Bemused

by Neal Gray

Overview

A brutal and mysterious murder claims the heart of a city and tears a family apart. When a family member who had become famous is murdered, and relationships are strained and tested, and in one case love is found. In this moving tale of dishonesty, lies, and deceit.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781490777580
Publisher:	Trafford Publishing
Publication date:	10/10/2016
Pages:	254
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.58(d)

Read an Excerpt

Bemused

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By Neal Gray

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2016 Neal Gray
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-7758-0

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CHAPTER 1

September 1974. It was a rainy night. Raindrops poured out of the sky hitting violently over the roads, the rooftops, and the windowsill. Maybelle was in the living room arguing with her husband. Their kids were peeping out a room door down the hall, looking and listening. They had five small children, four daughters and a son, none over seven years old.

Thomas, wearing dirty gray slacks with suspenders, a dingy white long-sleeved button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black dress shoes, poured himself a glass of liquor as he stood by a shelf in the living room. He took a drink as Maybelle stood behind him in a dark fluffy dress, raging, very upset. Thomas had his back to her trying to ignore her.

"How many times you gon' get kicked off a job?" Maybelle yelled with a strong Southern accent. "How many times the lights gotta get cut off? These children gotta go hungry!"

"It's hard for a black man to get a good job around here," Thomas said.

"Why? 'Cause you a lazy drunk?"

"'Cause this white folks' world, that's why!" he yelled. "They think we still supposed to be their slaves and work for nothing."

"You just a sorry excuse for a man. You're weak! You're still a boy!" she said loudly, and Thomas turned around and punched her hard in the mouth with a closed fist, like she was another man or an enemy he was really trying to harm. Maybelle fell back several feet before hitting the floor, squealing in pain, crying. All the kids jumped back in fear, looking sad. Thomas had become furious hearing the words Maybelle uttered.

He took a few steps toward her, tossing his glass of liquor off to the side on the floor. He stood over her, looking down at her in disgust, and then kicked her hard with the tip of his dress shoe in her buttocks area, imitating on her what had happened to him.

Maybelle wailed in pain, feeling really degraded and humiliated. Thomas had never hit Maybelle, let alone put his foot on her.

Elaine, the eldest of their five children, stood in front of the others as they gazed from behind hurt and devastated and what they were seeing. Elaine held her right hand over her mouth, crying profusely, breaking down, and trying not to let out a sound so her father wouldn't hear her as she looked at her mother who lay on the floor crying.

Thomas stood there over Maybelle, breathing hard with his eyes wide open, feeling disrespected and shocked at what Maybelle had said.

"You don't know what it is like to every day be treated differently, to be humiliated and talked to any kind of way and can't do nothing about it, unless you almost willing to die," he said in a low, disgusted tone. "I'm tired of being disrespected. I'm tired of working for these white folks. Imma get my own business and work for me, be somebody. Watch me," he assured in anger, looking down at her.

"When?" she yelled. "When we all dead and gone?"

"I ain't gotta listen to this," he said and walked over and grabbed his hat and jacket from off a chair nearby and left out the door.

Maybelle lay on the floor crying, her dress looking mangled and dirty from squirming on the floor in pain.

Thomas was an average height, five feet ten or five feet eleven; medium build; very dark-skinned man with a small untrimmed afro; and who always seemed frustrated or angry. He was thirty-three years old and worked for a manual labor contractor, along with a lot of other black labor workers and two Hispanics. They built houses, leveled ground, and cleared land areas for other building purposes. They did whatever labor job their boss man could get a contract for or that other companies or the city needed done and paid him to do.

The boss was racist, a short, out-of-shape, blond-haired redneck in his late fifties. His name was Russell Millwood. He loved to chew tobacco that he'd spit everywhere, even on some of his workers' shoes.

He really treated them unfairly. They didn't make half the money they supposed to have been getting paid, and he was very hateful toward all the workers. But it was the only job that Thomas could get at that time because he'd always quit jobs because of what he considered racism or the pay, which he also ended up doing here — the reason for he and Maybelle's big argument. But Thomas hated to be treated unfairly and hated for anyone to disrespect him.

Maybelle felt like that was only an excuse, and Maybelle hated excuses. Racism was still an issue in the South, but times had changed. Besides, Maybelle was a firm believer in God, and she believed that what you get out of life is what you put in it. Her mother used to always say, "Whatever you plant in your garden, that's what's going to grow there."

Maybelle, Thomas, and their five children lived in a small two-bedroom wood-and-brick house in a poverty-stricken neighborhood in Central Florida, right on the outskirts of Orlando. The house was old and needed a lot of repairs, but it was what most unfortunate people deemed livable — a couple of unpainted walls of exposed sheetrock, a leak or two in the roof, and secondhand furniture, not to mention a living room window sill that required a plastic bag to be nailed across the top of it to keep mosquitoes, flies, and other insects from traveling freely in and out of the house.

