Wrath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  He took one step, but before he could take another, my mother jumped up. “No, wait,” she shouted. “We’re not going to leave like this, Pastor.” She turned to me and Xavier. “You both have to understand how this looks to us.”

  I took Xavier’s hand and squeezed it, hoping he would let me lead the conversation from this point.

  “Yes,” I said to my mother and father, “but what I’m hoping is that your surprise will not be greater than your love for me. And I’m hoping you trust me, knowing I would only be with a man that God had chosen, because that’s how you raised me.”

  My mother nodded. “Your father and I know that, don’t we, Kareem?”

  Even though my father’s eyes were still on Xavier, he nodded at my mother’s use of his name.

  Continuing, my mother said, “Here’s the bottom line. Beyond our shock, we are sad. We weren’t part of our only child’s wedding. And your father should have been given the opportunity to perform the ceremony. This is something we’ve looked forward to since you were a little girl.”

  Her words squeezed my heart.

  “And I’m sure one of the other issues, Xavier, is that my husband didn’t get the courtesy of a visit from you. So that the two of you could sit down and talk before you moved forward. That’s a tradition in some circles—in our circle—you know.”

  I flinched at my mother’s elitist words, and Xavier tightened his grasp. But his voice was even when he said, “You’re right, Mrs. Jeffries. I got caught up in how I feel about Chastity. But I love your daughter, so I can’t be sorry. I don’t regret what we did.”

  My mother took Xavier’s challenging tone better than my father had. “Well, all we can do now is move forward, and I have a suggestion.” She looked from me and Xavier to my father, then back to us. “I guess you had a little civil ceremony down in New Orleans.”

  I wanted to be offended by the use of the word little, except that our ceremony was probably smaller than she even imagined. We nodded at her assumption.

  “Well, I’d like for us to have a reception for you. This way we can celebrate together. This should be a happy occasion, and I want us to find a way to get to that.” She paused. “Does that sound fair?” she asked, sounding more like a hostage negotiator than my mother.

  I nodded. Xavier nodded. My father still glared at us.

  My mother said, “I’m hoping we can all agree to this,” facing my father. “And I’ll plan it. We’ll have a wonderful time, and it will give us a chance to be part of”—she sighed—“your marriage.”

  Xavier spoke up first. “I’d really like that, Ms. Jeffries.” When my mother gave him a hint of a smile, he turned to my father. “And, Pastor Jeffries, I apologize for not asking for Chastity’s hand in marriage, but what I would like, if you’re amenable, is on the day of the reception, if Chastity and I could stand before you and you can perform the ceremony.” He glanced at me, and I nodded. Xavier continued, “It would mean a lot to us.” He held out his hand to my father, but my father ignored his offer of peace.

  “I don’t do mock ceremonies,” he said with such disdain. “If you’re married, you’re married. There’s no need for me to perform a fake service.” He turned to my mother. “Sisley, are you ready.” It was a question, but his tone carried a period. This discussion was over.

  Without saying anything else, he walked to me, huffed out a breath, and then brushed my cheek with what was supposed to be a kiss. With barely a nod to Xavier, he turned his back, making my eyes burn with unshed tears.

  My mother followed him, but she did what my father should have done. She hugged me and held me for the time that I’d missed with him. “Your father will come around,” she whispered.

  I nodded as I rested my chin on her shoulder.

  Still holding me, she added, “Remember what I told you—if this is God’s choice, your father will have no choice.” Then she turned to Xavier. “I hope you can understand.”

  Xavier said, “I do,” even as his tone sounded as if he didn’t.

  “If you love my daughter, and you treat her with the love and respect she deserves, then I… and Pastor… will come to love and respect you.” She gave him a smile, but no hug, and then followed my father out the door.

  Xavier and I stood, shoulders touching, as we watched them walk out. I stood waiting, thinking the bell might ring again—my father returning with an apology.

  But there was nothing.

  With a sigh, I turned to Xavier and expected him to do what he always did—pull me close and embrace me in this moment when I felt almost estranged from my parents.

  But when I faced him, I was surprised by the glare in his eyes. And then my surprise went straight to shock when he spun around and stomped into my bedroom.

  31 Xavier

  I’d been battling to hold it. From the moment I walked in and her parents met me with their steely stares, I’d been trying. No matter how many times I inhaled, no matter how many times I flexed, that flame flickered inside.

  It wasn’t cooling as I paced Chastity’s bedroom, circling around her canopied bed. My back was to the door when I heard her. I wished to God that she hadn’t followed me.

  “Xavier? What is wrong with you?”

  I clenched my teeth as the minutes replayed in my mind: her father accusing me of tricking her, her father not having the decency to shake my hand, and then the ultimate insult—his refusal to perform our ceremony.

  I’d wanted to tell him to keep his ceremony, that we didn’t need him. But we did; we needed him to make our marriage legal—and the fact that he wouldn’t do it burned me even more.

