Page 50 of A Trial of the Heart
I almost smiled at him talking about Shiloh. She was so euphoric and contagious without effort. Made sense on why I couldn’t let her go, even though it was evident she didn’t want more from me than what she’d already gotten.
“Yeah. Well, she can be all that. That just means you need to come harder than her because I ain’t taking no plea for some shit I know I didn’t do.”
Barret nodded. “You have any idea who would do this?”
“Nah, but I have my assumptions. Only thing I don’t know is if she’s that delusional to go this far.”
Barret sat up. “Who? That bat shit crazy girl?”
Barret and I went to school together, so he knew a lot about my life. Though Lauryn and I didn’t last long, she had met a few people in my family and some of my friends.
Chortling, I leaned back in the chair. “Yeah, her.”
“Man…” Barret shook his head. “It’s always the bitter ones man. You gotta be careful because these females out here just don’t be giving a damn.”
“Don’t I know it.” I exhaled. “I mean, shit, fingers can point her way, but Lauryn don’t have connections like that.”
As much as I wanted to say it was Lauryn, nothing besides her being crazy pointed her way.
“What’s her last name? I can make something happen and see what we come up with.
“Rodgers.” I spoke after trying to recall it.
“Bet. I’ma send this up to get her checked out and go from there.
“Alright.” I nodded. I was willing to do anything to have my name cleared and go back to my regular life.
“Hey, Ma.”
I leaned over, kissing my mother as she stood over the stove cooking. My mother cooked seven days a week, three times a day, and it had been like that all my life. Me, my brother, and my dad got breakfast before the day started, a hot lunch, and dinner was on the table by 5:00 p.m. every day. She was the definition of a great wife. I remembered growing up and always saying Iwanted to be the husband my mother had and wanted my wife to be just like my mother. My parents met when they were in high school, and the rest of the story wrote itself, becoming a beautiful love story.
“Rashad, how are you, baby?” She barely stopped doing what she was doing.
“I’m good, Ma.”
I was a grown man, so even when things weren’t going the best in my life, I didn’t tell my mother. My pops might have gotten a glimpse here and there, but for the most part, I kept them both out of my personal life. I didn’t need them worrying about me.
My mother faced me, wiping her hands on the small hand towel that sat nearby.
“You sure?” She peered up at me. Her light brown eyes were full of concern. Everyone always said I was a complete replica of my mother in male form. The only thing I took from my father was his height. I was thankful for that since my mother had only reached five feet by a hair.
Based on her question alone, I knew she’d gotten a whiff of my case, and if I had any doubt, her expression confirmed she knew something.
“It’s not something you need to worry yourself about. I’ll be fine.” I wouldn’t continue saying everything was cool when it wasn’t, and she knew it wasn’t.
With a smile, she reached out and touched my arm, gripping it before stroking it in a comforting way.
“I know you don’t tell me things because you don’t want me to worry and because you’re a grown man, but son, no matter how old you get in age, you will always be my baby.”
At thirty-four, I did my own thing and took care of myself, but I did know if I ever needed either of my parents, they’d be there before I finished telling them why I needed them.
“Thanks Ma.” I leaned her way and embraced her.
“I love you, Rashad.” She pulled back slightly, peering up at me.
“I love you too, Ma.”
She was right. No matter how old I got, she’d forever see me as her little boy.
