The three adults stopped, turned, and together took in Lauren, who stood in the archway of the living room in flannel pajamas.
They all stared quietly for a few moments, though Joyce’s thoughts were anything but quiet. What kind of example am I setting for my daughter?
“Hey, baby.” Callie spoke first, managing to give Lauren a smile.
Joyce felt as if the ground had been snatched from beneath her feet. “Baby?” Joyce said.
Lauren glanced nervously at her father, and then at Joyce as if she didn’t know whether she should speak.
“How much time have you spent with my child?” Joyce asked.
To Callie, Lauren was the trump card. The card that maybe she could play to get Joyce to finally leave. “Sweetie, your child and I have a bond that you’ll never have with her. I’m the one she talks to when she’s worried about her friends. I’m the one that helped her get ready for her first date; I’m the one who helped her find a dress for the homecoming dance. And oh, I’m the one she talked to about her first sexual encounter.”
Lauren’s mouth fell open, and now Joyce was sure the ground had evaporated.
“I’m the one that has been a mother to her this past year,” Callie said as if she smelled Joyce’s blood, “while you wallowed in depression or in whatever was wrong with you.”
Joyce looked at her daughter the same way she used to look at her husband when she was begging him to come clean. She needed Lauren to call this woman a liar, to say that what this woman was saying wasn’t anywhere near the truth.
But Lauren didn’t speak; Lauren couldn’t speak.
“Callie, get the hell out of my house!” Vernon said, grabbing her arm.
“No!” She squirmed against his grasp. “You told me we would be together.”
But Joyce was no longer concerned about the woman who’d come to ruin her marriage. Her concern was only on the weapon that Callie had used to break her heart.
She stared at her daughter. Lauren had befriended this woman? She’d shared secrets with this woman? Joyce stood there and watched her daughter cry as Vernon and Callie did a wrestling dance toward the front door.
“How could you?” Joyce whispered to her child.
“Mama, I . . .”
“Him, I get. He’s been a dog from day one. But you, my own flesh and blood. My child? You wanted to break my heart, too?”
“Mama, please . . .”
Hearing her words, Vernon turned back. Letting go of Callie, he said, “Don’t blame her.” His eyes pleaded for Joyce to keep her at bay.
“Yeah, don’t blame her,” Callie sneered, as if she were part of this family.
Vernon turned to her and this time without laying a hand on her, he just growled. “Get the hell out of my house.”
It was enough to make her recoil. She took several steps back. But then she stood up straight and squared her shoulders. “Fine. I’m leaving,” she said as if leaving were her idea. “But you better believe you haven’t seen the end of me. I’ll be damned if you toy with my heart and think it’s okay.”
With a final sneer at Joyce and a good-bye smile to Lauren, Callie stormed out. In the void that her whirlwind left behind, Vernon spoke. “Let me explain.”
Before he could finish, Joyce jumped on him and clawed at his face. Lauren screamed. Every ounce worth of rage, all the years of pent-up anger, was unleashed on her husband that night. She didn’t want to stop until he was dead. She wouldn’t stop until she no longer felt anything inside.
Now she was stuck between two women filled with rage.
Lauren was sure of that fact when Miss Callie showed up at their front door. Lauren knew that was a no-no. Miss Callie knew it, too.
Miss Callie was fed up and truly tired of waiting. And now, judging from the fight that Lauren’s parents were having, Miss Callie might soon get her wish.
“I want you out!” her mother had screamed after jumping on her father’s back. She’d clawed him like an alley cat in the midst of a fight. Vernon had done everything to keep her blows at bay.
He’d wrestled her off and now she was leaning against the wall, crying, her chest heaving. “I’m done. I’m so, so done.”
“Fine,” he said, heading to grab his keys off the bar. “You want me out, I’m out.”
But before he could reach them, Joyce dove and snatched them up.
“You’re not going to her!”
