Four: Stories of Marriage

by Nia Forrester

  So, she told him everything. Everything from the moment Brian first walked into her office to the lunch that followed, her impromptu visit to the Campaign’s offices and then the dinner with his wife. She left nothing out, not even the moment she’d told Brian she thought they were ‘ideological soulmates’ and had been embarrassingly rejected.

  As he listened, Shawn’s expression remained flat. He didn’t look at her, but at an area somewhere just above her head.

  “Why’re you telling me all this?” he asked when she was done.

  “Because … I know I should have told you sooner. And because … I want to make the donation. To the Campaign.”

  Shawn shoved himself up from his seat. He looked weary now.

  “You can do whatever you want, Riley. It’s your money.”

  “Shawn, please …”

  “Please what?” he asked, sinking back into the seat once again. “What do you want me to say?”

  “It’s not just the money. But yes, I guess it’s my money. But only because you earned it. You earned it from your art, from your work … and it’s only because of you that I have that much money to give.”

  That seemed to penetrate his shell. Just the tiniest bit. Something in his eyes and about his jaw softened.

  “So, I can’t just give it away,” she continued. “Especially not to Brian. Not without you giving me your okay.”

  Shawn said nothing, but he was looking directly at her now, and looking thoughtful.

  “He … there’s a proposal,” Riley plodded on. “I could … Do you want to see it?”

  Shawn gave a brief nod.

  Riley went for her pocketbook, digging inside and finding both the proposal and the leaflets and material, stuffed at the bottom from the afternoon when she had visited the Campaign’s office. She brought it all back to Shawn and handed everything to him in a pile.

  He flipped through the leaflets briskly, barely pausing to look at them, but when he got to the proposal, he leaned back, and started to read.

  “You can … really, the most important stuff is in the abstract, that section up front,” Riley said. “You don’t have to read the entire thing to get a …”

  “Okay.” Shawn looked up. “So … let me read it.”

  Leaning back, Riley forced herself to say nothing more.

  He read the abstract which was just the first page, and then kept reading. As he read, Riley watched his face change, from forbearance to interest to genuine engagement. He read all ten pages and she waited, trying not to shift around too much in her seat or betray how nervous she was at what he might say.

  If he said he didn’t want her to donate, she would have to add insult to the injury she had already inflicted on Brian. On Brian, and also on his wife, although she may not have been made aware of it.

  God, Riley hoped Brian hadn’t …

  “That’s it?”

  Riley nodded. “Yes.”

  “This is what he came to you looking for money for?” Shawn put the proposal on the coffee table.

  “That, and he wanted … wants some exposure for the work.”

  “Like they did for the Kaleif Browder case.”

  “Yes. Exactly. Even though …”

  “But Kaleif Browder wasn’t accused of the kinds of shit some of these kids did …” Shawn indicated the proposal. “Some of these crimes …”

  “They’re difficult cases, yes. But …”

  She stopped, not sure how hard she should advocate Brian’s cause for him. For one thing, his proposal was supposed to do that, and for another, the last thing she needed was for Shawn to see it as her going hard for Brian, and not just for the non-profit and its work.

  “But my guess is, there aren’t a whole lot of organizations around the country trying to make sure the system doesn’t screw over a bunch of kids who committed murder …”

  “Or were accessories, or just under the influence of an older co-defendant,” Riley reminded him of what he’d read.

  Shawn leaned forward again. He clasped his hands between his knees and looked down at the floor.

  “How much were you thinking of giving them?”

  Riley told him their annual budget. “I was thinking general operating costs for …” she swallowed. “Maybe three years?”

  Shawn’s eyebrows went up and he looked at her. “That’s a pretty big nut.”

  She nodded.

  “I think …”

  She held her breath as he began.

  “I think that if you’re going to be giving out sums of money like that, you can’t just do it for your … for people who approach you off the street. I think you should talk to Chris. He has a foundation, he can tell you what he does. Maybe you should set one up, make sure you have a, you know, a process for vetting stuff like this. Maybe a board, or staff, or …”

  “I thought about that. But …”

  “There’s no ‘buts’, Riley. This isn’t the kind of thing you do on the fly. We have finance people, lawyers. You should meet with them, see about getting this done right.”

  “Okay,” she said, shoulders slumping.

  The meeting with Brian would be difficult. And to make matters worse, she was the one who had insisted that it happen in person. God, if he didn’t hate her now …

  “But for this one …” Shawn shrugged. “I think you should go ahead and do it,” he said. “Because there won’t be time to set up a whole foundation in time to give them what they need.”

  Riley’s eyes opened wide. “Are you …? Really?”

  “Yeah.” Shawn stood. “Sounds like important work. Stuff people probably don’t want to think about or deal with. Anyway … that’s what I think.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Baby,” Riley said.

  He stopped.

  “Thank you.”

  “Yeah,” he said. Then he turned and walked away.

  When Sara told her she had “guests” waiting in the conference room, Riley’s heart immediately started beating faster. “Guests” plural. That meant Brian had brought Ella along. She had been hoping she would never have to face Brian’s wife again. It didn’t even matter if Brian had told her. Well … it mattered, but Riley doubted her shame would be lessened by not seeing her. She would carry that with her no matter what from now on.

