Losing Hope (12 page)

My bedroom was my personal sanctuary.

I'm not going to lie. The rest of my house was a semi-cluttered mess, but the room where I slept every night was a dream of peaceful perfection. I had decorated it in shades of lavender and pale green, and I always felt like I was lying down in a lush meadow filled with wildflowers. Every time I entered my room, I had the same exhilarating rush I'd felt once when I ran barefoot through tall grass beside RiChard, skipping stones across a brook like I was in a fairy tale, eating a picnic lunch with him on a red-checkered blanket like I was in a romance movie.

Yes, I'd lived that scene once.

I smiled at the memory, refusing to let any other thoughts creep in to remind me of how horribly my week was going.

But I could not stop my phone from ringing. It was Leon.

“Good. You're home,” he said. “I'll have Roman home to you in about ten minutes.”

As I hung up the phone, I realized that despite the clash of emotions my son had invoked in me earlier that day, I had not worried about him since he got into Leon's car. I had no idea where they had been or what had been said, but my heart told me that they had made it to the right destination.

Believe me, Roman was still in for the grounding of his life for cutting school and endangering his life and nearly giving me a heart attack. However, I was not afraid for him anymore. For once, and only this once, I knew it was good that Leon had been around.

When I heard Roman's key jingle in the front door, I suddenly became aware that I was wearing my granny robe and my bright orange head scarf.

“Hi, Mom,” Roman mumbled as he rushed past me to get to his room.

“Roman?” I started to follow him, but Leon patted my elbow and shook his head.

“Don't worry. We had a nice long talk about a lot of things while shooting some hoops. You've got a good son. Just had a rough couple of days.”

“Haven't we all?” I mumbled with a chuckle. I realized that Leon had not stepped beyond my front door. And if he was disturbed by the sight of me in my floral gingham robe and head scarf, he hid it well.

“Roman had dinner already. He insisted that we bring you back a plate, so here you go.” Leon passed me a brown paper bag with a wrapped sectioned foam plate inside. “We went to this little soul food diner on the east side. Hope you like barbecued ribs, sweet potatoes, collard greens, and corn bread. Roman picked out your entrée. The peach cobbler was my idea.” He smiled, and I noticed for the first time that he had a dimple. The gold tooth had been a glaring distraction from the finer qualities of his smile, I realized.

“Thank you, Leon.” Again, my gratitude was sincere.

“There's nothing to thank me for. I just want to make sure that Roman continues on the straight path you've obviously been laying for him. You're doing a great job with him.” He began backing down the porch steps.

“Thank you, Leon.” I smiled at the man, who had a copper undertone to his flawless brown skin. Today was the first time I'd seen him without his uniform, and the button-down, short-sleeved blue linen shirt he wore showcased arms that obviously were intimately acquainted with weight machines. What I had thought were extra pounds on him was more hulk than bulk.

The things I noticed when I did not have that gold cap to distract me.

“No problem, Mrs. St. James.”

Mrs.
St. James? I could not remember the last time I had been called Mrs.

“Good night, Leon.”

He was already down the porch steps and halfway to his car.

Like he was running away.

“Roman?” I entered my son's room. He was on his computer, looking up pictures of board games. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, I'm going to be helping Officer Sanderson with the elementary school kids after school a couple times a week. He told me I could help pick out some activities for them.”

“Okay. So I'm assuming that since you're going after school, that means there is an
at
school component to your day.”

Roman turned around to look at me. “Mom, I'm sorry, and it will never happen again. I know I'm grounded, but that's cool. I deserve it.”

I rubbed my eyes and stared at him. “Who are you, and what have you done to my son?” We both laughed.

“Officer Sanderson is going to help me get back Dad's ring.”

“Oh, that's good. Now the computer goes off.”

He started to say something else but thought better of it. I started to say something else, but, really, what else was there for me to say?

You know, it had been a long, hard, twisted day. It was coming to a close with more questions, more confusion, more nonsense than I had ever imagined facing on a Thursday evening. There was more I could research, more calls I could make, more people I could hunt down, but I decided to let it all go. At least for the night.

