The Deal, the Dance, and the Devil (25 page)

“This is not a scratch.” Since I needed to get the details
from someone who had some sense, I turned to my son. “What happened?”

“It was Taquan and his friends.”

“See what I’m sayin’,” my mother said. “How can an eight-year-old hurt a thirteen-year-old?”

“Ethan is ten,” I said before I sent him to get dressed and get his bag.

When he dashed away, my mother said, “However old he is,” and pointed her finger at me. “He’s soft. You and Adam done babied that boy so much, he can’t take up for himself.”

“He shouldn’t have to defend himself at his grandmother’s house,” I said.

“Don’t get an attitude with me. I’m still your mother. They were just horsing around, you know, boys will be boys. Ain’t nothin’ for you to make a big deal out of.”

“Hey, girl!” Cashmere sauntered into the living room before I could say another word to Marilyn. Wearing a sheer black nightie that made me want to cover my eyes, Cashmere said, “What’s up?” Then she had the nerve to look me up and down as if what I had on was ridiculous. “Happy New Year.”

“Yeah,” I groaned and wondered what was taking Ethan so long.

“What’s wrong with you?” Cashmere asked.

My mother answered, “She’s mad about Ethan’s eye.”

Cashmere waved her hand in the air like it was nothing. “Oh, that little thing.”

If another person said another word about my baby’s black eye being a little thing, I was going to act out every bit of the frustration I had about Shay-Shaunté and Adam right in the middle of my mother’s house. And that meant it wasn’t gonna go down pretty.

“Please,” Cashmere continued. “He’ll be all right. Where’s Adam?”

“At work.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Who has to work on New Year’s Day?”

“Adam,” I said with attitude.

“Uh-huh,” my mother and sister sang together. As if they knew something.

My mother said, “Well, I, for one, don’t give a fluck where Adam is, as long as he keeps bringing in the money.” Then she had the nerve to give my sister a high five.

“Mom, can you not curse?” I asked. “You shouldn’t be saying stuff like that in front of your grandchildren.”

“First of all, I didn’t curse. It’s because of my grandbabies that I add an extra letter here and there. And second of all, don’t be coming up in my house telling me what to do, you hear me?”

My answer to her was, “Ethan! Come on!” Whether he was dressed or naked, whether he had his bag or not, we were getting up out of this place.

My son came running, looking a mess, kinda discombobulated and mismatched, like me. But he was ready to go.

“Thanks for watching him, Marilyn,” I said without a bit of gratitude in my voice. I guessed I should’ve been thankful, though; my son was still alive.

As we walked toward the door, stepping over all kinds of clothes and toys, my mother called out, “You’re not gonna give me a hug?”

Ethan looked at me first; I could tell he didn’t want to do it. But with a little nudge from me, he leapt, in a single bound, to his grandmother. She gave him a little air-hug, then pushed him away.

“So, you just gonna leave like that, Evia?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t huh me. You’re not even gonna break me off something for taking care of your brat?”

“Brat? He’s not a—”

“Oh, don’t get your panties all twisted. That’s just a term … of endearment.”

Wow! If I wasn’t so mad, I would’ve been impressed. A ten-letter word—where had my mother learned about endearment?

“I mean,” she said, “I didn’t even go out last night watching your kid.”

I was gonna say something about the other kids who lived in the house with her, but I wanted to make a quick getaway.

I took out every bill in my wallet—a twenty, a ten, three ones … I paused.

Thirty-three dollars.

Thirty-three hours.

My hand shook as I handed my mother the money.

“What’s wrong with you, girl?” She reached for the bills and counted. “There’s only thirty-three dollars here. You acting like you giving me a million dollars or something.”

“I’m giving you all that I have.”

That’s what I’d given to Shay-Shaunté.

“It’ll do.” My mother stuffed the money down her bra. She had what she wanted, so she dismissed me and Ethan with a “See y’all.”

Ethan said good-bye to his aunt and cousins only because I made him. Then the two of us flew through the door.

Inside the car, I apologized to Ethan.

“It’s okay, Mom,” he said, full of grace.

