Nobody's Son

by Zaria Garrison

Genres: African American; African American Christian

Synopsis

Semaj Matthews is a private detective whose life revolves around helping people locate their lost loved ones. The one person he's been unsuccessful in finding is his own birth father, but the reason is that he never wanted to find him. He often tells himself that he doesn't care. He's become a successful man in spite of the fact that his only male role models were the great dads he watched on television each week. In the midst of planning his wedding to the love of his life, Semaj receives an anonymous tip that turns everything he's ever believed upside down. The caller tells him the name of his father, and he's shocked to learn that it's a man he's admired his entire life—America's favorite TV Dad, Wayne James. Frustrated, Semaj lashes out at the world and finds himself on the wrong side of the law, where only the Heavenly Father can save him and his earthly father.

Release date: March 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 288

Sample

Two weeks earlier . . .

Semaj sighed as he sat in the waiting area of the bakery. His bride-to-be, Ellen, was glowing with excitement as she waited anxiously for the baker to bring out wedding cake samples. Semaj had no idea when he’d proposed six months earlier that his weekends and some weekdays would become consumed with cake tastings, color palettes, wedding invitations, and all things bridal. He had been bored to tears when Ellen tried to explain to him the difference between emerald, moss, apple, and hunter green while she was choosing bridesmaids dresses. It took all of his strength to stay awake when she droned on and on about the pros and cons of whether to have tulips or roses in her bouquet. Semaj wouldn’t know the difference between Chantilly lace and burlap, but Ellen knew, and it mattered greatly when she was choosing her bridal gown. All of the details bored him to tears, but he loved Ellen Winston with all of his heart and thanked God every day for bringing her into his life.

Most people, including Semaj, considered him a loner. He was raised by his grandparents, who both passed away during Semaj’s senior year in high school. Their sudden deaths left him alone and on his own. He’d managed to work his way through college with a myriad of different part-time and odd jobs, which eventually led to his career. While attending college, Semaj took a job in the mail room of a local news station. Following graduation, he became an intern, a reporter, and eventually worked his way up to anchor. He was proud to be one of the most respected and highly paid anchors in the city. Although he anchored the nightly news, his passion was the special projects he found himself involved in. He’d dedicated his career to helping people find missing loved ones. He’d assisted people in finding long lost siblings, former lovers, and even parents.

Feeling bored as they waited for the baker, Semaj pulled out his iPhone and began to check his messages. An unfamiliar name in his e-mail inbox caught his eye just as the bakery owner entered the room with a plate full of assorted cakes.

“You guys are going to love these samples,” she exclaimed excitedly.

“I hope you don’t have anything with strawberries in it,” Semaj said. He noticed several pieces of cake that were pink in color sitting on the tray.

“Your fiancée told me that you are allergic to strawberries, but I included a few for her to taste anyway. Many couples choose to have a different flavor of cake for each layer.”

“Baby, don’t worry, we will be sure that you don’t get any of the strawberries today or on the wedding day,” Ellen assured him.

Semaj shook his head as he realized that once again he was only along for the ride and that nothing he thought, felt, or wanted would be taken into consideration. Like an obedient fiancé, he took several bites of the chocolate, red velvet, and white chocolate mousse slices of cake, then smiled politely, without offering an opinion. Almost two hours after they arrived at the bakery Ellen had finally made her choices and they were free to go. She rattled on and on in the car like a monkey in a tree about the flavors and style she’d chosen while he politely nodded and pretended to be listening.

After dropping Ellen at her apartment, Semaj drove home, took a long hot shower, then plopped down on his sofa wearing only his boxer shorts. He turned on the television in search of any sports-related programming before finally settling on a high school football game. Pulling out his iPhone, his eyes wandered once again to the unfamiliar e-mail address.

“Those spam blockers ain’t worth a crap,” he muttered to himself as he debated whether to open the e-mail. Finally, his curiosity got the best of him, and he clicked on it.

At first glance, Semaj believed the e-mail to be one of the many he often received from spammers pretending to have money that was left to him by an unknown relative. In the end, those types of e-mails usually ended with a request for a bank account number to transfer money into a foreign account. Semaj felt a chill down his spine, however, and he knew instinctively that this e-mail was different.

Sometime following Semaj’s birth and before his first birthday, his parents split up and he lived alone with his mother in Chicago, Illinois. He had no memory of her at all because shortly afterward, his mother died in a house fire. An anonymous stranger pulled Semaj from the burning structure while his mother perished inside. As a child, Semaj often questioned his grandmother about both of his parents, but she refused to give him any details. Whenever he’d ask, she would scold him about digging up skeletons from the past and admonish him to let sleeping dogs lie. All he knew of his mother was that her name was Allison, and she was only nineteen years old when she died. He knew nothing at all about his father. Once he’d asked his grandfather to at least tell him his name, and the expletive that passed his papa’s lips shocked him so much that he never asked again.

Semaj suddenly realized that he’d been staring at the e-mail for several minutes. He glanced at the clock and decided that it was still early enough for him to make the call. He quickly dialed the number and waited.

“Hello?”

