Journals of the Secret Keeper (10 page)

"Momma stole me right from under my own
momma's nose. She wrote it in the journals. She
was proud of what she did. After I read those
journals, I got to be afraid of just about everything.
I was scared of momma. I was scared of the house.
I was even scared of Willetta and Sylvia Jean.
That's why when momma died in nineteen thirtyfive, I left and married the first man that asked me
to. I tried to forget what I knew about momma and
daddy."
After all that telling of the past Aunt Olivia
was tired and the nurse said the visit would have to
end. But before Aunt Olivia left she asked,
"Andrik, did your grandma pass those journals on to
you?"
"No ma'am. I didn't even know Mama Jean
was my grandmother until Ms. Martha showed up,"
he said.
The nurse stopped the wheelchair as Aunt
Olivia raised her hand. "Jean never told you she
was your grandmother?" she said incredulously.
"Never," Andrik said.
The old woman's eyes opened wide and her
lips trembled. "There are too many secrets in this
family. I was going to tell you to burn the journals,
but I don't know who she gave them to. Check
underneath the loose boards in the master bedroom
on the West Wing. That's where momma used to
hide the journals when daddy died."
Octavia and Olivia were told to stay. Aunt
Olivia wanted to have a family meeting. She said
she would arrange for someone to pick up their
things from Andrik's house.
#
The journals were fast becoming an
obsessive thought for Andrik. Finding them was his
new priority. He spent the majority of his life
wishing he were either someone else or somewhere
else. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he
could be someone else. But finding out Stanley
Thompson was not his father, had done just that for
him. It had changed him. He was no longer the
rejected son of Stanley Thompson. He was the son
of Richard Myers, grandson of Rick and Jean
Myers. He no longer felt an overwhelming sense of
loss over Mama Jean's failure to tell him who she
was. He felt an inquisition was in order to find out
why she kept that secret.
Aunt Olivia's reaction
over him not knowing that Jean was his
grandmother struck him as odd. Mama Jean had her
own secrets, separate from those involving the
century old secrets of Etta and William Thompson.
Andrik's interests were focused singularly on the
secrets of Mama Jean. It was her journals he was
interested in and hers alone.
#
Damion Racy had never in his life been
more incensed than at the present.
He was down a
dusty country road looking through iron gates at the
car of his slut fiancé who had the nerve to leave him
stranded at the altar. He didn't like beating on
women, but he knew some of them deserved it.
Willetta Jones was one of those women. He knew
he would end up beating her, but never this soon.
They weren't even married yet. He would drag her
butt back to Atlanta. Forget the wedding. She
deserved a courthouse wedding anyway. He got
back in his car and slammed the door. He would
just wait until she came out or until she showed up.
Where was she anyway? He smiled an evil grin as
he prided himself on placing that tracker on her car.
Not too many men were ahead of their game like
him. If he were Greek, he'd be a god.

CHAPTER 24
Volume 3, pg. 1 (August 1931):
"Olivia is
getting to be a big girl. She's sixteen now and
such a lovely young girl. Her mother was
pretty with all that red hair. William never
could understand why I brought a red-haired
white baby home. I don't understand it myself.
It just came into my head when that woman left
that little boy in charge of the baby. I can still
hear him screaming when I took the child away
from him. I wonder how he's doing now. He
should be about twenty."

The ride home passed just as all trips back
home do; quickly. It's odd that when the enigma of
the destination is gone, the road gets shorter.
The
trip home was mostly quiet and solemn. The
obscure past of Etta and William Thompson
dominated the minds of all three passengers of the
sleek black Audi now wheeling towards Thompson
Estates.

About ten minutes into the trip home,
Andrik slid his hand across the seat and took
Willetta's left hand into his. It was the most natural
and comfortable hold for them both. His large hand
completely engulfed hers and she felt the warmth of
it throughout her whole body.
They remained that
way the rest of the trip.

