The January Girl

by Goldie Taylor

  “We’ll have two sweet iced teas if you have it,” she said, looking away. “And lemon, please.”

  After presenting the drinks, the waiter returned with Maryland crab cake sandwiches, the special appetizer, and a plate of fresh berries. Etienne picked at the fruit and decided she couldn’t stomach a single bite.

  “You should eat something,” Helene prodded.

  “I don’t feel like eating.”

  Helene took a sip of tea. “You haven’t said a word about the boys. How are they taking the news?”

  “As well as can be expected. They’re staying with Gail for a while.”

  Abigail Stewart, a twenty-year friend and sorority sister from her days at Spelman, had readily taken the boys for a few days. Etienne hadn’t told Jack where they were and Gail had strict orders to call if Jack made an attempt to see Jack Jr. and Jacob.

  “I’ll shoot his black ass if I have to,” Gail had assured her.

  Etienne silently wished it would come to that. In her estimation, Jack had been something short of a worthless father.

  “The boys are fine, Mother. This is the best thing for them.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Helene examined her daughter’s face.

  “Arrogant fool.” She was talking in rapid bursts now, quickly making up for six days of tortured silence. “That’s what he is. I don’t mind telling you, Mother, that he hasn’t touched me in well over a year. He wants me to believe that there is no one else. If I am anything at all, I’m not stupid. Lies. I am sick of the lies. He doesn’t even have enough respect to come home at night. It’s horrible, Mother. Just horrid,” she said, twisting the diamond wedding band and engagement ring. “I can’t believe I married him.”

  She got tired of twisting, took off the Harry Winston six-carat diamond wedding set and plopped it into the half glass of tea. Helene raised her left brow and watched it float to the bottom. Resting in the glass, the diamond seemed even larger and more brilliant.

  “Where does he say he’s been?”

  “When he’s not on call—and that’s every weekend,” Etienne explained, “he says he sleeps at the office. Sometimes he doesn’t even come home to change clothes. Yet he mysteriously shows up in a fresh suit.”

  “It must have been difficult for you,” Helene lamented.

  “He doesn’t even care. I’ve pleaded and begged. After fifteen years, I’ve been reduced to begging.”

  Etienne excused herself from the table and fumbled her way to the ladies’ room. She rushed into an open stall and threw up.

  After ten minutes, Helene grew concerned. She dumped the tea into an empty water glass, dried off the ring, and put it in her coin purse. She found Etienne hovered over the commode, wet-faced and pitiful.

  “Come now, dear,” she said, wrapping her arms around Etienne’s shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

  Helene dabbed Etienne’s face with a cool hand cloth and led her out of the restroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The women had just arrived at the town house when Etienne’s cell phone rang. She sequestered herself in the lower parlor and took the call.

  “Are you ready for this?” Finlayson asked. “Jack’s attorney has filed a response.”

  “He isn’t contesting the divorce, is he?” She stretched out on the love seat, kicked off her Jimmy Choo slingbacks, and listened.

  “Quite the contrary, he is offering a settlement.”

  “Premature, don’t you think? He doesn’t know what I want.”

  “The offer is more than generous.”

  “For fifteen years and two sons, it very well should be,” she snarled.

  “You might be surprised.”

  “Gimme the number.”

  “Five million. Based on his known assets, it’s more than equitable.”

  “The hell it is,” Etienne said. She swallowed and asked, “What about the house?”

  “He contends that it is not marital property since it was a family home before you married him. However, the offer allows for the purchase of a new home of similar value.”

  “And Sea Island? What about the summerhouse?”

  “He’s willing to share it. Alternating summers.”

  “I don’t want it anyway. He kept his bitches down there,” she sniffed. “And Telluride? What about the chalet?”

  “It’s yours. The judge might demand mediation.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Sixty days, maybe. That depends on which judge we draw. I’ll shop for the most expedient. And one more thing. Jack wants to know where the boys are. The judge won’t like it if you’re hiding them.”

