Getting to Happy (11 page)

“I want you to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yes, go. Like get out.”

“I suppose I will.”

“Right now, Isaac!”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Wait a minute. I can’t—”

“I want you to get the fuck out of here!”

“And where am I supposed to go?”

“Go live with your bitch or your mama! I don’t care! But I want you out of my house!”

“Oh, so it’s
your
house?”

“It was my house when I met you, and the last time I checked you have yet to make a mortgage payment, so whose house do you think it is?”

“Yours,” he says, hunching his shoulders. “It’s yours.”

“I can’t stand to look at you right now, Isaac. And the thought of—”

“What if I said I don’t want to leave?”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Just go! And I don’t really care where!”

“Okay. Take it easy, Savannah. Don’t blow a gasket. You got a good punch in, and I hope it makes you feel better.”

I just roll my eyes at him.

“I’ll take off for now to give you a chance to cool down.”

“I don’t need to cool down. You’ve made yourself crystal clear, Isaac.”

“And so have you.”

“Yeah, but the difference is I’m not the one who’s been having an affair behind your back while fucking you at the same time, have I?”

“I don’t know that.”

This time I grab a paperback off the counter—
Sugar
by Bernice McFadden—and throw it at him, but he’s quick and dodges it. “You do know! You’re making me sick to my stomach! Now go! I mean it, Isaac!”

“So this is how we end our marriage? Like a boxing match?”

“You’re the one who hit below the belt. You’re the one who didn’t play by the rules. Not me. And for the record, if I hadn’t cared about what made you tick I never would have married you in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have helped you start your business. But I did it because I had faith in you and because I had something you didn’t have at the time, and that was resources and money, and I showed you something else you still don’t seem to understand, and that was patience and compassion because I understood how hard it is to be a black man with talent and skills, and so I gave you my shoulder to lean on and all I wanted was for you to let me lean on yours.”

“I thought I was.”

“That’s what the problem was, Isaac. Your shoulder was synthetic. You went through the motions because your heart wasn’t in it. So just go. Please. Go.”

“I’m sorry you feel this way.”

“I’m sorry I do, too.”

I walk over toward him but this time he just stands there. He looks down at me and I cannot look at him. I look down at his feet and then push him toward the door leading to the garage. Touching him burns.

“What about all of my stuff?”

“You can get it while I’m at work. And please leave the key on the table.”

“Leave the key on the table?”

“I don’t care. Keep it. I’m going to be changing the locks anyway,” I say, not having thought about any of this until this very moment.

He looks at me as if he just remembered something. “I’m not a burglar, Savannah.”

“Yes you are.”

Now his black eyes are glistening. “I’m really, really sorry, Savannah.”

“No you’re not,” I say, and slam the door. I turn the lock so hard I break two nails. I then lean my back against the door and slide until I’m in a sitting position. The tile is ice cold against my bare thighs. I sit here for the longest and count the number of tiles I can see, over and over and over. It becomes obvious to me that some things just don’t add up, because I keep getting a different number.

I think I knew it was over when we celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary. I remember looking at him across the dinner table in a restaurant we’d eaten at the previous seven. That’s when I realized we had flat-lined. Being married to Isaac was like walking on a sidewalk that suddenly stopped. There was nowhere else to go. Little did I know he was apparently feeling the same way.

But here I am. Fifty-one years old. I’ve been out here on this raft of love and the love boat so many times it’s not even funny. This time is different. Isaac is my husband, not my boyfriend. I don’t have a Plan B because I never thought I’d be needing one. Based on the urgency and strength of our love in the beginning, I thought we were going to keep blooming. But here we are, like two dead roses.

It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re thrown overboard or you jump ship. Both lead to sorrow. I think it might weigh more now than it did at thirty-six. So many people think because we’re older we should be used to failed relationships and bad marriages, but especially disappointment. How do you get used to it? This is the complete opposite of what I was led to believe I could expect when I grew up and became a woman. Back in the ’70s I wasn’t preparing for the worst that could happen. I was preoccupied with the best that could happen. I didn’t know some men could be such big liars and such good liars because neither I nor my girlfriends saw anything redeeming about lying. We were honest. About most things, but definitely our feelings. We didn’t cheat on our boyfriends, especially if we loved them. We never thought some guy would deliberately fill our hearts with brown sugar and then pour hot water over it. We thought boys would grow up to become decent men who would love us as hard as we loved them.

I push my shoulder blades against the grooves in the door. I’m going down in an elevator that’s not going to stop. But then it does. The doors open and here comes heartache. I feel it right now. That thud. These acid tears. The tear inside my chest. My elbows are getting heavy. I can’t stop myself from keeling over, so I go ahead and roll into a knot but find myself unable to stop rocking. I want to sit back up, but I just can’t. Even when I suddenly feel like I’m freezing, I can’t get up. All I can do is look around the room and hear how loud the silence is already. My marriage is over. I live alone now. This is not the way I dreamed it. This is not what I had hoped for, what I asked for. I want to skip this part. I want to push the fast-forward button until I get back to happy. In fact, I wish Isaac would walk back inside this house and wrap his arms around me and hold me close, the way he used to, because even though I know he’s the source of this brand-new pain, he’s really the only one who can stop it.

If I Sit Still Long Enough

What Gloria remembered about that day was falling. First to the floor. Then being picked up by her son. And then falling into his chest. She remembered him saying something about Marvin being shot. With bullets. Stray bullets. Aimed at someone else. Aimed at another gang-banger. That he was caught in crossfire. She melted. Then her body stiffened and froze. Her teeth would not stop chattering. She bit her tongue trying to silence them. And she went looking for her car keys anyway, because she figured Marvin would need a ride home.

