Knowing

by Rosalyn McMillan

  If she had been home where she belonged, she’d have gotten her present on time. “I’ve called you several times, Ginger. You’re never at home.”

  “I didn’t get any messages.”

  A stern look crossed his face before he answered. “I didn’t leave any.” Avoiding her stare, his short nails made a whht sound as he raked his fingers back and forth across the smooth chintz. Then, turning back to stare at her, he rested his outstretched arms along the back of the sofa. “Been home —”

  “Mississippi?” asked Ginger, rising to fix herself a cup of Lipton. “Like any tea or coffee?”

  “No. I’ll have a —”

  “Diet Pepsi, I know.” Ginger poured his drink, explaining that she kept some around for Kim. She put on a CD to break the silence that had overtaken their strained conversation.

  He felt as though he should explain his impromptu trip south, which had caused him to miss his daughter’s first Christmas away from home. He told Ginger that his mother had been in a car accident. No one else could get away, because of the holidays, and there had to be a relative present to sign the papers for them to operate.

  “How’s she doing, Jackson?” Ginger’s heart fluttered. She felt the tears welling in her eyes as she thought of not ever seeing Mrs. Montgomery again. For some reason, she always felt that they would get together one day, and Ginger would make up for her resentment of all the years. She would explain that it wasn’t because she didn’t love her as a mother-in-law, but was simply jealous of how much Jackson loved her.

  “As well as expected,” Jackson answered, unzipping his leather jacket and cinching back the creases in his black jeans. “I came here to talk about you and me, though, not my mother.”

  Ginger almost choked on her tea. The cup rattled against the saucer as she nervously placed it on the coffee table. The disc player changed to Peabo Bryson’s “Reaching for the Sky”: “Love, it’s not the first time for us. We’ve both been there before.”

  Ginger felt goose bumps rising on her arms. She said quietly, “What more is there to say, Jackson? You made yourself clear. My career or you.” Suddenly her mouth felt as dry as sandpaper as she continued, “As you can see, I’ve made my decision.”

  “Love may never come again. I’ll be your lover and your friend. . . .” the song continued.

  He rubbed his large palms against the rough denim fabric. “I’m sorry, Ginger. I was all wrong. But right or wrong, I don’t blame you. I’m sorry. Can’t we forgive and forget and start again?” The plea in his voice rocked the doors of Ginger’s heart.

  “Time, to look ahead and leave the past behind. If it’s love you’re searching for.”

  Lowering her head, she avoided his teary hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, Jackson. We’ve been through this too many times before. It’s always the same old thing. You’re sorry, we make up, we screw, and then we fight all over again about the same problems we had before we made up. It’s a merry-go-round that I’m tired of riding.”

  “You won’t stop the divorce and give me another chance?” Jackson’s voice started to crack. His lips trembled slightly as he avoided her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see the tears. He’d almost broken down, given her a peep through the keyhole at his inner man. He left hurriedly instead.

  Later, Ginger lay in her bedroom, alone, silent tears streaming down her face. My arms around my pillow at night should be holding you, her thoughts told Jackson. I’m missing you now.

  Robert Earl inserted his key in the front-door lock. It had been a little over three years since he’d been home. The place looked a little newer, a little homier. A pleased smile spread across his face as he walked boldly into the living room, throwing his duffel bag and coat in a pile in the middle of the floor.

  Robert Earl hadn’t mentioned in his letters to Mae Thelma that he’d be home by the end of December instead of on his original January release date. He didn’t believe his wife was capable of adultery. But he’d been gone nearly three years. His gut instincts knew that was a long time for any woman, no matter how saved, to be without a man.

  “Mae,” he called out softly. “Mae. It’s me.” Silence. The skin across his chest felt as tight as a sausage casing as he walked slowly down the hall.

  Peeking into the boys’ bedroom, he saw that they were soundly asleep. Robert Earl Jr. lay spread-eagled on the bed in his Batman pajamas, his mouth wide open. David Earl lay on his side, sucking his thumb, in a fetal position.

