Wrath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  I SHOOK MY head, escaping from that memory. I remembered Chastity’s face tonight, filled with care for me but with horror for what I’d been through. When we’d walked to her door, she’d hugged me and said, “I want you to know that even when you don’t think He is, God is always there.”

  My reply was just a kiss good-bye. Because while Chastity had heard me, she didn’t understand. God hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been there for me or my mama. I was about sixteen when I came to really understand Aunt Virginia’s words: Your mama had one story, and Bobby had another.

  Like Aunt Virginia, I believed my mama. I didn’t know what my mother’s story was, but I knew what Aunt Virginia’s words meant: Bobby wasn’t just my father, he was a rapist.

  Just thinking about that ignited the fire within me, and now I grabbed my cell phone, scrolling to the selfie Chastity and I had taken before the play tonight. Her image was my balm. With my fingertips, I traced the outline of her face, her photo bringing me the peace I needed to lay the burden of my paternity down.

  I held on to the cell phone, though, as I folded then tucked the pillow beneath me. I stared at her picture until the phone’s screen darkened.

  Then I slept, too.

  10 Chastity

  For the last month, I’d found it difficult to believe I walked the halls of the Divorce Concierge, this successful firm housed on the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth floors of the Vanderbilt building on Park Avenue. I’d sat in meetings in the oak-paneled conference rooms, and then I’d mingled in the firm’s corporate lunchroom, where tuxedoed waitstaff served me as I sat shoulders touching with some of the nation’s most notorious attorneys.

  Over the weeks, though, I’d settled down, adjusting to the ambience of this place, just in time for my first big case, which would bring quite a bit of publicity to the firm.

  “I’m so excited about working with you,” Tasha Rose gushed through the phone. “Chastity Jeffries.” From the moment we met about a month ago, this was how Tasha addressed me, as if I were the famous one. “Just the sound of your name has Derrick on the run, girl. And what y’all uncovered yesterday? I cannot believe he had all those offshore accounts. And where did he get that money? I better not find out some of that was mine.”

  “We have great people working with our firm and so, whatever we need to know, we’ll find out.”

  “Thank you, Chastity Jeffries.”

  Tasha cracked me up; I was the one who should have been fangirling.

  Tasha Carter Rose was my favorite TV sitcom actor from the ’90s, and I could point to her as one reason why I’d had top grades. My parents’ rule: no TV until homework was not only done but done well. So on Thursdays, if no other days, I was on it.

  “I just don’t think a white attorney would have worked this hard for me,” Tasha raved.

  “Tasha…”

  “Of course the Divorce Concierge is a top firm, but black folks understand black folks, and a black woman is gonna take down a dog of a black man.” She yelped out a “Hallelujah,” and I flinched.

  Taking down a black man was not my intention—giving top-shelf legal representation was. Tasha needed the best because Derrick and his attorney were taking prisoners for real, with the goal of sending Tasha to prison as they accused her of everything from child neglect (even though their youngest was sixteen) to laundering drug money, though, according to Tasha, she wasn’t the one involved with drugs.

  She had her own accusations, with scars she wore as proof. For years, Tasha had been the victim of domestic violence, and I was determined to help her get up and get out.

  Whatever came of this case, this was going to be a tragic ending to a fairy-tale beginning. Tasha and Derrick had met when they starred together on Just the Two of Us, where they dated, married, and then followed that script in real life. After their marriage, Tasha’s star began a meteoric rise, and within seven years, she’d won a Tony, a Grammy, and an Emmy. At the same time, Derrick struggled to find any role once Just the Two of Us was canceled.

  From the beginning, the tabloids shared gossip about cracks in their marriage, and now after twenty years, the cracks had turned into craters and a new War of the Roses.

  “Yes,” she repeated, “Chastity Jeffries, you’ve got to bring these men down.”

  I told her, “I’m not trying to take Derrick down. I want to leave him standing so he can do right by you.”

  “See what I’m talking about? I’m so glad you’re on my side.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I wanted to make sure you got the papers…”

  “I did.”

  “And you have the date on your calendar…”

  “I do.”

  “Then just call me if you have any questions.”

  “I will,” she said.

  After our good-byes, I leaned back in my chair, exhausted, which was how Tasha always left me. At least today, we hadn’t discussed any of the violent incidents she’d suffered at Derrick’s hands. Even after ten years in this business, it was hard to get used to the number of women who suffered abuse but continued to live in those situations.

  Swiveling my chair toward the window, thoughts of the women I’d worked with faded as I took in the view of Park Avenue and the MetLife Building. This vista was second only to the salary I’d received to join this firm.

  I leaned back, mesmerized by the buildings’ lights, which shined through the early darkness of the night. And I let my mind wander.

  “Xavier.”

  I did that a few times a day—whispered his name aloud. I’d say his name and smile; it was hard to stress with a grin.

  In the four weeks since we’d met, we hadn’t been able to spend the new-relationship kind of time with each other we both wanted. Our careers kept us too busy for daily lunches or dinners. Still, it felt as if I was in the middle of a whirlwind because Xavier made every hour we were together better than the last.