  To prepare herself, she took two, deep cleansing breaths. Then she stood and grabbed the crutches from next to her chair. She’d gotten them for going back to the office after spending one day lazing around at home, because hopping around on one foot and resting her weight only on the heel of the other wasn’t going to cut it at work. With Dennis shuttling her back and forth, she would be fine until the cut dried up a little more and healed.

  When she went hopping into the conference room, both Brian and Ella stood, their eyes immediately taking in her hobbled state.

  “Whoa. What happened?” Brian asked, coming around the table to help her pull back her chair. Riley had managed to keep a legal pad pressed against her side, even while maneuvering with the crutches.

  “Nothing too serious,” she said as he helped her get situated. “Broken glass. Sliced my foot open.”

  “Ouch. That sucks,” Ella said from the other side of the table. And from her tone, Riley knew immediately that Brian had told her everything.

  She looked up and met the other woman’s gaze—with some difficulty—and Ella offered her a thin, cold smile.

  Brian went back to his side of the table and resumed his seat next to her. Together, they looked like a couple on a wedding cake. They had dressed professionally. Brian in a suit and tie, Ella in a polished cream-colored dress. She had pulled her locs back into a bun and wore peach lipstick and understated eye makeup.

  Riley found herself assessing how well they would photograph together for the pages of Polis.

  Very well.

  Brian with lighter-toned complexion and boyish features, slightly harried from the nature of his work, contrasted with Ella, darker-skinned and strik
ingly attractive. They had a certain yin and yang quality that people liked to see in couples, in partners.

  She and Shawn had some of that. Maybe not visually, but temperamentally.

  Fire and ice, Robyn liked to say. Which Riley wasn’t sure she agreed with. Shawn was fire for sure, but she didn’t like to think of herself as ice. Now Tracy … she was ice. Riley preferred to think of herself as …

  Suddenly she realized her mind had wandered, and Brian and Ella were looking at her expectantly.

  “Thank you both for coming,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “No problem,” Brian said.

  Ella said nothing. She just watched Riley, her expression impassive. Her hands were under the table, probably clenched in fists as she held in the emotions that were more than transparent in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you,” Riley continued. “But I don’t actually have a foundation, or any formal mechanism for making charitable donations, other than writing checks.”

  Brian’s wife’s eyes grew flatter, more cynical.

  Must be nice, Riley could almost hear her thinking. To be able to just ‘write a check.’

  “But this is such a compelling cause that I had to give it the consideration it deserves. And talk it over with my husband.”

  At that, Ella’s hands came from under the table and she interlaced her fingers, resting them in front of her.

  “We want to donate …”

  Brian exhaled audibly.

  “And we think three years’ operating support is what we can do,” Riley concluded.

  “Shit. Are you serious?” Brian didn’t bother trying to restrain his joy. “Riley. You don’t know … this will have so much impact. So much impact. For the clients, for …”

  “Don’t … it’s … I’m really glad you came to me, Brian,” she said, looking at him. “And glad you gave me this opportunity, Ella. To participate in something that’s truly important. I mean it. Even if this is a small …”

  “It’s not small,” Ella interrupted. “It’s huge. It may seem small when you have a lot of resources, but it could mean life or death for a lot of people.”

  “I didn’t mean the amount is small,” Riley said, quickly. “I realize it’s considerable. I meant the scale of my participation in your cause is small. Giving money isn’t really …” She let her voice trail off, realizing that she wasn’t penetrating Brian’s wife’s resolve to dislike her from now on. And she couldn’t say she blamed her.

  “Sometimes it’s all some people are equipped to do,” Ella said. “Give money.”

  Brian put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Anyway, we’re grateful,” he said.

  “Yes,” Ella added, her voice emotionless. “We’re grateful.”

  Riley felt her face growing warm. She struggled to stand and held up a hand when it looked like Brian was about to come offer his assistance.

  “But like I said, I don’t really have a foundation, or any formal way of doing these things, so I asked my lawyer to draw up some paperwork so that the transfer of funds can happen, and it’ll be all official and whatever. I’ll go see whether he’s here. He’ll give you some things to review, and once you sign and send it all back … we’ll be done.”

  When she stood, Brian came around the table anyway, meeting her halfway. Ella stood as well. Brian hugged her, and then pulled back and looked her in the eyes.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you. And please thank … thank your husband.”

  Riley nodded, and turned, then glanced back at them both, still standing, waiting for her to leave the room. They had much to celebrate. They would probably exchange excited whispers, smiles, kisses.

  But they wouldn’t do it with her in the room. Because she wasn’t their friend. She was a virtual stranger. To them both.

  “Anyway, yes,” she said, feeling like she had overstayed her welcome at someone else’s family’s barbecue. “And both of you … you especially Ella, I’m … I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t wait to hear how her apology was received.

  Riley almost tripped over the bags by the door when she opened it.

  Looking up, she didn’t even bother unloading her tote, she moved as fast as she could toward the master bedroom, looking frantically right and left.

