Knowing Page 34

  Each day she played the role of a woman in control. She needed the love from her family to strengthen her. To give her purpose, a reason to be strong, to have faith in God and not wallow in self-pity. Having a loved one accuse her of hurting her child — a child whom she’d loved and nurtured since the first moment she’d felt the gift of life growing inside her body — was more painful to Ginger than having an arm severed without anesthesia.

  “Who is it?” Ginger called out, wiping her swollen eyes.

  “It’s me, Mama.” Sierra’s sweet voice was hesitant, listening for any telltale signs of anguish in her mother’s reply.

  The sound of her daughter’s caring voice was like an arm around her shoulder. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’m just getting out of the shower. I’ll be right out.” Trying to evoke a perkiness she didn’t feel, she flushed the toilet and turned the cold water on over the sink. Splashing the tepid water over her face, she did her best to be presentable for her daughter.

  Wrapping herself in her terry-cloth robe, she wound a hand towel around her head, covering her puffy eyes with a cold washcloth. “What is it, honey?” said Ginger, feigning a headache. She strolled into their bedroom and casually turned on the television set, trying to shield her face with the soft cloth.

  “A package came for you this afternoon.” Knowing that her mother and Jackson had been at it all afternoon, Sierra’s instincts had told her to wait. Looking at her mother now, she knew the timing was right. “I think it’s from Dink,” she said cheerily. Sierra slipped the small, brown, awkwardly bundled package inside her mother’s palm.

  Ginger handed her back the package, still holding the cold cloth to her forehead. As if synchronized, they sat together on the couch. “Can you open it for Mama?” She could see the return address from Arizona, and knew it was from her son.

  “No, Mom. It’s addressed to you. Dink would be mad at me if I opened it.” Sierra smiled innocently at her mother.

  Ginger turned the package over and over in her lap. “What do you think it is, Sierra?”

  Sierra merely shrugged.

  “He missed my birthday in October. I didn’t even receive a card.” Ginger’s shoulders heaved. The pressure of another disappointment from a loved one nearly overwhelmed her.

  “Open it, Ma,” chided Sierra.

  “You know how cheap Dink is. He didn’t even spend five dollars on me for Mother’s Day when he was home working at the grocery store.” Ginger tried to lift her spirits. “I know it’s the thought that counts.” She smiled awkwardly at Sierra, saying a silent prayer. Her heart leaped, wishing her prayers would be answered in a matter of minutes. She flipped the small package over again.

  Desperate, Ginger tore the brown paper package, then hesitated. “You know,” said Ginger thoughtfully, “I really loved that silk rose Dink gave me. It was real pretty.”

  Sierra kissed Ginger. She sensed that her mother was under a lot of pressure. “Open it, Mom,” she said. It had to be the perfect gift. It just had to be.

  Inside was a black velvet box. A white folded card, printed in red and blue bold letters read: DIAMOND CROSS OF DEVOTION: TO MOTHER, WITH LOVE.

  “Look, Sierra, isn’t it beautiful?” said Ginger, holding up the necklace. The light above them illuminated the rainbow prisms of each blazing gem.

  “It’s lovely, Mom,” Sierra said excitedly.

  But Ginger hadn’t heard a word she said. I love you Mom, the attached letter began. Every time I call you make me feel loved and missed. Thanks Mom. Each night I read the Bible. I pray that God guides my life the right way so you’ll be proud of me. I’ve got a problem I’m trying to break, I don’t feel safe unless I’m close to you.

  Ginger pressed her right hand over her heart, feeling the love swelling up inside her. As tender as a baby’s touch, she felt Sierra’s loving arm circling her shoulder. She read on: The three red rubies in the necklace symbolize the gratitude, love and devotion that’s in my heart for you. Seven white diamonds symbolize all the purity, beauty and love that’s in your heart, seven days a week. Seven blue sapphires thank you for the seven days each week you sacrificed that I might have. Always wear this necklace Mom, and I’ll always be close to you.

