Chapter One
She never liked the water.
Despite having been born and raised near it, Trina, had always connected the sea to the unknown. While the possibilities in its waves and never-ending wading was indeed limitless, the limit fell on a spectrum of good and evil that she had no control over.
She loved being in control.
Maybe seeing her little cousin’s lifeless body being pulled from the merciless murky depths had something to do it.
Even if that was the case, she would never admit it, for that would mean she would be admitting that some semblance of fear still lived within her.
No.
Katrina Ricks wasn’t scared of anything.
One doesn’t become one of the leading suppliers in the DMV area – District of Columbia, Maryland, Virginia – and survive the bloody turf wars that many a man didn’t survive.
From an early age, her mother, a bad bitch in her own right, Ms. Lucinda Ricks, drilled into her head that her gender was not a crutch, nor was she to use it as one. Lucinda made her promise not to have sex before marriage, but not for her piety, as cited by most religions. No, she knew sex was a distraction. Men were distractions in general. And there was no time for distractions until the goals set had been reached.
Just by coming into the world, she had beat the odds. Three months premature. Underdeveloped lungs. Weakened immune system. Didn’t breathe for the first ten seconds of life.
She was born a fighter. Good with both her fists and her mind. Smart, it didn’t take long for her to realize that not every fight was worth fighting, that there was no shame in conceding to a greater opponent. Retreat and regroup – live to fight another day.
As was the case concerning her current situation.
The waves crashing in the background, Trina’s body had taken on a healthy glow as she sat under the sun, activating her melanin. Looking over the rim of her shades, she had already saw the tree tops beginning to break out across the horizon when the captain gave the signal for land.
Clinking the link that was in the anonymous email, she sucked in a quick breath. A black and white photo of her face filled the scream, the word wanted stretched across the top. Looking herself over, she could finally see what the government saw.
She did seem cold, guarded, uncaring. But she had to be that way in order to survive.
She scrolled down and read the caption.
Wanted: Katrina “Trina” Ricks – 5’9”, approximately 170 lbs., African American, tattoo of rose on neck, tattoo of tiger on thigh, tattoo of Nefertiti on left forearm
Crimes: Money laundering, Assault with a deadly weapon, Attempted Murder, Conspiracy to commit murder, Drug trafficking, Racketeering, Obstruction of justice, Murder
CONSIDERED TO BE ARMED AND DANGEROUS
“Hey mommy.”
Trina swiftly slid her tablet underneath her leg, pulling a towel over it. A moan slithered from her chest as the cranberry juice and vodka mixture landed on her tongue. She rocked back and forth after Porshe’s arms slid around her neck.
“Whatcha doin?”
“Counting down until my feet touch land,” she joked.
“I never understood why you got this big ass –
“Language ma’am.”
“Why you got this big ol’ boat if you don’t like the water,” Porshe finished. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“I never said I don’t like that water. I just don’t like being in the water. It’s just – she stared out of the foamy waves – too much.”
“Too much what? Water? We’re in the middle, we were in the middle of the ocean.” Porshe somehow managed to curl up next to Trina in the lounge chair, resting her head in her favorite spot. Hugging her close, she said, “Good thing I took swimming lessons.”
“Whatchu tryna say?”
“If I wasn’t here, there would be no one to save you,” Porshe laughed. “You know, you’re too old not to be knowing how to swim.”
“Language.”
“I didn’t cuss.”
“You called me old. That’s a curse word.”
“That’s some old people sh, I mean, stuff, getting mad at me for telling the truth.”
“Uh uh, get up,” Trina teased, trying to loosen Porshe’s arms. “You not finna call me old and think you can keep laying on me. Get up.”
The two poked at one another, snorts, laughter, and pleas to stop mingled with the singing gulls. Drumming could be heard in the distance, harmonic chanting following soon after. As the boat pulled into the docks, Trina decided she needed to freshen up before meeting the locals. Sliding off the chair, the tablet hit the ground. Porshe picked it up before she had a chance to stop her.
