The Prodigal Son (A Reverend Curtis Black Novel) (10 page)

I
t has half past midnight, and as soon as Matthew hung up from Jasmine’s call, he got out of bed, shut MJ’s bedroom door, and went into the living room and waited. In the meantime, he turned on the television, found a repeat airing of an earlier basketball game, and muted the volume. When Racquel staggered in, he wanted there to be complete silence so she would hear everything he had to say to her. He was tired of this drama, and he was going to let her have it. Jasmine had told him that Racquel was on her way home and that while she’d had way too much to drink, she’d gotten angry when Jasmine told her she shouldn’t be driving. Thankfully, Jasmine had driven them to the club, but what she hadn’t been able to do was stop Racquel from getting behind the wheel of her own car when they’d returned to Jasmine’s house. Still, Jasmine was now following her to the apartment just to make sure she got there safely, and they were only five minutes away. Matthew wasn’t sure what to expect, but what he did know was that he’d been worried sick all evening and hadn’t slept a wink. He hadn’t been sure why, but the whole time he’d thought about his mom and the drinking problem she’d had a couple of years ago. Of course, he’d hoped Racquel wouldn’t do any drinking, but now he knew she had and he was furious. She was going too far with this hanging-out-at-clubs-getting-drunk thing, not to mention the way she was endangering innocent people. She was actually driving under the influence, and this was yet one more shenanigan of hers he didn’t understand.

Matthew tried to figure things out but when he couldn’t, he sat waiting for a few more minutes. Finally, Racquel slipped her key into the lock. When she walked inside, she stumbled toward the sofa where he was sitting, gawked at him, and cracked up laughing.

“Where have you been Racquel?”

She kicked her high-heeled sandals off, almost tripping and falling to the floor, dropped her shoulder bag, and strolled closer to Matthew. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“Just out.”

“Doing what?” he said, looking at her and frowning. “And why are you wearin’ that slutty outfit?”

“Because…it looks…good…on me,” she said, slurring her words.

“This is ridiculous.”

Racquel straddled his lap and grabbed the sides of his face.

“Move, Racquel. Get off me.”

“Awww, baby, don’t be like that. You know I love you.”

Her breath reeked of alcohol, and Matt turned his head away from her.

She quickly turned it back and kissed him ferociously…and Matthew hated himself for liking it. He hated himself for wanting her so badly. How could he when she’d turned against him, slapped him, and she never as much as looked at their son anymore? They were living in total dysfunction, worse than the way those people lived on those reality shows Racquel watched all the time; yet, he couldn’t help the way he felt. No matter what problems they were having, he was still a man with needs, and Racquel was still his wife. He didn’t want to give in to her, not unless she was truly sorry and she was ready to love him again and work on their marriage, but her sexual advances—all the kissing and caressing she was doing—were making him weak. It was as if he didn’t care about her obnoxious and uncaring attitude and that all he could think about was getting what he wanted from her. What he hadn’t had in months. What a husband deserved to get from his wife. She’d been holding out on him just to make him suffer, but now she was offering herself to him, and he would take it.

She kissed him roughly, and Matthew let her have her way with him. He silently gave her permission to do whatever she wanted, which was exactly what she did. She was drunk, out of control, and acting like a street woman, but Matthew was fine with it—he actually encouraged it.

D
illon closed his eyes, enjoying the soothing hot water running across his chest. There was nothing like taking a relaxing shower, not to mention this was usually where he mapped out his thoughts and plans and decided on his next move. As a matter of fact, he’d thought of the perfect plan just now and wished he’d acted on it a long time ago—he was going to legally change his last name to Black. Of course, the idea had occurred to him right when his father had learned who he was, but it hadn’t been until last night before going to sleep that he’d realized how changing his name might help him. It would make church members and other acquaintances see him as a legitimate Black family member, and he wouldn’t have to work so hard trying to prove that he belonged. He wouldn’t get rid of his mom’s surname, but the more he spoke it out loud, the more prestigious Dillon Whitfield Black sounded to him, anyway. It had a certain ring to it, and Dillon couldn’t wait to head over to the courthouse to get the ball rolling. It was the reason he was up so early.

He’d checked their county’s website and learned that once he filled out the application and paid the filing fee, all he would need to do is schedule a hearing date with the county clerk so he could go before a judge. So it didn’t sound as though this process would take more than a few weeks, and if all went well, he’d have his new name pretty quickly. Now, his thought, too, was that he should call and tell his dad about it, but then he decided that Father’s Day would be a much better time. It was only a month away, and this would be his gift to him. If, for some reason, things weren’t finalized in time, he would at least show him the paperwork, which would still make his dad just as happy.

