Sweet Bye-Bye Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, incidents, and dialogue, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are imaginary and are not intended to refer to any living persons or to disparage any company’s products or services.

  Copyright © 2004 by Denise Harris

  All rights reserved.

  Warner Books

  Hachette Book Group, USA

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.hachettebookgroupusa.com

  First eBook Edition: September 2004

  ISBN: 978-0-446-53457-4

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  1: A New Beginning

  2: My Mind's Eye

  3: Workin’ 9 to 5

  4: Sail On

  5: Sit Up

  6: Superwoman Needs a Spa Day

  7: Tit for Tat

  8: The Test

  9: Operation: Tiffany Drop

  10: Big Payback

  11: Canun Does Chantell

  12: A Better Time

  13: Getting Nowhere

  14: Take a Stand

  15: San Francisco’s Got a Lot of Birds

  16: Crawling Back

  17: Thank You and Good Night

  18: Sunday Morning

  19: Business as Usual

  20: Hello Again

  21: Sitting on the Dock

  22: Whatchu Doin’

  23: Let’s Do Lunch

  24: A Change in Plans

  25: Dreaming of Zarina

  26: Trying to Get a Grip

  27: A Confession

  28: Good Stuff

  29: Change Goin’ Come

  30: Go Fly a Kite

  31: What Is Love?

  32: The Key

  33: Getting Nowhere

  34: Pack Your Bags

  35: Off to Darryl’s

  36: Setting the Record Straight

  37: Coming Out

  38: On the Road Again

  39: K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  40: When It’s Over, It’s Over

  41: Focusing on Me

  42: Trying to Stay Fed

  43: Slowly Opening

  44: Attitudinal

  45: C’est la Vie

  46: The Dinner Party

  47: Pick Me Up

  48: Run for Your Life

  49: Piece of Cake

  50: A Deer/Dear

  51: Metamorphosis

  52: Seek and You Shall Find

  53: To Boston

  54: A Sweet Bye-Bye

  55: Beep

  56: The Conference Room

  57: Thank You Very Much

  58: You Make the Call

  59: Sealing the Circle

  Six Months Later

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to my son, Jerry.

  Keep Him close and follow your dreams.

  Love,

  Mom

  Acknowledgments

  I’d first like to take this opportunity to say thank you to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I can do everything with you and nothing without you.

  And I would like to give a huge hug and thank-you to my family for enduring with me through this incredible experience. To my parents, Overton Harris Sr. and Evelyn Harris, thank you for always supporting me. To my grandmother Delthine Tolbert and my grandparents who’ve passed on: Odia Tolbert Sr., Maggie Lee Glover, Joe Riley Harris, and Olar Glover.

  To my brothers Michael O’Neal Sr., Thomas Harris, Overton Harris Jr., Otis Harris, and to my son, Jerry Gaines Jr., my sister-in-laws, nieces, and nephews—Terry O’Neal, Tasha Harris, Latoya O’Neal, Leah Harris, Tenisha Harris, Tevin Harris, Michael O’Neal Jr., Cameron O’Neal, Jordan O’Neal, Elijah Harris, Josiah Harris, Mya Harris, Tarrel Harris.

  To Jerry Gaines Sr., Charlene, Tommy, Pam, Tammy, Charles, Myresha, and the entire Gaines family. To Aunt Shirley, Professor George “Uncle Sonny” Jones and family, Aunt Louise Courtney, Aunt Henny Courtney and the Courtney families in Barstow, California, Aunt Grace and Uncle Sam Archer, Aunt Lula Mae Dixon, Odia “Brother” Tolbert Jr., James Glaze and family, Linda and Kenny Logan, Nancy Harris, Priscilla Tolbert, Karen Tolbert, Norene “Angel” Dixon, Marlene “Molly” Dixon, Rosemary “Rosy” Dixon, Lawanna Tolbert, Marcelus Anthony Davis and family, Tanae Lastar Bowens, Atara Tolbert, Daniel Brown and family, Montrel Williams, Marcel Antonio Williams, Dijon Boswell and family, the Perkins family—Ronald Jr., Patrice Perkins, Susanna, RJ, Ronnie, Frankie-Dijon and Irene, Lisa Tolbert, Tanya Logan, Lisa Prince, and Deanna Gaston. To the Hatchett family, the Tolbert family, Aunt Sis and the Meadors family, Katie Calloway and family, Dorothy Clemmons and family, the Glover family, Ray Dillingham Jr., Jennifer Dillingham, Kamisha Dillingham, Cecilia Dillingham and the whole Dillingham family, the Cummings family, Latreva Cooke, Ryan Cooke Jr., Hanna Cooke, Haley Boucher, Lavisha, Tiffany Pigg, Obed Pigg, and Damion Brown, Tanisha Hopkins, Porsche, Shay Shay, Fabian Vickers Jr., Shaprice Chan, Andrew Chan, Kristen Quarrels, Ashley Quarrels, Shavondria Davis, Treyvon and Peto, Justice Roxbury, Patrice Watkins, Zack Deed Jr., Gloria and Teray, Betty “Moma Betty” Duncan, Sandra “Mama Sandy” Webster, Anita “Mama Nita” Edwards, Karen Williams-Edmond, John D., and Georgia Williams and family, Barbara Willis, Shelly Willis, Florence Danae Willis, Mandisa and Brian.

