Chapter 16
SELENE
“What do you mean fired?”
“Pretty sure the word means the same thing everywhere, Mama.”
I’m blinking back tears, thanking God that my mother opted for voice call instead of a FaceTime today. It’s been a week since Cal and Beck were relieved of their duties, and I haven’t gotten through a single conversation about them losing their jobs without crying.
I caused this.
Aubrey got under my skin, and I showed every card in my hand, ruining everything including the professional reputations of the men I love.
The official reason given for their departure was insubordination and incompetence, which is worse than the truth because it makes them unemployable but also better because it keeps them out of federal prison.
It could have easily come to that, and part of me is still surprised that it didn’t.
I guess when he weighed it out, Aubrey decided protecting his secrets was more important than extracting his pound of flesh.
Unfortunately for him, all I can seem to think about is getting mine.
Since I watched Cal and Beck be dragged through the halls of the Residence like criminals, I’ve had a craving for it.
Sixteen ounces of rotting tissue squelching as I rip it from his body.
Blood dripping down my fingers, arms and elbows when I hold it out for all the world to see, exposing him for the role I’m now certain he played in Sutton’s death and destroying him before he devises a plan to get rid of me too.
Mama’s tsk of disappointment snaps me out of my thoughts. “I just don’t understand,” she says. “Cal told me it was for the best, but it just doesn’t sit right with me. You can’t get Aubrey to reconsider?”
She doesn’t sound the least bit hopeful, like she doesn’t believe in my ability to persuade my husband to do anything. Of course, she’s right to doubt me, so I don’t bother pretending otherwise.
“No, ma’am.”
A heavy sigh blankets the line. “Just don’t make no sense,” she mutters.
“I know, Mama, but Cal and Beck will land on their feet.”
I infuse the statement with all the faith I can muster and send it up to the heavens, hoping the angels are listening.
Getting another job is probably the last thing on their minds, but I know both of my men well enough to know that they need their work just like I need mine.
They need purpose and the distraction of productivity.
That’s the only reason I’m at work today, to keep my mind off all the things spiraling out of my control.
Monique knocks on my door, opening it before I can tell her to come in. She’s got a smile on her face that’s as bright as the yellow silk blouse she’s sporting today, and I do my best to soak up some of her sunshine.
“Mama, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Alright, baby. Have a good day. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“I love you more,” Monique chirps just as I’m ending the call. I roll my eyes at her.
“How you gone love my mama more than I do?”
She shrugs. “I’m just good like that.”
I wave her off, rounding the desk to meet her at the door. “Is everyone here?”
We move into the hall, and Agent Morgan tracks our synchronized steps down the hall. She’s in charge this morning because Shaw is at a mandatory meeting, and it’s obvious by the way her eyes are constantly moving around the space that she’s taking the job seriously.
“Yes,” Monique confirms, double-checking the list of attendees on her phone.
“All mentors and mentees have checked in. Everyone has their name tags and assigned seat.” She presses the button for the elevator, and the doors slide open instantly.
“No one skipped out on the catered breakfast, except you,” she says, pressing the button for the first floor.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”
“Right, but I still put a sandwich to the side for you. If we’re going to tell these kids they need food to fuel their brains, we have to be prepared to lead by example right?”
“Right,” I agree.
The elevator dings, announcing our arrival on the co-working floor where the first meeting of the Junior Coding Academy is taking place.
A swell of blended voices echoes inside the open space and surrounds us, pulling us into the fold like a pair of arms aware of your desperate need for an embrace.
I take my time moving around the room, clutching the sandwich Monique shoved into my hands as soon as we were off the elevator but never managing to take a bite because I’m too caught up talking to everyone and listening to the Culture Code employees who volunteered to mentor a kid or two gush about how cool it is to be molding the minds that will shape the future of technology.
Since it’s their first time meeting, Nichelle, Monique and I decided today would be all about connection.
Every mentor has been seated with the child or children they’ve been tasked with guiding.
