My Son's Ex-Wife: The Aftermath

by Shelia E. Lipsey

  Detria shushed him by placing one finger over his lips. “Detria,” she said.

  Stiles’s face turned a shade darker when he felt her finger purse his lips.

  “Detria,” he said slowly. “Thank you for your help and your kindness. I don’t know how I, well me or my father, could have made it these past few days without you.”

  “I’m glad to help,” Detria answered. “Mrs. Graham was a lovely person; a woman to be admired; a strong personality is what she had. She could chew you up and spit you out with one of her stares.” Detria and Stiles burst into laughter.

  Stiles leaned toward Detria. Still laughing, he transfixed his eyes upon hers. His thick brows drew together in an agonized expression.

  Detria stared back. Her lips tremored when Stiles’s hand rested on the side of her face. Her pulse raced, and Stiles’s lips moved closer to hers. His warm breath ignited passion in Detria that she didn’t want to reveal, but she was at Stiles’s mercy now.

  Stiles’s lips were soft, tender and arousing. Gusts of desire for him could not be hidden. Their kiss grew more intense. Slowly, Stiles’s hands moved downward while Detria, fully aroused now, drew in closer to him. His fingers caressed her thighs and seemed to burn her tingling skin. She suddenly cried out for release.

  “Stiles, Pastor, Stiles . . .” she didn’t know what to call him . . . lost for words at what to say. Stiles’s mouth covered hers hungrily. She forced herself away from him.

  “I’m sorry, Detria,” he told her, but his body said differently. “You’re just so beautiful.”

  “Stiles, we shouldn’t,” she said and bowed her head in shame.

  “Don’t say that. We’re two adults, Detria. I like you. I like you a lot,” Stiles admitted. “I didn’t realize how much until this week. I know I probably sound stupid, but it’s the truth. Mother told me you were the girl for me. She told me two days before she was taken to the hospital. I promised her that I would ask you out on a real date.” Stiles smiled at the pleasant thought he had of his mother. His face remained flushed. His voice hoarse and thick.

  “Really?” Detria said. “I’m glad she liked me. That means a lot to me, Pastor Stiles.”

  “Uh, I think after what just happened, you can drop the Pastor in front of my name, of course unless we’re at church or at a formal setting,” he said and giggled. He hugged Detria again and kissed her on the lips.

  “I better go inside, so you can get back to your father. Plus, I want to eat this delicious smelling food you bought me,” she told him.

  “Wait, I’ll get the door for you.” Stiles jumped out of his car and ran to the other side to open Detria’s door. He picked up her bag of food, and used his other hand to hold hers. He walked her to the door and leaned down to kiss her again. “Detria, I want to see you again. Not on business either. Will you consider going out with me maybe to dinner, lunch, whatever? I mean, it’ll have to be after mother’s funeral. But I’d like to spend more time with you. You make everything so much easier,” he said softly and kissed her again.

  “Stiles, I’m here for you. Don’t ever forget that,” she said. She pulled her key out of her clutch bag and opened the front door and went inside.

  Stiles stood at the door for a second or two before he walked slowly back to his car and drove back to Emerald Estates.

  Once at Emerald Estates, Stiles checked on Pastor who had picked over his food and was preparing for bed. On the contrary, Stiles ate most of his food, chatted with some of his relatives, and then he enjoyed a hot shower. Afterward, he read several scriptures from his favorite Bible. He checked on Pastor again and found him already in his bed, asleep. The house was eerily quiet even though it was far from empty. Stiles took advantage of the silence. It gave him time to reflect on everything that had happened in the span of a few days. He shed more tears when he thought about his mother. A flood of tears poured down his face when he thought of Francesca’s coldness. When he couldn’t cry anymore, he walked back to the family room and located his BlackBerry so he could put it on charge for the night. The red message light was blinking. He dialed his voice mail and heard several messages from friends and family sharing their condolences over Audrey’s demise. The message that caused a lump to form in his throat was the one from Rena. She had called. He listened to her voice on the voice mail more than once. She sounded sweet, sincere, and loving.