  He ambled down the hall, stopping in front of the bedroom door that he had shut tightly and locked behind him on many a passionate evening. Slowly, he pushed it open, calling out Mae Thelma’s name in hushed tones. He stopped, seeing the slice of golden light coming from beneath the bathroom door. Slowly, he approached it, pushing it open.

  Shock and disbelief made him drop his bottom lip lower than gravity could have pulled it. Mae Thelma, eyes closed, sat naked in the middle of the tub, her knees raised and spread open. Red scented candles burned low in the darkened room. Tiptoeing in closer, he saw his wife’s fingers probing in and out of her vagina as the other hand fondled her breasts. Her moans became louder as she reached a climax.

  “Mae? Mae Thelma, what the hell are you doing?” Her eyes flew open as she let out a brief scream. Her body tensed for a moment before she realized that this was none other than her husband. She turned her head slowly toward him in shame.

  But before she could answer, he lifted her wet body from the heated water and threw her onto their bed. Crawling backwards on her elbows and heels, she watched as he stripped naked. He carried his hardened organ like a prize as he stood before her. “This is what you want, ain’t it?” He pushed himself into the delta of her womanhood. No foreplay was needed. “Tell me this is what you been needin’,” said Robert Earl, stroking and panting as they climaxed together.

  Mae Thelma smiled, stroking her husband’s face; Jackson’s handsome face was receding fast from her imagination. She saw only the handsome face of her beloved . . . Robert Earl Collins, Sr.

  “Come on baby!” Ginger screamed. “Shoot, Autumn. Shoot it!” Sierra was grabbing her mother and jumping up and down with excitement as they watched Autumn play her first basketball game. In the gymnasium of Hampton Middle School, Leopards fans cheered the young girls’ basketball team on to victory over their opponents, the Jesuit Elementary Mavericks. Katherine pointed out to Ginger how Autumn’s hard chocolate legs looked in her red-and-white uniform. Ginger said, “They’re going to look just like her daddy’s. Gorgeous.” Autumn’s expression was serious. She ignored the crowd, knowing her family was out there rooting for her, concentrating on the game. Playing the center position, she was the second-highest scorer on their team.

  Ginger, watching Autumn dribble the ball, could just imagine Jackson at his first game, watching the other players with the same intensity on his face as Autumn’s. She was his mirror image. He should be here now, watching his daughter, thought Ginger.

  But Jackson was there, sitting at the top of the bleachers, proudly watching his daughter.

  After his last conversation with Ginger, Jackson knew that she still wasn’t ready to forgive him and put a halt to the divorce proceedings. Yet in his heart he truly couldn’t blame her. He could see now that he’d been a fool. All his doubts and suspicions about Ginger seemed so frivolous now. It was incomprehensible to him, now, how he’d allowed a fabricated conception to corrode their marriage. In truth, he felt he really didn’t deserve her love.

  In convincing himself that she was guilty of infidelity, he had caused her so much unnecessary suffering. Who could blame her for leaving? But he knew, knew that she would always love him, as he would her. It was almost as though he were being pulled back to her by a force within him.

  Nearing the final seconds of the game, Jackson watched his daughter standing on the sidelines listening to the final instructions from her coach before reentering the game. The Leopards and Mavericks were tied at 45 to 45.

  The Mavericks were in p
ossession of the ball, but midway down the court, one of the Leopards reached in and stole the ball, then passed it back to Autumn.

  Jackson stood up, screaming, “Go, baby!”

  Autumn dribbled the ball expertly with her right hand, then her left, toward their basket. The Mavericks ran dead on her trail. On her right was a guard; coming close behind, the center. Unsure which way to turn, Autumn dribbled, contemplating her next move.

  “Head-fake, Autumn. Do it like Daddy showed you!”

  Autumn spun to her left, then did a head-fake simultaneously with a crossover dribble. On her tiptoes she shot a perfect two-hand set shot, but was pushed from behind and fouled. The ball circled the rim three times, then fell off, as the crowd groaned.

  The referee held up two fingers.

  Standing at the free-throw line, Autumn planted her feet, took a deep breath, and shot. It missed.

