One Blood

Chapter Ten

Meanwhile, Juanita and Malcolm took up residence in the ghetto safe house in Frenchtown. She tried to goad herself into leaving him and starting over on her own, but then the morning sickness started. That last night she and Walter spent together rendered more than a broken heart. It produced an embryo Juanita thought of as a curse from her dead husband.

As she entered her third trimester, she learned Walter’s five million dollar life insurance policy and the bulk of his estate would be deferred to Lake City. To add insult to tremendous injury, Randy Lafitte, newly appointed mayor, vowed to the people of Lake City that Walter Simmons’ legacy would “live on” through his deeds. He pledged to build a community center on the Simmons Estate, named in honor of the first black mayor of Lake City.

Watching Lafitte’s pronouncements, Juanita became convinced that he was the man in the mask inside Walter’s office. Lafitte had tried to blackmail Walter, and when that didn’t work, he used his knowledge of the affair to set him up. He must have forced the secretary to call Juanita, knowing she would show up.

Juanita’s survival was a happy accident. Had she perished in the fire alongside Walter and the secretary, there would have been many more questions to answer. With her gone, everything pointed solely in the direction of the jealous wife. Randy alone reaped the benefits. He got the money, the mayoral office, and a public mandate to make the changes he saw fit for Lake City.

Whenever Juanita closed her eyes she saw Walter’s bloodied face staring up at her, pleading for her to save him. When Malcolm pledged that Lafitte would be justly punished for his crimes, she promised never to leave him.

* * * * *

“Something went wrong during labor,” Malcolm said. “The baby is sick. Velma has to take him to the hospital.”

Juanita wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t lit the fire that sealed Walter’s fate, but she was as guilty as the papers described. Her breasts lactated, swollen with life-sustaining nourishment. But Juanita knew how putrid she was on the inside. Her milk was poison, her birth canal a watery grave. Nothing could come out of her unscathed.

Still, she needed to see for herself. “Bring it to me.”

The infant was a helpless mass of wrinkled humanity squirming in the crook of Velma’s arm.

“It’s a boy,” Velma declared.

“Let me hold him.”

Malcolm intervened. “There’s no time, baby. He’s not breathing right.”

Juanita glared at him.

“We’ve talked about this,” Malcolm continued. “We have to let Velma take him. She will make sure they fix whatever is wrong and that he ends up in a good home. And when the time is right, I promise I will find him and bring him back to you.”

Back in Walter’s office, with everything burning around her, Juanita knew she was going to die; but then Malcolm pulled her from the burning tomb. Less than a month later, Juanita learned she was pregnant.

Juanita didn’t believe in coincidences. It was no simple twist of fate that led her to Walter’s side. No miracle that Walter’s best friend saved her life and helped her pick up the shattered pieces of her porcelain existence. It was destiny.

Juanita felt her purpose returning. She gathered herself and replied, “Malcolm, no! If he goes to the hospital, we’ll lose him.”

“If we don’t take him now, we’re gonna lose him right here,” Malcom said softly. “I’m not willing to take that chance.” He motioned to Velma to get the baby.

Juanita tried to sit up, but her arms were too weak. “Velma,” she admonished. “Don’t you dare take my baby!”

“Wait,” Velma said in a shaky tone, trying unsuccessfully to break the tension. “What are we going to call him?”

Juanita had considered only one name for a boy. The man Walter had patterned himself after. “Lincoln,” she replied. “His name is Lincoln.”  

Velma put the baby in the bassinette and hurried out of the apartment with Malcolm. Lincoln started crying.

Each wail pierced Juanita to the core. Her body and instincts were on edge—she had to take action. In her mind, Velma Baker had morphed from a dedicated helper to dark schemer. Juanita clawed at the wall for leverage, screaming, “You can’t take him, you bitch! You can’t take him!”

The apartment door slammed, cutting off her baby’s cries. Despite tremendous pain, Juanita made it out of bed, but collapsed on weak legs. She crawled toward the door, just as she had during the fire, screaming and stretching out her arms to welcome her child into the world. As his cries drifted away, her pain grew too intense to bear.

Curling her legs into her abdomen, she lay on the floor wishing for death. But not for herself. She passed into unconsciousness, fantasizing about how Lincoln would one day grow up to kill Randy Lafitte.