Wrath Read online

  “Who’s blasting all that noise?” Gran growled behind me.

  I froze, waiting for another slap. But her attention was on the music, the car… and my mama, who slid out of the front seat after this really tall guy opened the door for her.

  “Mama!” I exclaimed, hoping she was taking me to get pizza in that car. All the kids who wouldn’t play with me would change their minds after this. I jumped down, ran a half circle around Gran, then made a mad dash to the front door.

  When Mama stepped inside, she lifted me off my feet and swung me around like one of those rides at the carnival.

  “How’s my big boy?”

  “I’m six today, Mama.”

  “I know. Happy, happy birthday.”

  I grinned and craned my neck around her to see if the car was still there. It was. “Mama, I’m ready to go for pizza. I got dressed up.”

  Just that fast, her smile turned upside down. “Oh, baby. We’re not gonna be able to do that.” My shoulders slumped, until she said, “I’ve gotta pack.”

  Pack? We were moving away from Gran!

  I followed my mother into the living room, where Gran waited with folded arms. “Pack?” she said, without even saying hello. “Where you going?”

  “I’m going… with Charles,” Mama said. “He has a restaurant over in Natchez, and I can work there and make some good money.”

  While Gran huffed, I stood behind my mama, shivering. I didn’t know where Natchez was, but I was excited to be going there.

  “Chasing after another man, huh?” Gran growled. “Whose husband is he now?”

  “Mama, please.” It sounded like my mother was about to cry. “I’m chasing a job, not a man. So I can take care of me and my son.”

  “Hmph.” Gran’s eyes moved to me. “You taking him with you?”

  Mama looked down at me. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Would you mind… if he stayed here… until I get myself together?”

  Before Gran could say anything, I shouted, “No!” Both of them turned to me, though they wore different expressions. Gran glared at me, but there were tears in Mama’s eyes.

  “No,” I whispered when she crouched down.

  “Baby,” she said. “If there was a way, I would take you right now. But I’m gonna work, and save money for us.”

  “I wanna go now. I don’t care if you don’t have money. I won’t eat a lot. I promise.”

  Before my mother could answer, Gran asked, “What’s wrong?” She hovered above us like a thundercloud. “This new man of yours don’t like kids?”

  “He likes kids plenty,” Mama snapped. “His place isn’t big enough.” Then Mama turned back to me. “But as soon as I get my own place, I’m coming for you.”

  “Mama, please.”

  “I’mma need you to be a big boy. Just remember, I’ll be back.” When I didn’t move, she added, “I always come back, right?”

  I gave her a little nod.

  “Okay”—she stood—“I’m gonna grab a few things. Charles wants to get on the road.”

  “How long have you known this one?”

  “Mama, I just need to know if it’s all right for X to stay with you.”

  “For how long?”

  “Does that matter? He’s your grandson.”

  “He is.” Gran glanced down at me and mumbled, “At what cost?”

  My mother held me tight against her leg. “Not in front of him. Just yes or no,” my mama said.

  My grandmother glared at me. “You gonna pay me?”

  With a sigh, my mama nodded. “You can have my food stamps, and then, whenever I get paid, I’ll send you something, too.”

  Gran didn’t say another word. She just stomped from the room, the floor planks shuddering under her weight. By the time my mama crouched down again, tears were tracking down my face.

  “Are you going to be a big boy?”

  There was so much I wanted to tell her about the belts and the switches. And so much I wanted to show her about the broom and the marks on my back.

  “Please, X, I can’t get a job here in Sumner, so I’m gonna go someplace where I can make some money, okay?”

  There was nothing I could do but nod, then crawl back into the chair as my mother went into the bedroom we shared whenever Mama stayed here and packed. I wanted to go in there to spend these last minutes with her, but I didn’t want to cry out loud. So I closed my eyes and did something I saw the ladies at church do whenever Mama took me to service.

  “Dear Father God,” I whispered, repeating the first words I’d heard. “Can you please tell Mama to take me so I don’t have to stay here and get beaten every day?”

  I prayed that over and over, until I heard my mama’s voice. “Xavier?”

  She was by the front door, holding her suitcase. I leaped out of that chair and ran into her arms.

  She squeezed me tight. “I love you so much, Xavier.”

  Those words made me cry out loud as Mama wiped away my tears.

  “Come on, I need you to be my big boy.”

  My answer: my sobs deepened.

  She kissed my forehead, then walked through the door and trotted down the steps. The man grabbed her bag, hugged her, and opened the passenger door. He tossed her suitcase into the back seat before he ran around to the driver’s side.

  I stood sobbing, waiting for Mama to change her mind and come back for me. But neither of them looked back as the car kicked up dirt when it sped away.

  “Boy, you better close that door and stop all that noise before I give you something to cry about.”

  I took my time, not to be defiant, but because once the door was closed, I’d be alone.

  “That’s why your mama don’t want you. Not worth nothin’, standin’ there cryin’ like a baby. Not worth nothin’, I tell you, not worth one red cent.”

  I whimpered, trying to control my tears, but it was hard the way Gran stared at me.

  “What are you doing with your hands?”

