Estranged

By Nakia R. Laushaul

In his prime, LUTHER BENNETT had it all … everything but loyalty to his family. And for that, when LUTHER needed his children the most, they abandoned him, forcing him to suffer in silence. SAMUEL BENNETT, the unfortunate heir to his father's misdeeds, has grown weary of following in LUTHER'S footsteps. SAMUEL desires a life to call his own. Trapped in a marriage that doesn't exist and a mounting mistrust of all men, LYNNE BENNETT has always felt like the black sheep of the family. After ten years of refusing to see or even speak to LUTHER, LYNNE finally decides to confront her father.

 

Ripe with secrets, denial, and a festering anger that sears the heart, ESTRANGED unravels the family lies that bind.

 

 

Previously published as Locked in Purgatory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Serendipity Bound Books
• Release date: Oct 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393039280

Nakia R. Laushaul

Nakia R. Laushaul is the award winning-author of, Running from Solace, Chasity Rules, and The Truth As I See It. She resides in Los Angeles, California and is an inspirational poet, motivational speaker, and entrepreneur. Nakia is also the co-host of TF?, a social and cultural podcast where she discusses current events, pop culture and surviving America as a Black woman. For more information or to book Nakia for your book club meeting, women’s conference, literary event, or other special occasion, please visit her website: www.NakiaLaushaul.com. Or look her up on on your favorite social media platform. Instagram: @nakiaRL_thewriter Facebook: Nakia Laushaul Twitter: @nakiaRL Podcast: TF?

Book preview

Part I

Colossians 3:20

Children obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord. (NIV)

Chapter 1

Luther

I have never been faithful.

And now, no one is faithful to me. It’s hard asking for something that you never had the time to give. But here I was, desiring that one thing—faithfulness. I guess that makes me a hypocrite.

How does this feel? Wendy asked breathlessly, looking up into my eyes for a brief moment.

I looked down at the top of her bobbing head. Wendy didn’t want or expect an answer. She had a job to do, and the questions she asked were more so for her sake than mine. Every week it was the same question—How does this feel? It feels like nothing. Feels like an emptiness in my soul. Wendy, it feels like a waste of our time. I wanted to scream my contempt into the raging red fire of curls that crowned Wendy’s head.

But, I didn’t. I just grunted.

She bent my stiff left leg at the knee and slowly pushed in towards my chest. Her warm body bounced on my shin, causing her breasts to jiggle as she counted softly, One. Two. Three.

Wendy was pretty. One of the prettiest ones in the place. And for that, I was grateful. A tiny bead of sweat worked itself onto her forehead. She stopped counting to wipe it away with her forearm. She was working too hard. I was an old, crippled man. But she thought that she could fix me with a fervent touch.

She unfolded my leg and laid it gently on the bed. Before she lifted my other leg, she gathered her blazing red hair and pulled it into a ponytail. She wiped her forehead again and bent my right knee, ready to repeat the routine all over again. Ready for more, Mr. Bennett? she chirped.

I grunted.

They say healing begins in the mind, Mr. Bennett. You’ve got to believe.

Three times a week, for the last ten years, I had nothing else to believe in. So, no, I’m not ready, Wendy.

I looked up at the ceiling. I wanted my wife. I wanted to see her. I wanted to smell the familiar floral scent always present on her soft skin. I wanted her to love me again. I wanted her to believe, like Wendy. Yes, Wendy was paid to do what she did. I was just another patient in a revolving weekly routine. But Marjorie had been paid too, and what I’d given her came at a much higher price than money. She owed me. The more I thought about it, the more agitated I became. I grunted furiously in displeasure.

Wendy looked up, Just relax, Mr. Bennett. I’m almost done. She rocked against my leg. Two. Three.

