The Crossover Page 13

  I was sure anything she found had to pre-date our reunion, but I was wrong.

  We laid across the bed naked and she put her head on my chest.

  “I read your manuscript, The Seduction of a Military Wife.”

  Oh, shit.

  I worried. I didn’t want to lose her trust and she was clear about how she felt about the idea of a book.

  “Honey, I’m sorry. I never intended on publishing it, I promise. It was more of a therapeutic exercise.”

  Monet sat up in bed.

  “Therapeutic exercise?”

  “You remember what I went through with Jo in the beginning. Writing was my escape. It also allowed me to relive old memories of you and me.”

  “Clay, there are very intimate details of our sex life in the book. What were you thinking?”

  I got out of bed and went into the study.

  “Clay, what are you doing?” Monet asked.

  “I’m deleting the manuscript. I shouldn’t have written it. I’m sorry.”

  I opened up the file and placed my finger on the delete button. Monet stood behind me and moved my hand away.

  “Clay, it’s beautiful. It’s the most amazing love story I’ve ever read.”

  I was very surprised by her response. I swiveled around in my chair.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Clay, most men write letters about their feelings, you wrote a love story. And not just any love story, a killer love story. I had tears as I reminisced along with you. I liked your last book The Mogadishu Diaries, but I love Seduction of a Military Wife. Reading the book was like reading a love letter. I like the name you chose for me in the book, Monique. I want you to publish it.”

  “Okay, but what do think your friends will say?”

  “It doesn’t matter what they say; they don’t fall into the 3-F group.”

  “What’s the 3-F group?” I asked naively.

  Monet blushed before she responded.

  “It’s an elite group. You’re in it.”

  I was curious so I asked her to explain.

  “If you aren’t responsible for putting food on my table, putting money in my pocket or my sexual pleasure… your opinion is just that. An opinion.”

  I surmised what the three F’s stood for. I was a proud member of that club.

  Monet hit the print button and picked up the stack of papers off the printer.

  It was such an amazing experience to watch Monet read my love letter to her. Seeing her smile, laugh and reminiscence was validation for me. I played with her long wavy hair while she read. I’ll never forget that night.

  The next morning I saw Carl unloading groceries from his car. It was a chance to clear the air. More than anything I wanted to know if he was still speaking to me after what transpired the night before.

  “Hey, Carl, can I give you a hand?”

  “Aye, mate. I’ve got to get a shifty on, Gabby is waiting to be picked up from gymnastics practice.”

  “Carl, I really need to apologize for last night.”

  “No need to apologize. I spoke with the mayor this morning. I left out a few details, but he was chuffed we made such headway. Mr. Matthew is under round-the-clock surveillance until we can link him to the other victims.”

  I was relieved that Carl was in good spirits and seemingly unaffected by the trauma the night before. After we unloaded the last bag of groceries he stated that he was slightly worried about the perpetrator’s profile.

  “Clay, I have Matthew’s complete history since he was in primary school. He’s not a clever lad, he’s actually quite thick. No priors either. I’ve been in the game a long time and his face doesn’t fit.”

  Three Days Later...

  Ring, ring, ring.

  “Hey, Jo. I thought you were meeting Mr. Right tonight.”

  Jo was upset.

  “Clay, I think I’ve been stood up. I can’t believe I took a train to London for a no-show. I’m standing here in the rain and he’s an hour late already. It’s 8pm now. Maybe he’s seen me and didn’t like how I looked.”

  “Jo, relax. You know how bad traffic is in London. Do you know what he looks like?”

  “He’s tall, wears a pony tail and drives a black A5. I don’t even know what an A5 is,” Jo said anxiously.

  “Jo, an A5 is an Audi. You looked absolutely stunning when we dropped you off at the train station. I’d be proud to be seen with you.”

  “Clay, you’re good for my confidence. Wait, I think that’s him, he’s waving. He’s a handsome devil. Don’t wait up for me, Ciao.”

  “Bye, Jo.”

  11:50pm

  Monet and I were emotionally invested in the book. She was my beta reader and editor-in-chief. We spent hours going over the manuscript looking for typos, omitted words and run-on sentences. Just before midnight, I got a Facebook notification while making my last correction. It was from my mom.

  Call me. Love Mom

  I always worry when my mom wants me to call.

  “Monet, can you pass me my cell. I think it’s on the night stand in the bedroom.”

  Monet returned with the cell, disturbed.

  “What’s wrong, babe? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Monet handed me the phone.

  I knew why she was so disturbed. The call with Jo was still engaged. She never disconnected the call. I put the phone up to my ear and listened in. I wasn’t being nosey, just concerned. I heard a door slam and a lot of movement of furniture. I was hoping to hear Jo’s voice. She never said a word and that disturbed me. Monet also listened in. After a few minutes I could hear a zipper being undone and a belt buckle hit the floor. The next sound was the noise of bed springs colliding in rapid succession. In the span of a minute we could hear someone grunting loudly. Monet was getting angry and concerned, especially following a series of grunts and groans and one final sigh.

  “Did he just cum?” Monet whispered angrily, her fists balled up.

