by Jacki Kelly
“I remember. But what made you dig up that old saying now?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it. Partner well. Simple words packed with so much meaning.” Melissa tugged her hair around her finger while she stared out the window above the sink, focusing on nothing.
“How’s it going? Any better?” Asa asked.
“No. If the atmosphere in this house gets any colder, we’ll be competing with the Arctic.”
“Who’s winning the kitchen cold war?”
“Darius. I’ve decided to use paper plates and eat take-out food. I’ve put on five pounds since getting home. I only want comfort food, which means pasta and hamburgers.”
“Well, at least you’re eating. The last time I saw you, you could have used a few pounds.”
“Yeah, well, you should see me now. As for the kitchen, pretty soon I’m expecting to see something crawling across the kitchen counter. Enough about me. How’s the pregnancy, and what does Mia have to say about the baby?”
“She’s excited. Every day she wants to know if this is the day the baby will come. Maybe Simeon and I should have waited until the ninth month and ninth day to tell her about having a baby brother.”
In the beginning, she and Darius had talked about having children. The idea of her being a mother one day used to make her silly with happiness. Now, the thought she’d never have children with Darius twisted her stomach into a tight knot.
“Are you showing yet?” Melissa asked, pushing away the pain.
“I’ve been showing since I was three months. I feel like a balloon getting noticeably bigger every day. But, Melissa, I’m worried about you. What are you going to do? You and Darius can’t live with this much hostility for long.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to see a lawyer today. I’m filing for divorce.”
Her sister gasped. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to try counseling first?”
“We don’t have a problem with our marriage, Asa. Darius is already married. He’s in love with his music. I’m the other woman.”
“Are you going alone? Seeing a lawyer isn’t something you should do all by yourself.” If Asa was in the room with her, Melissa imagined her sister would wrap her in a maternal hug and rock her.
“I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine. I think I’d rather do this by myself. I thought about asking Pam, but she’s pretty fragile right now. I’ll meet her later for dinner. Her husband ran out on her a few months back, so she’ll understand my mood.”
“Did you find a good lawyer? Since Darius is a trust-fund-baby, his family had his finances straightened out before he started walking. This might turn ugly.”
“There’s a billboard near the school with a picture of a lawyer with a beard. I’m going to give him a try.”
“Is he any good?”
Melissa shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t want anything from Darius, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Does he know?”
“He’ll find out when he gets served.”
****
Darius expected the house to be still but not funeral parlor quiet. After disagreement number nine-hundred-ninety-nine, Melissa kept her distance. Staying in the bedroom or shoving her nose in a book whenever he walked in on her. Seeing her disappointment every time they talked, weighed on him. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Dan wanted his success because it lined his pocket with money. Melissa wanted time, which he couldn’t manufacture, and his family wanted him to make music. Trying to remember what he wanted was becoming harder and harder to do. Sometimes it seemed unimportant.
His thoughts settled on his father. Mr. Randall Bellamy, the self-made millionaire, didn’t understand why his son wasn’t the biggest musical artist in the world by now. Everything Randall touched was a mega success, except his marriage. Maybe focusing on business was the way his father chose to bury all the other disappointments life had placed at his feet. He knew growing up in the middle of his parents’ constant war had left him damaged. As much as he wanted to believe his marriage to Melissa was different, there was always an inkling nagging at him. Warning him that Melissa would crush him like his mother had crushed his father.
He dropped the car keys in the bowl designated for them. Another full night in the studio and only one step closer to finishing the last two tracks. He ran his hand down his face.
With the house all to himself, now was a good time to blast his record player. He selected a Sade album and placed the vinyl on the turntable. A few minutes without arguing or the forced silence filled with meaning was a relief. Melissa’s sullenness was more deadly. At least the arguing was filled with passion. The cold detachment she now displayed could mean anything. Was Melissa giving up?
Winning a Grammy, going on worldwide tours, and having fans shout his name as he walked down the street were all grand, but the price was much higher than he could have ever guessed.
He flopped on the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee. With his head against the cushion, he closed his eyes. The virtual tug of war between him and Melissa rested on his chest, making it impossible to relax. The whimper from his new best friend caught his attention.
“I’m coming, boy,” Darius said. As soon as he opened the crate, the puppy charged him, catching him off guard.
It was time to shake up his life. To snatch back the reins Dan insisted on holding and controlling. Now was the time for him to mold something familiar for himself. Now was time for the life he and Melissa used to dream about when they lived in the small walk-up they shared with ants and an upstairs neighbor who insisted on blaring his television at two in the morning.
The odor in the kitchen outranked a sewer. Between the dog’s crate and the dishes caked with food, he wasn’t sure which was worse.
“You must be pretty rugged to put up with this life.” He walked the dog outside into the patch of land they called a back yard. As soon as his feet touched the overgrown grass, the dog bounded from one patch to another, sniffing his new freedom before turning to stand next to Darius.