  “They’re here with me in Washington,” she lied.

  Finlayson knew better, but didn’t challenge her. “Did you know Jack bought a condo five years ago?” he continued.

  She sat straight up and asked, “Where?”

  “In Buckhead. Paid cash.”

  “No.”

  “I am including it in the filing.”

  “Who lives there?”

  She could hear papers rustling. “Thandywaye Malone. Do you know her?” Finlayson asked.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “The property was listed in both her name and Jack’s until a month ago. A quitclaim deed was filed removing her name from the record.”

  Etienne could barely contain her anger. She dropped her head and her shoulders slumped. Damp faced, she pulled a Kleenex from a box on the cocktail table. She told Finlayson she would call later. She stepped into the kitchen, where her mother was emptying and filling the dishwasher.

  “It’s almost over, Mother. He wants to get rid of me so badly that he’s willing to pay through the nose.”

  She fell into her mother’s waiting arms and began to cry.

  “He bought that tramp a house!”

  Helene ignored the possibility that Jack wasn’t everything the bishop had thought him to be.

  “We have to get you cleaned up,” she consoled.

  After another long bath, Etienne steadied herself. She went back to the parlor and phoned Finlayson.

  “Tell him I want fifteen million,” she demanded. “One for every year. That’s over and above the boys’ trust funds and monthly support payments. Every penny that state allows. He’s got every dime of that and more. Tell him I won’t take one red cent less.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  At six in the evening, the first streaks of dusk painted the sky as the trail along Lake Michigan began to empty. Thandy glanced over the horizon, where the blue waters met the purple-stained sky. She let her eyes wander over the limestone-encrusted beach to trace the divide. Somewhere beyond it lay the world, the life she had left behind, the end of a chapter.

  She could feel her breasts bobbing; the soles of her feet burned; sweat poured down the center of her back; her chest pounded. She cursed every hill up and down as she crossed through Promontory Point, past the aquarium, and beyond. Still she ran. A group of chatty power walkers lingered somewhere behind her. She had been amused with their henhousing, the doings of their husbands, a neighbor’s philandering ways. Others had come on ten-speed bikes and still others floated by on Rollerblades. One after the other zoomed by and she let them.

  “Run your own race,” Thandy told herself.

  Mr. Blue Shorts was fifty yards or better up ahead. She marveled at his taut leg muscles and how they expanded with his stride. She’d stolen a look at his bare broad chest as he passed. His skin was rich and smooth like chocolate cake batter—the kind your mother would let you lick right out of the bowl. She slowed to a manageable shuffle, admiring his backside as it disappeared up and over a bridge. That was good, too. It was almost a relief to see something wonderful, something that didn’t immediately remind her of Jack. She kept running. Chocolate cake never looked so good in blue shorts!

  If she made it back to Hyde Park, she’d force herself to do a hundred crunches, she promised. Liposuction wasn’t an option. She had another three mil
es of trail left, give or take, and then at least two more on the street. The trail ended in a park. She cut across the green, through a parking lot, and over Hyde Park Boulevard, where the traffic was heavy. A white Chevy barreled through the light, barely missing her. The driver blew his horn.

  She shook it off and ran on. She’d been in Chicago just under a month. It had been just under two months since she’d last seen Jack. Forty-five days, four hours, and fifteen minutes to be exact. She’d managed to avoid him until she and Montana boarded the plane. She would learn, she told herself, to stop counting the breaths, to stop walking between the raindrops. She moved swiftly through the business district, passing a stone church and a row of assorted eateries and barbershops. Memories of her life with Jack came with every stride. She remembered every detail. All ten years’ worth. She was too worn out to get angry again. Too tired to be mad. Too full of resolve to go back. Keep going.

  She owed something to herself, but she wasn’t sure what. She just didn’t want to be last in line anymore. Thandy picked up the pace again as she passed a line of brick row houses and century-old tenements, almost racing by the school yard as she made the last turn onto her block. She gave it a final kick as she entered from the paved alleyway.