But regardless how small the house was or the small bathroom that sometimes needed a bucket full of water to flush the toilet and all the other inconveniences that came along with the house, Maybelle took pride in her house and what she had and kept it clean, especially the kitchen where she spent most of her time cooking, which she loved to do.

Tears roll down Maybelle's face as she sat on one of the beds in the kids' room, putting a T-shirt on Diane, one of her four daughters, getting them ready for bed. Her little boy and youngest daughter were already fast asleep in their bedroom down the hall.

Maybelle's daughters all shared a room together, except for Lauren who was a toddler and had a crib in Maybelle's room. They had twin beds that had a dresser in the middle of the headboards to separate them. Elaine and Rachel slept in one bed, and Diane slept in the other because on occasion, Diane would wet the bed, so no one wanted to sleep with her.

Maybelle sat speechless, looking distant. The right side of her mouth and jaw was swollen very badly and bruised, causing her face to look uneven and embarrassing to look at.

Maybelle was a modest-looking full-figured light-skinned, twenty-four-year-old woman with bushy long, thick hair that she kept combed down or braided. She was a strong-willed woman with everything she and her family had to go through growing up as a kid in segregated Macon, Georgia, and everything she had to endure in life. Being of mixed race, her grandmother was raped and badly beaten by three white men and never knew which was Maybelle's mother's father. She didn't even know either of the men and never saw them again.

Elaine and Rachel both got out of bed and walked over to their mom and leaned on her and hugged her.

"Mama, you okay?" Elaine, the eldest of Maybelle's children, asked as she leaned on Maybelle.

Maybelle stared at her for a second. "Let me tell y'all something, and y'all listen to me good," Maybelle said, looking very emotional and hurt. "Don't ever let anybody do anything they want to you! And don't never let nobody tell you what you can't do or what you're good for. Y'all hear me?" she said, raising her voice. "I want y'all to promise me this."

All three little girls were looking at their mom sad because she was crying. They answered in unison, "We promise."

"I'd rather be dead and in my grave before I let somebody take my light away or tell me what I am and ain't good for or do anything they want to me," Maybelle assured and then paused for a second to gather herself and then leaned in and kissed them all on their foreheads and hugged them. "I love y'all."

She let go of them and turned and tucked Diane in bed and then walked Elaine and Rachel back over to their bed and tucked them in also.

Elaine put her hand on Maybelle's arm. "I love you too, Mama," she said, looking up at Maybelle.

Maybelle stood up, walked over and turned the light off, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She walked into the living room and sat down in a chair and stared forward, hurting mentally and spiritually. Maybelle had always been mentally abused by her husband, and now it had become physical. She was told she was a burden to him and a lot of other hurtful things. In an argument months ago, when Maybelle found that he had been unfaithful, he told her that it wasn't even fun lying with her anymore.

But somehow they would always find a way to work things out, which Maybelle believed in.

Maybelle sat motionless. At a distance behind her stood Elaine who had crept out of bed and stood by the wall in the living room, staring at her mother. Elaine really loved her mom and looked up to her, hoping she'd be okay.

CHAPTER 2

August 2009. Maybelle, who everyone called Mrs. May now, with a headful of gray-streaked hair and face with a few wrinkles from aging, was sitting in her chair in the living room in a daze staring toward the wall. And the same little girl, Elaine, who was a grown woman now, leaned over to Mrs. May. "Mama, you okay? "

Mrs. May quickly came to and was well energized. "Child, you know better. Mama gon' always be all right. Now get in there and help me get this food off the stove, smell like my collard greens burning," Mrs. May said as she got up out of her chair and hurried into the kitchen, Elaine following close behind. "And where Willie at?" she asked. "He supposed to have come around here last week and fix that back door."

Willie is Mrs. May's son, the second to the youngest of her five children.

"He's in the front," Elaine answered.

"He must think 'cause he grown and got kids now. I won't take something and bust him across the head with it," Mrs. May said.

Elaine laughed.

Elaine had grown up to be a beautiful honey brown-skinned woman with long hair a little past her shoulders and a nice curvy body. You'd think she spent most of her time at the gym, but she didn't even own a membership card to a spa or gym. Her body was just naturally that way. It ran in the family.

Mrs. May's family were over to her house, about to have a big family Sunday dinner. All her children were grown now and were all married, except for Rachel, the second to the eldest.

From the eldest to the youngest were Elaine, forty-two; Rachel, thirty-nine; Diane, thirty-eight; Willie, thirty-six; and Lauren, thirty-five, with Rachel, Willie, and Diane being the only ones who had kids.

Rachel was five feet eight and had brown skin with a cute short hairstyle. She had two kids: a nineteen-year-old son named Harold and a six-year-old daughter named Shantel. Willie was a dark-skinned kind of stocky fellow with a beer belly and a small trimmed afro who was named after Mrs. May's father who died for a historical cause and called himself a junior. He had three children — three daughters whom he all named after him: Willamina, Willow, and Williesha.

