Nobody’s Child (New Life Tabernacle Series Book 1) (21 page)

T
he moment Makayla
came through the apartment door, she smelled the sweet and spicy aroma of Denice’s homemade meat sauce.

"Ooh, don't tell me you made spaghetti!”

Denice came from around the kitchenette, a bowl of pasta in her hands, cackling. "I know what my boo bears like!”

Makayla helped Rodney get the plates and utensils while Denice went back to the fridge for cans of soda. When she came back to the main room, she joined the other two at the coffee table, her face shining.

"Look at us. All sitting down to dinner just like those families in the TV shows." She sat on the couch and nudged Rodney. "Don't be looking at me like I'm crazy. You know you like it just as much as I do."

Rodney narrowed his eyes at her, but then grinned.

"I was thinking we could put up a tree this year. I know it’s late, but I saw some cute little ones at Walmart. No more than fifteen dollars. What y'all think?"

Rodney nodded, his mouth full of food.

“Fine by me,” Makayla said, twirling spaghetti around her fork. "So I calculated the whole thing out in my head while I was at work today. Jackson got another job and just quit without any notice, so I convinced Amir to let me work double shifts for the next two pay periods. That way, I can give you guys some money and still have what I need to get to Denver. ”

Makayla was so focused on her spaghetti, she didn’t notice the shift that occurred at her announcement. Rodney stole a glance at Denice, whose fork had stopped just inches from her mouth. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, you don't need to worry about that. I already told you, just do what you can, when you can. Besides, with the holidays and all, why you wanna spend all that time at work? Denice has big plans for the three of us—baking cookies, making gingerbread houses, now the tree. You don’t wanna miss all that.”

But that holiday stuff was exactly what Makayla wanted to avoid. There was no way she'd be gone by Christmas, but if she worked enough shifts, maybe she wouldn't have to think about it. Or about the day Robin invited her to spend it with her.

"I have one week left in this pay period, then another two before the next one. So three weeks. Three weeks and I'll be out of your hair.”

Rodney offered a lopsided smile and slowly nodded. "Sounds like you got it all worked out."

"Well, kinda. I still need to get some more clothes and basic stuff like that. It's gotta be cheap though. I need to save all I can for the move."

Rodney nudged Denice with his elbow. "Why don't the two of you go by that new Goodwill? The one near the car wash?”

Makayla raised up on her knees. “Ooh, yeah!" She reached across the table, grabbed Denice’s knee and shook it.

When Denice remained silent, Rodney said, “It’d give you a chance to spend some time together.”

Denice looked up from her plate. She cut her eyes at Makayla and Rodney, as if their suggestion was an imposition. Of course, neither of them bought it.

“If you’d stop running your mouth and finish eating, we can go tonight."

D
espite the horde
of last-minute Christmas shoppers, the trip to Goodwill was a success. Instead of going back to the apartment, they stopped off at the laundromat first. For the bus ride there, Makayla was subjected to Denice’s long and detailed explanation of why secondhand clothes should never be worn before they’d been washed. It was based on firsthand experience and very graphic.

Once they had filled the machine and sat down to wait, Denice finally asked the question Makayla had been dreading.

"Why you in such a hurry to get outta Texas?”

Makayla shifted uncomfortably and locked her gaze on her feet. She appreciated everything Rodney and Denice had done for her. She really did. But she hated people knowing her business. She'd always been like that, even as a child.

At first, it was because she didn't want people to know her mother had abandoned her. Then, when she got older, it was because she didn't want people to know how Kim treated her. Now? Well, pick a secret. Rape? Incest? Suicide? And that didn’t include the way she’d made a fool out of herself with Robin, Trey and everyone else she’d met since she’d arrived. Just thinking about it made her face burn with shame.

"Does it have anything to do with that woman? The one in the Jaguar?”

Makayla turned her attention to Denice.

"How do you know about her?"

Denice raised her eyebrows. "Are you for real? Girl, please. A car like
that
? Driven by a woman like
her
? Huh. The whole neighborhood noticed. She your relative or something? Y'all kinda look alike. She the reason you running?"

Makayla dropped back and sunk down in her chair, arms folded.

"I'm not running. I'm starting over."

Denice turned sideways to better face her.

"So start over here. You can stay with us. Just like you do now." She used all five of her fingers to playfully scratch at Makayla’s shoulder. “We been doing good, haven’t we? It’s been nice, the three of us, right?”

"I appreciate the offer, Denice. But I can't. I should’ve been long gone by now.”

“But you still here. If you really wanted to go, you woulda done it already.”