  What was she talking about? I was just trying to push my tears back inside. But I followed her glance to where my fingers curled into tight fists.

  “You wanna hit somebody?”

  I didn’t get that No, ma’am out before Gran whacked me across my head, this time not stopping at once. “You wanna hit somebody?” she repeated. “You wanna hit me?”

  I wanted to tell her I’d never had any thoughts about hitting her… until now, the moment when her final blow sent me flying to the floor. I sat there, stunned. But even when the ache began to subside, I couldn’t move because there was this heat burning inside of me. It was in my soles, slowly ascending, feeling like fire. Rising, rising, rising to my fists.

  “You better get yourself straight, boy.”

  I stayed there as she grumbled down the hall. My eyes stayed focused on her neck as she moved away. My fingers flexed, then relaxed. Flexed, then relaxed. But my mind didn’t stop. The flames didn’t stop. And my fingers didn’t stop.

  Now I knew what I could do with my hands. Now I knew what I wanted to do with my fists…

  “XAVIER.”

  Roxanne’s voice made me rush from the past, and the first thing I saw was my reflection. That heat from that long-ago day was in my soles now, but when I turned to Roxanne, she was a fire extinguisher. I cooled and calmed from those memories.

  “I have everything,” she said.

  “Roxanne,” I whispered. “I want you to know… I love you so much.”

  “I know you do.” Then she turned away as if my love didn’t matter.

  Grabbing my bathrobe from the hook on the door, I slipped into it as I followed her through my condo. At the front door, she paused, turned, and faced me.

  “Please know I wish you well,” she said.

  “What can I do to change your mind?”

  There were tears in her eyes when she shook her head. “I always promised myself if any man ever…”

  “I didn’t hit you!” I exclaimed. There was more pleading than vol
ume in my voice, but what Roxanne did next made me want to scream.

  She glanced at the wall, and I followed her gaze. To the spot where my fist had made impact. Just one punch, and I’d been surprised at the way the plaster had crumbled beneath the weight of my rage.

  “I didn’t hit you,” I repeated, softer now.

  “Only because you missed.”

  “I missed on purpose.”

  She rose up, stood taller, full of indignation. “Do you hear yourself? You should never have taken a swing. Last Tuesday, I was the target, and that scared me.”

  “You’re willing to give up everything for one time, when we had so much together? We were going to start a family, build our lives. I don’t understand the lack of forgiveness.”

  “I have forgiven you. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  “You’re here because you didn’t think I was home.”

  “But I didn’t leave once I saw you.” She paused. “It wasn’t the first time, Xavier. It was just the first time your rage was directed at me. But I’ve seen you out of control—too much.”

  I pushed down my frustration and said as softly as I could, “Don’t forget the part you played in this. You weren’t listening to me.”

  “And that gives you the right to take a swing, to punch a hole in the wall when I was standing right there?” Again, her ire rose, but I guessed I was the only one in this relationship who couldn’t get upset.

  “I was just angry.” I tried to explain what she already knew.

  She shook her head. “No, what’s inside of you, Xavier, that’s not anger. It’s not even rage; it’s worse. And I can’t sleep with a man who has that kind of wrath.” When she glanced down at her hand, I did, too.

  I hadn’t even noticed she was still wearing her engagement ring. That had to be a good sign, but then she slipped the ring from her finger. With her eyes still lowered, she reached for my hand and pressed the diamond into my palm.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “I love you,” I repeated, because to me, that should have been enough.

  Now she looked up. “We moved too quickly, didn’t give ourselves enough time to know each other,” she said. “You need time to learn to love yourself first. To find out what’s wrong so you can be right for another woman.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying to keep the words inside. But I felt the heat and lost the battle. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. I’m not one of your clients!”

  My tone made her glance down. And once again, I found myself following her gaze. Roxanne was fixed on my hands and the way my right hand contracted into a fist. I tried to stop, but my fingers flexed as if that part of my body were separate from my brain. Only after I inhaled, then exhaled slowly, was I able to stop.

  Tears flowed from her eyes, and I cried, too, but it was all inside.

  She raised her hand, her movement tentative as if she was unsure. Then her palm touched my cheek. And she held it there as if she were trying to commit me to her memory. I closed my eyes and relished her touch. I’d been here before; I knew what the end felt like.

  Then she turned around, grabbed her suitcase, and rolled right out of my life.

  3 Chastity

  And… that’s a wrap.”

  The room brightened as Kourtney, the instructor, turned on the lights and everyone in the stretching class applauded the end of this hour. My appreciation came out in a groan. I closed my eyes, feeling as if I could lay there for eternity. This wasn’t an aerobics class; this was worse. It was because of the heat. We were only stretching, but it was impossible to breathe in this temperature.

  “Really, Chastity.”

  Her voice made me open my eyes, but that was the only part of me that moved. My mother sat just a couple of feet away from me, yoga-style. With a towel, she dabbed at the perspiration that sprinkled the hairline of her still perfectly styled chignon. There was no sign that Sisley Jeffries just finished an hour of stretching in a room where the thermometer crept toward one hundred. She still looked like the well-groomed Southern belle she’d been raised to be.

