Doin' Me (13 page)

“How did I let this happen to me? How did I end up living with an unemployed, stealing drug addict?” She didn't have answers to the questions her conscience asked. “I should've known better,” she said aloud.

Reyna cleaned her face, thinking maybe it was her fault for trusting a man she knew little or nothing about—again. Once he said he cared about her, the trust she had for Peyton surpassed all doubts. Her greatest desire was for someone to love her, but all men did was use her and take advantage of her inexperience. Every man except Tyson, but she didn't want him.

Too stubborn to admit she needed his comfort right now, Reyna ignored the temptation to call Tyson and admit he'd been right about her looking for love in all the wrong places. In fact, Tyson had advised her against looking for love, period. “
W
hoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing,” he'd say early in their friendship. “Focus on learning who you are, and let the man pursue you.” She might have heeded his advice had he not included a scripture. She'd been controlled long enough by the sixty-six books. It was time to do things her way. Pride prevented her from admitting her way wasn't working.

Heavy steps carried her back into the living room. She surveyed the room, as if seeing it for the first time. The cozy, welcoming feeling had departed, and in its place was gloom. A chill ran down her arm, reminding her she wasn't wearing a shirt. She ignored the coolness and straightened the room. While replacing the poker on the stand, she noticed several figurines were missing from the mantel. Peyton had stolen more of Tyson's belongings. “What else is missing?” she wondered out loud, then went to check the guest bedroom. She hadn't checked the room since dusting it over a month ago.

“Oh, Tyson, I'm so sorry,” she groaned when she turned the light on. The once cozy mauve and cream decorated room had been stripped of a wall-mounted flat-screen TV and most of the artwork. She had to tell him, now, but how? She turned out the light, closed the door, and headed back to the living room for the cordless phone.

The shaking returned as her fingers keyed in his home phone number. How was she going to tell the one man who'd been nothing but good to her that she'd moved a substance abuser into his home, someone who had robbed him blind right under her nose?

She was about to disconnect the call when he answered on the sixth ring. “Hello.”

She hadn't realized how much she had missed talking to him until she heard his tenor voice. She swallowed, and the soreness sent flashbacks of the afternoon's events rushing back.

“Hello,” he repeated.

“Tyson, it's me. Reyna,” she said after clearing her throat.

“I know,” he responded, sounding a little agitated. “I have caller ID. What's up? Is something broken?”

If it were only that simple,
she thought. “Nothing's broken, but I need to talk to you about something.”

She heard shuffling, like he was moving the phone from one ear to the other.

“Can it wait? I'm about to head out for the evening.”

Her heart constricted, and she wasn't sure why. Then it occurred to her this was the first time Tyson didn't make himself available to her.

“It can wait. Sorry I caught you at a bad time,” she said with both resignation and relief.

“Call my secretary and make an appointment at the office next week.”

“Sure. Maybe we could do lunch?” she offered, thinking a public place would be best to have the conversation.

“I have to go. See you next week.”

Reyna stared at the phone in disbelief. Tyson had hung up on her without saying good-bye. He hadn't addressed the lunch invitation, either. The abrupt dismissal could mean only one thing: Tyson had gotten over his infatuation with her. Any other day she would have been happy, but right now Reyna needed someone to feed her self-esteem after Peyton had shredded it.

The more his venomous words and actions replayed in her mind, the angrier she became. He considered her stupid and worthless, yet he was unemployed and basically homeless. The insults to her sexual ability might have some validity, considering she didn't have much experience, but he didn't have to be so cruel in expressing his displeasure.

She had replaced the phone on the base and was starting for her room to take a shower when Peyton's last words pounded her already throbbing head. Fear gripped her at the realization that Peyton wasn't out of her life yet. He'd said he'd be back. That didn't concern her; she wanted him to return her car and get his belongings. What worried her was whether he'd be under the influence or not when he showed up. She turned back and grabbed the poker, just in case the monster decided to rear its nasty head.

 

 

“Reyna! Reyna!”

Reyna jumped from the bed and swung the poker wildly. She chopped the air three times before realizing Peyton wasn't in the room with her but was on the other side of the bedroom door, banging on it and begging her to let him come inside.

“Sweetheart, please open the door. We have to talk.”

Fully awake, Reyna placed the poker on the bed and tightened the belt on her robe. The numbers on the nightstand clock read 11:38
P.M
. Peyton had been gone for over eight hours. “Go away, Peyton. Leave my keys on the table, and get out of my house,” she hollered, hoping he'd comply.

“Can I at least get my clothes?”

“Your clothes are in those garbage bags by the front door.” She'd packed his belongings before dozing off. “Now, get your . . . and get out!”

She heard footsteps retreat, then return to the door. “Please, Reyna. I'm sorry. Please talk to me.”

A sense of satisfaction surged through her at Peyton's pleading. “Hours earlier you called me worthless. Now look who's begging who!”

