To Love & Betray

by Shelly Ellis

  Terrence shrugged again. “And we’re both working men who have to be up at six a.m.” Terrence reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slapped three twenties on the counter. “That should cover our tab.”

  “Come on, Terry! Stay a little while longer.”

  “Ev, my lady’s at home waiting for me. She’s been bugging me all week to help her finish labeling wedding invitations. And you’ve got a wife who misses you and wants you home, too. Surprise Lee with some romantic shit. I bet she’ll appreciate it!”

  “I can’t! I don’t have time for stuff like that. I’ve got too much work to do!”

  “Yet you’re standing here telling me to stay and have another drink.” Terrence paused and narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “What’s going on, Ev?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What’s going on?’ ”

  “I mean why would you rather be in a crowded bar shooting the breeze and drinking with me than at home with your wife and kids? And you don’t even like to drink anyway! What’s the story?”

  Evan stared at his brother, taken aback by the question. “There’s no story, Terry. I just wanted to celebrate with you. But if it’s really that big of a deal, I won’t ask you again.”

  “Come on, man! Don’t get pissy! I’m just asking you an honest question. Why don’t you want to go home to Lee? Is something up?”

  “No . . . no, nothing’s up. We’re . . . we’re fine.”

  Instead of looking convinced, Terrence eyed his brother even more warily.

  “I mean . . . of course there’s a little tension because of my court case and everything,” Evan explained reluctantly. “I could go away for a long time if I’m found guilty. It doesn’t make things easy.”

  “So while you’re here, spend time with her! Spend time with her and the girls! I thought that’s what you lived for! I thought that’s what you wanted: domesticity . . . nuclear family . . . all that Norman Rockwell shit.”

  Evan shook his head again.

  “Why, Ev?” Terrence persisted. “Tell me why!”

  Evan gritted his teeth and tightened his grip around his Scotch glass, now unable to meet his brother’s eyes.

  His criminal trial was supposed to start at the end of the summer. The possibility of a long prison sentence hung in the distance like a specter. Evan knew that the time he had with the family was precious and could be short-lived, but he still couldn’t force himself to cut down his hours at the office and spend more time at home with his family. Terrence wasn’t the first person to ask why Evan did this. He had wondered why many times himself—but could never discover the answer. Now he suspected he knew the truth.

  “Because . . . because every time I look at Lee,” he now said, “I don’t think about buying her roses or kissing her anymore. Every time I see the girls, I’m not thinking about taking them to the playground for a father-daughter day or going out for ice cream. I’m thinking about how I have to get everything in place for when I leave them. I’m thinking about how I have to work harder, make more money, make more phone calls, and sign more paperwork. I think of all the shit I have to do to set things in order for them and it makes . . . it makes me tired, Terry. It makes me sad.”

  “So to avoid all that, you’re running away from them,” Terrence said, making Evan cringe.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way!”

  “Well, I would, because that’s exactly what you’re doing, Ev. And you have to stop that shit, because you all deserve better.” Terrence slapped his brother on the shoulder again. “Look, I’m gonna head home—and you should, too. Spend some time with your family, bruh—regardless of how guilty you may feel. I’ll catch you later.”

  Evan watched as Terrence walked off, pushing his way through the crowd to the restaurant’s revolving glass door. He’d never though it would ever be the day that Terrence left a bar before closing, let alone left it before him. Evan also never thought it would be Terrence imparting words of wisdom about family and relationships while Evan felt lost in the dark.

  Times certainly had changed.

  Evan turned back toward the counter and stared at his half-finished Scotch.

  But even though Terrence was trying to help, Evan knew he was wrong.

  I’m not running away from my wife and kids, he thought. I’m not afraid to go home. I just know what’s at stake here and I’m behaving accordingly. There’s too much I still have to do. Once I do that, I can look Lee in the eyes because I know they’ll be taken care of.

  With that, he raised his glass to his lips and finished the rest of his Scotch with one gulp before slamming the glass down.

