Born at Dawn (22 page)

Cynthia rose to her feet. The congregation held its breath, awaiting her response. She looked down at Pastor Wyatt still on bent knee. “If you're really a prophet, then you should already know I have boxed with the devil. I lost a few rounds, but not the whole bout. What more could happen to me?” Tears washed her face as she recalled each blow, kick, broken rib, black eye, and bloody nose on top of the profane words Marvin spat at her daily that normally wouldn't even be spoken to a dog.

She looked at Cheo as he sank as low as he could into the pew. She could tell from the frown on his face that he wished they'd sat in the back now.

“
Corre,
” he mouthed to her. Cynthia squinted trying to make out what Cheo was whispering.

“Run,” he mouthed to her in English this time. His smoky eyes begged her to run and spare them both of the embarrassment that was to come if she stayed another minute. Gracefully she reached in the pew for her purse, slowly draped it over her shoulder, sauntering up the aisle and out the doors of Dayspring Church of Divine Healing and Prophecy.

Cynthia only looked back once. She wanted Cheo to run after her. Hold her and caress her. The bluntness of Pastor Wyatt's revelation even though it was coated in courtesy and the glare of the onlookers had crushed her heart. She was bold yet fragile. She presented the grit and grime of the cement-paved sidewalks in New York on the exterior. Inside her heart was just as soft as the dirt of a back country road. Yet Cheo remained glued to the pew.

Marvin would not have just sat there, she thought. His foolish pride would have made him jump to Cynthia's defense, regardless of who he had to confront. Cheo, on the other hand, dared not jeopardize his membership and relationship with God for Cynthia; at least, not today.

“Now how am I going to get to Sabor?” She sighed once she realized she'd left her ride sitting inside the church. The bus wasn't an option since she didn't know the schedule, and unlike the Metropolitan Transit Authority in New York, buses ran on schedule down in Virginia.

Sucking up what was left of her defiance, she began the trek to Sabor. The drive from the church on West Duval to East Main Street on a normal day took seven minutes. The walk would take at least twenty minutes.

When she arrived at Sabor, Cheo was pulling into the lot behind her. She could hear the gravel crunching under his car wheels and see the reflection of Cheo's car in the restaurant windows. Her pride wouldn't allow her to turn around.

“Cynthia,” he called out to her.

She froze at the sound of his voice. “This is all your fault.”

“This is not my fault,” he shouted from the parking lot. Although he was trying to speak to her in tough tone, his reflection betrayed him. Cynthia could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes.

“It is not my fault that you're a fugitive on the run from God. You can hide from me as long as you want. You can't hide from God, Cynthia. You just can't. It's impossible.”

“It's so easy for the righteous to judge what they only see.”

“
Mi amor,
I'm not trying to judge you.”

“Then why did you take me to that church for all of that foolery? A, to show me off; B, to mock me; C, to save me; or D, all of the above?”

“How about none of the above,” he said, walking toward her. With each step he took toward her, she moved forward. “I took you there because I didn't want to do a single thing without you. I want to share my whole life with you, Cynthia, including my God.”

Cynthia backed up as far she could until the closed doors of Sabor stopped her. His breath massaged her skin. Toe to toe they stood staring in each other's eyes. “Cynthia, I want to marry you. I love you. Why can't you believe that?”

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “My heart has been trampled on too many times for it to be of good use to me or anybody else,” she explained through tears.

“Whatever happened to you, I promise I won't do that to you, but you've got to trust me and the God that lives in me.” Cheo stooped down and planted a kiss on Cynthia's lips.

“Cheo.” Cynthia wiped the corners of her mouth and looked into those sultry eyes. “I can't marry you. I'm not fit. Didn't you hear Pastor Wyatt? The road I'm on leads to destruction.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Cheo asked, “Then why don't you get off? Ring the bell. Request the next stop and walk with me.”

Cynthia reached up and traced the hard angles of his jaw with her fingertips. Her hands shook in fear this would be the last time she'd ever get that close to him again. “It's just not that easy. It's almost time for the lunch crowd, and I've got another day completely booked. Cheo, I have to go.” Her hand grazed his chest before walking away. “I've done things that there is no excuse for.”

“Cynthia, why don't you ask for forgiveness and be free?”

“Abuse creates a cycle, and I don't know how to break free. When I came here, I thought that was what I was doing, but . . . but . . . I don't even know who I am anymore. I know who I used to be.”

I used to be a mother. I used to be a wife.
The truth was perched on the tip of her tongue prepared to dive out.