As I stretched out in my wildflower bedroom, thinking about what tasks tomorrow held, a verse from the Bible I'd heard once preached in a sermon crossed my mind.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble
.

Lord, wasn't that the truth....

I tried my best not to wonder what trouble tomorrow had waiting for me.

We had been waiting all day for their return.

I'd stayed behind in the village that last day I was there, helping the rural women with their routine chores: fetching water, tending the vegetable garden RiChard had helped them plant. He and Kisu had traveled to another remote location in the scenic South African province to enlist more supporters for the cause.

He was organizing a protest.

The two had left just before dawn, when the first rays of sun spread like fingers across the unbroken sky. He'd held my face in his hands and kissed both my cheeks before planting a quick peck on my lips. Kisu had been steps away, looking off into the blooming horizon. A dark emotion colored his face, a foreboding shadow on what should have been a promising day.

Worry.

The worry on Kisu's face became like a contagious virus for me. I saw it on him, and it entered my conscience. Worry filled the air I breathed; my nostrils inhaled doubt, exhaled fear.

I knew before they left that the day would not end with the same beauty with which it began. I knew it, felt it, but still was unprepared for the sight that walked back toward us just as the sun was finishing its descent.

RiChard returned. Alone. With blood on his hands.

“You better be at this exact spot at three fifty,” I said, threatening my son as he got out of my car. I was not taking any chances today. No more catching the bus for the time being. My son was going to have his own personal transportation service to and from school, whether or not he liked it. And I'd made up my own class attendance sheet for each of his teachers to sign when he showed up for class.

“Don't worry, Mom. I'll be here.” He blew me a silly kiss, meant to lighten my mood and my lingering disappointment in him for cutting school the past two days. I shook my head and watched him enter the school doors.

“Lord, what am I going to do with that one?” I put the car back into drive, and Leon Sanderson wafted into my mind.

Only for a second.

I had big plans for the day. I was determined to find Hope and regain my peace of mind.

It was Friday morning. I had a Portuguese class waiting for me later that evening and a “to-do” list to keep me busy until then. Still disturbed that I had not been able to see Dayonna yesterday, I'd make it a point to try to talk to the Monroes today.

I might have been off of work, but that did not mean I was off my mission.

Visiting hours at the mental health facility where Dayonna was an inpatient did not begin for at least another two hours, so I knew they would not be there. I headed toward their Belair-Edison home for an early morning surprise visit.

“Ms. St. James.” Elsie Monroe answered the door with a look of fake joy to see me. “I thought you were off today.”

“You knew I was off?”

“Yes. Ava called us yesterday afternoon and said she'd be covering for you until Monday. She told us to call her if any problems arise. Is everything okay?”

Despite her best efforts not to do so, Mrs. Monroe looked over her shoulder and moved the door closer to her, trying not to look like she was attempting to block my view of her living room. Hadn't we already been through this scenario before?

“Yes, I am technically off, but I wanted to come by and talk with you. Is this a bad time?” I had to ask as Mrs. Monroe kept looking back over her shoulder. For all I knew, she and the mister had been enjoying their time alone while they had a kid-free home. It was early in the day, and I had not called to tell them I was coming, so the least I could do was be polite.

But I wanted answers, and I was not leaving until I got some. I wanted to know who had put my name down on the “do not visit Dayonna” list. And I also wanted to know why Mrs. Monroe kept looking over her shoulder.

I did not have to wait long to find out.

“Elsie, let her in.” Mr. Monroe's voice boomed from behind the petite, wiry woman.

She stepped out of the way, and I walked into their living room, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room.

A man meticulously dressed in a tan suit and brown oxfords sat on the sofa, sipping a tall coffee. My heart skipped two full beats and the air in my lungs deflated as recognition settled in.

“I got your e-mail.”

Brother Scott.

The four of us sat around the Monroes' dining room table, a mammoth rectangular piece of furniture, with the widest candle I'd ever seen filling in as a surprisingly simple centerpiece. I had no notes, no files, nothing to work with except my questions and my concern that I had crossed a line that I did not fully understand.

“You all serve in leadership positions at Second Zion,” I commented as Elsie rubbed her hands back and forth. She and Mr. Monroe glanced at each other. Tremont Scott stared only at me.

