Wrath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  One of the things I’d never done with my best friend was lie, but still I said, “Would you believe it if I said that’s where I mounted my TV?”

  I chuckled, she didn’t. “Chas-ti-ty…”

  My government name… her admonishment. I held up my hands. “I really am having that fixed, but Xavier… had a little accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” Her glance shifted from me to the wall.

  “Xavier got upset one night and—”

  “What!”

  Then she paused as if she wanted me to repeat what I’d said. But with the way she’d just rattled the walls with her scream, that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Chastity Jeffries, you better start talking.”

  “I’m Chastity Jeffries King,” I said, trying to bring down the heat.

  “Chas-ti-ty!”

  “All right.” I moved past her and turned my attention to the bedroom’s window, hoping Melanie would follow and stop looking at the wall. She stayed where she was. I said, “He was upset the night we told my parents we got married and… he punched the wall. You’ve heard of guys doing that before, right?”

  “No. No man I’ve ever known in my history of knowing men has ever punched a hole in a wall.”

  “It’s not quite a hole.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. “Why are you making a joke out of something so serious?”

  “Because I don’t want you to get bent out of shape for no reason.”

  “No reason.” She studied me, making me shift from one foot to the other. Then the questions came like rapid fire. “Is he violent? Has he hit you? Are you being abused?”

  “No.” My eyes widened. “All of that because of this?” I pointed to the wall. “You need to step back, because you know Xavier—”

  “No, I don’t. We’ve hung out a few times, but I don’t know him, and neither do you if he goes around punching holes in walls when he gets mad.”

  “Please don’t make me regret telling you.”

  She huffed, then leaned against the wall and slid down. When her butt hit the carpet, she gestured for me to do the same, and I sat across from her.

  A minute was so much longer when it was filled with silence instead of chatter. These minutes felt eternal as I watched my friend assess all that I’d told her. Finally, she spoke up: “Maybe I am making this a big deal, so break it down for me.”

  The truth—I did want to speak to someone because… of those three times. I said, “He punched the wall. He was that mad, and it was that scary.”

  “Did he…” She stopped as if she couldn’t finish.

  I shook my head. “He didn’t, but I thought he was going to.”

  Even though her hand was pressed against her mouth, her gasp still slipped out. “You thought it? Because he’s done it before?”

  “No, he’s never hit me.”

  “But…”

  That one word was a huge question, and I answered, “He gets really mad.” Her eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t the first time he scared me.”

  “And you still married him?”

  “He’s never hit me.”

  She glanced up at the wall. “But you thought he was going to.”

  “Looking back, it wasn’t that bad. I was scared, but only for a couple of seconds. He was sorry the moment he did it.”

  “Yeah”—she nodded slowly—“they’re always sorry.”

  Now I was the one who squinted. “I don’t think it will happen again because I’ve learned how to calm him.”

  Her eyes were even bigger than before, and her voice was louder than any sound that should be coming from someone her size. “It happens that often? That you’ve had to learn to calm him down?”

  “It’s just that he’s really stressed right now. And when I talk to him in the right way, I can get him settled in a good place.”

  “So you talk to him,” she said with all kinds of sarcasm, “in the ‘right’ way. You consider that effective therapy?”

  With the way she was talking to me, I wanted to punch a wall myself. “I consider that being a good wife. Are you trying to antagonize me?”

  “I’m trying to help you, maybe even save you.”

  In the next seconds, we both took a couple of deep breaths, cleared our minds, and started over.

  “Mel, I know this may sound crazy, but I think his anger issues may be one of the reasons why God brought us together.”

  “You’re right, it sounds crazy. Have you ever talked to him about his anger issues?”

  “A little. But he doesn’t see it. He thinks we all get angry.”

  Then her head tilted as if she had a new thought. “Does your dad know about this?”

  “No, I would never tell my parents,” I said, thinking now she was the one who was crazy.

  “But your dad knows,” she stated as a fact.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She pushed herself up and pointed at me. “Remember when your father preached on anger?”

  “He was finishing the seven deadly sins series.”

  “So you don’t think any of that was about Xavier?” She didn’t give me a moment to respond. “You know your father and his discernment.”

  “If he had been talking about Xavier, he would have preached backward, you know that. But he didn’t because it was just the next sin he was teaching.”

  She shook her head, crossed her arms, paced in front of me. “I don’t care what you say, that was about your husband, and your father knows.”

  “And I don’t care what you say, it wasn’t about him, and my father doesn’t know, because if he did, Xavier would be something just short of dead right now.”

  We glared at each other; the doorbell rang as if it were the referee, sending us to our corners. I moved to stand; she held up her hand.

  “Stay there. I’ll get it. But we have more to talk about,” she commanded as if someone somewhere had told this mighty munchkin she was my mother.

  But I sat and waited—and fumed, because I shouldn’t have said anything. My cell rang, and when I saw Xavier’s picture, I considered sending him to voice mail so I wouldn’t have to talk in front of Melanie. But I accepted the call because that’s what we always did, and as soon as I said, “Hey, babe,” I heard his cheer. “What’s up?” I asked, pushing myself from the floor.