“Stop living in the past; stop living in what he's done to you and just come to me.” Cheo scooped her up in a tight embrace. He began pecking her lips slowly over and over. “I don't care about who you were. I am in love with who you are now,” he declared.

His eyes matched the sincerity of his voice, leaving her with no choice but to fold into him and inspired her to consider something that never crossed her mind: divorce.

 

 

“If you go this route things could get ugly. For everyone involved,” Barbara stated very simply to Cynthia.

“Say that again, Barbara. There's too much noise in the background,” Cynthia said, holding one hand over her free ear.

“I'm sorry. I'm working on a big case so this place is abuzz. Are you sure this is something you want to pursue?” Barbara asked.

Inhaling and exhaling, Cynthia questioned the conclusion she thought she'd arrived at the day before. It was time to divorce Marvin. “Is there any reason why I shouldn't?”

“No, but he could wind up with everything. I talked to a friend of mine who does divorce law. He could get the restaurant, your future earnings, and the kids.”

“I really screwed this thing up,” Cynthia said, stating the obvious.

“Cynthia, that's only if he fights this thing. With as many connections as your boy down there has, I'm sure he can hook you up with a good lawyer.”

“My boy doesn't know I'm not divorced. Actually, he doesn't even know I was married.” Cynthia craned her neck in the opposite direction of the phone to guard herself from the verbal assault that was sure to follow this announcement.

“Don't take my word for it, Cynthia. It could go the other way. You never know; Marvin may have changed. He might be willing to settle this amicably, and you won't have to go through too much trouble bringing Cheo up to speed. Listen, I have to run. One of the partners is looking for me. Let's talk about your options and what this would mean for the boys later.” Leaving Cynthia with only the dial tone to talk to, Barbara ended the conversation.

Marvin. Change. The two words could not be spoken in the same sentence. Yet the idea of him changing made her wonder what that would look like.

Marvin paced next to the apartment door.

“Where is this dang boy at, Bridge? Did he tell you where he was going when he left?” Marvin asked Bridget who was seated at the dining room table blowing rings of smoke into the air.

“Marvin, why don't you just come to bed?” she purred, crossing her legs revealing her thighs.

“Bridget, it's one o'clock in the morning. Anything could happen to him in these streets. What am I going to tell—”

“Tell who?”

“No one. Disregard I even said that.” Marvin shook his hand in the air. He'd almost asked what he was going to tell Cynthia. It was odd to him that after six years, he still thought of her like she was a part of the family. He'd never shared those thoughts of her with anyone and now was definitely not the time to share them with Bridget. Marvin shrugged and attributed her being on his mind to how close in proximity it was to the sixth anniversary of her disappearance.

“Marvin, is that school still harassing you? Let me go down there and give them a piece of my mind. They ain't got no business messing with a strong black man like you, baby.” Bridget capped her compliment off with a sweet smile.

Marvin strutted over to Bridget. He stroked her hair, which was wound up in a fluffy ponytail on the top of her head, and then he caressed her heart-shaped face. Slowly his hands careened down her body and rested on her thighs.

“What, you waiting on an invitation?” she moaned in his ear.

“You know I'm trying to focus on that wild boy.”

“Just come to bed, daddy. I promise if he's not in by the morning, I'll help you canvas every inch of Harlem to find our boy.”

Her words were simple yet powerful. “Did you say our boy?” he asked perking up a bit.

Bridget stroked Marvin's goatee then kissed him ferociously. “Yes, I said our boy. He is ours.” Bridget grabbed his earlobes and kissed him again.

Shaking his head, Marvin pleaded, “Don't do that, girl. You're making me weak. I have to wait up for him.”

“I promise we'll settle this by morning. Just come to bed, Marv.” Bridget rose from the chair and grabbed Marvin by his belt, dragging him to the room.

“Thank you, Bridge.”

“For what?” she asked, looking at Marvin over her shoulder.

“For being here through it all. I know I'm not the best man, but I'm doing the best I can.”

Marvin had gotten much better at controlling his temper and he'd cut back on the booze. He knew he was in no position to brag. He was making strides toward progress.

“Come and show me how grateful you are,” Bridget said seductively.

Marvin followed her into the bedroom and gave everything he had left in him. The heat of her body and the beat of her heart were the perfect combination to lull Marvin to sleep. He was almost into his third dream when James banged on the bedroom using the telephone.

Marvin kissed Bridget's shoulder blade then pulled the floral-print sheets over Bridget's naked body before telling James to come in. She wasn't who he wanted, yet she always found a way to give him what he needed. Along the way he learned to value that.