Dillon turned the pewter knob, making the water hotter, and turned his back to it. Then he got out, barely dried his body, and wrapped a thick terry towel around his waist. He took another towel and dried his hair and then went into the bedroom. He was about to get dressed, but then he decided to go check on Melissa’s progress in the den.

“So have you found anything?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Well, if you don’t find something soon, you need to hire a private investigator. I told you that last night. Pay them whatever they ask for.”

“I will.”

“I’m going out for a while, but my clothes need to be washed. I have some stuff for the cleaners, too.”

“Oh…I was thinking I’d wait a couple of days…until we have a few more pieces to add to the load.”

“I hate seeing dirty clothes and you know that. I want them washed today.”

“Okay, baby, I’ll do it.”

Dillon rolled his eyes in disgust. She always had to try him. It was as if she liked making him go off.

“I’m outta here,” he said.

“Baby, wait.”

Dillon pursed his lips. “What, Melissa?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Dillon threw his hands in the air. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m sorry, but I just wanna know because I do everything I can to please you. Everything…but it’s never enough.”

“Yeah, but didn’t I give you an opportunity to leave? Haven’t I always told you I would never marry you? I’ve always been honest about that, so why are you complaining?”

“Do you hate me because you’re seeing someone else?”

Dillon laughed and shook his head. “You know what? You just get back to doin’ what I told you. Good grief,” he said, leaving the room.

After all the times he’d declared to her, “I don’t love you, Melissa,” she still had the audacity to question him about their relationship. Wasn’t it humiliating for her? Especially since he’d always made it clear that he didn’t love her. He actually wondered where these sudden inquiries were coming from. He wasn’t going to worry about them, though, not when she was nobody important and she didn’t have a dime to her name. He was doing her a favor just by letting her live with him for free, so he didn’t know what her problem was. He didn’t know why she couldn’t be happy with the way things were, when she knew nothing was going to change between them.

Dillon went back to their room, slipped on his jeans and white V-neck pullover and headed out to the garage. He never bothered telling Melissa he was leaving, but as he backed halfway out of the driveway, he rolled down his window and spoke to his lawn guy, Roger. Roger was maybe in his late thirties, and he did a great job with cutting the grass, but he wasn’t the brightest person Dillon had ever met. As a matter of fact, Dillon sometimes wondered how he’d been able to start his own business. He was a little on the country side, too.

“Hey Mr. Whitfield, how you?”

“Can’t complain. Nice day today, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” he said, eyeing Dillon’s SUV. “Man, I sho do like that ride of yours.”

Dillon smiled. “Thanks. To tell the truth, I like it myself.”

“I’d give anythang to drive somethin’ like that.”

“If you keep working the way you do, you’ll have one in no time.”

Roger laughed, with two teeth missing—one on the top right and one on the lower left. “Nah, I don’t think so, Mr. Whitfield. Cost too much money for me.”

“You never know,” Dillon said, but Dillon knew Roger was right. He would probably never own anything slightly close to what Dillon was driving. “Well, I’d better get going. See you later.”

“Take care, Mr. Whitfield.”

Dillon wasn’t sure why Roger never called him by his first name, especially since Roger was easily ten years older than him. Maybe it was just his way of offering respect to a client.

Dillon drove out into the street, but before he could drive away from the house, his phone rang, and he got irritated. What did she want now?

However, when he looked at the display, he saw an unknown number from the Atlanta area. It was likely his aunt calling him from work.

“Hello?” he said, turning onto the next street and heading out of the subdivision.

“Dillon?” a woman responded.

“Yes.”

“My name is Tina. I’m a very close friend of your aunt Susan’s.”

“Is she okay?”

“No, sweetie, she isn’t. She passed away a couple of hours ago.”

Dillon pulled his SUV to the side of the road and stopped. He sat listening to the woman, but he no longer heard a word she was saying because all he could think about was the way he’d rushed his aunt off the phone last night. She’d told him how much she loved him, but he hadn’t wanted to hear it—he hadn’t wanted to discuss anything accept the love he needed from his father, and now the one person who truly did love him was gone. The woman who had raised him and who had done everything she could for him was no more—and all she’d wanted was for him to come see her. Now, as he thought back to their conversation, he couldn’t help realizing that her plea had sounded a little desperate. So maybe she’d been sick and hadn’t told him. He couldn’t imagine her keeping that kind of a secret, but now he wondered. Then he cried like an infant.

