Single Mom (17 page)

Lord give me strength indeed!
I prayed as I went to bed.
And thank you for all of your angels!

EVERLY
handed me the phone shortly after I got in from work. “It’s Denise,” she said, before leaving the room. She always gave me privacy when I spoke to Denise. Beverly did not want to be involved in any issue that she didn’t need to be concerning my son’s mother.

I had tried to contact Denise at work about her truck-driving boyfriend spending time with my son. After calming down for a few days, it slipped my mind. Her phone call reminded me.

She said, “So, I guess you know that I’ve been spending time with someone—not that it’s any of your business—but I thought it would be best that you hear it from me before you start jumping to conclusions about what you heard from your son.”

“Actually, my only concern about it was not
knowing
that this man had been spending time with my son,” I responded to her.

“That’s only been recently,” she said.

“Nevertheless, that
was
my concern. So, how many times has he been out with my son, and where were you during these outings?”

Denise paused and responded, “Walter, I am
not
calling you to discuss times and dates, I was simply letting you know where I stood with things, so that you wouldn’t accuse me of something ridiculous.”

“And what would I be accusing you of?” I asked, just to humor myself. Denise swore that she knew my every thought, and that always bothered me because she really didn’t.

“Of having my son around
so-called
bad influences,” she snapped.

She was right about that, I had to admit it. I especially didn’t like my son being around her oldest son’s father, J.D. No young, impressionable boy should be around him.

“Well, I’m sure that your choice of men is highly respectable,” I shot back at Denise. I really didn’t need to say that, it just happened. I believe I was a little peeved that she had read me right. However, her track record with men was
far
from perfect.

She responded, “See, that’s the kind of shit that makes me hate even having to speak to you. You’re
not
a saint, okay? I just want you to know that. And I’m sure that your wife knows it, too. She just puts up with your ass because she feels dedicated to being a good wife. She would leave your
phony ass
in a heartbeat if she wasn’t!” she yelled, before hanging up the phone in my ear.

I considered her actions to be rather childish. I was even tempted to call her back and tell her about it, but I decided against it.

It was very quiet as Beverly and I ate tuna casserole that evening. We seemed lifeless for some reason. Kids running around can make a household lively at all times, but we didn’t have any yet. In the silence, I thought more of Denise’s phone call. I kept thinking about her comments concerning my wife staying with me out of dedication. What was so wrong with that? Dedication was what
all
marriages should be about, but since Denise had never been married, I guess that she wouldn’t know. Nevertheless, I needed some reassurance from my wife.

I said, “Beverly, I want to ask you something.”

She lifted her head toward me with her fork in hand. “Yes.” I got lost for a second, staring at her perfect face. She had so much simple beauty, composure, and class. My parents loved her as much as I did.

“Do you, ah, consider me a hard man to love?”

She immediately started to grin. “What would make you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. “I just figured that I’d ask you.”

She stopped grinning and nodded her head. “What’s your own opinion on that?”

“To tell you the truth, I really haven’t given it much thought,” I told her.

Beverly began to frown. That didn’t look like a good sign. “Sometimes, it doesn’t seem that you consider a lot of things,” she responded.

I said, “So, that sounds like I
can
be difficult.”

“You just fail to think about others a lot of times. The world and everything in it revolves around you,” she responded. “But, you know, I expected that being that you’re an only child.”

I began to wonder how long Beverly had thought that way about me. “And how long have you had
this
opinion?” I asked.

“Walter, you’ve
always
been that way.” She said it as if it was as constant as gravity.

“So, how come you never told me that?”

“In so many words, I have,” she said. “You just never seemed to hear me.”

She started grinning again, as if it were some kind of joke to her and that began to piss me off. “Beverly, if you did something I didn’t particularly like, I’d tell
you
about it,” I snapped at her.

“Yeah, you always do,” she said back.

That got me even hotter! “I don’t believe this,” I said. “You’ve felt this way about me the whole time, and you’ve never said a word about it.”

“Yes, I have,” she shot back at me. “I’ve already told you that I have.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me straight, you beat around the bush about it. God, I hate that!” I shouted at her. “If you have something to say to me, Beverly, then I would appreciate it if you said it like you mean it!” I didn’t mean to keep raising my voice at her, yet whenever I got excited about something I couldn’t seem to help it.

Beverly stared at me with evil intentions. She said, “There are a lot of things that you do that I don’t like.”

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s get them all out in the open, now that we’re finally being
honest
with each other.” I was filled with plenty of venom that night. My wife was really pushing my buttons.

She stopped eating her food and asked me, “What has gotten into you? Was it something that
Denise
said?”

“No, it was what
you
said!”

Beverly stood up from the table. “You know what, I don’t think I want to have this discussion anymore.” I knew that she was pissed then but I was pissed, too!

I don’t know what got into me, but I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Why do you insist on running away from everything? Why can’t you just sit here and discuss this with me, man to woman?”

She angrily pulled away from me. “How dare you accuse
me
of running away from things! You’re the one with a twelve-year-old son from a college fling, not me. So
who
ran away?!”

“Okay, here you go with that again,” I responded. She could never get over the fact that I had a past. I’m sure that her past wasn’t as rosy as she made it seem, yet I never dwelled on it. “I never bring up your past,” I told her. “Why do you keep bringing up mine?”

“Because you think that you’re Mr. Frigging Perfect! And frankly, Walter, I don’t think you
care
enough about
my
past to even bring it up. Everything is about you; what
you’re
doing; what
you
want.”

