Brian walked toward her as she stepped into the hallway.
“Eat something,” he said. “If you don’t want chow mein or sweet and sour chicken, I can make you something else.”
The idea of swallowing anything made her want to gag. She reached out and tugged his hand. “Kids are chowing down?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s go make that call.” She pointed to the upstairs.
“You sure?”
She nodded. They needed to get it over with.
Upstairs in their bedroom, she tucked her legs underneath her on the bed, and perched beside him as he dialed Lisette first on her cell phone. She didn’t answer. Tracey watched as Brian dialed another number. She guessed it was Lisette’s apartment. Tracey refused to dwell on the fact that he knew both numbers by heart.
Tracey listened as Brian said, “Lisette … I know …”
Tracey picked at her fingernails for a moment before she leaned over and grabbed an emery board from the top of her night stand to channel her energy into something constructive.
Brian stayed silent for what seemed like a long time before he spoke again. “I’m not agreeing to … no … no, you can tell me right now.”
Tracey raised her hand in the air, waggled her newly filed fingernails then pointed to her face.
He wiped his forehead before switching the phone to the other hand. “Meet me? I can’t.” Quiet once again. “Um hmm … no … it won’t be like that.” Long pause. “That’s the way it has to be. I can get you what you need, all right. You don’t have to make threats.” Pause. “I’ll let you know.”
He clicked the phone off.
“So?” Tracey asked.
“She wants a recommendation for a new job. She’s applied for a position at one of the Children’s Hospital network offices.”
Tracey stifled a laugh. “A recommendation? You’re kidding. She stood on our porch today for a recommendation?”
Brian shrugged. She studied his face. He looked weary, like he was tired of surprises and wanted some rest for his soul. Join the club.
Tracey stopped filing her nails. “Are you going to let her list you as a reference?”
He shrugged again. “If it will stop her from showing up here and help her move on with her life.”
“It sounds like an excuse to me so she can stay connected to you. But you know what? Let her go ahead and list you as one of her references and let that be the end of it. Has she asked Doug or Dan for personal recommendations?”
“No. She wants me as a reference. She wants me to meet with her to talk about it.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Tracey rolled her eyes. “I’m not accepting you going face to face to talk with her about jobs.”
“I figured that.” He paused. “But she said something about a case for sexual harassment. That she could make things difficult for me if I didn’t do what she asked.”
Tracey stared in Brian’s face. Not a trace of a joke. He dropped his gaze to the floor, his face slack.
Tracey rubbed her face, smoothed her hair with her hands and breathed out slow. “This means … ?”
“I should meet with her and hear what she has to say. Let her know she has my approval to list me as a reference and I’ll help out if anyone calls me. If I don’t, there’s no telling how far she’ll go to get my attention.”
Tracey snorted. “Unbelievable. Sexual harassment? I thought everything was mutual with you two?”
“She was my subordinate, and I had the advantage. If she hires a lawyer and drums up a case, it would be her word against mine about how it all started and if she says she felt pressured to do what I wanted—”
Tracey finished his statement: “ … even if she didn’t have much of a case, it would be enough to cause trouble and ruin your reputation as a professional.”
“Yes.” He nodded as he looked in her eyes. “I’m sorry. A thousand times. A thousand different ways,” Brian said.
Tracey believed him. She studied his face. He looked every bit as stressed as she was. “I know.”
“And did you really try to run her over with your Volvo?” He asked.
Tracey was so not in the mood to discuss that bit of history. “No. But I came close.” She ran her hands through her hair again. “Look, I need a minute to myself. I’m going back downstairs.”
“If you need to vent, go on and vent. You don’t have to run and get on the phone with Monica, Charla, or your mother.”
She cocked her head to the side. Amazing. After all these years he still didn’t trust that when she said she needed a minute to herself, that’s exactly what it was. No phone calls. And no talking unless it was to the Lord.
Tracey slid off the bed, and pulled her jeans higher up on her behind—they’d slipped down low again. “I need to go pray. Is that okay with you?”
She watched his eyes. They were squinted with hurt. She’d spoken the wrong words with the wrong attitude again. But why didn’t he get it? Why was he so disconnected from her feelings? She stood in front of him now, starving but too ticked off to eat anything. Hair a hot mess. Shirt wrinkled. Weighed down. Everyone had needs. She had to keep on keeping on.
“So you know where I’m going and what I’ll be doing.” She stalked out of the room, giving herself a mental pat on the back as she successfully forced back the urge to throw in the words, “And maybe you should do the same.”
Tracey marched back downstairs, made a pit stop in the family room to grab her Bible and purse, and headed down the hall to the tiny bathroom and shut the door. She dropped to the floor. Stone tile dug into her knees, but she didn’t change her position. Head down. Muscles tight. Quiet. She clasped her hands. Kept her head bowed.
No words would come. Nothing.
She changed her position, taking her Bible down from the edge of the sink and sitting down hard on her butt to page through it. Page after page passed under her fingertips but frustration kept her from resting on a specific verse and meditating on it. She couldn’t concentrate enough to read anything, not even a psalm. She pulled her purse over and rummaged through it. In the bottom was the marriage booklet Pastor Downes had given her. She hadn’t bothered to do anything with it, so it rested stiff and new in her hands.