W
hat a night. Matthew couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed Racquel so badly, and to his surprise, she’d given him all he could want and then some. It had almost been like being with another woman because even during some of their happier times, she’d never been so forward and aggressive. He wasn’t sure if her intense desire to make love to him stemmed from her being intoxicated or if maybe she simply missed him as much as he missed her—and maybe she’d had a huge change of heart. He chose to believe the latter because it made him feel better and also because he didn’t want his wife to have to drink just to be with him. He couldn’t deny, though, that she was definitely a happy drunk. She hadn’t said a harsh word to him, and she’d told him multiple times how much she loved him. She’d laughed a lot, too, mostly at her own jokes, but she’d laughed nonetheless, and Matthew liked that Racquel better—as opposed to the bitter, angry, and cruel Racquel he’d been dealing with for far too long.

Matthew inhaled and exhaled, stretched his body, and then glanced over at the clock on his nightstand. He’d thought it was much earlier, but it was already seven o’clock. He normally got up at six, which gave him plenty of time to get dressed, feed MJ, and then get him ready for Aunt Emma’s. But today, he was going to call into work to let his boss know he wouldn’t be in until around noon.

Matthew looked over at his wife, who was still sleeping, wondering how she was going to react when she woke up. Maybe he was being naïve, but what he hoped was that she would tell him she no longer wanted to leave them and that she would then rush into MJ’s room, scoop him out of his crib, hug him as tightly as possible, and tell him she loved him more than life itself. That’s what Matthew hoped for, anyway.

He lay there thinking back over his life, thinking about his job at the bank and thinking about his future. Mostly, though, he waited for Racquel to open her eyes so he could talk to her. Maybe they would even make love again, or better yet, he’d take the day off so they could spend it together.

Sadly, though, when he looked over at her again, he saw her staring straight at him, and she seemed repulsed by his presence.

“What are you lookin’ at?” she spat.

Matthew faced the ceiling again and closed his eyes. His worst nightmare had been realized. She’d sobered up and had turned vicious again.

“I hate it when you look at me. And why can’t you sleep in the living room?”

Matthew listened in silence. He couldn’t speak if he wanted to.

“I can’t wait for you to get out of here. Oh and just so you know, that little sexcapade of ours last night meant nothing. I did that for me. I know you think you’re the only one around here with needs, but I’ve got needs, too.”

Matthew couldn’t take any more of her mean comments, so he got up and went into the bathroom.

Racquel stormed behind him.

“I need some money.”

“What does that have to with me?” he said, turning on the vanity faucet. He didn’t look at her, though.

“Everything.”

“Whatever, Racquel,” he said.

“Are you gonna give it to me?”

“For what? So you can blow it on a fifth of liquor?”

“If that’s what I choose to do with it.”

“Well, I don’t have any money. I’m the only one who works around here, remember?”

“You’re the only one who
should
be working. I took care of your child for a whole year,
remember
?”

Now Matthew turned and looked at her. “You mean
our
child, don’t you?”

“Look, are you gonna give me the money or not?”

“Nope.”

“I knew I never should have married you. You’re such a weakling. You make me sick.”

“Why don’t you go back to bed, Racquel? Or maybe turn on one of those pathetic reality shows of yours. I’m sure some rerun is on.”

Matthew cast his eye at her through the mirror, and she looked as though she wanted to kill him.

“You know what I wish?” she said. “I wish you would drop dead. I wish I never had to see you again.”

“You’re sick,” he said.

“I’ll show you sick,” she yelled and knocked his head to the side with her hand.

“Why do you keep putting your hands on me, Racquel?”

“Because you deserve it. You
and
that tramp you call a mother.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I need money. I told you that already.”

“And I told you I don’t have any.”

“You’re such a loser,” she said and walked away.

Just then Matthew heard MJ talking—his kind of talk, anyway—and when Matt went into his room, MJ was sitting in the middle of his crib, playing with a toy, but when he spied his father, he pulled himself up by the rail.

“Hey little man. Good morning. You hungry?”

MJ smiled and bounced excitedly when he felt Matthew lifting him up. Matthew looked at his son, something he did all the time, but today he truly looked at him. Then he made a decision. He and MJ were moving out.