His First Wife (16 page)

T
hinking about everything Jamison had said to me in the kitchen, I cried most of the afternoon and into the evening. The weight was too much to carry. I wanted to know about Coreen, how it all happened, but when I heard it, that he thought I had something to do with it, I really wished he hadn't said anything at all. It stung me. My hurt went to aching and I needed so much to know that this wasn't how things would always be. I hated Jamison for what he'd done, but the thought of him feeling the way he said he'd felt about us terrified me. Was my husband falling out of love with me? Was our marriage really over?

Exhausted, at bedtime I was lying in bed, half asleep with the baby resting on a blanket beside me when the bedroom door opened. It was Jamison. I thought he was coming into the room to get a sleeping shirt or something so he could go back to the guestroom—he usually did this when I was out of the room, but Tyrian and I had been in the room for most of the night. But, while I heard the dresser drawer open and close, he didn't leave this time. My back to him, I listened as he stopped. I could feel his eyes on me. Then he started moving again, but his footsteps were coming closer and then the bed moved as he sat down. I didn't turn around. I just lay there and felt tears well up inside of me again. One dropped from my face onto the pillow and grew into a soft spot. I wanted to tell him to leave, but another side of me really wanted him to stay. I opened my eyes and looked at Tyrian as I felt Jamison lay down beside me.

“I'm sorry,” Jamison whispered softly into my hair. “I love you and I'm not going anywhere. Not even if you tell me to. I'm not letting anything happen to our family. I promise you that.”

I felt Tyrian shudder and readjust his body in his sleep. He whimpered a bit and then shifted his head from one side to the next, threatening to wake up. But then his chest moved up and down, and through my tears I watched as he found his way back to a restful sleep.

Jamison slid his arm over my waist as he'd done a million times before. Only this time, he did not wrap his arm around my waist and cradle my stomach. Instead he reached over and rested his hand on Tyrian's back, rocking him softly. He kissed me on the back of my neck and before he rested his head against the pillow, a tear fell from his face to my cheek.

K
erry made everything just right. I'd come home from a day I thought was the worst I'd ever had, and there she was pretending we were in Mexico, throwing a fiesta in the middle of the living room. And everything would be in order—from the enchiladas she'd order from my favorite restaurant to the little sombrero she'd be wearing when I'd open the door. She'd be determined to make me feel better. Make me laugh and smile. I wanted to be mad and just wallow in my misery, but she wouldn't let me and I'd break sooner or later. That only made me love her more. She kept our house clean, herself looking pretty, and while she still wasn't cooking, she'd figured out how to make the only meal that mattered to me—Hamburger Helper. I always told her I didn't need to be taken care of. My mother raised me to clean up after myself and Moms made sure I could cook before I left her house. But Kerry wouldn't hear any of that. She had it set in her mind that things were supposed to be a certain way . . . the traditional way. I was sure this tradition didn't include a file of restaurant menus she kept in the kitchen cabinet where there should have been food, but I went along with it. Kerry was trying to make me happy and that's all I wanted. The gift was that I got to come home to her. To lie with someone I knew really needed me and loved me more than she even knew.

And that couldn't have been an easy task. I wasn't the cash cow tradition said I should be. My Rake It Up venture wasn't exactly raking in the dough during its first years. I couldn't even really afford to contribute to the wedding. Her mother paid for most of it out of some wedding fund she started when Kerry was born.

In the first three years, I mostly drove my own truck and cut lawns myself with a few people I hired here and there. We lived off my limited funds and the money Kerry was making at a job she had at a doctor's office. Living check to check was an understatement. We were broke and both my mother and her mother had to pay a few bills. This made me feel bad. I didn't want to be broke. I wanted to be just as successful as Kerry wanted me to be. Shit, I even wanted to make my mother happy . . . and it would've been the icing on the cake to shut Kerry's mother up. But somewhere along the way Rake It Up shifted from a side thing I was doing until I went to med school to a dream I really believed in. I always liked working with my hands. Because I was good in science, I assumed this meant I was destined to be a surgeon. But once I got those yard cutters in my hands, it just seemed right. There was something so peaceful and calming to be out there cutting grass and shutting out the rest of the world. No one bothered you. And when you were done, you got to step back and see what your work went into. You'd made the world prettier or nicer for other people to enjoy, even if they didn't notice it. And the scientific mind everyone always said I had helped me do that. For me, cutting grass was a science. It took planning and balance, a vision of how you wanted things to look and feel to the senses.