I wanted her to hurry up and finish. I wanted to be finished. They. My family. The people I loved had abandoned me, left me in Shady Acres Rehabilitation Center to rot. I’d stared out of the same window, ate the same tasteless food, and watched the same boring television shows every day for the last ten years. I was nothing more than an inconvenience, someone to be pushed around. As far as I knew, everybody I loved on the outside, out in the real world, had already considered me dead. And so, every night, that was my prayer—to be gone. To die.

I wish I would have died in the carelessness of my youth. It would have been easier to run into the path of an oncoming car than to suffer in this way. Quick. Fast. Bam. Dead. I wasn’t so lucky though, thinking I had a whole life ahead of me. And then I got sick before I got old. Karma had me now—right where she wanted me—caught like a fly in a sneaky spider’s web. Even after ten years of holding me hostage, the bitch would not let me go.

How long could a man look at the same white walls before he lost his mind? How many disgusted eyes of strangers should bore upon the limp remnants of his most prized possession before he began to wish for death to visit quickly because pity was more than he could bear? I couldn’t quite figure out what the Lord was keeping me around for. I wished that He would go ahead and release me to heaven or hell—it was His call.

You like that, don’t you? Wendy asked, as she massaged my legs.

I sighed. Paralyzed meant paralyzed. Incapable of movement or feeling. But, if Wendy with all her fancy degrees in physical therapy, didn’t realize that by now, then who was I to tell her? With mild indifference, I watched her work, just to take my mind off Marjorie and the kids. After all I’d done for her—married her, built her a brand-new house from the ground up, spared no expense on her desires—this was how she repaid me. Women were so ungrateful. I lifted my head and banged it back down on the lumpy pillow in frustration.

I then turned my head and glanced at my roommate, Cornelius, who was in the bed across from me. Cornelius held his hungry gaze on Wendy. He licked his lips in eagerness. I knew that once she left, all I was going to hear for the rest of the afternoon was, Did you see how Wendy’s breasts jiggled in that tight shirt? He caught me looking at him and grinned. Gave me the thumbs up. I grinned back.

I closed my eyes and waited for Wendy to finish doing what I couldn’t feel anyway. The doctors said that I needed physical therapy to keep my legs healthy. The irony. How healthy were two legs that would never walk again? Feel again? They were useless and as dead as I wanted to be.

I listened to the sounds of the nursing home outside of my bedroom door. With your eyes closed, you could easily mistake this place for a lunatic asylum. Joseph, another resident, was standing out in the hall misquoting Bible verses. He would start off reciting the Lord’s Prayer, and somewhere along the way, the recitation would turn into The 23rd Psalm.

His pulpit was just outside of my room. Joseph was out to save my soul, poor bastard. He’d stand in my doorway for hours at a time, dipping his hand in a cup of water and shake wet, wrinkled fingers at whomever happened to walk past. Bless you, my child, he’d say, or Can I pray with you today?

Joseph used to be a Catholic priest a long time ago. He suffered from dementia, and we were now his parishioners. Usually, Cornelius and I would laugh at him, but on days like today, when I just wanted to be left alone in peace and quiet, Joseph could be just as bothersome as Cornelius.

Oooh! Weeee! Man, did you see ‘em today? Cornelius asked excitedly as soon as Wendy left the room. I’d give both my arms and legs just to have her jostle all over me like that for five minutes. Back when I was—before my Penny, of course. Well, all I got to say is, you a lucky ole’ dog, Luther.

I didn’t respond to Cornelius. Just kept my eyes closed. He said the same thing every week. If only he knew the truth about me, about my old life, my wife, and so many other secrets my mind guiltily held. I wasn’t lucky for any of the pleasures I had selfishly partaken in. I had been a fool and it took my luck running out for me to finally see it. Look at where it got me. If I, Luther Samuel Bennett, knew anything about anything, it was women with perky breasts. Fooling around with those same women landed me in Shady Acres.

You know, if you think my Penny is a looker today, you shoulda seen her when she was seventeen. She was something else, Cornelius rambled.

