The Book in Room 316

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  Just hearing the word “divorce” made my heart constrict. I thought Clark and I were a forever couple. We’d both experienced our parents divorcing when we were young, and we’d been adamant that that would not be our destiny.

  And yet divorce seemed like the only cure for my ailing heart.

  “No, this is different,” I said. “Maybe if I didn’t know her. Maybe if she hadn’t been in my house, broken bread with my family. I mean, for God’s sake, Dawn has been there through this whole adoption process with us . . .” I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, my God. What does this mean for the adoption?”

  I felt a pain as I thought of that. Clark and I had finally broken down and gone to an adoption agency after I got over the hurt of the miscarriage—and the fact that I’d never be able to have kids again. We had been on a waiting list for the past year, but they’d been confident that they would find us a child, especially because we were amenable to taking an older boy or girl. Maybe this was just the universe’s way of keeping another child from coming into a broken home.

  Yvonne put her hands over mine as if she knew where my thoughts were drifting.

  “What’s going to happen now is we’re going to talk about this,” she said, her voice gentle, trying to reason with me. She paused as the waiter approached, set her drink down, then slowly backed away. “I’m furious with Clark, but the two of you will work through this. You’ll go to counseling. You’ll curse him out, pull out some of Aunt Florence’s made-up curse words,” she said, bringing a smile to my face as I recalled my mother. She despised profanity, so she created her own cursing vocabulary.

  “Then you’ll cry,” Yvonne continued, “tell Clark how much he hurt you. He’ll apologize, and you’ll eventually forgive him because in your heart you know he’s a good guy who did a bad thing. And then the two of you can still move forward with the adoption.”

  I jerked my hands away because the last thing I felt like hearing was a “life goes on” speech. My husband had betrayed me in the worst possible way. And I didn’t see how in the world I’d be able to move forward from that.

  “Yvonne, there is no coming back from this,” I said.

  “Said every person who ever came back from something horrible.” Yvonne sighed, like she knew it was going to be hard to get through to me. She took a sip of her drink then added, “Okay, let’s talk about this. Why do you think they slept together?”

  I cocked my head, trying to see if she was for real.

  “Seriously? Does the why matter?”

  “It does,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Because if this was something calculated, something that they plotted and planned, then that’s just evil. And we need to go grab Torrey and his crew and roll up on both of them.”

  The mention of my convict cousin made me half-smile.

  “But,” she continued, “if this is something that just happened, well, that’s a different story. Plotting and planning versus getting caught up in the moment is very different.”

  My mind went back to Wilson and what almost happened.

  “No.” I shook away that thought. With Wilson I was driven by revenge. Clark had no excuse. “Look,” I told my best friend, “all I know is he cheated on me and I can’t trust him ever again. How would we ever recover from that?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know it’s possible. You can’t let one bad thing wipe away all the good. And I know you’re not going to find out what really happened until you talk to him.”

  I took a last sip of the water I’d been drinking. After last night I didn’t want to touch another drink for a while.

  “You know what, Yvonne?” I said after I set the glass down. “I had too much to drink last night. I’ve lost my appetite and I’m tired. So, I’m going to go lay down.”

  Her shoulders sank in defeat as she motioned for the waiter. “Can you please bring the check?” she asked. He nodded and she turned back to face me. “How long do you plan on being here?”

  “I don’t know. I could only book till tomorrow because they are holding some big conference and they’re sold out Saturday. But I’m hoping someone doesn’t show and I can just stay. Otherwise, I’ll be moving to another hotel.”

  She looked around. Nineteenth-century art adorned the walls, and the distinctive decor showed why this had been deemed a historical landmark.

  “Why didn’t you go to the Four Seasons or something? This hotel looks like it’s been here since the dinosaur age.”

  “It has. Since 1938, to be exact. I actually like the historic feel of this hotel. It’s quaint.”

  She turned her nose up. “Whatever. You know what’s better? Your house. You know that four-thousand-square-foot beauty Clark bought you?”

  “Well, now he can sell it,” I replied. “Or he and Dawn can move in together. Plenty of room for all her kids.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous,” Yvonne said.

  “You know what, I’m tired of talking about me,” I said. “How are you? How’s Chad?” I said, referring to her fourteen-year-old son, who lived with her ex-husband.

  “He’s doing okay. Growing like a weed. He’ll be here next weekend, over from San Antonio. I hate not having my son here, but I know boys need their fathers.”

  I nodded in sympathy. Yvonne had been embroiled in a bitter custody battle with her ex. Ultimately, she’d given in, knowing her teenaged son would fare better under her husband’s guidance.

  “What about your dad? Last time we talked, you said your sisters and brothers were talking about putting him in a home.”

  “Oh, they’re doing more than talking about it now,” she replied. “They’re moving forward with their plan and I just can’t believe it.”

  That momentarily caused my grief to shift onto someone else. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. “I can’t imagine Mr. Ollie in a nursing home.”

  “You can’t believe it? They might as well put him in the ground.”