I couldn't back away from that. That grass seemed to grow into my being. It became my patient. I had to give myself to my company. Now, I was no fool. I knew two things: I liked money, and I didn't want to be cutting grass for the rest of my life. So, because I wasn't going back to med school, I knew I'd have to grow Rake It Up into something big. Something where I could give everything to Kerry she'd ever wanted. Not to shut her up. Not to shut her mother up. But because my wife deserved it.

“You need a secretary,” Kerry said one day when I walked into the house from working. I was sweating like hell from being in the sun all day and my body smelled like everything dead. I just wanted to run to the shower, but it was clear Kerry wanted to talk, so I stood there. Plus, I wanted to hear what she was about to say, because I noticed that she'd just hung up the phone when I walked in the door. I didn't have to ask who was on the other end of the line.

“A secretary? For what?”

“For your jobs and stuff. So many people call you now to do jobs,” she said. “A secretary would make the business more efficient and help you get more clients.”

“Hum . . .” I said. I'd thought of that before, but the business wasn't there yet. I couldn't afford it.

“I know you're thinking you can't afford it,” Kerry said, reading my mind. “But I have a proposal . . .” She came over to me and began unbuttoning my shirt right in the living room. She never touched me when I came in from work.

“My job isn't really bringing money home . . . and now that the company is growing, you could use me with you.”

“But we can't afford it. We're already struggling.”

“But with my help, we could really take the business to the next level.”

“How?” I asked.

“Well,” she pulled my shirt off, “I could do marketing and hook you up with some of my mother's friends. They all have businesses. They could hire you.”

“No . . .” I protested. Kerry pulled me to her chest.

“Don't say no so quickly,” she said. “Think about it.”

“I'm thinking about it.” I pulled away. “And I'm thinking it's a bad idea. You know how it goes with me and your mother.”

“But you won't be dealing with my mother. See, now you'll have a secretary. So I'll deal with her.”

“But Kerry, what about your job? Didn't you say you wanted to stay there until you took the MCAT again?”

After Kerry didn't get accepted to the medical schools of her choice the second time around, she decided that instead of applying to different schools, she'd pull up her MCAT scores to prove herself. She signed up for the next test, but I didn't see her crack one of the study guides I'd gotten her when we got back from our honeymoon. Then Kerry said she'd been too busy planning the wedding and working to study, so the date came and went. She decided not to take the test that year. She'd wait and study for the next one.

“I'm studying. It'll be fine. I can work for you and study when I'm free,” she said. I could tell it would be a bad idea to push the issue about the test. I realized before we even got married that it was a sore spot for Kerry. Between her mother constantly implying that Kerry had done something wrong and the stack of rejection letters Kerry still hadn't thrown out, she seemed to have enough anxiety about the whole thing.

I didn't say anything. I stepped away from Kerry and walked into the bedroom. I didn't want to fight with her.

“What, Jamison? What?” She was following behind me.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think I'll have to keep thinking about it.”

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When I went back into the bedroom, Kerry was sitting on the bed. I could tell she was crying.

I walked over to the closet and threw my pants into the laundry basket, trying to figure out how to avoid the drama. This was how Kerry got me to react. She knew that. She knew I couldn't just sit there and let her cry. What kind of man would do that? Not one who wanted to live in peace.

Wrapped in a towel, I sat down beside her on the bed.

I exhaled and looked at the wall next to the bed. There was a vase Kerry had filled with some of the rose petals that were on the ground when I proposed to her.

“I guess it won't be too bad,” I said finally.

She sniffled.

“We can try it for a little while, but if it doesn't work out, we have to stop.”

She sat up and wiped her tears.

“Okay?” I asked. I just wanted her to stop crying.

