a member of the Soul Train dancers — and wiggled and rolled her behind like a Hawaiian hula dancer.
“Tell Sierra and Christian hi for me, Mama.”
“I will, sweetheart.”
“And tell Jackson I said hi the next time you see him.”
“Jackson?” asked Ginger timidly.
“Didn’t he tell you I wrote him a letter?”
“No.” Ginger’s mind raced like a fire engine. What had he said to him? Had Jackson written him back? What had he told Jason about them? Jason was speaking to her, but Ginger couldn’t make out the words. When he paused she just said, “Um-hm, yeah.”
“Mommy,” said Autumn, breaking her thoughts. “You got gray hair on your head.” She moved her head closer to Ginger’s, her face inches away from her glistening scalp.
I don’t care if it’s purple, as long as it’s hair, Ginger thought. She covered the receiver with her hand. “That’s wisdom, sweetheart.” She exhaled, her eyes scanning the huge kitchen, where there was a semicircle of cabinets. But unlike her white, high-gloss, painted cabinets at home, these were made of white Formica.
Ginger didn’t know why, but she’d never felt comfortable in the kitchen since they’d moved there. She felt odd every time she entered into the ultramodern room. She seldom cooked because the kids preferred pizza and carry-out chicken, when Christian wasn’t cooking his still famous fried chicken. It hadn’t dawned on her yet that the reason the kitchen looked so unwelcoming to her was the fact that the cabinets were always closed.
After a long pause from Jason, Ginger said finally, “My hair’s growing back, Jason. I saw it for the first time today.”
Walking out of the real estate office, Jackson clutched the deed to a prime piece of property in Bloomfield that could be renovated into the real estate office Ginger had dreamed of. He hoped it would soon change his life for the better. The quality of his life. A life together with the woman he loved. Jackson even stopped in occasionally to visit with Kim.
Jackson signed up for the real estate classes offered onsite at Champion Motors. After work, he spent two weeks putting in the required forty hours of study before taking the exam. The first time he flunked, and his respect for Ginger grew. He hadn’t anticipated that the test would be so difficult. He tried again, and passed. Jackson felt that it was important to show Ginger his dedication toward building a business together, which she’d always dreamed of.
They would open their own real estate agency, and work together. Jackson cashed in his stock, and made arrangements to look at a prime building for an office in Bloomfield Hills. After talking over Ginger’s plan for her business with Little Bubba, he realized that she’d really come up with a novel idea.
She’d told him about her dreams so long and so many times that he had them memorized backwards. By the end of the summer she planned to open her own real estate firm: Montgomery’s Real Estate & Service Corporation. But, unlike other real estate firms, hers would staff interior designers. Only one in the beginning — herself. More would be added at a later date. And she’d have carpenters, electricians, plumbers, drywallers, masons and painters on staff, as well.
Her business would focus on the Palmer Woods, Indian Village, Rosedale Park, and University area, homes built around 1920 to the early 1950s, homes that would require lots of repair work.
Ginger had told him how many times clients would ask for her opinion about redecorating their old homes and her ideas for updating them. So being an expert in the interior design and decorating business would allow her to help the buyer visualize how the home would look when remodeled, and motivate the buyer to purchase the property.
And since most of her potential clients were two-income families, her business would provide the service of making household repairs the homeowners were unable to do themselves. They’d even come over and change light bulbs on some of the homes that boasted forty- and fifty-foot ceilings, which usually required scaffolding.
Yes, it sounded like a winner — and he’d finally bought into it. Now he had to convince Ginger to include him in her dream.
Ginger tossed and turned in the queen-size, iron-canopied bed. A soft breeze blew through the ecru chiffon drapes under an open window. The embers of the last fire of the season furled from a trace of air seeping down the chimney. Ginger had always wanted a fireplace in the bedroom. The irony was, now she had the fireplace, but didn’t have Jackson. How insignificant it all seemed when there was no one there to share it with.
Unable to sleep, she threw back the fluffy comforter, let her toes sink into the plush silvery carpeting, and headed for the kitchen. Filling the kettle with fresh water and putting it on the burner, she placed the teacup in front of the toaster. As she waited for the water to boil, she heard the pelts of rain splashing against the windows, and looked outside at the mournful sky. She felt tired and drained, yet she’d been unable to get an ounce of sleep.
Sitting at the small table, she sipped her tea, trying not to think of Jackson. Yet as hard as she tried to force his image from her mind, his hazel eyes seemed to taunt her everywhere she looked. Shaking her knee, she felt the tears slipping down her face. Looking up, she felt her body elevate, almost by itself. Calmly, she walked toward the cabinets, the tears flowing freer, as a small noise escaped her lips. Her body swerved, snatching, opening, pulling all the doors and drawers in the kitchen wide open. She fell to her knees as his name touched her lips: Jackson. . . .
* * *
The moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the canopied bed. As sleep finally came, Ginger snored lightly. Suddenly, her feet scrambled beneath her. She kicked the covers wildly, awaking, a light film of sweat coating her forehead. She reached out for him . . . and he wasn’t there. Staring at the pillow where his head should be, she fell face forward into the softness, pounding her fists along the plump sides.
Her heart beat erratically as fear enveloped her. The fear of being alone, without him. Knowing she needed the love of God. But knowing she needed the love of Jackson, too. Knowing she missed all the things that nourished her love for him.
Knowing that when she got into his car, the seat would be pulled all the way back. Knowing that his shoes would be sitting on the middle of the landing every day. Knowing that when she walked into their bedroom in the evenings, that the television set would be tuned to the Western station, and he’d be half-asleep with the remote in his hand. Knowing he’d be there to reach for her in the darkness. Knowing that she needed him pulling her close to him, until they fell asleep — as she wanted him to do now, as she needed him to do now.
Yet Ginger knew in her heart that she had to face the truth: that though she loved Jackson desperately, she’d been unhappy during most of their marriage. And as much as it hurt, she had proven to herself that she could do it on her own, without him.
Jackson flicked on the television set, and the room took on a soft gray glow as the black-and-white movie flashed before him. An old segment of
Gunsmoke
. Miss Kitty sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Her trademark black mole caught his eye as she swirled around the bar stool to face the man in her life, Matt Dillon. Jackson felt a smile down inside him as he remembered Ginger’s pet name, Miss Lilly.