Born at Dawn, page 7
“Sir, what’s your name?”
“Marvin Barclay, and my wife’s name is Cynthia Barclay.”
“Mr. Barclay, my name is Shana, and we are going to help you get to the bottom of this. I’m going to transfer you to one of our investigative journalists. I just need some more information. Which precinct did you go to, and what are the names of the detectives you spoke to?”
Marvin looked up at Detective Laurel and mouthed the words, “you’re going down.”
“I’m at the 30th Precinct in Harlem, and the detectives I met with are Gr—” Detective Laurel pressed the end button before Marvin could get out all the syllables in his partner’s name.
“All right, Mr. Barclay, you’ve got our attention. We’ll look into your wife’s disappearance,” Detective Laurel said.
Chapter 11
Mildred was seated at the front desk at Harlem Women’s Services when Detectives Laurel and Grayson walked in looking for her. Her head was buried in her pocket-sized New Testament.
“Good afternoon. I’m Detective Grayson and this is my partner Detective Laurel.” Detective Grayson pointed to her left at Detective Laurel. “We’re detectives from the 30th Precinct and we’re looking for a Ms. Hathaway.”
Mildred peered at them over her red-rimmed spectacles. “Is this about Cynthia?”
“Are you Ms. Hathaway?” Detective Grayson asked.
“Of course I am. Did my crazy son-in-law contact you?”
“Yes, ma’am. It seems your daughter hasn’t been home in two days. He said this isn’t like her. Mr. Barclay seems to think there’s a possibility she may have been abducted early yesterday morning on her way to the supermarket.”
A tumultuous laugh escaped from Mildred’s throat, causing the guy from housekeeping to pause in front of the desk mid-sweep. “Kidnapped?” She continued to chuckle, covering the wrinkled corners of her mouth. “Detective . . . uh . . .”
“I’m Detective Grayson and this is Detective Laurel,” she said, pointing at her partner again.
“Well, Detective Grayson and Detective Laurel, I’m sorry my son-in-law wasted your time. My daughter has not been kidnapped. She has been staying at my place.”
“Do you know why, ma’am?” Detective Laurel asked, scribbling in his little notepad.
“Excuse me.” Mildred stood at the desk and turned to the pudgy girl seated behind her. “Esther, please cover the desk while I talk to these detectives. If there’s an emergency, page me. Otherwise just register the patients.” Mildred turned back around to face the detectives and tapped on the counter to get their attention. “Detectives, follow me,” she said.
Mildred led them down the sparkling white corridor to an empty examination room. She sat down on the bed, her short, stout brown legs hitting the metal footrest. “I’m not sure what happened, Detectives. She barely spoke to me yesterday, then he showed up at my house looking like the devil escaped from hell. I told him she wasn’t there. If we can keep it that way, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“Ma’am, this is official police business. We can’t just conceal our findings.”
“That’s fine, Detectives. I’m not asking you to conceal any evidence or anything like that. I’m just asking you not to tell Marvin she’s at my house. Tell him you don’t have any leads yet or something official sounding.”
“Is he violent?” Detective Grayson inquired.
“Has Aretha Franklin gotten fat?”
Detective Laurel laughed. Detective Grayson shot him a stern look. Detective Laurel straightened his polka-dot tie and cleared his throat. “Ma’am, we can help if this is a domestic violence situation.”
“Listen, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. Just give me a chance to try to get her back home before you tell him you located her.”
“Ms. Hathaway, maybe we should try to talk to her,” Detective Grayson proposed.
“What kind of detective are you, Grayson? Can’t you recognize a clue when it’s handed to you? She doesn’t want to talk to the police. If she did, don’t you think she would have called you a long time ago? Just leave me your card and I’ll have her call you or something.” Mildred held her hand out.
Detective Laurel pulled out his card from his pocket. “Ma’am, this is our number at the station on the top and my cell phone number at the bottom.”
“What are you doing?” Detective Grayson asked, nudging her partner.
