Blue Collar Blues (39 page)

Thyme picked up the silver-framed photo of Cy from her desk and held it in her hand. She was still holding it when the phone rang again.

“The union rejected the offer.” It was Ron.

Ron quickly summarized the meeting with Dean Phillips, the industrial relations manager for Champion. Dean told the union the company would replace all the sewing machines with safer ones within two years. Place security guards at each entrance. All overtime would be okayed by the plant manager as well as the committeemen and Labor Relations on a weekly basis. Champion would review the indefinite layoff policy but would not agree to eliminate outsourcing completely.

“Now what?” Thyme asked. This was not the time, she thought, to tell him that Champion had rejected her as well—

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to wait and see,” said Ron in a dejected, tired voice.

“Let’s stay in touch,” Thyme said and they hung up.

Thyme returned to staring at the smoke stacks outside, mesmerized. The smoke was rising upwards toward the heavens. There was a mystery in smoke, she thought, as it rose in the autumn sky. It was faint blue in color, the color of infinity and eternity. She felt the smoke, like her life, disappearing right before her eyes, and she was helpless because she hadn’t started the fire, and she most certainly couldn’t put it out.

Thyme left her office without looking back. Though she felt badly for the workers, she wouldn’t miss her job. And there was a huge settlement check to mollify the pain.

Thyme drove directly to First of America Bank. With her settlement check tucked in her purse, Thyme signed her name on the ledger and waited for the next available bank manager to handle her business.

“Mrs. Tyler,” a young man said fifteen minutes later. “Follow me.”

He offered her a seat and she handed him her check. He appeared to be very professional, and Thyme was positive she recognized him from somewhere.

“I’d like to open a new account.”

“So,” he said with candor, “this account will be solely in your name?”

“Did you read my application? It specifically states that this account will be opened for Thyme Tyler.” She read the name plate on his desk. “Mr. Majors, do you have a problem with that?”

“Uh . . . Mrs. Tyler,” he stammered, “you don’t understand. Our bank is used to doing business with your husband. And because of the size of this check, I have to check with my supervisor.”

Thyme leaned forward and laid her right elbow on his desk. “Mr. Majors,
you
don’t understand.” She snatched her check back. “This is not the only bank I can do business with.” Thyme placed the check back neatly into her wallet and watched the man’s eyes grow wide. “Obviously, you’re more comfortable dealing with Caucasians than you are with African Americans. I’ll take my business elsewhere. Good day.”

And that was just what Thyme did. She walked across the street and opened an account at First Fidelity. The manger was happy to open her sole account, though, truthfully, to Thyme it felt heavy—like one piece of her was absent.

An hour later, she arrived home. Cy’s car was missing from the garage, but Sydney’s was there. Her heart dropped. As she unlocked the door, she wasn’t prepared for the surprise that greeted her.

When she entered the kitchen she heard a child’s voice.

What in the hell was going on?

She dropped her keys on the kitchen counter and Sydney entered the room.

“How did you get in my house?” Thyme demanded.

Sydney’s voice was calculating. “Didn’t Cy tell you? I’ve always had the code and the key.”

Thyme was fuming. She poured a glass of water and swallowed it, pretending it had the calming effect of a shot of Hennessy. What the hell was going on?

“We’ve got company in the living room, Thyme. I’d like you to meet some of Cy’s friends.”

Thyme followed Sydney toward the sound of children’s laughter. And suddenly she knew.

A beautiful Latino woman sat still on Thyme’s pearl gray chesterfield sofa. Dark hair hung to her shoulders, barely showing the huge gold earrings caught in the thickness of her curls. She wore a white blouse unbuttoned to the fourth hole and a long, full dark green skirt. Thyme knew instantly that the woman was Graciella. The two children in the room with Sydney and Graham were her husband’s. No one had to tell her. Even if the young girl hadn’t possessed Cy’s beautiful eyes or the boy the funny shape of his ears, her heart would have informed her that these two children owned pieces of Cy.

“Graciella,” Thyme said before Sydney introduced them. Thyme extended her hand. “Hello. I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

If it kills me, I’ll get through this.

Thyme’s mind ticked like a time bomb. Had Cy sent for this other family? The private investigator had told her all about Graciella and the children—Cy’s children. But Thyme was not prepared for a face-off.