  Tears she had kept welled inside poured down her face like a raging brook. She slid off the couch, onto the carpet, hugging the cross to her chest, hiding her head in her hands. She felt the warmth of Sierra’s arms around her, and easily leaned against her small body.

  “Let me put it around your neck, Mama.”

  Ginger’s hands were trembling as she handed Sierra the beautiful necklace. She read the words over and over while Sierra folded back her thick housecoat, placing the cross around her neck. Only God knew how much it meant to her. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robe.

  Placing her hands on her mother’s shoulders, Sierra held her cheek next to hers. “You okay, Mama?”

  Ginger patted her hands, rubbing a tear-stained cheek against Sierra’s silky skin. “Mama’s going to be just fine,” she whispered more to herself than to her daughter. “Just fine.”

  29

  Standing in the Shadows of Love

  Dreading the thought of being alone for the holidays, memories of her mother’s death, her father’s illness, and the breakup with Bill had added to Kim’s postholiday blues.

  In less than six months, she’d replaced the black leather couch and contemporary accessories with a cozy moss-green velvet sofa with five-inch braided fringe edging the curved base. Solid brass torch lamps balanced each end of the expansive sofa. A matching love seat and oversized circular ottoman were arranged around an eighteenth-century Aubusson rug. Kim took special pleasure selecting precious pieces of Lalique crystal and a diversity of small treasures that graced the polished mahogany tables. Kim felt her mother’s presence guiding her in every purchase, encouraging her to transform her spiritless house into a real home.

  To this day, she had never regretted her costly decision; Bill had sat on that very couch precisely one week ago, vowing his unconditional love. On bended knee, on the cold marble floor, he slid a emblem of that love on her left ring finger. Kim felt a gentle warming of her heart as she remembered the words he had said:

  “Love goes toward love.” Bending down before her, he’d placed her hands over his heart. “I love you, Kim. I want you . . . forever.” Softly, in a half-whisper, she felt his words caressing her face. “You’re the blood in my veins flowing through to my heart. I can’t live without thinking about you. I can’t breathe without straining to inhale the scent of you.”

  “Bill,” was all Kim managed to say, as she turned her head away in shame. How could she have kept this man at bay as long as she had? She hadn’t been fair, and she knew it. What had she been trying to prove? Her guilt produced trembling tears in her eyes. She and Bill were in love, as deeply in love as she believed her parents had been.

  “My heart is my truest gift, the most fragile gift that I can offer you. Marry me, Kim. Forgive my selfishness. I’ve changed. Missing you, wanting you, needing you has been the worst punishment I could have imagined.”

  “I do love you, Bill. I’m sorry for —”

  “Don’t,” said Bill, pressing her lips closed. “Just please say you’ll marry me.”

  A single tear fell on the edge of her wrist as Kim uttered a breathless yes. Nervously, Bill removed a gray velvet box from his jacket and guided a circle of diamonds onto her finger.

  They embraced, feeling the matching rhythm of their hearts. Bill lifted her small body from the couch and carried her toward the bedroom. After crossing the threshold, he kissed her again tenderly, all the while slowly undressing her. He spread her nude body in the center of the bed, tingling her breasts with synergetic sensations. “I want to kiss you low and love you slow,” said Bill as their love spilled like wine on precious linen.

  A warm glow flickered along Kim’s spine as she cherished the memories of that wonderful night.


  It was five o’clock, and the winter evening was settling over the city. Kim picked up the receiver on its fifth ring.

  “Randall? It’s so good to hear from you. Happy New Year,” Kim said, entwining her fingers in the curlicued plastic phone cord as she settled down into the deep pile of the sumptuous sofa, pointing her bobby-socked feet toward the warmth of the smoldering fire.

  “Happy New Year, Kim.”

  “Got a scoop for you. Bill and I are getting married next September. He proposed on Christmas Day.” She could barely contain the excitement in her voice. Kim reclined, luxuriating in the warmth of the velvet beneath her, a radiant peace settling over her. The rich smell of pine and mistletoe floated throughout the room, to the holiday harmonies rippling softly in the background on the stereo.

