Taking on the Tysons: One Woman's Fight for Justice

By Rochelle Lee

When eighteen-year-old Charity Michaels left her hometown of Whitstokes, Michigan, twenty years ago, she never intended to return. That changes when her childhood friend, Marissa Tyson, is charged with murdering her husband, the Reverend. James Tyson II. Now an attorney, Charity feels obligated to come to Marissas defense.

Charity resolves to prove Marissas innocence, especially since the body has never been found. She believes that Reverend James Tyson II, the eldest offspring of the Tyson dynasty and the heir of millions, simply abandoned his naive wife in pursuit of greener pastures. But without any tangible evidence, her supposition is like the windits stirring but invisible and therefore useless.

Never one to back down from a fight, Charity searches relentlessly and eventually stumbles upon some persuasive evidence. Unfortunately, before she can expose her findings to the authorities, she makes a thoughtless decision that leaves both her and her friend vulnerable. With only forty-eight hours remaining before the final hearing, Charity scrambles to recover from her costly mistake and save Marissa.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475928365

Rochelle Lee

Rochelle Lee serves as pastor of Mount Moriah Ministries in Griffin, Georgia. She is also the author of My Life as a Single Christian: How I Survived. Lee and her husband, Apostle Charles Lee, have a total of eight children and eighteen grandchildren; they live in Jonesboro, Georgia.

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Copyright © 2012 by Rochelle Lee

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-2835-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2836-5 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2837-2 (dj)

Contents

Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to the memories of:

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Confession Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Final Chapter

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Thanks to my husband, Charles Lee for being my personal editor. I appreciate all the times you stopped your activities (including watching the television), to listen to my jumbled thoughts as I struggled to best tell the story I envisioned. Your expressions of surprise, anger, disgust and the hearty laughs encouraged me to keep writing until I saw it materialize into a book. Thanks sweetie, I love you so much.

Thanks to my brothers, Daniel, Ronald, Wesley, Rico, Deautre, and Rubin Butler for always wanting the best for me and spoiling me rotten. I love you guys so much.

Thanks to my father, R.L. Butler for treating me the way every little girl deserves to be treated, like a Princess. Love you daddy.

Thanks to my sisters-in-love, Ivy aka Rail, Patrice, Kym, and Nikita for allowing your husbands to be so kind to me. Love you guys.

Finally, thanks to all my babies, Johnny (Natasha), Christ (Aubree), Nicole, Charnise (Christopher), Percell, and Chasten and all my grands for understanding my need to be more than… Love y’all!!!

This book is dedicated to the memories of:

My mother, Evangelist Fannie Lee Butler the woman whose mantle I bear with gratitude and humility.

My big sister, Ms. Dora Mae Winters the woman who believed I could do anything.

My sister-in-love, Ms. Phyllis Marie Butler, she encouraged me to reach for the stars.

First Lady Gwendolyn Renee Giden. She helped me embrace the role of preacher’s wife, a role she lived with such finesse that I didn’t realize how valuable she was until she was gone.

Chapter I

Whit stokes, Michigan is a small town, population thirty-five hundred and thirty-six, add or take away a few. I’m not certain of the number but I’m certain that I loathe the town more than my dental cleanings. In my opinion, it’s a terminal Island of sorts, a place where people are birthed and buried but nobody ever leaves.

Eight generations of my family had succumbed to Whit stokes andI’d only escaped after a heated argument with my father. I vowed to never return again but now I was rushing back to assist my childhood friend, Marissa Tyson. She had been arrested and charged with the murder of her husband, Reverend James Tyson II.

It had been some years since I had last seen Marissa but I still couldn’t imagine her being capable of harming the man she loved so much. I believe the only offense she’s guilty of is poor decision making. She married a Tyson.

They are a pompous people that treated those less fortunate than themselves poorly. Regrettably, Marissa’s family fell into that category. Still there were others who would swear their feelings of superiority had nothing to do with the rift. But that Marissa’s mother, Mrs. Roses Thomas, and her open disregard for the Tyson name were to blame. She accused them of being a power thirsty and incestuous family.

She would often and boldly say, That entire family is sick in the head. They’ll do anything to keep their money in their family. Marylyn and James are the children of two Tyson brothers. The mothers were impoverished women who were paid for their services and then sent away. I know of their wicked doings because one of those women was a close friend of my family.