  Like changing a channel, he switched to the scene of him and Detria in his car moments earlier. Detria was a good girl. Her spirit was one of giving, and she would be easy to fall in love with. But he couldn’t shake his feelings for Rena; she was still in his heart and in his thoughts. But it was over between them, so why couldn’t he get over her? He could have a life with Detria. Like Audrey said before she died, he needed to give Detria a chance. Stiles hit the button on his BlackBerry one more time and listened to Rena’s message. This time after he listened to it, he deleted it. He went to the last empty bedroom, where he further prepared for bed. He got down on his knees, clasped his hands and prayed.

  It was early afternoon, on the next day, before Stiles stopped and settled down. The day had been exhausting, which was good for him in a way; it kept his mind from the obvious, the death of his mother. Stiles pulled out his BlackBerry and called Francesca.

  “I’m on my way to Newbern,” he said without asking for her permission. “We need to talk.

  “Knock yourself out. I’ll see you when I see you.” Francesca sounded cold and void of emotion when she hung up the phone in Stiles’s ear.

  Stiles didn’t know whether he was furious because of Francesca’s selfishness, or if he were furious because of the pain Francesca had endured in her youth.

  He told Pastor that he was going to talk to Francesca about coming back with him to Memphis, at least until after the funeral.

  Pastor looked relieved that Stiles was going to hopefully bring his baby, Francesca, home.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Pastor offered.

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” one of the out-of-town relatives stated. “Pastor, we’re here to help out too,” she told him.

  Pastor nodded.

  “Pastor,” Stiles said before he left, “remember, there’s plenty of food and drink.”

  “Yeah, I know. Be careful, son.”

  “I will.”

  Stiles made the usual two-hour drive to Newbern in an hour and a half. His mind was consumed with wave after wave of thoughts. Thoughts flourished about him and Francesca growing up in the Graham household. He thought about the good times they used to have as kids; before life took a drastic turn. For Stiles, it seemed like all of it had been a dream and that somehow he’d missed out on it.

  When he arrived at Francesca’s apartment complex, he piggy backed off the car ahead of him and rushed through the wrought iron security gate.

  Stiles parked, got out of his car, and walked up to Francesca’s apartment. He knocked on her door, but there was no answer. He continued to knock several times until he realized that either Francesca wasn’t home or she was inside and ignoring his knock. His face turned an off color. He was mad. “I can’t believe this girl let me drive all the way up here when she knew she wasn’t going to be home.” Stiles seethed as he returned to sit in the car. His exhaustion apparently caught up with him because he drifted off to sleep. A banging noise woke him up. He jumped, cocked his head up and balled his fists. On the outside of his car stood Francesca. She had her hand over her mouth, and she was enjoying a good laugh, or so it seemed.

  “You should see yourself?” she told Stiles. “Looking like that, you can scare anybody off,” she continued with her teasing.

  Stiles fumbled with the electric button on his car until he located the unlock button. He was furious and it showed. He unlocked the car and jumped out.

  “Woooo,” said Francesca. “I sho’ is scared now, sir,” she said, pretending like she was uneducated and about to take off running.

  “I fail to see the humor,” Stile
s bit back. He looked at the time on his phone. “I’ve been sitting out here for an hour wondering where you were. And you can’t say that you didn’t know I was coming because I called and told you. Why would you leave?” he asked her as the rapid pace of his heart began to calm down.

  “Oh, I was at my friend, Cheryl’s apartment.” Francesca pointed to her right and waved. Stiles saw an older lady standing on her porch waving back at Francesca.

  “Everything’s all right,” Francesca yelled at her friend. “It’s my brother,” she told Cheryl and refocused on Stiles. “Come on in. Unless what you have to say, you can say right here.”

  “Why are you so bitter?” he asked and trailed Francesca as she walked the few steps to her apartment.

  Francesca blew him off with the wave of her hand. She opened her front door and barely left it ajar for Stiles to follow her inside. Stiles sat down on the couch and watched Francesca go to her refrigerator. She opened the fridge door, pulled out a diet soda, a package of cheese, and a package of bologna. She opened the package of wheat bread that was sitting on the counter, and proceeded to make herself a sandwich without offering him a bite. She didn’t say a word until she was finished preparing her meal.

