by Dara Girard
She used to watch Jerrod at a party with admiration so glad that he was hers. She didn't even know when her casual glances turned to suspicion. When she'd watch him with a woman with careful surveillance as though a police officer on the trail of a suspect. She would watch how he tilted his head, his eyes, his smile. She'd watch the woman too. Notice how she touched him, if it was a hand to his shoulder or his sleeve and she'd wondered what the gesture meant. She never confronted him because she knew what he would say. Her father had said the same. She just let her suspicions grow and her fears mingled with them until there was a wall around her heart. She knew he felt it too, but they never talked about it. Soon they never talked about anything not pay cuts, tight schedules or family illnesses and after their last attempt at having a child she knew there was nothing else to keep them together.
Pam sighed feeling the weight of her loss. She'd loved him. She'd thought he'd loved her. Where had it gone wrong? She angrily brushed away a clothes hanger, wishing she'd brought a glass of wine in the closet with her.
“I'm sure he has no problems with the ladies,” Pam said sourly, wanting to take the focus off of her. “He never did.”
“You never know.”
She nodded. “You're right. I don't. I stopped knowing very much about him after awhile. Somehow we just stopped talking.”
“Did you ever try to talk?”
“Yes, but it soon became too painful, especially when we couldn't have kids. I know how much he wants to be a father.”
She heard him rub his hands together. “I doubt that's the only reason he married you.”
“Well it seemed that's where everything fell apart.”
“I bet there were other things. I mean my wife only cared about starting a family, but for me it was too stressful.”
“You don't want kids?” she asked more sharply than she wanted to. “I mean it's okay if you don't,” she added more softly not wanting him to stop talking.
“I did--do, but at the time my father was dying and I couldn't focus on anything else.”
His words made her heart constrict with sorrow. “I'm sorry about your father.”
He sighed. “He loved my wife. I'm glad he didn't see my marriage end.”
“Did you love your wife?”
“Still do.”
Her voice cracked with surprise and suspicion. “Really?”
“Yes, everyone keeps telling me to move on and I know I should, but something is holding me back and I think that's it.”
“Sometimes our hearts mislead us.”
He shook his head. “Not often, especially not mine.”
Pam fell silent unable to believe his words. They sounded genuine, but if he really loved his wife why hadn't he fought to keep his marriage? She rubbed her forehead, wishing she could gather her warring thoughts, then let her hand fall. “If you could do it all again, what would you do?”
He was silent a long moment then said, “Apologize for not admitting how unhappy I was. I would have been more honest. You?”
“Same. I would have given him more space. I wanted him to talk to me and I think that just pushed him further away. I wanted him to turn to me. But he turned to someone else instead.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“How?”
Pam shrugged feeling the wall around her heart starting to rebuild. “The usual,” she said trying to sound casual although the memory of his deception pierced her. “Secret phone calls. Cryptic notes. Strange perfume on his clothes.” She'd been taught by her twice divorced mother that if you didn't have a man's attention someone else did. Her father hadn't been true to any of his five wives. Now that he was older he was slowing down so wife number six may be lucky. Women found Jerrod attractive and he never had trouble getting noticed. She was attractive too, but she knew that wasn't enough to keep a man. Her mother had been beautiful and kept the house running while also working and that still hadn't made her father faithful. Without kids Pam couldn't think of anything to get Jerrod to stay.
“Did you tell him?”
“No,” Pam said quickly. “I didn't want to know the details. I failed him. I didn't want to know about the woman who hadn't. I'd once been the most important woman in his life and then it ended. When a man cheats it's over.”
“So if he'd told you why he cheated you wouldn't have forgiven him?”
“Sure I'd forgive him, but I couldn't trust him. If he's unhappy he deserves to leave. It's just a symptom. I'm sure he's happy with whoever he's with now.”
“Trust is important.”
“Yes.”
“My wife never trusted me.”
Pam paused surprised by his statement. She drummed her fingers against her thigh. “Did you give her a reason not to?”
“No. I could never do or say enough to make her believe in me. At first she did. She made me feel like the greatest man on the planet and then, after we married, that changed. I gave her gifts. I told her how much I loved her, but if I came home late or she saw me with a female colleague she'd assume the worse.”
Pam released a tired sigh feeling suddenly worn. “I guess that's unfair.”
“Yes. You can't have a relationship without trust.”
“Hmm.”
“But I lied. I did give my wife a reason not to trust me.”
“I knew it,” Pam said satisfied that he was just as she'd suspected him to be: A typical male. “What was it?”
“I kept a secret from her.”
She bit her lip her heart picking up pace. “What?”
“After my father died I started thinking about my own morality. It can hit a man hard sometimes. I went to get checked and discovered I was genetically disposed to have the same condition that killed my father. I started to do lots of tests and even started therapy to deal with my fear.”
“Why didn't you tell m--her? Why keep that a secret?”