  “Baby, you’re not going to believe this, but the cable company settled.”

  “What? I thought there was still—”

  He interrupted me. “I thought so, too, but that’s what this morning’s emergency meeting was about. Not only are they settling but this will be the biggest settlement in Steyer and Smith’s history.”

  I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling my own excitement. “Oh my God, Xavier. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Do you know what this means?” That was rhetorical, because he answered before I could speak, “I’m going to be made partner, baby. Can you believe it?”

  “Yes, I can. You deserve it.”

  “Is the painter there? Because I wanna celebrate.”

  “He just got here, but”—I turned as Melanie strolled back in, followed by a black dude in jeans and a sweatshirt, carrying a huge bag of tools—“I don’t have to stay,” I said, leaving out the part that Melanie was with me. “I’ll come home.”

  “Thanks, baby. I can’t wait to see you.”

  I clicked off the phone, and as the painter studied the crack, Melanie said, “I thought we were going to lunch.”

  “I’ll need a rain check. My husband just won a big case, and we want to celebrate.”

  That news took a bit of the bite from her fight; I could tell she didn’t want to say it, but she did. “Congratulations. I know he’s been working hard.”

  “He has, and this will take a lot of pressure off.” That was my way of saying there was nothing to see here, nothing to worry about.

  I hugged her, though her hands stayed by her sides, then I dropped the key i
nto her palm. “I’ve prepaid, including the tip,” I whispered as I jutted my chin toward the painter. “Thank you for staying here.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she hummed.

  “And I’ll make this up to you.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  I rushed away from Melanie, and that hole in the wall, not stopping till I was out the door. At the elevator banks, I pressed my weight against the wall. Melanie and I had shared everything since we were kids, but I was over that. Now that I was married I understood that no one on the outside could ever understand what was going on inside.

  “I’ll never do that again,” I whispered as I stepped into the elevator. And then I asked myself what was I talking about. It wasn’t going to happen; Xavier would never get that angry again. I knew that for sure.

  It was time to push every bad thought aside. Time to celebrate my husband’s impending partnership and his bright future.

  39 Xavier

  My eyes wouldn’t close. So once the clock ticked past five, I gave up the fight and rolled out of bed. Two minutes later, I was dressed in a sweat suit and sneakers. My plan was to go for a run, even in this December weather. But as I stumbled through the condo, I was overcome by the exhaustion that came from weeks of restless nights.

  Inside the kitchen, I crossed my arms and tried to lay my head atop the glass table, but like in the bedroom, closed eyes didn’t mean I’d rest. My mind was filled with turbulence, thoughts crashing, then settling, leaving me in a state of sorrow.

  Exactly three weeks had passed since I’d received the biggest settlement in Steyer and Smith’s history. Three weeks filled with celebrations and recognition… It was still being praised on the news.

  But as the Christmas season rang in, I didn’t feel any kind of festive spirit. It was because among all the praise, there was something not being said. Not once in these weeks had anyone uttered a word about me becoming a partner.

  Standing, I turned to the espresso machine, hoping a shot of caffeine would awaken me enough to get a run or a workout in. That was one thing I’d taken from Dr. Escobar. Since that visit, I’d been to the gym daily, releasing the fury that burned within onto punching bags and opponents. Last week, I’d even left a guy knocked out on the mat. I’d raged like a bull at Sweat Box, all so I wouldn’t bring any of that home to Chastity. I sipped the espresso and scanned the kitchen, which could be photographed for one of those cable home shows. My home was immaculate, my career disciplined; there was even a method and a mindset to the clothes I wore. All of it was designed to put distance between my present and my past. Living in this place, being married to Chastity, with educational credentials that had me at the top percentile in the nation—all of it was supposed to bury my Mississippi history.

  But it seemed my past hadn’t been entombed deep enough. Steyer and Smith had done an extensive background check before I’d been hired; Mr. Steyer had discussed it with me at the time. But my transgressions—being fired from two law firms previously—had all been professional, so I’d thought a personal search had not been done.

  It was obvious now that I’d been wrong. What they’d found out about me professionally had been enough to hire me with a warning. But what they’d learned about me personally kept me from being a partner. The firm must have discovered everything I’d tried to keep hidden. Maybe they’d even uncovered the truth of my paternity, or that I’d been homeless. This was the only explanation for this slight, because my results were unimpeachable; I should have been made a partner a couple of years ago.

  But it seemed that education and results didn’t trump my being a poor black kid from the deepest part of the South.

  The sun began its slow rise, filling the kitchen with the golden light of dawn; I returned to the table and rolled my conclusions over in my mind. As time passed, I knew I needed to stop focusing on the problem and turn to the solution. Someone at the firm needed to answer to me.

  Her touch was light, but it startled me nonetheless.

  “Sorry, babe,” Chastity said, then kissed my cheek.

  This was a sign of how off I was, because in the two months since we’d been married, I’d always felt Chastity, even if I didn’t always hear her approaching; we were that connected.

