Crazy Love (22 page)

T
ameeka poured herself a glass of wine before heading to her bedroom, where she locked the door. She picked up a shopping bag and pulled out a leather-bound journal. She took a sip of wine, then settled on her bed.
To Know Oneself Is to Know Your Best Friend: How to Live a Fulfilling Life
said that she should get straight to the point and write like she was talking to a friend. Tameeka thought for a moment, then her pen flew over the pages as her thoughts tumbled out.

Tameeka set down her pen, then wiped tears from her face.

She really needed to be accountable for her behavior. She knew that. She couldn't blame her actions on what Tyrell had done. She picked up her pen again.

Tameeka set down her pen and silently reread what she had written.

“I need to call Tyrell and ask for
his
forgiveness. Am I ready to do that?”

S
aturday morning when Jackson pried open his eyelids, they felt heavier than a set of bricks. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep. A quick glance at his legs told him that he did a lot of tossing and turning; the blankets were snaked around his legs like restraints.

He kicked the blankets off, then swung his legs over the side of the bed; and that's when it hit him. Michelle's unsupervised visits started today. She'd have Jameel for five hours. Five unsupervised hours outside the house.

Jackson and Ettie Mae were sitting on the couch, stiff as two statues, when at five minutes to nine there was a knock on the door. Jackson huffed, then inched toward the door. When did she start trying to be on time? he thought. He was taking longer than he should have because Ettie Mae cut her eyes at him so sharp that he swore if he'd looked down, he'd see a gash across his chest. He picked his pace up a little, but not by much. Why rush to give my child over to the devil?

There came a second knock, harder and more insistent than the first. Jackson snatched open the door to see Michelle on the threshold, glaring at him.

Their eyes locked, staring at each other defiantly, neither one willing to back down. Jackson didn't mind; the longer she played this game, the less time she had with Jameel, so he held her gaze and milked it for what it was worth. She sensed his strategy and her eyes softened. She started smiling like she had just found the biggest stash of crack. Jackson opened the door wider and she breezed in.

“Is he ready?”

“He's ready. Have him back by two o'clock,” Jackson demanded curtly.

“I know what time he's supposed to be back,” Michelle said amiably. She wasn't looking for a fight. “I've got the paper right here,” she said, patting her purse.

“Whatever,” Jackson grumbled, as he clenched and unclenched his hands. For the first time in his life he had the urge to hit a female. “Two o'clock. That doesn't mean two-thirty, two forty-five or two-oh-five. But two o'clock on the dot!” he barked. He didn't notice Jameel sneaking up behind him.

“Two o'clock. I hear you,” Michelle agreed. Jameel quietly watched their exchange with wide, frightened eyes. He didn't like it when his daddy was mad.

Jackson began firing questions at her “So where you taking my boy?”

“I'm taking
our
son to the zoo, then to lunch.”

“My
son!” Jackson corrected. “Who's driving?”

“Look here, nig—” She clamped her mouth shut, silently counted to ten, then started over. “I'll be driving. Haven't had any accidents yet,” she proudly boasted.

“Yeah, probably haven't had your license long enough,” he sneered. He held out his hand and demanded to see her license.

She refused, then quickly changed her mind. She didn't want any arguments. All she wanted to do was get her son and leave. “Hold on.” She dug around in her purse and pulled out the laminated document and passed it to Jackson, who carefully inspected it. Satisfied that it didn't look counterfeit, he passed it back.

“Where's your car?”

Michelle simply nodded toward the street. Jackson opened the front door. A shiny black 1999 Honda Accord was in his driveway. He didn't ask whose car it was. All he knew was that she couldn't afford it. “You insured?” he asked.

Michelle put her hand on her hip. “It's in my glove compartment. Would you like me to go get it?” she asked sweetly.

“Naw, that's all right. Do you have a cell phone?”

She rattled off her number and Jackson fumbled around for a pen before quickly jotting it down.

“Are you done? It'll be all right…I'll take care of him…he's my son too,” Michelle said. But her reassurances fell on deaf ears as Jackson watched, openmouthed, as she grabbed Jameel's hand and sauntered to the door. At the threshold, Jameel turned to his daddy, eyes wide with confusion.

“Aren't you coming, Daddy?”

Jackson felt a tightness in his chest. “Not today. It's gonna be just you and your mo—Michelle,” he said quietly.

“Your
mother,
” Michelle corrected him.

“I want you to come too,” Jameel whined. Jackson knew from experience that a tantrum wasn't far away. He was almost tempted to let him explode, but then thought better of it. He leaned down and pulled his son to him.

“Listen, Jam…I can't come. You're gonna have fun with Michelle, you guys are going to the zoo, then going to eat. I bet if you're good, she'll buy you a hot dog.” He looked up at Michelle and she gave him a short nod. “We'll do something tomorrow, just us men. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jameel squealed, his eyes bright with excitement. He loved spending time with his daddy.

“We'll be leaving now.” Michelle grabbed Jameel's hand and trotted down the steps. Jameel kept looking over his shoulder at his father. Jackson watched as Michelle buckled him in the car; he watched as she backed out the driveway; he watched until the car disappeared around the corner.

