The Yellow Hibiscus Chapter 2

Two Days Earlier: Monday, April 20, 2015

The New York City subway system was unpredictable tonight. The train signals were behaving like a moody teenager. It took more than two hours to get home from Morris Park in the Bronx to my apartment on the Eastside in Manhattan. A trip I usually made in minutes on a typical night.

Stressed out from the city’s day-to-day grind, it took two cups of chamomile tea to calm my nerves before I climbed into bed. I knew the following day would bring more of New York’s unpredictability.

I’d only just entered dreamland when the ringing of the telephone disturbed my restless but much-needed sleep.

“Who the hell could be calling me at this hour?” I snarled, grabbing the telephone. I propped myself up on my elbow in the middle of a shuddering yawn. Still groggy, I glanced at my LED-lit caller ID beside me on the night table. It read ‘Unavailable.’ I could hear the hiss of heavy breathing as I picked up the phone, but no one spoke. As I attempted to return the receiver to its cradle, a voice said, “Miss Apika . . . Miss Shade?”

“Yes,” I answered gruffly.

“This is Sergeant Wade Willoby from the 59th Precinct in the Bronx. I am sorry to wake you, ma’am, but this is very important. It concerns your parents.”

“My who? What!” I asked, bolting to an upright position. “What’s wrong with my Mom and Dad?”

“I think I should come over and talk to you.”

I flung off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong with my parents?” I insisted.

“Can you confirm your address, please?”

“Sure, but are they alright?” I demanded, my heart racing out of my chest as I gave him my address. I was about to ask another question, but I heard a click.

I stared at the phone for a second, then offered a silent prayer. I then dialed my parent’s home phone number. Annoyed all over again that I had to return the two expensive smartphones I’d bought them. Their house phone was busy. “What the . . . but . . they have call-waiting!”

I hung up and hugged myself as I was shivering, though not from the temperature in the room. I peeked at the clock. It was 4:32 A.M. I pressed the redial button on the phone again, but the line was still busy. I guzzled a deep breath, trembling. My mom was an early riser. Could she be on the phone? A voice suggested. But they have call-waiting! I said in torment.

I got up, put on my robe, and made my way to the kitchen. I made my way into the living room one cream and two sugars later, sipping piping hot coffee. What could be wrong with my parents circled my head like a halo as I pressed redial. Their phone was still busy at 5:00 A.M. My thoughts were running wild again.

In distress, I allowed my memory to replay last night’s episode at my parent’s house, hoping to pick up anything out of place that I might have missed.

“Honeysuckle,” I recalled Mom saying as I entered, beaming with pride yet looking me over with the discerning eye of a trainer scanning his prized filly before the ‘Big One.’

“What have you been eating? You’re thinner than my silver candlestick holder.” Hugging me as if she hadn’t seen me in years.

My parents were the epitome of happiness. Dad had retired next to the living-room window, smoking his pipe. I pictured him, seated comfortably in his leather La-Z-Boy armchair recliner, watching the Eagles vs. Jets showdown on the 55-inch Sony HD Smart TV I bought him last Father’s Day.

“I love you, Mom,” I’d said after hugging her as I exited.

She waved from the door as I stepped out into the cool night air. I waved back then headed towards Barnes Avenue to the subway. Apart from occasionally teasing me about the virtues of matrimony and childbearing, which gave me shivers, I thought about how lucky I was to have such great parents.

The downstairs buzzer screamed, throwing me back into reality. I jumped, spilling coffee all over the table. I scrambled to the intercom by the door, pressed the speaker button, and asked, “Who is it?”

“Sergeant Wade Willoby. I called earlier,” the voice explained. I buzzed him in, waiting anxiously.

Thank you for reading this piece. I hope you enjoy it.