Cutting it Close Read online

  It wasn’t appropriate, but Chantal watched the barber’s backside as he carried the food to the back room. Her eyes went to his bum, back and up to his bald head. Never before had she found a man with a bald head attractive but something about Omari was speaking to a dead part of her. The kind brown eyes only skimmed over her, unlike most of the men she met who immediately focused on her breasts, coming on hard to her as if they believed themselves to be her last chance at loving.

  This man didn’t give off that vibe. He must be gay.

  She watched him with her son to see if he gave off a creepy air with Cody, but he didn’t. He was patient and kind as he gave instructions on how he wanted the items cleaned, demonstrating first before passing over the cleaning supplies. Chantal, seated in the waiting area, completed some work on her tablet as she waited for them to finish. What really struck her as unusual was that her son seemed almost at peace with Omari. Cody swept the floor with care and detail, ensuring no stray balls of hair were left when he used the Swiffer to go over the floor first with a dry cloth, then a wet one.

  “Okay, guys. I’m starving,” Omari said to them, encouraging them to come back to the kitchen area.

  Chantal stopped first in the bathroom to wash her hands, and it was clean. It wasn’t just that her son had finished cleaning it clean, but there were nice floor tiles, decorative paper towels, and a wall mural, plus it didn’t smell like an old pee and bleach kind of clean. The kitchen was a surprise as well. It too was tidy with a full sized fridge, a regular sized wood table with metal industrial pipe legs seated with real chairs which matched the table, not the card playing type of seats. There were window treatments, cabinets, and a water cooler. The biggest surprise was that he had set the table...with real plates.

  “You could at least try to hide your shock that I have actual dishes with silverware,” Omari said sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry. I thought we were going to eat out of the containers,” she said to him.

  “Well, kind of,” he said to her. Both she and Cody watched as he opened the takeout containers by removing the wire handles to pull down the sides of the to-go boxes. To their astonishment, the containers transformed into serving bowls.

  “I never knew those boxes were made for that purpose,” she said.

  “Yeah, few people do,” he said. “Let’s bless the food.”

  A quick prayer of thanksgiving was spoken before Omari dished out even helpings of white rice, noodles and chicken with vegetables.

  Cody asked, “You live close by, Mr. Cromwell?”

  “Actually, I live in here,” he said to them.

  “Here in the barber shop?” Cody asked.

  Omari chuckled, “No. I own the building. I live upstairs.”

  “You have four floors,” Chantal said.

  “Yes. The second floor is an open space that on occasion I will rent out for receptions or community events kind of things. My cousin—he was here earlier—may be running for Congress, so if he does, I will convert it to his campaign headquarters or something,” Omari said.

  Cody asked, “What’s on the other floors?”

  “I live on the top floor. It is kind of an open living space, which I love. The third floor is my gym and my studio,” he said.

  Chantal’s eyes were wide. “A studio, like in music for rapping or something?”

  “No, a studio where I make furniture from industrial parts...like this table,” he said to her.

  “You made this?” she asked. Her hand rubbed over the smooth wood.

  “Yeah, and the chairs,” he said. “This one is a repurposed table top with some simple old metal pipes that I welded on...nothing complicated.”

  This opened a new conversation as he told her about his college years, the community, and even a bit about his father. Cody never opened his mouth but listened closely. Omari noticed the sadness in his eyes when he mentioned the places he’d traveled with his family. It was a good meal which seemed to sate them all.

  Dinner complete, Chantal washed the dishes as a thank you for the meal. The easy conversation between the barber and her son continued as Omari cut his hair, giving Cody a retro cut that would meet the schools standards yet give the boy the individual flavor he desired.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cromwell,” Cody said.

  “No, thank you for coming back and being a man of responsibility, Cody Mooreland,” Omari said.

  “That will be $20,” Omari said to the boy.

  Cody looked at this mother.

  “I didn’t cut her hair. I cut yours. You owe me the $20,” Omari said.