“Jamison, I want us to be a team. Is that so bad?”

“We are a team,” I said. “I just never imagined you working with me. I thought you hated the company.”

“But this is what's best for us,” she said. “I want to do what will be good for us in the future.”

“What about what's best for you?” I asked. “Your dreams.”

“Well, I can put that on hold for a while, so this can work. So we can make sure it works. Then, with the money we can focus on med school,” she said.

“Doesn't sound bad, I guess,” I said, getting up and heading toward the shower. “But only until we get things together. Then we can focus on getting you back in school.”

“Exactly.” She got up too and came behind me. She started taking off her shirt.

“Woman, what are you doing?”

“Well,” she said, smiling as if not one tear had fallen from her eyes, “if we're going to work together, we may as well shower together.”

She slid off her pants and I watched as she walked naked into the bathroom. And, Lord, just like that old saying goes, “I hated to see her leave, but I sure liked watching her walk away.”

“You coming in?” she called from the shower. God permitting!

In two years, I'd learned two things about being married:

T
he morning after Jamison found his way back to our bed, we woke up to a full Southern breakfast, courtesy of Aunt Luchie. Homemade biscuits, gravy, eggs, bacon, grits . . . There was so much food on the table, I thought it was already Thanksgiving. Aunt Luchie, Jamison, and I sat at the table as Tyrian rocked in a swing Isabella had set up in the kitchen. It was the first time we were eating as a family, and while we were just making small talk, it felt so good to be in that space. Like we were whole for the first time in a long time.

When we finished eating, Jamison got up from the table and kissed Tyrian and me on the cheek before heading to work. He did it methodically, so practiced, as if it was something he'd been doing or thinking of doing every morning for his entire life.

“Bye babies,” he said, exiting with a hopeful smile on his face. I didn't respond. I just smiled back and nodded.

“Wow, that was great,” I said to Aunt Luchie. I got up from the table and began helping her put the dishes away.

“Thank you, baby. I thought we could all use a little something extra on our stomachs this morning,” she said. “I think Georgia saw its first real winter night last night. It was so cold.”

Unlike my mother, Aunt Luchie didn't see it as being necessary to be completely dressed before you sat down at the breakfast table. She was wearing a brown silk bathrobe and had a colorful scarf on her head. She looked lovely, even that early in the morning, but I don't think I ever saw my mother at the breakfast table with something covering her head. She hated head scarves. Said they only had a place in the bedroom and made us look like Aunt Jemimas. If it wasn't for the pictures, I'd swear my mother and Aunt Luchie were raised by different people.

“Yeah, it sure was cold,” I said.

“I had to get an extra blanket out of the closet.”

“Oh, you could've turned up the central air,” I said.

“No sense wasting money now. You and Jamison have enough to worry about.” Aunt Luchie poured herself a cup of coffee and went back to the table. I set the dishes in the sink so Isabella could load the dishwasher later.

“So how did your talk go last night?” she went on. “I saw that Jamison wasn't in the guestroom this morning.”

“Well, we talked a bit more before we went to sleep,” I said. “We just agreed to start talking more and we both need to make some major changes.” I got my cup of coffee and as I sat down across the table from Aunt Luchie, I peeked at Tyrian to see that he was sitting in his swing asleep.

“That's good,” she said. “You two do need to take it slow. But don't stop communicating. When the ear doesn't hear the news, it tends to make up the news.”

“What?” I laughed at her saying.

“Well, if your husband isn't telling you what's going on, you'll make it up,” she said firmly.

“You're right,” I said remembering how Jamison's silence was what had put me off in the first place. “Oh, and I agreed to have Thanksgiving dinner here next week.”

“Really?” Aunt Luchie looked stunned but happy. Jamison hadn't attempted to bring our families together completely since the wedding. That was over ten years ago now.

“He's always wanted to have a big Thanksgiving here in this house.”

“Well, it's a house made for gathering family.”

“I'm not excited about having to entertain his mother, but if it'll help us get through this, I'll do it.”

“So, when are you going shopping?” she asked.

“For a dress?”

“For food, child.”

