The Prodigal Son (A Reverend Curtis Black Novel) (13 page)

M
atthew opened his eyes, trying to focus them, and realized he’d slept on the sofa—again. He certainly wasn’t doing it because it was comfortable or because he wanted to, but he also couldn’t take Racquel. Thursday night when he’d gotten home from the bowling alley, she’d been passed out drunk on the bed and then last night when Matthew had gotten home from spending the entire evening with MJ and Aunt Emma, she’d stumbled in after eleven, trying to seduce him. Her advances hadn’t worked this time, though, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling more disgusted. She’d looked and smelled like a drunken streetwalker, and he’d pushed her off of him. He’d expected her to react violently, but instead, she’d laughed at him, wobbled into their room and fallen onto the bed.

He was so tired of this, and though he’d decided it would be best to wait until she wasn’t around, he knew it was time he set a date to move out. It was amazing, too, how he’d seemed to find more courage to do so after seeing Stacey at the bowling alley. He’d tried not to think about her, because he knew he was a married man, but the truth of the matter was, he’d found himself sitting at work yesterday daydreaming about her. He’d visualized himself picking her up and taking her out on a date, and then he’d imagined what it would feel like to be with her romantically. He knew his thoughts were sinful and that his fleshly desires were wrong, but he couldn’t shake them. Maybe it was because he hadn’t tried and because fantasizing about Stacey gave him a warm feeling and placed a natural smile on his face.

Matthew tossed the blanket away from him and stood up. He went into the bathroom, and though seeing an almost-comatose Racquel was the last thing he wanted to do, he pushed the bedroom door open and looked at her. She still had on every stitch of clothing that she’d worn out to the club, and the room stank like a brewery. He wondered what the heck she’d been drinking and how much of it because this was worse than what he’d smelled those times his mom had gotten drunk. Not to mention, Racquel was still driving around endangering people. This bothered Matthew more than anything, and he’d called her parents yesterday morning to tell them about it. They were worried sick, but like him, they didn’t know how to stop her. Matthew had suggested that maybe they needed to try another intervention, but when they’d both gotten quiet, he’d realized they weren’t all that interested in hearing her scream at them and blast them for all their past mistakes.

He closed the door all the way shut, went back into the living room, and picked up his phone. He turned on the television so that there would be background noise, just in case Racquel woke up. Then he dialed Stacey. As he, Jonathan, and Elijah had prepared to leave the bowling alley, he’d debated asking her for her number, but after talking to her during his full lunch hour yesterday, he was glad about his decision. He’d also spoken to her for another hour once he’d left work. So now his daydreams about her had intensified.

“Hey,” he said as soon as she answered.

“Hey.”

“Were you up?”

“Not really,” she said, sounding as though she were stretching. “I’m still on college hours, and on Saturday mornings I’m usually never up before noon.”

Matthew chuckled. “I can imagine.”

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Might as well be. She’s passed out again.”

“I’m really sorry, Matt.”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is.”

“I was never friends with Racquel, but I knew her well enough to know she never drank in high school. Mostly, she was quiet and laid-back.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I started dating her three years ago, and there were times when she used to criticize people who drank or did drugs.”

“It really must be postpartum depression like you were saying.”

Matthew had shared with Stacey what he and his in-laws thought, and though he didn’t want everyone to know his and Racquel’s business, he felt like he could trust Stacey. Actually, he knew he could trust her because she sounded more sympathetic toward Racquel than he did.

“She hasn’t been diagnosed, but she has a lot of symptoms,” he said.

“Who I really feel bad for is your son. I know he’s only one, but I’ve heard that babies can feel rejection and the absence of their moms right out of the womb.”

“I wish Racquel realized that, because believe it or not, she hasn’t even asked me where he is. He’s stayed with my aunt Emma for two nights straight, and she couldn’t care less.”

“That’s too bad.”

“It is, but at least he has me and Aunt Emma, and Racquel’s parents are gonna keep him for a couple of days, starting this afternoon. They’ve been wanting to spend time with him, anyway.”

“I’m glad he has all of you, too. Poor little thing.”

“So what do you have up for today?” he said, flipping the TV channels.

“My mom and I are supposed to be going shopping, but I’m not doing anything later.”

Matthew heard her response but the word
later
was what he focused on. It almost sounded like an invitation.

“Maybe I’ll call you after I leave my in-laws. I’m gonna take MJ over there and then have dinner with them.”

“Sounds good to me. Do you wanna go somewhere maybe?”

Matthew wasn’t totally against the idea, but surely she wasn’t expecting him to come to her home. Her parents would never be okay with their daughter spending as much as a few minutes with a married man.

Still, he said, “Where?”

“I dunno. We could just hang out. Drive around and talk.”

Matthew didn’t mind doing that, but he also wasn’t in the kind of financial position where he could burn unnecessary gas. He’d worked out their budget so that he always had just enough to make it to and from work every day and then a few other places, but that was it. Although, since Aunt Emma had already gone out and bought baby supplies, he wouldn’t have to spend as much on that over the next two weeks.