  “This is new. I remember a time when you didn’t drink at all,” a familiar voice said from over his shoulder.

  Evan whipped around from the counter to find his ex-wife gazing at him. He hadn’t seen her in months, not since last year. He had heard that she had left Chesterton soon after his release, traveling to the Caribbean with her mother. He’d suspected that she didn’t want to be around when their divorce was finalized. She certainly didn’t want to be in town when he and Leila finally tied the knot.

  Evan let his gaze travel over his ex-wife. Tonight, Charisse wore a shift dress, revealing her tan arms and legs. It looked like a natural tan—not a bronzer from the bottle. Her wavy hair was now cut chin length and was a lighter blond, likely bleached from hours in the island sun, he supposed. She looked lean and healthy and was wearing only a little makeup, letting her natural beauty shine through.

  Even though she hadn’t wanted their divorce, it seemed to suit her well. She hadn’t looked this good in years.

  “Charisse, what . . . what are you doing here?”

  He watched as his ex-wife threw back her head and laughed. “I’m eating dinner, Ev, just like everyone else in here.”

  “I know, but . . . but what are you—”

  “I was heading to the ladies’ room and I saw you standing at the bar. I figured I should come over and say hi.” She tilted her head. “How have you been, Ev?”

  “As good as can be expected,” he answered quietly.

  She took another step toward him. “I was worried about you.”

  He let out a bitter chuckle. “Really? Could’ve fooled me considering I haven’t heard from you in five months.”

  “Counting the months, were we? I didn’t think you cared that much!”

  “I don’t,” he answered dryly. “It just so happened that you went silent around the same time that I went to prison. I wouldn’t forget something like that, Charisse. You remember who called or sent letters while you were behind bars.”

  “I didn’t reach out to you for a good reason, Ev.”

  “And that is?”

  “We weren’t exactly on the best of terms when you were arrested, and as soon as you got out of jail, you were granted the divorce that you kept pestering me about! I thought you were eager to settle in with your new wife and family. Far be it for me to intrude on your happy little home!”

  He pursed his lips, deciding not to respond that one.

  “How is Leila, by the way?”

  “Charisse . . .” he began warningly.

  “What?” She batted her baby blues and dropped a hand to her chest, playing innocent. “I was just being polite, Ev! I can’t ask how Leila’s doing now?”

  He eyed his ex-wife.

  Evan knew any inquiry Charisse made about Leila was not made with good intentions. Charisse hated Leila and, frankly, Leila had grown to hate Charisse, too. Even the first day, when Evan had introduced the two women at the Chesterton Country Club—back when Charisse was still his wife and Leila was just his secretary, not his mistress—Charisse had instantly taken a dislike to the other woman. It was an almost visceral reaction, as if she had sniffed the scent of another female on her turf. The relationship between the two had only gotten worse in the past two years, and not just because of Evan and Leila’s affair. For spite, Charisse had tried to sully Leila’s reputation in to
wn by lying and telling everyone she was a former coke whore. He was sure Charisse had gotten a good laugh out of that one—at Leila’s and Isabel’s expense. The rumor had caused Isabel to be bullied at school and had nearly ruined Leila’s stationery business. And then Charisse had invited Evan to her home under the guise of discussing their divorce and had kissed him instead. Well, in truth, they had kissed each other. That kiss had almost destroyed his and Leila’s relationship. It had taken him humbling himself to the point of tears to finally get Leila back.

  “Don’t start any shit again,” he now ordered, making Charisse laugh. “I mean it!”

  “I’m not starting anything, Evan. Believe me, I’ve given up that war. You wanted a divorce and for her to be your wife. I’ve accepted it.”

  He continued to look at Charisse warily as if he were a fly who had stumbled upon her spider web. She hadn’t come over here just to say hi and have casual conversation with him. She had some ulterior motive; he just didn’t know what it was.