She also openly rejected their claim of being the founding family of Whit stokes, and would voice her belief at all celebratory gatherings. She would say, Any idiot knows the Native Americans were the first inhabitants of this land. All this belonged to my people, who trusted others, who were not trustworthy. I’m certain one of my forefathers owned this town and your family stole it from them.

However, the town records listed Mr. Whit Stokes Tyson, a retired army general, as founder. And Marylyn Franklin Tyson made certain that none of us forgot.

Marylyn was the matriarch and head of the family. Her husband, James Tyson Senior had suddenly passed, months before their youngest of four children were born. Oddly enough she never remarried. I often wondered about her choice to remain a widow because she was an attractive woman.

She had brown,shoulder length hair with brown eyes, petite nose, full lips and a flawless creamy colored complexion. From her outward appearance one would be easily misled by her attractiveness and overly feminine mannerisms. But lurking beneath the 6’2" tall, wide hipped frame was an evil, spiteful and arrogant woman.

She made certain the dispute between the families remained alive and demanded that all residents of Whit stokes chose a side. Unfortunately, all of the residents, with the exception of my mother, sided with the Tyson family.

I smiled as her face came to mind. She died over twenty years ago and the void left from her death had grown instead of diminishing.

My mother, Alice Renee Johnston was a gorgeous woman. She was 5’7" tall with plump, full breasts, a small waist, wide hips and a firm round bottom. Her light brown curly hair hung down to her waist and she had a pair of sparkling, light- brown eyes, which enhanced her brown, caramelized complexion.

It was difficult watching her transform from a vibrant, full-figured woman into a weak and frail being. Both of her breasts removed, her long pretty hair burnt up, and voluptuous figure mercilessly devoured by chemotherapy.

It was her second time undergoing the treatment and needless to say, it was taking a toll on her. She’d lost her appetite, suffered with insomnia and had been bedridden for about three months.

However, two weeks before her death she mustered up enough strength to get out of her bed and take me shopping and to lunch.

Charity, I want us to spend the entire day together. I’ll be leaving soon, and I’ll need you to be strong for your father.

I stared at her with my eyebrows touching together.

Charity, I’m tired of fighting. I want to rest with my heavenly father.

I shook my head from side to side.

Momma, you’re saying you want to die?

She sighed softly. Baby, everybody has got to leave here one day. It’s my time and I’m not afraid to go. I’m ready to leave.

She smiled, grabbed my hands and held them in hers. My pupils automatically shifted downward and I shuddered. I hadn’t realized how small her hands had become.

Daddy says he’s found a doctor who can make you better… I forced my pupils back to hers but she was staring off with a faint smile on her face.

… and the entire church is praying for you and I’m praying too. I know God is going to heal you. I’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t. It just wouldn’t be fair.

Her face became stern and her pupils quickly shifted back to mine. She stared at me for a moment with her lips tucked together and then she exhaled.

Princess, don’t be angry with God. She shook her head from side to side. He is the source of all things. If you become angry with Him you disconnect from life. She squeezed my hand tenderly.

Don’t forget, if it wasn’t for God you wouldn’t be here. The doctors told me I couldn’t have children. I prayed for ten years and God blessed me to get pregnant, she removed her hands from mine and pointed her finger at me, with you.

She nodded her head up and down. Your father was so excited. He had prayed for a boy but after seeing how much you looked like him it didn’t matter that you were a girl.

She laughed and I smiled. My dad and I still shared many physical characteristics. We were the same height, 5’3"tall, with red curly hair, freckled cheeks, light brown eyes, round protruding noses and vanilla complexions. The only differences were his broad shoulders and muscular frame. Thankfully, I inherited those features from my mother along with her spunky attitude.

Momma closed her eyes, winced and took several quick breaths before opening them again and staring at me.

Charity, do you remember the meaning of your name?

I sighed softly. She always asked the same question whenever she talked about my conception.

Yes momma, I remember.

She stared at me with her head slightly tilted to the side. I rolled my eyes up in my head and sighed loudly before I answered.

Charity Menno, it means love abides and outshines all.

She nodded her head up and down as she extended her frail hand and ran her slender fingers through my hair.

We need to leave now, baby. The medication is wearing off and I want to lie down.

I drove us home that evening and helped my mother into bed. Two weeks later she was gone. That fateful evening is still the worse memory of my life.