“Except I was flat broke.”

“Okay, yeah, but I mean, it’s not like you been completely miserable. You been getting to know people in the building. Me and you slaughter Rodney in Uno. And what about the Mason girls across the hall? They think you are everything.”

Makayla didn’t expect Denice to understand. How could she? There was so much she didn’t know. Even when Makayla had nightmares, she never said why. And while Makayla had met some good people and had some good moments, that didn’t erase everything else, not by a long shot.

“It’s better if I go.”

"If it's the couch, we can set you up your own little space. Off in the corner. I saw a twin mattress while we were at the Goodwill—“

"It's not about the couch!"

Immediately, Makayla regretted the harshness of her tone.

Denice slowly leaned back, then turned away from her, crossing her arms and legs. The expression on her face looked like she was about to start a street fight, but Makayla knew she was more hurt, than angry.

"I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help. But there's just… There's things you don't know about me. Things you don't
want
to know. Trust me."

Denice looked back at her, rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Yeah, okay. You're what? Eighteen? Nineteen? Please. You don't know half as much is you think you do.”

She snatched a magazine from the pile on the chair next to her, her body language speaking volumes.

They sat there, not a sound between them except for the whirring of the machine. When it stopped, Makayla put the clothes in the dryer and came back to her seat. Denice flipped through the pages of the magazine with such force, Makayla expected them to rip out.

She took a deep breath. She still needed a place to stay for the next three weeks. She could tell the story. Just once. And when she got to Denver, she’d never have to speak, or even think about it, again.

"That woman? I thought she was my mother. I came here to get back at her for abandoning me when I was a baby. Turns out, my mother was actually some girl who killed herself because she got pregnant by her uncle."

The page flipping stopped. Makayla waited for Denice to say something, but she remained silent. For a long while, she didn't even move. When she finally did speak, her voice was quiet and hoarse.

"I sold my baby for just enough money to get a hit. She'd be around your age now. Maybe. I don't know if she even survived. Don’t know if he bothered to take her out the crack den we was in. He might've left her there to starve. Or sold her. That’s what kills me. I know the things some men do to little girls… I can’t even tell you who I sold her to. But if she is alive, I know she must hate me with a passion. She's got to.”

Makayla glanced at Denice, but she turned her face from her, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands.

"Everybody got things they don't want nobody to know. You ain't a special case."

Makayla looked away from Denice. She didn't want her to feel as if she had to hide.

"No. I guess I'm not."

"Is that what happened then? The Jaguar lady found out and didn't want nothing to do with you?"

Makayla sank further in her chair, leaned her head back and stared up at the worn and dingy ceiling panels.

"She said it didn’t matter.”

Denice turned and studied her, incredulous. "Then what's the problem?"

Makayla rolled her head to the side so she could return Denice's gaze. "You're telling me if your daughter showed up tonight, right now, you could stand to look her in the eye?"

Denice said nothing, but Makayla knew the answer by her expression.

A loud buzzer signaled the clothes were dry.

Denice stood and stretched, then held her hand out to Makayla. “Come on, mama." Her voice was soft and her eyes were wet. "Let's take our dysfunctional behinds home."

T
he holidays flew
by and before Makayla knew it, she had just enough money to get to Denver. It was going to be tight, but the relief of seeing Dallas in her rearview would be worth it.

"There’s our neighborhood superstar!"

Makayla glanced over her shoulder, then back at the cigarette case she was restocking.

"Hey there, Mr. Sanford. How you doing?"

He headed straight to the refrigerated cases along the wall and grabbed three tall energy drinks.

"I'm at the top of my game, as per usual."

He turned to one side, then the other, modeling his brand-new, forest green sweats. Makayla smiled and shook her head. What the man lacked in fashion sense, he made up for in confidence.

"Don't you ever go home?" He placed the cans on the counter. "Seem like you the only one here, day and night."

Makayla came down off her step stool and over to the cash register. “I have been! But not for long. This is the last time I’ll get to ring you up. After I pick up my check tomorrow, I'm hitting the road."

Mr. Sanford took his toothpick out his mouth. "So you doing it, huh? You going to Hollywood!"

Makayla smiled as she bagged his drinks. Mr. Sanford was always saying things to make her feel good. She had to admit, she’d miss seeing him.

"Nothing so exciting. Denver."

He leaned back, his face all scrunched up.

"Denver!" He spit the word out like it had a bad taste. "What in the world you gonna do in Denver? No. You really want to capitalize on this thing, you go to Hollywood. Do some interviews. Get yourself on a reality TV show. Before you know it, you'll be a household name!"

