Mama's Boy (16 page)

37

K
ay sat at her desk in a daze. She was not one to goof off, but her mind had been mush since her visit with Gloria. When she shut out that part of her life she was sure that it was over. The death of her parents three years ago solidified that she would never have to revisit the entire thing again. And yet here was the past, perched on her doorstep.

“Knock, knock.” Loni stuck her head in the door. “Good news.” She walked in before Kay could reply. “The poll numbers are in.” She waved a piece of paper at her. “And guess who's leading?”

Kay managed a smile. “That's good to hear.”

Loni frowned and approached Kay's desk. “Well, you sure don't act like this is good news.”

“No, just got a lot going on,” Kay replied.

“Yeah, this case. I just don't understand why you took it on,” Loni said.

“Uh, because you told me to. You said the publicity would help, remember?”

Loni waved her comment away. “I changed my mind. Can't you pass it on to someone else? It's just too time consuming and we've got to get you prepped and ready. These interview requests are rolling in left and right.”

Kay thought for a moment, what she wouldn't give to pass this case on now. “You know, I may actually give that some thought,” she said.

“Seriously?” Loni said, surprised. “Wow, I was just mouthing off. I really didn't expect you to walk away. You've never walked away from a case.”

“I've never been up in the polls, either,” Kay said, forcing a smile.

“Well, honey, let me know if you do because I will vamp up your marketing and publicity.” Loni's bushy natural curls bounced with delight.

“Okay, I'll let you know. I'm going to give it some serious thought.”

Loni strutted out of the room and Kay leaned back in her chair.

Walk away, that's what she had to do. But there was no way her boss was going to go for that. She'd have to tell him the truth.
The truth.
If she needed to be telling anyone, it was Phillip. Phillip didn't need to be blindsided by this. He would be so angry. When they were dating, there were many occasions where she started to tell him the truth about her past, but once those wounds had healed, she had no desire to open them up again. But what if Gloria was lying and did try to blackmail her for a favorable verdict? Gloria didn't seem like the blackmailing type, but there was desperation in her eyes. Over the years, Kay had seen that look in too many mothers' eyes. She knew at this point that Gloria Jones was capable of anything.

No, it was time. She needed to have a talk with her husband. She needed to be honest and then she needed to step down from this case and hope that her plans to be Houston's next mayor weren't completely derailed.

.   .   .

Kay had practiced her speech all the way home, but as soon as she turned down the street into her neighborhood, the words didn't feel right. So she made a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction. She wasn't ready to go home. Not yet. Not until she figured out how her life had taken this wrong turn down Disaster Street.

She pulled into a park about five minutes from her neighborhood and just sat, thinking.

Her past was coming back to throw her picture-perfect world into a tailspin.

Her past. She'd tried everything to erase the past from her memories but like a jilted, obsessive ex, the past refused to go away.

And as she sat in the driver's seat in the parking lot of Memorial Park, memories of the past returned fast and furious.

.   .   .

“Okay, Kayla, I need you to push.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” Kayla screamed.

Usually Kayla wouldn't dare think of being disrespectful to her elders. Her mother had taught her better than that, but right now, all of her life lessons had gone out the window. Right now, all she cared about was getting this thing out.

“Okay, I see the head. I just need you to take slow breaths. You're doing good,” the doctor said.

How women
wanted
to do this was beyond her and the thought that some women actually prayed for this was a concept that she couldn't understand. Who would want to endure this kind of pain? Her cousin, Nikki, had told her that the pleasure that created this position made it all worth it, but she wouldn't know anything about that. There had been no pleasure in creating the life inside her. Since it had happened, Kayla had spent every waking moment trying to erase it from her existence.

“Push, Kayla, push!” the doctor urged.

She wanted to scream that she was pushing as hard as she could. But the pain was so unbearable, she just wanted to pass out.

“Argghh!” Kayla screamed as she summoned every ounce of strength inside her and pushed.

A nurse held her hand. “Come on, sweetie, you're doing good.” She stroked her hair. “You're almost there; it's almost over.”

Kay couldn't wait for this nightmare to be over. For nine months she'd endured the shame, the changes in her body, the sickness, and the hatred from her parents. And she had literally done it all by herself since her parents would barely look at her.