Dr. Henry was our family physician. He was a small framed African-American man, about 5’ tall and in his mid-sixties. He was totally bald on the top of his head with patches of grey coarse hair sporadically located just above his ears and at the base of his neck. He was brown complexion with dark brown eyes, a pug nose and thin lips.

He was usually a kind and humorous man, who always took time to talk to everyone he encountered but that evening he wasn’t like himself. I was seated on the big sofa in the sitting room watching television when Mindy, our housekeeper, opened the door for him. He rushed past her and into my parents’ bedroom without acknowledging either one of us.

Twenty minutes later he walked from my parents’ bedroom with red, misty eyes and his stethoscope hanging around his neck.

Charity, I’m so sorry, but…your…mother…she just… she just passed away.

I was still trying to digest his words when my father’s anguished filled cries began to echo throughout our home. Tears immediately gushed from my eyes and it felt as if my heart stopped beating. I couldn’t believe this was happening. At forty seven years of age, my mother had lost her two year battle with breast cancer.

No, ah… sob… not yet, not now, ugh… Alice, I can’t live without you. God, please…please give her back to me.

Hearing my father’s voice brought her words to my mind, Charity, I’ll need you to be strong for your father. My body seemed to move on its own as it propelled past Dr. Henry’s outstretched arms and toward my parents’ bedroom. But when I saw my normally composed father on his knees at the bedside, holding my mother’s limp body snuggly in his muscular arms, all I could do was stare.

Ugh, ah, sob… Alice… ah… Alice, oh God… please don’t you do this to me.

He repeatedly kissed on her face and wouldn’t allow the nurse or Dr. Henry to touch her body. He was still holding onto her when Mr. Potts the funeral director finally arrived, after what seemed like hours later.

Mr. Potts was Whit stokes only mortician. He’d been trained by his father and had been handling the remains of the deceased since he was twelve years old.

I didn’t care for him and my mother hadn’t either. He was an uppity, lust filled man, and he treated everyone without a six figure income subservient.

He was an African-American but was so light complexioned that he looked more Caucasian, an association he adamantly despised. He was in his late fifties, about 5’8" tall with a flat backside and huge pot belly that he tried to hide under expensive, oversized dress suits. His head was clean shaven and shiny, and he had hazel colored captivating eyes, which he used to seduce both single and married women alike.

Yet, despite his obvious flaws, and lack of moral decency everyone in Whit stokes were always overly kind to him. My mother had her theory as to why people treated him so kindly. I overheard her say, They do it because they know he will have the final say over their last public appearance before going to their final resting place. If you piss him off he’ll make you look like a clown. If you treat him kindly you get to look like a prince or princess no matter what you were while you were living.

I gazed at Mr. Potts out the corner of my eye.He stood in the doorway with his lips twisted to the side, while staring at the back of daddy’s head.

Um… Mr. Potts, we need to get her out of here.

My pupils shifted over to Dr. Henry. He was glaring at Mr. Potts and periodically shifted his pupils between my father and me.

Oh… um… of course… Mr. Potts glanced over at me and then motioned two stocky men into the room toward the bed.

But my father held her body so tightly that Mr. Potts was forced to join the two men. I stood in the doorway the entire time, watching them wrestle her limp body from my father’s arms.

Move quickly. Dr. Henry sputtered out while struggling to hold onto my father.

We’re moving, we’re moving. Mr. Potts yelled back at him.

When they finally got momma’s body loaded onto the stretcher they immediately rolled the stretcher from the room. They rolled it so fast that a breeze brushed against my face. My hand moved up to my nostrils and my head automatically turned after them. The breeze smelled just like my mother. I stood with my fingertips touching my nostrils and watched as they rolled her away.

Seconds later I felt my father’s body brush against me as he scurried to keep up with them. I instinctively followed behind him but stopped following when he continued out the door. He walked outside and stood in the driveway directly behind the hearse and shook his head from side to side. Even when the vehicle began to move down the driveway my father was still standing there staring down the road after them. Daddy didn’t move from that spot until our pastor, Reverend Wendell Tyson arrived. I’m not sure what he said to daddy but it wasn’t long before the two of them began walking toward the house.

I watched both men intently as they neared the doorway but my eyes eventually became fixed on Reverend Tyson. In my opinion, he was the creepiest preacher I’d ever seen.