Even though full-spirited and lively, Martha
was elderly. Her eighty years were too mighty to
fight with and slumber came easily, even if
unwanted. Soft snores echoed in the back seat, as
her chin rested on her chest and she slept heavily.

Andrik was the first to see the red Mustang
parked in front of the gate. "I hope this is not
another long lost relative. I don't know if I can
stand it," he said ominously.

Before he could stop the car, Willetta
opened the door and jumped out. She knew exactly
whose car it was and fear gripped her in its vice.
She had an awful intuition that she was about to be
murdered. It flashed before her eyes. She could see
Damion pulling out a gun and shooting her in the
head without hesitation. So, she did the only thing
she could think to do. She jumped out of the car
and ran for her life.

"What!" Martha jerked awake when Andrik
slid to a stop. The first thing she saw was the huge,
muscle bound man running past her window. Then
she heard Andrik curse as he tore at his seatbelt.
She was old, but she had some sense. She reached
forward and pressed the red button to unlock his
seatbelt. "Run boy!" she shouted as he lunged out
of the car.

Andrik did just as he was told. He could
hear his own blood coursing through his brain and
along his ear drums as he ran. It was obvious the
man was out to kill. Andrik saw his face and could
see the vicious anger. What in the world had
Willetta done?
He saw her in the distance. The
man was right up on her. He had his hands on her.
What Andrik saw next turned the green trees, the
brown dirt of the road, and the blue sky into a haze
of red.

Damion saw Willetta when she jumped out
of the car. He had been waiting three hours and for
her to pull up in a black Audi with another nigger
was too much. He tasted blood as he threw his door
open. Every predator instinct he had was on go.
Just to see her run spurred on his animalistic instinct
to hunt. Oh, he would catch her and she would be
sorry when he did.

Damion caught up with Willetta in no time.
He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around.
The fear in her face made him want to howl with
glee. He raised one huge hand and balled it into a
fist. When it made violent contact with the right
side of her face, her legs crumbled and she fell to
the ground.

Before he could kick her, he felt his neck
being jerked upwards. His feet came off the ground
next and he couldn't breath.

Something was wrong. He couldn't get any air.
"You will die, if you put your hands on her
again. Do you understand?" Andrik could barely
control his anger. His training in martial arts fully
equipped him to snap the fool's neck and be done
with it, but he put him back on his feet and took his
arm away.
Damion immediately elbowed him in the
stomach and knocked him to the ground with one
kick to the leg. A full fledged fight ensued to
Damion's ultimate sorrow. When Andrik finished
with him, he couldn't see out of either eye, three
ribs were broken on the right side, and he couldn't
support himself on his right leg.
#
Willetta didn't come to herself until she felt
a cold towel being pressed against her eye. For the
second time in one day she found herself awakening
from unconsciousness with Andrik standing over
her. This time there was no comfort to be found
looking into his face. He was angry and he was a
mess.
"You have to stay awake. I'm going to sit
you up. He busted your right cheek and your eye is
swelling," he said coldly. She felt his huge hand
pressing into her back to give support as he slid her
into a sitting position. At least she was in her own
bed. She was happy to see the pastel green wall, the
screen with the red-haired white woman on it, and
the tub sitting in the middle of the room. In just a
few days these sights had become near and dear to
her.
"Andrik are you okay," she croaked. Her
throat was incredibly dry and everything in her
mouth felt like sawdust.
"I'm fine," he said, "but your man is in
pieces down stairs. I need to get back down there.
There's no telling what your grandma is doing to
him. She asked me for some rope," he murmured.
Willetta winced as laughter bubbled up
inside of her. "Let her do what she wants with him.
He's not my man. His name is Damion Racy and I
left him at the altar. I was afraid to tell him I didn't
want to marry him. When you called and said
Mama Jean was dead, it was perfect timing. I fled
Atlanta, Georgia in the middle of the night without
a word to anyone."
Her words were like balm to his bruised
soul. Andrik felt the anger sliding away. He laid
his open palm gently against the unharmed side of
her face and said, "He'd be dead if I was a murderer,
but I'm sure between me and Martha we can make
sure you won't have to worry about him anymore."
With those words, he stood and left the
room instructing her to stay put and to stay awake
until he got back.
CHAPTER 25
Volume 4, pg. 1 (August 1933):
"I've done
some things to be ashamed of. William's
death was not exactly natural, but he was so
tired. He said he was tired of the secrets and
wanted to make amends. Well, I couldn't let
him do that. So, I put my William to sleep. I
miss him so much."
#

