Roosevelt was truly the best man I ever had. I never stopped loving my husband. Maybe I should thank my dad for giving me a reason to stop prolonging coming back to Roosevelt. I prayed that when I looked into his eyes, I would see that his feelings for me were the same as when we stood at the altar exchanging our vows. That would let me know that I was forgiven for all that had happened at and after our reception.
Hoping he hadn’t changed the lock, I inserted my key to Roosevelt’s condo. It fit perfectly. Quietly I entered and stood in the foyer. There were so many candles on the dining, coffee, and end tables, as well as the kitchen granite countertop, I flipped the switch to make sure his electricity was working.
“Hey, where’s the beef?” Roosevelt asked from his—make that our—bedroom.
I didn’t respond. I got a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator, two glasses from the cabinet, and filled each flute.
“Hey . . .” Roosevelt stood still when he saw me. Whatever words that were probably intended for Loretta became lodged in his throat.
Firmly I told him, “We need to talk.”
I walked up to my husband. He looked amazing, like none of those bullets had penetrated him. I wanted to see his naked body. Kiss his wounds, wherever they were. When was the last time I’d made love to this irresistibly gorgeous man? I craved Roosevelt’s stiff manhood sliding inside me. Making love one last time while I had my real breasts was what I needed. I took a deep breath.
“You need to leave,” he said.
Handing him a glass, I put it in his hand. “If you let go, it’ll be your fault. I’m not going until I get ready.”
Holding the flute, he turned away. “Madison, don’t make me do something I’ll regret. I don’t care why you came but you can’t stay here.”
From the side I saw the tears filling his eyes. He blinked several times, then swallowed. I wanted to walk to him, stand behind him, lean my head against his back, and hold him. Tell him to let it all out. We were going to be okay.
Instead, I said, “Why? Because Loretta is playing housewife? You’re my husband, Roosevelt. And I’m your wife. That’s why I’m here.”
He sat on a bar stool facing the kitchen. He placed his flute down on the counter, then pushed it away as though I might have poisoned his drink. I wouldn’t do that to my husband.
“Honey, all of this is a misunderstanding. It’s Loretta’s fault. She—”
Roosevelt stood and thrust his fist forward. Then he jabbed the other. Back and forth he boxed the air in front of his face as he said, “She what? Stayed at the hospital every day until I came home . . . or she helped me through recovery when I didn’t know where the fuck my wife was or what man she was fucking!”
In midstream of the next punch, he pulled back and grabbed his shoulder. He smacked the bar stool, sending it crashing to the floor. He slapped the flute across the kitchen. I watched it shatter against the stainless-steel refrigerator.
That’s right. Get it all out.
He had every right to be upset. But until he knew the entire story, his conclusions were premature.
“Baby, I’m home. I brought you”—Loretta paused—“What is she doing here?”
Roosevelt said, “Leave the door open. She’s on her way out.”
Touching my stomach, I said, “I told you, I leave when I get ready.” I sat on the leather sofa, picked up the remote, and then turned on the television. Pressing the mute button, I slowly sipped my champagne.
Loretta took the glass from my hand; then she stood over me. “Madison, Chicago is right. You need to go. Now. If you don’t get up and get out, I’ll be forced to call the police.”
I scanned the stations, not caring what was on. “And tell them what, Loretta? That you wish my husband were yours? That you’re so desperate to have a man, you’ve abandoned your daughter. That you”—I stood in front of her face, yelling—“don’t live here! I do! This is my house! And my husband! And you’re the one leaving!”
Touching my stomach again, I leaned forward a little. There was nothing wrong. I did it to gain Roosevelt’s compassion. Carefully stepping over the broken glass, I picked up the bottle, filled another flute with champagne, and then sat on the couch. Roosevelt picked up his stool; then he sat on the sofa beside me.
He took my glass and asked, “What do you want from me, Madison? I gave you every ounce of my love and you signed those papers and had me taken off of the respirator. You wanted me to die. But God had a different plan.”
Even I couldn’t argue that point.