“Haven’t you heard the expression ‘Mother knows best’? She knows her daughter, and she knows the situation. Mr. Barclay never mentioned any turmoil. We know where she is, and we know she’s safe. Let’s give it some time. Besides, we’ve got a ton of paperwork sitting on our desks and a couple of leads to follow up on.”
Mildred’s eyes met with Detective Laurel’s pensive brown ones. “My daughter’s safety is the only thing on my mind right now. If there’s anything to tell, you’ll be the first to know. Now please excuse me. I have to get back to work.”
“Thank you, ma’am, for your time,” Detective Laurel said.
I gotta get that girl back home.
“When are you going back home?” The only sound that followed Mildred’s question was the clink of the spatula against the pan and the crackle of the fire underneath it.
Mildred tried to take it easy on Cynthia. It had been three days since her daughter had crept into her apartment. When she’d gotten home from work the day before, Cynthia was still refusing to eat. All she asked was that Mildred didn’t open the door if it was Marvin. Mildred didn’t think it would be wise to mention the police had shown up at the hospital. So, she kept that to herself.
This morning things seemed a little different. Cynthia emerged from the bedroom with a slight smile. Her eyes were still swollen and cloudy from crying.
“When are you going back home?” Mildred repeated her question while flipping the eggs. The only response she received was a hiss from the sizzling eggs in the pan.
“Tia.” Mildred called Cynthia by her nickname to get her attention and create a sense of safety for her. “Did you hear what I said?” Mildred stomped her foot on the wine-colored linoleum in her kitchen.
“I heard you, Ma.”
“Well, then answer,” Mildred demanded, snapping her head around to look at Cynthia.
“It’s complicated. You see—”
“I don’t need to know what happened.” Mildred plated their omelets and bounced across the kitchen carrying them over to the table. “I don’t want to get involved in your business. I was just wondering when you plan on going home. Have you checked on the boys since you’ve been here?”
Cynthia poured herself a glass of orange juice and took small swigs. The two women ate in silence.
“No, Ma, I haven’t called them.”
“They’re all right. Keith called me the other night asking for dinner. I dropped off some Popeye’s. Everything seemed fine. Now for my other question, when are you going back home?”
“I don’t know when I’m going back.”
“What do you mean you don’t when you’re going back?” Mildred pointed her finger at her daughter. “Jesus, restore this child’s mind. You have two kids who need you, girl.”
“They have a father. He can take care of them.”
“Look here, you know Marvin isn’t fit to take care of a Baby Alive doll.” Cynthia chuckled a little. “Listen, this is the perfect time for you to see God move. Why don’t you let Him be your defense and try to work things out with Marvin?”
“I just couldn’t take it anymore. Neither one of us is fit to raise children,” Cynthia replied.
“Oh hush with that foolish talking,” Mildred said waving her hand at Cynthia. “If you couldn’t raise them, God wouldn’t have given you them boys.”
“He didn’t give Keith and James to me for them to see me like this.” Cynthia raised her shirt to reveal the bruises she had, bruises she’d managed to hide for years. “I feel like . . . like I just can’t do it anymore.”
Mildred sucked in as much air as she could as her eyes roved the rough terrain that Marvin’s beatings had turned her daughter’s body into. Mildred had an idea what was going on. She had no idea it had gotten this bad. Suddenly Cynthia’s unannounced trip to her house made sense. “Oh Lord, you’re having a nervous breakdown. Repeat after me: ‘God hath not given me a spirit of fear, but of love, power, and a sound mind.’ Cynthia, you have a mightier spirit within you.”
Cynthia groaned. “Ma, listen to me.”
“No, you listen to me. I got some money stashed away. Why don’t you bring the kids here and go have a spa day all by yourself. Let Marvin go off and hang out with his hoodlum friends while you just kick back and relax. You do whatever you have to in order to get it together.”
Cynthia dropped her fork. “I don’t need a spa day. I need to break away,” she said. “Ma, don’t you ever think about your life? Like, what it would be like if you had never had me? Don’t you want something more?”
