Only In His Sweetest Dreams(51)

God, how was she going to get through this?

“Hey, M,” an achingly familiar male voice said.

She whirled and saw a stranger. He wore a gray suit, had a fresh, square haircut and a shave that lacked a single nick. Concern shadowed his smiling, bedroom eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, but ruined it by laughing, then almost crying.

He crushed her in a hug against the thick layer of his suit jacket and she held on, held on. He smelled so good.

“Oh, L.C.,” she sniffed.

“You losin’ weight, M? There’s nothing left of you.” He roamed a hand beneath her suit jacket, sliding it over the waistband of her skirt and down her hip.

“Yes. I’m pretty much scum of the earth and can barely stand to feed myself,” she said in a whisper.

“Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t do that to yourself.”

“But look what I’m doing to her,” she whispered, glancing over to where Porsha was glaring with betrayal from the embrace of their mother’s arms. “I had to put her to bed myself last night. She couldn’t even walk, she was so drunk. I’m to blame for that.”

“Hey. Listen.” L.C. cupped her face and tilted her chin so she looked at him, not her sister. He stroked her jaw with his thumb, speaking softly. Compassionately. “She needs to blame you so she can live with herself. It’s a helluva lot easier to say ‘My sister took my kids,’ than it is to say, ‘I wasn’t able to do what I needed to do in order to keep them.’”

“You think I’m doing the right thing?” she asked, begging for reassurance.

“You’re doing something, and that’s right.”

“Mercedes?” Shonda said.

Mercedes pulled away from L.C. and turned to see Porsha and their mother stand.

“It’s time,” Shonda said. She frowned at L.C. “Have we met?”

“L.C., ma’am. I was living next door to Mercedes for a few weeks.”

“That’s right. You look different.” She looked at their linked hands and her frown deepened, not with disapproval exactly, but with recognition of a complication. “Are you planning to stay?”

“Out here,” L.C. replied. He tightened his grip in a squeeze of reassurance before he loosened his hold, whispering, “Long as you need,” before releasing her to follow Porsha into the Judge’s chamber.





Chapter 26





“This isn’t right,” Mercedes’s mother said as they all took chairs facing the Judge’s desk where a nameplate read Hon. Phyllis Parsons.

The Judge was an imposing African American woman with gray hair, shoulders like a linebacker and hands like a man.

“We shouldn’t even be here. It’s wrong, you know it is,” her mother continued to Mercedes.

Mercedes ran her gaze from her mother’s lined face and wiry hair to Porsha’s stoic profile. Haggard. Porsha was a pretty woman, but she was coming apart at the seams, showing her age and hangover and bitterness.

Mercedes wasn’t faring much better. Above just about anything else, she believed in family, yet she was destroying her own.

“You can stop this right now, Mercy,” her mother continued.

The Judge cleared her throat, silencing everyone. She caught Mercedes’s eye.

Mercedes lowered her gaze and played with the zipper pull on her purse, remaining stubbornly silent.

Shonda took care of the introductions, then Judge Parsons said, “I’ve reviewed the file.” She opened one about half an inch thick. “Porsha, did you know that after you called Dayton’s father, he emailed Shonda, expressing his preference that Dayton stay with your sister?”

Porsha shielded her eyes with one hand and sank down a notch on her spine. “I was upset. If he hadn’t cancelled the automatic deposit, I wouldn’t have lost the apartment. This wouldn’t be happening.”

In a kind but firm voice, Judge Parsons said, “This is happening because you walked away from your children.”

“I left them with my mom. My sister took them from her. I thought they’d be all right with her because I trusted her, but now she wants to keep them because she can’t have kids of her own.”

Mercedes knew pain made her sister keep throwing that poison at her and tried not to let it affect her, but it stung like acid every single time.

“Is that true, Mercedes?” the Judge asked gently.