“Amen, thank You, Jesus,” Loretta said. “Hallelujah!”
I ignored her performance and responded to my husband. Softly, I said, “Baby, it was time for you to breathe on your own. I did that because I love you. Not because I wanted you to die.” Shamelessly, I took part of the credit for my husband’s survival. “You could thank me for your recovery. If I’d left you on that machine, you might still be there.”
“Madison, you are full of shit!” Loretta said, standing behind us.
The hate that was heading in her direction had arrived. “Really, bitch. Really?” I turned and looked over my shoulder at her. “You tell Roosevelt about the bet you made me? Tell him the truth about why you dragged me off the dance floor at Tisha’s wedding reception right after he’d proposed to me. If it weren’t for your jealous ass, none of this shit would’ve happened.”
Her jaw got tight. Eyes narrowed. Where were her Hallelujahs now?
“For real, Loretta? What is Madison talking about?” Roosevelt asked.
Suddenly Loretta wasn’t so boisterous. “Nothing,” she said.
“That’s a damn lie to deal with on another day, bitch, but right now you’re the one who needs to get out!”
“Madison, please stop calling her that.”
“Fuck that bitch! She walk up in here, calling my husband ‘baby,’ and I’m supposed to be nice. And you let her call you that! What the two of you got going on?”
Roosevelt shook his head; then he held my hand. “Nothing. I don’t want her.”
I darted my eyes at Loretta, then winked. Bitch, you are about to strike and get kicked the hell out.
“Roosevelt, I didn’t know how to cope with my problems and be there for you at the same time. And even when I did want to come see you, I wouldn’t come to your room because she”—I pointed at Loretta—“would never leave your side. Feeling guilty, Loretta?” I asked, then added, “For being the real reason my husband was shot.”
Oh, she was getting her just due: one slap in the face at a time.
Loretta stormed into Roosevelt’s bedroom. “Don’t sit your ass down in there!” I yelled to her. “Pack your shit, bitch!”
Roosevelt shook his head. “We don’t sleep in the same room. She sleeps in the guest room,” he said. “She’s not going anywhere. Finish what you got to say, so you can go.”
I forced tears to my eyes, but I didn’t sniff. I stared at the television, then at him. “Roosevelt, I have stage-two breast cancer in both breasts. I’m sure Loretta didn’t tell you. I couldn’t bother you with my problems while you were recovering. I did what I thought was best. I can’t blame you if you don’t support me. I didn’t want you to die, but knowing I might not have long to live, baby, I wasn’t in my right mind. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
Loretta walked a straight line from Roosevelt’s bedroom to the guest room. En route she said, “Give it a break, Madison. You and your daddy wanted him to die so y’all could get his money.” She shut the door to the guest bedroom.
“I’m so damn confused right now,” Roosevelt said, scooting away from me.
This wasn’t about Loretta, and I wasn’t going to let her interrupt my conversation with my husband. Loretta had made it harder for me to tell Roosevelt that my father had leveraged my house and I didn’t want to stay at a hotel or at my parents’. Basically, I had no place else to go except for Tisha’s, and I didn’t want to be there. Every house didn’t feel home
y, even if it was your best friend’s.
I moved closer to him. “Loretta is jealous. She’ll say whatever she thinks will divide us. Now that we’re back together, we can’t let that happen.”
He held my hand gently. “Madison, you went about this whole thing wrong. You should’ve told me everything.”
“Told you when? Told you what? I wasn’t the woman you fell in love with? My perfect body was not perfect. That I have to have the boobs you love chopped off, and I might die before our baby is born? What was I to say?”
Tears fell from Roosevelt’s eyes. This was the time to let mine fall too.
“Don’t say that. I love you for more than your body. I wish you would’ve told me, baby.” Roosevelt wrapped his arms around me.
Softly I said, “She needs to go. I’m home now.”
CHAPTER 15
Granville
This was not a vacation resort. Prison was not going to be my residence for the next twenty-five–plus years.