He stopped and gritted his teeth, exasperated. “You told me to get out. That’s what I’m doing.”
“No, we’re going to finish this first,” she sobbed. “You’re going to admit to all the whores you’ve been with. Then you can leave for good.”
“I’m not admitting to anything,” he said defiantly.
“Have you been bringing my daughter around that bitch?”
“I don’t want to do this,” he replied. “Not in front of Lauren. Give me my keys.”
She picked up a vase and hurled it at him. He ducked. It smashed against a cabinet door and shattered into a hundred pieces all over the counter and the tile floor. “See, this is what I’m talking about. I’m not talking to you while you’re irrational!” he yelled.
“Answer me!” she screamed.
“And tell you what? That I’ve been seeing her? Yes, you know the answer to that. Hell, you tracked me down at her place. I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t deal with this,” he said, motioning around to all of the broken shards of the vase. “I can’t deal with you and your craziness. If you’re not going crazy, you’re depressed. It’s just too much.”
“So, you admit to it?” A maniacal laugh crossed her face.
He was totally fed up. “We’ll have a conversation when you calm down. Give me my keys.”
He tried to snatch the keys from her. They struggled as Lauren remained frozen. In the midst of their scuffle, the keys slid across the floor and stopped right in front of Lauren’s feet. Instinctively, she reached down and picked up the keys.
Vernon was pushing his wife off him as he said, “Give me the keys, Lauren.”
“You better not give those keys to him!” her mother screamed.
“Lauren, you see that your mother is acting a fool.” Her father’s voice remained calm. “You see that she is out of control. I just need to leave until she calms down.”
Lauren stood shaking, the keys clutched tightly in her hands.
“Do not give him the keys,” her mother growled, tears streaming down her face.
Vernon held his hands out. “Baby, give Daddy the keys.”
Slowly, Lauren extended her hand. She had expected her mother to slap them out of her hand. But her mother was spent. Her hair all over her face. Her mascara dripping down her cheeks.
“Sorry, Mama, this is best, believe me,” Lauren said as she slowly handed her father the keys.
“Thank you, baby.” He took the keys, then kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you later.”
As he headed toward the door Lauren had a sinking feeling he would never be back.
Lauren wanted to go home. She wanted to go home, bad. Miss Callie had been acting strange all day, alternating between bouts of happiness, anger, and utter despair. She’d heard Miss Callie fighting with her father early that morning. He’d been staying with her for the past three days.
Ever since the big fight, her dad hadn’t come home. Her mother cried the whole time, and Lauren felt helpless. Her mother hadn’t spoken to her, blaming Lauren for giving her father the keys, for keeping secrets, for everything. She hadn’t even come out this morning to wish Lauren a happy birthday. That’s why Lauren had been so excited when her father had shown up and told her to ditch school and come hang out with him.
But after an hour at the mall, her dad had seemed tired and upset and told her that he just wanted to go back to Miss Callie’s and take a nap, then take her out for ice cream and cake later.
But later never came because midway through his nap, the front door opened and Miss Callie came in. Lauren w
as in Miss Callie’s guest bedroom watching TV, but she could hear everything.
“What are you doing home? I thought you had to work,” she heard her father say.
“I couldn’t stay at work,” Callie said, crying.
Lauren hadn’t heard much after that. Just a lot of arguing and fighting. Not here, too, Lauren thought.
She figured sooner or later they’d wrap up their argument. And Lauren and her dad could go for ice cream. Twenty minutes later, her father opened the door to the guest room.
“Sweetie, come on, let’s go,” he said.
“No, you’re not leaving yet!” Miss Callie called out.
He sighed as he looked at Lauren. “I’m sorry. Just wait right here for a minute.” He closed the bedroom door again.
“I told you I don’t want to do this with you,” she heard her father say.
Lauren cracked the door so she could peer out to see and hear what they were arguing about.
“You’re here with me. You said we were going to be together!” Miss Callie cried.