  To Delisia Lemmons, John and Felicia Waldon, Makesha Smith, Wendell and April Ferguson, Roy and Franchesta Hammond, Angela Webster, Kimberlay Williams, John and Sandra Scott, Lashone Williams, Solomon and Jennifer Cason, Jengea Phillips, Jeanette Bell and family, Danny Williams, Kim Tingoncieng and Kevin Farley, Abdul Mahid Kargbo and the Kargbo family, Susanna, Alen, and Lark James, Darryl Mills, Conley Gaston, Savonda Blaylock and family, Maurica Taylor and family, Nakia Epperson, Adrian Duncan, Miss Duncan, Zim Miller, Eric Bell and family, Porter Deese, Alton Pearce III, Letha Harris, Charlene Adams, Brenda Curry and family, Daphne Williams. Peter Atherton, Terry Brown, Cheryl Morris, Layra Jackson and family, Frances Larkins, Beverly Larkins, Betty Sloan, Linda Lavow, Juanita Newell, Mary Kelly, Kayla Lemmons, Sydney and Hunter Waldon, Ania Ferguson, Micah Butler, Rodney, Ryan, Jasmine, Rhakim and Rolan Edmonds, Brian Kyrie, Breanna Phillips, Andre Phillips Jr., Cameo Phillips, Dkhari Phillips, Jordan Davis, Mia MaKenna Farley, Marcus Hammond, and Naomi Hammond.

  To all of my writer friends, teachers, colleagues, and role models who are taking this journey with me, thank you for all of the love, encouragement, words of wisdom, and support. Renee Swindle, Eric Jerome Dickey, Lolita Files, E. Lynne Harris, Terry McMillian, Junot Diaz, Tbone, Elmaz Albinader, Diem Jones, Jackie Luckett, Kira Allen, Leslie Easdale, Kamal Ravikant, Jante Spencer, Phillip Whilhite, Jay Laplante, Victoria Leon Gurerro, Willy Wilkinson, Erika Martinez, The San Francisco Writers Group—Wil Lutwick, Jean Washington, Marita Valdmanis, Ruta LaFranco, Andy Moore, Marc Cohen. To Juevenal Acosta, Edie Meidav, Sarah Stone, Eric Martin, Carolyn Cooke, Calla Devin, Melinda Misuraca, David Dzurick, Denise Bostrom, Alia Curtis, Kristina Del Pino, Dawn Gernhardt, Paul Stukowski, Anna Rosenblat, Anika Hamilton.

  To the Sorors of Alpha Kappa Alpha Soroity Inc., and Xi Gamma Omega chapter in Oakland, Danii Taylor @ Studio 36 Hair Creations by Danii salon in Hayward, California, Vona-Voices Writers Workshops in San Francisco, Maui Writers Conference, to Paula Aloi, Brandon, Kelley Konnof, Master June Yoon at Sky Martial Arts, Gregory Ben and Pankaj Mohan over at Microsoft.

  To my angel network: Mike Lynch, Betty Weibe, Hal Pearson, Charles Buettner, Richard Moore, and Donna Jackson. Thank you!

  To my pastor, Bishop Ernestine Cleveland-Reems, and my church, the Center of Hope Church in Oakland, California. What an awesome praying place!

  To my publisher, Denise Stinson, and the Walk Worthy Press family. My words c
an’t thank you enough. But I will try—you believed in me and my work from day one, thank you. But also, thank you for the title, and your artist for the great cover! They rock. I love them. Thanks!

  To my editors, Frances Jalet-Miller, Mari C. Okuda, Karen Kosztolnyik, Roland Ottewell, and the folks over at Warner Books. You guys are fantastic-al! Thank you!