I paid little attention and thought more about my own plight. Cars, money, expensive trips, and lavish homes were all nonreturnable items. Once given away, there would be no exchanging them for loyalty or love later. The value of things depreciated to zero in the overly accepting hands of greedy receivers. For everything that I gave, none of it was worth the one thing I desired most—a little companionship and love from my family. My wife. My children.

She had them all under her spell, Cornelius rambled on. He never seemed to notice when I wasn’t paying attention to him, nor did he care. He’d talk to a wall if he thought it had ears. Had all the fellas calling on her. But I won.

The metal frame that held his wife’s photo scraped across the old, wooden nightstand. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’d hear that frame scrape, scrape, scraping across the wood. He tapped his fingers gently on the glass. He did it every time he said her name, as he looked at that old black and white wedding photo and talked about their good ole days. It drove me crazy.

The only way I got Penny to marry me was to promise to move her somewhere, anywhere away from Shreveport. Yup, that’s how we got to Houston. I came down first and got a job working for the railroad. As soon as I saved up enough money and found a decent place to live, I sent for her. I can’t believe that was almost forty years ago. Time flies when you’re in love. He chuckled then yawned loudly. Fifty years and I still love that mean old woman as much as I did the day we got married.

The frame plopped back down onto the nightstand. After a few minutes of silence, I opened my eyes and glanced over at Cornelius. He was asleep with one lonely tear frozen on his cheek, seemingly suspended in time…as if the second he woke up, it would then be allowed to continue its journey down his wrinkled, worn-out face.

Cornelius had placed the frame back down on the nightstand, facing me. One of the photos was of Penny and Cornelius on their wedding day. Another was of the two of them along with their twins, a boy and girl. The other photos were of their grandchildren. Cornelius talked a lot and mostly about nonsense. But I had to give it to him, he had a nice family. And his family cared a great deal about him.

Penny visited Cornelius almost every day, at just about the same time. You could set your watch to the minute she’d be walking through that door. She came in the morning to help him get cleaned up for the day. I would watch as she gently washed his face with warm soapy water, then his ears, and around his neck. She would always finish by meticulously cleaning each and every one of his fingers. Then she’d help him brush his teeth. By the time she left, our little room smelled like a mixture of soap and mouthwash.

I’d do anything for a woman like Penny. My wife wasn’t the kind of woman to spend her time at a nursing home fussing over her husband. She said that’s what we paid Shady Acres to do, and if they didn’t do a good job, then heads would roll because my room wasn’t cheap.

Not Penny. She’d even bring Cornelius dinner, still piping hot. You could smell the soulful aroma of smothered oxtails, macaroni and cheese, and greens before she set one foot in our room. She always brought the food in a basket, a plate for her and a plate for him, as if they were going on a picnic in the park.

Once, I rolled my eyes and grunted in annoyance when she walked in with Cornelius’s dinner. Penny frowned and placed a hand on her skinny hips. Excuse me, but I am Cornelius’s wife and it is my job and my pleasure to cook for my husband. I had a little something for you this time, but since you seem to be a little grumpy today…

She teased me for a short while, but after she set Cornelius’s plate in front of him, she graciously shoved a heaping spoonful of sticky, sweet candied yams in my mouth and put a plate before me, too. It was so good that my taste buds exploded in bliss and my eyes rolled toward the back of my head.

Uh huh. I knew you’d like that, Luther, she said, beaming with pride at my reaction.

I don’t know if the candied yams were just that fantastic or if it was because I’d been eating a mushy mass of ground protein and vegetables, a concoction that they passed off as food at the home. The food was the worst thing about this place. I wondered who told them that just because I couldn’t walk that I wasn’t able to taste real food.

The only time Penny didn’t make it to the home to see Cornelius was, when her arthritis was acting up so bad that she couldn’t drive. That was the reason he was here in the first place. She couldn’t lift him with her deformed hands. She had tried to care for him by herself, but it just didn’t work out. Cornelius’s kids lived in other states, his daughter in Arizona and his son in Georgia. He had only been my roommate for about a year, but boy did his kids fly home often just to check on their parents. I had never seen anything like it.