Porshe said nothing as she examined what was on the screen. She handed it over after a few seconds. “You’re not 5’9”. I’m taller than you.”
Trina’s heart rate dropped as Porshe descended the steps to the cabin area. The rest of the world could think she was a murderous drug dealing mobster, so long as Porshe didn’t. Hers was the only opinion that mattered. Other than her mother’s.
Deciding it had been too long sense they last spoke, Trina opened Skype, fluffing her shoulder length 4A bundles as the tablet rang. “Hey twin.”
“Hey beautiful,” Lucinda greeted. “Where are you now?”
“Guess.”
“South America?”
“Good damn guess mommy. Brazil to be exact.” The music had grown louder, other ships pulling in next to hers. “Wish you were here with us.”
“Somebody gotta keep track of what these fuckers are doing.”
“Language mommy. I see where Porshe gets it from now. What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing much,” Lucinda huffed. She released her freshly twisted locks, the move making her look half of her 50 years. After shaking them out, she stretched and rolled her neck, complaints about her night at the hospital leaking from the corners of her mouth. Pulling off her top, she revealed a pair of c-cup boobs that were somehow still defying gravity.
“You’re gotta stop undressing in front of me mommy.”
“You ain’t have no problem with it when I was feeding you.”
“Doesn’t count,” Trina joked.
“Yes it does. You were wide eyed, sucking the life out my titties, loving every minute of it.”
“OMG. I’m about to hang up
“Katrina Ricks, get your hand away from that button.”
“Or what,” Trina said, sticking her tongue out. “You ain’t gon do nothing from over there.”
“I’ma jump through this screen and beat ya ass.”
“So violent.”
“Damn right.” Lucinda flexed, her cackled making the speaker vibrate. After pulling a shirt over her head, she tied her dreads into a bun on top of her head and took a sip from the glass of green juice that a melanin rich hand set in front of her. “Where’s my baby?”
“I’m right here.”
“The one I like.”
“Now that’s fucked up.”
“Is that Granny,” Porshe asked, springing up the steps.
Trina could do nothing but smile at the interaction, the vivacity passing through the screen, their energy making the sun come out, their love roaring louder than the ocean beneath them. She allowed the peace she felt to absorb her, her body not rejecting the happiness it felt. A big step in her healing. It had only been recently when she discovered that she wasn’t made for something; or for the sole pleasure of others for that matter.
“Love you granny.”
“We’re gonna have to come up with another nickname.”
“Whatever you want,” Porshe appeased. “You wanna talk to mommy again?”
“Nah. Ya’ll go have fun. Be careful with those boys out there. You too Trina.”
“Yes ma’am,” she and Porshe said in unison.
“Love you ma, I’ll call you tonight.”
The captain was waiting to help them down the stairs, his light skin already having darkened two shades. Trina said nothing has his hand landed in the small of her back. She liked the way his fingers felt, reminding her of what a man’s touch felt like. It had been too long. One of the more dubious reasons she decided to sail to the beautiful continent. He held her wrist after her feet touched the ground. His desire came in the form of the heat emanating from his chest. His eyes traveled up and down her frame, lingering on her softer softs for a few seconds longer. “Can I see you tonight?”
“Is your wife gonna be okay with that,” Trina scoffed.
“I don’t love her anymore. I told you that.”
“And yet – she held his up his hand – you’re still married.”
“It’s complicated. We have the business and the kids, and you know –
“You’re still fucking her,” she finished for him. “Right?” His hesitation was the only answer she needed.
“Trina…”
“Yes.” Her glare was cold as she stared into his eyes. Her body remained closed to his. Suddenly her face softened. She placed a hand on his chest. “That’s your wife. You can fuck her as much as you want. But you definitely won’t be getting anymore of this.” Twisting her wrist, she released it from his grip and turned her back toward the lively music. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Trina. Trina.”
“See you later Chauncey.”
Fuck.”
