Without Faith (2 page)

Dread.

“Please tell me you are all ready to go.” My heart sank the moment I stepped into the foyer of my home and saw Roman's bare foot propped up onto my new coffee table, a noisy video game wrapped in his hands, and a suspiciously small—and only half-filled—duffel bag sitting on the floor next to his other bare foot.

“Huh?” He didn't even bother to look up from whatever game he was playing.

“Huh? Is that your way of saying hello now?” I shook my head, wanting to kick myself for believing that Roman was capable of packing appropriately for a week-and-a-half trip across the country. He'd turned sixteen earlier in the month, and although he was maintaining a B+ average in trigonometry and working steadfastly at his part-time job at a store in White Marsh Mall, I swear I felt like I was still dealing with a six-year-old sometimes.

“Roman.” I plucked the video console from his hands. “We have to leave for the airport in no more than ten minutes. Where is your luggage?”

“Officer Sanderson has it,” he mumbled as he stretched and stood. Potato chip crumbs fell from his lap.

“Leon has your bags?” I resisted the urge to pat my hair to make sure it was in place as I scanned my living and dining rooms. I kept a full length mirror against the far wall, but I knew that the image in it would not be comforting.

I had not gotten a relaxer in a couple of months as I was considering wearing my hair all-natural and chemical free, but now my hair looked like something between a shoulder-length bob and a chia plant as I struggled to imitate the hair care videos I'd found online. My eyebrows needed to be arched, and I'd yet to start my New Year's resolution to lose the extra pounds I'd picked up since I'd turned thirty what felt like many years ago.

It was March. So much for my New Year “new me” quest.

I had my eyes, though. Almond-shaped and captivating and emphasized with extra coats of eye liner and mascara, I knew that my eyes were the defining feature of my face and capable of making all my other physical flaws forgivable. At least that is what Leon hinted to me at times.

“Is . . . Leon here?” I managed to breathe out, hoping that my son did not hear my heart's sudden hard pounding.

“You didn't get my message? Oh, I forgot to leave it.” Roman yawned. “Officer Sanderson called about an hour ago and I asked him if he could take me since you hadn't come home from work yet.”

I didn't know what bothered me more: the fact that my son really had thought I wouldn't be there for him or that he had become so dependent on Leon lately.

I remembered when Roman could not stand the idea of the good-hearted officer sitting at my mother's Sunday dinner table with us.

I remembered when I could not stand the idea of Leon period.

A lot had changed over the past couple of years. But I'd been holding my ground, and Leon respected that.

“Roman, I was coming.” I reached up to wrap my arms around his now-towering frame. “You know I would not let you go all the way to Arizona without a proper sendoff.”

“Ma, it was not like that. I know you're working hard. I was trying to help you so you wouldn't have to worry about me. I'm being responsible.” He tried to shrug off my hug, but it was a weak attempt. He played it cool enough to let me know he didn't
need
my hug, but he still
wanted
one.

At the end of the day, my son would always be my baby.

Responsible.
The word echoed in me and I could not help but feel pride at who he was growing to be, video games, potato chips, bare feet, and all.

“Your luggage,” I remembered. “And where's Leon?”

“He went to pick up Skee-Gee and Tridell. They were catching the bus here and Officer Sanderson thought it would be better time-wise to pick them up from the bus stop. He should be back here any second.”

“And you didn't go with him to pick them up?”

“I had to say bye to you first, Ma.”

I wanted to smile at his words, but something else was nagging me. “Tridell is going on this mission trip?” My eyebrow rose. I meant no harm, but Tridell Jenkins was not someone I would think would volunteer his spring break for such a work-intensive cause.

When Randy Howard, the youth minister at our church, first brought up the idea of the teens and young adults spending spring break volunteering on a Native American reservation near Flagstaff, Arizona, my son was the first to raise his hand in support.

I'd like to think that Roman had gotten his caring heart and wanderlust from me and his father. RiChard St. James had spent Roman's entire life trotting the globe, trying to rectify wrongs and social injustices in his own renegade way.

I loved and hated him for it.

I'd initially dropped out of college to follow RiChard, but the journey got too confusing. It took me almost a decade to get back on a tolerable path.