  The stakes had been high after dinner at Masa, the horse and carriage ride, our first and second and third kiss. How could that night be topped?

  But Xavier King was a man who always leveled up and who proved that it wasn’t the money (though he had it and was willing to spend it), it was the time that mattered. From the Yankees game to the Saturday brunch at Tavern on the Green to strolling through the Morgan Library & Museum because of our mutual love of books—whether he spent one thousand dollars or one thousand pennies, as long as we were sitting together or holding hands or kissing, we had an amazing time.

  I was beginning to care about him. Beyond our time together, I loved that he was a warrior. Every day he told me a bit more about his life. That was why he had me. His intelligence, his looks, his résumé—all of that counted, but all of that paled when compared to what he’d been through and how he’d come through.

  While he’d told me much about his grandmother, he hadn’t opened up too much about his mother. His history was filled with so much pain that, while I probed, I didn’t pry. When he shut down, I let go. He told me what he wanted to now; he’d tell me what he was able to later.

  The light knock on my door made me swivel in my chair and then tap on my computer, awakening the screen. “Come in,” I said, thinking I’d look up at either Andrea, my assistant, or Stanley Covington, the partner who was responsible for my being at this firm.

  But when I glanced up, I jumped up. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to collect the rent.” Wearing light blue scrubs, Melanie blew into my office with all of her mighty munchkin energy, but after just two steps, she paused, rested her hands on her hips, and released a long whistle. “My goodness. Look at all of this.” She took in the opulence of my executive desk and matching chair, which also matched the burgundy wall paneling. That was what had Melanie’s attention. “What kind of paneling is this?” she asked as she fingered the material. If my friend hadn’t been a top plastic surgeon, she would have been a top interior designer.

  “Purple wood, I’m told,” I said, then h
ugged her. “I’m so glad to see you.” Taking her hand, I moved toward the love seat, but my friend twisted away from me, ending up standing in front of the window. Her mouth opened wide.

  She turned to me. “They gave you this office?”

  I chuckled. “Well, it’s not like I’m a junior associate. I’m bringing ten years of experience and plenty of big-name clients, who may start off with a divorce, but who pass their other business to our other divisions, so yeah, they gave me this office.”

  “I guess.” She sauntered over and then plopped onto the other end of the sofa.

  “I’m glad you stopped by, but I would’ve met you somewhere for dinner.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna still treat me to dinner, but I wanted to see you in the middle all of this fabulousness.” She twirled her hand in the air.

  I laughed, then pushed myself up when my cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” I said, rushing to my desk.

  “Sure, girl, handle your business.”

  I was a few feet away, but already smiling because I saw Xavier’s photo on the screen. “Hey, you,” I said, the moment I answered.

  “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that all day.”

  Turning toward the window, I lowered my voice. “I know, we haven’t connected. I figured you were busy.”

  “And I figured the same about you. How’s your day been?”

  “Busy.” We laughed.

  I said, “How’s the cable case?”

  “Good. This is the toughest part.” He sighed. “Preparing for the depositions. This stage is always…”

  “Tedious,” I said. If we’d been FaceTiming, I would’ve seen Xavier’s smile. He always did that when we finished each other’s sentences. He said, “I wish we could get together tonight.”

  “You know if anyone understands, I do. Work calls.”

  “It does, but I can handle this work—or anything—because of you. Really, Chastity, over these last few weeks…” When he paused, I imagined him shaking his head, filled with the same disbelief I felt. “I’ve never been able to talk to anyone the way I talk to you.”

  My smile was my response. It was enough, I was sure, because I knew he felt it.

  He added, “We’ll definitely get together tomorrow. Something special to celebrate our four-week anniversary.”

  I laughed. “Really, Xavier? Are we going to do this every Friday?” I asked, though that wasn’t a complaint.

  “For the rest of our lives.”

  Like always, his words made me swoon; I could have listened to him for the rest of forever.

  “I just wanted to hear your voice,” he said. “I’ll probably be here until well after midnight, but call me before you go to sleep?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “You do—that’s the only way I can sleep. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow and then all the tomorrows after that.”

  After he said good-bye, I held the phone, staring at the screen, wanting to call back just so he’d say something else so sweet to me. But I just sighed, then pivoted and almost bumped into Melanie. It was a bit jarring because I’d forgotten she was here.

  “That didn’t sound like a business call to me.” There was an accusation in her tone.

  Tossing my cell onto my desk, I said, “I never said it was,” though I kept my eyes away from her.

  “Hmph.” Her eyes narrowed. “So do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “What?” I didn’t mean to be so secretive. It was just that the best part of our relationship had been that my parents hadn’t met him, Melanie hadn’t met him (except for that first night), and I hadn’t met any of his friends. It was just us.

  But the grin on my face told all kinds of secrets, and the way Melanie’s nosiness radar was set up…

  “Don’t play with me.” She wagged her finger in my face. “So you’re seeing Xavier?”

  “I told you that.”

  “No, you didn’t. You told me you went out to dinner the week after my party.”

  I shrugged. “Well, you never asked about him again.”

  She threw up her hands. “I never asked you because you don’t go out with a person a second time!” She crossed her arms. “And if you ever did, I just knew you’d tell your best friend.”