  “Shawn!” she called, unable to keep the panic out of her voice. “Shawn!”

  Cass came skipping out of the den, and collided into her leg, hugging and holding it.

  “Hi, Momma,” she said. “You’re home,” she cooed soothingly, as though reassuring her.

  “Hi, darling.” Riley rubbed the top of her daughter’s head. “Where’s …?”

  “Hey.” Shawn came sauntering out of the kitchen, a beer in hand, barefoot, shirtless.

  “Hey,” she said, dazed with relief. “What’s …” She looked down the hallway toward the bags. “I thought …”

  “You thought what?” Shawn looked confused.

  Feeling pinpricks behind her eyes, Riley quickly blinked, trying to quell the sensation. “Nothing. I just …”

  Realization dawned in Shawn’s face and he came a few steps closer.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. Never.”

  Riley nodded.

  “Thought we’d head out tonight instead of tomorrow. Have Dennis drive us since we don’t need another car up there.”

  “Up …”

  “To Chris’ house. Sports-a-palooza.”

  Riley looked at Shawn blankly. She hadn’t even thought about the weekend. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had been imagining the call to Robyn, and how she would have to resort to making something up rather than admit that the reason they weren’t coming was that their marriage was in tatters.

  “Even with one bum leg on the team I feel like we could still kick ass,” Shawn said, taking a swig of his beer.

  “Daddy said ass!” Cullen screamed from parts unknown.

  21

  Send me the MP3 file lemme hear it,” Shawn said. “‘Cause I don’t remember shit about that night.”

  “Nothin’?” Kio laughed.

  “Not much after that Grey Goose and buddha showed up, nah.”

  “You rhymed like you was sober. I can tell you that much. Some K Smooth circa 2007. The good shit.”

  “All my shit was good,” Shawn said, grinning.

  Looking over his shoulder, Shawn stepped away from the group. He had taken the call while they were all sitting around the fire-pit and waiting for the steaks to come off the grill. The kids were all asleep and the booze and red meat had come out.

  It was Thursday night. Though he and Riley had gotten there the night before with the kids, everyone else had arrived that afternoon—Brendan, Tracy and Layla, Jamal and Makayla, and Chris, Robyn and their brood of four—and the house had come alive. Before Robyn showed up with itineraries and t-shirts and trophies for what she called “the games”, things had been a little quiet, with just the Gardners with Chris’ caretaker and housekeeper.

  Shawn and Riley had taken the kids to the beach that morning, sitting a couple dozen feet apart, focusing on Cullen and Cassidy to avoid dealing with each other. Shawn’s anger had waxed and waned. Between seeing the proposal from Riley’s ex and hearing Malcolm’s theory, he had cooled off a little, though not entirely.

  There was still that “ideological soulmate” shit to emotionally process. And Riley’s other admission that when she saw Brian she “thought about a different kind of life.”

  How the hell did she think a man was supposed to react to something like that?

  She’d been honest and transparent, though. He would give her that. Belatedly, but she had been. And then there was her reaction to the bags at the door of the apartment. She had been unmistakably terrified when she thought he was leaving.

  He couldn’t have that; his wife thinking that he would give up on their family. Except now that he knew what went down with her and Brian, Shawn needed to know for sure exac
tly what had gone down between him and Livia.

  “Look, man. I been meanin’ to …” Shawn moved away further from the group. “What happened when …? Why you leave me there with that girl that night, man?”

  Kio laughed. “You asked me to. Told me you was straight.”

  “Did I look straight?”

  “Nah, but you was … you know, semi-coherent, so …”

  “Kio. You know my history, right? You know how I can’t … I can’t afford to be in questionable situations with women. Never. Shit might go left and the next thing you know, I wind up in some more he said-she said bullshit.”

  “Yeah, I hear you, man,” Kio said. “But I guess …”

  Kio stopped abruptly, and Shawn waited.

  “You guess what?”

  “I guess, I think … I mean, that’s your responsibility, Smooth. I mean, if I’d been through what you’d been through, I’d tighten my shit up.”

  Boom.

  “Just tell me what you saw, bruh,” Shawn said.

  “I saw you, drunk as hell. Blunted as hell. Her, not drunk as hell, and … only a little blunted. And you know, tryna get a little cozy wit’ you. Then when e’rybody started to roll out, you said you couldn’t go home. I called Chris, he called to make sure your security knew what was up, and they came … looked in on you, and you told them to fuck off. Which they did, but only to go downstairs. And I left you wit’ ol’ girl.”

  “Did you see me … do anything with her?”

  “Nope. Not that I saw, but … yeah. I mean, I left, man, so …”

  “A’ight. Send me that audio file,” Shawn said, hanging up.

  Across the lawn, he watched as Riley sipped from her glass of wine. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled at something someone said. While she was smiling, her eye caught him, standing on the outskirts, phone in hand. The smile faded, and she turned her attention back to the group and their conversation.

  Later, in bed he would turn to her, and touch her. And she would turn to him and receive those touches. They would make love, the way husbands and wives do, but they probably would not speak.