“Because by that time she was so focused on having a family and not succeeding and I didn't want to feel as if I'd failed her on something else.”
“But she would have been there for you. I know she didn't marry you just so you could be a father.”
“It's broken up marriages before.”
“But if you'd talked...” Pam let her words trail off. Obviously he hadn't trusted her.
He shifted, the sleeve of his shirt brushing hers, the lemon and spice sense embracing her again. “Too bad you never talked about it.”
“Yes.”
“I guess we both failed,” he said.
Pam hugged herself, feeling the wall around her heart crumbling but terrified of being vulnerable again as she let hope seep in. “Think there's any way to fix it?”
“Maybe by remembering the good times. Where there any?”
Pam smiled. “Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“I used to love when he'd sing off key in the shower. He has a really good voice and knew his singing would always make me laugh and it did. He also used to have this strange way of knowing who was calling without looking at the caller ID. He'd be in the living room reading and the phone would ring and he'd say “Pick up it's your mother” or “Forget it, it's my sister.” And more often than not he was right. I used to tease him that he was psychic. We loved going to concerts. Indoor, outdoor, bands, symphonies. Anything. He could always make the outing an adventure because he knew how to move in a crowd. In the early days I loved to listen to him talk about his students and he supported me while I got my Masters. Even when I felt like giving up he always believed in me.”
“Sounds like good times.”
Pam felt her heart lift. “They were.” She hesitated then asked, “How about you?”
“My wife used to put lollipops in my briefcase with a note that said 'Have a sweet day.' She'd also coordinate the closet by color, matching shirts with ties, belts with pants, socks with shoes.”
Pam groaned. “She sounds controlling.”
He shook his head and
laughed. “I liked it. I didn't have to think hard. If I grabbed a shirt I could see what tie could go with it. It made my morning easier and made me feel that she cared about me.”
“She still doesn't sound like much fun.”
“Maybe to some. I know with you having a husband who likes to go out and mingle and have different adventures you wouldn't understand how important it can be to have a place that's organized. Someone who is settled and grounded. I grew up around a lot of chaos and my wife helped me learn to live a different way. Just being with her was fun. We'd sit together and just talk or watch TV or play a video game, or tell corny jokes. I miss that. I miss her.”
Pam blinked back tears. “I miss him too, but are memories really enough? I was so afraid of losing him that I pushed him away. I don't think I can fix that.” It was too much. The man, the memories. Suddenly instead of feeling like a confessional the closet felt like a tomb. She couldn't breathe. She grabbed the door and opened it desperate to escape.
He grabbed her arm. “Pam wait.”
She shook her head. “When I first heard your voice I nearly ran out.”
“I'm glad you didn't,” he said in a velvet whisper, tenderly turning her to face him.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't look at him. It had been so intimate in the closet and had felt safe, but now she felt exposed. She didn't want to look at him, but she knew she had to. She gathered her courage and faced him: The tall good looking man with skin like molasses and featherlike lashes who'd helped her sort through her mixed feelings. The man who had once asked her if he looked like a teacher or professor. The man who'd asked her to marry him on New Year's Eve.
“I want you back,” Jerrod said.
“Why?” Pam said in a broken voice.
“I'm sorry I pulled away from you and kept secrets. I know it was wrong, but I want a second chance.”
“Why?”
“I told. I love you.”
“But I pushed you away with my suspicions and--”
“You made a mistake and I did too. That makes us human. And one thing I've learned about being human is that we can break, but we can also heal.” His gaze fell. “When your sister invited me I wasn't going to come. I was angry, but somehow she convinced me.” His gaze met and held hers. “I'm glad I did.”
“But you ended up in the closet.”
A sheepish grin touched his lips. “I know. When I saw you I couldn’t face you so I hid. And the next thing I knew you were in here too.”
“Hiding from my sister.” Pam took his large hand and cradled it in hers. “I guess it's time we both stopped hiding.”
“Yes.”
She lightly brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. “My sister thought I should start the upcoming year with a new man.”
Jerrod pulled her into the circle of his arms and he looked down at her as if she were the most fascinating and beautiful woman he knew. “I am a new man and I'm all yours, if you want me.”
Pam cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips, wanting him to know that she still thought he was the greatest man in the world. She gave her heart to him with complete trust, casting all fear away.
His lips met hers with a tender silent vow and at that moment their wounds began to heal. Neither noticed when the clock struck twelve.
Darlene saw them and raised a glass relieved that her plan had worked. “Happy New Year you two. May it be filled with many more wonderful surprises.”
IV
Something New
Something New
All Lewa Olunlade wanted for Thanksgiving was a turkey and her sister's husband. At thirty-four she dreaded going home for the traditional family gathering where people would laud her sister's excellent 'catch' and bemoan Lewa's single state. She could already imagine what "the Aunts" would say. Although not related by blood, Lewa called them her Aunts out of respect and cultural norm which acknowledged both their ages and that they were close family friends.