  Her neighbors, to the left and right, were a gingerly mix of doctors, professors, and assorted other professionals: some white, most black, some of whom worked for the University of Chicago in one capacity or another. It was a good place for her daughter, she reasoned. Someplace she would encounter people from varied walks of life, with circumstances different from their own. She wanted Montana to appreciate their life, the early years that Thandy hadn’t yet found the words to tell her about.

  Montana was sitting on the sofa eating chips and a diet cola when Thandy stumbled in the door.

  “Hey, kiddo,” she blew out.

  “I was about to send out a search party. You want some dinner?” Montana said, clicking down the TV volume.

  Thandy hadn’t thought about food. Just chocolate cake. “I’m good. Not really hungry.”

  “How far did you run?”

  “Oh, just down Lake Michigan to downtown and back.”

  “And back?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mom, that’s gotta be twenty miles.”

  “Twenty-two,” she huffed. “I had a little encouragement.”

  “You’re not a serious runner, you know?”

  “Yeah, well, I am now. I was following this guy who had a good pace going.”

  “You mean he was good-looking.”

  “Watch yourself, young lady,” Thandy warned in a motherly tone.

  “Okay, so he was fine. That made you run twenty-two miles?”

  “No. He just livened up the scenery.” She giggled.

  Montana thought for a moment, then said, “It’s okay if you date, you know.”

  “And I need whose permission?”

  “I’m just saying . . . Well, maybe I should run you a cold bath.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She laughed. “I can hold it together.”

  Thandy dragged herself through the dining room and disappeared into the kitchen. Montana eased off the sofa and followed. Thandy stumbled past a refrigerator full of bottled water and stuck her mouth under the sink faucet. She let the coolness run all over her face.

  Montana stood arms crossed in the archway. At seventeen, she already had a beautifully sculpted figure and a serious, though somewhat easy, disposition. She was her mother’s self-appointed protector. “Are you going to drown yourself now?”

  “Not a chance. I can think of better ways to die than that. Hand me a towel.”

  Montana tossed her a dry towel.

  “Drowning? Now, that would be too easy,” Thandy said, shaking away the water. “Besides, I ain’t got time to die.”

  They were still laughing when Thandy felt a dull pain radiating in her lower back.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, baby. I’m okay.”

  “Maybe you’re running too much.”

  Thandy pulled her head out of the sink and looked at her daughter. She admired her grace. Truly a force of nature, Montana had been blessed with her father’s face. It was perfectly symmetrical, almost better than perfect. At five-foot-eight, she was a full six inches taller than her mother—another gift from her father. Save for the electric coral-colored eyes and an ironclad will, she’d inherited almost nothing from Thandy. She watched Montana stand over the kitchen island studying a stack of mail and picking through a magazine. You’re so much better than me, so much smarter. Don’t you dare fall for some slick-talking bastard. It’ll wreck everything. Everything I gave you.

  In the month since they had arrived in Chicago, Thandy had run almost every day. Never prone to invite her daughter into her troubles, she was satisfied that Montana remained puzzled about the sudden move. Thandy never talked about men, least of all the very married Jack Gabrielle. If Montana believed her mother to be a nun, Thandy thought it would be just fine. As she matured, it had been increasingly difficult to hide him, to mask her glee whenever he did something wonderful, or to bury the pain when he didn’t.

  “If you’re going to run like that, you’ll need better shoes,” Montana chided. “A heart monitor wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Honey, I’m only thirty-four. Remember?”

  “I read about this guy who had a heart attack. He was only thirty-seven. Please tell me you’ll be careful.”

  There she was, already talking like a doctor. In a few months, she would head to Connecticut for undergraduate studies at Yale, where she planned to major in biology. Thandy smiled. “I will take care of myself. I promise.”

