Chapter 19 Freedom
Dropping the keys on the hall table, I placed the bottle of Tequila and the pack of pills beside it.
I’d called Sammie, my tour bus driver, for a connect here, and my delivery waited outside in front of the door within twenty minutes of me making the call after leaving the hospital.
My migraine had been unrelenting, with levels of pain fluctuating throughout this whole miserable day.
The best part of the day was knowing that Jamie could handle himself.
He had been proud of himself, that, though he’d been injured, he wasn’t scared.
I understood. No one wants to be scared and helpless, especially a man.
And today, my unassuming, quiet son bested two bullies.
Instead of understanding that Jamie needed that victory as a young man, all Jamaica could see was me supporting bad and aggressive behavior because she associated me with those bullies.
After all that I’d been through, I wasn’t going to allow her to define me as anything other than what I am.
Too bad, my heart and body physically ached because I loved her so.
I plopped down on the sofa and placed my head in my hands.
Jamaica made it clear over the past six weeks that she wasn’t leaving Kody.
In her eyes, though she loved me, he was worthy of her love.
She battled her feelings for me because she didn’t want to be with a man she believed would engage in unscrupulous behaviors that she was too blind to see in her own husband.
The pain of a shattered heart. The agony of losing years of my precious son’s life because his grandfather judged me as unworthy.
I needed to feel nothing and experience peace.
When I started using alcohol and drugs over ten years ago, I almost understood my father.
I didn’t know and probably would never know the demons he tried to escape through a bottle.
Life for a poor black man, who’d been in the streets, trying to raise two sons.
One headstrong and one, unable to hide his affinity towards the same sex.
Although I no longer spoke with my father, I sent him money each month.
He could pay bills or drink it up. I sent him money out of respect because he was my father.
He brought my brother and me into the world.
At one point, my parents loved each other enough to have two sons.
He didn’t have to get us from Houston when my mother died. He did because he was our father.
The night I was arrested, I could finally see his love and concern when he demanded and then pleaded to know why I was being detained.
He’d even run outside to the car, telling me that he would get me out, though I held no such hope.
Feeling utterly helpless and miserable because I had no idea why I was being hauled off to jail, and that I couldn’t even tell Jamaica that I wouldn’t be able to take her to prom.
She wouldn’t know the magical night I’d planned for us.
Instead, she would think I stood her up and would probably never forgive me.
Three days later, I was surprised when the guard said I had made bail.
My father explained on the ride home that because the jails were crowded, bail was lower than usual.
He used the rent money to free me. My father had been to prison, and no son of his would sit in vain waiting for a court date if he could help it.
He never asked if I did it or treated me as if I were a criminal.
My father simply didn’t want me spending more time than necessary locked up.
I told him that day in court, before they led me off in handcuffs, to let Peace live with our grandmother in Houston.
I told him he’d done the best he could and that I was afraid that, without me being a buffer, they might kill each other.
For some reason, my father listened, and as soon as I started earning money while in Job Corps, I sent money to him and our granny to take care of Peace.
Now that I had a son, I wondered if I would introduce them.
Maybe if he were clean and sober, I would.
Or if he’d mellowed out and didn’t judge my son for his queerness, I might.
I allowed my head to flop back on the sofa.
I had money and power, and yet I sat here alone in a dark house.
My guitar was still on the chair beside the couch from this morning.
I woke up bursting with creativity because my son was spending the night with me and had written lyrics and music for a soulful country song, The Gift of Blue, which I wanted to record as soon as I went back to Nashville.
I reached for my guitar and placed it on my lap, and strummed a few strings.
Like Lauryn Hill and Chris Brown, I was proficient in voice and rap.
I could cipher or croon with the best without hesitation.
Music had been my way to cope and way of life for so long, and today had been a crazy day of revelations, drama, and above all, family.
Being with everyone together had been surreal yet appropriate.
We were all Jamie’s family. Though it bothered me to see Jamaica comfort Kody, she was behaving as the wife and friend that she had been to him. I just wish it were me.