“Oh, I don't cook. They'll bring food and Jamison is doing some of it,” I said. “And I'm ordering some pies.”

“What?” Aunt Luchie withdrew. “I know you're not going to let a bunch of women come into
your
house with food to feed your family. You aren't sick!”

“But I can't cook.”

“Well, today you start.”

“No, you have no idea how bad I am,” I said, laughing. “And we don't have enough time.”

“Nonsense.” Aunt Luchie picked up a sheet of paper and a pen that was sitting by the phone. “I'm going to show you how to make your own pies. Sweet potato pies. And you'll make dressing on your own too.”

“What? I can't!”

“You can try,” she said, writing. “Can't you?”

It was a charge. A charge from my oldest aunt who never failed at being there to defend and take care of me—even when my mother was acting crazy.

“Fine,” I said under my breath.

“Good. Now here's the list of things I'll need you to get from the store.” She slid the paper over to me.

“Oh no, I'll have Isabella get the stuff for me. We can leave the list on the counter,” I said, realizing Isabella had been a ghost all morning.

“Oh, she went home,” Aunt Luchie said quickly.

“Home?”

“Yeah, I sent her home. There wasn't nothing for her to do. I got tired of watching her sit around here looking simple, so I told her to go home.”

“For how long?”

“Until you call her and tell her she has her job back.”

I wanted to believe she was faking or playing a joke, but I knew by her tone that Aunt Luchie was telling the truth. I couldn't believe it. How could she just send my maid home?

“Why would you do that?” I asked, trying to remain calm. Now it was clear that my mother and Aunt Luchie did indeed have the same parents. Only these two could pry into other people's lives without so much as a thought.

“I didn't get why that girl was here in the first place.”

“I needed her to help me keep the house clean and cook. That's what she was doing here,” I said.

“Keep the house clean while you do what?”

“I do a lot,” I said, surprised Aunt Luchie was making me defend myself. She'd had a maid her entire life.

“Like what?”

“Help Jamison.”

“He has an assistant. Two from what I can tell.”

“Well, there are some things they don't know.”

“Please,” she said dismissively. “What else?”

“I also have to keep the house in order. I decorate and I have to take care of Tyrian.”

“You have had that girl here for three years. Tyrian is a little baby. He doesn't need much. And it isn't like you're a working woman.”

“So I need to be a working woman now?”

“Kerry, you need to be doing something. And from how it looks, you're doing nothing.”

“You sound like Jamison now,” I said. His words were still stinging me.

“What happened to your dreams? You were going to med school. What happened to that?” she asked.

“I don't know . . . I guess I just didn't go,” I said simply. But I knew it wasn't that simple. Jamison was right. Something had happened to me, but I still wasn't sure what it was. “I guess I just didn't care about it anymore. I didn't want to do it.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I don't know. I just don't know.” I was irritated now. Was this suddenly the question of the week or something? “Look, what I do has nothing to do with Isabella's work here. It's just how it is. And Jamison approves of it. He likes having her around.”

“And that's exactly my point,” Aunt Luchie said. “Why would you want some young girl walking around your house, taking care of all the things the lady of the house should do, right in her husband's face. That woman was feeding, looking after, and entertaining your husband, and you were walking around here like you didn't have anything to do.”

“But she just makes things easier for us.”

“She could make things really easy for you if she steals your husband.”

“She couldn't.” I laughed. “He doesn't see her like that.”

“Hum . . .” She exhaled. “You can say what you will, but I know love and how to break it up. And a sure way to do it is to have another woman caring for your husband. Jamison works hard to give you all of these things you have and all you do is write a check for someone else to pay him back.”

“My marriage isn't about favors. I don't have to earn Jamison's love,” I said. “I don't have to pay him back for what he does for me.”

“No, baby, you don't have to do anything in life. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't.”

