What's Done In the Dark (15 page)

My mind raced as I searched for explanations as to why he’d be naked.

“Paula, you said yourself that the people at the hospital told you that he was drunk. He probably went to the room, took off everything, and passed out in the bed.”

She paused like she hadn’t thought about that, so I seized the opportunity.

“You know he didn’t drink that much. And if you two were arguing, he got toasted.”

“He wasn’t a big drinker,” she said and I prayed that my words were getting through to her.

I continued, “So, if he drank as much as they say, he probably barely made it up to that room, stripped himself of all his clothes, and fell out in the bed.”

“But I also saw a receipt for two apple martinis and two vodka and cranberries.”

Hearing the exact drinks I’d had nearly knocked me off my feet. “And? So he got a martini.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Or he bought someone a martini at the bar. You know Steven was always the life of the party.” I could see her mind churning, so I knew that I couldn’t let up. “Him buying the drinks is nothing new. Remember you got mad when he went to that Jack and Jill event last month and paid the whole tab at happy hour? I’m sure that’s all this was.”

“You think so?” she said, hopeful.

I felt like a heel as I took her hands. “I know so.”

I saw her relax, so I gave her a hug, then said a quick prayer for God to forgive me for the lying snake that
I had become.

29

Paula

I MISSED MY HUSBAND SO
much. When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to say, “Neither date nor time is promised, so treasure each day like it’s your last.” I wished that I had listened to those words. I wished that I had not fought over such trivial things. I wished that I hadn’t pushed my husband into the arms of another woman—if I actually had. But most of all, I wished that I had taken my husband’s heart condition seriously. Maybe if I had made sure he kept up his doctor’s visits, they would’ve detected that his heart condition had advanced enough to kill him. Maybe they would’ve put us on notice that he had to change his lifestyle. And maybe he’d still be alive today.

But I couldn’t think like that. Steven used to always say, “Life is what you make it, and you can’t live in a world of maybes.”

As I sat on the foot of our California king bed, my mind drifted back to the first time Steven had uttered those
words to me.

I had never cried so much in my whole life. The trash can positioned at my feet was overflowing with balled-up Kleenex. I felt like I had been crying for two weeks.

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” I said for the thousandth time. “Maybe if we had just been more careful . . . Maybe if I hadn’t been over to your place all the time . . .”

Steven had been pacing back and forth in front of me. “It is what it is. And we can’t live in a world of maybes now.”

“I just can’t see myself struggling with a kid.”

He looked sternly at me. “Paula, you didn’t do this alone, so you’re not going to go through this alone.”

His words were so comforting to me and hammered home what a great guy he was. I had never planned to get pregnant. I took my pill religiously. Shoot, I had big dreams. I had recently landed a new part in a stage play, and based on opening weekend’s sales, it looked like we were going to take the show on the road for several weeks. How could I do that if I was pregnant?

“I don’t believe this.”

“We’ve been through this over and over. I thought when I left to go home for the weekend, you were okay with everything,” he replied.

I was, but images of Steven never returning had swamped me all weekend. I kept envisioning his “I need to go back to Houston” as an excuse to leave me and our unborn child. The thought of being a struggling single mother made me sick to my stomach. When he’d walked in my house that evening, I’d burst into tears.

“I told you, everything happens for a reason,” Steven said. We were in the bedroom of my mother’s house, where I was living. Usually, she didn’t play that being-up-in-the-bedroom-with-your-boyfriend mess, but she knew about the pregnancy and knew that Steven and I had serious business to discuss.

“Being somebody’s baby’s mama was not in my life’s plan,” I admitted.

That brought Steven up short. “You’re not going to be my baby’s mama.”

He got down on his knees in front of me and said, “Hopefully, you’re going to be my wife.”

If I hadn’t been sitting down, that surely would’ve knocked me over.

“Wife?”
I said. Steven had told me that he’d broken the news of my pregnancy to his parents. Of course, they weren’t happy about it, but he said, like everyone else, they would learn to get over it.

Nowhere in that conversation did he mention marriage.

He fumbled in his pants pocket and pulled out a small ring. “My mom gave me this ring. It’s my grandmother’s ring.” He held it out to me. “It means a lot to me. And I want the mother of my child, the woman I want to be my wife, to have it. I want
you
to have it. Please say you’ll be my wife.”

The sight of the ring made me want to cry even more. I needed a magnifying glass to see the diamond. When I had dreams of my proposal, they did not include me with a baby in my belly and a microdiamond ring.

“Steven . . . we can’t do this,” I managed to say.

“You can and you will,” my mother said, popping up out of nowhere to come stick her nose in my business.

“Mama, please.”

“No.” She walked in my bedroom and directed her attention at Steven. “I think it’s so admirable what you’re doing. Do you love my daughter?”

He looked at me and then back at her. “Yes.”

“And I know she loves you. And you two are going to do right by this baby. Bring her or him into this world with a mother and a father married and living under the same roof. I didn’t raise you any other way,” she told me firmly.

I felt like I was fifteen years old. But she was right. I knew plenty of successful people who were single mothers, but that’s not the life I envisioned. Abortion wasn’t an option, and neither was giving up my child for adoption.

“So, what do you say?” Steven said.

“She says yes,” my mom repeated.

I side-eyed her, and she stepped back and made a zipper motion over her lips.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure myself.

He placed his hand on my stomach. “I am.”

I took a deep breath. Do the right thing, the little voice in my head said. So I responded. “Then yes, the answer is yes.”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” MY
mom asked, walking into my room and snapping me out of my trip down memory lane. My microdiamond had been replaced by my wedding day with a three-carat princess-cut diamond, compliments of Steven’s father, who refused to let his son “shame the family with that little ring.” I think that Steven was a little insulted that I had sided with his father, but with the two rings side by side, that was a no-brainer.