"What we gone do with him, Andrik,"
Martha asked. She used Andrik's name for the first
time. Any man who could tie knots in a man as big
and muscular as Damion Racy and then carry his
prone body inside a house, was a man deserving of
her respect. Martha hadn't seen a good fight like
this one in many many years.

"I see you have his hands and feet tied up.
Do you think that's necessary," Andrik asked
nervously.

Damion didn't seem to be in any condition
to fight, but he was obviously scared. Through the
thin swollen slits of his eyelids, Andrik could see
his pupils move rapidly between him and Martha
each time one of them spoke. He didn't feel sorry
for him, but he wasn't comfortable denying an
injured person medical attention nor holding an
unwilling person captive.

Andrik stood in the middle of the kitchen
with his hands on his hips. He stared at the bamboo
floors and admired the way the green of the kitchen
walls cast a darker shade over the floors making
them look a deeper and richer brown. The entire
kitchen was his design. He wanted it to be
spacious, open, and rustic. The brownish-red color
of the granite countertops complemented the lightbrown oak of the cabinets and the greenish bronze
of the sinks and fixtures. All the appliances were
covered with the same oak wood of the cabinets.
Even he had to take a second look at first to find the
refrigerator and dishwasher.

Martha had settled Damion in the center of
the kitchen in one of the chairs at the eat-in kitchen
table. The table was a vintage black cast iron table
set, which seated four. Damion's hands and feet
were tied to his chair. Andrik had to give Martha
some credit for her bravery. She dealt with Damion
all on her own while Andrik frantically helped
Willetta recover from the assault.

"Damion, Willetta told me why you're so
angry, but I want to know why you hit her," Andrik
said mildly.

Damion didn't say a word. He stared in
Martha's direction. She jumped as if she had been
sleeping. She was leaning against the sink waiting
to see what Andrik would decide.

"Oh, go on and answer him boy. I ain't gone
hurt you. I told him I would cut his tongue out with
my fishing knife, if he said a word," she said and
winked at Andrik.

Andrik laughed and looked down at
Damion, "Looks like you got yourself in a pretty
bad situation. What were you hoping to
accomplish?" he asked.

"I came to get Willetta. She's my fiancé. I
was just showing her who the man is. You can't tell
me you wouldn't have done the same thing. My
whole family and all our friends saw her make a
fool out of me," Damion cried plaintively.

Andrik pulled his chair right in front of
Damion's. Damion flinched and pressed himself
back against the seat. Andrik leaned forward and
rested his elbows on his knees. His whole intent was
to intimidate and he was accomplishing just that. He
stared deeply into Damion's eyes and without a
word dared him to look away.

"So, its not against the law in Georgia for
grown men to go around planting their fists in
women's faces? Don't you know you could have
killed her?" Anger made his voice hoarse as he
spoke.

