Without Faith Read online

  “But what you think does matter to me. Jenellis is certain that you are the person we should be talking to, but I’ll be honest. I’m not convinced. I need to know how you feel about money. The fact that you were practically panting when I showed you a handful of twenties a few moments ago tells me something, but not everything. Tell me.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he leaned even closer to me. “What does money mean to you? Fear? Trust? Those were your words.”

  “Okay.” I took the wad of bills from out of my work bag. Their brand of trouble was not worth it. “I apologize, but I’m not going to be able to work with the two of you. I am not sure what it is that you want, either one of you”—I eyed Jenellis—“but I can give you a list of other therapists in the area who you can contact and interview to find the best fit for your needs. I’m sorry, I’m not the one.” I held the money back out to them, but neither one of them reached for it.

  “You passed.” Brayden smiled and sat back.

  “What is going on here?” The money was still extended in my hand. “You told me that you had an urgent matter. That is why I agreed to see you. We’re out of time now, but I still do not see what the emergency is.”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  Both Jenellis and I looked at Brayden with confusion.

  “Twenty-four hours,” he repeated. “By this time tomorrow, both of you will understand why we are so pressed for time.”

  “I wish you would just tell me,” Jenellis hissed at him before turning her attention to me. “For the past two weeks, all Brayden has been saying to me is that by this Friday, I’ll know all there is to know about him. I can’t stand the secrets. He wants me to trust him. I’m trying to, but in so doing, I need him to trust me too.”

  “Twenty-four hours. It will all make sense.” Brayden never looked at her, his eyes only bore into mine. “I’m going to leave the money with you for now, Ms. St. James. If by tomorrow evening, you are still intent on not helping me and my fiancée, I will come and get every last bill back from you. Thanks for your time. Let’s go, Jenellis.” He stood and headed toward the door.

  I saw Jenellis’s hesitation, but she walked out right beside him.

  “Wait.” I followed them, the money still in my hands. “I’m not keeping this. You’re going to have to take it back.”

  But they were already about to pass through the waiting area, and did not even turn around to speak to or acknowledge me.

  “Mr. Moore and Ms. Walker,” I demanded, marching right behind them. “Wait a minute.” My one o’clock client, a twenty-something Asian woman with a severe anxiety problem, was sitting on a couch fumbling through a magazine as I practically ran after them.

  “Ms. St. James,” she gasped, her hands starting to shake. “Is everything okay?”

  Jenellis and Brayden were gone. The money was still in my hand. My client was on the verge of a panic attack.

  “Yes, Li, everything is okay.” I followed her eyes to the stack of bills in my hand. Smiling, I slipped them into the back of my notepad. “You can come in my office now.”

  I kept a smile on my face to help ease her nerves and she managed a small smile as well. I was doing well keeping up the façade as we settled into our seats—until I noticed that there was a small sheet of paper peeking from behind the sofa pillow where Jenellis had been sitting.

  Somehow, Li and I made it through the session, me going through the motions of listening and encouraging; her appearing to be getting her weekly dose of help. The moment Li left, I reached for the torn scrap and read exactly what I had expected to see.

  Please find out if this man is violent. I don’t know who else to turn to without there being major consequences.

  “See you next week, Li.” I followed my client out, the paper a mashed ball in my hand. My two o’clock, a middle-aged woman with an anger management problem and my final appointment for the day, was waiting.

  “It’s about time you got out here.” She looked up at the wall clock to emphasize my three-minute lateness. “I’m getting real tired of having to wait for you every week.”

  “Okay, Ms. Sherry, let’s get started.” I smiled. I had to put up a front for at least one more hour.

  Chapter 6

  “You should try the salmon. I know how much you like seafood.” Leon’s bald head almost glistened in the glow of candlelight at the Harbor’s Edge Inn. The color of dark chocolate with undertones of copper, Leon’s strength surpassed his sculpted frame. Strength exuded in the slight tilt of his head, whispered in the tenor of his voice, the gentle smile of his eyes.

