Chapter Fourteen
“How has your time been with Avila?” Bryan asked Terence on New Year’s Eve.
Terence set the stack of textbooks on the coffee table, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Fine.”
“Good to hear. When we talked about her last time, you seemed very interested in her.”
“I am, but I think the prospect of us ever getting together is a mere wish, not a reality.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that too much, man. If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.”
Terence wanted to take his advice, but he could feel himself getting restless. “We’ve been apart from one another for so long
that I don’t want to lose her again. That’s all.”
“I get that. But you can’t get too attached. If she isn’t feeling the same way about you that you do about her, then there’s
nothing you can do about that.”
Terence pressed his lips together. Again, Bryan was making sense, but he didn’t understand his friendship with Avila. “We
were pretty close back in the day.”
“That was a long time ago. Things change. I’m not trying to dampen your hope or anything. I’m just wanting you to make sure that you don’t get too caught and then end up getting your hopes dejected.”
His words bounced around in Terence’s mind. He remembered how she never returned to South Carolina after she left for college.
But now he could also see that she had been busy with school, busy with Ebony’s father.... When she found out that she
was pregnant, Avila’s world changed. Terence only wished that Avila had trusted him enough to let him know her situation early
on. He also remembered the way Avila looked at him that day when they practiced kissing all those years ago, and the way he
smoothed his thumb over her lower lip. There was no way that he would tell all this to Bryan, however. He’d only persist in
his advice.
He remembered things he hadn’t even told Bryan about. Like the way she stood stoically at her mother’s funeral, and the way
she stared vacantly the day her father had left them. Terence loved her like no one else could, and she knew it. If only she
could let him in, he would spend the rest of his life proving he would never leave her.
New Year’s Eve was uneventful for Avila and Ebony. They watched the Times Square ball drop on television, then they went to
bed. Samantha called and invited Ebony over for the afternoon. Judging by the joy her daughter exuded while eating a bowl
of chicken noodle soup, she was happy to spend more time with Heather.
After she left, Avila pushed the tables and chairs away from the wall in the kitchen. Paint fumes from the day before still
hung in the air and filled her nostrils.
When she finished trimming the baseboards, she figured she could paint all the walls with a roller today and apply a second coat tomorrow. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could get the house on the market.
She pried off the paint lid easily and set it on the kitchen counter. The roller and pans were in a bag in the backyard, so
she went to retrieve them. Outside, the air was thick with the smell of rain, and dark clouds gathered. The wind whipped her
ponytail against her face, brushing it against her cheek.
She reached over to get the rest of the paint supplies, hoping to make it back inside before the rain fell. In her hurry,
she tripped on the rock they used to prop open the back door, jamming her bare toes. The back door slammed shut, and it was
locked. She had left her keys inside the house.
“Great. Just what I need on New Year’s Day.” She tried to jimmy the door open, but it was stuck. The wind picked up. Before
she knew it, she would be stuck in the rain. The familiar odor of dirt and old garden tools took her back fifteen years. Her
hand fumbled with the doorknob, and she made a mental note to make a spare key on her next trip to the store. Her mind tried
to remember all the ways that one could pick a lock. She’d left her wallet in the house too, so she couldn’t use her credit
card to try to unlatch the lock. She didn’t have a spare screwdriver either.
Her hand turned the knob, but it didn’t give. She jiggled the knob frantically, her arm muscles straining. She shoved her
body against the door fruitlessly.
Think. Think. Don’t panic.
Why was this happening to her now? Why wasn’t Ebony here to help? Being stuck outside in the backyard reminded her of the
day when she sat out here after a performance of A Raisin in the Sun . Avila had been so bummed that her father hadn’t shown up, and she needed time alone to think. She had sat on the patio chair,
hoping and praying that her father would stop by and apologize profusely and tell her that it was an honest mistake. But he
didn’t.
Avila pushed the memory away and peered through the rear window. She then tried to jimmy it open too. Outside, the wind picked
up, shaking the tree limbs.
Maybe she could bust the door open or something. She could put her full body weight against the door and try to open it that
way. Then she’d need to repair it later, which would be more work. She took a deep breath and shoved her body against the
door like a battering ram. Nothing.
Now Avila’s side hurt. She wasn’t doing that again. She sat on the patio chair, her chest heaving. The door wasn’t going to
budge.