James hovered in the doorway and tossed the ringing phone to his father from there.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Barclay.”

Marvin peeked at the caller ID embedded in the phone. He recognized the number from the local precinct. Marvin shifted the phone to his right hand and used his left hand to rouse Bridget. She looked at him out of one cracked eye. “Police,” he whispered to her.

“Yes, this is Mr. Barclay,” he said into the receiver. “Who is this?”

“This is Detective Smalls of the 30th Precinct. Usually, I don't do this, but another detective in the station recognized your boy when we brought him and said to call you before we grill him. He's a suspect in an armed robbery. We also believe he is affiliated with the gang Black Ice. We busted him with another little thug—Arnold Johnson, goes by the name AJ—on 155th and Broadway. I don't know if your son is the perpetrator or the accomplice.”

“What?” Marvin was stunned by the revelation the detective had made. The charges the detective was laying on him made it sound like Keith should be featured on season five of A&E's
Beyond Scared Straight.
Marvin knew Keith wasn't straight-laced, and since he started hanging out with AJ a few years ago, Marvin knew nothing good would come from that pair.

“Mr. Barclay, you need to get down here now. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Detective Smalls.”

After hanging up with Detective Smalls, Marvin jumped out of the bed and began piling on layers of clothes.

“What's going on?” Bridget asked.

“What's going on? What's going on? I wish I knew what's going on,” Marvin said frantically with one arm through his sweater looking at Bridget then at James. “James, get out my doorway, boy. Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?”

James screwed up his face, clutched his stomach, and shook his head no.

“Then get in your room and stay out of trouble,” Marvin barked at his now-fifteen-year-old son. Even though they were the same height Marvin did not treat him like the young man he was.

“What do you want me to do, Marv?” Bridget's voice sounded as sweet as honey.

“Get dressed,” Marvin commanded, tossing some clothes at her. “Our boy is at the precinct.”

When Marvin and Bridget walked through the doors of the 30th Precinct, he noticed nothing had changed since his initial visit six years ago. He could feel all of his strength draining from him as he approached the desk sergeant until Keith came into view from around a wall behind the desk. Even in cuffs he strutted like a panther on the prowl.

“That's my pops over there. You better release me. He don't play,” Keith said loudly to the officer escorting him.

“Keith, are you good, son?” Marvin called out across the precinct.

“Hey, buddy, I'm going to need you to not scream across my precinct like that,” the desk sergeant said, pointing at Marvin.

“That's my son over there. I will not stop screaming until I talk to him,” Marvin said to the desk sergeant. “I'm going to get you out of here, okay, Keith? Relax and don't say nothing about anything. Don't worry, I'm going to take care of you. Bridget's here too. Bridget, say hi to Keith.”

Bridget stood and waved at Keith.

“This is all very touching, sir, but I want you to be quiet or we'll lock you up for disorderly conduct. They're about to release him,” the desk sergeant said as Keith and the officer escorting him approached the desk.

“Release him?” Marvin's jaw dropped.

“Yeah, release me, Pops,” Keith said, cockily slapping Marvin on the shoulder once the officer took the cuffs off.

Reunited with his son, Marvin scooped him up into a tight hug and lifted him off the ground.

“Put me down, Pops,” Keith insisted.

Marvin returned his eldest son to the ground, then slapped him upside the head. “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” he asked, slapping him upside the head again. “Answer me when I'm talking to you.” He slapped him again.

“Yo, Pops, chill.” He looked over to Bridgette. “Bridge, can I get some help here?”

“Marvin, stop that,” Bridget said, sprinting over to them. Bridget lodged herself between Marvin and Keith.

“She can't help you.” Marvin laughed. Reaching over Bridget, he popped Keith upside the head again. “Nobody can help you.”

Bridget grabbed Marvin's arm before he could strike Keith again. “You better get your hands off of me, woman,” Marvin snarled. He could feel his anger rising to the top of him like oil in water.

“Or what?” she countered.

“Yeah, what?” Keith chanted along with Bridget.

“If I were you, I would not play with me right now, boy,” Marvin said, pointing at Keith. “Let's go.” Marvin snatched his arm out of Bridget's tight grasp and marched out of the precinct.

He walked ahead of them the whole way home. The sun had risen on Harlem. Marvin weaved around mothers with their babies wrapped like burritos to fight the winter chill, businessmen in their wool coats headed downtown, and bunches of schoolchildren all fighting to get to the C train. He wished his life were that simple; he wished he was headed to work and not home with his delinquent son. They were going to have serious powwow when they got home, even though the magnitude of this event seemed to be lost on Keith and Bridget.