“It’s true that I can’t get pregnant,” she said in a stress-frayed voice. “But if this was only about me wanting kids of my own, I could hire a surrogate. Or adopt. I know there are a lot of children looking for a secure, loving home. If I was confident Dayton and Ayjia had that, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

“I love my kids,” Porsha responded with vehemence. “It’s your fault they lost their home.” She turned to the Judge. “You don’t understand.” She pleaded with one hand firmly clutching her mother’s. “Being a single mom is really, really hard.”

“If you’ve never been on your own,” Delores said, her voice hoarse, “the mother of two kids, you wouldn’t understand. You don’t take away a woman’s children just because she’s fallen on hard times. You just don’t.”

Judge Parsons accepted the statement with a nod. “But we’re not talking about whether to remove the children from Porsha’s care. Porsha made that decision when she refused to return home to protest Mercedes taking custody. We’re talking about whether to entrust them back into her care.”

Porsha shrank into her seat. Her knuckles whitened where she clutched her mother’s hand. “But they’re mine,” she said in a small voice. “I need them. I need to have them with me.”

Judge Parsons nodded. “I understand, but before I can grant you custody—”

Porsha gasped.

Mercedes felt all her blood drain into her feet. A buzzing sound invaded her ears and the rest of the Judge’s words came from a distance.

“—I need to see significant changes in your life. First and foremost, you must address your alcohol issues.”

Porsha whimpered. Mercedes clutched the arms of the chair, so dizzy she thought she would fall out of it.

“I’d like to see you develop your own source of income,” the Judge continued. “Rather than rely on support payments and social assistance. If you secure employment, find a suitable residence, and come back to me with a year of sobriety, I will very likely grant you custody of your children. Until then, I think the well-being of Dayton and Ayjia is better served if they remain with Mercedes.”

“But—” Porsha said.

I have to do this again in a year. Mercedes leaned forward until blood throbbed in her brain, hitting the backs of her eyes like a wash of flaming gasoline.

Somehow she had expected something more final. She had wanted to know, unequivocally, that the children would be with her forever. But even through her dim coherence, she understood the sense in the Judge’s decision. Porsha needed hope. Mercedes even felt a small measure of gratitude toward the Judge for offering some.

Meanwhile, a tiny stream of relief trickled through her. For now, this was over. For now, the kids would stay with her.

Judge Parsons asked Shonda, “Do we schedule another time to address visitation?”

“I think Porsha and I can work that out with Shonda,” Mercedes said, glancing at her sister’s devastated expression. “Right now, I think we just need to let the kids know what’s happening and let everything settle for a few days.”

“Good idea,” Shonda said, standing and giving Mercedes’s shoulder a brief rub. “Why don’t I take your mom and sister in my car? You can collect the children and meet us at your house. I’ll stay there with you for a bit.”

Mercedes reached for the woman’s hand. No way was Shonda getting paid enough. There wasn’t enough money in the world. “Thank you.”



Doors finally opened. L.C. stood up from the bench and watched Porsha walk out, clinging to her mother, eyes dead. Shonda nodded a brief acknowledgement of his presence and guided them past L.C. and down the hall.

Mercedes followed, crying but not distraught. She gave him a watery half-smile and he knew it was going to be all right. The kids were staying where they should be. His knees felt weak, but peace settled over him. He held out his arms to her.

She fell against him, tremors rippling through her. He did his best to ease them, just holding and hugging and soothing.

“So they’re staying with you?” he asked, because he needed to hear the words.

“For now.” She pushed away a little. “It’s still a mess. It always will be.” She glanced up. “That’s a warning.”

“Have you seen my life? Messy is my comfort zone.”

She laughed and wiped mascara from under her eyes. “Yeah, how is your life? You can’t move back here and I can’t go there. God, I’ve missed you.” She hugged him again.

“No, I’m here, Merce. You need me and your kids need me.”

She looked up, hopeful yet biting her lip with misgiving. “They do,” she said with longing, stroking his jaw. “I do. Very much. But...”

“We’ll take it slow,” he said, forestalling arguments. “That’s not just for you, it’s for me, too.”