  The boy pulled out his wallet. Inside was a five and three ones. “I don’t know why I have to pay you, I cleaned your shop.”

  “You cleaned my shop for disrespecting me and my business. The haircut you still owe me for,” Omari said.

  Chantal reached for her purse, “Here, let me ...”

  “Nope,” he said to her. “He owes me, and he needs to come back and pay me with his own money, not yours.”

  Again she tried to open her mouth to say something to the barber. Omari interrupted her, “If you continue to pay his way for everything he needs, he will never understand the value of making his own way as a man.” For the first time, Omari stared her directly in the eyes. Little butterflies began hatching in her stomach, giving her a sickly feeling of unwarranted delight.

  “Goodnight,” he said to them both as he opened the front door of the shop.

  He watched the boy walk out to the car. Chantal had been waiting for this moment when the nice man would turn on her and say something suggestive or outright sexual. He astounded her again.

  “It’s important to find out why he is so angry with you. It’s not just about his father not being in his life. There is something specific that he wants but doesn’t know how to express to you,” he said to her.

  Chantal’s lips were moving like a fish out of the water. “I...I...,” she fumbled.

  “I am here if he wants to talk or if you would like for me to be his barber,” he told her. “Goodnight, Ms. Mooreland.”

  Omari rushed her out the door because standing so close to her was wreaking havoc on his calm. He liked Chantal. He liked the kid even more. He only hoped she could get to the bottom of the sadness he saw in the boy’s eyes when he opened the conversation about the times he spent with his own father traveling to other countries. The boy longed for a relationship with his father, but something deeper was there. It would be up to his mother to find out what that was.

  Chantal sat behind the wheel at a red light wondering what had just happened. Cody was smiling and even talked to her on the way home. He showed her the business card Omari had given him.

  “I think I want him as my barber,” Cody said to her.

  “Okay,” she softly said.

  “He’s nice. I like him,” Cody said again. “I guess I need to do something to make a few bucks so I can come back and pay him.”

  “Good. You got his card, so you can call to make an appointment,” she asked.

  “Yes, but it would be nice if we could repay the favor and take him dinner since he fed us. I mean, it kinda felt good to have a family dinner sorta thing you know...,” Cody said.

  She did know. In only two interactions, Omari Cromwell had zoomed in on what was troubling her son. He knew the boy wanted a family and created a family dinner to put him at ease. Was all of Cody’s anger because he didn’t have a family to come home to in the evenings?

  She needed to find out.

  Chapter 5 Supper Time in the City

  Saturday had been full and loaded with activities for the boys. Thomas fell asleep in the car before the children did when they returned from the outing. Moreover, the barber shop interaction with the men had stimulated Thomas, who looked forward to going back in two weeks. He even told Thurston he was clearing his calendar to do so.

  Thomas wasn’t the only one in need of a nap. Thurston could barely keep his eyes open during dinner. He inquired abo
ut his wife’s day as they sat at the table.

  “I got a call from Candace Burrows,” she told him. “She gave us that nice vase as a wedding present.”

  The delicate vase sat on the coffee table. Several times Tae-Tay had thought to move it higher, but Douglas rarely came into the living room. She eyeballed her husband, “I have no idea who Candace is Thurston.”

  “Me either. I think she may be with the school or something,” he said.

  “I’m ready to go to school,” Douglas said to her.

  “Not yet, sweetie, in September,” she told him.

  “I’m ready for a puppy, too,” Douglas said under his breath. “Uncle Lawrence should give me his puppy.”

  Thurston eyed the little bundle of energy. He began to explain to his son how a pet was like having a child. A puppy took lots of time, care and love to raise it to be a good dog. Douglas listened with his forehead crinkled.

  “That lady at the barber shop should have had a puppy. Her son needed to be in time out,” Douglas said, bobbing his little head.

  Thurston mouthed to Tae-Tay, I will tell you later. He used his spoon to swirl the spaghetti with his fork, raising a forkful to his mouth.