  We talked about her family a little more, and when I felt her shifting the conversation back on me, I pulled out the bill that the waiter had slipped next to me as we talked, charged the dinner to my room, then stood. “Look, I appreciate everything. But I’m going to go lay down.”

  I could tell she didn’t want to leave and I was prepared to just walk away, but she just said, “Okay. Fine.” She stood with me. “But I will be checking on you tomorrow. And every day thereafter.”

  I managed a smile. Yvonne loved hard. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. And Yvonne,” I looked her straight in the eye, “please don’t tell Clark where I am.”

  She turned her head, her gaze drifting around the bar area.

  My voice got sterner. “Yvonne, you’re my best friend. Not his,” I reminded her.

  She rolled her eyes and then leaned in to hug me. “Fine,” she said. “But you better hurry up and figure this out. Because Clark is a good guy.”

  “Yeah. Good guys don’t sleep with their late best friend’s wife.”

  “Okay. He’s a good guy who made a mistake.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened when you caught Darius cheating?” I asked. I had thought I was going to have to raise bail money when Yvonne caught her longtime boyfriend with another woman. She’d broken all the windows in his beloved Corvette, and he’d ending up calling the cops on her. Luckily, I got her away before they arrived.

  “I left him,” Yvonne said, without blinking an eye, “because Darius was my boyfriend, not my husband. And he was evil and sadistic. Clark is not.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “I love you. See you later and don’t worry about me.”

  She hugged me and we said our goodbyes. I headed toward the elevator with the thought of divorce hanging over me like a threatening cloud.

  This was not the way my life was supposed to be.

  Sadness filled me as I realized, yet, this was the way it now was.

  chapter

  * * *

  5

  Thoughts of divorce had consumed me all n
ight. My parents had divorced. My grandparents had divorced. I had prayed that I would be able to break the cycle.

  I was wrong.

  Because there was no way a couple could survive this kind of betrayal.

  Was there?

  After meeting with Yvonne yesterday, I’d retreated to the bed and had let the sun set, then rise on my heartbreak. I pulled myself up against the headboard, the silence of the hotel room surrounding me, my best friend’s words from yesterday lingering in my head.

  Darius was evil and sadistic. Clark is not.

  No, I could be as angry and hurt as I wanted, but my mind wouldn’t even let me call Clark evil. What he did was evil, but the man that I’d met back when I was a sophomore in college and trying to stay out at the local hangout simply because I could, was anything but evil. The man who I had dated while he went to grad school and I began my career working as a reporter in Lawton, Oklahoma, was a God-fearing, devoted man. I fell in love with his caring heart. I watched him with those kids at the Boys & Girls Club and knew he was one of those special men that comes along once in a lifetime.

  Boy, I couldn’t have been more wrong. At the end of that perfectly painted picture, he was just a man. A cheating man.

  As I sat in the bed, my mind replayed what had driven me to this hotel.

  “Dawn, I need you to stop crying.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t have paid my husband’s voice any attention. Clark was always over at Dawn and Rob’s house, so there was nothing unusual about seeing his car there when I first pulled up. But the hushed tone he had, and the fact that he was at Dawn’s house when he was supposed to be at work, made my antenna rise.

  I did as I usually did, walked around the side to come in on Dawn’s back patio. For as long as I’d known Dawn and Rob, they never answered their front door—at least, for friends. We normally just came around to the back and tapped on the patio door, which led into their family room.

  I had originally been on my way to meet my photographer to cover a story nearby when I decided to kill some time and detour to Dawn and Rob’s. Clark had been friends with Rob since they played little league football together in southwest Houston. And after Rob’s death, Clark had been a beacon of strength for Dawn and their four kids. So I wasn’t thinking anything as I made my way down the side of the house, around the back, and toward the patio.

  But the hushed tones halted my steps.

  “I just feel so bad,” Dawn said.

  That made me inhale and then hold my breath as if I didn’t want them to hear me breathing. I peered around the corner to see my husband holding Dawn in his arms. Again, normally, that wouldn’t have bothered me.

  But when he pulled away from her, he said, “We know that it will never happen again.”

  Those words ignited a sick flame in my stomach.

  “It shouldn’t have happened now,” she said.

  His voice cracked with pain. “I know. But it did. It’s just that we can’t look back. We have to look forward.”

  She moved away from him as my eyes remained riveted. I was peering around the corner like a child spying on her parents.

  “I just can’t believe we did this to Savannah, to Rob. Oh, my God, what if Rob is looking down?” she cried as she buried her face in her hands.

  “Dawn, we can’t do this. We can’t torture ourselves,” Clark said. “We made a mistake, but we can’t beat ourselves up about it. We have got to pull it together.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes red with tears. “What am I supposed to do the next time I see her?” Dawn gasped. “Am I supposed to just pretend that I didn’t sleep with her husband?”

  I held on to the wall to keep from toppling over. Then I did the only thing that was left to do. I stepped out and let my presence be known. Dawn spotted me first. And when Clark turned, their gasps were as one.

  I stood, staring at both of them in disbelief.

  “Oh, my God,” Dawn said, horror blanketing her face. “Savannah, I’m so sorry.”

  I couldn’t look at her.