Avila slumped in the chair and eyed a shovel, which was propped against the house. How could a shovel help her open the door?
It couldn’t. It was too thick to slide in between the doorjamb. She’d have to wait for someone to arrive.
If only Ebony were home! Samantha had said she’d call later in the afternoon before she brought Ebony back, but Avila wouldn’t
be inside to answer the phone.
Ms. Mable was her only hope, a very slim hope. Avila couldn’t imagine Ms. Mable being able to pry open a door. She’d go over
there and see if Ms. Mable was home.
Avila headed to the front yard and then made her way to Ms. Mable’s house. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. That wasn’t a good
sign. Once there, Avila knocked on Ms. Mable’s door, hoping that she was home.
“Ms. Mable?” she said, knocking again. Avila resisted the urge to yell her name, not wanting to draw attention from the neighbors. Avila pressed her ear against the door. Maybe Ms. Mable couldn’t hear her? After a few moments, she accepted the fact that Ms. Mable wasn’t there. How many hours would she have to stay outside until someone arrived? This was the pits.
She trudged back over to her house and sat on the front stoop, waiting. The branches of a tree scraped against the side of
the house and sent a shiver up her spine. An old memory resurfaced.
It was the night after her father had left them. Avila waited all day for her mother to come home. She wondered what would
happen if her mother didn’t. Avila had heard about orphanages and foster care, and the thought of leaving home was scarier
than the thought of staying.
Her mother got home after dark. Avila was in the living room, waiting for her to arrive. When her mother walked in the door,
her eyes were red from crying. She went straight to the refrigerator, and Avila heard the sucking sound of the opening and
the shifting of food containers.
Avila remained on the love seat. She pulled her knees to her chest and held them tight. It seemed like an hour before her
mother came back into the living room. She stopped short when she saw Avila, as if she had forgotten she had a daughter.
“Your father isn’t back. I hoped he’d be here.”
Avila pulled her legs closer and looked down at the white fabric of her long T-shirt stretched across her knees. She had watched the sun set from the living room, and she had watched the first stars of the night shine in the sky. As they appeared Avila made a silent wish that her father would return, but her instincts said he wouldn’t. A na?ve wish, probably.
Still, she asked, “Will Dad come back?”
“I don’t think so, baby.” The heaviness in her mother’s voice shook Avila. “Maybe if we pray, he’ll return. But if not, we
will be okay. Together. Just the two of us.”
“But my father is part of our family too.”
“Not anymore. But you can pray.”
Avila’s insides felt hollow, like the emptiness would swallow her whole. Maybe she could run away and find her father somehow.
“Do you know where he went?” she asked.
Her mother’s eyes flickered, and she pursed her lips.
Her mother didn’t know where Dad had gone. She could see it in the set of her mother’s mouth. Avila imagined herself packing
up and taking a cab to find him. Terence’s parents would give her money. They were always doing nice things for her. Yes,
she could take a taxi or something and find him. Her mother couldn’t fault her for trying to do that. A seed of hope sprang
up in her for the first time.
“Where did he go?” Avila asked again.
“I don’t know where your father is! Even if I did, I can’t convince him to stay if he doesn’t want to be with us.”
Avila’s eyes stung, but she blinked hard. “My father will come back.”
“We can hope.”
Avila choked back the lump in her throat. She had to find her father. She couldn’t stay here. “I’m going to pray that he comes
back.”
Avila headed to her room and opened her closet door. She had heard people at church talking about going into a prayer closet. This would be her prayer closet, the one where she’d pray until her father returned. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
The darkness closed in and pressed against her body. It swelled, filling the closet with a presence all its own.
Avila clutched a handful of clothing and squeezed tight. A moment later, the floorboards squeaked, and she prayed and prayed
and prayed until her legs gave way and she sank to the floor.
Avila slept like that, a shoe cutting into her back, her head against a stack of jeans she’d outgrown. She didn’t come out
until morning, hopeful that her father would be there in the kitchen, drinking coffee, reading the newspaper. He wasn’t there.
Now, sitting on the front porch, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and closed her eyes. A peal of thunder shattered
the air, and she jolted. She clenched her trembling fingers into tight fists and tried to still the storm inside her. She
had tried that prayer closet routine for months, until she eventually gave up. Prayers didn’t work. No one was coming to save
her. Avila had to save herself.