What's Done In the Dark

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  Don’t do it! Don’t you dare do it!

  As difficult as the prospect was, though, I dismissed her advice and prepared to face my husband. I know a lot of women would tell me to take this secret to my grave, but I couldn’t do it. The guilt was killing me. The money I had given Sabrina had bought me some time, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to come up with the rest, and even if I could, I could not continue living in fear of her deciding one day to tell Greg.

  No, the only option I had was to come clean, pray my husband forgave me, and then begin repairing my marriage.

  I eased the key in the lock and made my way inside. I had hoped to buy myself a little time. Some wine would help give me the liquid courage I needed. But as soon as I walked in, I saw Greg sitting at the kitchen table with a distressed look across his face.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” I said as I walked in.

  He was in interrogator mode. “Where have you been?”

  I frowned. Why was he acting like the police? “Out. Running errands. Is that okay?”

  “Can you have a seat, please?” He motioned to the seat across the table.

  This was not going the way I had planned at all. “For what?”

  “Can you just have a seat?”

  I eased into the chair because the tone of his voice was worrying me. He was already mad. Maybe I should come clean later.

  “Do you want to tell me what is going on with you?” he asked.

  “Wh-what are you talking about?” I asked. “Going on with what?” I hoped he wasn’t about to start in on me again about the fact that we hadn’t made love. I knew that at some point I was going to have to push images of Steven out of my mind and make love to my husband, but today wasn’t that day.

  “You. You just haven’t been yourself lately,” Greg said, eyeing me skeptically. “And I’m trying to figure out why.”

  I managed a weak smile. “You’re exaggerating.”

  He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not. At first I thought my neglect was the problem, but it’s not. You’ve been acting strangely for several weeks now.” The way that he was dissecting me with his eyes was making me extremely uncomfortable. “Where’s the negligee?”

  “What negligee?”

  “The one you bought for our anniversary. You keep all your lingerie in the second drawer.”

  I knew he was obsessive about his clothes, but now he was trying to regulate mine?

  “Huh?” I said. I realized that was my opening. That was the hook I needed to tell my husband what really happened on the night Steven died. But when I opened my mouth, the harsh look in his eyes silenced me.

  “Where is it?” Greg repeated. “I didn’t see it anywhere. I saw the receipt in your jewelry box but can’t seem to find the negligee you had on when you left here that night.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I had tossed that negligee when I left the hotel. I knew that after what happened, I’d never be able to wear it again.

  “So, you’re snooping on me?” was all I could think of to say.

  “Where. Is. It?”

  “Greg . . .” I took a deep breath. The door to confession was wide open. All I had to do was walk through it. “Look, there’s something—”

  “I said, where is it!” He pounded the table so hard, it shook.

  I jumped in fright. “I–I don’t know. I was just upset, and I threw it away.”

  “You threw it away?” he said, looking at me crazy. “You want me to believe that you threw away a two-hundred-dollar negligee? Because you were mad at me?”

  Now I was getting nervous because I didn’t know where this line of questioning was going. “Why would you care? What is your problem?”

  “No, I’m trying to figure out what your problem is,” Greg replied. “Shoot straight with me,” he said. “Are you seeing someone else?”

  That accusation made me relax a bit. He didn’t know anything. “Are you kidding me? No. Why would you ask me something like that?”

  “I don’t know. You don’t want to be intimate with me. You’re nervous and on edge all the time. You’re snapping at me and Liz. And oh, yeah, you’re a thief.”

  That took me aback. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re lying to me. I’ve been with you long enough to know when something is going on with you, and something is definitely going on. Because everything else aside, now you’re stealing money.”

  “What are you talking about?” I repeated, only because it was the only thing I could think of to say.

  He slammed a piece of paper on the table. “Liz’s college money. Five thousand dollars is missing. Where is it?”

  “Wh-wh-what are you talking about?”

  “What do you think I’m talking about? I checked Liz’s account.”

  “Why would you do that?” I asked, stalling as my mind raced, trying to come up with a response. “You don’t do that until the first of the month.”

  “Is that what you were counting on? What? You’d planned to put the money back by then?”

  I fought back tears. I couldn’t take the drama. It seemed my life lately was one lie after another. I had to come clean—now!

  “Greg, I have something to tell you . . .” I began.

  “Oh, my God. You are having an affair!”

  “Greg, would you just let me—”

  “You dirty, filthy slut!” He rose out of his chair and grabbed me by both arms. His sudden aggression completely caught me off guard. “Is that why you stole Liz’s money, to give to your broke boyfriend?” His grip tightened around my arms as he shook me.

  “Owww, you’re hurting me!” I was shocked beyond belief. In all our years of marriage, Greg had never put his hands on me. “Let me go.”

  “How could you do this to me!” he screamed. He caught himself, though, because he released me and pushed me roughly toward the wall.

  I wanted to explain, tell him he was wrong, but I was so stunned, and he was so enraged, I couldn’t get the words out.

  “So, I guess this is payback?” he snapped. “You’ve been waiting all this time to pay me back?”