It was a circus in our room when they all came to visit at once. His three grandkids would laugh and run wild, jumping on the beds and touching buttons on the medical equipment. His daughter was in the process of moving back to Houston so she could be close enough to help her mother take care of her father. They didn’t like the idea of their father living in a nursing home and being cared for by strangers. They were a real family. I could see why he always got choked up and emotional every time he talked about them.

Not only did Cornelius’s family come to check on him, but his old buddies from the railroad would swing by and give him the lowdown on what was going on at his old job. His brothers from church would drop by and watch sports with him from time to time. His side of the room was always busy.

I watched his life with envy. Cornelius was a blessed man. If he ever doubted it, all he had to do was look over here at me. I had a beautiful wife, three kids and all too busy to visit.

Oh, Luther, you know I hate this place. It smells like old people, Marjorie complained on her last visit. She’d only come with the insurance agent so I could sign some papers. I had been married to her for over nineteen years, gave her everything she ever asked for, and now I was worth nothing more than what she could get after I finally die. Once she got the diagnosis that I was going to be paralyzed for the rest of my life, she disappeared.

You mean…Are they saying that you ain’t gonna be able to walk no more? Marjorie had cried. "Oh, no! Oh, baby, what am I…I mean, what are we gonna do? What about our son? Woody’s about to go to college. And I was fixin’ to quit working. And the house? Is it even paid for? And Bennett Homes? Who’s going to run our business?"

She carried on for about ten minutes straight, thinking of all the material things she’d lose because I got sick. Exasperated, the nurse had snapped, Ma’am, did you hear one word the doctor said? He just told you that your husband will never regain full use of his legs. This is about him, not you.

Of course, Marjorie, the supreme ruler over drama, refused to quiet down. She was sent home. After she left, the nurse muttered under her breath, I’ve been working in this unit a long time, and I have never seen such an inconsiderate woman in all of my career!

And having a terrible wife wasn’t all I had to contend with. I had three kids, and those ungrateful runts barely visited me either. After all I’d done for them—tuition, nice cars, money, a good life. You’d think they’d have some compassion for their old man who was now in a bad situation.

I looked at the single photo on my side of the nightstand. The only one Marjorie had brought to the home was a photograph I had taken of her. I still remembered the day. As cruelly as she continued to treat me, the image of her crimson-painted lips, turned up into a devilish smirk at the corners, pierced my heart. She had on a short leather skirt with a matching jacket. Her big legs stretched dreamily across the bed. They were her most beautiful feature and she knew it. Rain or shine, Marjorie was going to show off her legs. She wore heels every day and sometimes even to bed. Remembering what happened just after I took that photo made me smile. We took a lot of photos that night.

I ogled harder at the photo, willing my mind to evoke the pleasure of our lovemaking. I wanted to remember what it had been like to touch her, for my hands to run the course of her soft body. The feeling of holding her, making her beautiful legs quiver. It was hard for me to stay in the memory of what we had, because reality always crept in. I tried to think of something else, but it was too late, and I couldn’t shut it down.

I don’t see anything wrong with my outfit, Marjorie pouted.

You’re not wearing that to my son’s graduation. Change or I’m leaving without you, I demanded.

Marjorie stomped off.

The last thing I wanted was to face my son’s disapproval on his big day. Marjorie and Samuel never got along very well. He blamed her for breaking up the relationship between me and his mother. And Marjorie never wanted my other two children around. It was a vicious circle. I went to the bar and poured myself a double shot of bourbon. I was exhausted from all the bickering between my two families. I pulled on my tie as the liquid slid down my throat, warming my insides.

Come on, baby, be nice for a couple of hours, I said, entering our bedroom. I had planned to reason with her one last time before I left her at home—alone with only her attitude for company. I wasn’t up for another one of Marjorie’s hateful moods. She yanked the closet door open and shuffled hangers around noisily.

