Idlewild. Treasure Hernandez
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house?” Desiree had asked nervously as her stomach did flip-flops.
“No, Desi, I don’t think that she did. And now she’s gone, I believe, to a hair appointment or something like that. But you know she’ll be back soon, and the first place she is coming is right to this room,” Rebecca answered, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. She had been doing nothing but worrying since Desiree had taken to hiding out in her room. But now this . . .
“Okay. Did you get it?” Desiree asked, then bit her bottom lip. She was squirming like she had to urinate really badly.
“Yes, I did,” Rebecca answered, digging into her pocketbook. “And I didn’t like it one bit. Imagine me buying this stuff at my age . . . the stares I got in that store. This is just too much, Desi. Too much,” she complained as she pulled a small plastic bag from her pocketbook and extended it toward Desiree. Desiree’s hands trembled as she snatched the bag and looked at Rebecca through glassy eyes.
“Oh my God, Rebecca. I can never repay you for this,” Desiree said, her voice cracking.
Rebecca twisted her lips and scrunched her eyebrows. It was an expression that was all too familiar to Desiree. She’d seen it over the years: anytime she’d done something Rebecca didn’t agree with, that had been the facial expression she got. Rebecca wasn’t much on using words to admonish, but her body language, most of the time, said it all.
“Please. Not that face. Not now. Not you,” Desiree grumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m going through enough. And I don’t need you, of all people, to judge me, Rebecca. Please . . . not right now, of all the times in my life,” Desiree said, tearing up.
Rebecca softened her expression and touched Desiree’s hand gently. She hated to see Desiree cry. Rebecca still thought of Desiree as her little girl. She had basically raised Desiree and all the Johnson children.
“I’m not one to judge you, you know that. God is the only one who can judge you. But if this is so, you can’t hide it. I won’t help you hide it,” Rebecca said softly. “I’ll be here for you, no matter what, but I want you to think about this long and hard. You are not married. You’re a little girl, and you have so much living to do, Desi.”
“It was a mistake. I know everyone will hate me, but I’m not perfect. It was a big mistake,” Desiree sobbed, lowering her eyes. She hated it when Rebecca was disappointed in her. When she was a child, the idea of letting Rebecca down was the one thing that could be used to punish Desiree.
“Oh, Desi, I don’t mean to be hard, but you know right from wrong. You are better than this. I taught you better than this,” Rebecca said sternly, but with the hint of softness only she knew how to master. Desiree looked down at the floor. Rebecca grabbed her into a tight embrace, her ample bosom providing a cushion. She squeezed Desiree close. “I will always love you, no matter how many mistakes you make,” Rebecca whispered in her ear.
Desiree let out more loud sobs. “I hope it comes back negative,” she whimpered into the material of Rebecca’s shirt.
“For the good of everyone involved, I hope it does too,” Rebecca said with feeling.
Desiree was scared to face Rebecca when the scandal broke, but Rebecca was the only person she could trust with her true feelings. Rebecca told Desiree the truth about how she felt about her pregnancy, but right after that, Rebecca hugged her tight and told her it would be all right.
“Ahem.” The sound of Tyree clearing his throat jolted them out of their reveries.
“Oh my goodness,” Rebecca exclaimed, finally letting Desiree out of her grip. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I didn’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
Desiree giggled awkwardly, trying to squelch her sobs. “I know, right? I missed you so much . . . and the food . . . oh goodness, the food,” Desiree joked, trying to break the heartbreak and tension of the moment.
“Don’t worry. I’ll feed you well,” Rebecca assured her, wiping her own tears away too.
“Ahem.” Tyree cleared his throat again, his foot tapping the ground.
Desiree and Rebecca both turned their attention to him this time. Rebecca’s eyes welled up again.
“This baby has grown up so nicely,” she sang, rushing toward him. She pulled him to her. “Goodness, the last time I saw you, you were knee high to a fly,” she joked.
Tyree smiled awkwardly, crushed by her tight hug. He didn’t remember Rebecca; that was how small he had been the last time Desiree took him home.
“He’s a tall beanpole now,” Desiree said, smiling proudly at her two favorite people in the world. She wished they had been together all the time. Rebecca would’ve been great at helping her raise and take care of Tyree. Desiree was sure of it. Rebecca would have been the best grandnanny in the world. The thought tickled Desiree somewhere close to her heart.
Rebecca let Tyree go and grabbed Desiree’s hand. “You need to come inside, get settled, and go see him,” she said, lowering her voice.
“How’s he doing?” Desiree asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, I won’t say. I’ll let you go see him,” Rebecca said, hanging her head slightly. Desiree’s stomach lurched.
“That bad, huh?” she replied.
* * *
Desiree paused at her father’s bedroom door. She looked down the long hallway and realized she was really alone. She hadn’t been alone with her father in years. Her neck tensed, and she clenched her teeth so hard, pain shot up to her temples. Desiree blew out a windstorm of breath and opened the door. Her eyes went wide and she sucked in her breath at the sight of her father lying in a hospital bed, connected to what seemed like a million wires. The blips and beeps of the fifteen machines sounded uncomfortably loud to Desiree. She couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out of her eyes and down her face.
“Oh, Daddy,” she whimpered, slowly moving to his bedside. “I’m so sorry.”
Finally, she was close enough to touch him. She reached down and picked up his limp, wrinkled hand. Desiree hiccupped a sob and her shoulders fell forward as she took in the sight of the man who had always been her first love.
“Daddy,” she sobbed out, slowly pronouncing each syllable.
His gaunt body seemed swallowed up by the bed, and he looked as if he’d aged two hundred years since she’d last seen him. His head was covered with fine gray peach fuzz, and his cheekbones jutted against his paper-thin skin unnaturally. He was nothing like the tall, barrel-chested, regal man who was Ernest Johnson, her father, her hero, and sometimes her worst nightmare.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy. I never wanted to disappoint you,” Desiree cried, pulling her father’s hand up to her face. Then she knelt at his bedside, put her head down at his side, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t stop the memories, both good and bad, from revisiting her again.
Fifteen-year-old Desiree had lain curled up in the fetal position inside her bedroom at the Idlewild summer home for over a day. She’d been there since the devastating meeting took place between her parents and Tyson Blackwell’s parents the day before. Unable to stop reliving the worst moment of her life over and over again, Desiree had drawn all the curtains, locked her door, and buried herself under a pile of quilts, even though it was ninety degrees outside. She kept replaying his words, their words, everyone’s words as they spoke about her like she was some street whore who had sought to trap Tyson. Tyson had warned her, but she had never thought they’d treat her like that, especially her own father.
Since she had revealed that she was pregnant, her mother had tried to be supportive, but her father hadn’t said two words to her. Desiree had been his little girl, innocent in all rights, before this. She couldn’t even imagine what her father must think of her now. The thought made Desiree cry even harder as she lay on her bed. She was literally sick to her stomach over this.
Carolyn