“I think it’s time we get a name for you,” Darius petted the puffy. “How about Turk? Do you think you’d like to be called Turk?”
The dog licked his face. “No, it sounds too much like turd. How ‘bout Turbo? It sounds better than Turk, doesn’t it?”
Turbo ran around the yard as if he were happy to finally have an identity. Happy to have a home. Happy to have a family. Darius’s chest constricted. He gasped for air. Those same things should have been enough to make him happy.
“How about we go inside and clean up the mess. Enough is enough. It’s time I stop being a jerk.”
Chapter Five
Melissa pressed her lips into a smile and unlocked the front door to the house. She tried to forget the comments the lawyer had felt compelled to point out, as if she were an idiot. Everything they had belonged to Darius. The duplex, the money, the cars, even the credit cards were in his name. According to the lawyer, for a woman her age, she hadn’t accumulated much wealth. Even though in a divorce that wouldn’t matter, she still felt like crap. The snappish attitude from the receptionist hadn’t improved the mood of the meeting either.
What she wanted from Darius couldn’t be purchased. She couldn’t put the love she needed into his heart. Without the same level of commitment from him, it was time to fold, regardless of what she got to keep and what she had to walk away from. She’d come to San Francisco on a promise. Darius had vowed he’d make each day better than the one before and she’d been happy with his commitment. But his affirmation was now faded and frayed like an old newspaper.
As she stepped over the threshold into the house, it was obvious something was different. She remained still for several moments trying to detect the change. The current running through the residence had switched to a different frequency. She inhaled. The stench occupying the house like ghosts was missing.
She pulled the expensive Birkin bag purchased with Darius’s hard-earned money from her shoulder and placed it
on the table to investigate what was going on.
The dog ran to greet her. His tail wagged with force. “Hey, boy. What are you doing out of your crate?” She rubbed under his chin. Then patted the top of his head. He bumped her hand before trotting ahead of her into the kitchen.
Darius stood at the sink. From behind, he could have been any happy husband waiting on his wife to come home. But she knew better. There wasn’t a soiled dish in sight. The stainless steel rim of the sink was visible for the first time since she’d returned from Bristol. The foul odor was gone along with the doggy crate.
“So, what’s this all about?” Melissa leaned against the opening to the room, keeping enough distance between them in case he said anything out of line. The last thing she needed was another harsh word. She’d heard enough of them for one day.
“It was time, don’t you think?” His smile drew her into the kitchen and onto the stool.
“Yeah, but I’m surprised just the same. Pleasantly surprised. I thought I was going to have to throw a stick of dynamite in here to clear this mess.” She managed a smile.
He took the seat next to her. “He’s got a name, finally.” He nodded to the dog.
“A name, huh?” She rubbed the dog’s head without taking her eyes off Darius. He seemed more relaxed. The tension between his brows was gone. Her heart swelled with emotion. The way she felt about him would never change, no matter what.
“Melissa, meet Turbo.” He held his hand palm up. “Turbo, please meet my beautiful wife, Melissa.”
She tickled the dog’s neck. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Turbo. I guess you’re an official member of the Bellamy family now that you have a real name.”
For the first time in weeks, they sat together in a comfortable silence. It was like old times, when just being in the room with Darius was good enough. The only thing needed to make the memory more vivid was for him to hum a melody composed just for her.
“So, why did you do it?” she asked again.
“Do what?”
“Clean up the kitchen. I thought this was going to be your last stand, like Custer.”
“What do you mean? You do know Custer died at Little Big Horn?”
“I thought you’d rather die than clean up the mess you made.”
“I was being a jerk.”
Melissa snorted. “But why?”
“If I knew why I did everything I did, I’d have all the answers.” He rested his hand on her leg, above her knee. The familiar gesture had the traditional effect. Her body warmed. But her pride stuck in her throat, refusing to allow happiness to take hold or to admit she welcomed his touch. She pulled away and walked to the refrigerator.
After pouring a tumbler of water from the pitcher, she leaned against the counter opposite him. The distance gave her room to think.
Turbo settled on the floor between them as if deciding which side to take was too strenuous. He placed his head on top of his paws, his eyes cast up at her.
“Where have you been all day?” Darius’s stare made her uneasy. “I tried to reach you on your cell.”
She shrugged her shoulders. Nothing had been finalized today, so there wasn’t anything to tell him yet. The lawyer wanted her to think it over, decide what she wanted. She cleared her throat. “Out. I had lots of errands to run. You know…for school and stuff.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s almost eleven o’clock. You must have had a lot to do.”
“I stopped off at Pam’s. We had dinner and spent some time talking. Why are you giving me the third degree?” She took a gulp of water.
“I’m not. I’m just asking. How are your classes? School starts this week, right?”
She took another sip of water and nodded. “Classes are fine. This semester I’ve got some students who want to get their money’s worth.” She set the glass down, glad the conversation had changed directions. But not yet ready to tell him she was bored with lesson plans, term papers, and final exams. Being an art history professor had sounded glamorous once upon a time, but now, the thought of spending her life at a dry erase board made her crazy. The same routine every day seemed like a long road with no landscaping. She wanted excitement and versatility, which wasn’t on any syllabus she’d created.