My nephew Skee-Gee was being forced to go on the trip to Arizona by his mother, my little sister, Yvette, who, before the church had raised enough money to cover all the expenses, was ready to sign over her entire state check for him to be gone for a week. Maybe forced was too strong a word. The mentoring Officer Sanderson had been providing for both Roman and Skee-Gee over the past two years seemed to be having a small, subtle effect on my nephew. I'd actually gotten a birthday card from him in January.

But Tridell Jenkins was another story. The nineteen-year-old nephew of our pastor was the type of young man who kept his fingernails squared and clean, his wardrobe seasonally coordinated and his eyeglasses designer. He seemed too pretty to want to roll up his sleeves and sweat in the desert to help renovate houses on the reservation.

“He said it would look good on his resume,” Roman answered.

“Mmmm.” I shrugged. “Okay, that makes sense.”

I started to ask him another question but a loud knock at the door made me forget what else I wanted to know.

“Sienna.”

Wildflowers blowing in a spring breeze. That's what my heart felt like when I opened the door and saw Leon Sanderson standing there in full uniform. The way he said my name . . . Jesus, have mercy.

His eyes lingered on mine for a second before he stepped into the foyer and gave his full attention to my son. “So you are bringing that bag, too, young soldier?” he quizzed at the sight of Roman stuffing his video game into the small duffel bag that had been sitting next to the sofa.

“It's my carry-on,” Roman mumbled as he zipped it up loudly.

Leon shook his head and looked back at me. “Your son has enough luggage to clothe a small village. The baggage fees alone are going to eat up all the spending money he's been saving up from that little part-time job he has. Skee-Gee and Tridell could barely fit in the car.”

“Gotta look good for the Native American ladies.” Roman patted one of his biceps. In addition to mentoring, Leon had Roman and Skee-Gee on a health and fitness kick. The baby fat that had lined my son's body for years had given way to a solid, sculpted frame thanks to his regular workouts on Leon's equipment.

It was scary watching my son grow up.

He looked more and more like his father.

“Well, I guess we're ready to go.” I grabbed my purse and keys. Leon and Roman looked at each other, then looked at me.

“Sienna, honestly, with the amount of luggage from these three young men—especially your son—there's not enough room in the car for you to come. I know this is a hard moment for you, but you might need to get your good-byes in right now.”

“Ma, I'm in good hands,” Roman quickly added before my face completely collapsed. This was not how I imagined this trip would begin.

“But this is Roman's first time going on an airplane,” I lied, ignoring the guilt and searing pain that came with the memory of flying across the country with him as a newborn, chasing down his father, my husband, in Southern California.

The last time either one of us saw him face-to-face.

“Ma, I'm a big boy. I can handle it.” A dark glimmer, which I imagined matched my own, washed over his face. I guess I was embarrassing him.

“Okay, big boy. Be good out there. I love you.” I reached to hug him, and he kissed my forehead.

That was another thing about him being sixteen. He'd grown a full head taller than me.

“Love you too, Ma,” he threw back at me as he bounded down the steps after Leon.

I watched as the two traded jokes and barbs all the way to Leon's Altima, mostly about how much stuff Roman was bringing.

“Bye, Aunt See.” Skee-Gee rolled down a back window and yelled from it. I could see Tridell Jenkins sitting next to him, checking the waves in his hair in a small hand-held mirror. He glanced over at me and offered a single nod.

As the engine roared to life, foot-stomping, body-swaying, spirit-moving music blared from Leon's stereo, the latest from Tye Tribbett. Leon looked back at me from his seat at the wheel and gave me a reassuring wink. I tried to smile back, but was unprepared for the wellspring of emotions that were running through me. I missed my son already. He'd never been gone this long from me.

Roman finished adjusting some bags in the trunk and then walked to the passenger side door. Just before he disappeared into the luggage-stuffed interior, he looked back up at me.

“Bye, Ma,” he mouthed.

And then they were gone.

I could not remember the last time I'd had an afternoon to myself at home. I had been working so hard to stay afloat that the idea of a few hours of free time felt foreign to me. Sitting in the family room of the new townhome I'd bought right after Ava announced her retirement nearly two years ago, I realized that I'd had rare moments to actually enjoy the home that had been the symbol of my disconnection from all things RiChard St. James.