  The crowd was on its feet. Everyone screamed.

  Autumn turned around to look for her mother. After seeing the victory in her mother’s eyes, she turned back around and aimed.

  Autumn scored the winning basket of the game. Afterwards, she ran to her mother, overcome with emotion and tears. Watching his child rubbing her nose against her mother’s and seeing their unabashed display of love, Jackson realized how much he missed that closeness. He knew he wanted his family together again, no matter what the cost. It was then, as he watched his daughter, stepdaughter, stepson, and wife enjoying a happy time without him, that he decided to make some positive changes in his life.

  Jackson tapped the baseboard in the hallway of Ginger’s apartment with his gym shoe as he stood ringing the doorbell. Ginger, not even asking who it was, opened the door, beaming with pride.

  “Can I come in? I’d like to see Autumn,” Jackson said. He heard the sound of Autumn’s voice as Ginger pointed to his daughter, who was on the telephone.

  “She’s been on the phone for hours, talking about the game.” Ginger signaled to her popular daughter that her father was here. Sierra ran into the room to hug Jackson before Autumn made her excuses and hung up the phone.

  “Hi, Monk.” Sierra kissed him on the cheek, jumping up on his lap, wrapping her model-thin arms around his neck. “You should’ve seen Autumn today at the game. She scored ten points.”

  “Jackson, do you want a glass of brandy or something? I don’t have any Diet Pepsi,” Ginger said, poking her head inside the refrigerator.

  “No. Nothing. Just want to see my girls.”

  Christian tore himself away from his Sega Genesis CD when he heard the sound of Jackson’s voice. “It’s good to see you, Jackson,” said Christian, shaking his hand. He seemed so much older to Jackson, having acquired a trim mustache and added a few muscles to his compact physique. “You look like the man of the family, Christian.” The words had burned on his lips as he wished he could have snatched them back — yet he was too late. Christian smiled, knowingly, and Jackson felt an inner defeat.

  The mood was gay, everyone happy. They played checkers. They played Wheel of Fortune. Then finally, they played Scattergories, Christian’s favorite. Jackson, who dreaded going home to their large, empty house, had done everything to prolong his visit. After Autumn had fallen asleep on the couch, Ginger agreed to let him change her into her pajamas and put her to bed, something he hadn’t done in a long time. Something he missed. The older kids both bid him good night, Sierra with a kiss and hug, and Christian with a strong handshake and a last-minute man-to-man hug. Jackson was moved by his affection.

  Jackson looked at Ginger as he hesitantly took his jacket from the front closet. He saw the tender look in her eyes, and neither said anything. They fell into each other’s arms, kissing away months of pent-up desire.

  “I love you Ginger. I miss you.”

  “I know, Jackson.” She also knew that she was horny as hell and needed a piece. Yet she missed him, and the companionship they once shared as man and wife. Each day she had died a little more knowing their love was slowly slipping away from them. Ginger missed him more each night, especially when she realized that their last night together might have been just that. She wanted to show him that she wasn’t really like that, that she wasn’t a whore. But Jackson covered her mouth with kisses before she could tell him.

  Jackson ripped Ginger’s blouse as they fell into the bed. He whispered he’d buy her a new one as they struggled to free each other of their clothing. “Baby, baby. I need you, baby,” said Jackson as he kissed her lips.

  “Make love to me, Jackson. Hard. Now.” Ginger pulled him down with her into the cool cotton sheets. She clasped her hands over his swollen manhood, massaging it gently, as short breaths of heated desire escaped her lips.

  He kissed her breasts, licked the tips until they became swollen and hard, as he rotated his hips to her skillful hands. Thick, clear juice oozed down his penis, coating Ginger’s hand. There was no shame or modesty between them. She guided him into her moist softness. A sigh of relief escaped both of their mouths, and Jackson sank deep within her. She arched her back, and drove her hips upwards to meet his. Moans of pleasure were uttered between stolen kisses. As sensual as wet moonlight licking an ocean’s naked waves, their premature climax was expected, and welcomed.

