Page 7 of The Fire We Make

Guilty until proven innocent. No one gets the benefit of the doubt.

Again, her father’s lessons bombarded Joy as she stepped into the cold New York air. Even 1,500 miles away, Byron Thibodeaux’s teachings and demands couldn’t be escaped.

Sweaty and physically depleted but mentally more sharp, Joy boarded the bus that would take her from one side of Brooklyn to the other.

As soon as she settled in her seat, her phone began to vibrate in the pocket of her leggings.

She pulled it out and answered, not bothering to look at the number. The only people who had this number were the jobs she’d applied for and her cousin.

“Hello,” she answered, cringing at her own voice. It wasn’t the soft and sweet melodic tone she’d gotten down to a disarming science. It was huskier now. Raspier. Rougher. The only scar from that night that hadn’t faded. It was a permanent reminder of how her life had been ruined and the men who’d betrayed her in the process.

“Good afternoon, I’m calling to speak with Joy Thibodeaux.”

“Speaking.”

“Hi Joy, this is Tamara Kincaid from King, Kincaid, and Associates. How are you?”

Joy sat up, recognizing the law firm she’d gone through three rounds of interviews with. The Black owned firm was the most elite on the east coast and her top pick.

“Hi Tamara. I’m doing well, and yourself?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m calling because the partners were very impressed with your resume, recommendations, and interviews so I’m pleased to offer you the junior associate position.”

Joy removed the phone from her ear to heave a brief sigh of relief. That was all the acknowledgement she allowed herself before she put the phone back to her ear. She feared if she lingered too long in it, she’d start to tear up.

A job offer shouldn’t elicit such a reaction from her but months of rejection and distance had made her sensitive. “That’s wonderful, thank you. I accept,” she said in an even tone that betrayed the thudding in her chest.

“Great!” Tamara exclaimed on the other end. She went on to talk about salary and other details that Joy paid no mind. Her thoughts were reeling, her mind already crossing off one step on her to-do list and mapping out the next.

“Are you able to start the week after next?” Tamara asked, interrupting Joy’s thoughts.

“Yes,” Joy answered quickly, not finding any reason to delay her return to the real world any further.

“That’s perfect. I’ll be out that week for the holidays but your direct manager will be in and he’ll get you situated. Do you have any questions?”

“No ma’am,” Joy shook her head like the woman could see her.

“Wonderful. Keep an eye out on your inbox for the written offer letter. You’ll just need to e-sign that and send it back. Welcome to the team.”

Joy and Tamara exchanged goodbyes, then Joy hung up with a smile that stayed with her the rest of her ride.

Still wearing her sweat soaked clothes and coat, Joy went straight for the white board hanging in her walk-in closet. It was an organized mess of newspaper clippings, information print outs, and lines connecting faces with sticky note labels. The board held the key to her plan to rebuild her reputation and reclaim her life. To prove to her father that she was still an asset. Still the queen he raised.

Marrying into an alliance may be out of the question thanks to her tainted reputation, but building her own alliances and network was still feasible and the first part of her plan to do so had finally snapped into place as soon as she signed her offer letter.

King, Kincaid, and Associates was one of the best law firms on the east coast and they not only handled cases for some of the most notorious organized crime syndicates but also had deep ties and connections to politicians. Making a name for herself there would mean getting access to the people she would need to connect with.

Joy smiled and with one flick of her wrist, crossed off step one on her list.

Joy closed her eyes, singing along to SZA’s “Normal Girl” as she leaned her head against the back of the tub. A blunt hung loosely between her fingers and a glass of bourbon rested on the side of the tub. The combination worked in tandem to relax her mind and limbs.

She hadn’t had to look far for the weed that filled her lungs. The kid at the corner of the block made himself extremely available and visible. A careless mistake that would have had him picking his teeth up from the pavement had he been one of her men back home, but his street etiquette was none of her concern.

Joy chuckled. Byron would have a fit if he knew his princess relied on substances to wrangle control of her own mind. Her daddy would call her every “weak minded ass nigga” in the book, she was sure, but daddy wasn’t there.

Once the bath water had run cold and her toes had started to raisin, Joy lifted herself from the tub. As she wrapped a towel around herself, SZA’s voice transitioned into Lauryn Hill’s crooning about finding peace of mind.

In the mirror, Joy surveyed her appearance, searching for something that looked familiar. The woman staring back at her had the same deep brown skin, high cheekbones, full lips, and curly hair, but she didn’t look like Joy. The woman before her was weak, devastated, and useless.