  “That was so refreshing.” My mother sighed.

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Oh, come on.” Then, using nothing more than the strength of her legs, she rose from the lotus position before she reached down to give me her hand, the same way she’d done a million times in my life.

  Even as I took her hand, I groaned, only making it to a sitting position.

  “My goodness,” my mother drawled, “which one of us is fifty-five?”

  “You’re not fifty-five, Mom. Grandmom lied to you and Granddad about your true birth date.”

  My mother laughed just as Kourtney sauntered up to us. “Great class, Ms. Sisley.” The instructor, who would have to stand on her toes to be five feet, gave my mom a high five before she turned to me.

  I wondered if she’d always been that small or if teaching these heated stretching classes had done this to her.

  “I hope we’ll see you again, Chaz.”

  Once again, I was grateful for my mother rescuing me when she said, “Thank you, Kourtney,” because all I could do was give a noncommittal grunt.

  As Kourtney sauntered away, stepping over mats as she greeted other heat enthusiasts, my mother clapped twice. “Get up, Chastity.” She sounded like a schoolteacher trying to get a kindergartener in line. “All we did was stretch.”

  “So, really?” I groaned. “You do this every week?”

  “Hot stretching every Saturday morning,” she said as if sweating and stretching with a dozen other women was normal. “The heat is good for you, clears toxins from your body and distractions from your mind. The perfect way to begin the weekend. You need to join me every Saturday.” Then with an up-and-down glance, she added, “Because you won’t have that body and that metabolism forever.”

  “Yes, I will. I got my height from Papa, but everything else is all you. I’ll be gorgeous till I’m one hundred.”

  My mother grinned at my compliment. “Let’s grab a smoothie from the juice bar.” She hooked her arm through mine and led me through the glass door of the studio to the small café. After we ordered our smoothies—a pineapple kale for her and a cranberry banana for me—we sat at one of the circular tables.

  My mother reached for my hands, lowered her head, and blessed our smoothies. My parents were those Christians—nothing passed through their lips without first a blessing.

  After our “Amen,” she patted my hands. “You have no idea how happy I am to have you back.”

  “I’m glad to be home,” I said, grateful I’d come to the point where I meant those words.

  “Just so you know, we’re having a welcome-home dinner for you tomorrow after church.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Mom, I don’t want that. In fact, I was thinking I might not even go to church tomorrow. My apartment is a mess, I haven’t unpacked, and I want to chill before the grind begins again on Monday.”

  “Well”—she shook her head—“you’ll just have to do all of that after you get home from church and Sunday dinner.” When I pressed my lips together, she added, “How in the world did you think you’d get away with not coming to church?” Astonishment filled her tone.

  Again, I stayed silent.

  Her shoulders slumped, and her voice lowered when she said, “You have to see your father at some point.”

  I fixed my face with a grin. “I wanna see Papa. I cannot wait…” My voice trailed off.

  “You’ve gotten away with not seeing him this week because your father just got back last night,” she said. “But now you have to face him. And tomorrow in church and then at dinner afterward is the time and place.”

  “You’re talking like I’m trying to avoid him.”

  She paused as if she was giving me a chance to take those words back. Then she said, “You’ve been avoiding him since you graduated from law school.” A beat. “You’ve been avoiding both of us.”

  “I mo
ved to Atlanta, Mom. It wasn’t like I could drop by on my way home from work.”

  My mother’s lips thinned in disapproval before she leaned forward and spoke at a level that only I would hear. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The holidays when you made excuses or took trips so you wouldn’t have to come home.”

  “You were the one who always encouraged me to…”

  She held up her hand. “You don’t have to defend yourself, but I don’t know how many times I have to tell you or what I have to say for you to believe me… Our lives are so much better now, Chastity. He’s different, and I’m so happy.”

  I took a sip of my smoothie, holding back the words I was itching to speak. This wasn’t the first time she’d said this; over the last six or seven years she’d told me every time we talked. She told me what a wonderful husband my father was… now.

  My silence gave my mother the space to say, “You left New York because of us.”

  “I left because of the job prospects in Atlanta.”

  “The best law firms are in this city, and after you graduated from Columbia, your father could have helped you get hired anywhere you wanted.”

  “But I didn’t want Papa’s help.” I bounced back in the chair. “I wanted to find a job on my own—which I did. I wanted to build my life, away from the light of you and Papa—which I did.”

  “That was your excuse to get away from our drama. And I understand. But now you’re so blinded by the past, you haven’t been able to see the change in your father, the change in us. You would feel different if you accepted that your father is different.”

  I didn’t want to get into a public battle with my mother, but since she didn’t want to let this go, I said, “Is he different enough to make me forget all the days I watched you cry?” My question made her take a couple of long sips of her smoothie, and in the space of her silence, I continued, “It was over for me when his last affair hit the tabloids…”

  Those words hit the REWIND button in my memory, taking me back to that day.

  May 5, 2008

  It was almost midnight, but even though my roommates and I had been cramming for finals all day, our all-night session was just beginning. The corner bodega on 116th Street was our go-to one-stop for half of our meals, and definitely now for our late-night get-us-throughs.