  “Greg . . .” I finally managed to find my voice.

  “I guess we’re even now. You had your little fling.” He took a deep breath, stood like he was pulling himself together, then added, “Tell your boyfriend I want my daughter’s money back in her account on the first.” He spun around and stormed out the room.

  I knew that I needed to go after him. Convince him that there was no boyfriend and do what I had initially planned to do: come clean.

  But with the way he’d just reacted—over an imaginary man he didn’t know—telling him the truth would send him over an edge we would both regret.

  41

  Paula

  MAYBE I’D FOUND MY CALLING—event planning—because I was having a ball trying to plan my best friend’s birthday party. After all that she had done, I really wanted it to be a night that she would always remember.

  Greg must have been super busy because I’d been calling him the last three days and hadn’t been able to reach him. I didn’t want to step on his toes or plan something he’d already taken care of. That’s why I kept trying, and finally he picked up.

  “Hey,” I said. “It’s Paula.”

  “Hey, Paula,” he replied.

  He sounded groggy and out of it.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m cool,” he said, although he sure sounded stressed out.

  “Well, I know you said you were still having Felise’s party, and since it’s coming up quickly, we might need to finalize some things.”

  “Ah, yeah,” he stammered. The tone of his voice was almost drugged, like he was taking medication.

  “Greg, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound yourself.”

  “Nah, I just got a lot going on,” he responded.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. The last time we’d talked he had been worried about his marriage. I hoped that wasn’t holding him
back now.

  “It’s work stuff, just work stuff,” he said unconvincingly.

  “Well, um, do you still want to do the party?”

  A beat, then, “To be honest, Paula, my mind isn’t in the right place to be planning a party.”

  I was a little shocked to hear that, especially because both of us had shelled out time and money. “I thought you said you already paid for the place.”

  “I did,” he replied. “It’s just . . . the planning. I’m not in the right frame of mind.”

  I relaxed. “Well, if the planning is an issue, don’t worry about a thing. I got it.”

  “I could never ask you to do something like that.”

  “Please. Felise is my best friend and she’s a really good woman.” I swear I heard him laugh at that, but I kept talking. “Besides, I’ve done quite a bit of planning so far. I’ve sent out invitations. I got a cake. It’s doing me good to keep my mind off of things.”

  “You’re a good friend, Paula.” He sounded so unbelievably sad, and it was breaking my heart. I knew now, more than ever, we had to have this party. Everybody needed the release.

  “Felise has been a good friend to me. She really has. And I know the two of you have had problems, but I know that she loves you and this party would do us all good.”

  The pause that filled the phone went on for so long, I thought he had hung up.

  “Greg?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” he softly said.

  I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to say, “Greg, if anyone can work through their problems, the two of you can.”

  I heard a loud exhale. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about me. Have you found anything else out about Steven?”

  It was my turn to pause. Should I tell him about the other woman? He and Steven weren’t that close, but they were friends. Maybe he knew something about her. But I was in a good mood today. I didn’t want to get myself worked up all over again.

  “No, the autopsy confirmed that his heart gave out,” I said.

  “Just gave out, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  He tsked, then said, “Well, whatever you do, don’t blame yourself. Steven was at that hotel because he wanted to be. Couples fight all the time, but they should always come home.”

  “You’re so right.” Greg was bringing me down, so I wanted to hang up and get back to the party planning. “But look, I know you have a lot going on at work and, well, I don’t and I need the distraction. So, I’ll take care of everything from here. You just get Felise to the Hyatt. Why don’t you tell her you’re taking her to dinner at the Hyatt Spindletop? Make her think you’re going to a quiet dinner for the two of you. Get a room and just make it a whole experience.”

  “You really have thought this through,” he said.

  “I have a lot of time on my hands. And I love doing this.”

  “Well, I really appreciate it.”

  “Cool, and Greg, what you two have is real love. I tell Felise all the time, you’re a good guy.” I laughed. “OCD and all.”

  He gave a terse chuckle.

  “So, I’ll take it from here,” I continued. “I’ll call you back when I’ve finalized everything.”

  He agreed, and we hung up. I hoped the rift between him and Felise wasn’t serious. Over the years, despite everything they’d gone through, Felise had always been in Greg’s corner. Even when he had his brief affair. Even when she felt neglected. Even when she wanted to give up, she hung in there. He couldn’t be sounding defeated now. No, whatever they were going through, they needed to work through it. And I was going to do my part. I was going to help them both have a night to remember.

  42

  Felise

  THE CHAOS WAS THE PART of my job I both loved and hated. The hustle and bustle of the ER was on full speed tonight.

  “We’re losing her! Get me a working ventilator. Stat!” the ER doctor screamed as he stuck his head out of a drawn curtain.

  “I’m coming!” I said, racing toward him. It had been a crazy night in the ER, and that was fine with me. I needed something to take my mind off my situation.