  “You still there?”

  “Deep in thought for a moment. I still can hardly believe my luck. I’m so happy I could scream.” Kim remarked to Randall how much Bill and she had grown while they were apart. He could respect her friendships with other men. And she now understood his hectic schedule as a doctor. Solid now, they could begin their lives together. A clean, fresh start.

  Her eyes teared up when she told him her father had spoken her name on her last visit, and would be attending the wedding too. “You’ll be here, too, won’t you?”

  “Nineteenth of September? Wouldn’t miss my best friend’s wedding for the world.” Randall could see the pleased look on her face. There was never a doubt in his mind that Kim and Bill would get back together. He only wished he could say the same about himself and his lover.

  “I’ve truly missed you, Randall. The building hasn’t been the same since you left. It’s so quiet around here. It’s hard to believe you’ve been gone over a year.”

  “Yeah, I know. A lot of things have changed. Namely, on your side of the border. Three of the board members were fired by my aunt Sylvie. She’s taken a more active position in the company since she returned from her winter vacation abroad.”

  “I’ll be damned. I’ve never even seen her in all the years I worked there. How strange.”

  “You remember Brenda, the secretary?”

  “Cameron’s plaything, right?”

  “Right. She’s missing. No one has seen or heard from her in over two months. Didn’t call in and say she’d quit — nor did she tender a letter of resignation.” Static over the line from the overseas phone call momentarily interrupted his stream of gossip. “The rumor around the office is during the past year she’s had two abortions, and just recently a third —”

  “I knew she was stupid, but I didn’t think she was that dumb. How’d you find out?”

  “I made a couple of trips back home.”

  “And you didn’t call me?”

  “I couldn’t risk my uncle finding out I was there. I stayed at a friend’s house. In a few months I’ll have enough dirt on Cameron to get him kicked out of the company.” He decided this wasn’t the time to confide in his friend and admit that his lover had ended their relationship. “I don’t want my old job back, though. No. This is where I belong. He’ll never know how much of a favor he did for me. I love it here. I’ve got a wonderful apartment, and I’ve painted a cityscape of London. It’s breathtaking . . . no . . . more like cinematic.”

  “You’re painting again?” Kim said, hearing the emotion in his voice.

  “You know me so well. I’ve even completed the portrait I’d been unable to finish for nearly two years — my greatest accomplishment yet. Maybe one day you’ll be able to come and see it. That particular painting and several others will soon be on display in an art gallery.”

  “A show?”

  “Um-hm. They’ve given me a year to complete several projects that we’ve discussed for my first opening. Tossed around a few themes . . . feelings, emotions, truth. That’s what I want my painting to convey.”

  “I’m impressed, Randall.” Kim’s gaze scanned the beauty of her new home. When September came around, Randall would be equally impressed, and surprised. “You’ve been blessed to have gained a new home and a new career. You’re really happy. I can hear it in your voice . . . inner peace.”

  “Thanks, Kim. I knew you’d understand. And law school? Doing good with your studies?”

  “About as well as you’re doing with your paintings.” Cradling the phone between neck and shoulder, Kim stood before the semifrosted window admiring the majestic wonder below. Smiling to herself, Kim thought of a funny saying she’d read somewhere: “I used to be Snow White . . . but I drifted.” Mae West.

  Sitting along the edge of the window seat, she felt a slag of cold air streaming through the glass and tucked both bulky wool sleeves beneath her breasts. The old building creaked lazily above, reminding Kim about the vacant flat. “What about your condo? Still plan on keeping it? I could have a friend put it on the market, then ship your paintings and furnishings after it’s sold.”

  “No. I want to keep things as they are. Can’t give Cameron an inside track to what I’m planning, God, help me. I want him to think I hate this place, that I plan on coming back home to the States. Let him think his plan is working. His ego feeds on destroying people.”