 

 

A couple of frowns later, I was walking around the supermarket looking for the things I needed to make sweet potato pie. I hadn't been in a grocery store in so long it was laughable. I wanted so badly to call Marcy and make her guess where I was, but I hadn't spoken with her since the party. She came over with Damien to see the baby when he came home, but I stayed upstairs. I didn't understand how she could do what she'd done. I'd always been there for her, and all I asked was that she be there for me in confidence. That confidence didn't include spreading my business. It hurt so much to be without her, to go through this whole thing with Jamison without a friend by my side, but I couldn't let her hurt me again.

A lot had changed since I'd walked the aisles at the grocery store; it seemed more like a night club now. Men and women were walking up and down the aisles, overly dressed and smiling at each other as they pretended to shop. But it was clear they were there to pick up people. No more elevator music; they were playing hip-hop and there were these little food sample stations where people stood and chatted as if they were at a cocktail party.

Without Tyrian for the first time since he was born, I was sad to be away from him, but happy to see that none of the men in the market could tell I was a new mother. They were giving me the eye and one guy even offered to push my cart. As usual, I simply flashed my wedding ring and said no. “He's a lucky man,” he said, stepping back. “I sure do envy him. And I'm willing to share.”

I was shocked by how forward this man was at implying that we have an affair. After that encounter I started looking more closely at all of the people I saw mingling at the food sample tables and I noticed that many of the women had on wedding rings, but the men didn't. But there they were, chatting and laughing as if they were hooking up at a single's club. Was that how it happened? Did people just know what the affair was before it even began? Marcy said the men she knew never even mentioned her marriage. It was just known and respected. I didn't want to start a situation like that. But I also wondered if I could. Could I have a discreet affair by the frozen peas?

 

 

Walking out of the grocery store with a cart full of some things on the list and a bunch of things that weren't—I'd forgotten all about the ice cream aisle . . . and the potato chip aisle too. I felt a bit more alive than I had in the past few weeks. It was great being a mother, and I missed Tyrian dearly—I wondered what he was doing every second—but it was also nice to see that the world was still going on around me. To breathe in a space as a woman alone with no attachments. No one who wanted anything from me. There was no one crying or needing to be fed. Now I fully understood why so many mothers wanted to go to the grocery store alone.

After placing the bags into the back of the car, I was about to push the shopping cart back to the store when a certain matted cocker spaniel I'd seen before was marching toward me. The only thing was that just like the first time, this little guy was stapled to a skull. It was McKenzie from the jail, pushing a row of shopping carts through the lot. My first instinct was to push the cart away and pretend I didn't see her, but she was heading right to me and a part of me just couldn't believe I was seeing her.

“I got that cart, mama,” she said. She was obviously tired and while I hadn't noticed it at the jail, she was pregnant. Only now, her stomach was sticking out much farther.

“Oh, no . . .” I said, holding the cart.

What was she doing pushing carts in her condition? From the looks of it, she was at least seven months.

“I got to keep these carts out the lot,” she said. “I ain't doing you no favor; I can push it myself. They pay me to.”

“Oh, I know.... I need the exercise,” I said.

“Suit yourself. But I asked.”

She went on, pushing the rest of the carts to the store. It was obvious she didn't know who I was.

“McKenzie,” I called after daring myself.

She stopped and turned, her stomach lightly brushing the cart in front of her. She looked like she was sure I was calling her name by mistake. Maybe I was talking to someone else.

“McKenzie,” I said again.

“You calling me?” She pointed a broken nail toward her heart.

“Yeah, I'm Kerry. We know each other.” I listened to how ridiculous I sounded and wished I'd just gotten into my car.

“We know each other?” She stepped toward me. “From where?”

“Well, we . . . Um . . .” Suddenly I was very aware of all of the things I had surrounding me: my Ferragamo bag, Vittadini shoes, the Benz, Chanel perfume. Yes, we were in jail together, but we didn't know each other. Not by a long shot.

“That's you girl?” she said suddenly, the cocker spaniel shaking from surprise with each syllable. “From the—”

“Jail,” we said together.

“Oh my God,” she said again. She looked like she wanted to hug me. I felt like I wanted to do the same, but there were things between us. “The mad sister that beat her husband's ass!”

“Yeah, that's me.” I laughed at how she'd put it.

“So how you doing? Ya'll back tight now? You and your man?”