Chapter 13
Dionne Henry
The Silence Broke
“Icleaned both the women and men’s bathroom. I put a sign in front of the doors, letting them know that the floor is wet. The break room is cleaned too. It’s not a lot of tissue left, so Ima swing to the store right quick to pick some up,” my daddy said, walking his handsome self in my office.
I looked up at him, and I chuckled. This man did not work for me at all. I promise he wasn’t a staff member at House of Henry, but he honestly couldn’t help himself to want to clean something or fix something whenever he came down to the warehouse.
His ass had bad OCD. I remember asking my mom, and my grandma if he was always like that, and both let me know that he’s always been neat, but it’s never been to this extent.
It’s crazy how prison will change even the smallest things about you.
I guess, living in a small space for so many years, and having to share a cell with someone else, it kind of made him a person that always wanted to have a clean space.
When my dad would come over to the warehouse, I didn’t want him to have to work, but his ass insisted.
Don’t let his ass be here on a day where inventory was coming in, or when we had a lot of orders to fulfil because he would be right in the mix with my employees, helping, getting in wherever he fit in.
“Daddy, please. You do not have to do that. I have people that I pay for that. Also, don’t go to the grocery store to get tissue.
I have someone out right now stocking up on the things that we need.
I thought that you were going to be at grandma’s house today, painting for her,” I said, taking my eyes off my desktop, and I looked at him.
By this point, he’d walked further into the office, and he took a seat at my desk.
He was dressed in clothes, as if he did get some painting done today because in the all- white that he was wearing, you could see paint on his clothes.
He wore a white top, that was a little tight, so you could see the rips in his arms, along with all the tattoos that he had.
His jeans fit him perfectly, and there was splashes of paint on them as well.
His white sneakers were filled with dried up paint too.
These days, it felt like a dream having him home.
Everything that I said I would do with him once he was released, I was doing it.
I talked to my daddy every single day. It’s only been a couple of weeks since he’s been home, and I was still making it my business to see him every day.
We’ve had so many breakfast and dinner dates.
Him, and I loved movies, so we’ve had a few movie dates too.
My dad missed out on so many things on the outside, so it was a lot of places that he hasn’t been, so one of my favorite places would be taking him to places that I’m sure he never imagined existed, just so that I could get a reaction out of him.
“I did, but I finished earlier. That’s why I came down here. I got a few gigs lined up this week. She went bragging to me to her people at church, so I got a few houses that I’m going to paint this week,” he let me know, and you could hear it in his voice how proud he was.
“I’m so proud of you daddy. You came home, and you got right to work,” I commented, happy to hear it.
When I was a little girl, I used to go with my mom down to the prison, and I would tell my dad that when he came home, I was going to be rich, give him a lot of money, and take care of him.
I kept true to my word, too. I was sitting on a lot of money.
Money that I’ve had in savings from niggas that I dealt with in the past, money left over from the check that Garrus wrote for me, and money that I was continuing to bring in from my business.
House of Henry was a money maker for sure.
The numbers that I was rolling in daily was something that had me in church every Sunday, continuing to thank God for blessing me, even when there were times that I felt like I didn’t deserve it.
With that, I was able to write out a check to my dad for one million dollars.
All my life, I have never seen my dad cry, even when he wasn’t always dealt the best cards in life.
The day I put that check in his hands, along with handing him over keys to the home that I wanted him to stay in, he cried.
He cried gangsta tears, and you know that I was right there, crying along with him.
One of the things my dad told me was that he was afraid of how he would get on his feet once he was home.
The money that I gave him, the home that I put him in, that was all the head start that he needed.
With the time that he spent in prison, he could have continued with that prison mentality, and he could have felt like he was straight with the money, and wouldn’t have to work, but that’s not what he did.
This man went out and purchased a work van because he wanted to get serious with his business.
My dad didn’t know much about the business part of it, so once he got the van, it was Tank that told my dad that he knew someone who he could take the van to and have them wrap it with his logo, and everything on it.
My dad paid for professional equipment, and he also paid for all the legalities, such as licensing and insurance.
I had my team help him out with branding, and with just the dream he had, he would go out to old churches, and homes, just knocking on doors, asking people if they needed their places painted.
He did it for free, just to get his resume up.
The thing is, he was damn good at what he was doing too. Word of mouth was getting him talked about, so he’s been booked. Because he was in the best shape of his life, he was able to climb ladders, and work long hour days, and he wouldn’t complain about it at all.
“I told you that I wasn’t going to fuck around. What time you leaving? I was going to take you to dinner,” he offered.
“In like twenty more minutes. Do you have your all black for my man’s party next weekend, or do you need me to dress you?” I asked him, and he laughed at my question.
“Hell nah. You dress a nigga too bougie, baby. That shit you had me wear to my welcome home party was too much. I don’t dress like that. Give me a Dickies two piece, and I’m good,” he said, and I groaned at his response, hating that he was still stuck in the past.
All his ass wanted to wear was Dickies two-piece outfits.
The only time that he didn’t wear them were at work or when he went to church.
The money that I’d given him, I knew that it would last him for years because my daddy didn’t spend money like that at all.
That’s another thing that had changed about him because my grandma, and my mom would say that back then, when he was a teenager hustling, he would spend his money on clothes and jewelry, wanting to be flashy.
He wasn’t like that at all, and when I asked him, he told me he wanted niggas to think that he didn’t have money, so that they wouldn’t try to rob him, forcing him to kill them, and be back in prison.
He moved like someone that was always on edge.
Someone that felt like everybody was always out to get him.
I knew that it would take a while for him to rid himself of that mindset.
“You better not come to his birthday party with a Dickies two-piece on, daddy. I said on the invite that it was formal wear, only,” I let him know, and he sat there smiling, not giving a damn about what I was saying because knowing him, he was going to play by his own rules, and do what he wanted to do.
I finished up in the office, and then I powered off my desktop.
I grabbed my purse, and my phone that was sitting on the desk, and my dad was already standing by the door, keeping it open for me.
We walked out to the front of the warehouse, where some of my crew was still here, finishing up orders for the day.
My eyes left the work that they were doing, and it transferred over to the building glass windows.
I could see someone walking up, and it had gotten my attention.
It was the fact that they were walking so fast that it had caused me to look.
My dad noticed it too because he quickly glanced over, looking to see who it was that was walking in.
I never had to wonder for too long because when he walked in, he had the exact face as his father.
I’ve never seen him in person before, but I’ve seen pictures of him.
This was Garrus’s son. He was his Jr. His oldest son, and he literally looked like Garrus had spit him right out.
I knew that it wasn’t a friendly visit from the mug that was on his face.
He looked extremely angry. My dad noticed it as well, which is why he reached his hand back for me, putting it on my waist, backing me up, as he walked over to see what was going on.
“What’s up? You good? Can I help you with something?” my dad asked.
His tone wasn’t one that was angry, but it was very assertive. I stood here, my heart rapidly beating because this moment reminded me a lot of the moment that took place at my birthday dinner last year. Garrus’s wife walked in, and not even a minute later, she was pulling her gun out, shooting me.
“I’m good man. You actually can help me. You can help me by moving the fuck out of my way,” he spat, and when he said that, he tried to cross by my dad, and like a raging pitbull, he was trying to get to me, but my dad was faster than him.
My dad went for him, grabbing at his neck, putting him in a tight tear hug.
He had his forearm tightly around his neck, and with his free hand, he felt around Garrus’s son, reaching at his waist, where he pulled out a gun, and he tossed it to the floor, kicking it behind him, having it land at my feet.
“Daddy, stop! Just let him go!” I yelled out, not wanting him to get into any trouble.