"I was just mad man. I saw you and then I
saw her and I was just mad man," Damion offered.
"I'm going to make a deal with you,
Damion." Andrik began. "I won't call the police
and I'll let you stay here til you can drive away, but
you have to do something for me."
"Naw, man. I can drive. Just untie me and
let me go. I can drive right on out of here." Damion
begged.
Andrik shook his head. "No, that's not the
deal," he said.
"What do you want from me," Damion
asked.
"Well, it occurred to me that Willetta did say
she left Atlanta without a word in the middle of the
night. She's been here four days and she never once
mentioned you, but I knew she was hiding
something. I want to know how you found her. I
know she was smart enough not to leave a trail,"
Andrik said.
"I put a tracker on her car months ago. It's
under the driver's seat in her car," Damion spilled
out.
Andrik stared at him in amazement and
disgust. He'd counseled men like Damion and he
knew for a fact they rarely changed. They were
cowardly, demanding, women-beating creatures that
would never stand up to a real man. He felt an
overwhelming desire to smash Damion's head in,
but reeled in some self-control.
"You's a low-down dirty rat. Women used
to grind up glass and poison men like you in my
day. I hope you run across a woman mean and bad
enough to take care of you. I wished I was young
enough to have you. You wouldn't be live long
enough to tell nobody you put a nothin under my
seat," Martha spat. "I'm going up to check on
Willetta. You can have this ole rotten egg, Andrik."
She hit Damion in the head as she passed by.
"Well, that’s the deal then," Andrik said. He
stood and pushed his chair under the table and
turned to begin untying Damion.
"What's the deal," Damion asked,
unashamed of showing that he was scared out of his
wits.
Andrik jerked him up from the seat, dragged
him through the door and pushed him off the porch
into the grass.
"I wanted to know how you found her.
You've told me. Now you can go. You have ten
minutes to get in your car and get off my property.
If Willetta says she's seen you or heard from you,
you better get me before I get you. I hope you're
listening carefully, because what we had today was
an old school fight, the next time it will be deadly."
Damion was so glad to be free, he barely
noticed the pain in his side, the fact that his right leg
wasn't working at all, and that he could barely see.
He drove quickly through the gates and his
speedometer reached the eighty mile marker before
he reached the interstate. The dust from his flight
floated in the air for long, long minutes after his
departure.
#
Andrik noticed Willetta's car keys hanging
out of her purse. He snatched them up and went out
to her car. With a flashlight in his hand he began a
thorough search for any tracking devices the idiot,
Damion may have left. He quickly found the one
under her seat. He also found her laptop and pulled
it out to take in to her. He put the laptop on the roof
of the car, as he bent to search above the tires for
any devices. After finding nothing above her tires,
he decided to check her trunk as well. He opened
the trunk and knew it would be empty. He had
taken all her things in days ago. He ran his hand all
along the lining of the trunk, using the flashlight to
see. He pulled the edges back and found no more
tracking devices. But when he pulled the last edge
up in one corner, the whole piece of lining moved to
reveal an opening for a spare tire. Instead of a spare
tire the hole was filled with books. The books
looked old. Andrik picked up one and opened it.
He turned the flashlight into the page and his hands
shook as he read the little square handwriting of
William Thompson.
CHAPTER 26
Volume 5, pg. 1 (January 1934):
"I've lived
my life for those girls and they don't love me.
Olivia is afraid of me. Sylvia Jean hates me
and Willetta cries all the time. I saved them
and gave them good lives. They should be
more thankful."
#
Andrik found a box in the garage and placed
all the journals in it. He sat the box beside him on
the porch and took a seat on the steps. He was
changing. He could feel it. He had always thought
he was a man, but the past few days hurt like an allnew rite of passage into manhood. Just as in the
ancient tribal rites, how a boy dealt with his
challenge determined what sort of man he was.
Andrik had the strangest feeling that everything he
did from this moment on would define his
manhood.
Willetta had inherited the journals. He had
inherited the land.
This terribly unethical situation
was the design of Mama Jean and the big question
was why?
He thought he and Willetta were on