“So, Thyme. You’ve met Graciella?” Sydney asked. Thyme knew her brother well enough to read his twin. Sydney was pissed off that Thyme wasn’t reacting, pure and simple. That gave Thyme strength. Sydney sat in a chair, legs crossed, eyeing both women boldly.

With all the finesse she could muster, Thyme answered quietly, “Oh, I’ve been hoping to meet Graciella—and of course the children—for a long time.”

This broke Sydney’s spirit. She was clearly hungry to see Thyme cry and shout like a typical geechee fool. It was evident from the distraught look on Sydney’s face that she didn’t know what to do next. She was obviously confused and had to think of another way to implement her plan.

Sydney spoke directly to Graciella in Spanish, which she assumed Thyme did not understand, but she was wrong. Sydney had told Graciella that Cy was afraid to leave Thyme. He was afraid she would cast a spell on him.

“Graciella,” Thyme said. “In case you’re uncertain, I’m Cy’s wife and have been for twenty years. But I’ve heard so much about you.” Watching the woman sitting on the same sofa she and Cy had made love on just weeks before, the same sofa on which he had made her laugh and on which, for the first time, he had seen her cry, cut her heart in half. It cut so deep she thought she would stop breathing.

Sydney looked as if she would burst into a thousand pieces; Graciella didn’t look much better.

Thyme kept up the front. “I’m not sure when Cy’ll be home. Why don’t I page him?”

Thyme glanced into the hall library, where Gregor was checking out Cy’s precious G.I. Joe collection. Meanwhile, Juana sat on the sofa staring straight at Thyme. Thyme could see the young girl’s hatred in her pouting mouth, her knotted brow.

Thyme would deal with her own humiliation later. Right now, she promised herself, she would come out of this with her dignity intact. Later she’d get even with Sydney.

When the phone rang, Thyme picked up on the first ring. “You should come home right now. Your sister has brought Graciella and your children here.” She was trembling but was careful to lay down the receiver quietly.

Seeing Cy’s son, Gregor, hurt Thyme deeply, but it was Juana who crucified her. She looked exactly like Cy. The time they spent waiting for Cy to come home seemed like an eternity. Finally he walked through the front door. She heard his footsteps as he approached the living room, where all the women were gathered.

Cy looked first at Graciella then at Sydney, and finally his eyes met Thyme’s. Panic lined his face.

Before he could speak Juana shouted, “I have something to say!”

“Juana!” her mother cried.

But Juana ignored her. “If it wasn’t for you,” the young girl said angrily to Thyme, “my mother wouldn’t have been your husband’s whore for the past twenty years. She would have been his wife.”

Thyme wasn’t angered by Juana’s sharp tongue. She felt sorry for the young girl, who must feel so confused. Thyme remained silent. But the enraged look on Graciella’s face replied louder than she ever could.

Juana wasn’t finished. She had one last bomb to drop. “Do you all want to know what I’m really ashamed of? When my friends come over and my father is there, he and my mother are in the room making love like mad dogs. They’re so loud my friends make fun of me and call them
los perros locos,
the crazy dogs.”

Sydney, dressed in a three-piece red slacks suit, looked like a fox. She obviously loved Juana’s little announcement. Both Thyme and Graciella lowered their heads in disgust. The child was humiliating both of them, and still she had more to say.

“What I’d like to know, my
señorita negra,
is if you make noises like that with my father when he’s home. I think not, otherwise he wouldn’t be so anxious to get in my mother’s bed.”

Cy looked like he would burst. “That’s uncalled for, Juana.” He grabbed her by the arm.

Juana snatched away from her father’s hold. “You should be ashamed.” She spoke now to Cy. “You’re more of a whore than my mother could ever be. If I were either one of them,” she said, pointing at her mother, then at Thyme, “I would tell you to go to hell.”

Then Juana spat in Cy’s face. At first Cy stood there with his hand to his cheek; then he slapped his daughter.

Immediately Graciella got up from her seat and held her daughter in her arms.

By now Gregor had come into the room. Everyone was still as a statue. Even Sydney appeared to be momentarily speechless.

