“No, not quite. It took off . . . just without me. I’m going to stay a few days.”
There was silence for a moment, then he said, “What?” as if he couldn’t comprehend my words.
“Yeah, I, um, I decided to stay a little longer. Stay here in the DR.”
“I’m confused,” he said, his jovial tone definitely gone. “So all of you just decided like that to extend your trip? But what about—”
Before he could finish, I interrupted, “No, not everyone else, just me.”
“Just you?” There was a pause as the words continued to compute in his brain. “Aja, what in the world are you talking about? You’ve been gone almost a week. It’s time to come home.”
There it was. That tone that had dictated my life for the past twenty years.
Painting is not a career, Aja.
You have a family. A job. You don’t have time for that stuff.
That. Stuff.
I remember the first time I’d felt Charles stepping on my dream. He’d referred to my painting as stuff and it had settled in my core. Now, save for the few pieces I had on the walls at home, when I painted, I put my “stuff” in the closet.
As Charles continued talking about how I needed to return to my family and my responsibilities, I began pacing once again, my eyes now on the carpet. I needed something to focus on because Charles hadn’t even started. Not really. He was going to go off when I told him that I wasn’t coming back. Yet, anyway.
So as I moved, I turned my attention to the carpet, taking notice of the difference between this covering and what had been in the suite.
When he became silent, I said, “Charles, I’ve only been gone four days.”
“That was the plan.”
“And I didn’t call you to debate. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Aja, this is ludicrous.” His voice went up several decibels before he pulled back. “Sweetheart.” His volume was lower, his tone was gentler. “What’s going on?” He paused. “Mother, may I have some privacy, please?”
Dang! His mother had been there the whole time, listening. This wasn’t good. In the background, I heard his mother ask, “What’s going on? Why isn’t she coming home? What happened?”
“Mother, please,” he muttered. Then he must’ve put his hand over the phone because his voice was muffled. Still, I could hear him say, “Not now, please.”
Judy Clayton was that mother who thought her son could do no wrong. For the most part, I liked her and she liked me—until it became a situation that involved her son. Then she was a brutal mama bear that would maul anyone who dared hurt her boy.
Finally, Charles’s attention returned to me. “Okay, let’s get serious, Aja. Just stop playing and tell me what time I should be at the airport.”
So this was how he was going to handle this. “I’m not playing. I need some time and I’ll be home in . . . a few days.”
“So you’re serious. You need time for what? How long are you planning to stay there? Why are you staying? Was this your plan all along?” He pummeled me with questions.
How was I supposed to explain this to Charles? How was I supposed to say my life was in disarray? I couldn’t tell him that. He’d look around and ask me again if I was serious. Because on the surface, everything appeared better than fine. It was what was inside me that was the problem. That was the part that I couldn’t explain. I couldn’t tell the man who tried so hard to be the light of my life that he’d extinguished my fire. “I’m going through some things and I just need some time to sort everything out.”
“What kind of things? This isn’t making any kind of sense, Aja, and you know what? I’m just gonna get on a plane and come to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t come to the DR.”
“I can if my wife is talking crazy about not coming home.” He paused again like he’d just had a revelation. “Wait.” He lowered his voice as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “Is everything okay? Are you being held against your will? Say something like ‘Did you mail the package’ and I’ll know that’s code for call for help.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at my cell for a moment. If this wasn’t so serious, I’d laugh. Twenty-five years of working in the television business had given my husband an overactive imagination that had just run away from him.
“No, honey.” I sighed. “I promise I’m fine. It’s just, I just really need some time.”
“Time for what?” He huffed his frustration. “It’s one thing if you just wanted to spend more time with your friends, but you’re saying that you’re staying there alone.”
I was starting to feel like we were going in circles. Charles had a way of wearing me down. My whole family did. They would pile on and on . . . until I gave them whatever they wanted, so I knew it was time to shut this conversation down. But I had to be careful. “Please, Charles, just try to understand, and if you can’t do that, just give me time.”
“No.”
“No?” Before I could tell him that he couldn’t say no to me, he added:
“I’m catching a flight there.”
I stifled my groan. If this had been any other time, I would’ve jumped at the prospect of a few days in paradise with my husband. But this was now and I wanted, no, I needed to be alone.
“I moved hotels,” I lied, “so you won’t be able to find me.” Through his moan, I said, “Please, honey. Just be patient.”
“Aja, babe—”
Suddenly, there was rumbling and my mother-in-law’s voice filled the phone. “Aja, what in the world is going on? What is this nonsense about you staying on vacation?”
I would never disrespect Charles’s mother, but I deserved a medal for that. Because the number of times that she had imposed herself in our marriage . . .
Without missing a beat and keeping my tone even, I said, “Judy, how are you?”
“Not well when I see my son all frazzled and worked up. You’ve upset him, now what in the world is going on?”
I swallowed back the words that would have made it clear that she needed to mind her damn business, and said, “I’m just taking a few extra days of vacation. But this is between me and Charles.”