“May I speak with Gwen Johnston?” he asked politely.

“Who’s calling?” the woman on the other end inquired.

“Semaj Matthews . . . um . . . you . . . um . . . She sent me an e-mail.” Nervousness caused him to stumble over his words.

“Mr. Matthews, I am so glad that you called. I’m Gwen, and I think I have some information that you’d be interested in.”

“Is this for a news story?” he asked.

“No, this is personal.” Gwen cleared her throat. “The word on the street is that you don’t know who your biological father is. Well, I do.”

Semaj hesitated before responding. He’d heard those words before, and it never seemed to pan out. It was a decision that he’d come to regret, but Semaj had decided against hiring a professional to help him look for his father. Instead, he’d traveled to Chicago and started asking questions of people that he believed knew his mother. As a former reporter, he felt that the real stories came directly from the streets. It was a tactic he used often as a journalist, and it had never failed him, until he began looking for his father.

He’d discovered that one of the problems with talking with people on the street was that for a price they’d make up the story they thought you wanted to hear. One individual had even approached him claiming to be his father and requesting money, but he quickly recanted his story when Semaj asked for a DNA test.

He took a deep breath as he waited to hear Gwen’s tale. “You are correct. I have been searching for my natural father. What do you know about him?”

“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Can you meet me somewhere?”

Semaj rolled his eyes. “I could, but I won’t. Let me be frank with you, Ms. Johnston. I’ve heard a lot of different stories and outright lies since I began looking for my father. People tell me that they know something, when in truth, they don’t know a thing. For that reason, I have become very skeptical and distrustful. No disrespect to you personally, but I’m not coming to a meeting that could turn out to be just another wild goose chase.”

Gwen chuckled. “You have his fire and passion, that’s for sure.”

“A lot of people are passionate. Look, if you don’t have any real information to share, then I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to end this call.”

“Okay, you were born in Townsend Memorial Hospital in Lawrenceville, North Carolina, on May 28, 1975. You barely weighed five pounds because you were four weeks premature. You were born with a birthmark in the shape of a strawberry on your left hip. Coincidentally, you also are allergic to strawberries. Everyone in your father’s family has the same allergy.”

Semaj was stunned. The circumstances of his birth were something he rarely discussed. He’d never told anyone that he was born in North Carolina, and his grandmother had not shared the information with him until his sixteenth birthday. At the time, he begged for a copy of his birth certificate and told her it was so that he could obtain his driver’s license. Truthfully, he’d hoped it would contain his father’s name, but it did not.

“What’s my father’s name?” he asked, trying to hide the excitement in his voice.

“I don’t want to say over the phone. Your father is a very famous man.”

Semaj’s heart sank as he suddenly began to find Gwen’s story suspicious. There was no way that his father could be famous. It had to all be another bad joke. Out of nowhere he felt the Holy Spirit speak to him.

“Go meet her. She’s telling the truth,” the Spirit said.

“Have you ever been to Vonnie’s Soul Food on Peachtree Street? I can meet you there for lunch tomorrow,” he said.

Ellen knocked several times on the door of her sister Jenise’s apartment. While she waited for an answer she cautiously looked around the parking lot of the complex. Although she’d grown up in the area, Ellen felt more than a twinge of anxiety whenever she had to return to Sand Poole Manor Apartments. When her parents had moved into the complex in the early eighties, it had been a nice place to raise a family on a modest income. Over the years, drugs and gangs had turned it into a frightening war zone that Ellen detested coming into. However, she loved her sister dearly, and no matter what, she had to make sure she was okay.

“Hey, Auntie Ellen,” her niece Aaliyah said, as she opened the front door.

Ellen reached down and gave her niece a hug, then quickly entered the apartment. In her mind she was wondering what alarmed her more, the fact that her five-year-old niece had just opened the door without inquiring who was on the other side, or the fact that the child should be in kindergarten and not at home answering the front door.

“Where’s your mommy?” Ellen asked.

Aaliyah took a seat on the floor in front of the television and picked up a bowl of cereal, then pointed down the hallway. “She’s been in her room all day,” she said. “I think she might be sick, cus she hasn’t come out, and I didn’t go to school.”

“Where’s your daddy?”

Aaliyah shrugged her shoulders as she shoveled a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

Ellen walked down the hallway and lightly tapped on her sister’s bedroom door. “Jenise, it’s me. Open the door,” she said.

A few seconds later her sister peeped out of a crack in the doorway. “Is Aaliyah with you?” she asked.

“No, she’s watching cartoons.”

Jenise opened the door and backed away, allowing her sister to enter, then quickly closed it again. Ellen gasped loudly as soon as she saw her sister’s face covered in bruises. Jenise’s lips were busted and swollen, and her left eye was a garish shade of purple.

“I don’t want Aaliyah to see me like this. It would frighten her,” Ellen said.

“It’s frightening to me. Jenise, why do you let him do this to you?” Ellen didn’t wait for an answer to her question because she had asked it many times before and the answer was always the same. Instead of listening to Jenise say once again how much she loved her husband, Ellen walked to the bathroom and came back with a cold towel that she pressed lightly against her sister’s face.