"You must stop being so picky," Aunty Elizabeth would say.
"I had two children by your age," Aunty Femi would add with a note of pride.
"The further you're past thirty, your chances of a good husband dwindle to nearly nothing."
"Unless you want a divorced man."
"And he'll probably have children."
"And who wants to raise someone else's children?" Aunty Elizabeth would say with a ring of superiority and distaste, having made herself an expert on men, marriage and childrearing. Although she'd twice had her face rearranged by her husband's fists, no one ever spoke about it because at least she was married and had two wonderful children. At sixty, she'd left her husband in Nigeria, who was now using his fists to beat his mistress and his four children by her, and she was finally free to use the power of being a married woman without having to deal with all the realities.
Aunty Femi had three children who basically tried to ignore her existence so she spent every holiday with the Olunlade family instead. None of her children felt it necessary to include her in their holiday gatherings since she was on the southern East Coast and they had all decided to settle in the northern region. They sent her money to assuage their guilt for their shoddy treatment of her and occasionally an email or a brief phone call, but little else. Lewa could guess that her children were likely embarrassed by their mother's loud coarse ways--her English was poor and her table manners worse. However, Lewa knew Aunty Femi had a good heart and could understand her parents' affection for her. Aunty Femi's marriage had been fine, she'd been a widow for ten years, but Lewa gave up trying to decipher what 'fine' meant although she had on a number of occasions asked Aunty Femi if she'd been happy. Aunty Femi would only reply that she'd been married and leave it at that.
Lewa understood the underlining truth behind every word and glance of the Aunts and her mother: It was better to have a husband--no matter how wretched-- than no husband at all. It was a woman's fate. And she was arrogant and naive to expect any better.
"Caring for another man's children isn't so bad, if the woman isn't around," Aunty Femi would say to continue the conversation. She liked to talk and the topic of marriage and children made her feel smart.
"But then again, a woman isn't meant to be alone, so a divorced man is better than no man," Aunty Elizabeth would add and the Aunts would nod and continue to talk about her as if she wasn't there, because in a way she wasn't. A single woman in her family amounted to only half a woman. Not even a woman, half a person. Lewa could only hope that soon the talk would shift back to her sister, who'd been married three years but still hadn't had a child.
It had surprised everyone that by the end of the first year of marriage she hadn't introduced a new family member, preferably a boy, of course, but a girl would suit as well. After the first childless year, Lewa's sister, Arielle, had just laughed at the teasing, but Lewa could see the strain in her sister's eyes and plastered grin with each passing year.
Maybe this year she'd announce the news her family expected to hear. Lewa could imagine her sister and her husband, Stillman, making good parents. Stillman hit the marriage tri-fecta--family from the upper echelon of Nigerian society, Oxford educated with another degree from Yale and a respectable career as a biomedical scientist. He was solid, respectful and smart. A son-in-law any family would be proud of with skin the color of roasted chestnuts, and a smile as bright as Broadway lights. He was very charming and, on more than one occasion, Lewa wished he was hers. As a beverage scientist, she had a career she was proud of and a number of friends, but Stillman was one of the few individuals she felt easy with. But Lewa knew that her sister's marriage was solid and kept her fantasies to herself and briefly wished she didn't have to see the happily married pair this year. Besides, she didn't want another year of jollof rice, curried trout, plantain moi moi and pepper soup. She wanted a turkey like millions of other US families--even vegetarians celebrated with tofu that at least tasted like turkey.
; Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Lewa listened with awe as her friend, Valerie, a fresh faced blonde from Wisconsin, described her upcoming feast while they sat in the cafeteria of their office building.
"Mashed potatoes, turkey, and cranberry sauce."
"What's the cranberry sauce for?" Lewa asked.
"It goes with the turkey."
Lewa didn't understand but nodded anyway. "Okay go on."
"Just the usual," Valerie shrugged, not understanding her friend's interest. "Cornbread, stuffing, ham, green beans."
Lewa sat back in her seat and sighed. "That sounds heavenly. I wish I could just be a fly on the wall."
"Would you like to come over?"
She sat up with interest. "Really?"
"Sure, we'll have plenty of food and I know my family won't mind."
"Perhaps you should ask your husband first."
Valerie laughed. "As long as he gets food, he doesn't care who shows up. I'm hosting his parents and trust me we'll have leftover for days." She grinned warming to the idea. "Yes, you should come. It will be fun."
Lewa sat back her hope slowly dwindling. "I'll think about it."
But she didn't have to think about it. Lewa knew she would have to ask her mother and she already had a good idea of how she would respond.
"No." Mrs. Olunlade said as she checked over the shopping list for the upcoming feast. They sat in the kitchen while their housegirl, Biti, carefully cleaned the special holiday dishes. Her mother was a small woman with delicate features that belied the mind of a sharp woman who had a successful nursing career and been married thirty-six years to a man who treated her well.