The judge forced some counsel upon me. I could’ve nipped and tucked my case away without going to trial and been on my way home to sleep in my bed. But noooo, she had to do it by the book.
G-double-A told me not to worry, that I should be glad that they hadn’t thrown everything at me. He said, “Stop looking a gift horse in the mouth.” I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that. I heard my mom say it too. “Granville, they could’ve charged you for every person at the reception.”
How was that? I didn’t have enough bullets. Wasn’t like I had a semiautomatic weapon. I had a little snub-nosed revolver. But no one could prove that, ’cause they hadn’t found it.
Somebody had to be held accountable for Chicago being shot. They’d come to the conclusion that I should be charged with two counts of assault with a deadly weapon and two counts of attempt to commit first-degree murder because two shots missed Chicago and his brother, and the other three hit Chicago. I told G-double-A, “It should’ve been five charges. They can’t even count.”
He explained, “Dude, they charge you by the person, not the number of bullets.”
So I could’ve fired a million times on one person and get charged once? Or the five shots could’ve landed me two hundred and fifty charges. That didn’t make no damn sense. Two people meant I should’ve had two charges, not four. Right?
It’s all bullshit! Now I had to sit across from this prosecutor dude, who probably didn’t know much more than I did about the law, and listen to him try to get me convicted. I wasn’t impressed with his stack of papers on his table.
My appointed counsel said, “Your Honor, my client pleads not guilty on all four counts.”
Sitting in front of the judge, I was dressed in an orange jumpsuit; I hoped she found me attractive. I’d let the prison barber trim my hair and shave my face extra clean. I figured the judge would see I didn’t belong behind bars and she’d have a change of heart. Wish I’d had some cologne. A good-smelling man always aroused women.
I stared at my short, young black lawyer. Doubted if he was thirty yet. Dressed in a dark suit, white button-down shirt, a skinny blue striped tie, and some weird black leather shoes, he stood beside me. The prosecutor had on a gray loose-fitted suit, with cheap black-looking shoes that made me uncomfortable. He must’ve lost a lot of cases to have to dress like that.
I knew I could represent myself better than the dude they’d given me. I spoke up. “Excuse me, Your Honor. Besides the fact that I’m innocent, I don’t understand why I’m being charged with four counts. Wasn’t but two people in the pool that I allegedly shot at.”
They used the a word a lot. Figured I’d use allegedly too.
She was beautiful. Her full lips were coated with a chocolate lipstick. Her hair covered her ears, but it didn’t touch her shoulders. I wondered what she was wearing under her black robe. Maybe, no panties. What lucky guy was hitting that? Or was she one of them pussy-licking judges? I wanted to unzip that cape, wrap it around my shoulders, and impress her with what Madison had taught me about how to eat pussy.
Trace the capital letters of the alphabet with my tongue. Always lick and suck the clit between letters. All these years I had no idea it was that easy to please a woman with my mouth.
“Mr. Washington, be quiet. You are not allowed to speak to me unless I ask you to.”
Some of the inmates on my unit said that during visitation the room was so crowded on the weekends that they actually got to stick their dicks in their girlfriends long enough to bust one. Madison would never let me do that to her. Precious would, if I could figure out how to do it.
My brows drew together. I didn’t empty the thirty-eight snub. I only hit him three, actually two times. The bullet that grazed his shoulder shouldn’t count. I wasn’t trying to shoot him at all. Well, that was a lie, but I didn’t have a clear shot at him after he jumped into the pool. Why was she counting the fact that his brother jumped in the water too? This should be a mistrial.
The judge said, “Your trial is scheduled thirty days from today.” She looked at her courtroom assistant and asked, “What day is that?”
“Your Honor, why so long? Can’t we get together before then?”
My attorney shook his head when he should’ve been nodding. Wasn’t like he was the one locked up. I asked him, “You wanna trade places, bro?”
“Mr. Washington, let your attorney represent you. It’s not my job to explain to you what you don’t understand.” She banged her gavel, then said, “Next case, Hernandez versus Perez.”