“I’m just thinking.”

“I’m thinking that you’re thinking too much.”
She gave me a soft smile.

“Mama, Felise says I’m searching for something that’s not there.”

“Baby, you lost your husband. That’s understandable.” My sister had filled my mom in on everything, and I was surprised she had taken so long to give me her two cents.

“I think you’re reading too much into the underwear thing. I mean, I was there—you had a big argument on the phone. You think this mystery woman was just sitting there, being quiet?”

That was easily explained. “She knew to shut her mouth when the wife calls.”

“You’ve been watching too much Lifetime.” My mom picked up the remote and clicked the TV off. “I think you’re trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense.”

“I guess.” I shrugged.

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy, replaying and over-thinking everything. I’m sorry this had to happen, but his death is not a reflection of your relationship or anything of the sort, so you’ve got to let it go.”

I nodded but merely to get my mom to leave. She would never see eye to eye with me. My gut was telling me that no matter what any of them said, I couldn’t rest until I got some
answers.

30

Felise

THE SOUNDS OF TEDDY PENDERGRASS
met me at the door.

“Hey,” Greg said, greeting me as I walked in.

“What’s this?” I asked, dropping my keys on the counter. The kitchen was spotless, and dinner was laid out on the table, which was decorated like it sat in the middle of a five-star restaurant.

Greg leaned in and kissed me before flashing a seductive smile.

“I cooked dinner. Liz is over at her friend’s house, and I thought we could have a quiet evening at home.”

I groaned. I wanted a quiet evening, all right, but by myself. It had been a rough day in the ER, I had been madly trying to figure out what Sabrina was up to (I’d called, but she hadn’t returned the call), and I just wanted to get home and lay down.

“Wh-what’s this?” I motioned to Greg’s shoes, which were in the middle of the floor. He eyed the shoes and smiled,
not making any attempt to pick them up. “So, you’re really just going to let them sit there?” I asked.

Now I was getting nervous. Shoes lying around might have seemed normal for the average person, but for Greg not to pick them up? I needed to take his temperature because he obviously was running a fever. “Why are your shoes in the middle of the floor?”

“It’s an experiment,” he said. He put his hands over mine and led me to the kitchen table, where he sat me down. “I know I’m not the easiest person to live with, but one thing’s for sure: I love you with all my heart. I know I need to relax and get this OCD under control, so I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since the night of our fight, the day after our anniversary. I’ve only had a few sessions, but I can feel some progress.”

“You’re going to see a therapist?” That in and of itself was major because Greg was old school, and while he knew that something was wrong with him, never in a million years did I think he’d seek help. He only agreed to counseling after his affair because he didn’t want me to walk out the door.

“I don’t want to lose you, and I saw in your eyes the night of our anniversary that I was on the verge. I couldn’t risk that. So, yes, I’ve been seeing a therapist, and she gave me an exercise today.” He looked over at the shoes again, and his cheek twitched at the violation they represented. “Whew, it’s been hard. I stepped out of them when I got home, and I’ve been wanting to pick them up ever since.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

Greg continued. “Felise, I want our marriage to work,
and I know these last few weeks have been difficult. Your having to be there for Paula hasn’t been easy either.”

I heard the words, but I didn’t believe him. After all, I’d heard all of these promises before. And my husband would try. He’d try to put me first, but the effort never lasted. I think the record was nine days.

He stroked my hair and then leaned in and nuzzled my neck.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I miss us. And I want everything to be all right.” As music softly filled the room, Greg bent down and lightly bit my shoulder, which used to turn me on. Now it made me tense up.

“What are you doing, Greg?” I said, ducking away from his touch. I stood and tried to walk away, but he came up behind me.

“I want you, baby,” he said. “I
need
you. It’s been so long.” His voice was husky as he turned me around and forced his tongue into my mouth. “Please, Felise,” he moaned. His hands went inside my pants as he grasped my behind and tried to lift me onto the kitchen table.

“Greg, don’t,” I protested.

“Come on, baby,” he said as his hands pulled at my panties.

I knew that I needed to be with my husband, but as he kissed me, I saw images of Steven lying deathly still in that bed and I yelled, “Stop it!”

Greg backed away in shock. I grabbed my underwear and pulled them up. “Just stop!”

“I’m sorry,” Greg said, stunned.

“I . . . I just can’t do it,”
I cried.

We stared at each other like two strangers. “Felise, what’s going on? Have I lost you?” he said.

“No, no, it’s not that,” I replied more quietly, trying to play it off. “I’m just . . . I’m just not in the mood.”

“It’s been over a month.”

“I know, but I can’t. Why can’t you understand?” I snapped.

“I
have
been understanding!” he snapped back. “I understood the night my wife stormed out and spent the night somewhere else. I’m understanding every time I touch you and you flinch like I disgust you. I understand that you haven’t looked me in the eye since our anniversary. Was that our breaking point? Did I lose you that night?”

I adjusted my scrubs and tried to calmly reply. “You’re overreacting, Greg. I have a lot on my plate right now.”

He huffed as he ran his hands over his head. “Okay, Felise. Whatever.”

I inhaled. Exhaled. “Why don’t we sit down and eat?” I glanced at the counter by the stove. He’d made blackened tilapia and garlic mashed potatoes. “The food looks delicious.”

“You eat it,” he growled. “I’ve lost my appetite.” He grabbed his cell phone and headed upstairs.

31

Paula

I HEARD THE DOORBELL RINGING
, but I couldn’t move to answer it. I hoped my mom or sister did because right then the only thing that mattered was this piece of paper in front of me. I sat on the sofa, tears trickling down my cheeks as the paper shook in my hand. I didn’t realize how unsteady my hand was until I saw the paper waving back and forth.