  “Babe, what’s wrong?” Chastity slid into the chair across from me. “You’ve been restless for the past couple of days.”

  We weren’t that connected if she thought it had just been days. “Nothing.” Even though I’d been used to talking to Chastity about everything, “nothing” was all I had for her right now. How could I share this? She was already a partner; she’d already been found worthy, and I didn’t want her pity.

  She reached for my hand, but I edged away. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, not in anger. “Why won’t you talk to me, babe?”

  I lowered my eyes to my coffee. “I told you, it’s nothing.”

  “I know what you said,” she pressed, “but I’m looking at you, I’m living with you, I love you, and all of that adds up to me knowing something’s wrong.”

  I shook my head; I wasn’t going to give her any more.

  When she held up her hands in surrender, I breathed. Still, I sat pensive while she popped a K-cup into the Keurig she’d brought from her place.

  While she waited for her tea, she returned to the table and stood over me. I cringed at her touch, but said nothing. Just wished her away, because now, her silence was worse than her words.

  When the Keurig stopped, she sauntered away, giving me new relief. But she stood at the counter, sipping, staring, filling me with heat.

  I never glanced up, never gave her a word—all hints I wanted to be left alone. But then she said, “If you don’t have any plans for today, I was thinking we could look at a couple of places.”

  What? In the middle of my crisis, she wanted to talk about real estate? I kept my eyes on my coffee.

  “There’re a couple of town houses for sale on Strivers’ Row,” she said. “But there are also a couple of fabulous lofts in SoHo.” She paused long enough to take a sip. “It just depends. So many different lifestyles right here in the city.”

  It occurred to me in this moment just how different the two of us were. Chastity’s greatest concern for her future was real estate. My concern was life-changing.

  “I don’t think I ever really considered how expensive it is to live in Manhattan,” she continued. “But we’re blessed.”

  Her words made me tremble.

  “I’ve looked at preliminary numbers, and we’ll be able to get something nice, especially with selling this place.”

  I tried to inhale, but I couldn’t get enough air. At least not enough to stop the heat.

  “And if we run into any snags, you know my parents will gladly help.” She chuckled. “They would do anything to keep us in the city, even though if we move downtown, we’ll no longer be just a mile away from them. But as long as we’re close, it’ll be good, because now all my mother can talk about is our reception and grandkids, as if one will come right after the other.” She shook her head. “I told her to give us longer than two months.”

  Her chuckles, her words, made my temperature rise. Why had she mentioned her parents? Did she believe they would have to take care of us?

  Once again, I closed my eyes and prayed to the God she listened to, asking Him to silence her. To make her put down her cup and walk away. But only part of my prayer was answered; she set her cup atop the counter, and then she returned to me.

  She pressed her hands into my shoulders, kneading the muscles. It should have felt good; instead it felt as if she was grinding in the pain. Leaning over, she whispered, “Babe, I’m here”—she pushed—“if you want to talk”—she pushed—“I’ll always be…”

  I sprang up from my chair and faced her all in one motion. She was too stunned to move, too shocked to dodge my reach when I grabbed her throat. Gripping her neck, I pushed her back against the wall. Her eyes bulged with fear, but I couldn’t stop. She had pushed; I had sna
pped.

  “I told you I didn’t want to talk.” The walls vibrated from my volume.

  Her lips moved, but she couldn’t speak.

  “I told you to leave me alone.”

  It wasn’t until tears seeped from her eyes that my senses returned. “Oh my God,” I whispered as I released her and watched her collapse like a rag doll. She gasped and coughed as she struggled to crawl away. The corner was as far as she could go and she curled into a fetal position, her coughs now intermingled with her whimpers. I took a step toward her, but I couldn’t do it. Because I was still reeling from the heat.

  So I rushed into the bedroom and grabbed my wallet, my cell, and then my coat before I stepped into the hallway, my wife’s cries still ringing in my ears.

  40 Chastity

  I couldn’t move. Even though I knew I had to. There was no way I could sit and wait for Xavier to return. But I needed a moment to figure out how to breathe again. Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes.

  The irony of this moment wasn’t lost on me. How many women had walked into my office with stories like this? How many had I helped get restraining orders? How many had I silently questioned, wondering how they’d allowed themselves to be in such a situation? This was my life professionally; it was never supposed to touch me personally.

  But now violence had stormed into my life. Xavier had finally put his hands on me.

  Finally. That word made me pause… Had this been my expectation?

  I pushed myself up, stumbled from the kitchen to the front, and secured the locks on the door. But even as I did, I realized the ridiculousness of that action. Unless I changed the locks on his condo, there was no way I’d be able to keep him out. There had to be a way to protect myself, though. Because if Xavier came back before I could get out, I was going to fight. He was never going to do that to me again.

  He had a gun somewhere; he’d told me when I moved in. But it wasn’t going to come to that, I prayed. All I needed was something to threaten him. I settled for one of the butcher knives and took it with me into the bathroom. In front of the mirror, I turned my head from the left to the right, searching for the new mark of Xavier’s wrath. The mark that was now on me.