Free Decision Time by Earl Sewell Page B

Wesley’s side one way or another. I fought Jordan so vigorously that other passengers in the terminal thought he was attacking me.
    â€œKeysha, if you hit me again you will cause me to commit child abuse and you’ll never see Wesley again!” Jordan barked. By the tone of his voice I knew he meantbusiness. Before I realized it, a security guard had rushed over to see what my hysterics were all about.
    â€œShe’s my daughter and she’s trying to run away,” Jordan quickly explained as he held on to my wrists to keep me from swinging at him anymore.
    â€œMa’am, is this true?” asked the security guard, who’d removed a can of pepper spray, aimed it at Jordan’s face and placed his thumb on the trigger. I glared at the guard for a hot minute with tears in my eyes. Then without any further explanation, I gave up.
    â€œLet me go, please,” I mumbled, surrendering completely to my father. Jordan released me and I sat down on a nearby bench. Feeling overwhelmed, embarrassed and disgraced, I vainly willed myself not to cry.
    â€œMa’am, is this man your father?”
    â€œYes, he’s my dad and he’s not hurting me,” I answered.
    â€œI need to handle this. Can you give us some privacy?” Jordan spoke directly to the guard, who was hesitant about stepping away. “Seriously, give us some privacy,” Jordan said once again, as politely as he could under the circumstances.
    â€œAre you sure you’re okay, miss?” the guard asked once again just to be absolutely certain.
    â€œYes, I’m fine,” I answered as I waved him away. A massive headache had developed near the back of my head. Jordan stooped down and picked up my clothes, which had spilled out of the suitcase once again during my feeble attempt to flee from him. Once he’d collected everything he said, “You inadvertently left your boarding pass at the house.” I knew Jordan wasn’t happy about the decision I’d made, but it was my choice, not his.
    â€œI forgot it when I rushed out of the house this morning,” I admitted as I buried my face in my hands.
    â€œCome on. It’s time to go someplace where we can talk about this.” In spite of everything I’d just done, Jordan didn’t raise his voice or chew me out. He was calm, cool and collected.
    â€œAre you hungry?” he asked.
    â€œNo!” I answered defiantly. I knew it was wrong to have an attitude with him, but I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t able to do what I wanted to do and that true fact annoyed me.
    â€œDo you want me to get ugly with you, because I certainly can?” My smart-aleck remark had ruffled Jordan’s feathers.
    â€œNo,” I muttered.
    â€œWhat? I can’t hear you?” Jordan pressed the issue.
    â€œNo,” I answered loud enough for him to hear.
    â€œThat’s what I thought you said. We’re going to stop and have breakfast.” He extended his hand and helped me to my feet. I followed him to the car, wondering how I was going to get to Wesley.
    Jordan headed west toward a location known as Greek Town. Neither one of us said anything during the short drive. The silence inside the car was louder than any heated argument I’d ever heard. The hushed tension between us moved like a slow-burning wick of an explosive device, just waiting to reach the gunpowder and blast.
    Jordan pulled into the parking lot of a small breakfast place I’d never been to. There were several blue-and-white police squad cars in the parking lot and I intuitively knew it was a popular spot with cops. Not wanting to look at Jordan, I focused on a homeless woman approaching us,pushing a shopping cart filled with all of her belongings. There was nothing interesting about her, so I turned my head slightly and focused on a cluster of pigeons squabbling over scraps of food on the ground near a Dumpster. At that moment I wished I were a pigeon with