If this was Woody, would you want me to miss his graduation?

Marjorie pouted.

You have five minutes to change or I’m leaving without you. I swallowed the rest of my drink in one gulp.

Marjorie knew what she was doing when she put that skirt on. It was her way of upstaging Sylvia, who was always very modest. I didn’t feel like a war that night. I wanted my wife and my other son, Woody, there, but I wasn’t going to fight. She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips together. I walked into the bathroom, washed my face, and gargled with a little mouthwash.

I’m sorry for getting mad, honey. You’re right. Marjorie had walked up behind me and wrapped her hands around my waist from the back. She rested her head between my shoulder blades. It’s just that I love this skirt and never get to wear it, she whined.

Get the camera and I’ll take a picture of you wearing it to remember how good you look in it, I said jokingly. "But you still have to change or I’m leaving you behind.

Okay. Marjorie went back into the bedroom and I was so glad that she had agreed to change. Honey, I’m ready for my close-up.

I went back into the room and she was sprawled across the bed, holding the camera toward me. The clearest snapshot of that evening remains with me and it wasn’t worth it. I put the photo face-down on the stand to halt the memory—the guilt. After I snapped a few shots of her on the bed, she pulled the skirt down slowly, wiggling a little to get it over the hill of her rear end. When the skirt dropped to her ankles, she didn’t have any underwear on. I took my tie off. I could be a few minutes late, I thought. We never made it out of the bedroom. We didn’t make it to Samuel’s high school graduation ceremony.

The moments of ecstasy I enjoyed with Marjorie were fun, but not worth what I traded for it. I missed something I’d never been able to regain. No matter how many times I asked, Samuel never forgave me. I lost my son’s faith. His trust. And his loyalty.

Chapter 2

Samuel

Can you come over tonight? I overheard my younger sister, Lynne, whispering on the phone. She had already asked the man three times, and it was obvious to me that he’d declined. She couldn’t be that dense. But there she was asking again—begging. I couldn’t stand it.

I learned a lot of things from my father—business savvy, how to change a flat tire, and how to make a woman feel as though she were nothing. The latter was unintentional, and it took my wife to tell me that I had inherited Luther’s special trait. For years, I watched and served as a mini-wingman, as he manipulated and ravished every woman who crossed his path. Because of him, I’ve always had a hard time respecting women, even the women who were supposed to be special to me—my wife, my mother, and my sister. It’s not something I’m proud of; it’s just who I am. No matter what, I didn’t want this idiot stringing my little sister along.

He said no, Lynne. She rolled her eyes at me and put one finger up to her lips as a signal for me to keep my mouth shut.

I won’t do it again, she whined into the phone’s receiver. I promise.

My annoyance churned and I clenched my teeth. It didn’t help that I couldn’t stand her estranged husband.

But I want to see you tonight. More whining. Thad, no! Wait, I just meant—

Triggered, I walked up behind her and pressed the button, disconnecting the call. I couldn’t take it anymore.

He said no. Are you deaf? I barked. Don’t you know when a man doesn’t want you? I snapped.

This is none of your business, Samuel. She grimaced, narrowing her eyes into angry slits.

Yes, it is. You are on my phone, sitting in front of my office. Everyone walking past can hear you. If you’re going to beg this loser to be with you, then go in your office and call him. I don’t want to hear you grovel like a dog.

Screw you, Sam. She got up and started walking toward the back offices. "And it’s not your phone. It’s Luther’s. You’re just a substitute CEO."

Come back here and get this book, I demanded. Don’t you have state exams in a few weeks? I wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her. I tried to tell that girl that no man wants a woman he can run over.

Lynne walked back to the receptionist desk and picked up the book she should have been studying instead of talking on the phone. If she didn’t pass the exam this time, I was going to go ballistic. I spent too much money on that mortgage broker’s school for her to take it so lightly. Her preoccupation with that crazy husband of hers would lead to nowhere.