“Gregor, Juana, go downstairs!” Cy shouted.

Juana glared at her father before leaving the room.

Sydney spoke first. “You need to know, Cy. I sent Graciella the tickets. I felt it was high time the truth of your life was revealed.”

“Sydney, I’m ashamed that you are my sister. You’ve managed to embarrass me and hurt the woman I love more than anything in life. You also caused great pain to the mother of my children. These things can’t be undone. But I have one thing to say. The last thing: Get the hell out of my house. Never come back. You’re lower than any bitch I’ve known. I never want to see you again.” Cy was speaking to Sydney, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off his wife.

Thyme stayed near the windows. She wanted to view the serenity, the beauty, the comfort of the waves outside that no longer represented her life. She couldn’t bear to look Cy in the face. If she did, she feared she just might find herself jumping into those waves outside and praying for a quick death. She could feel Cy’s eyes on her before she said a word. “I found out about Graciella and the children some time ago. What I didn’t expect was for your sister to flaunt them in my face.”

Sydney jumped in. “This is your chance, Cy. This is your opportunity to square things. You’ve got a beautiful woman who cares for you. Two healthy kids that adore you. What more can a man want?”

Graciella stood. She hadn’t spoken a word before now. “I want to marry the father of my children. I love him, and I know that he cares for me, also.”

Thyme’s heart sank like a pirate ship that had just been shot by a cannon in the middle of the ocean. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined this happening to her—to them. Her soul was burning in an oven of rage. There was no hope for her marriage to survive. Her treasure, her love, was going to be lost at the bottom of the sea.

“This is fucked up,” Cy finally said. “First of all, I never intended this to happen. Graciella, you know that. We talked about this.” He turned to Thyme. “I love you.” He looked at Graciella and then at Sydney. “Both of you know this. What did you hope to accomplish by doing this?” Cy looked at Sydney. His eyes were cold as dry ice. “What I said earlier I meant. Get out.”

Sydney nervously gathered her keys and purse.

Graciella rose from the sofa. “Sydney, you can’t leave me here.”

Sydney looked at Graciella and then walked toward the door.

“Wait,” Thyme called out. “Sydney,” she said as she walked toward her sister-in-law, “I forgot something.” Thyme snatched Sydney’s purse and took the key to their house off her key ring. She handed her back the keys and purse, then, reaching back as far as Kansas, slapped Sydney across the face with all her strength. “Now get the fuck out!”

Sydney went pale with horror. She left without another word.

After Sydney left, Thyme stood with her back against the door. She felt she was suffocating as she waited for Cy to do something, say something.

Finally Cy spoke. “Graciella, you’re going to take the children to a hotel. I’ll find a room for you. I need to talk to my wife.”

“You think you can just take care of things so simply!”

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“You will not. You will never see your children again!”

Nothing was settled. How could it be? A wife, mistress, children, deceit—no words could undo the destruction. It would take longer than a lifetime. And Thyme felt as though she had already lived one lifetime in a period of thirty minutes. At that moment she knew that her heart was dead to her husband.

Cy called the children to his side. “Daddy’s going to take you to a hotel tonight.”

Daddy?
The sound of that word made Thyme want to vomit. It sickened her to think that her husband had an entire life with another woman. Why hadn’t she known? Or had she chosen to ignore what now seemed so painfully obvious when he’d returned from Mexico? The weight gain. The refreshed look on his face. He wasn’t working; he was fucking his ass off.

She knew what she had to do.

Several minutes later, she heard Cy’s hurried footsteps coming back toward their bedroom. “Don’t judge me now, Thyme. I can explain all of this. It’s not like it seems. You know Sydney. She’s miserable. And she wants you and me to be as miserable as she is.”

Thyme allowed Cy to kiss her, then hug her tightly. She knew this embrace would be their last.

“We can talk about this, Thyme. I’m sorry. I’m sorry this had to happen, but it’s over. No one matters but you. You’re more important to me than anything.”

Sure.
Thyme was numb, her face without expression. She didn’t have the strength to answer.

Cy left to take his Mexican family to a hotel. Thyme began packing her bags. How could he love her and yet still humiliate her this way? How did he define trust and love? Living a lie. Living separately, yet together. No. It was over.