“We can just decide when I call,” he said.

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure about this, Stacey? Because let’s be honest. I’m married, I have a small child, and you’re still in college.”

“Matt, I already know all that and if that bothered me, I wouldn’t have given you my number. I’m not saying I’m gonna sleep with you, but I won’t lie, I’m still attracted to you and I wanna see you. Just to talk and have some fun.”

Matthew felt that warm sensation again, the one he experienced just about every time he thought about her.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were dealing with. None of what I’m going through is pretty, and things are likely gonna get worse. Especially when I move outta here.”

Matthew switched his phone to his other ear, but panicked when he heard the bedroom door opening. Racquel walked out with bloodshot eyes and her hair scattered all over her head.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” she said, frowning. “You must be guilty of something. And who is that you’re talkin’ to?”

Matthew’s heart pounded. “Hey, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Call me when you can.”

Matthew pressed the End button, and Racquel walked closer to him.

“Who were you on the phone with, Matt?”

“None of your business.”

“Excuse me?”

“Racquel, not today, okay. I’m not in the mood.”

“I wanna know who you were talkin’ to. And don’t say it was Jonathan or Elijah, because you looked like you’d been busted for something.”

Matthew flipped the channel again, trying to act normal. “Actually, it
was
Jonathan. Satisfied?”

“You’re such a liar, and not even a good one.”

Racquel stared at him, and he stared back at her. They watched each other until Racquel rushed toward his phone, but Matthew snatched it up from the sofa before she could get her hands on it.

“Let me see it, Matt!”

“No! Do I ask you to see your phone?”

Racquel lunged toward him again, and this time they tussled off the sofa and onto the floor. Matthew stretched his arm away, keeping the phone out of reach, but that only made Racquel angrier. She struggled with him, but then she stopped and got herself up—and kicked him in the head.

Matthew lay there for a few seconds, gathering his faculties and trying to clear his blurred vision. But it was only for a few seconds because now he grabbed her by both her legs, tripping her to the floor. Then he leaped on top of her.

“Oh my God,” she screamed. “Stop it, Matt! You’re hurting me.”

Matthew grabbed her by her throat, squeezing with all his might. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he saw water oozing from her eyes. He gazed at her, released her, and rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, and she coughed nonstop and went into the bathroom. He’d never felt more devastated or broken. Still, though, regardless of all of the commotion and heartache he was feeling, he’d come to a major conclusion. He had to move out today. That was all there was to it, because if he waited any longer, he would end up in jail.

But just as he’d settled on his decision, Racquel came at him again—like a madwoman.

N
o matter how scenic the brick building appeared or how manicured the landscaping was, this funeral home gave Dillon the creeps. He hated anything that had to do with death, funerals, and cemeteries, and he was glad his aunt had asked that her services be held as quickly as possible. Thankfully, it was happening the day after tomorrow, on Monday.

Dillon, his dad, and Tina walked through the glass double doors, and a scary-looking gentleman greeted them with a smile. He almost looked dead himself, and Dillon wondered if this came with the territory. He didn’t know very many funeral directors, actually none at all, but the sooner he left this place and the likes of Mr. Lawrence, the happier he would be.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said.

“Thank you,” they each responded.

“If you’ll follow me to my office, we can get started with the arrangements.”

They strolled down a long carpeted corridor, and Dillon scanned his surroundings. He knew it was silly, but it was almost as if he expected one of the closed doors to fly open and he’d have to see dead people. Or worse, he’d be forced to see his aunt when he wasn’t ready for that either. The hospital staff had offered to let him see her yesterday, but Dillon had declined. He wanted to remember the beautiful, kind, and very vibrant aunt he’d known since childhood, so seeing her once at the funeral would be enough.

Mr. Lawrence took a seat behind a shiny, huge wooden desk, and the three of them sat in front of him. Tina laid the plastic garment bag that contained his aunt’s clothing on her lap.

“You mentioned an insurance policy?” Mr. Lawrence asked her.

“Yes,” she said, pulling it out and passing it to him.

The funeral director looked it over and though Dillon wasn’t sure, Mr. Lawrence seemed to sort of smile.

“Everything looks to be in very good order here, and I’ll contact the insurance company first thing Monday. What I’d like to do now, then,” he said, standing up and giving each of them a colorful brochure, “is go over the various options and prices we have. You can choose just about anything you want for your loved one, and since Miss Whitfield has such great coverage, your choices are infinite.”

Dillon frowned, and if his father and Tina hadn’t been sitting there, he would tell this man something. Mr. Lawrence was consumed with greed and glad to be working with a chunk of money worth fifty thousand dollars. But Dillon was going to set him straight before he drooled any further.

“My aunt was a very frugal woman who didn’t like a lot of flashiness or expensive worldly possessions, so we’re going to keep the cost of the funeral at a minimum. We’re going to put her away nicely, but we won’t be buying anything over-the-top or unnecessary.”

Curtis and Tina passed on commenting, but Dillon could tell they agreed with him.