He was attractive like the other Tyson men but not at all appealing. He stood about 6’7" tall and looked to weigh well over three hundred pounds. His shoulders were bulky and wide, and he had thick muscular arms and oversized hands. His complexion was light- brown and he had light- brown eyes, a thin nose, thin lips and a bald head. He always wore bland colored suits, and had an eerie sounding base voice that made me cringe.

John, I’m sorry about your loss but know that God will help you.

I shivered and searched my father’s face to see his response to Reverend Tyson’s apathetic offer of condolences. But it was difficult to know what daddy was thinking. His facial expression was listless and his eyes were distant and red.

I opened the door and stepped to the side. They both walked inside though neither acknowledged my presence. Yet, I followed them, though I lagged a few feet behind.

Today was a very nice day.

Yes it was a nice day. My father mumbled.

Did you guys redecorate?

Um… no, it’s the same.

I shook my head from side to side while listening to Reverend Tyson make small talk with my grieving father. It was ridiculous. I remember almost breaking into laughter until I saw the pink palm of his huge hand in my face.

Hmm… young lady, I think you should wait out here. He gave me a half smile and then closed the door in my face. I just stood there, outside our family room, staring at the door. After a moment I hunched my shoulders, walked over to the corner of the room and sat down on the floor.

I couldn’t believe my mother was dead. I was only seventeen years old.She wasn’t supposed to die, not yet. This meant she would miss my high school graduation and prom, my wedding day and even the birth of my children. I leaned my head back on my shoulders, closed my eyes and exhaled as tears gathered behind my closed eyelids.

Bump… clatter… brush… brush… swooshes… swoosh…

My eyes popped opened and my head automatically leaned forward. I looked into my parents’ bedroom. Some of the ladies of our congregation had arrived and were moving carelessly about, knocking over chairs, bumping into dressers and into each other.

I wiped my eyes with the palms of my hands and just stared at them with my mouth wide opened. Momma would never have allowed them inside her bedroom. She didn’t allow anyone but her and daddy into their bedroom. Not even Mindy was permitted to enter.

But there they were rummaging through momma’s closet and her jewelry, while the nurse threw the bed linen into bags and sprayed aerosol in the air. I could feel my face reddened as I watched them laughing and talking as if she wasn’t dead.

Knock…knock…knock…

I shifted my pupils toward the front door and exhaled softly when I saw the Thomas’ walk through the doorway.

Mrs. Roses Thomas was a beautiful and proud, fifth generation, Native American. Her dark, black hair was always worn parted down the middle and ended in one thick braid which hung down her back and ended at the top of her buttocks. Her skin tone was a rosy, light brown and her cheeks were high and taut. She was barely five feet tall and weighed just over a hundred pounds but made up in courage what she lacked in height and weight.

Mr. Percy Thomas, on the other hand, was 7’2" tall, dark complexion (so dark you could actually see traces of blue in his skin) with dark brown eyes, an oversized flat nose, full lips and short, black coarse hair. He looked to weigh nearly 400 pounds and had a baritone voice that was so powerful it made the walls tremble when he laughed. He wasn’t an attractive man but he was kind and gentle natured, resembling the fairy tale ogre committed to protecting the villagers.

I was grieving but I still noticed how odd the two looked standing side by side with their hands clasped together. Mrs. Thomas’ pupils were scanning the room and when our pupils met she smiled. Then she slipped her hand from Mr. Thomas’ and walked over to the corner of the room where I sat. She squatted in front of me and stared into my eyes.

It’s tough right now but you’ll get through this, I promise.

She pinched my freckled cheeks softly, and then glanced over her shoulders at the ladies in my parents’ bedroom. She turned her head and looked at me again before rising to her feet.

Ladies, instead of rummaging through Alice’s belongings, I think her memory could be better honored by preparing a snack for her husband and daughter.

The laughter from the room stopped and they all stared at her with their noses turned upward and eyebrows raised high.

So please follow me back here so that we can prepare them something to eat.

None of the six or more ladies inside the bedroom moved. Mrs. Thomas walked over to the doorway of the bedroom, clapped her hands together and stated her desire more forcefully.

Now ladies, let’s go now.

She pointed them toward the kitchen, all the while ignoring their disdainful looks and sighs. One by one they slowly dropped items and filed out the room. Mrs. Thomas winked her eye at me after the last woman walked out, and then she headed into the kitchen with Mr. Thomas following closely behind.