I figured that I should take him somewhere—to McDonald’s or somewhere—to make up for the torture he’d endured, but I’d given my last thirty-three dollars to my mother.

Thirty-three dollars.

Thirty-three hours.

I trembled again.

“I’m gonna tell Dad what happened and Taquan is gonna be in trouble.”

I glanced sideways at my son’s black eye and my heart twisted. If Adam had been home … if we hadn’t made the deal … if Shay-Shaunté hadn’t made the offer … if Adam hadn’t lost his job …

“When is Dad coming back?” Ethan asked.

His eye shined as he looked at me, and all I could think about was how our choices, our decisions, our sins had now come upon our son.

“Soon,” I said. I added more life to my voice when I said, “Tomorrow.” In thirty-three hours.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Ethan sighed.

And I sighed, too.

Chapter 41

I
HADN’T HEARD FROM
A
DAM.
N
OT
a call, an email, or a text. Even though my BlackBerry had become an appendage at the end of my right hand, even though I knew it was working because I’d ignored countless calls from Brooklyn and Tamica, even though I was so sure that I would get that call that I needed, nothing came from my husband.

I was scared.

We were approaching the halfway point—twenty-four hours had passed, twenty-four hours to go. In all the years that I’d known Adam, since we were twelve, no more than seven hours went by without us communicating—and that only happened when we were asleep.

How could he not have time to call me? Was he so enamored of Shay-Shaunté that he’d already forgotten his family? Forgotten about me?

What was going on? Were they talking a lot? Were they
eating together? Were they going out or staying in—wherever they were? And if they were staying in, what were they doing?

The tension surged from my mind, sent the shock to my body, exploded in my hands.

I heard the shatter of the glass before I felt the pain.

“Mom!” my children screamed at the same time.

The stem of the glass was still in my hand.

“What happened?” the twins asked as they jumped up from the table and rushed to me.

I looked down at the shattered pieces of glass in the sink. “I guess it slipped from my hand,” I said, though I knew that’s not what happened.

“You’re bleeding,” Alexa said.

“Does it hurt?” Alana asked as she reached for the first-aid kit under the sink.

“I’m okay,” I told both of them. “You guys go on back—finish eating. I’ll be all right.”

Neither obeyed as they stood by my side and watched me run cold water over the cut between my thumb and forefinger. Then I applied pressure to my flesh while Alexa gathered the slivers of glass from the sink and Alana handed me a Band-Aid.

They stayed by my side, as if they weren’t sure they should leave me alone.

“Would you guys go on and finish eating,” I said.

I hated that I had taken some of the joy out of their day. Until that moment, all three of my children had been totally elated with our family celebration of the arrival of 2011.

Though Ethan’s new year hadn’t started strong, it had made a powerful comeback. Because of my guilt.

I’d showered my son with food, snacks, and gifts all day. He’d started with a supersized meal at McDonald’s and then added three sugar cookies to the order once he’d realized that
I’d been so guilt-ridden that he could have had anything. Then I’d taken him to the Golf Center, where I’d purchased that driver that he’d been talking about. Yesterday, I hadn’t seen any way to spend eight hundred dollars on a single golf club for a ten-year-old. Today, I was convinced that Ethan had earned it.

By the time Ethan and I had come home, the twins had met us at the door, bursting with their wondrous stories about their fabulous night.

“Mom, it was stupid,” Alexa had said.

I’d guessed that had been stupid in a good way.

“And you should’ve seen the Range Rover that Chloe got,” Alexa added.

“Yeah,” Alana said. “It was cool; now I’m kinda getting excited about our party.”

“And I’m getting excited about our cars,” Alexa said. “Are we getting Range Rovers?”

Alana answered for me, “That would cost too much.”

“I know, but wouldn’t that be ridiculous? A pink one for me and a purple one for you.”

“I don’t think they come in those colors,” Alana said.

I’d let the girls chatter on about parties and cars until Alexa had said, “I can’t wait till Dad gets home tomorrow so we can start planning this whole thing.”

The emptiness, the fear, the questions were never far away, but when Alexa had mentioned her father, those emotions had overwhelmed me. When his sisters had finally noticed Ethan’s black eye, my shame had overflowed.