  “You can fix yourself something to eat if you want to,” she said between bites, and after taking a swallow from her bottle of diet soda.

  Stiles watched her. Blood pounded in his temples. “Some things never change,” he told her.

  “Look, you’re the one who called me,” Francesca emphasized, as she reacted angrily to his challenging voice. “You didn’t bother to ask me if it was a good time for me, or if there was something else I had to do. So don’t come in here like you run things because you don’t.” She took another bite of her sandwich and a gulp of her soda.

  Stiles tried to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t want to argue with Francesca. He wanted to persuade her to come back with him to Emerald Estates, at least until after their mother’s funeral and burial.

  He waved up a hand in surrender. “You’re right, sis. And I’m sorry.” He swallowed before he continued talking. “I should have asked you if today was a good time for me to come up here. But I didn’t think. I’ve been too distraught, Francesca.” Tears pushed to the front of Stiles’s eyes. “I feel like I, like I have this heavy boulder resting on my shoulders.” A tear leaked out. “Francesca, I need you. Pastor needs you,” said Stiles.

  Francesca’s tone of voice softened. “Pastor will be just fine. You just wait and see. He’s a strong man. Stronger than you or I could ever imagine.” She sat down in a nearby chair and took the last bite of her sandwich. She chewed slowly until she finished, and then pushed the last bit of food down with another swallow of her soda.

  Stiles looked at her. His eyes were red and his cheeks crimson. “I don’t know what to do,” Stiles told her.

  “Who’s with him? Some of Audrey’s folks, or what?” she spoke nonchalantly.

  “There’s a mixture of some of Pastor’s and Mother’s relatives, which equates to our relatives. I know you’ll be glad to see some of our cousins. I have people camping out at Emerald Estates, my place, and some of the members from Holy Rock and in the neighborhood set aside a room in their houses just in case we need more space.”

  “Good for you. You’ve always been good at faking in front of folk; just like Audrey.” Francesca nodded. “Audrey had a lot of friends. That much I can say about her.”

  “Is that all you can say about our mother? Don’t you understand?” Stiles stood up and spread out his hands. “Mother is dead, Francesca. D-e-a-d,” he spelled. “Like she’s never coming back? Are you in some kind of denial, or what?”

  “Denial?” Francesca repeated and remained seated. “What’s there to deny. Audrey is gone. Ding, dong, the wi—”

  “Stop, it! Don’t you dare make fun of our mother.” He pounded one fist against his chest.

  Francesca’s voice rose and her chest puffed outward. “Why shouldn’t I? You can’t stand the truth; that’s what it is. All while you were away having fun at some school activity, or hanging out with one of your cute little chicks, I was being molested.” She pointed an excusing finger at Stiles. “You were so into what you had going on. You’re no better than Audrey or Pastor. All of y’all were busy, wrapped up in doing everything for the Lord,” she started to say in a mocking voice. “Now you come prancing up here like I’m supposed to be all torn apart. Well, here’s the truth big brother--I ain’t,” she said and sat down.

  Stiles sat back down on the couch, like he’d been knocked down. “How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t know, Francesca. You’re right. I was busy. Busy having fun in and after school. I was a teenager, for Christ’s sake! Then I was off to college, doing my own thing. I had no idea that anything bad, especially like what happened to you, was going on,” Stiles lashed out. “I am not the one you should be mad at. Why do I have to keep telling you that?”

  “Well, tell me, who should I be mad at? Audrey? Pastor? Or maybe we shouldn’t stop there. Let’s put it all out on the table, shall we? Maybe I should be mad at God. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Francesca’s words dripped like venom from a poisonous snake.

  “You are so selfish”, he replied with contempt. “There’s no getting through to you. And you say you’ve changed? You’re supposed to be all brand new on the inside, but you’re the same. The same, selfish, whining, wannabe the center of attention person you always were.” This time Stiles refused to hold back his furor. He stood up and turned toward the front door.

