The Scammer(35)

“Discipline today, harvest tomorrow,” Devonte says. “That’s the motto. If you don’t practice and focus on your health today, you’ll regret it tomorrow. You’ll regret it today if you keep eating the crap the man serves you.”

I glance over at Loren.

“Hey, maybe you should be careful with this,” I whisper, trying not to draw too much attention.

Loren hesitates, eyes flickering over to Devonte. He waves a hand.

“I’ve taken her into account. Loren doesn’t have a disease. She has a DISease. Meaning that her body is not at ease with how she’s been treating it.”

I blink and look at Loren. Now is her chance to step up. She said she would keep on top of her health, so there would be no more fainting spells.

But she only shrugs. “I think this could really help. I’ve heard of people going vegan and curing themselves of all kinds of things, even cancer. It’s worth a try.”



* * *




“How can you be pure of heart if you are holding on to materialistic possessions. Things made by the white man.”

Loren watches Devonte comb through her closet taking designer items like belts and purses and throwing them into a black garbage bag. I didn’t have items worth throwing away.

“What are you going to do with this stuff?” she asks, arms crossed.

“Sell them. Use the money to pay me back for all the training I’ve been giving you.”

Loren frowns. “But you said—”

Devonte stands tall, frustration bleeding through.

“I’ve been cooking and cleaning, and teaching you queens for weeks. Don’t you think you owe me something? People pay thousands for my counsel. Nothing in this world is free. Haven’t you learned that? Don’t you want to work in entertainment? This is how it works.”

Loren fidgets, biting her lip.

He sucks his teeth, stomping out of her room and into Kammy’s.

Kammy sits on her desk, holding a Gucci purse close to her chest. She takes a deep breath.

“It’s just . . . my dad gave me this bag,” she admits, sheepishly. “He saved up for it. It was a graduation gift.”

Devonte crosses the room. He cups her cheek with a soft smile.

“The same father who used to come into your room at night? The same father who let your pastor do the same?”

My mouth drops as Loren gasps.

Kammy’s face falls, looking around at us nervously.

“Ah, so Kammy hasn’t been telling you what we’ve been discovering during our sessions. The memories that I’ve helped unblock because they were so traumatic.”

Kammy hiccups a small whimper, hands shaking as she clutches the bag tighter.

“But it’s my favorite bag,” she pleads.

Devonte narrows his eyes. His silence is distinctly loud, making everyone in the room afraid to move or breathe.

“Are you a sheep?” he asks.

Kammy shakes her head with a sniff. “No.”

“No? You sure about that? ’Cause if you want your purse, then you should be a sheep and follow behind everyone else.”

Kammy shuts her eyes tight, shaking her head.

“Well, if you want to be a sheep, then be a sheep!”

Devonte storms into the kitchen, snatches the fridge door, grabbing a half-open can of corn.

“Here! Eat like a sheep,” he barks, tossing the corn across the floor. “Get down there and eat like a sheep!”

We stand in silence. Devonte clicks his tongue. “Woman, don’t make me repeat myself. Get on the floor NOW!”

Kammy jumps, fresh tears springing. Then slowly, she sinks down to all fours, nibbling at the dirty corn-scattered on the linoleum. I can’t remember the last time the floors had been washed. I hold back a gag.

Devonte steps over her like she is a dog in his way, snatches the purse, and drops it in his bag.



* * *




As dawn enters my room, I stare at the photo album on my computer, having more questions than answers. I slam the computer shut, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall.

This isn’t what I thought it would be like at all, Kevin. . . .

In the five stages of grief, anger is the most destructive. Anger makes you take your pain out on anything moving, place blame on anyone, even the person who’s gone. But everyone knows anger is just a mask over sharp sadness that makes you desperate to hold on to things, people, friends. Memories of loss make you never want to experience them again.

It’s fascinating, the way grief lives in your body, like weeds planted in your lungs that keep growing back no matter how many times you try ripping them out. You can taste the hint of it every time you take a deep breath.

I wonder what Mom is up to. I haven’t heard anything from my parents in weeks. Has their anger subsided? How could they just cut off their only child? What would they think of Devonte? Would they understand?

Maybe I should call her? After a shower.

I walk out of the room and trip over the body lying across my door, landing hard on my knees with a yelp.

I roll over, as the body stirs. “What are you doing?”

Legacy jumps to his feet. “Oh, uh. Devonte said I should keep watch. Keep our women safe.”

I rub the tender spot on my hip, knowing I’ll be bruised by tomorrow.