Page 51 of Nobody But You

“You still on that, Jourdan?” I said and smirked

“Baby, the answer is yes, I do, without question.” As I responded, a text came through. I glanced down at my encrypted phone to read it.

Cleanup

Here. Handling it now.

It was from my cleanup crew, telling me that they’d arrived at the hotel. I tucked the phone back into the cup holder and continued down the street until I found a spot. It was a typical New York-style brownstone, a staple in the city. It had been easy for my mother to sell the three-story dwelling.

“When was the last time you were here?” Jourdan asked.

“I haven’t been here in years, not since I repurchased it. When we left New York, my mother sold it and used the money to help us start fresh in Cypress. Of course, that money went quickly before I had to step in. So, I would say about seven years ago. My realtor, Jason Saunders, who is licensed to sell in several states, caught wind that the previous owner was selling. I repurchased the property and put it in my mother’s name. She doesn’t even know that she still owns it.”

“That’s so sweet, but why haven’t you told her?”

“Shit, I don’t even know. Probably because I feel like she won’t give a damn. My mother never talked about New York after we left, ever,” I told Jourdan. I helped her out of the car and walked the block to the house. I fished out my key ring before we reached the stairs. This was probably the only house I owned in which I hadn’t added a keypad. I believed nostalgia made me keep it in its original state.

We walked up the brownstone stairs, and I used the key to open the foyer door.

“I knew y’all lived like the Huxtables,” I heard Jourdan say under her breath as she looked out and down the street at the rows of houses on each side.

“Is that what you think?” I responded, laughing at her statement.

“I mean, we were doing all right when we lived here. My father was a Construction Manager, and my mother was an inner-city Social Worker. We didn’t always live like this, though.

“What in the hell is this?” I whispered into the small room. I found the floor littered with mail. I kneeled and scooped up the multiple envelopes. Under the moonlight, I held one up to read its addressee. It was from a local accounting firm, addressed to my mother. I ripped open the mail to see it was a twenty-five-thousand-dollar check. I read further and saw that the payee was Julius Miller.

“What in the fuck,” I said aloud as Jourdan took the mail from my hands, reading it. I ripped through the other envelopes, finding the same amount in each one, paid every quarter. There was a total of seven hundred thousand dollars. I’m assuming the accountant had sent them here when he searched and found her name listed as the owner.

I stood, brushing my hands over my curls.

“Jourdan Baby, I’m so confused right now,” I said, taking a deep breath.

“You said beside you, right? We can figure this out together. You got me, and I got you. Let’s go inside.”

“Baby, Miller has this address in some capacity. I’m tired as shit, and I don’t feel like shooting any more motherfuckers tonight.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you got me because I can do this all day,” she said, taking her hands and acting like they were two guns. She squeezed her imaginary triggers twice for added effect.

“And I got two real ones, too,” she said again as she wrapped her hands around her body, placing them on the guns that rested under her arms in the holster.

My baby.

She smiled as she did it, but I could see in her eyes that she was serious.

“Bring your ass on. I had the place furnished. It’s too bad I can’t show you the room I used to knock down all my high school shorties,” I smiled, but the look Jourdan gave me back was deadly. I laughed again. We walked inside to find my Mother’s Brownstone in the same condition as my house in Mount Vernon. It was clean but covered in a light coating of dust.

“I’m just messing with you, Jourdan. Adriana Rockwell would have tackled me harder than a three-hundred-pound linebacker had she even thought I had girls in here.” I said as I walked around the house, turning on the lights. It was a mind fuck because I wanted to see the house the way it used to be. However, it was just furnished. It was missing the cozy, homey feel that my mother always seemed to bring to all her homes, including mine.

“See, that’s why I love your mother,” she said and smiled. I gave Jourdan a tour of my childhood home and threw in a couple of stories about the times I spent with my father. I missed him; my time away from this home and all my life’s changes had pushed the pain to a place that wasn’t easily accessible. In that revelation,I truly understood why she acted as she did. If something other than a freak work accident had taken my father up out of here, I could see myself taking the same rash path to avenge him. For that same reason, I knew she wouldn't have returned to Cali even if we hadn’t crossed paths.

With all these new thoughts running through my mind, I was desperate to shut the world out. After getting some rest to reset, I was heading back to North Carolina and Cypress Crest. My mother owed me some answers.

CHAPTER 26

Stephon

Icouldn’t have been fun on our way back from New York. I hadn’t said a word the entire flight. We’d woken up, locked up my mother’s brownstone, and driven straight to the airport. We were boarding and returning home after turning in the rental and grabbing breakfast. I was hoping the flight would help clear my head. Jourdan slept nearly the entire time. While she did, I’d thought of every scenario of why Miller would send my mother such large sums of money every three months. None of what I concocted made sense. The craziest story in my mind was that my mother was a damn queenpin and that Miller was paying her his cut every month.

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