I lived in my small rancher in Woodlawn for nearly fourteen years, wishing, waiting, hoping, praying for my husband to call, to mail a letter, something, anything. And he sent just enough to keep me imprisoned in that rancher, afraid to move, afraid to leave, afraid of missing his sporadic communication. I'd told myself for years that it was for Roman's benefit, but I knew better now.

I unlocked the front door of my new home in Rosedale—on the other side of town—exactly two months after dealing with Dayonna Diamond and my search for Hope. When I unlocked that door that first time it was as if I was unlocking my own prison cell. The bars rolled back. The chains fell off.

I was free.

At least that's what I'd felt like.

And I did not want to get entangled again as I sorted through the meanings of my newfound independence.

Leon understood. Though he made it clear that he would wait for me to find the answers I needed about RiChard, I knew he would be waiting for a while.

I did not want any more answers about the man who'd abandoned me to go off and save the world.

Wanting answers made me feel imprisoned again.

And what purpose would the answers serve anyway?

I did not like this train of thought so I put a quick end to it. “I'm going to enjoy the rest of my day,” I decided out loud.

My new home had every upgrade imaginable: granite countertops; stainless steel appliances; garden bath; finished rec room. I'd even splurged and had a deck built that faced the nature preserve the new townhome community bordered.

Of course the price tag that came with such amenities meant that I worked all hours of the day and evening (and most weekends) to make the ends meet. Did I say meet? It was more like the ends were coming in the same vicinity of each other.

As I ran water into my whirlpool tub and poured in a generous dose of seaside-scented bath beads, I tried to block out the nagging idea of calling in some clients for impromptu sessions back at the office. Lord knows I could use every bit of those dollars.

But I also needed time to relax.

So that's what I did for the next four hours. I caught up on a novel while resting on the terry-covered bath pillow in my tub. I found the foot spa Roman had given me for Christmas, used it for twenty whole minutes and then gave myself a bright pink pedicure. I fixed myself some coconut shrimp and my mother's creamed cornbread, lit a candle, poured some sparkling cider, and listened to Caribbean music on a local radio station as I dined at a table set with my real dishes. I even indulged myself with two leftover slices of fudge brownies that Leon had baked for Sunday dinner at my mom's that week.

But as the music turned into political talk show debates and the dishes in my sink began to pile up, I suddenly decided that I was tired of relaxing and I only wanted to get in my bed.

It was six-thirty, three hours after Roman's flight had taken off. There had been no phone calls from either him or Leon.

I clicked on the television to drown out the thoughts of worry that were threatening my sense of peace as I collapsed into my bed. I did not want to listen to the evening news, and the comedy reruns sounded like meaningless banter to me. So I turned on a local cable network just in time to catch an episode of a regional dating game show.

“She looks a hot mess.” I shook my head at the twenty-something woman with the fake everything grinning at the camera. She wore a dress that even she was trying to pull down to her thighs or up to her cleavage, whichever way you looked at it.

Yes, it was that short and nasty.

“I'm looking for a brother who can treat me with class before I give him some—”

I clicked the mute button before she finished her sentence. I already knew where this girl, this show, this world was going.

Nothing was sacred anymore. Not even self-respect.

I was about to click the whole thing off when something caught my eye—or rather someone. The camera had swept the panel of three bachelors and the one at the far end looked vaguely familiar.

“Huh?” I moved closer to the television and blasted the volume. “Go back to the last one.”

As if the camera had heard me, the screen zoomed to the man on the end. He was introducing himself.

“My name is Kwan and I am a business owner from Laurel. I've got the triple threat: the bucks, the brain, and the bang, baby. Pick me and you won't know what hit you.”

The line was corny and the name didn't match, but that was Brayden Moore for sure, Jenellis Walker's fiancé. The two had been sitting in my office only hours ago so I had no doubt about my memories of his fine face.

“What is he doing on
The Soul Mate Show
if he's getting married in two weeks?” Maybe this was a rerun of an old episode, I considered. Or maybe the show had been taped before Jenellis and Brayden had gotten engaged two weeks ago.
But they still would have been in some type of relationship before then,
I assumed. I pressed the menu button on my remote to bring background information about the show onto the television screen.