She flipped through the book for a minute before pitching it into the wastebasket next to the toilet. Stupid book! Who the heck was Dr. Frank Dockens, anyway? And where was the chapter on how to deal with beautiful fools who threaten to sue your spouse for sexual harassment?
On second thought, she should keep the book. Maybe she’d use it one day. She leaned over and reached into the wastebasket, fished the book out, and pushed it into the bottom of her purse again. Her purse? Stuffed full of papers, appointment cards, and who knew what else. Barely any room for anything. When she shoved in the booklet, a page from Alice’s overdue Verizon phone bill popped up. As she slid the bill back in, a card for Pernell’s neurologist stuck out the top.
Tracey sighed. This was not the time to let her marriage fall apart. Too many people were depending on both of them. She peeked at the cover of the booklet again, Pastor Downes’s words resonating in her head:
Do you want your marriage to get better or worse?
Better of course. But this was not going to be as simple as forgive and move on. Not by a long shot. A week earlier she had allowed herself to hope. Felt a little joy about the possibility of forgiveness, healing, and fresh beginnings. Pushed herself to take a risk and learn how to dance for Brian. She’d seen herself as a woman in motion, capable of resilience and rebirth. It took one day of strange events to murder that vision.
If Brian played a sultry slow jam for her right now, it wouldn’t matter.
She’d forgotten where she’d stashed those sky-high heels and she couldn’t remember one single move.
15
Tracey had suggested to Brian that he meet Lisette in the Starbucks at Target on City Line Avenue. It was a busy, public place with a huge plate glass window looking right out onto the parking lot. No way would she let Brian go alone to meet up a woman he’d stopped an affair with, no matter what the circumstances. So he agreed to drive to Target that Thursday evening. Tracey would follow him, stay in the parking lot, and watch all their interactions from her car.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay seeing us talking?” Brian asked as he closed the back door and followed Tracey down the steps to the driveway.
She thought about that for a second as they traipsed to their cars.
“Let me put it this way,” she yanked her car door open. “I’d rather see the two of you talking than not see you.”
They headed out.
She’d shifted roles again. First she was the betrayed wife. Then the forgiving wife. Then the potential dancer. Now what? Wannabe spy?
By the time they approached Target, Tracey felt itchy, hot, and jumpy. She reached down and turned the heater off, right before turning into the parking lot. She positioned the car as close to the store as she could without illegally parking in a handicapped spot, turned off the ignition, and settled in to wait.
“Lord, if there is a pathway out of this nutty situation that leads to some peace in our relationship please show me where to find it. Thank you. Amen,” she prayed.
A clear evening. Tracey could see right into the Starbucks, all the way to the counter where Brian stood ordering a coffee or tea or something. She craned her neck around and scanned the area. No Lisette so far. Brian walked over to one of the condiment tables and put something in his drink, turned and took a few strides over to a table pushed against the front window. Excellent. Now when Lisette came in, Tracey would be able to see the whole thing from beginning to end.
And if her marriage disintegrated, at least she could contemplate becoming a private investigator.
Tracey rubbed her eyes. When she opened them she felt a teeny electric shock shoot up from her gut. Good Lord! In two seconds Lisette had materialized out of nowhere and now she stood right next to the table where Brian sat. She wore a short black trench coat and dark jeans. Wonderful. At least she wasn’t wearing a tight halter top and hot pants or something skanky. Stop it, Tracey. Be still and watch.
Tracey dared her eyes not to blink as Lisette sat down opposite Brian and started talking. From what Tracey could observe from the parking lot, all they did was chat—though it appeared Lisette led the conversation. She was a movement talker. She waved her hands in front of her face and gestured a lot as she yakked away. Brian sat rigid. Shoulders set. Face motionless. Mostly nodded and let Lisette talk. When he did move his lips, it was brief. Probably one word answers. It was the same thing he did with Tracey when he wanted to escape a conversation. Occasionally he would pick up his cup and take a few sips, but he didn’t do much else.
Tracey couldn’t remember ever watching a silent conversation between two people so intensely. Well, maybe once. She was seventeen and studying at the library after school. That time, she‘d been the one sitting inside by the window. She had looked up from her geometry book for a moment and found herself staring at a couple standing on the sidewalk. Arguing. They had to have been in their early twenties. The man, broad and beefy, looked about a hundred pounds heavier than the thin pale brunette who stood in front of him. His arms were crossed tight across his chest. The thin woman stood with her arms akimbo, her mouth moving a mile a minute. The man said nothing. But he kept inching closer and closer to her. She talked. He moved. She talked. He moved. Finally, the man let his arms down, reared back and pushed the woman so hard she stumbled back and fell to the pavement. He said something to her as she lay there weeping and dejected, and then he stalked away.
Watching Brian and Lisette from her parked car was worse than seeing two strangers in a violent argument. But seeing them aroused the same feeling inside she’d had back then—a sickening awareness that she should not be watching, but unable to turn away.