“I’m surprised you asked. You’re not usually interested in what I’m doing.”
“Please don’t lump my behavior into one category. I’m never all one thing or another. I think what you do is great. I admire your ability to stand in front of a classroom of college kids. You enjoy it so much. There’s no self-doubt or worry if you’re pleasing the right people.”
“Oh, I have my doubts. Some days more than others.”
Maybe Darius wasn’t the bad guy. She seemed to have her share of secrets. She focused on the dog as he licked the pads of his paw.
Darius pushed off the stool and opened the refrigerator. The slight pop as he opened another one of his ever-present energy drinks made the dog raise his head.
“Why do you drink so many of those things?”
He examined the small bright bottle. “I don’t know. I think it’s a habit now and I like the taste.”
She regarded him without replying. What had caused her serious, determined husband to become a complete stranger? Who had pulled away first, him or her? To patch up their life seemed impossible. She was weary just thinking about the amount of effort required. He was so focused on his music he didn’t notice anything. Not her, not their marriage, not even what he consumed. She was living with a ghost. She heard him in the house, but she couldn’t connect with him. The thought pierced her heart. It was like watching a tragedy unfolding and not being able to stop the destruction.
Her mind started forming the sentences to tell him about her visit to the lawyer’s office. She rearranged the subject and predicated several different ways but her mouth couldn’t speak the words. Not yet.
****
Darius drained the drink and dropped the empty container in the trash. “Why are you staring?” he asked.
She blinked and shook her head. “No reason. I’m just tired. I had a long day. I’m going to bed.” She stood. “Goodnight.” She headed through the door leading to the sun room. He heard her heels on the hardwood floor before she ascended the stairs.
He cracked his knuckles, then pressed his fingers backwards. Turbo stretched before sticking his nose in the air. The dog paced the path Melissa had followed as if signaling Darius to pursue her. They used to go to bed together every night. The highlight of their day was curling up together in bed and exploring each other’s body. Maybe the memory was only an illusion. Had it been as blissful as he wanted to believe? Whatever was going on with Melissa carried on below the surface, in the part of her no one saw.
Touching her leg, even though it was only for a few seconds, reminded him of everything he missed. Melissa remained the center of his life, but convincing her of how important she was seemed impossible. Wanting his wife and his music wasn’t asking too much. In the beginning, he’d convinced himself he could have it all, but now, there were doubts. He yearned for the simplicity of their early days of marriage, when it was just the two of them enclosed in a perfect bubble and not giving a damn about the outside world. He hadn’t had his wife in weeks and his body reminded him of the absence like a nagging toothache.
He took the stairs two at a time, with the puppy right behind him, his claws clicking on the steps like a pair of tap shoes. Together, they sounded like a herd of buffalo charging the fort.
Outside the master bedroom, he held the doorknob and braced for the onslaught of anger she’d throw at him for invading her privacy the moment he crossed the sill.
Without overthinking what to do, he made his way past the walk-in closet into the opening of the room. She was propped on the bed, naked, rubbing lotion onto her arms.
“What are you doing in here?” Instead of the displeasure he expected, there was only curiosity in her tone. Turbo rushed to her side and hurled himself onto the bed.
“Darius, if Trek or Turkey urinates or chews on any of my shoes, I’m going to throw you both out of here.”
She jumped off the bed, gathering the towel around her breasts, and closed the closet door with a thud.
“It’s Turbo, and he’s not going to mess with your precious footwear. I had a long talk with him.” He waved his hand. “Anyway, do I need to make a formal request to talk to my wife? Do you have a scheduling secretary I should talk to?”
She lifted a brow and settled back on the bed. “You’ve been so busy I thought you’d forgotten the fine art of discussion. Why are you so talkative tonight? What’s going on, Darius?”
“We’ve both been busy.” He regretted his tone the moment the words left his mouth. Defending his behavior made his chest constrict. He needed no one’s approval for what he wanted to accomplish. He had enough money to buy several small record labels, but getting into the business the old fashion way, with hard work and talent, was the only thing important enough to matter. And he planned to get the movie score the same way.
“You’ve been coming home pretty late, but we can talk now,” he said.
“I can’t stand the empty house, so I stopped rushing home. I find I’m less irritable if I’m not sitting around waiting for you.” She pumped lotion into her palm and ran her hand along her thigh. Her silky skin glistened. He curled his fingers into a fist to keep from reaching for her.
“Can you please close your legs a little more?” He looked away from the excellent view, but only for a second.
“I could, or you could leave my room. I’m getting ready to go to sleep.” She nodded at the door.
At the edge of the bed, he pushed aside one of her frilly pillows and sat in front of her. Even though her forehead wrinkled, she continued the slow steady stroke along her leg.