Pamela Samuels-Young

Chapter 3

V

ernetta felt her breath catch as she watched Maya’s casket descend into the ground. A whimpering Nichelle held hands with Maya’s mother. This time, even J.C. couldn’t hold back her tears.

It was barely sixty degrees. Cold in L.A. for March. Vernetta scanned the cemetery grounds, hoping to spot Special someplace in the distance.

“I’ve already looked,” J.C. whispered into her ear. “She’s not here.”

When the church service ended, Special had insisted on driving to the burial site alone. They had tried to follow her in J.C.’s Range Rover, but lost her in the long funeral procession. So where is she?

Reverend Jones said a final prayer and several mourners formed a haphazard line to extend condolences to Maya’s mother.

“I can’t believe Special didn’t show up,” Nichelle said, her cries having finally tapered off.

“She’s having a hard time,” J.C. reasoned. “She’ll be alright.”

J.C. wore her hair short, with just enough perm to enhance its natural curl. Her slimming black skirt and leather pumps showed off long, muscular legs. She was a pretty woman with flawless chocolate skin. She wasn’t one of those female cops who hid her femininity, but she didn’t flaunt it either.

Vernetta linked her arm through Nichelle’s, more for her own comfort than her friend’s. Nichelle was of average height, barely five-six, with a thick, brick house frame. She was always stylishly dressed and wore her size fourteens with the swagger of a runway model. The color, print and design of her clothes always separated her from the crowd. Today she donned a flower-print dress that was tapered at the waist with yellow rhinestones along the collar. She said funerals were already too depressing, so she never wore black.

Looking down at her black pants suit, Vernetta wished that she had worn something colorful. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Other than her favorite bronze lipstick, she hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup.

“We should head over to the repast to help out,” J.C. said.

They trudged toward J.C.’s SUV and were almost there when Nichelle abruptly stopped and pointed. “There she is!”

Special was sitting alone on a stone bench at a gravesite adjacent to Maya’s.

“It’s just not right,” they heard Special mutter as they approached. “It’s not right for that man to be walking around without a care in the world.”

“I’m sure he cares,” Nichelle said, unable to be anything but sympathetic. “He’s hurting as much as we are. He loved Maya, too.”

Special shot Nichelle a look meant to wound, if not kill. “He didn’t love her enough to tell her he was out screwin’ men. He should be the one in that casket, not Maya.”

Vernetta sat down next to Special and pulled her close. “We need to get over to Maya’s place. Where’s your car?”

Special raised a limp hand and pointed to her decade-old Porsche several yards away. She pulled her keys from her purse and dropped them into Vernetta’s lap. “You drive. I’m lucky I made it here alive.”

“You guys ride back with Special,” J.C. said. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

As J.C. drove off, Nichelle struggled to stuff herself into the backseat of Special’s Porsche. Vernetta had just started up the engine when Special flung open the passenger door and charged out of the car. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Before Vernetta could cut off the engine, Special was halfway to Maya’s gravesite, where Eugene stood staring down at her casket.

Special was jabbing her finger in Eugene’s face by the time they caught up with her.

“Why didn’t you come to the church?” Special demanded, giving him no time to answer. “Because you’re a coward and a murderer, that’s why.”

Eugene looked anxiously over his shoulder. He seemed disoriented and had a disheveled look about him. His eyes were sunken, and he needed a shave. His black shoes, brown slacks, and tieless green shirt did not match.

“I didn’t come because I knew you would make a scene.” He sounded as defeated as he looked. “You don’t have to keep doing this, Special.”

“I hate you!” She was sobbing now and pounding his chest with feeble punches that seemed to do little damage. Eugene took a single, controlled step backward but did not bother to otherwise protect himself from Special’s blows.

Vernetta slid between them and clutched Special by the wrists. “None of this is going to change anything, Special. Let’s just go.”

She jerked free and charged at Eugene. “You’re a murderer, you know that? You’re a goddamn murderer!”

Eugene closed his eyes and looked away. “There’s nothing I can say, so I’m not going to even try. I loved Maya as much as you did, I only wish that—”

“You didn’t love her!” Special spat at him. She was about to strike him again when Vernetta grabbed her from behind and hauled her several feet away.

“Take her to the car,” Vernetta said to Nichelle, handing Special off like a rag doll. Her tirade had sent Nichelle into another crying fit. The two of them were now bawling uncontrollably.

“You’re going to pay for this!” Special yelled back at Eugene as Nichelle dragged her toward the car. “I swear on Maya’s grave, you’re going to get yours!”

Vernetta studied Eugene’s pained expression. Even in his rumpled state, he was a striking man. She could still remember Maya’s excitement after meeting him at a singles’ retreat sponsored by a friend’s church. “Fine, successful, and saved!” Maya had bragged to her friends over dinner. “I’ve finally met my soul mate.”

Eugene proposed nine months later, and they had all celebrated Maya’s lucky catch.

Vernetta could think of nothing to say to Eugene so she turned to leave.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” Uncertainty filled his voice. “If there’s anything I can do to help out. . .” His words trailed off. “If Maya’s mother needs anything, would you let me know?”

“We’ll take care of anything she needs,” Vernetta snapped. She had never gone off on the man the way Special had, but she wasn’t about to give him the impression that she had even an ounce of sympathy for him.

She was about twenty feet away when Eugene called out to her again. She stopped and waited as he hurried over.

“Uh, what do . . . um . . .” He looked down at his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “People still think Maya died of pneumonia, right?”

The resentment Vernetta had been carefully holding in check teetered on an eruption. She took a second to compose herself. “So it’s still all about you, huh, Eugene? You and your deadly little secrets.”

“No, I . . . uh . . . I just wanted to know.” He looked down again and kicked the grass with his foot. “If people know, it’s fine. I just . . .”

“Well, you know what?” Vernetta’s lips eased into a wicked smile. “Everybody knows Maya suffered from AIDS and everybody knows that you infected her. In fact, Special stood up at the funeral and announced it to the whole congregation.”

Vernetta chuckled softly to herself as she turned away, relishing the horrified look on Eugene’s face.

The brother wasn’t on the down low anymore.