“Arggghh!” In what was the most excruciating pain ever, as her privates felt like they were being ripped apart, Kay gave a final push. Then she felt a glimmer of relief, followed by the wail of an infant.

“It's a boy,” the doctor said, taking the baby and quickly handing him to a nurse. “You've got yourself a little boy.”

The nurse took the baby away and wiped him down using some kind of suction-like instrument. Kayla did what she'd been doing for months. She cried.

“Do you want to hold your baby?” the nurse asked.

Kayla had hated that thing for nine months, so why did she have a sudden urge to hold it? But before she could say anything, her mother swooped in.

“No, that will only make this more difficult. We've already discussed this. Please take it away.”

Him,
Kayla wanted to say. Take
him
away. But she bit her bottom lip and stayed quiet as the infant continued wailing. They'd had this discussion many times; her mother had even warned her that it might be difficult, that maternal instincts might kick in. Kayla didn't know what that feeling was inside her heart right now but it couldn't have been that maternal instinct her mother was talking about. She couldn't have been attached to that demon seed.

Demon seed. That was the name she'd given the child she'd carried. Because he was indeed created from the seed of the devil himself.

Kayla had wanted to abort the baby but heaven forbid her ultra-­religious parents succumb to abortion. “A baby's life is precious,” they'd told her. Not precious enough for her to keep. But precious enough to live. Not that she wanted to keep this child anyway. She didn't need a constant reminder of Pastor Elton Jones. And she didn't want to end up like her cousin, Nikki, living in this deadbeat town raising babies the rest of her life. She had every intention to leave Baton Rouge come September. Even with the pregnancy, even with being whisked away to be homeschooled, even with being ripped away from her few friends and life in general, Kayla had managed to get her high school diploma. She'd managed to stay on top of her grades and amass enough credits to get her diploma early—three weeks before her baby was born.

Soon as she healed, Kayla planned to be on the first thing
smoking. She would forget her rape. She'd forget her life, she would forget her son, and she would start a completely new life.

.   .   .

A new life.
That's what the past nearly seventeen years had been. So why was she being punished now?

Her cell rang and Phillip's number popped up. He was probably wondering where she was. Kay didn't answer, but she did start her car. She'd talk to Phillip at home and she'd tell him everything.

38

L
ast night was a bust. When she'd gotten home from the park yesterday, Phillip had been gone, called out by the mother of one of the boys he mentored who had gotten into trouble. Kay had been asleep when he got back in. And then he was out the door before she got up. It's like the devil was trying to keep her secret buried deep.

Kay had no idea how Phillip was going to take the news, but she did know one thing . . . tonight, she would tell him. She already made sure he would be home, so there could be no backing down.

Kay gathered together the file on Jamal because she fully expected to turn it over to her boss and recuse herself from the case.

Her Prada shoes clicked as she made her way through the parking garage toward her car. She had just hit the button to turn off her alarm when she heard someone come up behind her. Kay turned around, the Mace on her keychain poised to ward off an attacker.

“Hey, hey, hey, little lady.” Marty Simon, the man running against her for mayor, held up his hands and smiled. “Calm down.
It's just me, ol' Marty,” he said, his voice rich with a deep Texas twang.

“Marty,” Kay said, relaxing. He looked like a walking cliché, the ten-gallon cowboy hat, oversized belt buckle, Wrangler jeans, blazer, and cowhide boots—all of which fit his Texas-sized personality. She'd known about him for roughly three years now, since he started lambasting the current mayor and laying the foundation to run. “You should know better than sneaking up on women in a deserted garage,” she told him.

“Yeah, you're right. I forgot I'm dealing with a spunky little filly.” He laughed.

She shifted her bag to her other arm and blew a long breath. “Yes, Marty? Is there something I can help you with? Is there a reason you're in my parking garage this late in the evening?”

“Well,” he said, pulling back his jacket as he draped his fingers through his belt loop. “I just thought I would come and personally pay you a little visit.”

“And why would you do that?” She opened her car door and tossed her briefcase onto the backseat of her car.

“Well, seems like to me this election is mighty close.”

“It is.” She folded her arms. “But I'm sure you didn't come over here to talk shop. So, what's up?”

