Free Aftermath by Tracy Brown Page A

had married. Her mother, Jeanie—whom Nate had nicknamed “Sweets” in the early days of their relationship—had been gullible enough to be lulled back with empty promises and what Toya imagined must have been some really good sex, since Sweets had stayed so long and had so many of Nate’s children. Toya hated the weakness she perceived in her mother, even on the nights when she battled Nate blow for blow.
    â€œBut he was a man and she couldn’t win,” Toya said at last. “I jumped in once and he knocked me out cold. So I learned to stay in my room, stay out of sight. Because as much as I loved and felt sorry for my mother, I couldn’t understand why she kept taking him back.” Toya shook her head as if still at a loss for an answer to that question. “But she wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t break down at all until he left the house. She would shut her bedroom door and cry into her pillow and I don’t know if she ever knew I could hear her.” Toya stared off momentarily before clearing her throat and continuing. “I have a lot of respect for my mother,” she said. “Even though to everybody in our neighborhood, she probably looked like a dumb bitch for putting up with Nate, to us she was a hero. She fed us, kept us going to school, kept clothes on our backs. It was more than my bitch-ass father was ever good for.”
    Finally, Toya described the times he had awakened her in the middle of the night and forced her to go with him to some of the seediest parts of Brooklyn and witness things she wasn’t old enough to understand.
    â€œHe was a pig, you know what I’m saying?” Toya wiped her eyes. “Had me out there with him in the middle of the night watching him throw his life away.” She shook her head. “Plus he cheated on my mother. Right in front of me, he would grab asses—nasty, fat, ugly, broke, nobody bitches. Tongue ’em down, joke around with them. And then he would dare me to tell my mother. Bitch-ass nigga.” She sniffled and took the tissue Dominique passed her. “Anyway, his ass is dying. He needs a bone marrow transplant or something.”
    Dominique shook her head, her facial expression one of pure compassion for her friend. She had no idea that Toya had been through so much in her childhood.
    â€œWill you be tested to see if you can be a donor?” Camille asked.
    Toya seemed surprised and appalled by the question. “Hell no! I told him to crawl back under the rock he climbed out from.”
    Dominique knew that Toya was a tough woman, but that sounded harsh. “You’re just gonna let him die?”
    Toya didn’t expect Dominique to understand. After all, her father, Bill Storms, had been the model parent. She looked at her friend like she didn’t get it.
    â€œDominique, your father was perfect. He loved you, supported you, took care of you. My father didn’t do any of those things. All he ever did was hurt my mother and all of us. I feel no pity for him. And if he really wanted my forgiveness, he would’ve asked for it before his time started running out.”
    Neither Dominique nor Camille could argue with that logic.
    Eager to change the subject since she was uncomfortable being pitied, Toya looked at Camille. “Do you believe that Steven really molested your nephew?” she asked.
    The look on Camille’s face suggested that she’d been asking herself that question for the past few hours. She shook her head and looked at the ceiling before shrugging her shoulders. “I’m not sure, Toya,” she said at last. Camille looked at both of her friends. “Steven was a weird guy, you know? For as long as I’ve known him he’s been that way. Quiet, no friends, no luck with women, unmotivated … he was all those things. But to think that he could be capable of touching a three-year-old boy?” She shook her head again. “I