  To the readers, thank you for supporting me and this project.

  I hope you have a great time reading the story of Chantell Meyers (and all the drama and issues and love that she brings to the table!).

  Well, I’m going to go get started on another book, so I’m signing off. Feel free to visit my Web site at denisemichelleharris.com, and drop me a line or two; I’d love to hear from you. Until the next time, God bless.

  Take care and keep Him close, Denise Michelle Harris

  1

  A New Beginning

  It was a Tuesday afternoon, I’d say about 12:45, and my next appointment was near my parents’ home. I had a little over an hour to kill, and a serious craving for a fruit salad. My stepmother, Charlotte, who I’d known was in Portland visiting her sister, had a knack for picking the sweetest fruit in the market.

  I remember a rich Sarah Vaughan-sounding voice flowing through my speakers as I pulled into my parents’ driveway. I closed my eyes and listened as the old sounds merged with the new over a smooth melodic rhythm. When I turned off the engine, I was still trying to figure out who was singing. I took my Dior sunglasses from my eyes and placed them atop my shoulder-length mane just so. I walked up the driveway with a click-click sound coming from the heels of my shoes.

  The lawn’s long blades of vibrant green grass swayed lightly with the breeze. I chuckled because I couldn’t believe that my Home Depot-loving, do-it-yourself father had let it grow so long. Daddy was serious about his lawn, but I’d caught him sleeping on the job. I was going to tease him about it too, as soon as I got in the house. I smoothed out my white linen pants with my hands and passed through the garage.

  I opened the door and yelled from the kitchen, “Dad!” My mouth started to water as I wondered if there were any mangoes in the fruit bowl. “Dad, it’s me, Chantell, your most favorite daughter. You home?”

  I walked into the living room, past the pictures on the glass shelf. The picture of me and my boyfriend, Eric, stood out, probably because we were cheesing from ear to ear in front of Caesar’s Palace. Eric was holding me over his head, me lying sideways like a lovely assistant in a Siegfried and Roy magic show.

  “Daddy, where you at?”

  I went upstairs and heard the television on in my parents’ room. The bedroom door was cracked, and I pushed it open. “Dad.”

  Golf was on the TV, but I didn’t see him. I walked in a few paces, and immediately felt faint when I saw his brown legs on the floor sticking out between the bed and the wall.

  “Daddy!” His feet were still in his house slippers.

  It felt like a dream. I ran over to the big almond-colored man in his late fifties. I knelt down and shook him, all six feet and 250 pounds of him, but he didn’t respond. “Daddy! Daddy, get up!” My heart beat faster as the reality of that moment set in. “Come on, Daddy, don’t do this. Wake up!”

  His head was cold, and panic raced through me. “Daddy, please don’t die. God, please!” I flashed back to my mother. Her funeral. I remembered sitting down in the front row with Grandma Hattie, some relatives, and my dad. Everyone was wailing, and I sat there looking up at the roof and ignoring the light teal casket with my mom in it. “Oh God no. Not again.”

  I wiped my dad’s forehead. My mind went to the last time my grandmother took me to church before she got sick and passed away. She’d bought me a new green dress and I wore it proudly as I sat next to her on Sunday.

  First my mother, then my grandmother, then my best friend Keith . . . Then I broke down. “No! Noo! Nooo!” My voice was choking me, and I fought to speak. “What to do! What to do?” I felt under his jaw line for a pulse. There was a slight one.

  “Daddy, listen to me,” I said. “You can’t leave me, okay? Okay?” He had dark circles around his eyes and he looked like he’d lost twenty pounds since I’d seen him a couple of days ago. I reached in my purse, found my phone, and dialed 911. With my father’s head resting on my lap, I sat there calling his name until the ambulance arrived.

  The prognosis wasn’t good. Daddy had had a massive heart attack that required a triple bypass, and they’d found prostate cancer. Apparently, when he fell he hit his head, and he’d been unconscious for over an hour when I found him. As soon as we arrived at the hospital, the doctors rushed him into surgery and tried to clear the valves that led to his heart. A rush of uncertainty, instability, and loneliness came flowing back to me. I’d called Eric several times, but he wasn’t picking up.

  I asked the doctor what they were going to do about the cancer, and he said that they had to do things one at a time. Once they got Daddy’s heart working, they’d get him started on chemotherapy. I was a complete mess, and that didn’t make me feel any better.

