After The Dance by Lori D. Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

this, a good-faith down payment on what I owe you.”
    Girl, when he ripped out that check and handed it to me, I was almost too afraid to look. But you know I did and there it was—cha-ching! Fifteen hundred big ones!
    I’m sorry, girl, but between my student loans, my car payment, the mortgage, what I owe Nora, what I send to my folks, and every other durn thing that comes out of my paycheck on a monthly basis, my first instinct was to pocket the dough and hit the floor running. Instead I gathered my wits about me, handed him back the check, and just told him, “Look, there’s a Starbucks on the second floor. One cup of coffee. An apology. And no games. Got it?”

HIM
    I think I told you about my Uncle Westbrook and his little handyman business, right? And how he’s kind enough to let his two favorite nephews—me and my equally broke cousin Squirrel—earn extra ends by helping him out on different projects? Even though it makes for a pretty decent part-time gig, it can still be kind of rough on an alreadyhardworking brother, especially when it falls on the heels of his regular nine to five.
    Anyway, this past Wednesday turned out to be one of those days for me. I had just clocked out of my full-time grind and was on my way home when I got word via my cousin Squirrel that Unc had some floors that needed re-finishing and some walls that needed painting if I was interested. Being that I’ve got bills to pay and a whole host of mouths to feed, I could hardly say no, so I sucked it up like any real man would and went on to make that paper.
    Tired, sore, and funky as I was when I finally stumbled in later that evening, about all I had in mind was a thorough scrub down, a few dabs of Ben-Gay, and a long conversation with my pillow. I was in the process of shedding my shorts when I heard a bunch of banging at my door. Turned out to be Nora wanting to know if I’d seen her ol’ fickle friend Faye.
    In between sniffles she told me, “I’ve tried reaching her on her cell, but she’s not answering. It’s just not like her to be out this late on a weeknight without trying to call and tell me what’s up.” Then she grabbed my arm and said, “You heard about that woman that got kidnapped from that barbecue joint up on Third last week, didn’t you? And the one that got snatched a couple nights ago coming out of the library on Poplar? Well, I just heard on the news that they think it’s the same guy who grabbed both of them.”
    Rather than buy into Nora’s panic, I opted for the less strenuous role of the concerned yet cautious optimist. Besides, a part of me couldn’t help but feel sorry for the joker who would unwittingly make the mistake of trying to snatch Faye up from somewhere. Hell, he’d more than likely come off better trying to wrestle with a doggone porcupine. I looked at my watch and was like, “Okay, Nora, calm down a second. It’s, what, 9:45? Have you tried calling up to the church?”
    Nora screwed her face all up and said, “The church? Carl, what in the hell would Faye be doing up at church this time of night?”
    Excuse me? Having noticed Faye leaving outta there round about the same time every Wednesday evening, I’d just assumed that like most good Black Baptists—excluding myself, of course—that her Wednesday-night forays had something to do with midweek Bible study.
    But Nora was quick to set me straight. “Carl, Wednesday night is the night Faye goes up to the hospital.”
    “The hospital? Oh, so maybe she’s just working some extra overtime or something,” I said, thinking I had it all figured out.
    But that only seemed to make Nora all the more flustered. “Look, man, what Faye does every Wednesday night ain’t got nuthin’ to do with work or overtime, okay? And that’s all I’m finna say about it. If you wanna know anything else, you need to take it up with her. All right?”
    “Tell you what,” I said, seeing that she was on the verge of falling apart on me. “Let me grab