  I hurriedly began removing the current ventilator, which we’d discovered wasn’t working. I know it took me less than a minute to get the new ventilator hooked up, but just as I snapped in the final tube, I heard the sound that all of us in the ER hated: the droning tone of the machine indicating flatline.

  The room grew eerily silent until the doctor removed his mask and said, “I’m calling it. Time of death, 9:46 p.m.”

  I inhaled deeply. I’d seen my share of murder and mayhem in the ER, but this one hit home for me. This one had happened right before my very eyes.

  A young woman had come into the ER just after eight p.m., right after my shift started. She stumbled in with a stab wound to the stomach. She managed to mumble that her husband had stabbed her. I held her hand as she cried and pleaded with us to save her life. I managed to calm her down enough for her to say, “Please tell my kids I love them . . . Tell them d-don’t hate him . . . and I’m sorry I caused this.”

  I didn’t have a chance to learn any more information because her husband walked in and announced, “This is what happens to bitches who cheat.” He fired two shots at her. One hit a nurse in the leg; the other hit the young woman in the stomach. After the shooting, the man dropped the gun and didn’t resist as the emergency room security tackled him to the floor. I assumed the police had taken him away because he was nowhere to be seen.

  By two in the morning, the ER began to return to normal and I was finally able to catch my breath.

  “So what was the deal with that lady that was shot by her husband?” I asked April, one of the shift nurses. April was the ER reporter. If you wanted to know what was going on, she was the one to give you the scoop.

  “Girl, her husband caught her cheating. Apparently, he killed the other guy, then stabbed her. She got away, then he followed her here,” April said. “He just kept telling the police, ‘I thought we were happy.’ That’s all he said over and over.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yep,” she continued, shaking her head. “He tried to kill her.” She stopped and looked toward the bay where the woman had died. “I guess he did kill her. That’s why I try to tell folks, you playing with fire when you step out on your mate. You never know what someone is capable of until they’ve been wronged.”

  I was stunned. It’s like she was sending me a direct message. But was Greg capable of murder? No, I told myself. Greg would never do something like that. But still, deep down, I knew, with a betrayal like this, I had no idea what my husband was capable of.

  I had a hard time concentrating the rest of my shift. I had just clocked out when I saw Valerie Westbrook, our clinical psychologist, heading to her office.

  I don’t know what made me stop her, but I said, “Hey, Valerie. Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Sure, Felise. What’s going on?”

  “You heard about what happened in the ER tonight?”

  “Yes.” She assumed her professional demeanor. “I got the All-text, which is why I came on in. Such a tragedy. And I understand you were with her. Do you need to talk?”

  We had psychologists on staff because sometimes the trauma of the ER got to be too much.

  “I actually do,” I said. While the young woman’s murder bothered me, that’s not what I wanted to talk to Valerie about. I hated using tonight’s situation to find out answers for myself, but I wasn’t ready to admit to anyone else what I’d done.

  “Let’s step in my office.” She led the way down the hallway. I followed her in and took a seat. She sat down behind her desk and got into therapist mode.

  “So, you were with her when she came in?”

  “I was. She wanted me to tell her kids she was sorry. It was so heartbreaking. She felt like she was to blame. ”

  Valerie was listening intently. “I’m sorry you had to endure that, but I’m sure it was comforting to the woman to ha
ve you there.”

  “She said he’d never gotten out of control like that before. Do you think it’s possible for someone with no violent history to snap?”

  Valerie nodded. “Absolutely. Crimes of passion are often the result of rage, many times that no one saw coming. They’re amplified when the person feels like the betrayal was significant.”

  “The lady was really remorseful, and she wanted to make sure her kids didn’t hate her husband.” She listened like she was waiting for me to continue. “I know you deal with mostly traumatic situations, but you do a lot of family counseling as well.” I needed to make sure I was convincing, so I let myself look confused. I’d been trying to make sense of how I could’ve done what I did. Maybe Valerie could indirectly help me find some answers. “I guess I’m just trying to understand what makes a person cheat. I mean, she seemed like a sweet woman, and apparently the husband thought they were perfectly happy. Why would she risk everything?”

  “No one who is perfectly happy in their primary relationship gets into a second one,” Valerie said matter-of-factly.

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  “Usually, they’re missing or lacking something,” Valerie continued. “Let me use this analogy. Imagine someone wandering around with a couple of empty wineglasses who suddenly meets someone with a bottle of wine. And so they want a little taste.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you sure there’s not anything more you want to talk about?”

  “No, no. I just felt bad for the lady, that’s all.” I wanted to ask her more questions, talk to her about how I could get over the guilt, but I was too ashamed to let her in on what I’d done.

  “Really, that was it,” I said. “It’s all just part of the job, I guess.” I shrugged. “But thank you for taking the time out to talk to me.”

  “My door is always open, whenever you need me. You can come talk to me about anything, work-related or not.”

  I probably needed to come on a regular basis, but I knew I never would. I did walk away with one valuable nugget, though. This secret was a ticking time bomb. Greg had only rumbled the other day. If he stumbled upon the truth any other way, he would completely explode.