Tilting my head side to side, I mumbled, “It’s not my job to explain to you what you don’t understand.” Then I asked, “Your Honor, what about the gun? They find it yet?”
“Get him out of here,” she said, banging that gavel like she was upset.
“What about bail? How much is it again? Can you reduce it?”
“Out!” she said, then banged harder.
I thought she was going to break the handle on that wooden thing. I knew when a woman had had enough.
My attorney said, “Your Honor, may I have a few minutes with my client?”
Snapping my teeth at him, I said, “You’re fired, dude! I’m going to represent myself.”
The judge mumbled, “Heaven help us all.”
Forget her. I turned toward the door, then looked to my left. I didn’t know they’d come. Mom was seated in the first row with Beaux. Her white dress was pretty, but she’d lost weight the two months I’d been in here. Now she had to wait another month for my trial. Four weeks might not be enough time for me to get my case together. I should’ve asked for ninety days. G-double-A was going to probably charge me extra if he had to rush.
I hope I wasn’t the reason Mom was melting away. Stress had shed a few pounds off me; and that was hard to do, since I was mostly muscle. I knew I’d just fired him, but I whispered to my attorney, “Can I see my mother and my brother for a few minutes?”
My attorney whispered to the deputy.
“I’ll check with the judge,” the deputy responded, leaving me in a small, cold room, which was hidden from the people inside the courtroom.
Guess that meant “no.” Just like Loretta and Madison, that judge hated me, and she didn’t even know me. An armed guard kept watch over me. Just like the rest of the world, people went about their day, not caring about me. I was human too.
I was shocked when the deputy returned with Mom and Beaux. “Ten minutes,” he said, then left us with the guard.
“Granville, what have you gotten yourself into, baby?” Mom asked, opening her arms.
Placing his arm between us, the guard said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Sarah Lee. You can give him a quick hug now, and another brief hug at the end. Same for you,” he said, looking at Beaux. “No touching is allowed during the visit.”
Mom’s eyelids lowered halfway. It was good to see her.
“When I get out, I want some fried catfish, Mama,” I said, trying to cheer her up.
“Oh, Granville.”
&nb
sp; “It’s okay, Mama. I have to follow their rules until I get out. I’m innocent. I got me an in-house lawyer, who ended up on the wrong side of the law. I’ma win this case.”
Beaux shook his head, then nodded toward the guard. What did I have to lose? That guard wasn’t defending me.
“I think that dude is taking you,” Beaux said.
“You just keep sending his family what I tell you. He’s legit.” If my hands weren’t cuffed behind my back, I’d swing on him. “How you doing, Mama? You don’t look so good.” I knew what would make her smile. I said, “I’ll be home for Halloween for the birth of your first grandchild.” My lips curved so far, my face hurt.
Mom was quiet.
Beaux said, “Mom has the big C. We need you to get out soon.” My brother’s eyes locked with mine. “Soon, bro.”
Fuck! When did they find that out? I hadn’t been in that long. My eyes filled with tears. I wanted to pick up my chair and slam it against the floor until there was nothing left in my hands but the metal bar that the seat was attached to. My fingers curled into fists, the way they used to when Beaux and I fought—except this time they were ten times tighter. I didn’t want Mom to see me cry, but I’d cried every night since I’d been locked up. Now I had—but didn’t need—another reason to shed tears.
I stood and told the guard what the judge had indicated a few minutes ago. “Get me out of here.”
CHAPTER 16
Tisha
Every day I was sick and scared.
This one must be a girl. I was never this ill with either of my boys. Since I’d gone with Madison to her pre-op appointment, I didn’t know why, but my stomach ached so bad I couldn’t get out of bed.
Crackers didn’t help settle or keep anything down. I couldn’t feel any worse. I’d started putting the wastebasket next to my nightstand, in case I didn’t make it to the bathroom in time to vomit into the toilet. I wished my mother had warned me about the hardship having children could bring, instead of encouraging me to marry my first husband and have her some grandbabies.
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