After they’d all cleared the room Marissa, the Thomas’ only child came and joined me in the corner of the room. Marissa was 6’ tall with a slender frame and weighed about 105 pounds. She had a copper toned complexion with hair like her mother and a nose and lips like her father. She loved her hair but hated her nose and lips.

I watched her walking toward me with her head slightly raised and her shoulders slumped. She was wearing a green tee-shirt, a pair of faded blue jean coveralls and a tattered pair of black sneakers.

She slid to the floor and just stared at me with her dark brown eyes while twisting the ends of her hair with her finger. We’d been best friends since pre-school and usually when the two of us were together we were little chatter boxes. But on that day we didn’t talk. We just sat with our hands clasped together staring into the open space.

Soon enough the open space was filled with people who were laughing and talking loudly while eating and drinking. I wasn’t certain how long people stayed for such things but I was tired and wished they would leave. But I didn’t expect to get that wish anytime soon. More people had just arrived and I overheard someone say that more were on the way. I watched my father laugh and talk with everyone but I could look at his eyes and tell he was exhausted too.

Mrs. Thomas, evidently being more perceptive than the others took it upon her to end the party. She walked to the center of the room, cleared her throat loudly and after getting everyone’s attention began to speak in a polite but firm tone.

John and Charity both thank you all for coming to show your support and love for them in such a trying time. However, those of us that have walked in their shoes do understand how taxing this time is on a family. So please, feel free to call or visit in a few days.

She then walked to the door, opened it wide and smiled as she motioned for them to leave. Marissa and I snickered as they paraded out the door. I’m certain Mrs. Thomas heard their insulting comments but she never responded nor did she stop smiling.

After everyone left she walked over and extended her hands to me and Marissa and pulled us to our feet. She turned to my father who was back in the bedroom standing near the bed crying.

John, you need to rest.

Mrs. Thomas stood at the door of the bedroom with one arm wrapped around my waist and the other around Marissa’s. Daddy turned and looked at us. He looked so weak. His eyes were red, and his face was stained with tears. I wasn’t sure he would survive without momma in his life.

Come on John. You’ve been ordered to bed by the boss. Mr. Thomas walked into the room and draped his right arm over daddy’s shoulder. But don’t take it personal. She orders me around all the time.

Enjoy it while you can. I don’t have a boss anymore. Daddy dropped his head.

I know but someone still needs you. Mr. Thomas glanced over his shoulder andMrs. Thomas gently pushed me toward him.Daddy looked over his shoulder and that’s when he seemed to remember that I was there.

Ah… princess, he walked over to me and kissed me on my forehead. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine.

I wanted to believe him but I had a gut feeling that life for us would never be just fine again, and that feeling proved to be right. After that night life for daddy and me took an unusual turn. We had always been a close knitted family but the thread that held us together was gone and our relationship quickly unraveled.

Daddy buried himself in his work and was seldom at home. Even when he was at home he spent his time locked inside their bedroom. As a result, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas became more like my parents instead of friends of the family.

I don’t think I could have kept my sanity had it not been for them. They had me over every weekend and everyday after school. Mrs. Thomas wouldn’t have it any other way. She helped me with homework, gave advice about boys and scolded me as needed.

Mr. Thomas became the male influence in my life. I even begin calling him Papa like Marissa and he referred to us as his girls. The Thomas’s were not rich people. But they had what most families didn’t. They had love, so much love that they never seemed to notice how poor they really were.

Mr. Thomas owned a small corn field and sold to area residents. Mrs. Thomas was a seamstress and helped supplement the family’s income by sewing for the upper class women.

In her younger days she had dreamed of becoming a big city fashion designer. However, after she and Mr. Thomas met she traded in that dream to become his wife.

My family in contrast had all the luxuries that made us a part of the elite. My father was an architect and contractor. He operated his own business with a staff of thirty or more workers depending on the season.

Our home consisted of eight bedrooms, four full baths and two half baths. It had been designed and built by my father as a wedding gift to my mother.

The home set on over twenty acres of land and our backyard resembled a vacation resort. There was a fenced, thirty eight by thirty eight feet, in-ground swimming pool, along with a moderate sized pool house and a golf course, which the men at church often took advantage of. We also had a clubhouse that housed a king sized billiard table, pinball machines, a fitness room and a host of other amenities to keep you entertained.

