Chapter 55 Ari
Ari
Captain Harris’ funeral is small and somber.
It’s not like the homegoings I’m used to. There’s no celebration here, no exuberant send off. It’s just sadness.
I pay my respects to his family, who all look happy to see me alive and well.
Well, I'm alive at least.
I don’t know about well.
Me and my belly are done with funerals. Captain Dorsey’s was yesterday. I feel bad for feeling relieved, but it’s just too much grief for me, especially when I’m still processing everything.
Vincent, though—I remember what Ashara said. He has five people to grieve. So even though it hurts, I guess it makes sense that we haven’t talked since we’ve been back.
By the time the Uber drops me back off at my parents’ house in Tally, my head feels like it’s full of fog.
And I think I’m finally ready to call Luca.
On the way up the driveway, I pass a black SUV and wonder who’s visiting. Then I catch a glimpse of today’s newspaper—Daddy still gets the print edition. The headline is annoying. Stranded for 268 Days: Rapper Vincent “Villain” Newcastle and Flight Attendant Found Alive on Remote Island
I roll my eyes at it and keep walking.
Inside, it looks like a flower shop exploded. There have to be at least ten dozen roses. Maybe more.
And we have a guest.
An older black woman stands in the living room, tablet in hand, smile too bright.
“Hi,” I greet her as I toe off my shoes. “Are you here to see my parents?”
“No, dear. They let me in. I’m here to see you. My name is Dorinda.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ariana. Why—“
“I’m your personal coordinator. Hired by Mr. Newcastle.”
I ease onto the couch and blow out a sigh. “My what?”
She gives a small laugh. “Your personal coordinator,” she repeats like that’ll make it plain. “Mr. Newcastle hired me to handle all logistics on your behalf.”
“Logistics?”
“Yes. He’s made arrangements for you to see a Dr. Connie Ellery. She’s one of the best obgyns in Atlanta.”
“I don’t live in Atlanta.”
Dorinda doesn’t even flinch. “Yes, that’s the next matter. Mr. Newcastle has leased you a house in Hillcrest.”
I burst out laughing at that. I don’t even live there and I know Hillcrest is one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Atlanta. The new Buckhead, so they say.
“He insists that you and the baby be in a secure, peaceful environment.”
“Secure and peaceful,” I repeat. “Interesting.”
She keeps going, listing items like she’s reading a shopping order from heaven. House staff, meals, car service, prenatal wellness, beauty treatments. But by the time she’s finished, I just feel pissed off.
“Tell me something, Dorinda.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Has Mr. Newcastle scheduled an actual conversation with me, or do I need to make an appointment?”
She takes a seat at the other end of the couch, her face stern but understanding.
“If you’re free this evening, Mr. Newcastle would like to come here and speak with you. And your parents.”
I close my eyes. “My head is spinning.”
She doesn’t respond to that.
“How about…leave me your phone number and I’ll text you an answer.”
It’s quiet for a moment, then she says, “This is for you.”
When I open my eyes, she’s holding a cellphone out to me. “It’s preprogrammed with important contacts. Mr. Newcastle and myself.”
I take it, but before I can say anything, she dips her head, gathers her things, and walks out the door.
The silence she leaves behind is full of questions.
“Well.”
Daddy steps into the room. I can tell by his eyebrows that he’s been listening.
“Sounds like Mr. Newcastle is on top of things.”
I shrug. “Not everything.”
“He sent these lovely flowers.”
“Oh, those are all from him?”
Daddy nods.
“Interesting.”
He sits where Dorinda was and studies me for a minute. “You trust him?”
“On the island, no question. He took care of me, Daddy. He kept me safe. But now, I don’t know where things stand.”
He nods, quiet for a moment. “I’m sure he’s dealing with a lot.”
“That’s what Shara said.”
He puts a hand on my foot. “I’m grateful to him. Because now I have you back.”
“And I’m grateful to you,” I say. “Shara told me you cashed in your retirement to hire the search team.”
“Of course I did.” He clears his throat, blinking back tears, which shocks the hell out of me. “Either you were alive out there somewhere, or you were gone. Either way, I was bringing my baby home.”
At that, I start to cry. Daddy reaches over and wipes my tears, brushing my braids back off my face.
“You’re hurt,” he says. “I can see it on your face.”
“Maybe. A little.”
“I’ll hear him out,” he says. “But ultimately, it’s gonna be about what he shows you, not what he says. Men talk a lot, and sometimes, a lotta times, it don’t mean a damn thing.”
“I remember you telling us that,” I say, sniffling. “I never forgot it.”
“Good.” He chuckles to himself. “I’ll be honest. I never saw you with a rapper. Or a younger man."
I sniff, drying my face with my sleeve.
“That makes two of us.”