It was taped five days ago.

I turned the volume up as the plastic-filled contestant—she called herself “Silver”—had narrowed down the panel to Brayden/Kwan and another man who had an egg-shaped head and beady eyes, but boasted that he played minor league baseball.

“I'm a home run, lady!” he said after almost every sentence.

“My last question is this,” Silver smacked into the microphone. “If you were a lollipop, what flavor would you be and why?”

What the heck kind of question was that? I frowned. And what answer would be the right one to help choose a potential soul mate?

“I would be grape because that's the flavor of the energy drink I'm about to be a sponsor of for five thousand dollars.” The baseball player's beady eyes glistened as Silver giggled.

“Oooooh. And you, Kwan?” She turned toward him.

“Chocolate.” His voice was deep and smooth. His diction spoke to a quality education. His swagger hinted at the streets.

I had not noticed any of this when he and Jenellis were in my office.

“Oooooh.” Silver giggled again. “And may I ask why chocolate?”

For an answer, Brayden/Kwan slowly licked his lips and the audience clapped and cheered their approval.

I didn't get it. Any of it. Why would an engaged man scheduled to be married in a matter of weeks appear on a television dating show, flirting and carrying on like that?

I couldn't care less about his fidelity. I'm the last person who should be questioning the faithfulness of anyone.
The words of Jenellis came to mind. I could still hear in my mind what she said, but really, what woman about to go down the aisle would truly be okay with the spectacle I was witnessing on television?
I have a high tolerance for a lot of things. Some issues that other women fall apart over are but small matters of foolishness to me.
Maybe Jenellis really would not care. At any rate, was it my responsibility to bring this up in our next session? She wanted to know more about him, but not about his faithfulness. She made it pretty clear that she only wanted to find out if he had a propensity toward violence.

“It's a hard decision.” Silver was fluttering her fake eyelashes, her lips pulled down in an over-the-top pout. “But I think I know who I'm going with. Kwan, with your triple threat, you are my
soul mate.
”

I watched in disbelief as the man I knew as Brayden strutted over to Silver, pulled her deep into his arms, and planted a heavy kiss on her plumped lips.

“Bang,” he whispered into the mic and the audience roared their approval again.

I sat there stunned and disgusted. And confused.

I was about to switch off the television but the host of the show, a man who was the color of tar and who had a face that somehow reminded me of a turtle, was announcing the grand prize for Silver and “Kwan.”

“You lucky
soul mates,
prepare yourselves for the ultimate dream date fantasy. Silver and Kwan, you are going to be wined and dined in over-the-top luxury at the one and only La Chambre Rouge.”

As a quick photo montage of fancy gardens and candlelit dinner scenes blurred across the screen, I tried to remember why that name sounded so familiar.

“La Chambre Rouge,” I repeated the name. Then it came to me.

I'd scribbled the name of the venue down on my notepad during my brief session with Jenellis and Brayden, with the intention of looking it up later.

My laptop was stashed away in my workbag, which was all the way downstairs. Even if I got it out and researched this place, what difference would it make? I had no idea how I was going to broach this issue with the couple—or even if I should. If Jenellis really meant what she had said, that she did not care about Brayden's faithfulness, was it my place to be concerned about him smooching all over another woman on a televised dating show?

But what was the deal with the La Chambre Rouge connection? From what I'd heard today, Brayden/ Kwan—whoever he was—had both a fantasy date and wedding reception with two different women lined up there in the coming weeks.

But it wasn't my business, and I did not have to deal with the two of them until Friday. I turned off the television and decided to call it an early night.

I was about to attempt to go to sleep when the sweetest sound filled my room. My cell phone chirped, letting me know my baby boy had texted me.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, closing my eyes, I imagined Roman at his campground, undoubtedly gulping down the bag of chips he didn't know I knew he snuck into his carry-on. I let that image help calm my nerves and bring sense back to me after watching the nonsense that had blared on my TV.

I fell asleep, but even in my dreams, I could not shake the feeling that I'd missed something important, something terribly wrong.