Every time he looked back, Bridget was petting Keith and hugging and kissing him. She was probably reassuring him everything would okay. He'd just turned eighteen and she was coddling him like he was eighteen months old. She was probably doing what Cynthia would have done, Marvin thought.
No, if Cynthia were here, this would have never happened,
he said to himself, correcting his own stray thoughts.

“Wait up, Pops,” Keith shouted across the street.

“Nah, you better catch up to me 'cause you're too far behind.”

Keith jogged to catch up to Marvin dragging Bridget along with him.

“Why you tripping, Pops? They released me. They were going to release AJ, too, but he had a warrant for something else.”

“Bridget, do you think I'm tripping?” Marvin asked her looking for some backup.

Bridget wiggled her hand. “You did slap him a couple of times,” Bridget said.

“What should I do now? Call him a man 'cause he got locked up for robbery? Robbery! Like we don't feed you and clothe you.” Marvin raised his hand to strike Keith. As it came down, he locked eyes with Keith. He paused midair. The despondent look in Keith's eyes sent chills through Marvin's body. He'd seen that look before—on himself.

Marvin dropped his hand to his side, inhaled deeply, and took off running. They were only two blocks away from home and four blocks from Mount Carmel. He didn't stop nor decrease speed when he hit the hill on 145th Street. Marvin looked at the steep incline as one more obstacle in the way of him saving his family.

By the time Marvin reached the locked doors of Mount Carmel, he was too out of breath to holler open the door, so he kicked and pounded on the door until Pastor David opened it himself.

“We open the doors of the church at nine o'clock . . . Marvin.”

“David . . . I mean Pastor David, I need to talk to you. I don't want to talk to the holy man of God. I just want to talk to you man to man,” Marvin said between breaths.

Pastor David opened the door wide. “Come in, Marvin. Come in.”

Marvin walked in and followed Pastor David into the sanctuary. “Stop walking, man. I'm about to have a heart attack. I ran all the way here.” Marvin flopped down onto one of the pews in the middle of the aisle and Pastor David sat down in the row in front of him.

“What's up, Marvin?”

“I just picked Keith up from the precinct,” Marvin said.

“Lord, have mercy. Is he all right?”

“Nah, he's not all right. I mean he's acting like he's all right. You know he's got his chest all poked out and Bridget stroking him, but I saw something else in his eyes.”

“What did you see?” Pastor David turned around to face Marvin. He didn't even wait a beat before repeating his question.

Marvin pulled his shirt over his head. He didn't want to acknowledge what he saw. Keith like his father at eighteen concentrated on picking wallets, playing cards, and playing girls, but he was worse than his father. Marvin couldn't see any evidence of remorse on Keith's face.

“I saw me.”

“Marvin. What did he get picked up for?”

“Armed robbery. You got any words of wisdom for me?”

“You remember the first time we got picked up for armed robbery?” Pastor David asked smiling.

“No, but I remember the last time we got picked up.” Marvin sat up in the pew and put his hands on Pastor David's shoulders. “They took you to central booking that night, and my mom sent Lavell to pick me up that night 'cause she said she'd had enough.”

“Yeah, I remember. Lavell almost got arrested for endangering the welfare of a child. It took about three officers to get him off you.” Pastor David laughed.

“I told you I didn't want to talk about Lavell before,” Marvin snapped.

“It's been a minute. Forgive my memory lapse, man. So, what did you do when you picked him up?”

Marvin sat back and rubbed his hands together. “I did a Lavell on him. I slapped him upside the head until Bridget intervened,” Marvin said chuckling a bit.

“Marvin, how long are we going to dance around the dead before you admit that it's affecting you, and when are you going to acknowledge that Cynthia not being around is affecting Keith? How do you think he feels seeing you running around with another woman?”

“What was I supposed to do, become a hermit? Was I supposed to wait for her?”

“What would you have wanted Cynthia to do?”

“Let's not even go there. It's been six years tomorrow, David. Isn't six like some special number for God?”

“God made man on the sixth day. Maybe through these trials He's making a man out of you.” Pastor David stood. “Now, in order for God to make you into something you're going to have to submit yourself. Ask Him to show you how to be more loving and compassionate toward your son.”

“Keith isn't twelve years old anymore. What do you want me to do, hug him and kiss him?”

“No, lead him. Lead your family back to the Lord, and He will heal your scars and Keith's.”