  Why couldn’t I simply let this man love me and I love him?

  “Mmmm. Yes.” I smiled. “I have heard about the salmon here.” I felt like hiding behind the menu. I did not want Leon to see the bad nerves that had taken root, grown a stem, and pushed out buds in me ever since Brayden and Jenellis had left my office.

  The stack of bills was still tucked away in the back of my notepad. I hadn’t even bothered counting it yet, but I knew that whatever the final sum was the cost of trouble. What am I supposed to do?

  “Here’s your appetizer.” A middle-aged woman with graying blond hair and a black apron put a steaming plate of maple-broiled scallops between us.

  “Thanks.” Leon smiled up at her. I did not miss her blush. The man’s smile could trap any woman. He used to wear a gold cap on one of his teeth, but after he chose to let go of the painful history behind it, his pearly whites had a golden quality all their own.

  When he looked back at me, his smile was gone.

  “Sienna, I know we haven’t finished ordering yet, but I need to at least let you know why it was so urgent we talk.”

  “Okay,” I squeezed out, trying to remember all of a sudden how to breathe. Leon had stopped looking at me, was studying the etched leaf pattern of his salad fork. Time ticked by and to alleviate the agitation that was threatening to swallow me because of his silence, I escaped into my comfort zone.

  “Whatever this is about is difficult for you to share.” With my therapist hat on, I had the courage to look him directly in the eyes when he finally looked back up at me. Focusing on his feelings kept me from feeling my own.

  Leon was not going for it. “Look, Sienna, I’m not one of your clients. I’m . . . I—”

  “Are you ready to order?” The waitress was back, all smiles at Leon.

  He looked at me and shrugged. “I guess that’s what we need to do next. I’m not that hungry, so, Sienna, please get whatever you want. This appetizer will fill me.”

  “What would you like, hon?” The words were friendly, but the waitress was looking at me disapprovingly, as if Leon’s poor appetite was my fault.

  “I’ll try your grilled salmon entrée.”

  “Mmm, hmm.” She scribbled on her pad and took off, but not before frowning at me and smiling at Leon again.

  “And I’ll try this again.” Leon sighed. “Look, Sienna, our friendship has really grown over the past two years. You know that—”

  My cell phone chimed. I did not recognize the number.

  “I’m sorry, Leon. I forgot to silence it. Let me do that now.” I slid it to vibrate and pushed it to the side of the table.

  “No problem.” Leon was ready to begin again. “Um, like I was saying—”

  My cell phone buzzed, sending the silverware that lined our table into a vibrating chorus. It was a different number. Still did not recognize it.

  “I’m so sorry. I probably need to shut the whole thing down. I tend to keep it on in case a client calls, but I’ll deal with it later.” Brayden and Jenellis crossed my mind. As much as Leon was scaring me, the thought of them frightened me more. I hoped to goodness that was not them trying to call me. I reached out to turn my phone completely off, but then a new number, and one that I recognized, jumped on the touch screen.

  Yvette Davis, my younger sister. Leon saw the name too.

  “Go ahead and answer. I know how your sister gets.” He sat back in his
seat, staring off into space as he stirred his iced tea with a straw.

  “Hello, Yvette?”

  “Sienna, why haven’t you been answering your phone?” she yelled in my ear.

  “Um, hello, how are you, um, is that too much to ask?” I rolled my eyes. My sister was always in the middle of some drama.

  “I don’t have time for your sarcasm any more than you seem to have time to pick up your phone.”

  “You just called me. I just answered.” I looked up at Leon to offer him a smile, but he was busy flipping through the menu.

  “Your home phone? You haven’t been answering that.”

  “Obviously I’m not home, Yvette. Did it ever cross your mind that I might actually be out somewhere and can’t talk to you?”

