A Good Dude (9 page)

“I’ve been thinking about putting her up for adoption,” she said out of the blue, as casually as if she were asking where the restroom was.

“Really?” Kayla said. She wore a gray skirt suit with a white blouse. Her hair was styled in baby dreadlocks. Candace’s caseworker was slim and attractive.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you have the number for any agencies?”

Kayla cocked her head at her young client. “Why do you want to put your daughter up for adoption?”

“That’s what I’ve decided.”

“But why?” Kayla asked.

Candace immediately didn’t like where this conversation was going. She didn’t think she’d have to bare her soul this early in the game.

“What do you mean, ‘
why?
’?”

Kayla shrugged. “I think that’s a very difficult decision, Candace. I’d like to know how you came about it.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

The caseworker sat back in her seat and stared at her confused client. Candace was young and naïve. She was more educated than most of the girls who came to this office, but she was becoming more and more of an anomaly.

“I’m not trying to talk you out of it,” Kayla said. “You don’t have to get defensive.”

Candace didn’t think she had gotten defensive. “I think more experienced parents could take better care of her,” she said. “I don’t think I’m ready to have a baby.”

“Those are perfect answers,” Kayla said.

Candace thought so, too.

“What about the baby’s father?” Kayla asked. “He wants to put her up for adoption, too?”

“No. He can’t wait to have a daughter.”

The caseworker chewed on the end of her pen. “Are you still with him?”

“Yes, but I’m leaving after I have the baby,” Candace said. “I’m going back to New York.”

“And you don’t want to take the baby with you . . . .”

Candace knew the woman was tying to judge her reactions, so she kept a straight face. “Right. I’m going to finish this semester at the community college, have the baby over summer break, and be back in New York by the fall. I’ll have my credits here transferred to Columbia.”

“Why don’t you leave the baby with her father, rather than put her up for adoption?”

The color drained from Candace’s face. “I don’t want to give her to him. He’s not a good father.”

“How come?”

“He’s a thug,” Candace said. “He sells drugs. He won’t treat her right, either.”

“Do you think he might fight your decision?” Kayla asked.

“You mean, like in court?”

“It’s his baby, too,” Kayla said. “Just because you don’t want her doesn’t mean he can’t have her. You might be right about him not being a good parent, but yes, the father could take you to court.”

This was a worst-case scenario. Candace wished she had asked someone about it before. She felt like a fool.

“Listen,” Kayla said. “I know you’re scared. You’re far away from home, and you’re young, and you’re pregnant. Giving your baby up may very well be the best thing for you, but the adoption process is not a simple thing— especially if you’re fighting the father the whole way.”

And, of course, the tears started then. Kayla offered Candace a box of Kleenex.

“I wanna go home,” Candace whined. “I don’t know if I can go if I keep the baby.”

Kayla lifted an eyebrow. She was getting closer to the real source of the problem, but her client didn’t want to divulge. Candace stood and gathered the papers in her lap.

“I gotta go.”

“You don’t want to talk more?”

“I got homework tonight,” Candace lied and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Wait, Candace. Please sit down.”

Candace did so out of obedience, but she never felt so uncomfortable. Her legs fidgeted. Her eyes leaked, and she felt perspiration sliding down her spine.

“Your parents still live in New York?” Kayla asked. Candace nodded and sniffled.

“Do you have any family in Texas?”

“No.”

“So you’re in this big, new city with your bad-news boyfriend, and you’ve got a baby on the way,” Kayla surmised. “You don’t want to call your parents because they didn’t want you to run off in the first place, and now you’re pregnant and it’s that much worse . . . .”

Candace’s eyes focused more clearly.

“And you’re smart enough to know how bad your situation is,” the social worker went on, “so to fix things, you decide to do the most selfless thing possible: give up the baby and run home, tell your parents how good you’ve been doing in school, and maybe they won’t be so mad.”

Candace was so shocked the tears stopped.

“Do you plan on telling them you left a baby in Texas or keep that a secret?” Kayla asked. “Do you think they might want to see their granddaughter? And what if you’re not able to have another child? These are questions the adoption services will ask you.”

Candace hadn’t thought about any of that.

“I want to help you do the right thing for your baby,” Kayla said. “The decision is ultimately yours. I’m just giving you things to consider. My advice, of course, would be to call your parents. You’re a mature young lady, but you might want to get opinions from your family before you make a tough decision.”

Candace knew there was knowledge in Kayla’s words. And that was the best advice she was going to get from anyone else she queried. But it was still a hard pill to swallow. She told the lady she would think about it and left the hospital with her and her baby’s future still undetermined.