  The woman I thought was a friend.

  The woman I confided in.

  The woman I’d held up after her husband died.

  No, I couldn’t focus on Dawn Simmons right now. She hadn’t made a vow before God to me. My husband had.

  “Savannah . . .” That was the only word my husband could find.

  “How could you do this?” I don’t even know how I managed to find my voice.

  “Babe, oh no. I . . . It’s not . . . I’m so sorry. Let me explain,” he stammered.

  In the movies, when a woman catches her husband cheating then flees, I was that one who always talked about her not doing that. I was from Houston’s Third Ward, where women didn’t cower and run, where we administered beatdowns to side pieces. I had yelled at countless movie screens on what I’d do in that situation. But now that I was in that spot, the only thing I could think to do was turn and run.

  Clark, of course, took off after me, calling my name as I bolted toward my car. But I must have channeled my high school track star years, because I was inside my Jaguar and peeling off by the time he made it to my car. And just like a scene out of a movie, he banged on my window as I backed out. I swear I wished there was a way that I could run him over. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. And so I did the only thing that I could. I sped away as if my life depended on it.

  Now here I was, in a hotel room, trying to figure out my next move. Whatever that move was, I knew that it would involve finding the strength to move on from the man I had spent the last twelve years of my life married to.

  I’d lost so much of my life to pity parties. I didn’t know how I was going to pick up the pieces. I didn’t know when. But I couldn’t go back to that dark place I’d been in after the accident, and the only way I’d be able to do that would be to get out of this bed and find my strength.

  I threw the covers back, got up, opened the blinds, and began the seemingly impossible task of getting my life together.

  chapter

  * * *

  6

  Coffee. That’s exactly what I needed to help with this never-ending hangover. So, after taking the elevator, I headed to the Starbucks in the lobby. I didn’t bother looking at the menu and was about to order my usual Cafe Vanilla Mocha, but then I decided I needed a plain black coffee.

  I had just given the barista my order when I heard, “When I said let’s meet for coffee, I didn’t know it would be this soon.”

  I turned around to see Wilson standing there with a smile on his face. I immediately wished I had made coffee in my room.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Good afternoon,” he replied. “How are you today?”

  The barista handed me my coffee and I thanked her and turned back to Wilson, my gaze shifting in shame. How did you look a man you’d almost had a one-night stand with in the eye?

  “Better now,” I said, holding up the coffee. When it was obvious he wasn’t moving, I said, to say something, “So, I see you are still here.”

  “Actually, I’m about to head out. Since I couldn’t get out the other night, I stayed an extra day to take care of some business. But the roads have cleared up and I need to get on back home. Gotta make up for missing my daughter’s recital. I’m going to take her to dinner and to get her nails done.”

  “Sounds like fun. How old is she?”

  “Twelve. My other two kids are grown. But my daughter lives with her mother, so I don’t get to spend as much time as I would like with her.”

  We stepped out of the way to let the person behind us order, then stood in an uncomfortable silence for another moment before I said, “About the other night . . .”

  He held up his hand. “Hey, I told you, no need for an explanation. I completely understand. Were you headed back to your room, or do you want to sit and talk over coffee?”

  Because of what I had done, I really wanted to disappear. But something about Wilson’s warm demeanor put me at ease. And since
he was divorced, I wanted to talk to him about that process.

  Wilson ordered his own cup of coffee, and we took a seat at a table in the corner.

  “So, let’s address the elephant in the room,” he began. “I completely understand about the other night. I don’t think you’re the type of woman who randomly takes men to her hotel room, or else the night would have ended differently.” He flashed that Colgate smile. “But I do think you are going through some issues and it might help to talk about it.”

  “With a perfect stranger?” I said, giving a one-sided smile.

  “Sometimes a stranger is perfect. Especially a stranger who has been through what you’ve been through.”

  I nodded, and before I knew it, I was saying, “So, you cheated on your wife?”

  “Why do you automatically assume that it was me who did the cheating?” He chuckled.

  My face filled with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  He smiled to put me at ease. “But you’re right. It was me. The worst thing I ever did in my life. I loved her like crazy. And had my wife given me another chance, I would have spent the rest of my life making it up to her.”

  “Wow,” I said, hesitating as I weighed my next words. “So, can you be honest? Why would you cheat on your wife when you”—I made air quotes—“ ‘loved her like crazy’?”

  He shrugged, not fazed by my sarcasm. “Why do men cheat? Dumb. Not thinking. It wasn’t even a case of thinking the grass was greener, because I knew it wasn’t. I just took a stupid risk. Of course, I could list all the things my wife didn’t do, but that list would be short. In fact, my list of shortcomings would probably be twice as long. My wife didn’t do anything to drive me away. She kept the house. She worked. She didn’t nag. She didn’t withhold sex. She was still beautiful. She was everything I wanted.”

  I cocked my head and pursed my lips. “And yet . . . still you cheated?”

  He shrugged his right shoulder as he took a sip of his coffee. “Cheating for some men isn’t as complicated as women think it is. Lots of women make it about themselves. And most of the time it has nothing to do with the woman.”