Mildred bit a piece of bacon and the crumbs bounced off her copious lips. She slid the platter of bacon toward her daughter. “Help yourself,” she uttered as she rose from the table. Mildred went into her bedroom and returned with a large purple Bible tucked under her arm.
“You think this is all I ever wanted? Hmmph. You don’t even know the half.” She pulled her chair up next to Cynthia and crossed her legs. “How old are you, Tia?”
“Ma, you know I’m thirty-three,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, that’s how long I’ve been wrestling with what would have, could have, and should have been. You think I’ve always wanted to just be a nurse?” A hearty laugh snuck out, and Mildred covered her mouth. “The Lord blessed me with that job. I was able to provide for you with it, but what I wanted to do all my life is dance and sing.”
Mildred pulled out a faded orange-hued photograph with bent and frayed edges. Cynthia ran her finger over the face of the barefoot girl in a gold sequined body suit with her feet in first position and her hair in a tight bun. Large doe eyes and a wide grin stared back at her.
“That’s how I met your father. I met him that very night. I was performing at The Sugar Shack. I came on stage in a tear-away tuxedo. I was gorgeous. Do you think I spent my whole life in this robe?” Mildred hopped up and let her robe fall to the floor. She pranced around in her peach chemise and matching shorts.
“Girl, I was fine. I shimmied, I twirled, and I pranced up and down the stage singing. After my set some of the other performers said if I really wanted to jam, I had to hit the Blue Note, and that’s where I found your father, backstage. He was playing the piano with a band called Alma that night. It was something I’d never seen or heard before—a Latin jazz band. I was enamored. Women always warn you, ‘Watch out for the dude with the sax.’ ‘Stay away from the guy on the bass.’ No one warned me about the guy on the keys. No one told me to stay clear of Kirk.” Mildred looked down. “F and F. I should have known.” Mildred rose, gathering the plates and scraps. “You want some coffee?”
“Sure. What’s F and F?”
“F and F? Fast fingers and fast feet. We kissed. I closed my eyes, my clothes were off, and by the time I opened them he was gone. He stuck around until you were three years old then he took off. He sent me postcards from his tours and money for a while. Once that stopped reality set in. I went back to school. Of course, I wanted something else. That’s why I hosted those house parties, but I also wanted something different, and that’s what I got; I had you. Of course, I think about what life would be like if I never had you; every mother has. Maybe I’d still be with Kirk. Maybe I’d be famous with my own band on the road every day or maybe I’d be singing at the Jazzmobile with Jan Parker. But when you have children, you learn that your life is not your own.”
Mildred brought two cups of steaming coffee to the table. She sat back down at her end and put her feet up in the empty seat between her and Cynthia. The steam wafted up and danced in front of Cynthia’s face. Those words did not seem to pacify the burgeoning war inside her.
“Ma, it feels like the walls closing in on me.” Cynthia wiped the tears from her eyes before they fell. “I don’t want to become some kind of prude, like you shuttling back and forth between trustee meetings and Bible Study all the while masking a black and blue eye.”
“Why don’t you take a nap, watch some soaps, and go home tomorrow?”
Cynthia nodded with the corners of her mouth turned down in displeasure.
Completely ignoring Cynthia’s increasingly despondent attitude Mildred continued speaking. “You know them boys miss you. You better get it together and go see about my grandsons. If you don’t I’m going to keep telling you my war stories, Mildred’s Melodies. That was going to be the name of my first album. Maybe now I could do a gospel album, To God Be the Glory.” She waved her arms as if she was painting a large canvas. “All is not lost once you realize Jesus paid the cost.”
From the corner of her eye Mildred noted the time: 9:30. Today she was working the twelve to eight shift. She had plenty of time before it started, but she wanted to get a head start so she’d have some time to call the detectives and tell them Cynthia would be returning home the next day.
Mildred walked to her bedroom, humming, “No Turning Back.”
“Where are you going, Ma?”
“I have some errands to run before my shift starts. I’d ask you to come, but you’re in hiding. I’ll see you later,” Mildred said doubling back to kiss Cynthia on the head before disappearing into her room to get dressed.