Diane was a heavyset cocoa brown-skinned woman who wore all kinds of different stylish hairdos — short, long, curly, straight, extensions — and had an electric personality. She had one child, a twenty-year-old son named Angelo Brown, who was in prison and sentenced to fifteen years for a gun charge. She loved him dearly and went to visit him frequently.

Shantel, Mrs. May's granddaughter, ran through the kitchen chasing her cousin.

"Shantel, y'all stop running through this house," Mrs. May yelled, "before one of you fall and hurt yourself. Grandma ain't got no insurance 'round here."

Shantel and her cousin stopped running.

"Yes, ma'am," Shantel replied, and she and her cousin slowly walked out of the kitchen.

Mrs. May laughed softly.

Shantel was only six years old, but she was a very smart and very pretty little girl. She was always running around Mrs. May's house like it was the playground, and Mrs. May loved her to death. She was her favorite grandchild, although Mrs. May loved all her grandkids. Shantel was always around the most. She, her mom, and her brother were around Mrs. May's house daily, more than the time they spent at their own home.

Mrs. May and Elaine came into the dining room and set the last dishes of food Mrs. May had prepared on the dining room table, and they both had a seat, joining everyone.

"Everybody, bow your heads," Mrs. May said as she bowed her head and closed her eyes. "Lord, we thank you for this food and for my family, and we ask you to bless this food and our lives and to watch over us all as we come together and as we go our separate ways. Amen."

"Amen," everyone repeated and then immediately started grabbing dishes of food off the table and piling food on their plates.

Most of the family were sitting at the dining-room table, but some were sitting over in chairs not too far from the table, eating with their plates in their laps, as there wasn't enough room at the dining room table for everyone.

Willie grabbed one of the dishes that was holding food in it from the table, and it was empty. He frowned. "Who ate all the hog mogs?" he asked loudly and looked over at Harold who sat across from him.

Harold was his nephew, Rachel's eldest child. He was nineteen years old, about to turn twenty in a couple of months.

Harold, looking guilty, tried not to look up at Willie.

"All right now, you 'round here eating up people's food like you ain't got no home training. This ain't your mama's house. This is my mama house!" Willie complained.

"Shut up, Willie! You better be glad I'm letting you eat!" Mrs. May interrupted. "With your sorry self, when you going to fix that back door? That's what I wanna hear," Mrs. May said loudly as she grabbed a bowl of mashed potatoes off the table to put a few scoops on her plate. She looked over at Willie's wife Carol with a bit of disappointment. "Baby, I don't see how you married him. It ain't that much of a shortage of men out there. I would have tried that online thing first."

Everyone laughed, including Janelle, Harold's girlfriend, who was sitting next to Harold at the table.

Willie sat looking embarrassed and mad, with his head hung low, looking around at everyone who was laughing at what Mrs. May had said. But even though Willie would argue at Harold constantly and always blame him for some of everything, it never bothered Harold because they were good friends. Willie taught Harold everything as a kid — football, basketball, and about girls. He taught Harold more than Harold's own father taught him. He knew that Willie never meant any harm — being loud and sometimes unstable just was the way Willie was.

Mrs. May looked around at all her grown-up children now sitting around the table. She said, "I don't know what happened to everything I taught y'all. You" — looking at Rachel — "You supposed to have grown up and become a big-time lawyer or doctor." She continued as she looked over at Lauren. "And, Lauren, you supposed to be a model or an actress or somethin'." Lauren was a beautiful light-skinned woman with long curly hair.

Mrs. May glanced over at Willie. "Oh, I knew you wasn't going to be nothing. I'm surprised you ain't in jail or prison somewhere," she said and then looked over at Diane. "And, Diane, you supposed to have married some football player." Mrs. May told Diane that because that was what Diane was attracted to growing up as a teenager — boys that played football. And to this day, she was a big football fan. Her favorite teams were the Florida Gators and the Dallas Cowboys.

Diane was a nice-looking full-figured woman who was a little on the heavy side but was very stylish, sometimes having her unique hairdos of all kinds in different colors.

"Excuse me, Charles," Mrs. May said to Diane's husband of ten years who worked at CSX, a train company, letting him know that she didn't mean to offend him. Charles was sitting next to Diane with a blank look on his face. "And Mama supposed to be off her feet enjoying life, children taking good care of her," Mrs. May continued, never mentioning Elaine because Elaine always found favor in Mrs. May's eyes.

"Don't worry, Mama. Harold's going to take care of that," Willie assured. "He's going to make sure we all are living good," he said as he smiled, looking over at Harold.

Harold smiled and nodded in agreement. Harold played college football for Central Florida, and there was talk that he could be a high pick in the NFL draft and sign a multimillion-dollar contract.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Bemused by Neal Gray. Copyright © 2016 Neal Gray. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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