“Yes. I consider Brother and Sister Monroe to be my spiritual mentors,” he finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. There was a musical quality to his voice. Soft, soothing. Without him even hitting a note, an untrained ear could tell that he could sing.

“Brother Scott is being very generous,” Mr. Monroe chimed in. “My wife and I were both inspired by this young man's dedication to using his talent as a vehicle for worship. We're honored that he even talks this way about us.”

“Yes, he's a marvelously talented young man.” Mrs. Monroe beamed.

“Being the music director at Second Zion has been my first real leadership position, and the Monroes have pretty much taken me under their wings. They're like . . . like parents to me, godparents.”

His smile was so pretty, I nearly had to kick myself to stay focused. How could any woman in her right mind sit at a table with him and not get lost in his dazzling facial features? I wondered if Mrs. Monroe ever took a moment to gush at the “young man” beyond all the syrupy banter going on between them.

“It's wonderful that you obviously have a warm relationship with each other.” I nodded at the trio.

“Yeah,” Tremont said, sobering. “That's why when I got your e-mail, I immediately contacted the Monroes to make sure that everything was okay. Sounds like they have had a challenging past couple of days, but otherwise things are under control.” He flashed another smile, which I could tell was meant to calm my worries, but the only thing it did was raise my suspicions.

I'd never mentioned the Monroes by name in the e-mail.

How had he known I was talking about them with such certainty that he contacted them? Did he not share any other warm relationships with older couples at the church? It was a church of thousands. How had he known? I tried to think of a way to ask this question, but our conversation was apparently over. Tremont was rising to his feet.

“It was nice to meet you, Sienna.” He extended a hand. I shook it and was quietly pleased at the warmth and strength and honesty that were in it. “Sorry, I have to go, but I have to get back to a project at church.” He positioned a brown cap on top of his head, tipped it at the Monroes, and headed for the door. “Have a blessed day, everyone.”

And then he was gone. And apparently so was the gushing. The Monroes looked at me with no humor in their eyes. Even their smiles were gone.

Mr. Monroe actually looked angry. “Ms. St. James, we appreciate your continuing concern about us, but I must tell you we were quite surprised that you contacted Brother Scott. Yes, he is like a son to us, but we also have certain boundaries that we keep, especially since all of us have leadership positions at the church. He's trustworthy enough not to spread our struggles with Dayonna around, but now we are not certain that you are. Who's to say who you'll talk to next?”

What was I supposed to say?

“I'm sorry. I really was not trying to upset you.”
Yikes.
“I only wanted to gain your confidence so that you know I'm here to help with Dayonna.”

So much for gaining confidence
. I knew any hope of trust had been sufficiently shattered.

“We have a full day ahead of us, Ms. St. James.” Mrs. Monroe's arms were crossed.

I took the hint and headed toward the door. The morning visit had been long enough without adding more damage-control duties to my growing plate of things to fix and/or uncover.

How would I explain all this to Ava?

“Again, I'm sorry for involving Brother Scott. Please know my heart was in the right place, even if my head was not.” I let out a light chuckle, hoping to ease the tension.

I was the only one laughing.

“Um, well, enjoy your day. Are you planning to visit Dayonna?” I added.

“Of course.” Mrs. Monroe still had her arms crossed as both of them walked me to the door. I was standing in the door frame when I remembered the main question I'd wanted answered during this visit.

“Were you the ones who requested that I not be allowed to see her?”

“What are you talking about?” Elsie Monroe raised an eyebrow. “Isn't it your job to check on her? Of course we wouldn't want to keep you from doing the tasks you are
supposed
to do.”

“Of course not.” I turned to walk away, not wanting to stir the pot even more.

But something was bothering me.

I hurried to my car, got in, and started the ignition, unable to shake the inkling of unease that was pricking my gut.

As I made a U-turn in the middle of the street and waved at their neighbor who was forever sweeping his front steps, I realized what was nagging me.

Mrs. Monroe had looked truly surprised to learn that someone had placed me on the “no-visit” list.

That same look of surprise was not shared by her husband.