“Reyna, please. I didn't mean what I said. To be honest, I don't even remember what I said or did. That stuff had me messed up.”

“You hit me! You tried to rape me!”

First she heard the sobs and then what she assumed was the thud of Peyton's body as he hit the door.

“Sweetheart, I'm so sorry. That wasn't me. It was the coke. I care about you too much to ever hurt you.”

“Is it you or the coke that's been stealing me blind?”

He twisted the doorknob. “Please open the door. I'll explain everything. Then if you want me to go, I will. I just want you to be happy, even if it's without me.”

Reyna paced around the room. The tender Peyton had returned and had weakened her resolve. What if he really didn't mean all those nasty things he'd said? Drugs and alcohol had a way of altering ones personality. She reasoned, if the words spoken earlier were true, he wouldn't be begging for forgiveness now. He wouldn't care. The least she could do was hear him out, then put him out.

“You've got five minutes, and then you're out of here.”

“Okay. Whatever you want,” he said in resignation.

She reached for the poker. “Just in case,” she mumbled and then opened the door.

Tyson's chest swelled with pride as he looked down into his godson's face. The tiny white Armani suit fitted him perfectly. After a long lecture from Marlissa, Tyson conceded he'd gone overboard with the silk christening gown, but his godson deserved the best. Although he bore his father's name, two-month-old Kevin Hezekiah Jennings, Jr., had inherited Marlissa's complexion and pointed nose. A slight twinge of jealousy rushed through him, and he wished the roles were reversed—that it was Kevin standing at the altar in the role of godfather at the christening of his son. As quickly as that thought came, it passed, and he silently repented for coveting his best friend's family. He glanced to the side section of the church, where Mylan sat between Starla and Mother Scott, and allowed his thoughts to drift to what a child with Mylan would look like.

After three months of dating, Tyson still hadn't had the status talk, but he was growing content with the idea of a committed relationship with the woman both his parents loved. Every conversation with his mother began with, “When was the last time you talked to Mylan?” and Judge Stokes didn't end a conversation without stating, “That Mylan is a fine young woman. She'd make a good wife and mother someday.”

Tyson didn't doubt she would. He had visited her at the center and was amazed at the patience and attention she lavished on the autistic children. Her smartphone took a backseat to her babies, as she called them. Tyson had also noticed that recently she'd begun turning off the phone during their dates. Mylan had also initiated affection by reaching for his hand or stroking his arm and shoulders whenever possible. The gestures should have prepared him for the kiss she gave him on their last date, but it had stunned him. Not that the soft brush wasn't pleasant; it just didn't move him like he thought it should have. He liked her, but the beauty and gentleness permeating Mylan had yet to touch his heart, which was a minor detail, since he refused to allow his emotions to control him any longer. He'd learned well from his experience with Reyna that the heart could be deceitful.

Reyna.
He hadn't heard from her since that strange call two months ago. Whatever she had to say must not have been important, since she hadn't followed through with making an appointment. Her rent was current, although last month he had to charge her a late fee. She included the additional fee without him having to call and speak to her. Another indication their time had passed.

Little Kevin kicked his leg against Tyson's left arm at the same time Marlissa pinched his right one. His mind had drifted so far, Tyson had missed his cue to affirm his commitment to help rear the child up to reverence the Lord.

“I will,” he responded after Pastor Drake repeated the question. Tyson bowed his head but kept his eyes focused on the chubby face smiling back at him as Pastor Drake stretched his hands and prayed a blessing over the group. Tyson returned to his seat with the baby snuggled against his chest, regretting more than ever the decision he and Paige had made over a decade ago.

“Give me that baby,” Mother Scott ordered the moment she stepped into the Jenningses' home for the celebratory dinner after the christening. “I need to impart some anointing to this prayer warrior.”

Tyson complied without protest. “If you had your way, the first words out of the baby's mouth would be ‘Thank you, Jesus.'”

“Get your facts straight, lawyer,” Mother Scott corrected. “His first words would be ‘the blood of Jesus.'”

Mylan, who sat next to him on the sofa, laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” Mother Scott said.

Unfamiliar with Mother Scott's bluntness, Mylan sucked in her breath and looked at Tyson for help.

Tyson patted her hand. “Don't worry. She's harmless.”

“You don't have to worry about me unless you got some demons you need casted out.” Mother Scott laid the baby facedown on her lap and patted his back. “I don't think that's the case with you.”

Mylan relaxed, but the reprieve was short lived.

“I discerned your spirit during service. You're saved. You praised God like you really love Him. You're pretty, and you and Tyson look good together, but you do know Tyson is not the one for you.”

“Mother,” Tyson warned.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” First Lady Drake walked in. “Stay out of folks' business. You don't have to tell everything.”

“I'm just saying. The Lord showed me who Tyson's wife is, and she ain't it.” She looked at Tyson. “We all know who she is, but I'm not going to bust you out by stating her name. Especially since she's not here to defend herself.”