  “I will say, though,”—she glanced down at her manicured nails—“that with the situation you’re in, it would’ve been nice to have someone like me in your corner.”

  “My situation? Do you mean with Dante?”

  She nodded, making him shake his head in annoyance.

  “You know damn well I didn’t shoot that son of a bitch, though honestly, at this point, I wish I fucking had!”

  “Of course, I know you didn’t shoot him! Any person who would believe you were capable of doing such a thing is a complete moron!” She smirked. “But he’s got you in a nice little vise, doesn’t he? Someone like me could’ve kept him from tightening the screws. I could’ve helped. Now you have to face this on your own, and you are so out of your league, sweetheart!” She shook her head. “You’re no match for Dante.”

  “And you are? Is that because you’re as devious and petty as he is?”

  Her smirk disappeared. For a split second, she actually looked angry, but then she licked her glossy lips and smiled.

  “See you around, Evan,” she said, patting him on the arm before turning away from him. “Good luck, darling. You’ll certainly need it!” she called over her shoulder.

  He then watched as she tossed her hair and walked away.

  Chapter 14

  Dante

  “Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four,” Kiki counted out, pausing to lick her index finger as she flipped through the wrinkled stack of twenties. “Seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven . . .”

  “Do you really have to count out the whole thing? Can’t you just give it to me?” Dante asked tiredly, watching his daughter.

  “I don’t want you to think we cheatin’ you,” she said, tossing her purple braids over her shoulder. “You said you wanted all your money, right?”

  He nodded.

  “So shut up and let me count it!” She then returned her attention to the twenty-dollar bills in her hand. “Seventy-eight, seventy-nine . . .”

  Dante glanced to his right to find Kiki’s girlfriend, Tee, leaning against the kitchen counter. A do-rag was on the young woman’s head. Her skinny jeans hung low on her narrow hips. Her birdlike arms were crossed over her flat chest, and she glared at Dante openly, like she was trying her best to intimidate him.

  It’s not working, honey, he thought, though he was eager to leave this dingy place and head home to his own condo.

  The house on Flushing Avenue wasn’t haunted by any real ghosts, but it certainly haunted him. Every time he came back here he was reminded of how low things had gotten for him after he had been shot and had to go on the run. Looking at the recliner in the living room made him recall how he used to drink himself into a stupor before falling asleep there. Looking at the mattress on the floor in the upstairs bedroom reminded him of the squalor he had slept in those nights he hadn’t passed out in the recliner.

  Thank God this isn’t my life anymore, he thought as his daughter continued to count aloud and his skin crawled from the heavy air of misery that seemed to hang everywhere around him.

  Though he had been reluctant to come here, Dante had stopped by the row house to check on his daughter’s budding new private business and to collect the two thousand dollars she owed him for allowing her to use the house as her headquarters. For a fleeting moment he had wondered if it was right to fleece his daughter out of her hard-earned drug money and use it to pay his mortgage and buy more painkillers. But then he realized that this extra income wasn’t something he could afford to turn away. His savings were getting increasingly low—to the point that he hadn’t checked the account in weeks because he was disheartened at how low the balance was. He also rationalized this was money Kiki rightfully owed him; she was paying for room and board and all the past money he had given her.

  So when you really think about it, I’m doing her a favor!

  “Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred,” Kiki said, counting out the last bill before slapping the stack into his open palm. “That’s all your money for this week. We good now?”

  “We’re good,” he said, folding the bills and tucking them into his suit jacket’s inner pocket. “But if the cops get wind of any of this, I had nothing to do with it, all right?” He pointed at her. “I mean it, Kiki! I better not get called in on—”

  “Yes! I told you that we wouldn’t tell them anything. So stop worrying! We’re not gonna get caught. I ain’t stupid! I got this!”

  “And even if we do get caught, why should we be the only ones that go down for it?” Tee asked. “You saying you want our money but don’t want any of the risk that comes with it?”