“Where on earth did I put those damn keys?” she asked Tarik as she walked from one room to the next, looking for them. They were, of course, in the same spot they always were: hanging on a hook by the door that led to the carport. Her grandkids wanted to help Gloria locate them. Nickida just shook her head back and forth in disbelief and grabbed Gloria by the wrists, then wrapped her arms around her mother-in-law as tight as she could.

“Ma,” Tarik said, bending over and pulling her close and with a firmness that made it hard for her to move. “You don’t need your keys.”

“But I have to go get Marvin,” she said, wiggling her way out of his grip. “It’s our anniversary and he’s going to want to eat his oxtails before he goes anywhere. That much I do know.”

“Ma, you’ve gotta calm down.”

Gloria looked at him as if he were crazy. “Can you give me a ride, baby? I think he’s going to be so surprised to see that boat in the driveway! But first, I need to finish cleaning those eggs up off the floor. After we get Marvin I might need you to pick up another carton because he cannot eat oxtails without cornbread. And I need to take a shower because I’m filthy. Can you give me ten minutes? I should call him and let him know I’m on my way. Where’s my cell phone?”

“Ma.” Tarik sighed.

That’s when she remembered Tarik breaking down and drooping as if he didn’t have a muscle in his body. He folded his arms on the kitchen counter and his head dropped on top of them. Gloria heard him wail, then whimper. She wanted to hold him and help him feel less pain than she was feeling, but she had collapsed on the sofa and could not get up. She crossed her arms but they broke apart and fell into her lap. Gloria forced herself to blink enough to see through the tears and then pushed herself to the edge of the cushion and sat up straight. She closed her eyes and felt herself balancing. She was thinking that if she sat still long enough, maybe she could rewind this movie to the butter beans. She knew exactly how she would change it. She would call Marvin and say, “Baby, how soon before you head home?” And right after he said, “I’m about to start loading the truck . . .” she would cut him off and say, “Wait! Would you please go back inside the nursery and see if you can find some Red Paramount or button cactus at a good price and call me back as soon as you see them?” She would not have even mentioned butter beans. “And take your time, baby. There’s no rush.”

This would’ve changed everything. Marvin would’ve come home and flipped when he saw the boat in the driveway. “Have you gone and lost your entire mind, woman?” he would’ve yelped, though standing there in awe, because Gloria knew he had always wanted a boat and now he had one. He would’ve given her a small pair of diamond studs from Zales, to replace the ones that were stolen out of their luggage when they went to Cabo last year, and she would’ve put them on immediately. He would’ve run back to the grocery store to get the butter beans and another carton of eggs and she would’ve made the cornbread and Po’ Folks Pie, and by six o’clock they would’ve started their official date night.

Tarik called Bernadine first. She did not answer, and he didn’t want to ask his mother for her cell number. He left a message. “Auntie Bern, this is Tarik. I’m here at Ma’s. Something has happened to Marvin and it would be nice if you could stop by. I’ll try to get in touch with Auntie Robin and Savannah. Thanks.”

He then dialed Sparrow’s number; she answered on the first ring. “Everything is up in the air.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“You need a babysitter, cuz? Fair warning: my rate has gone up because of inflation. Heard of it?”

“I have. And I don’t need a babysitter, Sparrow. Where’s your mom?”

“At work. You want the number? You sound weird. What’s going on?”

“Marvin is gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Probably up. He got shot by some gangbangers and didn’t survive.”

“You mean he’s dead?”

“That’s what it amounts to.”

“Oh, fuck! You mean to tell me Uncle Marvin is really dead for real?”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t want to call Auntie Robin at work to lay this on her, so maybe I’ll call back. What time does she usually get home?”

There was no response.

“Sparrow?”

“What?” She is obviously angry and she’s also obviously crying because she—like everybody else—adored Marvin. He was the father and uncle and brother none of them had been fortunate to have. They all claimed him. “How is Auntie Gloria doing, or is that like a dumb question?”

“She’s not doing so hot.”

“If I had my driver’s license I would zoom over there right this very second and hold her hands. I swear to God, I would, Tarik.”

“I know, sweetheart. But just wait until your mom gets home, could you do that for me?”

“I will. I will do that. But I hope when I hang up the phone that this was just a prank call. Love you, cuz. Bye.”

Tarik dreaded the next call. Auntie Savannah didn’t know how to take bad news. And Uncle Isaac. He and Marvin were tight. They built things together, smoked cigars on the deck Isaac helped him build, watched March Madness together, all the NBA playoffs. The Super Bowl. And Tiger. Hell, they were buddies. Tarik wasn’t sure who would be the hardest to tell.

“Tarik, why on earth are you calling me? You never call me! What’s going on, and it better be good news!” she said.

“I’m afraid it’s not.”

“Please don’t tell me something has happened to Gloria? It’s not her heart, is it? Please tell me it’s not her heart.”

“It’s not
her
heart.”

Savannah let out a sigh of relief and then said, “What do you mean?”

“It’s Marvin’s heart.”

“What do you mean by that, Tarik?”

“Okay. Earlier today Marvin was accidentally shot by some gangbangers.”

“I know you’re not telling me Marvin is dead, are you?”

“I’m afraid he is.”

Tarik heard her scream.

“Noooooooooooooo! No no no no NO! Not Marvin! Not today! Please. Come on, Tarik. Not our Marvin. Where is Gloria? Who’s there with you and her?”

“It’s just the two of us here now.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Is Uncle Isaac at home?”

“He doesn’t live here anymore, but I’ll figure out a way to get this—”

“What do you mean he doesn’t live there anymore? Why not? And where’d he go?”