Never Say Never

by Victoria Christopher Murray

All I knew was that I was never going home.

  31

  Miriam

  What happened?

  I’d been holding my cell phone for the last hour, wondering what I should do. It had been more than an hour since I made the call. But I’d been cut off. Why?

  When we were first disconnected, I was about to press Jamal’s number to redial, but something stopped me. I had the feeling that my message had been received.

  So, what happened?

  I had only been trying to warn Jamal. After Michellelee left, I didn’t know what to do. The questions overwhelmed me—should I call Michellelee, should I call Jamal, should I do nothing? But after weighing the options, I was sure that Michellelee was on her way straight to Emily, and I couldn’t let Jamal be blindsided like that.

  But now, I wasn’t so sure I’d done the right thing.

  I leaned back and curled up on the lounger, then closed my eyes. What was I going to do?

  “Mom, why’re you sitting in the dark?”

  I raised my head and saw my oldest child, standing right outside my bedroom. The light from the hallway shone behind him, making him look angelic.

  “Sweetheart, I didn’t even realize it had gotten dark.” I held out my arms and Junior stepped into the bedroom to join me on the lounger. When he sat down, I asked, “Where are your brothers?”

  “Upstairs, they’re playing video games.”

  “I need to check on them and make sure their homework is done.”

  “I checked all of that, Mom. And I cleaned up the kitchen, too.”

  Tears came to my eyes as I held my son’s face in my hands. Before Chauncey had passed away, we’d almost had to bribe the boys to complete their chores. But now, Junior was stepping up, taking on more responsibility than I wanted him to. I motioned for him to lean back with me.

  He laid his head on my shoulder. “Are you sitting in the dark ’cause you’re sad?”

  I waited for a moment before I answered, “Yes. A little.”

  “About Dad?”

  This time, I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “I’m sad about him, too. A lot.”

  My heart dropped an inch and I wrapped my arms around my son. “I know you are. But you do know that every day you’ll be less and less sad, right?”

  He nodded.

  “And we’re both going to be all right.”

  He shifted his head so that he could look up at me. “That’s what I was going to tell you. We’re going to be all right, Mom. ’Cause Uncle Jamal said he was going to make sure of it.”

  An image of Jamal, in this room, in my bed, naked, flashed through my mind. I answered my son only with a smile.

  He said, “Did Uncle Jamal go back to work?”

  “I’m not sure,” was all I said, because I didn’t want to have any kind of discussion about Jamal with Junior.

  But my son went on, “Oh, I thought he did ’cause he hasn’t been here. Is he coming tomorrow?”

  Another image, of Jamal leaning over and kissing me. I had to swallow before I answered, “We’ll see.”

  “I wanted to talk to him about going to Crenshaw High ’cause that’s where he played basketball.”

  “Crenshaw’s not in our district, but there are plenty of other schools that have great basketball teams.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.” He sighed. “Well, anyway, we have our first basketball game in a couple of weeks and I really hope that Uncle Jamal will be there. So, do you think he’ll come?” Junior repeated.

  “I’ll ask him.”

  “Or I’ll ask him when he comes over tomorrow,” Junior said, so sure Jamal was coming back.

  I almost asked Junior if he wanted Emily to come, too. But I didn’t. Because the world had shifted. Our secret was out and if Jamal came back to me, I was sure that none of us would see Emily again.

  My son jumped up. “I’m going to check on Mikey and Stevie,” he said, sounding like he was trying very hard to be the big brother.

  “Okay. I’ll be up there in a little while.”

  I watched Junior stride toward the door, but then he turned around, ran back, and hugged me with what I was sure was all of his might. “I love you, Mommy.”

  Mommy . . . it had been a long time since he’d called me that. “I love you, too, Junior.”

  He stood once again. “Mom, I don’t want you to call me Junior anymore.”

  I frowned.

  “I want everyone to call me Chauncey.”

  It was one of those Hallmark moments, and I nodded because I couldn’t speak. As if he knew that he’d taken my breath away, he kissed my cheek and then walked toward the door.

  As I watched him move away, my head and my heart swelled with even more love for my son. Chauncey, along with Mikey and Stevie, were the reasons I had to find a way to be whole again.

  That thought brought Jamal’s image back. Only this time, I saw him the way he left this morning, walking out like he might never come back.

  I shuddered. I wanted to be whole, I needed to be whole, but could I do that without Jamal?

  32

  Emily

  The sun had long ago begun its descent as I circled back and trudged down Ocean Avenue. I didn’t realize how far I’d run until I decided to walk back. But now, all I wanted to do was get one of the rooms in this hotel, take off my boots, lay my head down, then wake up tomorrow, thankful that this had only been a nightmare.

  My heels clicked against the marble floors of Shutters on the Beach, the exclusive hotel that was just blocks from our condo. The four-hundred-dollar-a-night price was certainly a lot, but I didn’t care. I wanted to rest on the luxurious sheets and not think until morning.

  At the front desk, the attendant smiled and welcomed me to the hotel.

  “Do you have any rooms?”