  “Well, I gave them your cell phone number and you obviously didn’t answer it either or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  “Them? Yvette, really, I don’t have time for this. What are you talking about? What is going on? Who is ‘them’?”

  “Reverend Howard and Tridell’s mother.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “What? What happened?”

  “They gone!”

  Her words didn’t make sense. “What? What happened?” I asked again.

  “Your son, my son, and that prissy Tridell Jenkins—along with Reverend Howard’s rental car, might I add—are all gone from that desert campground you talked me into sending my child to!”

  Chapter 7

  “Gone!” I hollered into the phone. An elderly couple at the table next to us gave me a look of displeasure. Leon’s eyes were wide as he leaned closer to me.

  “You heard me!” Yvette hollered back in my ear. “You got my son out there missing halfway across the country.”

  “Yvette, you know good and well I did not do anything to your son. He makes his own choices, just like you chose to send him on the trip on your own accord—even before I signed the permission forms for Roman.” This direction in conversation was not what I needed. I needed answers, not Yvette’s perpetual blame-game drama and her act that Skee-Gee was the perfect child, the innocent one. For anything, a year Roman’s senior in age, and a decade his senior in street knowledge, I knew one thing for certain: wherever they were, it was Skee-Gee’s doing—or that darn Tridell Jenkins. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Yvette. I need to know what is going on. Where is my son?”

  Leon was at full attention on the other side of the table. “What’s wrong, Sienna?”

  I held up a finger, shaking my head at him. “I can’t . . . I don’t know what’s going on. Yvette, where is my son?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. They gone, Sienna. Roman, Tridell, and Sylvester took off in Minister Howard’s rental car, and don’t nobody know where they are right now.”

  “Okay,” I said, hanging up the phone. There was no point in trying to continue a conversation with her. I dialed Roman’s number and his voice mail came on immediately, letting me know his cell phone was turned off.

  “Roman,” I shouted as if he could somehow still hear me, “you need to call me as soon as you get this message. I’m not playing with you. Call me!” I hung up and put my head down.

  “Sienna, let’s . . . let’s just go.” Leon’s voice was gentle, soothing in my ear. I realized right then that he was rubbing my shoulder. His touch had been so natural, I hadn’t even noticed it was there. Awareness of this subtlety made me stiffen up my shoulder under his fingers. He felt the tension and backed away, but his tone stayed soft.

  “I know from your words that something is going on with Roman. Let’s get you home and we’ll figure out what to do.” He left a fifty on the table though we had not yet eaten. As we headed toward the parking lot, I recalled that we had driven in separate cars. I wished right then that I had taken Leon up on his offer of picking me up for our non-date. How was I to ever drive while not knowing where my son was?

  Our non-date.

  Leon had wanted to meet for a reason, I remembered.

  “Leon, I’m sorry about—”

  “Not right now, Sienna. We’ll talk, but this is not the time. We’ve got to find Roman first. And we will.”

  Roman was AWOL on the other side of the country, and yet Leon, who was standing right beside me, felt even further away.

  I was losing all the men in my life.

  I knew it.

  Felt it.

  But I still did not want to believe.

  Chapter 8

  My wedding ring from RiChard had been a simple one: a white, ivory-like rugged circle he said was crafted in the tradition of some indigenous village he visited during one of his many trips to South America. He put it on my finger as we stood in the marriage ceremony room at the Baltimore County Courthouse. There were no witnesses present as my parents were infuriated that I was taking this step, and his parents, he said, were “in their own worlds” in other parts of the world.

  I found out later that the ring that symbolized our hasty commitment was actually made out of bone: a piece of a vertebra from a small rodent-like mammal that ran through the floors of the rainforest, feasting on even smaller animals. This crude bit of jewelry was in stark contrast from the lion’s head ring, the heavy golden orb with eyes made out of rubies and sapphires and a mane edged with diamonds. The lion’s head ring had belonged to the son of an African chief whom RiChard had befriended when both were studying abroad in Europe.