###
Trina sucked the blood from her fingertip, its saltiness combining with the sweetness from the watermelon she was cutting. Busying preparing for her and Porshe’s routine girls’ night in, which was customary for the first night of arrival in any city they visited. Busy chopping and dancing, she didn’t hear the sliding glass door open. A minute later, she noticed it was ajar. “Porshe?”
No answer.
“Porshe,” she called again.
Marvin Gaye responded with a signature high note.
Her head worked on a swivel as she pulled the top drawer on her right open. The pistol was heavy in her hand, having just upgraded from a 9 millimeter to a .45. She called out again.
Philip Bailey reminded her and the kids like her to keep their heads to the sky.
Assuming a two handed grip, she crept from behind the island, knees bent, trigger finger flexed, eyes and mind focused, core tight, arms extended in front of her with a slight bend. She cleared the room, making her way toward the back of the house. As she reached the guest bathroom, there was still no sign that she wasn’t alone. She froze.
Footsteps. Five to be exact.
Her hood military training kicked in as she turned on the balls of her feet. Arms fully locked out, she didn’t recognize the eyes daring to pop out of their sockets looking back at her.
Crash.
Porshe’s hands flew into the air. The plate she was holding shattered into a thousand pieces. “I, I –
Trina stuffed the gun in her waistband before holding Porshe’s head against her chest. The shakes from Porshe’s back traveled through her hands, causing her own body to tremble. The cold metal kissing her skin teased her, bringing forth the realization that she wasn’t invincible, that she was afraid.
No.
Her mind wouldn’t admit to the word. Cautious was more like it.
“I’m sorry baby,” she apologized. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”
“I’m okay.” Porshe pulled away from her, wiping her tears on her shoulder. She didn’t speak as she began picking up the broken pieces of the plate.
“Let me help you.”
“No, I got it.”
Trina watched her, internally cursing herself for letting fear to conquer her mind. She reminded herself that no one was after then, or rather, no one knew where they were. She made sure of it. The scraping sound created from the pieces sliding across the tile made her ears burn. Carefully stepping around the pile and larger pieces, she returned to the kitchen to get the dust pan. Just as she pulled the pantry door open, her phone began to ring. The unknown number raised her angst. If it hadn’t been local, she wouldn’t have answered it.
“Hey, you busy?”
She turned on the faucet and the blender. “Not at the moment. What’s up?” Darkness enclosed her after she stepped into the pantry.
“I wanna see you,” Chauncey breathed. “I know things between me and –
“Don’t say her name.”
“Let me make it up to you. I’ll show you there’s nothing between us anymore. I want you.”
“Sure you do.” Trina peeked out of the door before stepping out into the open. “I can’t tonight. I’m busy.”
“With another guy?”
“You don’t get to ask me that bud. Have a great night.” Her yelp disrupted the calm after the corner of her phone hit her square in the top of her foot. “You scared me girl.”
“Sorry,” Porshe apologized. “That the boyfriend you ain’t let me meet yet?”
“Uh, no?”
“Your stutter says it was.”
“I said no,” Trina contended, holding out a trash bag open. “And when did you start listening in on my private conversations?”
“When you decided to have your private conversations in the pantry.” After dumping the plate remains, Porshe led the way back to the scene of the crime, dust pan in hand. She waited until Trina was done sweeping to stand, her hand on her hip. “Does that meet no girls’ night?”
“What kind of mother do you think I am? I would never drop you for some nigga.” Trina slid her arm across Porshe’s shoulders, the two walking step for step back into the living room. The cleaning done and the sun beginning to set, it was time for the games to begin. The tradition started off the same way each time, real talk over wine coolers and fruit kabobs. The actual making of the kabobs had become a competition in recent years. A larger bowl of chopped fruit separated two foil pans.
“What’s the order?”
“Watermelon, cantaloupe, banana, kiwi, and the wild card – she jogged into the kitchen, jumping back on the couch – grapes.”
“Ooh, somebody’s feeling confident,” Porshe taunted. “Not gonna help you win.”