I swear I don’t belong in this family, I muttered angrily.

The phone rang. Lynne turned and looked at me before racing to the back. I beat her to it and picked up the phone before it could ring again. Bennett Homes.

Uh…Lynne?

Do I sound like Lynne to you?

Hey. Uh, Samuel? How you been, man?

Transfer the call, Lynne yelled from her office.

Don’t talk on the phone too long. Study, I shouted menacingly before slamming the receiver down.

I’ve always been overprotective of my little sister, maybe a little too much. But then again, our father had left me no choice. When I was seventeen, he finally walked out on us for good after years of going back and forth between my mother and a woman he’d met in a shoe store. Her name was Marjorie, and she came along and just snatched our father right from under our noses. I remembered several other women here and there, but when she appeared, our family crumbled. I remember her name being spoken so frequently in our house that it became the norm. My father stopped hiding and would flat out tell my mother he was going to spend the night with Marjorie.

I’d overhear my mother on the phone talking to my grandma when my father wasn’t home. Mama, you remember me telling you about Marjorie? Yeah, the one in the mail room. Well, I think she’s delivering more than the mail. I think she’s sleeping with Luther. Mama, he hasn’t been home in three days. What should I do? Mama…Marjorie’s pregnant.

I was seven and Lynne was four when my mother found out that my father’s latest indiscretion had led to him fathering an illegitimate child with one of his employees. We were all illegitimate. My father never married my mother. He felt that since they’d been together nine years, common law was good enough. And in the state of Texas, one night under the same roof was considered common law. Plus, he’d confided in me many times that he didn’t plan on going anywhere unless she ran him off with her nagging and complaining.

Mama, I don’t know what to do. Marjorie wants Luther to give her more money. Marjorie wants a house. Marjorie said she needs new furniture. Marjorie said that Woody needs to spend more time with his father. Mama, Marjorie told Luther that she was tired of being alone and if he doesn’t leave soon, she’s taking Woody away. He hasn’t been home in a week. I think…Mama, I think I’ve lost him.

Marjorie. Marjorie. Marjorie. That’s all my mother talked about until even Luther couldn’t take it anymore and he left.

After all of these years, I can still hear the wounded pitch of my mother’s voice as she screamed and begged my father to stay that last time. She clung to that bastard’s ankle as he struggled to walk from their bedroom to the front door, his clothes bulging and falling out of a big green plastic garbage bag. He dragged her across the living room floor right in front of me.

You told me to go, Sylvia. My father stopped walking and looked down at my mother as she cried.

I know. But— she paused. It’s just that…Please? I didn’t mean it, Luther. You can’t leave. What about the kids? They need you, she wailed. A mixture of black eyeliner and tears made tracks down her face. "I need you. Think about our family."

I grimaced. I didn’t need him. Maybe she needed him. Or Lynne. But, I didn’t. I was a man. I walked to the kitchen, leaned over the sink, and peeked out the window. Marjorie was outside waiting, parked in our driveway—in the new red Mustang my father had bought her.

At first, I thought that they were arguing about the car. Or maybe it was because my father was tired of looking around our house for things he’d left at Marjorie’s place, like his cigars, his wallet, or the plush green robe that Lynne and I had bought him for Father’s Day. Slowly and very intentionally, most of his belongings ended up at Marjorie’s house. We all knew that it was only a matter of time before he did, too.

I’ll do anything, Luther. Please don’t do this to our family.

Our family? You’re the one breaking us up. You’re always letting your mama tell you what to do. How to handle me. Go run and call her now. Tell her this, he spat. He bent down and tried to pry my mother’s fingers from around his ankle. But once he got one of her hands loose, she gripped on with the other hand. He was becoming increasingly frustrated and had started to curse.

I couldn’t figure out why he was so angry. He was