Nonetheless, I still preferred being at the two bedroom shack that the Thomas’ called their home. And that two bedroom shack became even more enjoyable after my father remarried without giving me any advance notice. He just walked in one day and presented his new and young wife to me.

Charity, Charity, come quickly. I’ve got some…um… well good news to share with you.

I walked out of my bedroom and found my father standing at the bottom of the stair case. His right arm was wrapped around a young woman’s waist and he wore a huge smile on his face.

Hello, princess. Something great has happened for the both of us. This is my new wife and …uh…um…He looked at the woman that stood beside him and smiled. …your stepmother.

He hunched his shoulders and looked at me. I narrowed my eyes and shifted my pupils between the two of them.He had chosen Gloria Tyson, a woman half his age, and just six months after my mother’s death.

Even worse, she was Marylyn Tyson’s only daughter, the youngest of four, and just as attractive as the rest of her family. She had brown eyes and a vanilla complexion. She was about 5’11" tall with a small waist, wide hips and dark brown hair that danced on her protruding backside when she walked. She was also well endowed, a size fifty eight DD. (I discovered her cup size while going through her personal items after she had moved into our home).

I already know Gloria and she’s too young to be your wife or my stepmother. And did you forget that momma was her Sunday school teacher?

My father slipped his hand from her waist and moved closer to the steps with his finger pointed at me.

Charity, I won’t tolerate your disrespect of my wife.

John…

He glanced over his shoulder with his forehead crinkled but relaxed after looking at Gloria. She smiled at him.

Some things take time. You don’t need to fix everything today.

Daddy sighed, faced the stairway and beckoned me toward him. I walked down the steps, dragging my feet every step of the way until I was face to face with him. He gazed into my eyes and spoke in a slow and steady manner.

Princess, your mother is dead. My remaining alone won’t bring her back. She’s gone and she will always hold a special place in my heart. But life goes on.

I raised my eyebrows and glared at him and then over at Gloria.

Yeah, I guess so.

He exhaled loudly and threw his hands up in the air. Charity, I’ve got to keep on living. Your mother would have wanted us to keep living. He pointed his finger back and forth between him and me.

But I never bought into the idea that his marrying Gloria was something my mother would have wanted, especially if it was supposed to keep us living.We didn’t keep on living. We died, and his marriage to Gloria was the weapon that killed us.

Everything changed. My father immediately started working from home so he and Gloria could spend all their time together. She would prance around in skimpy clothes, and he drooled like an infant while watching her.

Our house became more like a seedy motel than a home. I was constantly finding empty cans of whip cream, thongs and other items (I couldn’t name until I was at least twenty five years old) in the most obscure places. Such as: the family room, the dining room, the bathroom, in the pocket of the pool table and even in the kitchen cabinets. I was afraid to walk around in my own home for fear of what I might find or see.

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas tried to console me but no words could change how I felt. My father had betrayed me and desecrated my mother’s memory and I would never forgive him for that. The tension in our once peaceful home grew daily and on my eighteenth birthday it peaked.

My father was always the first to wake me on my birthday. He would serve me breakfast in bed and sing his special, soprano pitched rendition of happy birthday. It had been that way for as long as I could remember. But that morning I woke up and he wasn’t there. I sat in bed for over an hour, waiting for him to show up but eventually came to the conclusion that he wasn’t coming.

I dragged my body from bed, got washed and dressed and headed downstairs. All the while I kept telling myself that he must have had a last minute emergency at work. But when I walked into the sitting room and saw him sitting in a chair feeding Gloria while she laid back in his recliner I was enraged.

Gloria was pregnant and the two treated her pregnancy like it was some new disease still under investigation. She was always complaining of being ill and had become quite helpless.

She was the first to notice me. She smiled as she usually did whenever I came around and then nodded her head in my direction. My father paused from feeding her, turned his head in my direction and also smiled at me.

Happy birthday Princess, Gloria and I have planned…

I rolled my eyes at them and kept walking toward the kitchen. I didn’t like Gloria and I didn’t want her involved in anything to do with my eighteenth birthday.

I poured myself a glass of orange juice and turned to take a seat at the breakfast counter when my father came storming into the kitchen. He slammed his fist on the glass counter top and my glass slipped from my hand.

Charity, how many times must I tell you that it’s proper to speak when you enter a room?

I didn’t enter a room. I walked over to the storage closet to retrieve the mop and cleaning solution.