  “Little girl, you wouldn’t have this much money,” Dante argued, gesturing toward the stack of bills still sitting near the stainless steel sink that was also overflowing with dishes, “if it wasn’t for the fact that I let you live and work out of my goddamn house! And I can still toss you out!”

  “Man,”—Tee pushed herself away from the counter and yanked up the waist of her jeans—“you sure do talk a lot shit for a—”

  “Tee,” Kiki barked before giving her girlfriend a silencing look. Just then someone’s cell phone began to ring, filling the kitchen with a thumping rap tune that made Dante wince. Kiki abruptly yanked her iPhone off the laminated counter.

  “Hello!” she yelled after pressing the button to answer. “Yeah, what you got?” she asked before walking out of the kitchen, leaving Dante and Tee alone to stare at each other.

  As the duo listened to Kiki talk and laugh on the phone in the next room, an awkward silence fell between them. Dante sighed.

  “Well, this was lovely,” he muttered. “I guess I’ll be heading home now.”

  “You know,” Tee called out as Dante turned to the kitchen entryway, “the high you get from them pills ain’t gonna last forever. I bet you barely feel it anymore already.”

  Dante stopped mid-motion. His spine stiffened at her words. He whipped back around to face her. Tee wasn’t glaring at him anymore but smiling openly now, infuriating him.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he snarled, unable to hide his anger that Kiki had revealed his secret to her girlfriend.

  To this tiny-ass, do-rag wearing she-him!

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Tee continued, undaunted, even as he charged toward her. “I’m talking about those pain pills, man! Every junkie thinks—”

  “I am not a fucking junkie!” He jabbed his finger into her bony chest. “Don’t you ever fucking call me that again! Do you hear me?”

  The last person who had called him a junkie had ended up with a bloodied mouth. Considering how much lip Tee had given him in the past, she might end up with a lot more.

  “I barely touch the stuff,” he argued, conveniently forgetting the eighteen pills he had already ingested that day. “Don’t put me in the same category as those crackheads on the street, begging for change and sucking strangers’ dicks. I’m not one of those meth heads, losing their teeth
and pissing themselves.”

  Tee rolled her brown eyes toward the ceiling and shoved his hand away from her sternum. “Whatever, man. I’m just trying to help you out! I’m telling you that if you keep taking those pills, you gonna run outta cash quick! But if you wanna get that old high again—faster and cheaper—you’re gonna have to move onto somethin’ else. It’s the truth. You know it, and I know it, too.”

  Dante squinted at her. Though he hated to admit it, even he had to agree that he was finding it harder and harder to “chase the dragon,” as it were. Each week his bank account got lower, and it seemed the pills ran out faster. And worse, the doctor who was writing him his prescription was starting to squeeze him. He said the risk of losing his license warranted the high cost of a higher fee for his “labor,” but Dante wasn’t convinced. It made Dante angry to be so blatantly taken advantage of, but it wasn’t like he could go to another doctor and ask him to write multiple prescriptions for Oxy.

  He took a step back from Tee, eying her with open suspicion. But he was intrigued now and couldn’t hide that, either. “So you’re saying that you’ve got a hook-up then?”

  Tee nodded. “Kiki won’t sell it,” she said, dropping her voice down to a whisper and glancing again at the kitchen entryway where they could still hear Kiki talking on the other side of the yellow-tiled wall, “but I know people who will.”

  “So what is it? What can they give me?”

  “A little bit of that brown sugar, baby,” Tee said with a wink, making Dante take another step back, making him frown.

  “Brown sugar? You mean smack?”

  Tee nodded, and he quickly shook his head.

  “Oh, hell no! I’m not touching that stuff!”

  If he thought crackheads and meth heads were detestable, he was just as repulsed by smack heads. There was no way he would join their ranks.

  “I don’t know why I even bothered to listen to this shit,” he muttered, before turning away again.

  “Yeah,” Tee said as he walked out of the kitchen and headed toward the front door, “you say that now! Hit me up though when you change your mind, cuz I know you will!”