“Well, Beverly, if I’m just so into myself, then why would you even marry me? Why would you marry a man who doesn’t care about you; a man who only thinks about himself?”

I knew that I had gone overboard, but once the question left my tongue and hit the air, I wanted an answer for it.

Beverly just stared at me in silence again. Then she turned her head and mumbled, “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe it was a mistake.”

I was knocked off my feet! I don’t know what kind of answer I expected, but I sure wasn’t expecting that one. I began to twiddle my fingers with nervousness and looked away. Suddenly, I had a strong urge to leave, and I went with it.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m just going out to think,” I told her.

I could feel Beverly’s eyes burning a hole through my back as I made for the door. But like she said, I only thought about myself, and I wanted to get out of there, so I ignored her. I even heard her footsteps following me. I made it out the door and let it hit me in the back before she could get in another word.

I walked down into the garage, quickly slid into the car, and pulled off for a drive. I thought I was free until my cell phone rang. I let it ring four times before I finally answered it. “Yes.”

“You know, Walter, I just think that it’s funny how you were just telling me how
I
like to run away from things,” Beverly said over the line.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right,” I responded. “And maybe I
do
have a problem.”

“I never said you had a problem. You asked me a simple question and I answered it. I don’t know what you wanted me to say, but I thought that our love for each other was based on honesty.”

“Beverly, you make it real hard to be honest with you when you throw everything I’ve been honest
about
right back in my face every time we have an argument.”

“Well, how do you think
I
feel when you accuse me of not telling you things when I
know
that you weren’t listening?”

I said, “I never doubted our marriage though, Beverly. Never have I done that.”

My wife was silent. I was still wondering why she decided to say “I do,” if she didn’t really feel for me. My emotions had been shattered. I guess I had taken her love for me for granted, and I was finding out that maybe she didn’t love me at all. Maybe it was my economic security that made her say “I do.” I hated when I thought that way. It always made my family’s wealth seem as if it was a curse.

“Walter, you have to learn to trust people,” Beverly suggested when she spoke to me again. “Everyone doesn’t think the same way that you do, and that blocks you from understanding other points of view. I don’t see everything the way you see it, nor do others. But that’s the way
all
people are. We are all a bit eccentric in our own little ways.”

I was speechless, so Beverly went on:

“I love you as much as you love me, but I’m open enough to understand how your mind works, where you don’t stop to evaluate how mine, or anyone else’s, works, for that matter,” she said. “You just want to force your way through everything. And if someone doesn’t understand you, then you say, ‘Screw them,’ and you can’t have that attitude, Walter. It’s time for you to face the music.”

I still wasn’t planning on going back home until I got good and ready to. “Yeah, well, I’ll face the music when I get back in tonight. Right now, I still have to clear my mind,” I explained to my wife. If I went back home too early, it would only lead to more tension in our house. I figured it was good for me to clear my head.

“How late are you planning on staying out?” Beverly asked me.

Until the cows come home
, I thought of responding. However, that would have been childish on my part. “In a little while,” I told her.

She said, “Walter, I wanted to marry you because I love you, I still love you, and I’m gonna love you until I can’t love you anymore. But I’m human, and sometimes you can really get under my skin with your selfishness. So, I’ll be home in bed when you get back. Okay? And I’m not running away.”

I calmed down a bit after that. Reassurance was all that I wanted in the first place. “Okay, I’ll see you later on then.”

“Don’t make it
too
late; Or I’ll be asleep when you get in,” she warned me.

“I won’t,” I assured her.

I hung up the phone and began to shake my head. I was thirty-two years old, but some of my actions made me feel more like a troubled adolescent, just like my son. How was I going to be a role model to him when
my act
wasn’t together yet? I guess I had only been thinking about myself again, believing that I had the only solution. And I had the nerve to think of
Denise
as being childish.

I never thought of myself much as a “Junior,” but whenever I reflected on some of my actions, it was rather hard to deny. I was a spoiled and selfish child, living in the shadow of a successful and overbearing father.

I remember when Denise first decided to name our child Walter Perry III, upon learning that it would be a boy. I was so pleased that we had come to peaceful terms on how to handle the situation that I was hesitant to comment on it, but of course, I had to. However, it seemed that the more I spoke against it, the more she persisted in doing it. I told her that she should at least name him Walter Stewart, using her last name like she did with her first son, Jimmy. Denise then explained that she had planned to rename her first son “Daniels,” after
his
father, once they had gotten married, which, of course, never happened. That’s when I first began to have nightmares about her discovering my family’s wealth. I had always thought about it, but I didn’t have those all-so-real bad dreams until the naming process was official, Walter Perry III. And when I finally told my parents face-to-face, four years after the fact, my father simply shook his head and walked away. To this day, I’ve been afraid to ask if he had limited or even cut off my inheritance in his will. So I was indeed a “Junior” whether I referred to myself as being one or not.

I began to wonder how long I could continue to keep Denise in the dark about my wealth. Sometimes, because of the power of my dreams, I believed that she already knew about it. After all, I had never lied to her about where my parents lived. Since she had never been to Barrington, however, maybe she could not make any correlation about the extent of the wealth that was there. Or, then again, maybe she did know and didn’t care. Since she had become a successful woman in her own right, and had moved out to Oak Park, maybe she was saying she didn’t
need
any of my family’s money. Yet, after my attendance with my son at the Million Man March two years ago, an event that my father felt I should have stayed away from, I had been thinking that the righteous,
“atoning” thing to do would be to come clean to Denise and my son about
everything
. I just had to bring myself to find the courage to do it.