“You’ve already been hanging out with your girlfriends for a week like you’re back in college with no responsibilities.”
I let out a long sigh.
“Aja, I have no idea what is going on with you, but Anika is home for winter break. You need to be here navigating her into womanhood.”
Navigating her into womanhood? What was this woman talking about? “Judy, Anika goes back to college in three weeks. I’ll be home before then.”
“You need to come home now. I told Charles this trip was a bad idea. Charles, I told you that you shouldn’t have let her do this.”
Let me.
I groaned inside as she continued. “This is asinine.” I could just picture her wagging her finger like she was scolding a child. “Husbands and wives need to take their trips together. That girls’ trip is the work of the devil, trying to destroy happy homes.”
“Can you please put Charles back on the phone?” I said.
“My son is stunned right now and trying to make sense of why his wife has abandoned her family just so she can frolic on the beach. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but mothers don’t get to run away. They stay and take care of their families. That’s God’s calling for their liv—”
“Aja,” Charles said. The way his voice sounded, I imagined that he’d snatched the phone from his mom. “Excuse Mother. This is just startling to me. To us.”
“I know. Just please let me have this time.”
A brief silence filled the phone before Charles asked, “Are you with someone?”
That caught me a little off guard. I’d been married twenty years and there had never been someone else. And while I would never say never, I was sure Charles had been faithful as well.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Charles. Of course I�
��m not with someone.”
“It’s not ridiculous. What would you think if I went away and then called you, telling you that I was not coming back?”
“That’s not what I said. I am coming back. In a few days.”
He drew a sharp breath and I felt him suppressing his anger. “Fine. Do what you need to do. I’ll be here once you finish ‘figuring things out.’”
“I love you,” I said, ignoring the sarcasm in his tone. I wasn’t lying. I’d loved Charles for almost half my life, since Roxie introduced us. He’d been a golfing buddy of Roxie’s late husband, Brian. And the minute Roxie found out he was single, she had been on a mission to set us up.
“I love you, too, Aja.” With that, he hung up the phone.
Chapter 7
I had contemplated turning my phone off so I could spend some time with me. I didn’t know exactly what I was searching for and I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. I just knew that I suddenly felt ill-fit for the life I had been living. Or maybe the life I had been living had been ill-fit for me.
Sighing, I glanced around my hotel room. It was as if it was just hitting me—I was on this island, now alone. Had I done the right thing by letting that plane take off yesterday without me? But then I tightened my bathrobe before I stepped onto the balcony and soaked in the sight of the ocean. I inhaled the tropical air that was sprinkled with a pinch of the ocean’s salt. Then I closed my eyes, and the twin sounds of delight and glee settled into my ears as children romped and played on the beach.
Winter had spared the DR and I was loving every minute of it. Opening my eyes, for the first time since my girls had left, I smiled. Yes, this was right. And it was amazing. I was really doing this, and my smile turned into a chuckle as I thought about the hard time I always gave to one of my coworkers, Sophie. Sophie took at least one vacation every year, cruising everywhere, alone. I thought that kind of independence was the craziest thing ever. How could anyone travel by themselves and have a good time? But Sophie always returned to work relaxed and refreshed, and she’d laugh with me when I teased her. But whenever she did, there was this gleam in her eyes that always made me feel like the joke was on me.
I got it now. It wasn’t until this moment, leaning on the rail of my balcony at the Barceló Bávaro Palace, that I now understood Sophie. There was so much joy in solitude.
I’d forgotten that. I’d been so busy filling my life with the wants and needs of others that I’d forgotten what it was like to be alone. I’d forgotten the tranquility of solitude. I’d forgotten the peace that came with the quiet. I definitely needed all of that to figure out how to fix this empty feeling that had settled inside of me like it was taking root and spreading.
From inside my bedroom, the sound of my cell phone broke through that peace, and I hesitated. I was just coming into the understanding of what being alone could do for me. Did I really want to interrupt that now?
But my curiosity was greater than my need for solitude—right now. So I rushed inside, grabbed my phone from the bed, and glanced down to see my sister’s phone number in London. Now the second smile of the day consumed me. My solitude would have to wait for just a minute.
“Hello,” I answered, hearing my smile go through the phone.
“Great day to you,” Jada said in a faux British accent.
My sister had been in London since she graduated from Texas Southern University sixteen years ago, and though she was still a U.S. citizen, she’d become a dual citizen six years ago. I loved her living in London because Jada had been hit the hardest by our family tragedy, and London, with its world-famous theatre, world-class shopping, and world-renowned delicacies, had been therapeutic for her. I loved that city just for what it had done for my sister.
She had been the most broken of the three of us after what happened with our mother, and then when our brother, Eric, committed suicide, I was convinced there would never be light in her life ever again.
But the passing of time had been a blessing and a healer. She’d slowly improved over the years, and then moving to London had caused that light that had begun to shine in her to now beam.
“Hey, Jada, what’s up?”
