Bigamist

by Elaine Flowers

  “He was in Dallas. In his office at his… They did all they could to save him, so I was told.”

  “I’m on my way,” Kory announced.

  “Use your credit card to book a ticket—both of you. Kory, don’t try to drive. Just get on the next flight, there’s nothing you can do right now. I’m going in to see him so I’ll call you both back.”

  Kylie was openly sobbing so I hated hanging up on her. “Kylie, book a flight and call me back.”

  “Mom…” Kory began.

  “You too, Kory. Call me and let me know when you’re arriving. I love you bo…” I disconnected the call.

  Rose must’ve heard me end the call because she stepped back in just then. She took her seat behind her desk again, so I followed suit and sat as well. There were tissues on her desk so I helped myself to them once she scooted the box forward.

  “Please, know that I hate doing this…” Rose started.

  My phone rang, I pulled it out of my pocket, rejected Coach Wagner’s call, and put it back.

  I made eye contact with her after blowing my nose.

  “But, I just don’t see a way around it.”

  “What is it?”

  “I had been calling you, as you know, for the past week or so. There was an issue I wanted to bring up with you. Again, please, forgive me for doing this right now but since Rick and I got together eleven years ago, I never thought it necessary to ask him for proof that you and he were divorced and recently—”

  “Divorced? Hell no, we’re not divorced. What is this about?” I leaned forward.

  Rose stared at me for several seconds, swallowed hard, and pushed back from her desk. She remained seated but looked as if she wanted to stand.

  Rose cleared her throat. “Rick and I were, for all intents and purposes, m-m-married.” She was struggling. “We—we have a home together, we have a business and several research ventures together… a life togeth… He’s proposed to me many times but we… for whatever reason, never did. I’m not trying to make this more complicated than it already is, obviously, but he was my husband.”

  I felt my tears drying and my face warming, surely turning red. “You’re delusional. Ricky and I have been married for twenty-eight years and have never even been legally separated.”

  That’s when Rose stood to her feet. She turned away from me and for the first time I noticed pictures of her and Ricky on the bookcase behind her.

  “That explains a lot…” she said softly.

  “Well, explain it to me. What are you talking about?”

  “Rick has had two wives all this time and neither of us knew it. There have been signs, which is why I called you. But… I never thought…”

  “I want to question what you’re saying to me but somehow, for Ricky, it’s believable.” I suddenly remembered Kylie’s question of her dad having a second wife. “So, I guess it’s already out there in the news that the good doctor played us for fools. My daughter just asked me.”

  “Really? I didn’t think anyone knew yet. I certainly haven’t said anything to anyone else—none of the doctors or staff. And the way gossip flows around here…”

  “Look, I don’t know what your plan is, but I’ve been married to Ricky for what feels like all my life. I’m his wife and I’m sorry he lied to you, but I have to protect my children.”

  Rose and I locked eyes for a long moment. She seemed like a nice enough lady so I imagined she appreciated my position while I sympathized with hers—but not enough to lay down the gauntlet.

  “Look, we don’t have to figure this all out right now. Let me take you to him.” She exhaled and moved to the door.

  10

  Rose

  I didn’t know how to answer…

  From the moment Amy opened her mouth, I found myself questioning her ethnicity. And then, I couldn’t figure out why I was so focused on that. Pale skin, blond curls, straight nose, and thin lips. What difference did it make? Especially once she made it clear that she and Rick were still married. Had always been married. Had never even been legally separated, as she put it, complete with a slight roll of her neck. She was a black woman, clearly. I didn’t care that she wasn’t white like I had always thought but it gave me something to focus on other than the fact that my husband—common law or whatever—was dead. Rick was dead. He was gone. And now two women had to clean up his mess while working feverishly to keep his reputation untarnished.

  I guided Amy to the room where Rick’s body lie covered and waiting on someone from the morgue to take it once I gave the go-ahead. I pushed open the door, tempted to walk in with her, but I knew she needed her time just as I’d had mine. I stepped out and paced the hallway wondering how this whole mess was going to work out. What would happen? She seemed fine and agreeable now—her dignity intact—but would that last? I wanted to live in the moment and worry later about the lie Rick had obviously been living.

  Being present in the moment took on a whole new meaning when, while I paced the hallway, I heard a commotion coming my way from around the corner. A young statuesque woman who appear-ed to be in her early thirties followed Dr. Cavazos, Rick’s long-time colleague and nemesis. The young woman could easily grace the cover of any magazine even though she was dressed in sweats and a baseball cap covered her long hair—I’m guessing it was weave but I couldn’t be sure. Tears were flowing as she whimpered and struggled to breathe.

  “Dr. McDaniel, is there somewhere we can go?” Dr. Cavazos asked calmly.

  “What’s going on? Who is this?”

  “There’s a situation—trust me, we need privacy.”

  The young woman stepped closer. “Where is he?” she struggled to get out. Her hand disappeared inside the sleeve of her sweatshirt as she used it to dry her face.

  “Who?” I asked her, but wanted an answer from either of them.

  “My husband. Dr. Hart.” She took in a deep breath. “Did he die?”