First Lady Drake took the baby without protest from Mother Scott. “We're not quite through casting all those demons out of her yet. She's got some old tough ones, but they're coming out. I guarantee that.”

Mylan's head bounced from the mothers to Tyson. “What are they talking about? Are you seeing someone else?”

“What do you mean, someone else?” Mother Scott interrupted before Tyson could come up with an answer that didn't sound flaky. “He's not really seeing you. He's just killing time while my baby, Reyna, gets herself together.” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oops. Did I just say her name?”

“That's enough!” Tyson roared.

Both Mother Scott and First Lady Drake waved Tyson off and continued playing with the baby.

Tyson stood and beckoned Mylan to do the same. “Come on. Let's get something to eat. I'll explain later in private. To answer your question, no, I'm not seeing anyone else. Outside of my mother”—he gestured toward the prayer warriors—“and these nosy mothers, you're the only woman in my life.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Tyson didn't miss the uncertainty clouding her adorable face. Hopefully, by the end of the day, he'd come up with an explanation to reassure Mylan of his interest. More importantly, he needed time to figure out why his heart had fluttered at the mention of Reyna being his wife.

 

 

“You look troubled. Man, what's up?” Kevin asked when he joined Tyson on the deck after dinner.

Tyson was troubled, but the day belonged to his godson. “I am troubled that you ate the last of the banana pudding your mother made. I thought I was your boy.”

Kevin licked the spoon clean. “You are my boy. That's why I had Marlissa put a bowl aside for you before Leon devoured it.”

“Thanks.” Tyson turned his back to his friend and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of the designer jeans he'd changed into after the ceremony. The views of the bay and the city from Kevin's deck were breathtaking. The view from Tyson's bedroom balcony equaled their glory. Unfortunately for Tyson, the peace he normally enjoyed eluded him today. He still didn't know how to broach the subject of Reyna with Mylan.

Kevin stood beside him and offered him a bottle of water. “So how are things progressing with Mylan? She's a beautiful woman.”

“That she is,” Tyson agreed.

“Is it serious?”

Tyson took a swig. “Not yet, and it might not ever be thanks to our nosy friends.”

“They mean well,” Kevin said when he recovered from laughing after Tyson told him about the prayer warriors' shenanigans.

Tyson turned and looked through the sliding glass door into the great room. “Maybe I should go and get her before they start round two.”

Kevin dismissed his concern while twisting the cap off of his water bottle. “Mylan is perfectly safe. The dynamic prayer duo is too busy commanding devils out of my mother to pay your girl any attention.”

“Do they ever turn it off?”

“I doubt it. Mother Scott probably speaks in tongues in her sleep. So is she your girl?” Kevin said, probing.

Tyson sat down on a lounge chair and leaned back.

“Well?”

“I want her to be,” Tyson answered honestly. “She's gorgeous, smart, and considerate. She loves the Lord, and my parents love her.”

“But—”

“There are no buts. I'm just taking it slow. What?” he asked when Kevin continued staring at him.

“It's me you're talking to, remember? What's the problem?”

Tyson looked back toward the great room, then leveled with his best friend. “Here's the deal. I like the package. My father said it's more important to marry someone who loves me than to wait for the love bug to strike me. A good woman like Mylan will help build a good home. Love can come later.”

“Is that what he did? Marry your mother without love?”

The question stung. The idea that his father didn't love his mother when they married had never occurred to him. What was worse was that he couldn't say unequivocally that love had ever arrived for his parents. They shared a bond, but in Tyson's opinion, they lacked intimacy.

“Is that what you want? An arrangement?”

“That's not what I'm saying. Mylan's a good catch, and I—”

“Look, man,” Kevin interrupted. “I'm thrilled you're building a relationship with your father. You've loosened up a great deal. Look at you. I haven't seen you in jeans since college. Granted, it's an eight-hundred-dollar pair, but jeans nonetheless.”

“I have my standards,” Tyson joked.

“Yes, you do, and the judge isn't an expert on relationships. That's why you haven't committed to Mylan. Your heart's not in it.” Kevin let the words marinate before continuing. “On the surface you and Mylan look good together, but I don't see anything equal to the passion you have for Reyna.”

“Had!” Tyson jumped up. “I
had
passion for Reyna, but that's over. I've moved on. Pursuing her was a big mistake. That's why I'm taking my time with Mylan. I don't trust my heart. Everyone doesn't have what you and Marlissa and Leon and Starla have. As much as you loved each other, you had to go through hell to keep that love. Love doesn't guarantee happiness.” Tyson paced the length of the deck. “Maybe my father is right. Marriage doesn't have to equal love, at least not in the beginning. Love can come later.”

Kevin downed the rest of the water, then tossed the bottle in the recycle bin. “If you really believe that, then commit to Mylan and move the woman you love out of your property.”