Two for Flinching (22 page)

I ripped away the tape, pulling back the
flaps. I was moving fast now, afraid if I stopped I could not
continue. The box was all that remained of Stella. Heavy on
pictures, she and I (much younger) she and I and Sarah, Stella
alone, Stella with some of her friends. The pictures of her with
her family had been returned long ago to Felicia and Orrin. There
were pieces of costume jewelry floating around, clothing that
escaped the trip to Goodwill a year after she left. Our wedding
album was in the bottom of the box. I didn’t have the courage to
open it.

It was only minutes, but it felt like hours
before I found the journal. I kicked the box back into the corner
and retreated downstairs. I was going to need a fresh drink. A big
one.

Chapter Thirty-Two

May 11,

B knows. I don’t know how, but he does. He
lost it tonight, really blew up. He has made hints before, little
jabs, talked about our need to work on the “relationship.” There is
no doubt now. He gave me the ultimatum. We either talk to
“somebody” or I can pack up my shit. Yeah, like that magical
somebody can cast a spell and cure all our problems.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I am, though. I
knew all along this day would come. Once, twice, maybe three times
you could get away with it, but not when it’s your way of life. I
learned that from mom. She says not to worry; this will blow over.
She’s wrong. B is not fooling around. He’s had it. I misjudged
him.

Or maybe I didn’t. Deep down, I always knew
he had his limit—not like dad. I don’t want my family to split. I
wish I could STOP and be a wife and mother. I’m not a teenager any
more, the time for a good time has come and gone. I can’t. I would
say it’s an addiction—only that doesn’t go far enough. It’s part of
who I am, in my DNA or upbringing or whatever and I can’t change
it. My eyes will always be green. I have two legs and two arms. I
enjoy pizza and cheeseburgers. I will always step out. I tried it
straight for a while, after B came back from playing soldier.
Lasted two months.

I love Sarah. She is so sweet and beautiful
and everything right with this world. Yet, I must not love her as
much as myself. Else I wouldn’t keep doing this, putting my fun
over her happiness. Not like it’s fun anyway. The sneaking, the
lies, the constant living on edge. The guilt. I look at her and
think the last thing in this world I want you to be is me. What
kind of mother does that make me? What kind of mother would betray
her child’s father over and over?

A thinks we should run away. What a fool.
How he got that idea is beyond me. What kind of life could we
possibly have? Two cheaters. How long before we go back to our
ways? A fool. An idiot.

I love B. That’s what really hurts. I love
him and then I destroy him. I want to spend the rest of my life
with him—except for a few hours every week when I go to a cheap
hotel or another woman’s bed. Or worse. How could I ever have let
other men into the bed I share with my husband?

B is going to see a lawyer. Of that, I have
no doubt. Unless he already has. Beautiful child, loving husband,
wonderful home—what more could a woman ask for? And I fucked it up
bad. Real bad.

What am I going to do?

Chapter Thirty-Three

My glass was empty. I won’t lie, it hurt. I
knew she had been having an affair with Adrian and didn’t believe
he was the first. To have that confirmed, that Stella had been
unfaithful from the start, cut to the core. I had no reason to be
shocked. I was. She had been dating another guy when we had first
begun seeing one another and for three months I had been the other
man. Until he found out. To think I had been the first—or the
last—was foolish. Adrian wasn’t the only one. Two months. For two
months out of our four year marriage, my bride had been
faithful.

I remembered the argument as clearly as if it
had happened yesterday. I gave her that option; either we go talk
to somebody or you can pack your shit. Word for word. I had smelled
Stella’s perfume a few times when Adrian came back from lunch and
assumed it had been clinging to me. At least, that was what I told
myself. Until I laid down on the bed Stella and I slept in every
night, made love in on a regular basis—conceived our child in—and
smelled his cheap cologne on my pillow. I waited until the next
day, not sleeping, fuming as the pieces fell into place. The
obvious lies and the weak alibis. The mysterious phone calls. The
tears that came from nowhere. Like tumblers in a lock, one by one
until they all dropped into place and the lock fell away.