  I knew how things appeared. It didn’t look good. I was hanging on to the hope of hearing Jo’s voice. It didn’t happen. I felt like I witnessed something terrible and my mind tried to reach a logical explanation, unsuccessfully.

  The commotion didn’t stop, there was more.

  We heard rustling of clothes and I think the phone dropped.

  Someone spoke.

  “Hello? Hello! Who’s there?”

  I looked at Monet. His voice was unnerving for me and frightening to Monet. We didn’t respond.

  “I know someone’s there. Fuck me.”

  Click.

  I hung up the phone after he disconnected the call.

  He called back. The phone rang displaying Jo’s picture. Monet placed her hands over her mouth and shook her head telling me not to answer it. Monet was shaken; her eyes were overcome with emotion. I felt helpless. I worried for Jo’s safety.

  I called 999 to report what I had overheard.

  It was dismissed as an emergency. There was no proof a crime had been committed.

  It was horrible not knowing what happened to Jo. I was scared for my sister.

  TWENTY-ONE

  * * *

  Legacy Part I

  The Next Afternoon

  Neither of us slept that night worrying ourselves over Jo. I called her home ten thousand times and there was no answer. I dare not call her cell. I knew the killer’s method of operation. It was killing me to know Jo may have met her death stuffed in a duffle bag and locked in a car trunk. While Monet napped I walked outside and saw Jo’s car in her drive. I looked left and looked right. No one was looking so I approached Jo’s trunk. Maybe she was inside. I knocked on the trunk several times before I yelled her name aloud.

  “Jo, can you hear me?!”

  Jo screamed back.

  “Yes, I can hear you,” she yelled from her front door. “Clay, you’re not gonna find me in there, silly.”

  I was so happy to find Jo alive and well. I thought I’d never see her again. I thought she was de
ad and I mourned for her.

  “Jo, I’ve called your landline all day but you didn’t answer. You scared me,” I said as I walked towards her.

  I gave her an unexpected brotherly hug. I didn’t want to let her go. She could tell I really was worried.

  “Clay, come inside you goof ball. I keep telling you, if you want to reach me, call me on my cell. I unplugged my landline a while ago. I got tired of solicitors calling all the time.”

  Jo closed the door behind me and offered me a cup of tea.

  While I was sipping tea Jo made a move that confused me.

  Jo stood and removed her turtleneck sweater and tossed it on the sofa. She had a black sports bra underneath.

  “Clay, come here. I want you to feel something.”

  I stood directly in front of her wondering what was to follow. Jo wouldn’t proposition me, or would she?

  “Feel what?” I asked.

  Jo grabbed my hand and raised it past her breast up to her neck.

  “Feel right here,” she said.

  “Jo, I don’t feel anything,” I responded.

  “That’s what I wanted you to say,” Jo said with a big smile.

  “Jo, I haven’t played doctor since the third grade. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Clay, my lymph nodes are returning to their normal size. That’s why I always wore turtlenecks to hide them, they jutted out. I felt like Frankenstein. I have my scan next week and I feel really optimistic.”

  I was relieved and somewhat ashamed of my initial thoughts.

  After we finished our tea I had to inquire about her date.

  “So, how did your date go?”

  Jo slumped back on the sofa.

  “Clay, I wish I knew. The last thing I remember was we were eating at a steakhouse and we had a few drinks. I must have gotten really drunk because I don’t remember much after that. I don’t even know how I got home. He probably thinks I’m easy. I’m not going to call him; I’ll let him call me if he wants to get in touch.”

  “Jo, just be careful. If you meet someone and you want me to check ‘em out, just let me know. I’ll get Carl to...”

  “I’m a big girl, I think I can handle myself,” Jo replied as she walked me to the door.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Monet that Jo was safe and sound.

  “Hey, Mom. I got your Facebook message. Is everything all right?”

  “Are you sitting down, Clay?”

  I couldn’t take much more drama; I braced myself for the worst.

  “Mom, are you okay?” I asked worriedly.

  “Yes, honey. I’m fine. It’s the house. It’s too much for me to look after. I decided to sell it and move into a smaller place without stairs. It’s getting tough climbing up and down the stairs every day.”

  “Whew, I thought it was something serious.”

  “You’re not upset? This is your childhood home. Your dad always wanted to leave it to you.”

  “Mom, don’t worry about me. Home is where you are, wherever you are.”

  “Bless your heart. There are some things your dad wanted you to have. I have everything in a box. I’ll mail it to you when I get a chance, all right?”

  “No, Mom. I’m coming to see you. I’ll bring it home.”

  “Hey, Jo. I’m taking Monet to the airport in a few minutes.”

  “Jo, it was so nice meeting you. Here’s my email address. I want us to keep in contact. If I get this job, you might see more of me,” Monet said.

  Monet and Jo hugged each other, Monet choked up a little. I knew why.

  We drove off with Jo waving from her front door.

  I hated having to take Monet to the airport. Whenever I was with her it didn’t feel like a holiday or vacation, it just felt natural. We both were solemn the entire way not knowing when we would see each other again.

  I thought of an idea. I told Monet that I would see her after I visited my mom. She smiled and kissed the side of my face. We had something to look forward to. It wouldn’t be long before I’d see her again. Not long at all.

