If You Don't Know Me (24 page)

I
sat alone in the guest bedroom holding the envelope Charles had given me.

He was dead. I'd more than honored his request by waiting an extra day. Whatever was inside, I prayed, “Lord. Please let the messages uplift and enlighten the addressees. Amen.”

Slowly, I inserted a pen into the opening at the top. Separating the edges, I removed all the envelopes. I hesitated. What if what was inside would destroy our lives? I placed the letters beside me and texted Sindy: Where are you babe?

Wherever she had to go after she'd left this morning, I shouldn't have allowed her to go alone. I'd left the office two hours early to check on Sindy. I'd taken a nap thinking she'd be home by the time I woke up. She wasn't. I'd skipped dinner hoping to take her out to eat.

Daylight faded to midnight. It didn't take all day to handle business. Her house was quiet. Too quiet. Was someone going to kill me? Charles could've arranged that before he died. This could be a setup. I pulled back the drape. Darkness surrounded her house. The closest lights, approximately three hundred feet away, lined the driveway.

Suddenly, one light beamed, then another. An animal raced across the lawn. I closed the curtain, picked up my phone. No response. I googled her surname. Was she royalty? To me, she was. Her father definitely didn't act refined. I locked the bedroom door, sat on the edge, then picked up each of the envelopes.

One, two, three, and four, as he'd said, were in my hands. The first was addressed: “From: Charles Singleton; To: Sindy Singleton.” I moved it to the back. The second was from him to Siara Singleton (postage was already affixed). Tomorrow, I'd drop it in the mail. The third was from Charles to me. The fourth was addressed to Jasmine Singleton. Who was Jasmine? Charles hadn't mentioned her. There was no postage or physical address like Siara's letter. How was I supposed to find Jasmine without opening her letter?

Reflecting on my childhood, I was blessed to have both of my parents. I wondered how Sindy felt having neither. Was she close to her sister before their dad sent Siara to Paris? What was her relationship like with her mother before she passed? That was, if she'd passed. A cool breeze brushed through the room reminding me the air conditioning was on.

The day my grandmother departed, she'd told my mother, father, brother, and me, “Take care of your grandfather.” Of course we'd do that. My mother moved our grandpa in with her and Dad. Grandpa Wally didn't socialize often. He was content coming to a few games, and occasionally he'd join us for dinner.

Did we worry more about the welfare of others on our way out? Did we do all that we could while we were here or did we take the easy way out and delegate our responsibilities to our survivors? I didn't want to be insensitive toward Sindy, Madison, or my son, Zach. Balancing the three would become a challenge not to piss off Sindy or Madison. I had to make each relationship work.

Sindy should've texted or been back by now. I didn't like sleeping in her guest room but I felt lonelier when she wasn't here. No one to talk or chill with in the family room was boring. Would I be happy with Sindy? Would my life be melancholy?

There was never a dull day with Madison. Zach, that dude made me think about what fatherhood meant. How would I rear him? Women thought about having babies and taking care of them. Most men, myself included, didn't. Not like women. How was I going to teach my son to do the right thing if I wasn't his example?

I was hungry but didn't want to eat by myself when I got in so I decided not to cook and grab a beer instead. I hadn't heard her come in. Life without sex until marriage, this was a first. What if we weren't compatible? Damn sure didn't want to be the first man to fuck it up for her. Having a virgin girlfriend in high school was great but that experience was fifteen years ago.

The thought of sex made my dick hard. Sindy had to be a good lover. The only thing we hadn't done was penetration. Sex without intercourse was like eating a cake with no frosting. It wasn't bad. Maybe it was more like enjoying a brownie with no milk.

I had to release my urge to cum. I didn't want her to walk in on my masturbating to relieve my built-up orgasms. She may have thought that insensitive of me considering her dad had recently died, but my sex drive shouldn't be taken personally.

I removed my shoes, pants, and the boxer briefs Loretta had bought. I had to throw these away the same as Loretta had done with all of the underwear Madison had given me. Women.

I played music from my cell, then sat in the chair with my dick in my hand. Taking a few deep breaths, I stroked my shaft. At first it felt good. Then I realized I needed lubrication. Forget it. I wasn't enjoying this like I'd thought.

I put on my clothes, picked up my letter and my cell. No response from Sindy. I decided to send another text. ?RU. UOK? Usually I wouldn't enter her bedroom while she wasn't home. I opened her door, placed the letter from her father on her pillow. I'd mailed the other one, addressed to Siara, as originally planned. Hopefully Siara would have the option to attend his funeral.

Returning to my bedroom, tired of procrastinating, I locked the door, sat on the bed, then opened the letter. It was handwritten.

Digging into my pocket, I pulled out the engagement ring I bought Sindy. Size six. Fifty g's. Worth every penny. Now some dead dude was telling me I wasn't good enough for his daughter. After all he'd said about how his daughter loved me when I didn't know she was alive. I didn't believe Sindy had bought my place or went behind my back and had a paternity test done. I knew her. She wouldn't do that.

I put the ring back in my pocket. Sindy would have to tell me no, because I was definitely going to ask.

A call interrupted my trying to make sense of the letter. “Hello.”

“You all right?” my mother asked.

“Nah, Ma. I'm not.” I couldn't lie. I was fucked up.

“Go get your son,” she said. “And bring him to me.”

“Is he really mine, Ma?”