“I can’t do this,” Vernon replied. “I miss my wife. I love my wife.” He spoke like he was just coming to that realization.
“If you love her so much, what are you doing here with me?”
“Exactly,” Vernon said. “I can’t keep hurting her like this. She’s a good woman. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“What am I, then?” Callie snapped. “And what do I deserve?”
“You’re a good woman, too. You’re just not the woman for me.”
“So what the hell have you been doing all of this time with me? Stringing me along?”
Her father’s back was to her, but Lauren could tell by the way his shoulders sank that he was tired. “Look, you knew how the game was played. You knew I was married. You knew I was never leaving my wife.”
“Yeah, that’s what your mouth said. But your body always said something different,” she said.
“Okay. I am sorry. I know that it was hard for me to walk away from you. You flash that body and it’s like I lose all good sense.”
“So that’s all I was to you?” Callie said, her voice trembling. “A booty call?”
“Come on, Callie. You know you were more than that to me. But my wife—it’s different. I’m not losing my family.”
“We can be a family,” she pleaded. Lauren had never seen her act so desperate.
“I’m about to gather up my daughter and we’re going home. And I’m going to fix things with my wife. With my family. Be the man that they deserve.”
So that was what had been wrong with her father all day. He missed her mother.
“No, you’re not going anywhere,” she said.
Callie grabbed Vernon’s hand. He snatched it away. They had a small scuffle and then Callie reached for her purse, lying open on the hall table. She reached inside and pulled out a small handgun.
“You’re not leaving me!” she cried angrily. “I told you if I can’t have you, nobody can!”
Vernon backed away, putting his hands up. “Callie, what the hell are you doing? Put that down.”
“No,” she said, her hands shaking.
He shook his head. “I’m going to get my daughter and we’re out of here.”
Lauren was dumbfounded. Her father was acting like Callie didn’t have a gun standing there pointing at his chest.
“Whyyyyy?” she wailed.
Vernon sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I told you I need to go make things right with my wife. My wife needs my help, not me to abandon her.”
“Your wife is a depressed nutcase.”
If Miss Callie didn’t have a handgun, Lauren would’ve stepped out and told her not to talk that way about her mother.
“I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s over. For good. I just pray she’ll take me back. I—”
His words were cut short by a firecracker sound. At first Lauren didn’t register that Callie had actually pulled the trigger. Lauren screamed as her father toppled against the wall, blood covering his chest.
“Daddy!” Lauren screamed, darting out of the guest room and toward her father. She reached him just as he extended an arm toward her.
“I . . . I’m sorry. I love you,” he whispered. “T-Tell your mother I love her with . . .” He struggled to get his words out. “. . . all my soul and I-I’m sorry,” he added before closing his eyes for good.
“Daddy, no! Daddy! Daddy!” she cried as she fell across his bloody chest. “What did you do to my daddy?” she said, looking up at Callie, who was standing there, her face streaked with tears as her hands trembled in fear. “You killed my daddy!”
Callie didn’t say a word. She gasped at Vernon’s slumped corpse in horror and then turned the gun, pointed it at her own head, and pulled the trigger.
Her heart was lying in an eighty-four-inch-long titanium box. As many times as she’d wished Vernon Robinson dead, now all Joyce wanted was to climb in that box and forever sleep right next to him.
The organist played a mournful tune as someone stood at the front of the church and said something about her husband.
The past few days had passed in a daze and today was no exception. Joyce was perched in the front pew, knees locked together, trying desperately not to pass out.
Julian sat on one side of her. He looked so regal in his army uniform. But his face could have been carved out of stone. So far he had refused to shed a single tear.
Lauren and Velma sat on the other side of Joyce. As the organ got louder, Lauren reached for Joyce’s hand. Instinctively, she shrank away and snuggled closer to Julian.