“I’m good, sissy,” she said, reverting back to her normal voice. “How are you?”
“I’m doing great,” I said with a bit of hesitation in my voice that she didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, I called to see how the girls’ trip went. Did you meet some cute DR dudes to show you a good time? I mean, I know none of those guys could hold a candle to my brother-in-law, but you can look ’cause you aren’t dead.”
I sighed. My husband should’ve been a 90s sitcom show called Everybody Loves Charles because I didn’t think I had one friend or relative who didn’t like him.
“I’m still in the DR,” I said, hoping Jada would make an assumption that she’d miscalculated the days and then change the subject.
“Oh,” she paused, “I thought you guys were going back yesterday.”
Taking a deep breath as I fell across the bed, I said, “My friends did go back.”
This time, a longer pause filled the phone.
“And you didn’t.” It was a statement. Like she already knew that—Houston, we have a problem. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, my sister and I were extremely close, so it didn’t surprise me that she could read me through the phone.
Then she said, “Hold on one second, sis. Let me get rid of whoever is at the door; we need to talk,” she said in a tone that sounded like she thought she was the big sister.
I rolled my eyes but smiled again. I was the oldest of the three, and because of that, I was the responsible one, wanting to take care of my brother and sister. But even with all that we’d been through, Jada was now just as strong, just as confident as I was. And right now, she had her life together while I was questioning mine.
As I waited for her to return to the phone, I settled onto the bed and shifted so that my legs were stretched out in front of me. My thoughts stayed on my sister and I shook my head a bit. There was a time when no one would have ever been able to convince me that we’d arrive at this day when she was ready to have a talk to try to help me.
It was amazing that we’d arrived here when I thought back to the night this all started, the night that had changed our lives and our souls forever.
My parents were fighting. Again.
My dad was drunk. Again.
And my mom was begging and pleading for him to “just go to sleep.” Again.
But on this particular night there was something that was different. On this night, my thirteen-year-old brother said, “Enough.”
Usually, we hid in either our bedroom or Eric’s whenever our parents fought and we stayed until the screaming and the beating stopped. But on that night as I held my six-year-old sister while we were crouched on the side of Eric’s bed, my eyes widened when Eric stood from where he’d been hiding, rushed to his closet, and grabbed his prized Hank Aaron–signed bat.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
Eric didn’t turn to me nor answer me. With a determination that I’d never seen in him, he moved toward the door, then marched his bony frame down the hall to our parents’ bedroom.
“You stay here,” I whispered to Jada before I rushed behind Eric. My heart pounded with my fear. What was my brother going to do?
I was just two steps behind Eric when we turned to my parents’ bedroom and the sight made me want to scream, made me want to cry. The door lay on the floor and right away I knew now what that crash had been; my father had actually kicked the door down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. It was the sight of my mother, hovered in the corner near the bathroom, gown torn, tears streaming, blood dripping from her nose. She trembled as she looked up at my father and I saw the same fear in her eyes that was in mine.
“Leave her alone,” Eric hissed at our father.
“What . . . ?” Daddy muttered as he spun around and faced us.
I wanted
to grab my brother’s hand and pull him away. But I knew that he wasn’t going to leave because this was as bad as our father had ever beaten our mother. Eric was going to save her.
But how was he going to do that? The difference between my father and my brother was jarring. Daddy had to be at least six four and he weighed as much as those big football players on TV. And my brother—he was taller than me, but I weighed more than him.
“What did you say?” my father slurred as he tried to focus on Eric. His hazel eyes were bloody red, the color they always were after he’d spent a night away from home.
“Come again.” He edged closer to Eric, and though I took a step back, Eric stayed planted like a tree. Even though my father’s shoulders were slumped and his shirt was torn at the sleeve, he still looked so ominous to me.
Drool trickled from the corner of his mouth. “What you goin’ do with that bat, you little sissy?” He laughed like a madman as he towered over Eric.
“Eric,” Mama whimpered from the corner, “please, go back to bed. I’m fine.” As if she wanted to prove that she was, she tried to push herself up, but she struggled to just get to her knees before she fell back onto the floor.
“I said, leave her alone.” Eric’s voice trembled, but he still stood strong, still stood determined.
Inside my head, I screamed Eric’s name. It was bad enough to see Mama like this, but I knew if Eric didn’t turn and run now, our father would beat him down just like Mama, maybe even worse.
“Well, well, well. If the little piss-in-the-bed, sissy-ass son of mine ain’t trying to have him some balls.” Daddy laughed. “Boy, you’d better be glad I’m feeling good because I’m gonna give you a pass. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put that bat down and get your ass back to bed before I break you in half.”
I could see Eric’s legs shaking, but still he stood, his fingers clutching the bat tighter.
“Oh,” our father said, stumbling back just a little, “so I guess you gotta see to believe.” Daddy lunged forward and punched Eric in his chest so hard, his body became airborne, flew into the hallway, and landed in front of the wall across from their bedroom.
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