  I tried gathering my thoughts. What in the world was happening?

  “Excuse me?” I managed to say.

  “Let’s go in your office,” Dr. Cavazos kept his tone steady.

  The three of us marched off across the hallway with me forgetting I’d left Amy in the room with Rick’s lifeless body. We stepped inside and before I could close the door, I spoke up again.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “I was told that my husband—Erick—Dr. Hart, died. Do you know anything or not? I keep getting the run around here.”

  I didn’t know how to answer her, so I added my own question. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Iris Hart. Who are you?”

  “This is Dr. McDaniel. She’s…”

  “Look, have a seat and I will be able to give you more information shortly.” I turned away from her. Taking her in was too difficult. “Can I speak to you for a moment, Dr. Cavazos?”

  “Just give us a moment, please,” he said to her and helped her to an empty chair.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him as soon as the door closed.

  “I was hoping you could tell me. She was running around asking questions—got everyone talking all over the hospital. I think there’s something going around on the Internet, too. Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Dr. Cavazos ran a hand through his wavy cold black hair.

  “I wish I could say no. But…” before I could finish, Amy stepped into the hallway, coming toward us. “Let me introduce you to Rick’s first wife—and according to her, his current wife.”

  Visibly distraught, Amy wiped tears from her face. She took out her phone ready to make a call. A group of people made their way past us, so I waited until they were around the corner.

  “Amy, we’ve got a new development on our hands.”

  Dr. Cavazos spoke up, “I’m confused.”

  “There’s another woman here—claiming to be Rick’s wife.”

  “That son of a bitch.” Her tears started anew. “Where is she?”

  I pointed towards my office. “Let’s get
this over with.”

  I opened the door to my office. Iris was staring straight ahead and slowly turned in our direction as I allowed the two to come in after me.

  Iris dabbed at the tears on her cheeks and cleared her throat. “So, is he dead or not?”

  “Wow, this is crazy,” Amy mumbled, clearly not able to wait until proper introductions were made.

  “Who are you?” Iris snapped her neck around.

  “The question is, who are you?” Amy stepped in closer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re running…”

  “Look, why don’t we all calm down,” Dr. Cavazos started.

  “And who the hell are you?” Amy was on a roll.

  “Hey, this isn’t helpful,” I said to Amy and then turned back to Iris. “To answer your question, yes, Rick died this afternoon, apparently from a heart attack. We won’t know for sure until an autopsy has been done. But first, I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Amy Hart,” I could hear my voice trailing off.

  “I don’t get it,” Iris announced.

  “What’s not to get? I’ve been married to Ricky for nearly three decades.” Amy’s neck was rolling again. “Probably as long as you’ve been living.”

  Iris stood to her feet, towering over Amy. “Are you suggesting Erick has another wife—and that wife would be you?”

  “No, I’m suggesting that he had two other wives…” Amy nodded towards me.

  “Bitch, please.”

  “Bitch?” Amy stepped in closer, making herself appear even smaller than Iris. “I got your bitch.”

  Dr. Cavazos stepped between the two women but not before the swearing and profanity flew around the confined space.

  I took Iris by the arm, but she snatched away.

  “And you too,” Iris yelled.

  “Hey, Rick—Dr. Hart obviously led secret lives with each of us,” I said, noticing the front of Iris’s sweatshirt was wet but stopped before pointing to it. I assumed she was nursing but I kept quiet; I just didn’t want things to get any more complicated. “Follow me, I’ll take you to see him.”

  Just then, Amy let out a bellowing cry.

  We continued out of the door. Amy’s heart-wrenching cry started fresh tears for both Iris and me.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “That’s what we’re all trying to figure out.” I stopped in front of the door with Rick’s body on the other side and turned to Iris. “Are you nursing?”

  Iris looked down at the front of her Texas A&M sweatshirt and cried even harder. She grabbed the bottom of it and fanned it out.

  “It’s okay, I’ll get you some paper towels.”

  “We have a new baby and a four-year-old.” She sniffed and pointed to the door. “Is he in there?”

  “Yes.” I was glad there was no time for me to consider all that I had learned in the past hour.

  “Can you come with me?”

  “I think it’d be best if…”

  “Please. I’ve never…”

  It was nothing I wouldn’t do for any random patient, so I erased from my mind who she was, and the predicament Rick had put us all in and simply opened the door, leading her inside.

  I stood next to Rick’s young wife with my hand resting on her shoulder as she whimpered over him. What was next? How bad was this really gonna get? How would we, the wives of Dr. Hart, handle the horror of it all? And, who would come out on top?

  11

  Iris

  … tempted to clap back…

  There was no escaping the fallout of the trending headline, “Dr. Hart and His Three Wives.” It was everywhere. I even heard the story made it to Entertainment Tonight with Kevin Frazier reporting. I could only believe that because of my online presence and hundreds of thousands of followers, that there was even any real interest in the story. But, strangely enough, headlines didn’t read “Online Blogger Finds Out Her Husband Has 2 Other Wives,” instead, many of them read, “Renowned Heart Surgeon’s Death Unveils 3 Wives.” It was all too much.