“He’s been under a lot of pressure this week, that’s all, Sissy. He apologized, and it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Ellen slowly shook her head. “What kind of pressure could he possibly be under? He doesn’t even have a job.”

“He’s trying to get his music career started. You know that. If he took a full-time job, he wouldn’t have time to practice his music or record his CD. You just wait and see; my hubby is going to be the next Kirk Franklin.”

“I bet Kirk never punched his wife because he was under pressure.”

Jenise scowled at her sister. “I don’t know why I even bothered to call you. I mean, you’ve never liked Reggie anyway.”

“I like him just fine. It’s what he does to you that I can’t stand.”

Jenise began to cry. “The only reason I called you is because I need you to take Aaliyah for a few days so she won’t see me like this. If you can’t do that, you may as well leave.”

“Don’t cry, Jenise. You know I don’t mind taking my niece. She told me that she missed school today, but I’ll make sure she goes tomorrow, and then she can spend the weekend with me. She thinks you’re sick, so I won’t tell her any differently.”

“Thank you, Sissy.” Jenise wiped her tears and gave her sister a big hug. “Are you sure she won’t be in the way? I know you have lots of wedding planning stuff to do. I got fitted for my bridesmaid’s dress the other day. It’s beautiful.”

Ellen knew her sister was trying to change the subject and deflect her attention away from her face, but she didn’t protest. “As a matter-of-fact she can help me. I’ve got a few do-it-yourself projects to complete, and she’s pretty good with a glue stick.” Ellen smiled for the first time since entering the apartment.

“That’s great. Aaliyah loves spending time with you.”

Ellen flashed another fake smile. It pained her to see her sister in such a state. Her physical appearance was ghastly, but Ellen also felt pain for what was going on inside her sister. She couldn’t believe that Jenise saw nothing wrong with the fact that her husband chose to hit her whenever he was upset, under pressure, or just in a bad mood.

During their seven-year marriage he had sprained Jenise’s arm, fractured her jaw, and placed dozens of bruises all over her body. Each time he swore that he was sorry and begged for her forgiveness. Ellen begged her sister to leave him, but nothing seemed to penetrate that shell of marriage. Ellen wholeheartedly believed in the sanctity of marriage and was excited at the thought of marrying Semaj, but she couldn’t help but wonder if saying marriage vows sucked the brains out of some women. She watched her outgoing, boisterous, happy, single sister turn into a reclusive, quiet, withdrawn married woman, who used her wedding vows as a reason to stay with a no-good man.

“God wants me to remain with my husband. God doesn’t approve of divorce,” Jenise had often said. Ellen only half agreed because no matter what scriptures Jenise chose to quote, there was no way she could convince her that God wanted her to be used as a punching bag.

Ellen left the bedroom and helped Aaliyah pack her lavender miniature suitcase with her favorite pajamas, her sneakers, socks, underwear, several pairs of jeans, and matching blouses. When they were done, they returned to the living room and Ellen asked Aaliyah to wait for her by the front door.

“I just want to say good-bye to your mommy, and then I’ll be right out,” she said.

“Can I say bye to Mommy too?” Aaliyah asked. Her little face was filled with excitement.

“She’s sick, honey, and . . . well . . . I don’t want you to catch what she has.”

“What about you, Auntie Ellen? How come you won’t catch what Mommy has?”

Ellen loved Aaliyah’s inquisitive nature and detested having to lie to her. “Tell you what, let’s both just say good-bye through the door,” she suggested.

After saying good-bye to her sister, Ellen and Aaliyah went down the steel staircase of the building and out to Ellen’s car. Ellen popped the trunk and placed Aaliyah’s suitcase inside, then closed it.

“Auntie Ellen, isn’t that Uncle Semaj over there?” Aaliyah asked.

Ellen looked in the direction that Aaliyah was pointing and saw her fiancé hugging a strange woman. She stared at them for several dumbfounded moments before finally getting into her car and driving away.

Later that evening, Aaliyah happily ate the dinner of spaghetti with meatballs that Ellen cooked for her. After taking a bath, she begged her auntie to read her a story, but she fell asleep before Ellen finished reading three pages. Ellen laid the book on the nightstand by the bed, and then gently kissed her niece on the forehead. As she left the room, she clicked off the light, while leaving a soft blue night-light burning in the corner near the window.

As soon as she was inside her bedroom she dialed Semaj’s cell phone number and anxiously waited for him to answer.

“Hello.”

“Hey, it’s me,” she said softly, while trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“Hi, baby, how was your day?” he asked cheerfully.

“I saw you and that woman over at Sand Poole Manor. Who is she?” she blurted out. Ellen did not mean to say it so abruptly, but after waiting all day to speak to him she was unable to hold it inside any longer.

“What woman? What are you talking about?” Semaj asked.

“I was at Sand Poole Manor today picking up Aaliyah, and we both saw you with a big-boned light-skinned woman. I saw you hug her. Who was she, Semaj?”

“I wasn’t at Sand Poole Manor today. . . .