Joyce knew that she shouldn’t act like that toward her daughter, but her heart was cold. She wanted to tell Lauren to go be comforted by Callie’s people. She was sure some of them sat among the sea of unrecognizable faces in the sanctuary.
Joyce’s rejection made Lauren sob even more, and Velma pulled her niece to her as she glared at Joyce through tear-soaked eyes.
She’d fix things with Lauren later. Right now Joyce needed to grieve herself. She needed to figure out how to get over the pain of what her husband had done to her and the awful way he died. She needed to figure out why death had become her best friend.
And that wasn’t going to be easy because her anger was just as potent as her grief.
She couldn’t help it. Joyce looked around the room wondering how many people knew what Vernon had done. As she listened to the minister take the podium and begin eulogizing him, talking about what a good man Vernon was, Joyce almost burst out laughing. If only he knew.
As the ceremony came to a close and the minister asked everyone to rise, Joyce willed her legs not to give out. Lauren was inconsolable. She had Velma, though, so it’s not like Joyce had left her to deal with this alone.
After what seemed like an endless line of people offering condolences, it was time for Joyce to stand and take the last look at her husband. She didn’t know how she managed to stand over his casket, but she did. She lifted a shaky hand to stroke his cheek. “Why, Vernon, why? I have no one now,” Joyce mumbled.
“I’ll protect you now, Ma,” Julian said as he squeezed her tighter. She squeezed him back as the rage shaded into sorrow.
“I know, baby. I know.” Her son was now all she had.
PART II
2016
The storm cloud burst through the revolving doors of the hotel lobby. Lauren Robinson had seen the look of rage simmering behind a scorned woman’s eyes before. She’d seen it so many times in her own mother’s eyes. She’d seen it in the eyes of women who had accosted her, and thanks to her father, she knew the perfect way to handle it.
The best mistress is a quiet mistress.
Her father’s words rang in her head as clear as the day he’d uttered them. And right now silence would be golden.
The woman approached with steps that threatened to break off her high heels. Lauren turned slightly, pretending not to notice her. “Finally, I’ve fou
nd you at last,” the woman announced. “You’re the one who’s been seducing my husband.”
Lauren kept her eyes averted. Maybe the woman’s spurt of bravery would fizzle out, being exposed in public. Lauren had no such luck, though.
“So you’re just not going to answer me?” the woman standing at Lauren’s shoulder snapped.
Lauren sighed, glanced over at her friend, Vivian, who looked worried that something was about to jump off right there in the lobby of the Marriott hotel.
Lauren turned to face the woman dead on. “I don’t know where you’re getting your facts from, but let me assure you, I don’t do married men,” she replied. Her voice was calm, unfazed. That was the way to do it. That had been Vernon’s rule number one when busted: put the partner at ease.
Lauren and Vivian had been enjoying happy hour drinks. Lauren hadn’t even known who the woman in the tight Juicy Couture warm-up, hair up in a ponytail like she was ready to fight, was—until sexy Craig West came fumbling in behind her. The woman held up a cell phone, displaying a photo Lauren had taken last year at the Children’s Network gala. This woman must’ve googled Lauren to get the picture, since Lauren made a point of staying off social media for anything other than her business.
“Is this you?” she asked, thrusting the phone in Lauren’s face. “And don’t lie because I see the fake ugly beauty mark.”
Lauren fingered the tiny mole just above her lip. She’d contemplated having it removed, but men told her it was sexy, so she’d left it alone.
“It’s real, first of all,” Lauren said, her voice still calm. “Secondly, you are way off base.”
“He’s not telling me the truth, so you need to tell me,” the woman demanded. She looked like she couldn’t be any more than twenty-five. Over the years, Lauren had found that young wives gave her the most grief. The older women either learned to accept their husbands’ infidelities or chose to ignore them.
“So tell me, are you, or are you not, sleeping with my husband?” Her platinum ponytail bounced with every word. The pain in her eyes contradicted the brave front she was trying to display.
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