  “Xavier,” Chastity called me again.

  I faced her, and, by her changing expression, I knew she saw my rage.

  “What is wrong?” she asked again. “Why are you upset with me?” she pressed, not knowing this was not the time. Not knowing that her words were like kindling. “Are you going to say anything?”

  I exploded, “What did you say to them?”

  My roar sent her two steps back, but it was too late for me to care. Something she’d said had caused her parents’ reactions. Made them glare at me as if I were a piece of crap stuck on the soles of their shoes.

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice didn’t have any volume this time.

  But mine did. “You said something that made them treat me that way. What did you say?”

  “I told them we got married.” She spoke slowly. “I told them it wasn’t planned. I told them we did it because we”—for a moment her next words seemed stuck—“love… each other.”

  My eyes narrowed as she stuttered. “Why did your father say I tricked you?”

  She raised her hands, cutting through the air with each word she spoke. “I don’t know. All I know is that they were upset. The way they talked to you, they talked to me.” She shook her head, sounding calmer now. As if she’d forgotten there was a volcano brewing in front of her. “I guess I didn’t consider just how angry they’d be.”

  “Are you saying you’re sorry we got married?”

  Her head snapped back. “What I’m saying is I didn’t expect their reaction to be so severe. But, Xavier, I don’t understand your reaction at all. Why are you upset with me?”

  “Are you blind? Didn’t you see how they treated me?”

  “You need to calm down,” she said so softly, I had to strain to hear her.

  She stood steadfast, though I could see her fear, in her eyes, in the way she trembled. I wanted to pull back, but her father’s voice rang in my ears—telling me I wasn’t worthy, his sentiments just like Gran’s.

  “Your parents treated me as if I’d done something wrong.”

  “Because to them, you did. To them, we did.”

  Her words made me pace once again.

  She said, “Have you forgotten we’re on the same side?”

  That made me stop, made me turn to her, with the fire so hot, flames shot from my eyes. “If you were on my side, you would have wai
ted for me. Why did you tell them before I got here?” I didn’t let her answer. “Because you wanted to control the narrative.”

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed as if she were studying me. “You’re acting crazy right now and—”

  Crazy? The rage took control of my legs, my arms, my hands, my mind. I stormed toward her. “Are you calling me crazy?”

  She backed up but didn’t have anywhere to go.

  “I am not crazy!” I thundered and slammed my fist into the wall, inches from where she stood.

  Chastity shrieked. The wall cracked.

  And I felt… relief.

  I stood there for a moment, until my heart rate slowed. That was when I saw Chastity crumbled on the floor, whimpering. I glanced at where the wall had received my rage, then I fell next to my wife.

  She screamed and scooted on her butt across the carpet, trying to get far from me… until she was backed into the corner.

  Lord, what had I done?

  “Chastity,” I whispered her name and crawled to her, then wrapped my arms around her. “Baby, please.”

  She cried, “Get away,” and wrestled to release herself from my grasp.

  I closed my arms around her, so all she could do was kick. But still, I held her tightly, knowing if I let go, I’d lose her.

  “Get away,” she screamed and trembled.

  “No, Chasity, please. I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

  She fought like she was in a battle for her life. But I held her, rocked her, and repeated, “I’m so sorry,” until she stopped squirming, until she stopped sobbing.

  Even then, though, I held on until I felt her body relax against mine. And then, with one arm still wrapped around her, I used my hand to lift her chin.

  Inside, I groaned. Not because of the tears that streaked through her makeup, and not even because of the tremble of her lips or the tremors that still raked through her. It was because of her reddened eyes, which were still wide with fear as she looked at me.

  I had done this to the woman I loved.

  “Baby, I am so sorry.”

  She lowered her eyes as if she had nothing to say.

  So I tried to explain, “I was just upset. It seemed as if your parents didn’t accept me.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not what happened.” Her voice was low, still shaky. “They’re upset with both of us, but you went berserk. As if you…” She stopped; she wasn’t going to repeat crazy again.

  I said, “It seemed as if they weren’t giving me a chance, and it kept getting worse… I didn’t know what to do.”

  She nodded, then her gaze wandered to the wall. “So you decided to punch something? Oh my God, Xavier, I thought you were going to hit me.”

  “No.” I wrapped both arms around her again because the sight of that wall would make her run. “Baby, I would never hit you. You know that.” Her doubt made her stiffen, and I continued, “Remember, last night you were upset with me. And I gave you grace,” I said using the word she’d spoken in her vows not even seventy-two hours ago. “I just need you to extend that grace to me.”

  My words touched her, made her relax more into me.

  I kept going. “I have never done anything like that, but I promise you, this will never happen again.”

  The way she sighed, then nodded, I knew I could release her. But still I stayed close… just in case.

  She leaned against the wall, and I did the same. We sat under the mark of my wrath. I knew my thoughts, but I wondered about hers. I had to make her believe this was a one-time thing.