Mr. Lawrence grinned a nervous grin, trying to figure out what to say. “Of course, son. We offer all levels of price ranges, so please choose only what you’re comfortable with.”

Dillon and Tina answered all of Mr. Lawrence’s questions regarding next of kin, where Aunt Susan had gone to school, where she worked, what organizations she was a member of, etc., etc., etc. Sadly, her obituary would be short and to the point because once she’d graduated high school, she’d immediately gone to work for a company that she’d remained with until her passing, and with the exception of Dillon she had no close relatives. Dillon had considered including the names of her two cousins, but they’d never really come around much, anyway, so he decided against it. They did list his grandparents and his mom in the predeceased section, and they also included the name of her church, along with the church auxiliaries she was a member of, but that was it.

Mr. Lawrence printed out the information he’d typed in, read it out loud for accuracy, and then set it to the side of his desk. “We have an array of casket colors and styles, so if you’ll come with me, I’ll show them to you.”

They all strolled back down the hallway and went into an oversized room. There must have been twenty caskets displayed. Black, white, bronze, dark blue, silver blue, brown, off-white, tan, and multiple shades of wood. Dillon had no preferences at all and hoped Tina and his dad would choose something fast and in a hurry, so they could get out of there.

“If you’d like, I can explain some of the features and tell you which of these are top sellers.”

Dillon held his tongue, but what he wanted to ask Mr. Lawrence was whether he thought this was some sort of furniture store.

“Dillon?” Tina asked. “Do you wanna choose?”

“Not really. You go ahead.”

“Well, if it’s okay, I like the shiny wooden one over there. I know it’s a little pricey, but…”

“This one?” Mr. Lawrence asked, pointing to the shiny, medium-stained oak and already walking toward it. Dillon could only imagine what the funeral home’s markup was on something like this. Dillon wouldn’t make a fuss, though, only because he wanted this to be over, but if he had time he would search online and purchase the casket wholesale. He’d be willing to bet the same brand and quality would be much lower than forty-five hundred dollars.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Tina answered.

Curtis nodded. “I like that one, too.”

Dillon didn’t know how anyone could
like
a casket, but whatever.

“We’ll go with that one then,” Tina said.

Mr. Lawrence smiled, of course. “Great choice. Now, all we have to do is select a vault.”

Dillon had no idea what a vault was until Mr. Lawrence explained that the cemetery required it and that it would be placed in the ground. That way the casket could be lowered inside of it. This would protect the casket, and there were various price points for those, too. Dillon didn’t have an opinion on this subject either, so Tina chose one mid-range.

When they went back to the funeral director’s office, they went over a few more items, and Tina pulled out the crimson red suit she’d brought for Aunt Susan.

“This is what she said she wanted to wear.”

Mr. Lawrence took it from her. “Wonderful. She’ll look very nice in this.”

“I think we’ll choose red roses for the flowers as well,” Tina added. “But only if you’re okay with that Dillon.”

“That’ll be fine. My aunt loved roses. It’s the one thing I hope you don’t cut any corners on.”

“You can go with me if you want.”

“No, I’ll just let you handle that,” he said.

When they walked outside, Tina hugged Dillon and his dad and left. Curtis sat inside the SUV, but then realized he’d left his sunglasses on the edge of Mr. Lawrence’s desk.

“I’ll be right back.”

Dillon watched as his dad strolled back inside and couldn’t help smiling. This had been a tough day, but having his father there had made all the difference. His father’s love had never been more evident, and this gave Dillon peace. As a matter of fact, he felt so good right now, he opened the armrest console and pulled out the envelope Tina had given him yesterday. He’d been hesitant about reading it, but now he felt like he could handle it because no matter what his aunt had written, his father was going to be there with him until the end.

Dillon carefully tore the letter open.

Dillon read the last line again, and his heart crumbled. What had he done, and how could he have been so selfish? He’d been so caught up with trying to bond with his dad that he’d ignored his beloved Aunt Susan. But he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He would never purposely do that, and he truly did love her like she was his mother. But now he could never tell her that or make things right with her. Dillon folded the letter and saw his dad coming back outside. He fought back tears as best as he could.

Curtis hurried to the SUV and opened the door. “Dillon, Matt has been rushed to the hospital, so we’ve gotta get back to the hotel as soon as possible. I have to get back home.”

“What? Why?”

“He was stabbed, and I need to take the next flight out of here. Charlotte already has Lana working on my reservation.”

“But what about the funeral?”

“I’m sorry, son, but I can’t stay here knowing Matt’s life is in danger. I hope you can understand that.”

Dillon glared at his dad and then turned away from him. His father was never going to change. His other children were always going to be his priority no matter what. Dillon hadn’t wanted to believe his aunt when she’d told him his father would never love him the way he loved the others, but now he knew she was right—he knew his father had only pretended to love him and be there for him. He didn’t care about all the pain Dillon was feeling or that Dillon had no other family to lean on. But starting this very second, things were going to change. Dillon was done playing nice. He was finished being made a fool of. He would make every one of them sorry.