“Are you sure you want to be mayor of Houston?”

She kept her smile. “I wouldn't run if I wasn't sure.”

“Hmm . . .” He nodded his head. “You know, I'm sure you know my history.” His twang continued to punctuate each word. “I don't like to lose.”

“And so I've heard.”

“I don't even like it to appear that I'm losing,” he continued.
“And these doggone poll numbers are pointing in that direction.”

“It ain't over until it's over,” she said with a smile. The last thing she wanted was to appear too cocky with him and give him even more fuel to try to defeat her. He outspent her two-to-one already so she didn't need him beefing up spending in these last few weeks.

“Yep, that sure is right. But I think it's about over,” Marty said.

“What does that mean?” Kay asked, losing her grin.

“How is your case going?” he asked, with a smirk across his face.

Kay stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Case? You know. The one you're prosecuting. Jamal Jones, that's his name, right? Jamal Jones. That thug that shot a police officer in Jasper. How's it coming?”

“If you've been watching the news, you've seen.” She was getting nervous now. Men like Marty Simon didn't waste time on idle chatter.

“I have indeed been watching the news,” he said, before slowing his words and looking her directly in the eyes, “but nobody is talking about the fact that you're prosecuting your own son.”

All the air was sucked from her belly.

“Oh,” Marty said, snapping his fingers, “maybe they're not talking about it because they don't know.” He paused before adding, “Yet.”

“I don't know what you think you know,” Kay said. She was trying to make sure her voice didn't crack.

“I know that I know, little lady,” Marty said with a grin. “I know that you got that secret bastard child that you haven't told anyone about. Not even your dear husband. Wonder how he's going to feel knowing he's defending his wife's bastard son.”

Kay had to lean back on her car to keep from falling over. How in the world could he have known that?
Gloria.
She was the only one who could have said something, but why?

“I'm not even going to have you insult my intelligence by trying to deny it,” Marty continued. “So, I'm just going to shoot straight, 'cause you know that's the only way to shoot.” He lost his smile. “I'm thinking that you need to call a special press conference and tell the public that you're dropping out of the race.”

She glared at him. “You know that's not happening.”

“Mmm . . . let's see. Should I call your husband first?” He pulled out his cell phone. “Or the news media and let them know?” When Kay didn't respond, he dropped his phone back into his pocket. “If you need help preparing a statement, you know I got great people on my team. They can write you up something real good.”

“I don't need your help doing anything.” Kay shook as she tried to maintain her composure. His smugness was pissing her off. “I'm not stepping down,” she added.

“Hmm . . . you might want to go home and think about that,” Marty said.

“I'll tell my husband myself.”

“Well, you do that,” he replied, not the least bit fazed. “And I'm sure he'll forgive you. The people, however, won't be so forgiving. Especially from a politician who built her platform on truth and transparency.”

“You don't know the circumstances.”

“Oh, I know enough. Seems like the defendant's preacher man daddy forced himself on you when you were just a little girl. Now, Marty knows that may get you a sympathy vote from all the raging feminists, but that lying”—he wagged a finger—“I already have
the commercial planned out, ‘If she lied to the people, she can't be trusted to lead.' And not to mention all the rape cases you've prosecuted that will probably be filing appeals and looking to have their convictions overturned because an overzealous prosecutor was trying to seek revenge. Just sounds messy, don't you think?”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Li'l lady, Marty Simon plays to win.” He winked at her again like they shared some big secret.

“You know what, Marty? The last thing you want to be doing is blackmailing a law enforcement officer.”

“Oh, I'm not blackmailing anyone.” His smile returned. “I'm just telling you what I know. And I told you I like things to go my way and if things don't go my way, I'm just gonna have to tell a few folks what I know.”

She glared at him and said, “You do what you have to do,” and then climbed into her car.

“I'll be waiting for that press conference, Mrs. Christiansen. And if it doesn't go how I want, let's just say you might want to bring your fire extinguisher to the debate because there's gonna be lots of sparks flying. You have a good day now, you hear?”

He patted the hood of her car as she backed away. It took everything in her power not to floor the accelerator and run him over, but she simply pulled out of the parking garage before he could see her completely break down.