  She nodded. “All I’ll need is your ID and a credit card.”

  I reached into my bag and froze. As the attendant waited for me, I recalled a long-ago lesson from my mother:

  Whenever you go out, no matter who you’re with, always have enough money for a phone call and a cab.

  I’d always left home with my mother’s advice and my own money in my pocket. I was never going to be stranded because of a man.

  Only here I was, stranded. Because of a man who was my husband.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to the woman, then turned away and rushed back through the lobby.

  With no ID, no money, and no credit cards, I had no choice.

  The thought of going home and packing my things made me want to cry, but as I began walking toward our condo, I wondered: why was I thinking of leaving? I hadn’t done anything. Jamal was the one who’d broken my heart and our home. He was the one who needed to go!

  It was completely dark when I stumbled into the building. As I rode up in the elevator, I prayed that Jamal had done the right thing, the decent thing, though it was clear that there wasn’t much decency in him. I just hoped that he’d packed a bag and left our home.

  But when I stepped over the threshold, Jamal was right there, just a few feet from the door. His shoulders were slouched and the muscles in his face were slack, making him look exhausted and filled with sorrow.

  I wanted to ask him why he was so sad. Why did he look so hurt? He should’ve been a happy man. He had two women.

  “Emily.”

  I held up my hand as I stomped past him. He tried to block me, but he must’ve forgotten who I was, an all-star who’d broken through thousands of blocks and taken down plenty of players.

  He stumbled backward as I pushed past him. It would’ve been a foul on any court, but I figured I had a million fouls to give.

  While he was trying to stand upright, I marched into our bedroom, slamming the door. He was two seconds behind me.

  “Em,” he said when he busted in, “please, we have to talk.”

  I sat on the bed and kicked off my boots, doing my best to tuck my emotions deep inside. I didn’t want to explode. I didn’t
want to give Jamal the satisfaction of seeing my pain.

  He said, “You have to talk to me.”

  His words hit me like a right hook, and I spun my head toward him. “Are you kidding me? I have to talk to you?”

  He replied, “What I should have said is that we need to talk.”

  My voice was still soft. “I don’t need to do a damn thing with you.”

  “But we have to talk . . .”

  “Talk about what? I know everything. Miriam said it all.” I closed my eyes for a second. For all the hours since I’d heard that phone call, I’d fought hard not to think about Miriam. Because betrayal by one person I loved was more than I could handle. I wouldn’t be able to breathe if I had to think about Jamal and Miriam.

  “You don’t know everything,” he had the audacity to say.

  “I know enough. I know what’s important. I know that you and Miriam are . . .” I stopped. That was enough of the thought for me.

  “We’re not having an affair.”

  I stared silently, giving him time to take that back. When he didn’t, I moved slowly toward him until I was right in his face. He didn’t back away.

  “So, what are you saying?” My voice was still no louder than a whisper. “Are you calling Miriam a liar?”

  His chin fell just a bit. “I just want to sit down and explain what it was and how it happened.”

  I stepped back a little, and crossed my arms.

  He said, “When you hear it all, I think you’ll understand.”

  I tilted my head, then I busted out laughing. And it took me a while to stop because truly, that was funny. I would understand?

  Jamal knew that my laughter wasn’t from a good place, so he said something that took my breath away. “Emily, I love you.”

  He reached for me and I took two giant steps back. Not only because I didn’t want him to touch me but because I was shocked by his words. I never expected to hear him declare his love for me ever again. But those words made me stumble, at least mentally.

  “I love you,” he repeated. “I really do. And I’m so, so sorry.”

  He sounded as if he meant what he was saying.

  Good thing I knew the truth.

  “You’re a liar.”

  He pressed his lips together and I knew I’d scored. I was pleased by the damage those words had done and I hoped I had a few more weapons inside me.

  “I’m not a fool,” I continued. “There’s no way you could have loved me and done this.”

  “This had nothing to do with you.”

  “And that right there is the problem. Because you being with another woman has everything to do with me. We took vows, Jamal, to be faithful.”

  I waited for him to jump in with some new lie, but he stayed quiet.

  I continued, “We said that we would love each other forever.”

  “I do,” he whispered. “I do love you.”

  “If you love me, then why do I hurt so much?” A sob rose from my throat, but I fought to keep it back. “Why am I feeling a pain that I’ve never felt before?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I looked up toward the ceiling, hoping that if I blinked fast enough the tears would go away.

  “Just get out.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to get out of my life!”

  “What do you mean?

  “I mean, get the hell out.”

  Jamal had thrown a grenade into my heart, and now he had to go. At first, I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed until Jamal came out of his closet with his suitcase, the small one that could be carried onto any plane. I wanted to tell him that everything he owned couldn’t fit in that bag, but I said nothing.

  He lifted it up, placed it beside me, then stood back as if he was waiting for me to say something, to stop him, maybe.

  My answer: I simply stood and walked out of the room.

  I hoped my move insulted him, hurt him, made him want to cry, since that’s all I wanted to do.

