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His forehead lifted. “But you just used a bad word, too!”
“Yeah. But I’m grown; you’re still getting there. I have more words in my arsenal that can articulate my thoughts without profanity; you should endeavor to get here.”
He rolled those hazel-green irises before sipping his drink. “What did your daddy do?”
Oh…
I wiped my mouth while chewing. “The man who murdered my mother was from Clifton—a town not too far from where I’m from. My father knew who she dated—every man she dated—while he was away those years in prison. So, when the guy—Larry, I believe his name was—got back to Jersey, my father knew where to find him.”
“How long did it take?”
“For what?”
“For the word to get back to Jersey?”
“Oh. Thankfully for me, just a day. Of course, I don’t remember any of this. I was only four. But I, too, read the reports when I got older.” I squinted at him. “The Larry guy left Orlando for home right after he did it. Our motel room had double beds. He strangled her in the bathroom while I was asleep. They said, when I woke up, I went looking for my mother and found her slumped over the tub. When she wouldn’t wake up, I had the mind to leave the room. A woman from…Georgia, I believe, had met my mother just the day before. They sparked up a conversation about my dress so, the woman remembered me. I must’ve told her my mommy wouldn’t wake up. Well,” I exhaled, “needless to say, she followed me back into the motel room and called the police after seeing my mother. The woman had the mind to go through my mother’s purse to find contact numbers. She tried a few until she got to my family. That’s all it took for ol’ Chino—my father—to find out.”
As I went back to my food, Scott murmured, “And he found him, and killed him.” It was as though he was in awe of a heroic act.
My mouth twisted in a shrug. “I guess he was the only man who could beat her.” Knowing his violence extended to women still irritated me about the man. A man who hit women was a true coward in my eyes. Maybe my mother’s pathology of domestic abuse had stemmed from him. This was why I found his “descension” upon Kelvin and me in North Carolina hypocritical. He beat my mother when I was in utero. The man could have killed me.
“How?”
“How what?”
Scott asked, “How did your daddy kill Larry?”
“Brutally. Beat him with his hands.”
From the funky thirteen-year-old, I heard a grumble to the tune of “Good for the bastard,” before he stuffed a gang of fries into his mouth. “How long did he get for it?” he garbled around the food.
“He was lucky. The jury was hung on the first-degree murder charge, and gave mercy by agreeing on manslaughter. He got fifteen. You know: crime of passion, and all.” I rolled my eyes. “He was out by the time I turned nineteen.”
“That was gangstuh,” his drawl pronounced.
“That’s my daddy’!” I chirped facetiously.
“You still mad at ‘im?”
I glanced up at Scott, choosing my words as I inhaled deeply. “At times, when I’m forced to remember and reflect, I’m still angry with all of the people who governed my childhood. No, I’m not mad at my father for having the passion to kill the man who murdered my mother, but I am angry that he wasn’t a better man to begin with. I get angry about his absence sometimes. I, for sure, get salty about decisions my grandmother made when raising me.”
“Why?”
“Because her manner of raising me was based upon her time coming up. It was according to a society that was ‘once upon a time.’ If my father had been a responsible citizen, he could have raised me and that would have allowed me to avoid a few pitfalls.”
“Like what?”
A sad and regretful smile stretched my face. “Like marrying your uncle—or marrying so young to begin with.”
Scott nodded while peering me dead in the eye. “That’s what you meant when you said your story leads up to meeting me?”
“Yeah. My grandmother pushed me to marry your uncle. I don’t want to get too deep with the story, but kids belong to their parents. Yes, in some cases like ours, parents aren’t the best for the job. But I believe there’s still hope for your mother, Terry. At least, give it a try when she comes home in January.”
An emotion rolled over his almond face. “You’re leaving, ain’t ya?”
The first tear dropped unexpectedly. Quickly, I swiped it with salted fingers. I shook my head. “I’m leaving him, Scott. Just him.”
“You goin’ back to New Jersey?”