I stared at the pages in my lap. Stella’s
looping, precise, handwriting. May eleventh was the last entry. I
had started there, thinking it the most likely place to find a clue
to her plans, where she had gone. What I found was heartbreak.
Stella was not planning on running away with Adrian. That much was
clear. That didn’t mean she hadn’t changed her mind. She had always
been an impulsive creature and that agreed with the evidence I
already had. She had taken only the clothes on her back and all our
money in the world, save twelve hundred and four dollars. I had
learned nothing. Nothing I could use.

There were more entries in the journal. Many
more. They would have to wait. I got out of my chair to pour
another drink. A big one. No coke. No lime.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Daddy.”

With some effort, I forced my eyes open.
Sandpaper scraped across my pupils. My head was pounding. Somebody
had dumped an ashtray in my mouth.

“What are you doing on the couch?”

I blinked, my daughter going in and out of
focus. “I fell asleep watching television.”

“Your breath stinks.”

“Uh huh.” And my stomach roiled.

“Can I watch a show?”

“Sure, baby.” Saturday morning no longer held
the special place of my childhood, not with eight twenty-four hour
cartoon channels. I turned on the television and found one of
Sarah’s favorites, a Hispanic girl and her monkey going on
educational adventures.

I attempted to push off the couch. I failed.
I lay back down, shutting my eyes tight. My stomach roiled.

“I’m hungry.”

“Of course you are.” I finally made it to my
feet and into the kitchen. I filled a glass from the tap and drank
it quickly down.
Big mistake.
My stomach roiled. I braced
myself over the sink, fighting it. My brow was sweating. When the
crisis passed, I took the Milo’s jug from the refrigerator and
poured it into my glass. I sipped the sweet tea slowly. I poured a
bowl of Fruit Loops (no milk) and called my daughter for her
breakfast.

“You okay, daddy?”

“Daddy doesn’t feel good.”

“You sick or something?”

“Uh huh.”

“Your tummy hurt?”

“Oh yeah.” I popped Tylenol into my mouth and
swallowed it with a little tea. It was going to be a long day.

“You need to go to the doctor? Get a
shot?”

“I’ll be okay.” I shook out two Flintstones
vitamins for her and two for me. “You need anything else?”

“Sweet tea?”

“How about orange juice?”

“Okay.”

That deep throated growl came from Blondie. I
hurried to the dining room/playroom and pulled back the blinds,
expecting to Steven’s unhappy mug coming up my steps. Instead, I
saw the unmarked car in my driveway, two unhappy cops on my porch.
What now?

“You look like hell.”

Randy said, “You’re one to talk.”

I shrugged.

Larry said, “Let us in.”

I said, “No.”

“Got something to hide?”

I stepped outside, blinking against the harsh
sun. The cold sent icy needles through my bare feet. “Got a
daughter eating breakfast.”

“We need to talk,” Larry said, “let us
in.”

“You’re not coming into my home.” I held out
my hands. “You can slap on the handcuffs and drag me downtown or we
can talk out here. Don’t forget to call DHR to look after my
girl.”

Randy almost smiled. Larry snorted. It was a
chance I could take on a Saturday. I remembered how hard it was to
get child protective services out on the weekend. Randy said, “That
won’t be necessary. We just don’t feel like freezing our nuts
off.”

“So talk fast,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Quentell Harris, LaMichael Axel, Montarius
Moss,” Larry said. “That’s what’s up.”

“Who?”

Randy said, “You probably know them as Q,
Trey, and M and M. You know them, right?”

“Q and Trey, I’ve met. I don’t know M and
M.”

Larry snorted again.
You’d think as much
practice as he had at it, he’d be better at it.
“They’re
missing.”

I knew eventually they would be reported
missing—but not this fast—and I was hoping they would never connect
me to them. “Well, they’re not here.” My stomach roiled.

Randy said, “Let’s back up a minute. How do
you know Trey and Q?”

“They jumped me outside of TJ’s.”

“How did that go?”