  I walked straight into the kitchen. Inside the freezer, I found exactly what I was looking for: the half gallon of butter pecan ice cream. I couldn’t remember when we bought this. And when I took off the cover, the freezer burns let me know that it had been a while. But ice cream didn’t spoil, did it?

  I hoped not, because this was exactly what I needed. This ice cream was old, it was hard, and it would have to do.

  I didn’t even try to scoop out a couple of spoonfuls. I just put the entire carton into the microwave for ten seconds, then took a tablespoon, went back into the living room, clicked on the television, and curled up on the couch.

  The television was already set to ESPN. The talking heads were debating about the Major League Baseball race to the finish. The Yankees were still number one, though those Baltimore Orioles refused to budge.

  “J—” I yelled out, then stopped. This was something that I would have shared with Jamal on any other day. But I guess I’d almost forgotten. We wouldn’t share these moments anymore.

  Pressing the button, I turned the volume down, almost to Mute, and just watched. And just ate. Tablespoon after tablespoon. Until I was full. Then I ate until I was stuffed. Finally, I ate until the container was empty.

  I heard Jamal’s footsteps coming out of the bedroom and when he got to the living room entry, he stopped. The tears that were in his eyes matched the ones in mine. His heart was pleading with me to give him another chance. My heart told him that it would never be open to him again.

  He stood there not moving, as if he planned to wait it out. Wait for me to talk to him. I turned back to the TV, picked up the remote, and pressed the volume up all the way, until the sports commentators’ voices blasted through our apartment.

  Jamal nodded, then picked up the bag. “Em, I’m only leaving because I think you need some space, but I will be back.”

  That’s what he thought.

  “You’re going to hear me and we’ll work this out.”

  He clearly had me confused with someone else.

  He stood there for a bit longer. I guessed he was waiting for me to say something, do something. But finally, he caught the clue and turned to the door.

  “Emily,” he said softly.

  I turned to him with a laser-sharp stare.

  He said, “I’m sorry.”

  I said, “Good-bye.”

  I watched him twist the knob, grab the handle of his roller bag, and then he walked out the door and out of my life.

  33

  Emily

  Why are your eyes red?” LaTonya asked the moment she sat down in one of the green children’s chairs that I had around the low yellow table in my office.

  Crouching down, I sat across from her. “Are they red?” was my answer, even though I knew the little girl was right.

  She nodded. “Were you crying?”

  “No,” I said, telling her a lie. “I’m just tired.”

  “Oh.” Then she lowered her head. “My eyes get red when I cry.”

  “Have you been crying?”

  She didn’t respond, just reached for the box of crayons and the pad of construction paper on the other end of the table. I sat back, watched her, and tried not to yawn. At least I’d told the truth about being tired. I was exhausted, but that’s what being up all night would do. And exhaustion and tears always equaled crimson-red eyes in the morning.

  It was amazing that someone’s world could crash in just a moment. But then, I was sitting in front of a little girl who’d lost her sister in a second. So even with what I was going through, someone else always had it worse.

  Still, it was hard not to feel as if I was the only one in the world who’d ever lived this nightmare. I was tortured by the question that had kept me up all night: how long had this been going on?

  I’d searched my memory, trying to recall every moment over the years with Jamal, and all the time we’d spent with Miriam and Chauncey. I tried to remember every glance they’d exchanged, every word they’d spoken, every ti
me they hugged.

  And I remembered the day of Chauncey’s funeral and my suspicions then.

  But even when I’d stared at Miriam with her eyes closed and her arms around my husband, I never imagined the true fact, that they were actually sleeping together.

  Since that day when Miriam had taken me and Michellelee into her bedroom and given us those bracelets, I’d turned off that sixth sense that I believed every women had. I turned mine off because, obviously, my sense had gone haywire.

  I was so mad at myself. There had probably been signs and signals right in front of my face.

  And all of that made me want to cry from anger and pain. But I was not going to cry. I was not going to break down.

  “So,” I said to LaTonya. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Fine,” she said, though she didn’t look up.

  I sat back, wanting to let LaTonya draw as we talked. “How’re your mom and dad?”

  “Fine,” she said, her attention on the roof that she was constructing on the house she’d drawn.

  “So, did you do anything special when you got home from the hospital yesterday?”

  She nodded, though she didn’t take her eyes away from her picture. I studied her as she drew the windows and then colored in the curtains.

  “What did you do?” I asked her, trying to pull out a longer response.

  “I had ice cream,” LaTonya said, making me think about all the ice cream I’d eaten. Another reason why I’d been up all night; my aching stomach matched my aching heart.

  “So,” I said, pausing because I wanted to see her reaction to my next question. “Are you looking forward to going back to school?”

  She stopped drawing and hesitated. “Mommy said that I’m going to school on Monday,” she said, sounding like tears weren’t far away.

  I nodded. “Aren’t you happy?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you want to see your teacher, Ms. Parker, again?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to go to school by myself.”

  “What about going to school with your friends?”

  She shook her head and said nothing.

  I let her get back to concentrating on her drawing. Now that the house was finished, she sketched three figures in front, just like she’d done with the picture that was in Dr. Caster’s file.