  Erick was dead but time to mourn him would obviously have to come later. Marigold never left my side, sitting on Erick’s side of the bed while I pumped breast milk.

  “I spoke to your doctor and she’s sending over a prescription for sleep, safe enough while you’re nursing.”

  I simply detached the pump, secured my nursing bra, and turned over in the bed as a response.

  “How are you feeling, sweetie?” Marigold patted my foot through the heavy comforter.

  “Terrible,” I mumbled just before fresh tears burned my eyes.

  “Can I offer you some advice?”

  “Oh, now you’re asking first?” I popped my head up from the pillow.

  “Seriously, stop responding to people’s comments on Twitter and Facebook. It’s not helping the situation.”

  “The repost of me bragging about having a husband resurfaced. Women are dogging me out big time.”

  “I know. I saw it—and your response.”

  I groaned and turned over again.

  “You can’t do anything about what you tweeted years ago. That’s done and over. But, don’t get on the level of people who are reveling in the scandal. In fact, don’t even read it. Let me keep track of what’s going on and I’ll let you know when there’s something out there that needs to be addressed.”

  “Easier said than done…”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  I felt Marigold get up from the bed.

  “I’m going to uninstall your social media apps—just for a while. I’ll keep them up for the time being. I don’t want you tempted to clap back the next time a meme is posted.”

  “There are memes?” My head popped up again.

  Marigold stood over me, picking up my phone from the nightstand. “You know people use any situation to make people laugh. Don’t worry about it—it’ll all blow over in time.” She swiped the screen on my phone and typed in the pass code. “But, in the meantime, I’ll clear your phone just in case you’re curious enough to take a peek.”

  I buried my head deeper under the comforter hoping for sleep.

  “I’ll take this milk so your mom can label it and put it in the fridge. I’ll be downstairs working and will pick up your prescription when it’s ready. Do you need anything?”

  I exhaled loudly, which she clearly took as me answering no because I heard the door close a moment later. I patiently waited for sleep to come but until it did, I kept reliving my words from a few years ago—words that, I’m guessing, will live on forever.

  The woman, or should I say media troll calling herself TruthBTold, from years ago was back at it with a vengeance. It all started with her lying saying I had lost an endorsement and was being sued by a cosmetic company because another person had an adverse reaction to a makeup product based on my instructions on how to apply it. None of it was true but it took off like wildfire and I felt the need to defend myself. Of course, this woman kept—or found—our exchange from the summer of 2014, reframed my response, making it new and reposted it, and happily refreshed the memories of those who had long forgotten it.

  BloggerQueen: Homeless? You’re confusing me with yo family. My HUSBAND is a SUCCESSFUL surgeon so being homeless is nothing I fear even if #BeautyTech was suing me, which they’re not. Get your facts straight! Maybe your man is struggling to keep a roof over your head…oh, that’s right, you don’t have one. #bitchPLEASE.

  The ball was rolling then…

  TruthBTold: You FAB, I don’t need to cling to a man’s success. I’m successful within my own right! #ufakewannabewriter.

  * * *

  BloggerQueen: A success at what? Hoeing? FYI, I am a world-renowned writer, being paid BIG $$$ to write about products you can’t afford to buy.

  * * *

  TruthBTold: Writer??? :-D :-D Blogging is nothing more than punctuated graffiti. #getoveryourself

  And that’s when it really got ugly. The name calling and cursing each other out bled over onto Twitter, and then it
took on a life of its own. Once things died down, the executives at BeautyTech chastised me and I calmed my interactions with the online public down, letting my fans rip that woman apart while praising Erick and I.

  As much as I didn’t want TruthBTold to have the last word, I didn’t have it in me to start that whole thing up again. There were simply too many other things to focus on.

  12

  Amy

  If Ricky wasn’t already…

  Three wives and three memorial services—the spectacle seemed to be getting reported on every news show on every channel. Maybe it wasn’t, but it seemed to be. Because it was unclear who to release his body to, I couldn’t have an actual funeral—and obviously Rose and Iris couldn’t either. Within a 24-hour period, there would be three memorial services in three different cities for one man.

  Plants and flowers crowded the front of the church, surrounding a large portrait of Ricky resting on an easel. There was a video with a montage of photos of him, the kids, and me. The service was quick and mechanical, no one daring to mention the obvious—the pink elephant in the room. I’ve never been one to avoid the obvious, so it took all I had not to step to the microphone in the crowded church and be the first to bring it up. I remained seated, imagining myself taking those few steps to the podium and saying how I felt.

  “Unless you’ve been lost in outer space the last few weeks, I’m sure you’ve seen the news or read online reports.” Or, “Yes, Ricky was married to two other women.” Or, “No, I didn’t know about Ricky’s other wives but I’m not as shocked as the rest of you.” Or, “If Ricky wasn’t already dead, I’d shoot the bastard in his cold-blooded heart.” Or even, “This motherfucker fucked over me for the last time.”

  Since I didn’t know what to say or how to say it, I remained seated and performed as expected to the end. Since there was no body or casket, it made things easier to get through the service, I think. It was like partial closure—not the finality a funeral and burial offers. I’m not sure if it was good for our children but none of this was good.