  Kisu.

  RiChard was gifted with the heavy ornament after he avenged Kisu’s murder during a political rally effort he planned in KwaZulu-Natal in South Africa.

  That was years ago.

  The last trip I took with him.

  To my parents’ dismay, I’d given up my full ride to college to follow him on his social justice mission around the world. What could I say? I was eighteen and in love, as I thought it to be, and that bull carried me for a while.

  But something in me changed when I saw the blood on his hands.

  He said he’d killed a man for killing Kisu.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it then, but I practically ran from his side, packed my bags, got on the first plane out of there, and landed in my mother’s living room, not knowing I was pregnant with RiChard’s son.

  Random gifts through the years, inconsistent phone calls.

  Roman.

  The only three proofs that a man named RiChard St. James had loved me.

  I guess.

  “Sienna, did you try the church number again?” My mother’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts. She was a highly respected principal at what was once a struggling Baltimore City elementary school, and although we were all sitting in the basement of my parents’ Randallstown home, she was in full authoritarian mode.

  “Mom, I’ve called the church secretary, Pastor McKinney’s wife, Elder Nance, and Sister Henry, who heads up the church’s crisis line. Like I said before, nobody has any additional information. We only need to let the authorities do their job.”

  “Authorities?” My sister yelled from the dark brown leather loveseat across the room. “I thought we all agreed to let Minister Howard handle this.”

  “Minister Howard doesn’t even want the rental car company to know the boys took the car, although I’m sure the company would be able to track down the car’s GPS.”

  “Minister Howard is trying to avoid getting the authorities involved, remember?” Yvette snapped back. “The boys left on their own accord, so it’s not like they’re in some kind of trouble, kidnapped, or something like that. They’ll resurface when they’re ready. We just need to wait it out, that’s all.”

  Yvette glared at me and I glared at her, knowing that the only reason she did not want the police involved was because then it would have to be reported to Skee-Gee’s probation officer. I’d listened to her beg and plead on the phone with Minister Howard that very point, and for some crazy reason he went along, agreeing with her that the boys were up to a harmless adventure and would surface soon.r />
  I started to say something about her beloved son, the eldest of her five children, but I did not have the energy.

  Years ago, watching RiChard disappear down a path with Kisu for the last time, I’d had a sick feeling in my stomach, like my insides would cave in and disintegrate into acid.

  I had the same feeling now.

  RiChard.

  The lion’s head ring.

  I had been thinking about him and that. And now I remembered why.

  “Yup, if someone calls demanding a ransom,” my father was saying for the umpteenth time, “I’ll cash in my highest value cards and signed baseballs and that should do it.”

  “There will be no ransom because there’s been no kidnapping!” Yvette sighed and huffed and puffed.

  My father, Alvin Davis, a truck driver for a bakery in Little Italy, had the most extensive sports memorabilia collection this side of the Mississippi, or so it seemed. A local newspaper had once featured him surrounded by the baseball bats, boxing gloves, jerseys, and other pricey artifacts that made up his cache; but few people had ever laid eyes on the smallest, yet most expensive treasures he kept locked in the basement safe.

  “Even still, I’m sure I have something that would be enough to save three boys caught in mischief.” He kept eyeing the corner of the basement where the safe was, hidden cleverly behind a small fridge in the wet bar of the wood-paneled den.

  The lion’s head ring.

  I’d pushed the massive jewel into that same safe nearly two years ago. I needed to get it out before it was noticed by my dad or anyone else. I did not want any questions.

  I’d never gotten the answers I wanted two years ago when the ring had shown up in an urn mailed to me from the other side of the world.

  The urn, I would later find out, had actually been mailed by Kisu.

  Who clearly had not been murdered like RiChard claimed.

  The letter. The e-mail. The picture. The unconscious Kisu lying on a hotel floor, found by authorities in Portugal two years ago. The questions I’d left unanswered. The answers I did not want to know.