Ben (The Sherwood)

“So, everything she said in the letter was a lie?” I asked Disa. My voice was soft and filled with hurt that she had tried to trick me again with the heartfelt letter.

“No, not exactly.” I could see that Disa didn’t want to badmouth Jasmine to me. “My aunt has a lot of kids. She expected Jasmine to help at home. Maybe too much for a teenager?” She suggested. “A teen who wanted to be free and do what she wanted to do but I couldn’t have left my child, no matter how hard I thought my own childhood had been,” she declared.

I was angry at Jasmine for more than leaving Asia but her leaving her had given me the opportunity to get to know my daughter. Disa laid the bottle on the table. She rocked Asia gently back and forth. I leaned on the table and watched.

“Disa, did you know that Jasmine told me she was twenty-five?” I asked.

Her eyes shot up to my face. I could see the surprise. She hadn’t known. “Once you took her out, we hardly talked. When she found out she was pregnant and asked for your number, we didn’t talk at all. She’s just a kid but Ben she said some hurtful things to me. Especially after Asia was born.”

I reached across the table and covered her arm wrapped around Asia. Her eyes went to my hand. I saw the tear that rolled down her cheek and I reached up, wiping it away with just my fingertips. “Hey now, don’t do that.”

Suddenly, Disa got up and handed me Asia. “I can’t do this Ben.”

I stared at her dumbfounded by this change of emotion. She snatched up her purse and took off just as Janice brought us our lunch. She laid mine in front of me and stared at Disa’s chicken as we both watched her exit the restaurant.

“Box that for me, would you?” I laid Asia in her carrier.

“Sure honey.”

Janice turned and walked away with Disa’s plate. I was going to run by Disa’s apartment with her lunch. Hopefully, she would let me in, so we could talk. I glanced at Asia. “Why am I so bothered by her being upset, baby?” I asked my daughter. “It’s been six years, but I can’t seem to forget her.”

Her little legs kicked, and her arms flailed about. She stuck her fist in her mouth because her pacifier was somewhere beneath her.

I dug around until I came up with it. “Yeah, kiddo, we’re doing all right,” I told my daughter. Then I scarfed down that double burger like a starving man.

Chapter 7

I knocked on Disa’s door. I knew she was here because her ancient, Volkswagen bug was parked outside. I waited on her to answer. Asia was getting heavy. I knocked again. “Come on Disa. I know you are in there.”

Finally, she answered the door and stepped back to let me in. “I’m embarrassed,” Disa said.

“Why?” I asked handing her the Styrofoam container.

“Let me get my purse, so I can pay you.” She had taken her hair down; leaving it tousled around her face.

“Don’t,” I told her. “I don’t want your money.” I sat Asia on the floor by my feet and crossed my arms over my chest.

I gazed at Disa, dressed now in baggy shorts that hung low on her curvy hips, same t-shirt from earlier with her hair now down, Disa looked just as pretty.

“Talk to me,” I said.

“Come in.” She waved her hand down the hallway towards the living room. She was inviting me to stay so I was staying.

I followed her down the hallway. Her couch was a sectional. How did she afford it on her income? It wasn’t real, leather but it still had to be six or eight hundred dollars at one of those small, value stores.

I perched on one end and sat Asia at my feet. Disa sat at the other

end putting distance between us and put her container on the coffee table. The woman didn’t have a television or a radio that I could see. How did she amuse herself when she was here?

I glanced around at the minimum of furnishings she had. Just a few paintings, then I noticed the initials in the corner.

Hers.

“You paint?” I questioned her. I guess I had forgotten this from high school.

“I do. My one major expense. The sofa was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me when I moved out of my parent’s home at the compound. It was something that they would never own. Do you remember my grandmother?” She asked.

I did. The woman didn’t belong to the church her parents did and because she refused to join them she didn’t see her grandchildren often. I remember conversations with Disa where she talked about the hurt that caused her.