  Thandy was certain, if not wishful, that her daughter was still a virgin. You would tell me, right? Maybe I shouldn’t have bought you such a nice car.

  “Did you finish unpacking your room?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For giving me a few less things to worry about.”

  Thandy had known the answer before she’d asked. Montana was an orderly creature. Your room is clean. Now just tell me you haven’t had sex, she pleaded in her head. Montana was far too beautiful to go unnoticed. Thandy opened her arms and wrapped herself around her. She had been a good mother, she tried to tell herself. Montana was living proof that her sacrifices were paying off.

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  “Thank you, baby,” Thandy replied. “I love you, too.”

  After a cold supper, Thandy forgot her crunches, popped in a movie, and settled down on the sofa. Montana sat on the floor between her mother’s legs. Thandy parted her daughter’s hair in neat sections and slicked oil onto her scalp. Montana closed her eyes and let her mind float off to nowhere.

  Thandy began braiding her hair in perfect rows from the front to the nape of her neck, gently twisting and pulling the strands into order. The long cornrows fell generously below Montana’s shoulder blades. Thandy began to hum. Her voice was low and deep, soothing and soulful. Soon Montana was humming, too.

  Both were sounding drowsy, wrapped up in each other’s arms, before the movie was finished. Montana’s hip pressed against her mother’s thigh, their heartbeats in close sync. While most girls her age were declaring their independence, pushing the edge of the envelope, Montana was still her mother’s child. Thandy gazed at her face as she slept, taking her in, all at once admiring and prideful.

  She was alone now and that was fine. Leaving Jack was so much easier than being gone, she kept saying to herself. She’d folded her tent, closed camp, and set off for something new. Maybe she was weak for running away, but she didn’t want to bump into him on the street and pretend there had been nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After eight hours of sporadic sleep, Thandy rose before dawn and readied herself for her first day of work. Montana was already awake, bright eyed and bushy tailed, searching her closet for the rig
ht outfit to wear to school.

  “Mom, whaduya think?”

  “Hmmm, I don’t think pink is your color.”

  “It was my color last year.”

  “Honey, it’s fall. And isn’t that my shirt?”

  “Argh!”

  “You asked.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “I always am. Now put my shirt back where you found it. It’s too small for you anyway.”

  Twenty minutes later, Thandy watched as Montana backed her car out of the detached two-car garage just as the lawn sprinklers got going for the morning. A cautious person by nature, Montana was almost as reliable as the automated system. Thandy watched her pull into the alleyway and onto the street.

  She nursed her second thermos of coffee that morning as she drove along through the rush hour. The traffic inched along slowly but steadily. She beat back the uneasy feeling that crept up in her stomach. She’d been a little queasy that morning, but quickly chalked it up to nerves. Her thigh muscles twitched and jumped. Her back still ached a little. Maybe a little less caffeine, she reasoned. She was too young for a heart monitor, but a better pair of running shoes wasn’t such a bad idea.

  She fumbled her way to Madison Street and parked her car in the underground lot. The space on the first level already had her name on it. She looked at the painted sign that read “Reserved 24 hours, Campbell-Perkins President” and smiled slightly. She grabbed her briefcase and unloaded a box from the trunk. A passerby offered a hand, but Thandy declined.

  On the way up, the elevator stopped on the fourth and eighteenth floors. Four men and a woman got on at the fourth floor. All were nicely tailored. Thandy’s eyes panned first to the Brooks Brothers shoes, then upward to their white faces. A black girl, no more than twenty-five, got on at eighteen. Her Payless pumps and thin, flowery skirt said she was at best somebody’s secretary. Thandy smiled warmly and said good morning. The girl said nothing at first. She returned a polite smile when she realized Thandy was talking to her. Everyone else in the elevator, all the white faces, spoke only to one another, consumed in serious conversation. Thandy shifted the box in her arms, got a better grip on her briefcase, tipped her head, and got off on the forty-second floor.