Young lady, don’t patronize me. You know exactly what I’m referring to. He slammed his fist on the counter again.

Charity, Alice is dead. Gloria is my wife now and nothing, including you will change that fact. I want you to stop behaving so rudely toward her. I won’t continue to tolerate such offensive behavior from you. Today is your eighteenth birthday and it’s time that you began to behave as an adult. He shook his head from side to side. I loved your mother as much if not more than you but she’s gone and life goes on Charity. Life goes on. He yelled out and slammed his hand on the counter again.

Gloria came sashaying into the kitchen and stood next to my father. She placed her hand on the back of his head.

John, calm down. You’re yelling and it really isn’t necessary.

His shoulders slumped as he turned to her.

I apologize, Pudding, but it’s time to put an end to this insulting behavior. He kissed her on the lips and wrapped his arm around her scantily covered body.

I sighed loudly, threw the mop on the floor and began to walk out of the kitchen. I was sick of the both of them, always groping and kissing each other. I was amazed that the two hadn’t starved to death. Throughout their meals they would feed each other, grope each other and kiss.

I was also fed up with seeing Gloria’s body. If she wasn’t exposing a thigh, it was a leg. If not a leg, it was her belly. If not her belly, then her butt cheeks but her favorite body parts to show seemed to be her breasts. She always wore tops that showed far too much cleavage. Even then she was clad in a black negligee with pink undergarments. My mother hadn’t walked around with parts of her body showing. My mother was a classy woman that wouldn’t lower herself in such a way.

Charity, pick that stuff up and apologize. My father demanded while glaring at me.

I raised my head higher as I continued walking toward the door. But he grabbed my arm and pushed me back across the room.My father had never laid an aggressive hand on me and I was horrified as my body slid backwards over the floor. He was usually a mild tempered man who wasn’t easily angered. I had seen him get angry twice in my life, once during a business transaction soon after my mother’s death, and now.

Charity, you will apologize for your actions. He said through clenched teeth with his finger pointed toward me.

John, calm down. Gloria exclaimed with widen eyes as she briskly walked over to me. She extended her hand. Charity, are you alright?

I pushed her outstretched hand away and scrambled to my feet. She stared at me with her eyebrows touching together.

Charity, please, let me help you.

Daddy walked over and stood beside her.

Charity, we are trying our best but you’ve got to want this as much as we do.

I stared into his pleading eyes. Though part of me wanted to surrender, a greater part of me felt that doing so would be a disgrace to my mother’s memory.

Gloria planned a big party for you tonight. Princess, we really do want you to be happy. If you will just give it a chance I’m certain you and Gloria could become good friends.

I don’t want to be Gloria’s friend. I don’t like her and I hope she and her baby dies.

I knew I’d crossed the line with that statement but it was too late to take it back. My father’s hand landed across my cheek hard and firm. So hard I fell to the floor. Gloria silently glared at me with a constant stream of tears rolling down her cheeks.

Charity, I’m sorry I hit you. But I will not tolerate the disrespect of my wife from anyone, including you. Now you either apologize to Gloria… or … you must leave this house. His voice trembled as he spoke.

My eyebrows raised and my mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe that my father was choosing her over me. I shifted my pupils back and forth between the two of them several times before I said anything.

I’m leaving. That’s what the two of you want anyway.

That’s not what we want and I’m very disappointed with your response.

My father wrapped his arm around Gloria and they walked out of the kitchen. I went upstairs and packed a suitcase.When I came back down and walked by the family room my father was still crying. Deep inside I knew I was wrong but I was young and spiteful. My father had made a choice, and I guess I wanted that choice to bring him as much pain as life was bringing to me.

I climbed into my car, went to the bank and withdrew all of my money, eight- thousand, and three- hundred dollars and sixty two cents. Then I headed eight hours away to Valley, Michigan.

Valley was a college town with a population of ninety-two thousand. I had learned about Valley, Michigan when Representatives from several colleges had come to Whit stokes high school on career day. Valley, Michigan had grabbed my interest, mainly because it was the farthest away from Whit stokes.

I found an apartment the next day and called my father to give him the news.

Charity, I demand that you return home immediately. We were both wrong and your leaving town won’t solve anything.

Daddy, I have no intentions of ever returning to Whit stokes. I hate that place.

"Princess, you’re making a grave mistake. You’re much too young to be on your own.