  Detroit, Michigan

  Two Weeks Later

  I was so glad to see my mom. It had been over a year since I’d seen her last. She was a bit more frail and a little slower, but she was just as lovely as ever in her golden years. The grass had overgrown and some of the taps had constant drips. I organized a plumber and a cleaning service, The Pink Ladies, to come by and tidy things up. Mom was so thankful for that.

  Mom had a box of my dad’s things sitting in the center of my old bedroom. As I opened the door to my old room, hundreds of memories from high school flooded my mind. It still had the same feel to it. The last time I slept in that bed was 6 August 1979. Whenever I visited I always slept on the couch in the living room.

  The box in the center of the room was marked Dad’s Stuff in a black marker. I sat Indian-style in front of the box wondering what was inside. I opened it carefully and saw everything was neatly packed.

  I was surprised that dad kept all my letters dating back from boot camp. Even more surprising was a letter that he never mailed to me. It was like he was speaking from the grave. It was a letter that included a business plan for the two of us to pursue. Dad wanted us to go into men’s clothing for pastors and clergy. While I was in Japan I sent dad a tailor-made suit which impressed many other pastors in the community.

  My second surprise was finding out my dad was a Lamplighter in his early ministry days. A Lamplighter was someone who taught a spiritual program designed to educate not indoctrinate new converts into the word of Christ. To feel the pages across my fingertips, the same pages he wrote on more than 40 years ago was almost spiritual. I felt a powerful connection with my dad. I kept flashing back to Winnie’s message, Hold up the Light. It was crystal clear to me at that moment; those were indeed my dad’s words. It was overwhelming, feeling so close to my dad in death. The message was clear, but the answer was lost on me. How would I honor my dad’s wishes? I knew the light meant the word, the gospel. There was just one problem, I wasn’t called to preach.

  After scouring through letters, scrapbooks, written sermons and old pictures, I found my final revelation. His diary from 1959, two years before I was born. The cover was tattered and the pages were faded yellow. My dad was a passionate man and it was slightly uncomfortable to read how he fancied my mom while they dated. I skipped right over that as fast as I could. There was no doubt my dad loved my mother with all his heart.

  Apparently, after my mom and dad married in 1959, they moved into a house that had been in the family for over fifty years. There were two problems that were clear in his writings, Gerald and Delcine. I think they lived upstairs in the two-family home. My dad’s writings about Gerald and Delcine were disturbing. The couple destroyed some of my parents’ possessions and stole from them. The diary never explained why Gerald and Delcine were allowed to stay, given their bizarre behavior. The last page that mentioned them was on 24 December 1959. There was a secret family meeting, a meeting that would decide Gerald and Delcine’s fate. That’s where the journal ended. I was curious what happened during the meeting. It was a well-guarded secret, a secret that lasted 50 years until now. I needed to find out what the family did with Gerald and Delcine.

  Getting dressed for church without dad was hard. No longer would I see him preach from the pulpit where he ministered for over 33 years. I longed to reminisce and walk the halls of the church he claimed to be his second home. The church where I matured into a young man. The church where I attended so many weddings and funerals, including his.

  My mom insisted on driving and I waved to friends on the street, friends I hadn’t seen in over twenty years.

  I could see Alpha Baptist Church just up the road and I mentally prepared myself. The last time I was there was dad’s funeral on 9 February 2007. I got choked up.

  “Mom, you just passed the church. It’s back there,” I commented.

  She continued driving: things got strange.

  “Honey, I don
’t go to Alpha anymore. After your dad passed the vultures came out. There was a fight to see who would succeed him and I was caught in the middle. The church secretary seized your dad’s accounts and almost made me homeless. I had to go to court just to get our own money back. I was told I was no longer welcome. They were glad to see me go. I go to Broadview Baptist Church now.”

  I was angry and sad.

  “But what about dad’s portrait in the corridor?”

  “It’s in the spare bedroom covered up?” mom replied.

  “But what about his CD library in the conference room? Members always borrowed the CDs to listen to his renowned sermons dating back to the early days. That was his legacy.”

  Mom was getting misty-eyed.

  “Baby, those CDs are in my bedroom closet.”

  I felt a part of my soul ripped out. My dad did so much for that church. He bled for the church. When the church hit hard times my dad remortgaged his house to keep it going. It wasn’t fair and it hurt me deeply. As far as I was concerned this was an assault on my father’s legacy. I had to make this right somehow. I wouldn’t let this go, not in this lifetime.

  TWENTY-TWO

  * * *

  Legacy Part II

  The Next Evening

  Mom, that was the best home-cooked meal I’ve had since the last time I was here,” I said, scooting back from the table.

  “I miss cooking for two. Your father loved my cooking,” mom reflected.

  “Hey, Mom, remember dad ran a herbal tea business out of the house? He had a growing clientele when I joined the Marines, why did he stop?”

  “We had a few good years selling Golden Seal products but his main supplier opened a store down the street. Speaking of herbal tea, whatever happened to Prince, your high school buddy? You know, the fella who always wore that black fedora. He was one of your dad’s biggest customers before you joined the Marines.”