I’m delighted by the ease with which conversation is flowing at all of the tables except for the one near the front where two girls in clothes that fit a little too tight and smell faintly of cigarette smoke sit with matching sour expressions on their faces as they watch everyone else.
I hadn’t expected Isis and Imani to sign up, and even after I found their names on the registration list and agreed to be their mentor, I refused to let myself get excited because I knew their foster mother bringing them was a long shot.
A pleasant kind of shock rolls down my spine as I approach and drop into the open chair between them.
“Why the long faces?”
“Mrs. Taylor!” Isis, who’s on my right, squeals wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug that screams familiarity.
I return her affection with no hesitation, delighted to find that holding her feels like holding AJ used to.
It’s an innocent, pure exchange of energy that leaves no room for the awkwardness I usually associate with physical contact from anyone outside of my small circle, and when Imani joins in, that perfect feeling doubles.
When they’re both back in their seats, Imani sticks her tongue out at her sister. “I told you she’d be here.”
Isis rolls her eyes. “I told you she’d be here.”
“You were hoping to see me?”
“Of course! We wanted to thank you for standing up for us with Mama Jo,” Isis says, eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “No one ever does that.”
There it is again, that swell of anger and protective instinct flaring in my gut, making me burn with the desire to knock Joanna West upside the head. Reaching over, I lift Isis’s chin, splitting a serious, but hopefully, nurturing look between them as I let it go.
“I wish I could have done more. You two worked so hard on Hope’s Map, and that moment shouldn’t have been overshadowed by chores.
” I bite my lip when I realize how that might sound and then add, “Tending to your responsibilities at home is important, but sometimes our responsibility to ourselves has to take precedence. The only thing you two should have been required to do after that pitch was pat yourselves on the back and eat your favorite dessert.”
They grin at that, and warmth spreads through my chest, prompting me to make a promise I hope Joanna won’t stop me from keeping. “When we win this Congressional App Challenge, we’ll have a proper celebration.”
“We?” Isis asks.
“Yes, we.” I waggle my brows at her. “Unless you want someone else to be your mentor?”
“Hel—I mean, heck no,” Imani says, shaking her head wildly.
Isis joins in, and soon their heads are a lovely blur of enthusiasm.
I absolutely adore how excited they are about the prospect of learning from me, but I can’t accept their answer without making sure they have a full understanding of the overlap between their lives and mine.
“Before you officially say yes, there’s something you should know.”
Disappointment wrestles with the remnants of exhilaration for control of their features.
Imani is the first to surrender, defeat evident in her words when she asks, “What is it?”
Isis is holding out hope, the wheels in her mind spinning into overdrive. “It’s okay if you don’t have the same amount of time as the other mentors. We know you’re busy running a company and being the First Lady. We don’t need a lot of help, Mrs. Taylor, really. And we won’t get in your way.”
With every word she speaks, my heart cracks and my hatred for Joanna West and everyone else who made these girls feel like a burden instead of a gift grows tenfold. I hold up a hand to stop Isis’s devastating monologue.
“That’s not what I was going to say at all, sweetheart.”
Her shoulders drop. “Oh.”
“Then what were you going to say?” Imani’s neck rolls as she asks the question, all the softness from before now gone and replaced with the age-old defense mechanism of anger. I wish I could hug her again, but I doubt she’d welcome that right now.
“Every relationship you enter into, whether personal or professional, should be based on honesty,” I tell them, my eyes on the ceiling because for whatever reason I’m a little nervous now.
“If I’m going to be your mentor, and I hope you will let me, I have a responsibility to myself, and you, to make sure I am as transparent with you as possible.
That’s why I wanted to tell you that I knew your mother, Hope, and your brother, Isaiah. ”
A short silence follows my admission, and then both girls burst out laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask, lips twitching because their amusement is contagious even when it’s at my expense.
Imani giggles harder. “Because every time Mom gave Isaiah permission to go home with AJ after school we used to beg him to let us come too. He was always bragging about how nice your house was and how cool you were. He said whenever you came home from work, you always sat with them and asked about everyone’s day. Not just AJ’s.”