“Not too good,” I said. “For them.”

Larry said, “
Why
would they jump
you?”

I winced. “I went to see Jeremiah last week
and Trey was watching the door. We got off on the wrong foot.”

Larry said, “What did you want with
Jeremiah?”

I made eye contact with Randy. If he wanted
to let his partner in on our conversation concerning Jeremiah, it
was up to him. I shook my head.

Yet another snort. “We found M and M’s car in
the Bottoms, keys in the ignition.”

I winced again, this time keeping it
internal. I had dumped his car on the way to pick up Jeremiah and
Jajuan, hoping some kids would find it and take it on a joyride.
The one time I want a car to get stolen.
“Why are you
here?”

Randy gave me his flat eyes. His cop eyes.
“The last time they were seen, the three of them said they were
coming to teach you a lesson.”

“Crossing the Rubicon?”

“Yeah,” Randy said.

“Sounds like they were full of shit. Jeremiah
wouldn’t stand for it.” Jeremiah—and the shot callers before
him—knew to keep their violence in the Bottoms. If it crossed the
Chickasaw River, spilled over into subdivisions and the suburbs
(read “white”) the law enforcement in this county would fall on
them. And fall on them hard.

Randy said, “They weren’t known for their
intelligence.”

“Obviously,” I said. “They jumped me.”

“Where were you night before last?”

“Here.”

“Alone?”

I knew what they were doing, trying to lock
me into a story. I could use Madison as an alibi, but that was
worse than not having one. I wasn’t going to help them.
“Maybe.”

Larry said, “The hell does that mean?”

I shrugged. “That means I don’t live in a
police state and I’m not obligated to tell you where I go or who I
see.”

Snort. “You damn well better if this turns
into a murder investigation.”

Of that, I was not concerned. I didn’t know
where Nero had dumped the bodies, but I knew they wouldn’t be
found. “Until that happens, have a nice day.”

I started for the door. Randy reached out and
grabbed my elbow. I looked down at his hand, back to his face. He
let go of my arm.

“Jeremiah and Jajuan are off the grid as
well.”

“You blaming me for that, too?”

It was Randy’s turn to shrug. “They’re not
missing—though nobody knows where they are.”

“You expect people in the Bottoms to tell
police where
they
are?”

Randy shook his head. “It’s not like that.
Jajuan’s dog was found shot outside the grocery. They’ve gone
underground. It’s like they are hitting the mattresses, like a war
is brewing.”

I waited.

“Is there, Beason? A war brewing?”

My stomach roiled. “Beats me.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

April 30,

The jerk called today. He just can’t let go.
Actually, I don’t think that’s his problem. His problem is that I
let go of him. He can’t imagine a woman breaking it off with him.
He knew we were a short time thing. He must have seen A sneaking in
the other day because he threatened to go to B about my “new man.”
He made a lot of other threats, too. Threats I can’t do anything
about. If B found out, I’d be lucky to live long enough to see
divorce court. I threatened him right back, but it didn’t seem to
bother him. He knows I have more to lose. Maybe I could throw him a
quickie and give him the opportunity to dump me. Only I’m afraid he
would string me along, keep me on a line and pull on it whenever he
got the urge. He always got off on the power. If I gave it to
him…

A is growing attached. I’m going to have to
be careful with him. I explained until I’m blue in the face. He is
not hearing it. I never thought how hard it would be to carry on
with my husband’s partner. The first couple of times I got that
deep down dirty feeling. I was so wet and it had nothing to do with
A. Of course, he didn’t know that. It’s not like we can fool around
while B is at work. They work at the same time! Lunches are okay,
but sometimes B calls on his lunch and what will I do if he decides
to come home for a sandwich? And it’s not like we can go to A’s.
Working late doesn’t always cut it either because if I play that
card and something comes up with B and A’s job, I can only put that
card back in the deck so many times.

What’s a girl to do?

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Hello.”

“What are you doing?”

“Uh…watching TV.”

“You got another woman there?”

“Two. Upstairs in bed.”