  Before Ginger had caught her breath, Jackson had already recovered and was stroking her vagina with his fingers. Flicking his fingers back and forth over her quivering clitoris, her tiny jewel began to spread open like a blooming flower. The lips of her vagina were eagerly opening and closing on their own. She pressed her buttocks into the curve of his body, her love muscle grabbed and sucked in the length of him. Her sweat-drenched, smooth vagina, void of hair, rubbed against the curly black mound spreading at the root of his sex.

  Surprise registered on Jackson’s face when he felt Ginger lathering and cleaning his sex. No words were needed as Ginger finished their special ritual.

  “Baby, I think you and the kids should move back home tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of —”

  Elevating her body on her elbows, she swallowed hard. “Do you think just because we had sex that everything is just peachy keen between us?”

  “We love each other. What more is it?”

  Ginger pounced from the bed, boldly standing naked before him. “Do you think just because we’re in love, that that’s all there is to a marriage? Ordinary people who love each other divorce every day. It takes more than love — it takes compromise. Love hasn’t got a damn thing to do with two people being able to live with each other.”

  “Ginger. We don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what? Just fuck and make up like we always do? I’m sorry, that doesn’t work for me anymore, Jackson. I need to know that you trust me. It’s important.”

  Jackson mumbled something under his breath that Ginger was unable to discern.

  “Have I ever questioned you about being at Mae Thelma’s house in the middle of the night?”

  “What?”

  “What were you doing at one o’clock in the morning — having Bible study?”

  “Not this shit again,” Jackson mumbled. Ginger cried, while Jackson quickly dressed, hollering over his shoulder, “I thought you’d grown up. I see you haven’t changed a bit.” He walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Ginger fell on the floor, covering her head with her hands, clamping them tightly against the bare flesh covering her brain. “Why, Lord, did you make me love him so much, so he could hurt me so bad?” A silent scream escaped from her mouth, as she cradled herself. Her body convulsed in jagged spasms.

  Kim finally made progress with her therapy, having accepted and forgiven herself for her past indiscretions. The therapist told her that the key to getting well lay in forgiveness and loving yourself enough to stop the pain of guilt. She must be willing to look honestly at her life, no matter how sordid. The therapist also explained that there is a difference between feeling better — which can occur as soon as the physical body heals itself — and getting better, w
hich results from systematically and faithfully reapplying simple yet effective mood-control techniques.

  Ultimately, united in love and strength, Kim and Bill were able to make plans for another wedding. Smaller. And the slow undertaking of renewing their sexual closeness. Bill had cleaned the ghosts from his closet, admitting again to Kim about his tortured past, when his vengeance against God had begun, after losing his son and mother. He’d gotten on his knees and prayed while Kim was in the hospital. There had been nothing else he could do but pray. He prayed to God that she would make it through the operation and live, and she had.

  Bill and Kim’s relationship couldn’t have been stronger. Her botched attempt to take her life and to hide her shame from the man she loved had turned into a blessing for both of them. Each made a vow to visit church regularly and to give God another chance. Ginger cried openly when she heard Bill’s confession about the Lord. She was moved beyond words, and began looking at her own faith — her devotion to God.

  For years Ginger wondered, Is God, shaping, molding, or polishing me right now? Am I praising and thanking God, or am I complaining about the process? She was told by her pastor to read II Corinthians 4:17: “Our light affliction . . . is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” It made so much sense. Her heart felt peace. She’d entrusted her soul to a power that was greater than Man.

  On Sunday, the seventeenth of January, Kim, Bill, Ginger, and her three children attended Faith Methodist Church and bared their souls and hearts at the rail of the altar, where they confessed their sins and asked for forgiveness.

  34

  You’re My Everything

  The New Year brought Jackson, a nonbeliever in resolutions, to affirm that he and his wife and family would be back together soon. He phoned Ginger and the kids each night before bedtime. He told them he loved them and would see them soon. Jackson attended church faithfully every Sunday at the Church of Christ. He felt better. Gave up the alcohol. Started doing work around the house. These were things that Ginger had asked him to do years ago, but he’d never seemed to find the time to do them.