  “Are you going to need a funeral car to pick you up for the funeral?” Stiles asked.

  “Nope. If I decide to come, I’ll get my own way,” she remarked. “Don’t think I’ll be riding in the family car or nothing like that.” Francesca swished her hands back and forth.

  “If you decide . . .” Stiles repeated, then stopped in midsentence and opened the door.

  “Until then, try to be strong, Stiles.” Francesca’s words bordered on mockery when she quoted a scripture from the Bible. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. God must have truly loved Audrey to let her get away with all the dirt she’s done.”

  Stiles whirled around and pointed his finger directly at Francesca. Francesca waved her fingers back at him and started laughing. “Oooh, I guess I’m supposed to be scared of my big, bad brother. Well, I’m not, so whatever else you have to say, say it and get out of my apartment,” she screamed.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, Francesca. You always did have a way with words. What is it about you two? Or should I say, what was it about you two?”

  Francesca gathered her eyebrows like she was wondering what on earth Stiles was talking about.

  “I mean, your mother, our mother, is dead,” he went back and forth. “She’s gone forever, Francesca, and all you can do is make snide remarks about her.” Stiles was infuriated by Francesca’s lack of caring.

  “What, you want me to put on a sad, fake face for everybody? You want me to act like I lost my mother, when in fact the truth of the matter is I lost my mother a long time ago. I lost her when I was an innocent, little girl. I lost her and she was replaced with nothing but evil and bad things in my life. She’s the one who made me this way, and now you expect me to shed tears over her, or go to her funeral and sit next to you and Pastor and pretend like I’m so heartbroken when I don’t feel one darn thing?” Francesca’s face was beet red. “Well, I won’t do it. I’m through pretending. I’m me, Stiles. I’m just me,” she yelled, and hit her chest with the open palm of her hand. “Doesn’t anybody see that? Am I invisible or something?”

  Stiles yelled back and stood on his tip toes, a sign of his mounting anger. “I do see you, Francesca. I’ve always seen you, but you’re just like Mother. All you ever see is yourself. It’s always been about poor Francesca or Frankie or whatever you’re calling yourself these days.”

  His words were stopped as Francesca landed an open han
ded slap across Stiles’s face that sent him spiraling backward, and holding on to the blood red hand imprint she left on his face.

  Stiles rubbed the side of his stinging face. “You know what; I’ve had enough of you, Francesca. Live your life exactly the way you want,” Stiles bellowed. “I’m just the messenger. Don’t take your hurt out on me. But I will tell you this. I’m so sorry for all the bad things that happened to you. I wish I had been there to know what was going on but I wasn’t.”

  Her words sounded harsh when she replied. “No time to talk about what should have been or could have been. No matter how bad, evil, or wrong I’ve been in the past,” Francesca said sternly, “I know God loves me. There was a time, not long ago, that I didn’t believe that. But now I feel the exact opposite. So when my number is called, I don’t need y’all worrying about me, just like you shouldn’t be worrying about Audrey. I’m sure she’s either at peace or stirring up trouble. She’s probably having the time of her life, putting on a real show for all of heaven . . . oops, or hell.” Francesca laughed lightly.

  Stiles stepped outside and onto Francesca’s small porch. The sun suddenly felt blazing hot. Sweat formed on his brow the moment he stepped outside.

  “One thing is for sure, bruh.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I know that God has forgiven me for everything, and it makes no difference what you, Mother, Pastor, or anyone else thinks of me. God knows my heart, and I’m so glad He does.”

  Stiles was quiet. “Sis, it’s still good to see you. I hope you’re at the funeral.”

  Francesca responded by closing her front door.

  Stiles pounded off of the porch and got back in his car. He drove back to Emerald Estates with his foot heavily on the accelerator. The longer he drove, the more resentment mounted against his sister.

  While driving, Stiles changed direction and ventured in the direction of his house. He needed to check on his houseguests. They were three ladies who had grown up with his mother. Stiles had basically given them free reign of his home while they were in town to pay their last respects. When they assured him that they were fine, Stiles told them he was going back to Emerald Estates to be with Pastor.