equal ground, when they most definitely were not.
He was wandering in confusion and Willetta was
leading him along with her knowledge of the
journals and their contents.
Andrik was stricken with just how blind and
trusting he had been all of his life. That would end
here and now. No woman or man would ever hold
his destiny in their palm. He would lead. The first
person he had to deal with was Willetta. Whatever
vow of secrecy she made with Mama Jean was now
null and void. He now knew about the journals and
he also knew that Mama Jean was his grandmother.
Martha said that Sylvia Jean, his great great
grandmother was willed the journals and her sister
Willetta, who was Martha's mother and therefore,
Willetta's great grandmother was willed the land.
Hence, the rightful heir of the land was Willetta.
She could have it. He was the rightful heir of the
journals and he would have those.
Andrik stood and picked up the box of
journals. He entered the house and went straight to
the stairs. Without knocking, he kicked the door to
Willetta's room open. Martha was sprawled across
the bed talking to Willetta as she soaked in the tub
behind the screen. When he burst in the room, she
turned her head sharply in his direction and bucked
her eyes.
"What's done happened? Did that boy get
loose," she cried.
Andrik dropped the box loudly on the floor
and said, "Ms. Martha, please leave. I need to talk
to Willetta privately."
"The girl taking a bath. Ain't you got no
decency?" She said this, as she slid off the bed. The
stoic expression on Andrik's face was enough to
convince her it was in her best interest to get on
down the hall to her room. "Scream if you need me,
baby," she said before scuttling past Andrik.
Andrik kicked the door closed and waited.
He knew the moment Willetta stood. The sound of
the water swelling and then receding as she stood
reminded him of the rise and fall of his feelings for
her. Then the trickles of water. It was the game.
He could almost count them. Then the droplets of
water sliding softly from her body. It may as well
have been thunder. His heart pounded. He closed
his eyes and waited some more.
"What is it, Andrik," Willetta asked.
She was standing in front of him. Andrik's
chest expanded and he opened his eyes. The right
side of her face was a mess.
He stared at the
swollen flesh of her cheek and the drooping damage
of her eye.
"I couldn't get out of the seatbelt. Martha
had to let me out of it. I panicked," he said simply.
Willetta wasn't sure how to respond to his
intensity. She could feel a difference in him and
had no name for it. She pulled the towel tighter
under her armpit and laughed a nervous laugh.
"We were just talking about that fiasco. If
you had not been here, he would have killed me.
I'm sure of it," she said softly.
"Why didn't you tell me," he asked.
"I didn't know what you would think about a
woman who told a man she would marry him and
instead of telling him she couldn't marry him, ran
away in the middle of the night with him thinking
the wedding was still on."
Andrik began to breathe slowly. She cared
about his opinion. From the very beginning she
cared what he thought about her.
"If you had told me something about his
character, I would have understood," he said.
Willetta shrugged and fidgeted with the
towel. She looked at her wet feet and thought they
were kind of ugly. She'd been in the tub for quite a
while. She needed to be putting on lotion at this
very moment. In a second or two she would most
likely be the ashiest woman this side of the
Mississippi River. Her eyes lifted away from her
feet and she noticed the box and its contents. Her
heart stopped.
Andrik's hands slid up her damp arms and
settled against her neck. His thumbs gently
caressed her bottom lip, "When you returned my
kiss in the yard that night, was it real or where you
afraid I'd find the journals," he asked softly.
Willetta was speechless. She stood rooted to
the spot. The horrible realization that Andrik knew
about the journals mixed with the sensations of his
hands on her naked flesh, was heady and
overwhelming. She swayed on her feet.
Andrik's hands slid down her back and
beneath the curve of her buttocks and he lifted her
against him, "Answer my question, Willetta," he
whispered.
"I..Wh..What did you ask me," she said.
Andrik's lips found hers and the rush was
the same as when they first kissed. Willetta's arms
wound tightly around his neck as he sat on the bed.
The kiss remained sealed and passionate as she slid
into his lap.
Minutes later Andrik set Willetta on the bed
and stood up, "Get dressed, Lettie. I want to talk to