“Do what your mother told you. And have your attorney subpoena Johnny Tyler.”

Ending the call with my mother, I had to call Madison.

She answered, “Hi, there,” in the sweetest tone.

“I'm coming to get my son. I'm on my way.”

G
etting home sooner was my goal but business came first.

Although my cell hadn't rung, I'd checked every half hour hoping there'd be a text or voice message from Roosevelt. There wasn't.

No calls from Helen.
What now?
I thought. Hopefully he hadn't discovered any of my secrets, especially the one about his son.

I responded to the last e-mail, then powered off my laptop. Numbiya had left hours ago for a dinner date with Chaz. A stack of legal documents couriered over by my father's attorney would have to wait until tomorrow. Exhausted, I exited the building then sat in my car. I looked behind the passenger seat. Fortunately, the fresh-cut flowers I had delivered earlier hadn't wilted. They'd been in here over twelve hours.

As expected, there was no after-midnight traffic or accidents. I really didn't want to go home, or stay at the office, or be anywhere all day. Work helped me get through my sorrow. I couldn't explain the pain in my heart. I missed my father. After all the bad things Charles Singleton had done, he'd gotten at least two of them right. I dried my tears praying I would not inherit my father's manipulative ways.

The drive to my place was quick.

“Roosevelt,” I called out as soon as entered my home.

I placed my purse on the table in the foyer. My arms were filled with the two dozens of roses I'd gotten to show Roosevelt my appreciation for supporting me during my loss. Both bouquets were a combination of red and white for love and friendship.

Where was he? I placed the vases on a table in my family room, then searched the first floor. “Roosevelt?” This time my pitch was higher.

Two o'clock in the morning. It was too late for him to be out. Too early for him to be gone to his office. Trotting upstairs, I knocked on his bedroom door. “Roosevelt. Babe, you in there?”

There was no answer. I turned the knob. “Not this shit again,” I thought scanning the room. I knew he hadn't abandoned me. My father just died.

Don't make any assumptions.
How could I not? He hadn't contacted me all day. Not once. I started crying. I was hurt. Angry. Maybe I was grieving.

I screamed, “I hate you!” In this moment, that could've been meant for my father, for leaving me. Roosevelt, for his fading to black again. Or for myself.

The bed was neatly made. Two suitcases were near the door. I snatched the handles, dragged both bags to the top of the staircase, then pushed them over. I watched his luggage tumble down twenty-one steps then land upside down at the bottom. I was so disgusted I didn't bother throwing them out. I left them there, went into my room, and slammed the door.

I exhaled in disbelief. A letter neatly lay atop my pillow. Roosevelt wasn't man enough to tell me in person. The envelope was face down. Picking it up, I had every intention of ripping it in half until I saw: “From: Charles Singleton.” Felt as though my heart paused then pounded.

Okay, this was why he needed to talk to Roosevelt alone. The man was stiff as wood and I still had to deal with his shit. The muscles in my legs weakened. I sat on the edge of my bed holding the letter.

“If I open this, I may have regrets. If I never open it, it won't matter.”

What difference will it make?

“What?!”

I didn't care about Charles's feelings. He was right. I wanted to see my mom. I scanned through the letter hoping to find out more about my mother.

“Thanks for saving me a trip,” Roosevelt shouted from downstairs. “You didn't have to toss my luggage down here!”

I shouted, “You are truly welcome!” then slammed my bedroom door hard enough to make a picture on the wall crash to the floor. I had more important matters to tend to. How could I tell Roosevelt about my mother when I'd never mentioned Jasmine to him? How could I ignore the fact that he'd left me, again? I sat on my bed staring at the letter.

Roosevelt entered my room without knocking. “Sindy, what's wrong?” he asked sitting beside me.

Was he serious?
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
“I don't need this right now,” I cried.

Roosevelt grabbed my wrists. “Whoa, I am not your enemy.”

I jerked trying to free my arms so I could slap him again.

“Stop it, Sindy. I know you're dealing with a lot but don't hit me again.” His arms pulled me to him. He held me close. “Sindy, I love you.”

“You don't know what love is. Let me go!” I struggled to free myself from his embrace. I was angry. At my father, for not loving me. At Roosevelt, for leaving me for Madison.

Holding me tighter, he said, “Yes, I do.”

I screamed loud as I could, “Why didn't you call me? Where were you? Get your hands off of me!”

“Fine,” he said releasing me as though I'd done something wrong to him.

I shoved the letter into his hand. “Is this why my dad wanted to see you before he took his last breath? Is it your ownership papers of me? Did you cut a deal with that devil? Do you have his cell phone?”

Roosevelt's eyes filled with tears. He shook his head, dried his eyes. “I don't deserve this or you,” he said handing me a letter addressed to him from my father. “I'll see myself out.”

“Do that! And don't come back! Madison can have you! You've abandoned me for the last time!”

I didn't want him to go.

Click.
I cried when I heard my front door close. Felt like someone had pulled the trigger and shot me in the head. I was going insane. I went to the staircase, leaned over hoping he'd be there. He was gone. His bags were gone.

I was alone. Again.

My cell rang. My purse was downstairs. I didn't bother. Instead of reading the letter my father gave to me, I unfolded the page Roosevelt had given me.

I swore when I got to the end, it felt as though my heart had stopped beating. If I went to the morgue this moment, I'd kill Charles Singleton if he weren't already dead.