“You been practicing?”
“You think I would tell you if I was?”
“You are definitely my daughter Porshe Ricks.”
“Aren’t you proud?” She held hands under her chin, elbows flared out, a smile taking up the width of her face.
The competition commenced a minute later. Pieces of fruit slapped against the couch, juice coating fingers, making them sticky, backs of hands wiped sweat from foreheads, tips of tongues licked corners of mouths, savoring the mixed liquids.
Long sharp sticks penetrated the different fruits, not carrying about how they looked or tasted, whether they were soft or hard, or what color they were – just like the man that probably made them. Other than the squeak from the ceiling fan blades, the only other sound was the fruits’ moans.
After ten minutes, the race was neck and neck, each woman having one stick left. Fingers tired, forearms screaming, they didn’t care what their holes looked like or that the fruit sat lopsided. Their creations weren’t beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. But then again, beauty was in the eye of the beholder.
Porshe dropped the kabob and raised her fists. Her knees waved back and forth, thighs jiggling. “Porshe Ricks for the win.” Her hands cupped around her amplified her imitation of a crowd screaming. Eyes locked on the grape she tossed into the air, she winked as she chewed it after she caught it in her mouth. “I am the champion of all fruit kabob making champions.”
“It’s not nice to rub it in.”
“Exactly what a loser would say.”
Trina, with a narrowed eye, switched the tins and picked the top fruit off stick she held. “You’re too much like me.”
“Welp, dad wasn’t around long enough for me to get anything from him.”
The room fell silence.
The real talk session had begun.
Porshe’s father was a touchy subject, even more so as she had gotten older. The interesting thing was, she wasn’t the one who shied away from talking about him. Being that there were no topics off limits, the conversation couldn’t be avoided.
“How did you and dad meet?”
“You really wanna talk about him right now,” Trina scoffed. “He already caused enough damage in the seven years he was around.”
“Whether you like it or not, you didn’t create all this perfection by yourself.” Porshe’s eyes dropped to her hands, which were sitting in her lap. “We started talking about the impact of childhood relationships in class.”
“How are you liking the new set up by the way, taking classes online?”
“It’s alright. Wish I could be around other people my age though.”
The confession made Trina’s chest tight. All she wanted, the reason she got into the game, was to be able to give her daughter everything she never had. She did well with the material things but was falling behind concerning the emotional aspect. That was part of the reason for the guilt that kept her up at night.
“So you gonna tell me or what,” Porshe asked, throwing a grape.
Trina huffed, letting her head fall to the back of the couch. “Uhhhh. We were high school sweethearts. Neither one of us knew what love was. We had sex without a condom one time and had you. There.”
“You know that ain’t what I meant. Tell me the real story. Ya’ll had to love each other once. I wanna know about that.”
“I need a drink since we’re starting off all deep.” Trina came back with a bottle of wine and a six pack of watermelon wine coolers. She noticed Porshe hadn’t cracked one open when she started pouring her glass. Without speaking, she went back into the kitchen, returning with an additional glass. “Don’t tell ya daddy.”
Porshe tapped her glass against its twin before taking a sip. Her lips twisted at the tartness, her eyes squeezed tight. “Why do people drink this?”
“Try asking me again after you finish it,” Trina snickered.
One and a half glasses in, Proshe was waving back and forth, her eyes low and bloodshot. Her lips loose, her sentences came out as slurred messes, containing more than one question or idea. Being a newbie, the alcohol in her system caused adrenaline to rush through her veins, making her supply her own answers, criticisms, and critiques.
Noticing the sky’s darkness, Trina checked her watch for the time before deciding to call it a night. “You okay? You’re not gonna ruin these nice people’s furniture are you?”
“I’m 17 mom.”
“That ain’t got nothing to do with throwing up the yellow stuff.”
“What’s the yellow stuff?” Porshe’s nose wrinkled at the smell of her burp. “Ugh.”
