Chapter 3: The Promise Charles Kept
“Start talking,” Maya said.
“And don’t leave out one more thing.”
Charles lowered himself into a chair.
Their son held the baby while their daughter stood beside Maya, one hand pressed against her mother’s back.
“It happened twenty-seven years ago,” Charles said.
“During the six months you and I were separated.”
“With Denise?”
“Yes.”
Maya gripped the photograph.
“My own sister?”
“I was angry.
You had taken the children to your mother’s house, and Denise came by saying she wanted to help.”
“You let her help herself to my husband.”
Charles looked down.
“Once, Maya.
It happened once.”
“Once was enough to give her a daughter.”
“I didn’t know Jama existed until she was almost five.”
Their daughter stared at him.
“You knew for more than twenty years?”
Charles nodded.
“And you looked Mom in the face every day?”
“Denise begged me not to tell her.
Then she threatened to take Jama away if I refused to help.”
Maya dropped the photograph onto the table.
“Help how?”
“Money.
School expenses.
Rent when Denise lost her job.”
“Whose money?”
Charles did not answer.
Maya’s son shifted the baby against his shoulder.
“Dad, answer her.”
“Some came from my personal account.”
“And the rest?” Maya demanded.
Charles pressed both palms against his knees.
“I took withdrawals from our savings.”
Their daughter whispered, “How much?”
“Over the years?
Nearly sixty thousand dollars.”
Maya’s knees buckled.
Her daughter caught her before she reached the floor.
“You told me we couldn’t afford to help our son with his first house,” Maya said.
“You made me cancel the trip for our thirtieth anniversary.”
“I was trying to protect everyone.”
“Who did you protect, Charles?
Not me.
Not our children.
Not even Jama, because you left her alone with a woman who taught her that secrets were normal.”
The baby began to fuss.
Maya’s son walked slowly across the room, patting his back.
“Why did Jama come here last week?” Maya asked.
“She wanted me to tell you,” Charles said.
“I asked for more time.”
“You asked your son to lie for you instead.”
“I panicked.”
“No.
Panic lasts a minute.
This lasted twenty-two years.”
The telephone on the table vibrated.
Their daughter picked it up and turned the screen toward them.
“It’s Jama.”
“Put it on speaker,” Maya said.
Their daughter answered.
“Jama, where are you?”
“Is my baby safe?”
“He’s safe,” Maya said.
“Where are you?”
There was a long pause.
“I’m at a motel,” Jama replied.
“I had to get away from my mother.”
Charles stood.
“Did Denise threaten you?”
“She found out I went to see you.”
“Come here,” Maya said.
“I don’t know if you want me there.”
“You left your child under my roof.
I deserve the truth, and you deserve to know whether he’s all right.
Come back.”
Jama’s breathing shook over the speaker.
“There’s something else you need to ask Charles.”
Charles closed his eyes again.
Maya watched him.
“What is it?”
“Ask him about the cottage on Mill Road,” Jama said.
“Ask him why my mother has a deed with your husband’s signature on it.”
Maya turned toward Charles.
He rose so quickly that the chair struck the wall.
“That’s impossible,” he said.
“I never signed away that property.”
May you like
Jama’s answer came softly through the phone.
“Then, Charles, my mother forged your name.”