Ten minutes later Mildred emerged from her room in her scrubs. She collected her purse from the coffee table, a lime green shawl from the arm of her sofa, and some change for the bus from a crystal jar on the end table. Cynthia sat at the table, winding a loose thread hanging from the tablecloth around her middle finger and her ring finger, contemplating her next move.
“Ma, I’m not hiding. I’m waiting,” Cynthia said to Mildred’s back as she walked out the door.
Chapter 12
Cynthia punched in the number to Dr. Chang’s office. It was a few minutes after four, and she suspected she’d catch him between patients. It was the fourth day she’d been at her mother’s and her mind was not equipped to focus on filing claims about broken arms and mild coughs.
The last thing she wanted to do was bail out on Dr. Chang, but if she didn’t take a step back to figure out what was going on, someone would be filing a claim for her medical expenses soon. There were two other billers who worked in the office: Rita, a full-time biller who complained all the time about Cynthia working from home; and Jenna, a forty-something mom trying to make the return to the workforce since her two sons had started college. They weren’t as thorough as Cynthia, but the two of them should be capable of handling the claims in her absence, she hoped.
“Chang,” the doctor said in his thick Chinese accent screaming into the receiver.
“Hi, Dr. Chang. It’s me, Cynthia.”
“Hi, Cynthia. How are you? Is something wrong with one of the claims?”
“No. I’ve got a real serious problem,” Cynthia announced. “I need to take the week off due to a family emergency. You’ve got enough money in this month’s budget for Jenna to work extra hours this week if you want to stay ahead. I’m not at home right now. If you need to reach me for anything, I have my laptop. Just shoot me an e-mail and I’ll respond either via e-mail or telephone.”
“Can I help you in any way? Are the kids all right?” Dr. Chang asked his voice full of concern.
Cynthia laughed at her boss. Dr. Chang was good like that. Maybe it was because he was a doctor. He was aware of his employees’ humanity and their frailty. As long as you communicated with him and gave him enough time to find someone to cover a shift, he didn’t mind if his staff took time off. “Only you, Dr. Chang. Other bosses would lose it, but you want to help me.”
“If you’re no good to yourself then you’re no good to me, that’s my philosophy. Take all the time you need.”
After checking in with Dr. Chang, Cynthia figured it was time to check in on her home. First she dialed star-six-seven to block Mildred’s number before dialing the number to her home.
“Barclay residence.” The squeak and formalities were definitely Keith.
She held her breath. She wanted to knock him down with her usual barrage of questions: How was school? Did he have a lot of homework? Did James get into any trouble?
Before she could release the words, Keith spoke to her.
“I know it’s you. I knew you wouldn’t desert me. I know you had to go. We ate breakfast this morning. I gave James Lucky Charms and I ate Lucky Charms with toast. We had school lunch today. I don’t know what’s for dinner ’cause Daddy’s not home yet. He thinks you’re going to come home. I know you won’t. I was afraid this day would come. I always thought you would take me with you or at least James. You’ll come back for me, won’t you? I’m sure of it. I’m almost done with my homework, and James is working on his handwriting. Don’t worry about dinner. Daddy will be home soon.”
“Who are you talking to?” James chirped in the background.
“Call me back tomorrow, Mom,” Keith whispered before hanging up the phone.
A smile spread across Cynthia’s face as she returned the cordless phone to its base. Keith was taking charge and taking care of everything like a little general. She marveled at how he knew what concerned her: if they ate breakfast, homework, and he even mentioned his father. He was only twelve years old, and his relationship with his father was as shaky as a loose tooth while chewing on an apple.
It was her fault. She allowed Keith to witness their constant bickering. He’d been exposed to the intimate details of his parents’ relationship, from their financial worries to his father’s inability to commit to his mother. Cynthia knew it was inappropriate for Keith to hear those things, especially as he was growing older. Since she’d started attending Bible Study, she had begun to control her response to Marvin’s attacks and redirect the children while these battles were being hashed out. Yet it seemed like the more she backed down and declared peace when Marvin was in one of his moods, the more antagonizing he became.