Jamie thrived being the center of attention.
I expected a quiet, hurt boy, possibly afraid to return to school.
Yet he was bold, confident, and intuitive enough to recognize that his two fathers were at odds.
Still can’t believe he held both our hands and told Kody and me he needed us both.
To see Kody break down as he did and hug Jamie, I realized that he’d been scared that he would lose Jamie as much as I worried he wouldn’t love me.
My fourteen-year-old had the capacity to love with his whole heart, just as I did. And my mother before me.
I hummed and picked at the guitar.
That night by the pool, playing for my family had been a glorious, almost indescribable joy.
I had isolated myself from my past so much so that even my beloved brother never saw me play for fun.
He’d only seen me in arenas and the occasional studio with others around.
This whole experience over the past two months reminded me that I had to do better by my family.
The throbbing increased, and I closed my eyes tight.
I probably needed to see a doctor about them again.
It had been a few years since I was diagnosed with chronic migraines.
I pushed up from the sofa, still holding my guitar, to get some relief.
I would only drink a glass and pop one pill.
That should be enough to ease the tension so I can sleep.
Headlights flashed across my wide window.
Only Peace knew I was here. I pulled my cell from my pocket.
No messages or calls. Shit. I hadn’t yet learned how to use my phone to look at my security cameras.
The viewing screens were toward the back of the house.
I didn’t have the time or patience for a crazed fan or journalist.
I stayed clear of any windows as I approached the door, grateful I had decided to shade the glass panes on either side of the large double doors.
It was a dark SUV that I didn’t recognize.
I scanned the space behind me, searching for a potential weapon if I needed.
Maurice stayed on me about being loose with security, and my gun was upstairs in my bedroom.
Then the door opened, and Jamaica hopped out of the backseat and hurried around to the other side. “What? Why is she here?”
Stunned, I opened the door, and a slow-moving Jamie and Jamaica walked towards me. The driver rolled down the window, and a strange woman peeked out. “Oh my God, Freedom Cade?”
Shaking my head, I said, “I get that all the time. I need to make money pretending to be him.”
Jamaica and Jamie laughed as the woman replied, “You really need to. It’s uncanny.”
“I heard that too.” I waved my hand to her. “Thank you. We’ll leave you a nice tip.”
Her smile grew wider. “Thank you.”
I met them halfway and wrapped my arms around them both. The woman blew her horn and backed out of the drive.
Jamie pulled back first. “Mama said that you probably wanted me to still spend the night.”
“I do.” I ruffled his twists. I didn’t look at Jamaica. Too afraid I would break down and cry if I did. I needed my son tonight. Proof that he was still alive, well, and mine.
“And I needed to sleep under the same roof as my son, so you have both of us tonight,” Jamaica said, giving me Jamie’s book bag to hold.
“You mean, the same bed with me?” Jamie teased.
“Yes.” She kissed his cheek. “You scared us today.”
He rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply as we approached the house. Jamie was a typical boy who believed he was invincible, which made me smile brighter.
“I’m just glad you’re here with me.” I opened the door wide for them to pass and noticed the bottle and pills too late. “Um…it’s only a little after nine. I can order something or cook something. You must be hungry.”
Jamie walked past the table without much regard, admiring the hall and living area of the five-bedroom house. “I like this house. Is it okay if I stay here tomorrow instead of going home in the morning? The doctor said I needed to take the day off.”
“Yes. You can stay with me the rest of the week if it’s okay with your mama.
It’s only two days left in school, and I didn’t have any particular plans except to pick out horses to buy for the new house.
” I rubbed my hands together in anticipation of sharing that experience with Jamie, hoping that Jamaica could tell by my alertness I hadn’t had a drink or used any pills. “You can come with me.”
Jamie grinned. “Never picked out horses.”
I shrugged. “You will now.”
“Sounds fun.” He suddenly yawned. “Um…what do you have to eat that’s here?”