Makayla narrowed her eyes and slid the paper bag across the counter. "I'm thinking you need to lay off them energy drinks, Mr. Sanford."

"No, now listen. If people gonna put your name and face out there, you don't got no control over that. But what you can do is have an influence over how you are perceived. It's called reputation management." He popped his toothpick back in his mouth and grinned, proud he’d taught a youngster something new.

"Don't nobody know my name or face and that's how I like it."

He raised his eyebrows, lowered his chin and stared at her. Next, he took his phone out of his pocket and, after a few moments on it, turned the screen in her direction.

There it was. Just like he said. Her name
and
face. And a bright-red headline that read:
Secret Baby All Grown Up

She could hardly believe what she was staring at. It was her, in her uniform, in front of her building. Then she realized it was the result of the white van she’d thrown the rock at. The one parked across the street, taking pictures.

She was speechless. Mr. Sanford, of course, was not.

"You gotta seize this opportunity. This is your chance to become famous. In fact, if you need a manager—“

"I don't want to be famous!"

"Now hold on, I get it. What your mama did was terrible, but—“

“What?”

What her mama did? Was he talking about the suicide? Or how Makayla had been left? How did he know about all that? How
could
he know? And did that mean he knew the rest, too? Did he know about Emery?

“Wait. What—how?”

Mr. Sanford furrowed his eyebrows, but continued gently, as if speaking to someone of questionable mental stability. “Now, now, hold on. No need to get worked up. Just hear me out. You’ll need a manager to make sure none of these snakes try to take advantage of you—“

“No!”

Mr. Sanford put his hands up in surrender. He picked up his bag and headed for the door. “If you change your mind, look me up.”

Makayla felt as if she were going to jump out of her skin. She looked at the clock. 6 AM. She still had an hour left on her shift. How in the world was she going to last an entire hour?

She needed to know what was going on. Why would anyone refer to her as a secret baby? And why was there an article about it online? Yes, circumstances surrounding her conception could be considered “scandalous,” but why would news blogs care? She was nobody. Less than nobody.

Had Marcus done an interview? Had he talked about the letter? About having met her? He was a world-renowned gospel singer. Famous. That fame would be the only reason anyone would care about her or Carrie or Emery.

But that didn’t feel right. Makayla didn't know him, but she found it hard to believe he'd put her out there like that, without a word of warning…

Then it hit her.

Mama
.

Mr. Sanford said something about “
mama
.”

Of course… The only person Makayla had any connection with, who was as famous as Marcus, was Robin.

In a flash, it all made sense.

The recorded conversations, the pictures, all the rumors Makayla fed Bree. It looked so bad. Not only that, Makayla was sure it was around the time Robin's book was supposed to be released. Perfect timing for a so-called journalist, trying to make a name for herself.

Makayla glanced at the clock again. Only twenty-four minutes left on her shift. The second she was off, she needed to get to the computer lab.

Like it or not, the wrecking ball had hit. The only thing left to do now was assess the damage.

I
t was worse
than she'd expected.

Much,
much
worse.

The story was all over the internet. Blogs were running opinion pieces and comments were being left by the hundreds. People were posting video responses and calling in to radio shows.

It was open season on Robin Jones. And the haters were having a field day.

The so-called “reputable” news sources were no better. The headlines were brutal:

The pictures the paparazzo took were everywhere, too. There were also some photos of the lobby of Makayla’s apartment building spliced side by side with aerial shots of Robin's lavish home.

Makayla felt sick.

It was her fault. Every nasty comment. Every lurid headline. It was all thanks to her.

Just when she thought she'd seen the worst of it, she came across a video teasing an interview with Bree. She was scheduled to be on Good Morning America that very day. Apparently, she'd been making the rounds.

From what Makayla could gather, she started with TMZ, giving them first look at her "exposé." She’d just kept climbing the ladder from there.

And she wasn’t restricting herself to what Makayla had given her. She’d added her own fiction, as well. She told stories about having to buy Makayla groceries because she was living hand to mouth. She said the plumbing was so bad where Makayla lived, she sometimes had to use a bucket instead of the toilet. Bree supposedly even drove Makayla to a clinic one night, stayed by her side and paid the bill—all out of the kindness of her heart.

The GMA promo promised never-before-revealed details, as well as the latest, shocking development.

Makayla rubbed her hand over her forehead and hair.

According to the time on the computer’s taskbar, Good Morning America had just started. If Makayla ran, she could be at the apartment in under fifteen minutes. She raced out the door, through the halls and down the street, not stopping until she got there.