you about the journals. Meet me downstairs on the
back porch," he murmured.
Andrik quickly left the room. He needed a
cold shower and a prayer. Those were the only two
things that could save him from the sensual lure of
Willetta.
#
Willetta's heart beat wildly. The nearly
century old journals sat where Andrik left them.
They symbolized the crazy turns one's life could
take. The whole direction and meaning of her life
had a new face. It was all tied up with the journals;
the tall, black, and gorgeous, Andrik; her new
grandmother, Martha; a century old Victorian
homestead; Mama Jean's funeral; and the tall, black,
and gorgeous, Andrik.
Willetta fell back against the bed and threw
her arms up over her head. "Am I woman enough
for this," she asked.
The aged and seasoned walls of the room
seemed to whisper an answer. Willetta sat up and
listened.
The beating of her heart seemed powerful
and steady and she knew the answer. She was more
than woman enough and could handle both the
legacy and the man.
CHAPTER 27
Volume 1, pg 1 (April 1935): Momma is
dead. I don't quite know what to feel.
She choked on a pecan. I watched and I
watched. All I could think was that she
was dying from what she put in her own
mouth just like daddy died from what she
put in his mouth. To know such things
makes one feel dirty and evil too. I hate
these journals."
#
"Where is Damion?" Willetta asked, as she
climbed onto the swing.
"He's gone," Andrik said flatly.
"Oh," she said quietly. Andrik was not
forthcoming with more information and Willetta
didn't ask for fear of sounding concerned, which she
certainly was not. Instead she busied herself
digging into the sinfully delicious hot fudge sundae
Andrik pushed into her hands.
"I want the journals, Willetta," he said.
Willetta licked caramel from the corner of
her lip. Her eyes stayed fastened on her sundae,
while her mind scrambled for an adequate response.
"But she gave them to me," she said simply.
"They rightfully belong to me. This land
belongs to you. I don't need this land, but I do need
the truth about my parents."
"She must have had a reason for giving them
to me, Andrik."
Andrik ignored her comment, "I don't want
all of the journals. I just want Mama Jean's," he
said.
"No. I just don't think it’s a good idea. I
should read them first," Willetta countered.
Andrik felt frustration building. It was of a
very unpleasant sort. The feeling mingled with
desperation threatened to make him choke.
"Willetta, I'm not asking you for the journals," he
said.
Willetta lowered the bowl of ice cream to
her lap. She felt the coolness of it through her
cotton pajamas. She was almost done. The small
amount of ice cream in the bottom of the bowl
would soon melt and she could drink it like milk. It
would be good.
"I want you to tell me where they are," he
continued.
"I can't do that, Andrik," she said softly.
Andrik stared at her in the darkness. The
moonlit porch cast shadows here and there, but
illuminated Willetta's face to perfection. He could
see the emotion and determination in her eyes and
his heart fell. If it was up to Willetta, he would
never see the journals.
"That's your final word on it," he asked.
Willetta took a deep breath and nodded.
"Then I declare war," he said so quietly,
Willetta could barely hear him.
Her heart began to pound in agitation. She
didn't know whether to be afraid or enraged. Just
what was he planning to do? She didn't have to ask,
because he was ready to let her know.
"I'll be watching every move you make.
There are more journals from where those came
from. I'll be there when you get the rest of them. It
will be like taking candy from a baby," he said
angrily.
"What are you hoping to find out, Andrik?
Aunt Olivia already told you everything," she said
desperately.
"If you believed that, you would let me read
the journals, Willetta. Don't play games with me.
I'm a man, not a boy," he whispered.
His choice of words reminded her of the
kiss. The heat that infused her face and flushed her
skin jumbled every thought in her mind. She sat
very still and waited. The silence stretched between
them and Willetta's senses became vibrantly alive.
He had showered. She could smell the soap.
She could smell the hickory-wood scent of his
deodorant and the mint of his mouthwash. The
sweet smell of chocolate and caramel lingered in the
air. She could smell the Mississippi dust carried by
the wind and sifting through the porch screens. Her
skin was no longer part of her, but a separate entity.
It moved and shifted as she sat perfectly still. It was
keen for Andrik and his attentions. It and her mind
were at odds. This was physical attraction and
desire at its basest.