Page 38 of Love & Vendettas

Frowning, she shrieks, “I don’t know no Zaire!”

My heart slams against my chest as fear and pain rival within me for the top position in my chest.

“I’m your son, Mama,” I explain, but I can’t hide the hurt in my voice.

She starts screaming. “Don’t hurt me. Please take my purse. You can have everything. Just leave!”

Her screams bring my siblings running, including Aspen, who’s wrapped in a bath towel. She starts screaming at them, asking who they are, causing Damascus to cry. Savannah picks him up, and I take him from her.

“Savvy, y’all go back to the living room.”

“What’s wrong with her?” she asks me with those wide, big, brown, teary eyes.

“Mama’s just not feeling well. You, Shy, and the boys go on,” I instruct, unsure how to handle this latest crisis we’re dealing with.

But Mama takes it out of my hands.

“Hello, operator? Some man just broke into my house, and he won’t leave. He’s got some other folks with him. Help me!” she screams.

18 – BAYLEIGH – BABY SISTER

“Hey, you good?” I ask Riley.

She’s sitting outside on the lanai with her feet propped up and reading a book. Large sunglasses cover her eyes.

It’s taken two days for her to come out of her suite and downstairs with the rest of us. She’d said that she didn’t want the boys to see her like that.

My sons indeed loved their Aunt Riley to pieces. They were closer to her than they were to Zaire’s siblings, whom the world had no clue were related to him. So, it wasn’t often that they came to our home or that we traveled to theirs.

It was imperative to him that the world not know about his connection to his siblings. It was just the way that their business worked.

We often got together for Christmas at an undisclosed location in the Colorado mountains. Everyone took separate flights from various locations around the world to meet up there. We never headed directly to Colorado from Chicora Falls.

“Yeah, I guess I am. I haven’t heard from him strangely,” she remarks, lifting her phone and glancing at it over her sunglasses. “I expected to have heard from him by now.”

“Why?”

“Usually, he’ll text or call with his apologies . . .”

My sister took her light coloring from our father, as did our oldest brother, Quinton. So, unlike me, who has a toasty brown coloring, her cheeks flame red whenever she’s embarrassed, like now.

“Heusuallycalls you or texts to apologize. Usually, Riley?”

“Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“No, don’t sit here and lie to me, Riley. He usually calls you or texts to apologize after what?” I demand.

“It’s nothing, Bay. Just drop it.”

“I’m not dropping anything. Are you sitting here telling me that this isn’t the first time that this has happened?” I demand.

She blows out a breath and swings her legs over the side of the chaise lounge.

“Riley.”

“What?”

“What the hell? Has that asshole been putting his hands on you before this?” I ask, thinking back to Dr. Madison’s words about how men don’t go from being non-abusive to damn near killing a woman.

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