  I pressed my fingers against my lips because if I opened my mouth, four weeks of wonderfulness would spill out, and hearing those kinds of words from me might traumatize my friend. So all I did was weave around her and drop back onto the sofa.

  But even though I hadn’t said a word, Melanie acted as if I’d spoken. “You’re looking like you’re in love or something.” Her eyes widened. “Are you two in a relationship?” There was so much astonishment in her voice.

  “Well, I can’t say I’m in love,” I said, finally speaking up because I really wanted to talk about all of this. “I haven’t known him long enough to be anywhere close to that, but yes, we’ve been seeing each other, and yes, it’s been a whirlwind, and yes, I have enjoyed it and him so much.”

  She stood so stiff. “You?” And then she withered onto the sofa as if she’d fainted. If Melanie hadn’t been a top plastic surgeon or a top interior designer, she would have been an Oscar-winning actor—at least, that’s what she thought.

  I rolled my eyes, but that didn’t stop me from laughing.

  When Melanie “came to,” she pushed herself up. “I never thought I’d see this day. You, the one committed to singleness.”

  “First, I never said that, and second, I’ve learned some things since I’ve been home. I’ve learned a lot about forgiveness…”

  “You’re a preacher’s kid. You should have already known that.”

  “And,” I continued, ignoring her, “I’ve learned a lot about how people can change if they have the right person in their corner. My father is thriving because my mother stayed. Watching them has opened my heart a little.” I shrugged. “Or maybe it was just that I was supposed to be closed so I could be open for a time such as this and a man such as Xavier.”

  She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead.

  “Stop.” I shoved her away. “It really isn’t that big of a deal, except…” I hiked up my skirt and twisted so I could sink deeper into the couch’s cushions. “I’ve never met anyone like him.”

  “Well, it’s not like you’ve given too many guys a chance.”

  “Maybe I would have if I’d met someone like Xavier. I’ve never been with anyone where I felt so connected. Like the two of us were meant to be so that we could make each other better.”

  She nodded like she understood. “Like soul mates.”

  “Yeah,” I said, never having thought of it that way. “We have fun and we laugh, but then we can be serious, too. I know if I cry, he’ll hurt and cry with me.”

  “Wow. So where do you think this is going?” She paused as if she hesitated even saying the next words. “I mean, how serious are you? Do you think… like, he’s the one?”

  “You’re that anxious to get me married?” I didn’t give her space to answer. “We’re a long way from that. Just four weeks in, we’re enjoying getting to know each other.”

  “So you’re not in love?”

  I shook my head. “Not love, but I’m in real serious like.” I giggled.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Hmmmmm. That giggle. It sounds like you’re in lust.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t gotten that far, which is something else I like about him. Most guys are ready to jump into bed the first night. But while I know he wants to, he wants us to build something first.”

  She shook her head as if what I was saying was unbelievable. “Girl, marry this dude.” I laughed, and she added, “But first I have to meet him and make sure he passes all of my tests. Maybe I’ll cook for the two of you.” She paused. “Let me stop lying. Invite him to your parents’ place, and Kelvin and I will be there.”

  “Oh, that will be perfect,” I said, filling my tone with sarcasm. “Having my mom, my da
d, my best friend, and her husband grilling my man.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Your man?” Her grin made her whole face bright. “Be careful, it’s a short trip from your man to your husband.” She stood, grabbed my hand, and pulled me up. “Come on. You need to buy me a drink after admitting you’re in love.”

  “Your words, not mine,” I said as I stuffed two files into my tote.

  “You’re protesting too much. Yeah, you’re in love.” But this part of the conversation was over, as far as Melanie was concerned. She’d already sashayed out as if she were a foot taller, on a fashion runway, and dressed in something besides scrubs.

  I laughed, but then, as I followed her, my chuckles faded. I wasn’t in love, was I? Nah. No one with any sense fell in love in a month.

  That was the thought I had as I turned out the lights.

  11 Xavier

  I felt like a teenager, wobbly knees and all, as the Uber rolled to a stop and I opened the door of the Toyota.

  Chastity took my hand and slipped out of the back seat, and when she wrapped her arms around me and said, “Hey, you,” my anticipation morphed to expectation.

  As it always was when I saw her, it took a couple of seconds for me to breathe, and finally, I was able to eke out, “Hey, beautiful.”

  She stepped back with a little frown, and as the daylight of the last days of August dimmed toward night, the heat of her stare felt like a spotlight. “You okay?”

  My hug, my smile, weren’t enough to fool her, our connection already beyond the superficial.

  As she tilted her head, her frown deepened, but even with her furrowed brows, she had never looked more beautiful. She still wore her navy knee-length Brooks Brothers suit, with a tailored shirt, a women’s style that matched the one I wore. I already knew she hadn’t had time to go home.

  Her question was still in her eyes. I answered by taking her hand and leading her into the hotel, where we made our way toward the elevator. As we waited, I scrolled through my day in my mind. Unlike Chastity, I’d left the office early, a couple of hours after noon, something I hadn’t done in the seven years I’d been at Steyer and Smith. But there were arrangements to be made and plans to set.