BAD BOYS

On the way home Candace stopped at the Evergreen Apartment complex on the south side of town. The compound was run-down and dangerous—not the place for a pregnant lady, or any type of
lady
for that matter, but Candace knew she was safe there; Rilla moved a lot of crack through the apartments, and he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Candace rarely visited his dope spot, but the argument they had that morning left her depressed and contemplative. She knew it was wrong for her to threaten to leave while she carried Rilla’s baby. Candace also regretted the way she was riding him about his music career. Getting dropped from his label had to be a hard blow. Maybe he was trying his best to get back in the studio. Maybe he was a little gun-shy. Either way, Candace didn’t know if the timetable she put on her man was realistic.

She spotted Rilla’s car as soon as she pulled in from the street. His Fleetwood squatted in a handicapped spot in front of the first building on the left. Candace parked next to the Cadillac and got out with the awkward wobble of a pregnant woman. She knew Rilla was upstairs in apartment 4F. Standing at the foot of the steps, she debated whether she should climb them or call Rilla on his cell phone and have him meet her outside. She wasn’t worried about the thugs up there; it was the exercise that had her hesitant.

“What you doing here?”

Candace followed the voice, happy to see CC appear in the breezeway.

“I’m looking for Rilla.”

“He up there,” CC said, pointing a thumb the direction he just came from.

Candace looked up and saw her boyfriend milling around with a pack of undesirables. She called out to him, and Rilla’s face registered surprise. He skipped gingerly down the stairs. CC walked away when he approached.

“What you doing here, girl?”

“I came to see you.”

Rilla shook his head. “You need to get out of here. You shouldn’t be coming around. Shit be going down all the time.” He grabbed her shoulder and led her back to her car. Candace got in, and Rilla stood in her open door. “You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to come around here?” Candace nodded. “When are you coming home?”

“I just got here.”

“Aren’t you scared to work up there?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Rilla said. “These my peeps.” As he said that, a huge crowd of hoodlums bounded down the steps. Candace wasn’t one to judge, but they all looked like they should be in prison. Some loitered on the stairwell. Others headed for the parking lot.

She knew she wouldn’t change his mind, so Candace started the car and turned down the radio when Alicia Keys started belting
No One
.

“What’d you come over here for, anyway?” Rilla asked again.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I feel bad about what I said this morning—about how I was going to leave. I was nagging you about your CD.”

He smiled. “You ain’t doing nothing but keeping me on my toes, baby. I have been slacking on my music thang. I wasn’t on the grind like I said I was. I need you to tell me when my shit ain’t straight. I’m not mad at you.”

His words made Candace feel substantially better. A weight lifted from her shoulders.

“You still love me?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, Rilla. I do.”

He ducked in and gave her a kiss. “You on your way home?”

“I’ll probably go over Trisha’s.”

“All right. I’ll give you a call later on.”

“Are you going to be home for dinner?” Candace asked.

“I don’ know. Why? What you got going on?”

“I just miss you,” she said. “I’ll be home at six.”

* * *

Candace left the apartment complex feeling better about her relationship. She was starting to think Rilla
couldn’t
get signed, but hearing that he wasn’t giving it his all left room for hope.

She idled at a red light at the intersection of Riverside Drive and Berry Street. She heard sirens long before she saw a police car flying in from her right. The old-school Caprice made a quick left in front of her and shot down Riverside—in the direction she had just come. Candace thought nothing of it until a second car sped by with its lights flashing, and then a third, all approaching from her right and all making a left on Riverside.

When a fourth, fifth, and sixth black-and-white repeated the pattern, a slight moan escaped Candace’s lips. She looked in her rearview mirror to track the cops’ progress, and what she saw made her heart sink. One by one, all of the police cars turned into the Evergreen Apartment complex. And they were coming from the other direction, too. Candace watched an eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth squad car turn in. Then came two unmarked sedans and a dark-colored SUV.

She knew nothing about police or task forces, but Candace knew exactly what she was seeing. This was a raid, organized and premeditated. No 911 call would warrant such a show of force.

Candace cut her wheel all the way to the left and performed an ill-advised U-turn in the intersection. She flew down Riverside like she had sirens herself. Tears were already streaming down her face when she turned into the apartments. Flashing lights were everywhere. Police had their guns drawn in a hundred directions. Some thugs were running. Others were already on the ground with a knee in their backs. The air was filled with orders:
Stop or I’ll shoot
, and
Hold it right there, asshole!