  My father, my compadre, lay unconscious as I sat by his bed. Tubes were sticking out of everywhere, and machines were beeping. I didn’t know what to do. I’d called my stepmother, Charlotte, and she said she’d be on the next plane back to California. But why had she left him in the first place if he was sick?

  Signs were plastered all over the walls, saying, “No Cellular Phone Use.” I picked up the tan phone from the bedside table and pulled it over to the window.

  “Eric, it’s me, Chantell, again. I wish you would answer the phone. I’m really going through it, Daddy just got out of surgery and he is on a breathing machine.” My words felt again like they were choking me. “They have operated on his heart, and he has cancer.” I broke down. “Eric, call me, okay? I’m at Summit Medical Center, the second floor, room 231, okay? Bye.” I hung up.

  The physician attending to my father walked into the room in green scrubs and Reeboks. I asked him what was going to happen next for my dad. When he looked at me and suggested I call my relatives, I just blocked him out. When he hinted that they weren’t even sure if Daddy would wake up, I told him off good. Then I marched straight down to the nurses’ ward.

  “Who is the chief of staff?”

  “That would be Dr. Lambert,” said a nurse with a smile.

  “Well, get him. I’d like to speak to him,” I said.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, that is not possible.”

  “All things are possible!” I screamed through my tears. “Now go get him! Go get him right now!” My arms were outstretched and moving all around limply. “I will not call my relatives! I will not call anyone!” The nurse ran from around the station and put her arms around me.

  “Ma’am! Ma’am?”

  I cried out, “And I, I, I’m not going to! So you just— So—”

  “Ma’am! Dr. Lambert’s in Atlanta.”

  In my father’s hospital room, I rested my head on his bed, and thought back. He’d done a good job of raising me. I’d blocked out a lot of my really early years, but I remembered how miserable my father was after my mother died. He was trying to raise me, take care of the bills, the house, and the garage. Folks said he gave me too much, and that I was spoiled. But my grandmother said I wasn’t spoiled. She said I just had the gift of gab, like her. My dad would say we were having meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner, and I’d talk him into pepperoni pizza and jawbreakers for dessert.

  I laid my head on my dad’s bed and smiled. I remembered Grandma also used to say that she thought I’d end up marrying Keith Talbit, an ashy little boy from church. She said we matched like hot and cold. She said that when you put us together, we could surely warm a room. I didn’t know about all of that, but we were best friends up until junior high. Then, just like Mom and Grandma, Keith left me too.

  Anyway, just about four months after my mother died, my father met Charlotte. They married almost a year later. Charlotte and I got along pretty w
ell. She treated me decent, and I liked that my dad seemed to be getting back to his old self. The three of us, we had our ups and downs, but we made it.

  I looked at my daddy in his coma-like state, and it broke my heart. I looked up at the machine that monitored his heart. His life. And that was when it hit me. That’s when I remembered. “All things are possible.” My grandmother Hattie Brumwick’s words came back to me like the north star returning to its place in the sky. When her words registered, I grabbed hold of them. My grandmother used to say, “When all else fails, call on God. He’ll never leave you and He’ll never forsake you.”

  I knelt down beside my dad’s bed. “God, please. I hope you hear me. Spare my dad. Please. He’s all that I have. He’s a good guy, God, he loves everybody.” I hadn’t prayed in years. And I didn’t know if I was praying right.

  “You won’t be sorry if you heal him, Lord. I know you can do it. Because you can do all things.” I hoped that God was listening.

  “Through you everything is possible. And, God, forgive me for my attitude, and everything that I’ve done wrong. If you do this for me, and let him live, God, I will work hard to be a better person. I promise you I will. I promise.”

  Through the tears, I prayed harder, as I’d seen my grandmother do probably a hundred times. “Please, Lord, thank you for your intervention. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus . . .”

  Then I sort of zoned out, and I was on this consciously unconscious level. And I kept praying my grandmother’s words. “Nothing is too hard for you, God. Through you everything is possible. You can do all things, God. Thank you, Jesus . . .”

  And I’ll be darned if when I opened my eyes Daddy didn’t turn his head toward me and whisper, “Hey, pumpkin. Whatcha know good?”

  2

  My Mind's Eye

  Eric and I arrived at the Sushi Boat in downtown Fremont before Ron and Tia did. We sat at a little table for four and held their places and talked.

  “Eric?”

  “What?”

  “You know that I do love you.”

  “Then why am I being punished?”

  “You’re not. It’s uncomfortable for me too. I miss you too, I just feel—no, I know—that we’re doing the right thing.”