  How well I know, thought Kim. Could Randall have known about her and George Cameron’s sexual relationship? She was surprised at Randall’s reference to a deity. She’d never remembered hearing him mention his spiritual beliefs before. “Your apartment is just as you left it. I’ve got a cleaning woman dusting it every couple of weeks when she cleans mine —”

  “I’ll send you —”

  “No need. She won’t charge me extra. Doesn’t want to lose my business. Says my apartment is the cleanest one on her route. Sometimes I take Ginger upstairs to help me water the plants. She loves your apartment. Remember you asked her to come by and see your paintings? It was so long —”

  “I remember meeting your cousin at the nightclub a couple of years back. Good-looking and smart. How’s she doing anyway? Did she ever make it in the real estate business?”

  Monday, January 6, 1992, Ginger quit her factory job, to Jackson’s disbelief. She bought a new computer and turned Jason’s room into her office. Ginger couldn’t keep track of all of Jackson’s insults. She just did her best to ignore him.

  She enrolled as a part-time student at the interior design school in Southfield. Four evenings a week, and eighteen months later, she would have her designer’s license. Ginger preferred deadlines. They drove her forward. Made her focus harder on what she wanted out of life. By the spring of 1993 she’d have her broker’s license. By that fall, she planned to open her own real estate firm. Her firm would offer a slightly different service than other real estate agencies in Michigan. Her license as a interior designer would fit perfectly into her new business venture.

  Again, Jackson cursed her out. But her vision was clear: To touch her dream. She knew the direction her life and career were heading. One thing she’d learned the hard way: Don’t expect your mate to believe in your hopes and dreams. Because to him, that’s all it’ll ever be — dreams.

  At first she felt guilty, chasing the end of the rainbow. Yet she desperately needed to turn the depression she felt into a personal victory, internal happiness. She needed to feel complete without the love of another human being, to know she was complete by herself, by the love and grace of God.

  She was somebody: Ginger Lee Carter Montgomery. There was no one else in the world exactly like her, and there would never be another. She was a one-of-a-kind miracle. A unique, wonderful, unrepeatable miracle of God.

  Putting her faith and trust in him, she began praying daily and reading her Bible. He would be the positive anchor that provided her with the wisdom she needed and give her the strength to go beyond herself. She must trust in the talents, abilities, and skills that God had blessed her with. And have confidence that those abilities would enable her to grow, make good judgments and decisions, and become the person she strived to be.

  By March Bill’s clinic
exceeded his expectations. The Detroit News had been good to him. Even the local Detroit monthly magazines regularly wrote articles complimenting the success of Dr. William Harris’s clinic. His programs helped the Black youths whom most had given up on get back on track and back in school. A Cass Tech honor-student dropout-turned-crack-addict who was undergoing drug rehabilitation at the clinic wrote a moving testimonial about how his life had changed. The story was published in the News and picked up by a local television station.

  * * *

  Spring sailed on into April, when heaven and sea rolled together as one, and from them blew fresh exaltations of misty blue. Lovely days like this brought Katherine outside, cleaning windows. A bucket filled with water, vinegar, ammonia, and a drop of lemon juice tugged at her arm. The yearly ritual never ceased to bring a fresh feeling inside and out to her brick bungalow. When her work was done that evening, Katherine would treat herself to yet another triple mixture of Lady Clairol. After all, two-inch gray roots didn’t look good in any season.

  “This feels wonderful. My first pedicure. I should’ve had it done years ago.” Ginger wiggled her toes as pleasure flowed through her body. Her feet, after her breasts, were the most sensitive parts of her body. Jackson hadn’t found that out in almost ten years. Two years ago, when she was blessed with the presence of hair, the ten black bristles on each of her big toes seemed to captivate his interest, and make him laugh. He’d never seen a woman with so much hair on her feet before. Ginger had felt slighted, and kept her hurt feelings about her feet to herself.

  “You almost dry?” asked Kim, peeking in the booth. Ginger handed the manicurist a five-dollar bill. The young girl smiled and thanked Ginger for the tip as she collected her trays of polish and left the room.