“Just wanted you to know before you got home and start tripping. I let Dutch get my motorcycle,” he says.
“Why the fuck that crab need your ride?” I bark.
“Because his shit in the shop. It’s just sitting in your garage anyway,” he scoffs.
“As it should. Every time you drive it, some shit happens that I have to either take care of or pay for.”
“You act like I don’t do shit right,” he sighs, and for a split second, I feel bad.
He’s partially right. All I seem to do is preach or bitch at him, but shit, I can’t help it. He refuses to grow up and do shit responsibly. Like today, he was supposed to be working at my shop but he called out. I can’t count on him for nothing and it’s frustrating.
“You don’t do enough things right,” I say, trying to soften the blow.
“If you talking about today, I’m sick for real. Peaches lil boy coughing and shit and I got it,” he insists.
Then he coughs for added measure. I’m not buying it though because I know him. He prefers the streets over a nine to five and barely works the part-time hours I have him scheduled for. Work ethic and him are complete opposites.
Hell, I’m partially responsible for his lack of work ethic. I’ve always taken care of him, even when our mother was alive. She loved drugs more than her sons and we suffered. Being evicted too many times to count, having to steal shit from the corner store just to eat, and eating cold canned goods because the lights were off forced me to start hustling when I was thirteen. It all fell on me.
There were no real men around. Yeah, a few would lay up with my mom, treat her like shit, and sometimes even put hands on her, but none ever manned up. I have no clue who my father is and I can only guess who’s Kadean’s. Coming up, shit was bad, real bad, and I was forced to grow up fast and become a man in the streets too early. For me, the streets were out of necessity, but for Kadean, it just seems like something to do.
“Get better because you need to come in tomorrow.”
“If I had my box truck, I wouldn’t have to come in at all.”
“Finish your class, come to work, and stack your checks, and when you get your license back in December, you can get your truck.”
“Like you not the reason I fucking lost my license. I’m fucked up ’cause of you and you know it. That’s why I drink. It’s not like I can call my momma or no shit like that,” he says, causing a boulder of guilt to form in my throat. “Yeah. You ain’t preaching now,” he grits. “I’m not the only one who makes mistakes. Man, I’ll see you tomorrow if I’m feeling better,” he says, then ends the call.
I’m stuck. I always am when he brings that shit up. I’d fucked up bad, and no matter what I do, that shit haunts me and fucks with Kadean. Because of me, we lost our mother. That mistake is forever cemented in my mental and I’ll never be able to make that up to Kadean.Never.
Chapter 4
Adora
“Miss Mitchell, like I said, until we make a final determination of accidental death, the life insurance policy can’t be paid out,” the agent, William Morris, repeats.
“I gave you the police report. She was in an accident. It says accident right at the top of the report,” I say as I tap my fingernail on the copy of the report.
“Our investigators aren’t so sure,” he rebuts. “The police report says accident but the actual cause of death was heart failure. We have learned that she received a terminal diagnosis last March. In January, she doubled her life insurance, then this happened three weeks later. She was on the road traveling to work an hour before her normal time and there were no signs ofanything that would have caused her to swirl off that road. The incident?—”
“Accident!” I snap, correcting him. He’s really infuriating me.
“The accident,” he starts slowly, then continues, “Was not the final cause of death. Heart failure was more likely due to the spread of her cancer.”
“I refuse to even entertain what you are insinuating. Let’s stick to the facts. January is open enrollment. People change their insurance. Hell, I changed mine at my job. That’s normal, and again, see here on the report, there was another vehicle. It was an accident, an accident that caused her, you know. My mother would never ever do what you are suggesting. She just wouldn’t,” I stress and my voice cracks.
My mother did not try to kill herself. She would never.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through or feeling. I really can’t but I also can’t release this policy until the investigation is concluded.”
“My momma worked her ass off for that resort for the last fifteen years. She earned her benefits and you won’t pay them. Ugh! I just can’t.I don’t even want the damn money. I want my mother back. That’s what I want and I want you to stop saying she did this on purpose. My mother wouldn’t leave me and my girls on purpose,” I spit.
My emotions are on the verge of a massive explosion. This shit is too much! I lost my mother, my best friend, six weeks ago. I had to explain to my babies why they wouldn’t see their nana any more. I lost the one person in this world who had my back no matter what. My mother is gone, gone forever.
I buried my mother, and now, I have to argue and fight for what she worked so hard for and defend her against this bullshit. I’m over it, and in ten seconds, I’m going to lose it for real. To keep from losing it in here, in front of him, I quickly grab my papers and stand.
“Miss Mitchell, please. Have a seat,” he says.