Why did she need to watch, anyway? To make sure Brian didn’t go waltzing off with her? To be certain they didn’t hug or kiss? Tracey’s phone buzzed, jolting her out of her thoughts. She didn’t intend to talk unless it was someone important. She yanked it out of her coat pocket, checked the caller ID, then answered it.
“Hi Ma. What is it?”
“Is Brianna allowed to eat ice cream with chocolate syrup in your living room?”
“No. Tell her to stay in the kitchen until she’s finished.”
Tracey had brought Alice to the house earlier that day to watch Brianna while Brian and Tracey went out that evening. Ever since Tracey’s talk with Kyle, she went out of her way to make sure she didn’t rely on Tyler to watch his sister all the time. At least tonight he could enjoy his Friday with his friends.
“All right, I’ll corral the little chick,” her mother said. “Oh, and I need to ask you something when you get back.”
“Sure thing. Ma, I’ve gotta go.”
“Bye.”
She clicked off, shoved the phone back in her pocket, and focused her attention back to the Starbucks window. This time she saw Lisette with her mouth shut and her eyes turned down, staring at the top of the table. Then Lisette looked at Brian as he leaned on the table with both elbows, shoulders still rigid. It looked like he was letting out more words than he’d uttered during the entire conversation. He pointed at Lisette, said something else, smacked the top of the table with his hand, and sat back in his chair.
Tracey guessed that was the end of the conversation when she saw Lisette get up, walk out of Starbucks, and make a beeline for the front door of Target. Her face was rigid as she pulled a phone out of her purse, pressed a button and started talking. She clicked off, clutched her phone in her hand and stood there. Half a minute later, a red Mustang whipped down the driveway and right up to where Lisette stood. She climbed in and the car sped away.
When Tracey looked over at Brian through the window, he sat there with his arms crossed, looking at nothing. Tracey was torn. Should she go in and see him? Pull out her phone and call him? What?
Nothing, it turned out. Brian grabbed his coat off the chair and walked out of the store. He moved so fast he was in his car and about to drive off before she could react.
Her eyes felt full of sand and the skin on her face tight. She probably hadn’t blinked during the entire exchange. And now, seeing Brian back up and drive away fast, almost as if he’d forgotten she was watching, her backside felt welded to the seat and she lost the ability to turn the ignition key.
Two seconds later she came to her senses and turned the car on. “This better be good and over now,” she muttered.
Back at the house, Tracey questioned Alice: “Brian’s not here? Did he come through here at all?” Tracey stood unbuttoning her coat in the family room.
Alice was reclined on the couch in the family room, with Brianna laying across her legs fighting sleep. They were watching Garfield on the large-screen TV.
“Nobody came through here ’cept Ty, and he’s upstairs,” Alice said. “How come you’re back so soon? I thought y’all would be out till late. And how come you’re here and he isn‘t?”
Tracey reached for her phone as she backed out of the room. “It’s a long story. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Where in the world? What in the world? And why now, doggone it? Tracey paced back and forth in the dining room, her cell phone to her ear. Brian’s phone rang seven times before he answered it.
“Brian, I’m home. Now where are you?” Her voice rose up an octave. She had one hand placed on her hip, the other gripped the back of a dining room chair. She dug her nails into the fabric.
“I’m in Germantown driving around. I was thinking about stopping by Ricky’s house for a minute.”
His voice sounded curt and gri
m. His tone made Tracey’s stomach muscles tighten.
“But everything’s taken care of now right? You don’t need to talk about anything else with her do you?”
“Right now I need to think. I need to blow off some steam.”
“Steam, huh?” Something had definitely changed. “Tell me right now what’s wrong.”
“Wrong? That whole scene was wrong! Arguing in public! People standing around listening, and my wife spying through a window like some double-agent watching my every move.”
“And?”
His voice elevated. “I’m getting pressure from you, pressure from her, and I’ll be home later!”
Tracey pressed the phone closer to her face. Her fingers closed tight around it. She willed herself to keep her voice low while talking through clenched teeth. “Why are you so mad? You don’t have the right to be upset about something you behaved your way into!”
“Stop telling me what I already know! Stay in the house. I’ll be there when I get there!”
The phone clicked off.
Tracey stared at her phone in disbelief for a moment before she tossed it onto the dining room table and watched it slide to the middle and smack against the bottom of a cut glass bowl full of lemons and oranges. She peeled her jacket off and threw it over the top of a chair, and snatched her shoes off dropping them on the floor. Leaving everything there, she plodded back to the family room where she peeled fifty pounds of Brianna off of her mother’s legs and gathered the girl into her arms. She sat on the couch and buried her nose into Brianna’s braids, breathing in the soft scent of her hair oil. Brianna’s tight corn rows had held up nicely over the week. At least Tracey had done something that had lasted.
“Whassamatter with y’all now?” Alice twisted around to look in Tracey’s face.
“Don’t ask,” Tracey glanced sidelong at her mother. “And don’t even think about lighting a cigarette in here.”
Alice dropped the crushed pack of Virginia Slims and a plastic red lighter back into her purse. “Tracey, where’s Brian?”
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