“Exactly. How’s your head,” she asked, placing the back of her hand on Porshe’s forehead. Sloppy arms flails and unbelievable protest offered no resistance as mother pulled daughter’s arm across her shoulders. “Damn your head is heavy.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ma let you get away with that because you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” Porshe giggled. “I’m tipsy. That’s what millennials say.”
“I thought it was lit.”
“Oh, right. I’m litty.”
Trina fell into the bed after she managed to throw Porshe into it. Her arms wound around the warm body that entangled itself around her own, hands landing in their usual spots – back of the head, across the shoulder blades – voice softening, breath becoming deeper, eyelids lowering, love replaces all other sensations giving way to a peace that all humans walking the streets are seeking.
Light snores accompanied sweet hums, both backed by the leaves shaking in the wind just outside the window.
As she tried to maneuver herself from under the weight, Porshe squeezed her tighter. “Don’t go.”
“We’re too old, and too big, to be sleeping with each other.”
Without looking in the direction her arm pointed, Porshe said, “Swear jar.”
“I didn’t curse.”
“You said old.”
Conceding the point, Trina kept her arm around Porshe’s shoulders as she retrieved a dollar bill from her back pocket and set it on the night table.
“Can I ask you something? Please.”
“Anything you want baby girl.”
“How do you know when you’re in love. And don’t worry, I’m not. I just wanna know in advance. Just in case,” Porshe said.
Trina stared at the ceiling as she considered her answer. Truth was, she didn’t have one. All the love she had known had come in the form of abuse or non-appreciation, in which she gave and gave and gave receiving nothing in return. Minutes passed. Porshe’s snoring was a cue that it was time to get up. Again she tried, only to find Porshe’s bloodshot whites staring up at her.
“You’re not getting away that easy. Answer the question mommy, I really wanna know.”
An admission trailed her exhale. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling once more. “You’re almost grown, I guess I can start telling you the truth now.”
“Thank you very much.”
“I don’t really know what love is sis.”
“Yes huh. You love me,” Porshe insisted. “That’s the purest form of love there is. That’s what my teacher said at least. How did you know you were in love with me?”
“I loved you the first time I laid eyes on you; even after 18 hours of pain. That big ass, big ole head of yours didn’t wanna come out.”
“I won’t apologize for that. Gotta put this big brain somewhere.”
“True that,” Trina laugh, exchanging a high five. She held Porshe tighter, placing a kiss in the center of her crown.
“So it was love at first sight?”
“Absolutely. You were the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on. Besides me of course.”
“Of course. What did you feel? How did you feel? Did it compare to anyone you loved before?”
While she was proud of Porshe’s curiosity and intrigue, Trina was uneasy about it being directed toward her, particularly the area of her life that she had long buried in the deepest, most inaccessible parts of herself. Memories were drudged up that she thought she had burned, emotions that she diligently taught herself to disregard, if not outright ignore altogether.
“Mommy?”
“I’m thinking. That was a whole 17 years ago.”
Porshe finally separated herself, propping her head up on her fist, her eyes showing signs of sobering. “You don’t feel the same way.”
“Nope.”
“What!”
Trina thumped her nose. “I love you more.” She used the opportunity to remain free, hopping out the bed, taking two steps backward toward the door. “Get some sleep.” She put her fingers in her ears and sang, blocking out Porshe’s protest. “We have forever to talk about that heavy stuff. Next time, we’ll get a stronger drink.”
“Really?”
“Hell no.”
“Ugh.” Porshe’s covered her face with a pillow, her next few words muffled.
“Good night big head, love you.”
“Love you too,” Porshe whispered.
“What was that?”
“I said I love you too dang.”
“You better.” Trina closed the door until a one inch gap was her line of sight. Watching Porshe curl up under the sheets, she was reminded of the love she had just been interrogated about. She examined what she felt – pride, excitement, happiness – she then processed her bodily reactions – steady heartbeat, lack of anxiety, restful mind. She watched for another ten minutes.
“You’re the best thing that ever happen to me Porshe Ricks. You make everything worth it.”