  “I may ask the man for his puppy. Mommy, I saw him again,” Douglas said.

  “What man, sweetie?” She asked him.

  “The man with the puppy. He wanted me to come outside again, but I told him I couldn’t,” Douglas said.

  The statement struck panic in the boy’s parents.

  Thurston tried to keep a level of calm in his voice. He asked, “What man with the puppy, son?”

  “The one from before. I went out to play with the puppy then Mommy put the bell on the door,” Douglas said.

  Tae-Tay searched her mind, trying to remember the man. She didn’t see a man nor the puppy, only Douglas coming back inside the house. Her heart hammered in her chest.

  Thurston asked, “What did the man look like, Douglas?”

  Douglas sucked down a strand of pasta.

  “He looked like Paw-Paw,” he said to his parents.

  Thurston was confused. His father would never consent to be called anything other than Grandfather. What man? Tae-Tay had begun to sweat.

  “Who is Paw-Paw?” she asked her son.

  “The man in the picture that Grandma had in her bedroom. She showned it me one day. She said he was my Paw-Paw,” Douglas said with a smile.

  Tae-Tay had begun to tremble. Leviticus had found them. But how...last week... it wasn’t possible.

  “Mommy,” Douglas said, “he didn’t look just like the picture, though.”

  Thurston was concerned, “What do you mean, Douglas?”

  Douglas moved a meatball around on his plate. “In the picture that Grandma had, Paw-Paw looked real mean. When I saw him with the puppy, he looked happy. Which is why I need a puppy.”

  “I’m not understanding what you are saying, Douglas,” Thurston said.

  “Puppies make you happy. I need a puppy so I can be happy like Paw-Paw and Uncle Lawrence...and that Katie lady,” he said.

  It wasn’t hard to outsmart a five-year-old. The trick was getting them to work with you without letting them know they were helping. Thurston knew exactly what to do.

  “The next time you see the man with the puppy, please come get your Mom or me right away so we can talk to him about getting a puppy for you,” Thurston said.

  “Really?” Douglas asked. “If I see the man with the puppy again, you will let me have the doggy?”

  “Yes, really,” Thurston said.

  “Good, because he is at the door,” Douglas said as he pointed to the front door.

  Standing at the glass front door was a tall dark man with wire-rimmed glasses. Tae-Tay screamed as she grabbed Douglas up from the chair, holding him close to her. The man in the doorway held up both hands, turning his body slowly so that Thurston could see the front and back of him. He wore a pair of fitted jeans with a polo shirt. He raised the back of the shirt then faced the front of the door, lifting the hem of the shirt to show he had no weapons. The same action was repeated with his pants legs.

  Zephaniah Wilson wanted to come inside and sit at that table to share a meal with his daughter and her husband. More than anything, he wanted to be a part of his grandson’s life. He needed to tell her the truth, but today, he would settle for being the uncle she hardly knew. If and when he earned her trust, then and only then would he break Cookie’s secret.

  Thurston rose slowly from the table to walk over to the front door. The tall dark stranger had a puppy with him that Douglas immediately spotted and began to grin.

  “Daddy, can we let him in? Pleeeeeeassseeee?” Douglas whined.

  The man had come a long way, Thurston wanted to hear what he had to say. He looked at his wife who was frozen in fear. Today, she would face this demon and either slay it or continue to jump at shadows under her bed. As her husband, he needed to convince her that under his watch, no Boogeymen were ever going to harm her. He placed his hand in the door lock, turned it, and opened the glass inner door, allowing Zephaniah Wilson to enter their home.

  “Would you like to join us for dinner, Mr. Wilson?” Thurston asked.

  Tears flooded Zephaniah’s eyes, “I would love that more than anything.”

  The voice was different. The eyes were different. The posture was different. Prison did not soften a man up but instead made him harder. Tae-Tay knew this.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “You are not my Daddy!”