1. They keep it real
   
2. They keep you grounded
   
3. They are always there for you, no matter what
   

S
tacie and Jackson lay together on his bed. Jackson was on his side with his arms wrapped around her waist, and Stacie's rear end was molded perfectly to his front. Lying on top of the blue-sheeted mattress, they looked like a slice of the moon floating on the ocean. The bedcovers were strewn across the floor, along with empty beer bottles. It was one o'clock, another hour before Jameel was expected home, and Jackson was wound as tight as a pair of church lady's drawers and he had been ever since his son had walked out the door four hours ago.

She wanted to give him something else to think about, so she brought up a subject that he loved to talk about.

“I need your help,” she said, and when he didn't say anything, she continued. “I don't know what I'm going to do about money. I'm up to my neck in debt. Can't afford to get my car fixed, and the money I get from unemployment isn't makin' it. And I really want to pay my bills. What do you think I should do?”

“Be more damn careful with your money, that's what I think you should do,” Jackson snapped.

Stacie shot up. “Excuse you? Don't be getting tart with me, Jackson,” she said as she crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at him.

“That's all you talk about, your bills, no money—”

“Well,” Stacie huffed. “I didn't realize it bothered you so much. I won't…” comprehension dawned, her face softened. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. Here I am being selfish, talking about my problems, and you're worried about Jam. Oh crap, all I wanted to do was to give you something else to think about, instead I've made you feel worse,” she said.

Jackson tugged Stacie and she fell on top of him. “It's all good, princess. I shouldn't've gone off on you. I'm sorry,” he said as he nuzzled her neck.

“It'll be okay,” Stacie reassured him while hugging him tightly. “I think I drank too much juice, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Okay, when you get back, we can go over some ways for you to save money.”

“Cool,” Stacie said as she slid off the bed, slipped her feet in her shoes, then hurried off to the bathroom where she locked the door. Even before using the toilet she had her shoe off and up to her nose. Ten minutes later, Stacie had used the bathroom and was back in Jackson's room. “So are you ready to help me now?” she asked brightly.

“Yep. Come on back on the bed. I've been thinking. Since you're so good at writing lists, why don't you make a list of things that you could do to save money,” he offered. Stacie snatched her purse off the floor, then fished around in it until she found a pen and a pad of paper. Jackson shot her a bemused look and she wrinkled her nose.

“I'm a sistah who's always prepared,” she retorted. “I've kinda sorta already done one, but I can always add to it,” she said, then bowed her head and began working on her list.

1. Stop getting manicures and pedicures
   
2. Do my own relaxers
   
3. Buy store-brand groceries
   

Jackson peered over her shoulder, grabbed the pen out of her hand and scratched off the first item.

“Hey! Whassup? Why did you do that?” Stacie questioned.

“I'll pay for you to get your nails done, I can't have you walking around here with crusty heels and messed-up fingernails,” he joked, then he glanced over at his nightstand. “Oh shit!” he groaned.

“What?” Stacie asked alarmed.

Jackson shook his head. “Jam's inhaler. He left it. If he has a coughing fit, he might die.”

H
e'll be okay, won't he?” Stacie nervously asked.

“He should be. But if he suddenly has an attack, I hope to hell that Michelle has enough sense to get him to the hospital.”

At two o'clock Jackson and Stacie were sitting on the front steps, waiting for Michelle and Jameel. At one minute after, Jackson jumped up. “She's late. I'ma call her cell phone.”

Stacie tugged at Jackson's jeans. “She's only one minute late, honey. Give her some time. You know how traffic can be.”

“Nu-uh. She's one minute late. Right now she's considered a kidnapper,” Jackson huffed. And if Stacie wasn't so sure that he was worried about Jameel, she could've sworn that she saw a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Kidnapper! Jackson give her some time,” Stacie insisted. “Give her ten minutes and if she doesn't show, then call her.”

Jackson vigorously shook his head. “Nope. I'ma call now.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number that Michelle had given him. Stacie shook her head, then quickly grew nervous when Jackson's face tightened and his hands began shaking as he clicked off the phone.

“Jackson? What's wrong?” She asked.

“The number doesn't exist. That bitch gave me a fake number!” Stacie heard the rising panic in his voice and she tried to soothe him.

“Maybe she made a mistake. She was probably off by one digit.”

“Do you plan on trying the different combinations? Besides, I don't think she messed up. She intentionally gave me a wrong number,” he barked. Just then, Ettie Mae wandered to the front door.

“Where's my great-grand? Isn't he supposed to be home by now?” she asked. She looked at Stacie's face, then Jackson's, and she knew that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She burst onto the porch. “What's wrong? What happened?” she calmly asked, but her legs were wobbly.

“I don't know where my son is,” Jackson answered. “He's out there driving around with that crackhead,” he said as he stalked the length of the porch, his muscled legs rippling with each step.

“We should call the police,” Ettie Mae said quietly, and Jackson nodded and pulled out his cell phone. Stacie stood by on the fringes of the Browns' dilemma, trying to think of a way she could help.