So I’d called Takeout Taxi and told the kids to order whatever they’d wanted from The Cheesecake Factory.

“Whatever?” the three had asked together.

When I’d nodded, they’d looked at me with wary eyes, but then, under the leadership of Alexa, they’d ordered—whatever—as fast as they could.

We’d been sitting around the table for hours, devouring a hodgepodge menu: barbecue pizza, roadside sliders, fried macaroni and cheese, four-cheese pasta, and then the sides: mashed potatoes
and
French fries. It hadn’t even bothered me that the bill, with all the charges, had come to almost two hundred dollars. How could I have cared when I’d scarcely been able to breathe?

Once the girls had started talking about their father, I’d gotten up from the table with my plate and my glass. That was when I’d stood at the sink and started thinking about Adam and Shay-Shaunté and my emptiness and my fear. That was when my flesh had started bleeding as much as my heart.

When the girls finally left me alone, they returned to the table and their chatter, their focus still on their father.

“What time is Daddy going to call?” Alana asked me.

I looked down at where the Band-Aid covered my broken skin and wondered if my hand stopped bleeding would my heart do the same?

“Mom,” Alana called before she repeated her question.

It was a normal question: Anytime Adam left on a business trip, he called every day, usually right before the children went to bed. He could never sleep without speaking to the loves of his life—those were his words.

But this time, there’d been no calls. Did that mean that we were no longer his loves? No longer a part of his life?

I didn’t want my children to be suspicious, so I lied. “He called me … on my cell … this afternoon … before I got home …”

Ethan frowned. “Why didn’t you let me talk to him, ’cause I can’t wait to tell him what Taquan did.”

My mini-me peered right through me. “Why would he call right after he left this morning? Why wouldn’t he wait until he could talk to us tonight?”

See, that was the problem with lying to smart children.

I shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll call tonight.”

Alexa said, “Great, ’cause I can’t wait to tell him about the party.”

“I think I want a birthday party this year, too,” Ethan piped in.

“You had a big one last year,” Alexa said. “For your tenth. No one cares that you’re turning eleven; it is so not a special year.”

“Uh-huh. Yes, it is.”

I glanced down at my cell—8:59. I slipped out of the kitchen, leaving my feuding children behind. Inside the foyer, I sat on the bottom step, exactly where I’d been twenty-four hours ago. When the digits on my cell turned to 9:00, I closed my eyes and begged God to bring my husband home.

Chapter 42

S
HAY
-S
HAUNTÉ:
W
AS IT HER MONEY OR
her looks?

That was the five-million-dollar question I’d asked myself all night as I’d lain awake waiting, waiting, waiting. For the call, email, text.

Nothing had come.

Adam had forgotten all about me.

Was it her money or her looks?

Rolling over to the empty side of the bed—Adam’s side—I inhaled his lingering scent. I wrapped my arms around his pillow and imagined that it was him.

But there was no way I could keep lying there, thinking about Adam deserting me. Sitting up, I glanced at the clock. It was twenty to nine, but if I hurried, I could make it to church. I could be ready and out of the house in twelve minutes. I wouldn’t be on time, but I wouldn’t be too late.

Last night, I’d told the children that we’d sleep in this morning; that had been my plan. I didn’t want to go to church
without Adam. Didn’t want to explain to anyone that Adam was working. That may have gone over with our children, but the lie wouldn’t pass the sensibility test for most adults.

Now that morning had come, I needed to be in church. Just felt like I really had to be there to glean some of the hope that Bishop Cash always gave me.

Decision made, I was in and out of the shower in three minutes, and four minutes after that, I was totally dressed—in a black, sleeveless tank dress that was far more appropriate for spring. But how could I be expected to make any intelligent decisions, including wardrobe choices, when I was dealing with the probable loss of my husband.

The loss of my husband! Did I really believe that? My groan was so deep, so long that I had to lean against the dresser to keep standing. I moaned, not because I was so sure that Adam was gone but because I wasn’t sure that he was coming back.

I piled my purse, coat, and hat onto the settee by the door, then tiptoed upstairs and into Alana’s bedroom, which was exactly like Alexa’s, only overflowing with purple instead of pink.