  Chantal sat quietly in the living room, the television off and a glass of wine hanging loosely in her hand. After the conversation she was about to have with her son, the whole bottle would accompany her to the bedroom. It was a conversation that was thirteen years in the making and one she had been avoiding.

  “Cody, can you come in here?”

  He bounded down the stairs, looking closely at her face and trying to determine the level of anger he had to face for his behavior today.

  “Let’s talk. I want to get everything out in the open and find out why you are so angry with me,” Chantal said.

  The tension in his body was evident as he plopped down on the couch, kicking off his sneakers. Chantal crinkled her nose at the smell of his sweaty feet which filled the room with a pungent scent. Cody may have only been 13, but he smelled like an old man who had been working all day in a field picking peas. Her finger rubbed her nose trying to hold back the assault from the toes from the smelly part of Hell.

  “Sorry, Ma,” he said as he put the shoes back on.

  “Cody, I have seen the change in you, the cursing...and raising your hand to hit me...I am at a loss here. I have never struck you in anger or otherwise, so the violent streak in you, I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Maybe I get it from my daddy,” he said with a straight face.

  Deep down she wanted to lie and tell him he was the product of a brief fling she had in college. It was partially true. In her mind it was better than the actual truth of him knowing his mother had an affair with a married man.

  “I know my daddy is white,” he told her. “Is that why you are not together?”

  Chantal nearly choked on her own saliva.

  “How do you know he is white?”

  “Ma, you named me Cody. That is the whitest white-boy name ever,” he said. “Plus my hair. I know I’m mixed with something.”

  She had underestimated her son’s intelligence. Maybe she had also misjudged his ability to accept the truth.

  “Yes, he is white,” she told him.

  “Is that why you aren’t together? I mean, I have looked all over this house for a picture of the two of you and I can’t find one, not even on your cell phone,” he told her.

  “Have you considered that maybe he is not a part of your life because he is not a good person, Cody?”

  “No,” he said. “You would not allow a man who is not a good person to be around you, so I know you didn’t....”

  Cody se
arched his brain to find the correct words he wanted to use.

  “...spend time with a man who wasn’t a good person unless you were....” He stopped and jumped to his feet, his eyes darting back and forth as they searched her face.

  “Am I a rape baby?” he asked.

  Chantal dropped her glass. Red wine poured out on the carpet like blood from an open wound. “Good Lord, no! Cody, please sit down,” she pleaded.

  She ran to the kitchen to grab a bottle of club soda along with a dishtowel. Her mind worked as fast as her hands to blot out the ugly stain which had seeped into their lives. She could not give her son Brett’s name because he would Google him and show up on the man’s job. He was a tenacious little demon like that.

  The spot began to fade as her courage built. She blotted more and collected the materials to take them into the kitchen. Returning moments later with a fresh glass and more liquid courage, she took a seat to start possibly one of the hardest conversations of her life.

  “I was fresh out of college when I met him. He had money, I didn’t. He grew up in a swanky area off of Park Avenue and I grew up in foster homes trying desperately to survive and make something of myself,” she confessed.

  “Your father was like a bright shiny penny to me. He was really nice to look at, even great to have, but he was just a penny. Soon the shine faded and I found out the hard way he wasn’t worth the one red cent he was minted to be. Instead of subjecting you to a life of let downs and hurts, I decided that we could make it on our own,” she said. “We’ve done okay, haven’t we?”

  Cody nodded.

  “I guess,” he told her. “I would like the chance to at least know who he is.”

  “Knowing who he is has no bearing on who you are. It is up to you to decide what type of man you want to be, whether it is a man who reacts in anger and hits women or if you are man of principal who finds understanding or advantages in adverse situations,” she said.

  “Ma...you say all those fancy words but at the end of the day, every kid wants to be tucked in by their dad. Even those rich butt munchers I go to school with...most of their parents are divorced and half of those kids are in therapy, but they go to therapy with their dads.”