  I leaned toward her, and when she didn’t flinch, I pushed toward her until my lips were on her forehead. Then my lips were on her eyes, her nose, and her cheeks, until I found her lips. And when she received me, my heart wept.

  It was soft, not very long, but it was enough. When I leaned back, I held her against my chest, hoping my heartbeat spoke to her, making her forget what I’d done.

  I was so grateful I’d fixed this, but my gratitude was beyond this moment; I was so thankful for my foresight. Chastity believed we were married. That’s why she wasn’t going to leave. Because Chastity thought she was my wife.

  Thank God for that.

  32 Chastity

  The knock on the door made me swivel my chair. But unlike the many times when I’d been caught slacking because of my love of this city view, I didn’t rush to awaken my computer.

  “Come in.” I watched the door open before the young deliveryman stepped into my office. His eyes were filled with a bit of sheepishness and a lot of awe.

  “I’m back,” he said.

  This time he held a vase with about three dozen rainbow roses. Without saying a word, the young man and I scanned the office in search of a space. But every inch of every surface was covered with roses.

  I gestured to him with my chin. “On the floor by the door.”

  He frowned as if the flowers were too lovely for that, but he followed my request, then brought me the slip to sign. Like the dozen times before, I reached into my purse for another ten-dollar bill. I’d had to go to the ATM after the third delivery this morning.

  “It’s after five,” I said. “Hopefully, this will be the last time today.”

  He nodded, but his expression said he wouldn’t mind returning. With these tips, this was probably his greatest gig this year. When he stepped out of the office, I spun my chair once again.

  My second day back to work after a wondrous weekend, and once again, I couldn’t focus. Yesterday it was my dad; today it was my husband. Like I’d done a couple thousand times, I shook my head at the memory of last night. Xavier taking a swing at me didn’t line up with the man I knew.

  Or maybe it did. Because as my parents reminded me, I didn’t know Xavier. Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to wander, to the times I’d fought hard today not to remember.

  A flashback: Xavier slammed his hand on the steering wheel, startling me, making my head rear back. “Why would you do that?” he shouted. No, he screamed, a sound that made the windows rattle.

  Another moment: With a grunt, he pitched the velvet box across the room, sending it crashing against the window, making the glass (and me) shake.

  Then last night. Xavier’s fist. Through the wall, but next to my head.

  Was this a pattern, or was I making too much out of this?

  One side of my brain answered: pattern or not, Xavier swinging was unacceptable.

  My internal debate continued: I’d known Xavier for ten, almost eleven weeks. Just under three months… but there’d been only three incidents. Was I going to allow three bad times to negate the hundreds of glorious moments?

  Another knock on the door made me sigh. Was Xavier kidding? Drowning me in the fragrance of flowers wasn’t going to fix this. But then a quick glance at my desk clock reminded me before I said, “Come in.”

  This time, my door opened wide and hard, banging against the wall, and Tasha blew in. She sashayed toward me, wearing dark glasses and some kind of purple fur coat, but once she was halfway to my desk, she stopped. She pushed her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, scanned my office, then turned to me. “I’m assuming nobody died up in here.”

  Those were not words I expected. “What do you mean?”

  “Well”—she continued her stroll toward me—“the last time I saw this many flowers was at Aretha’s funeral, God rest her soul. So what’s up with this?” She spread her arms wide, then shrugged off her coat, letting it drop to the floor.

  I said, “Gifts. From my husband.”

  Tasha was about to sit, but she paused, her butt in midair. Then, slowly, she stood straight. “I didn’t know you were married.”

  I said, “We kept it a secret… for a while,” thinking that was easier than explaining.

  “Well, congratulations, I guess,” she said, not sounding at all like she was giving me well wishes. Before I could thank her (in the same tone), she asked, “So why all the flowers?”

  “He was just
in the mood.” I looked to the files stacked on my desk.

  She studied me through narrowed eyes. When she said, “Sure,” I heard every bit of her sarcasm. “Chastity, we haven’t known each other very long, but if you want to talk—”

  “The only thing I’d like to talk about is this.” I pointed to her folder, then picked up mine.

  “I remember the first time Derrick filled our home with flowers…” she said, ignoring my request. “I’m trying to remember how many weeks it was after we were married.”

  I inhaled and held that air in.

  She continued, “He was so sorry, there wasn’t a space or a spot I could pass in our home that didn’t remind me how sorry he was.” She shook her head. “It took me twenty years to admit that, yeah, that man was way too sorry for me.”

  I didn’t want to get into this kind of discussion with a client, but I couldn’t resist asking, “You said weeks? He abused you in the first weeks?”

  She waved her hand. “Have you not been listening to me all this time that we’ve been meeting?”

  Yes, Tasha had told me how she’d been beaten. But she talked a lot, making me scour through her ramblings to get the information I needed to protect her and her assets as her marriage ended.

  But I didn’t get a chance to say anything before she said, “Yes, it was in the first few weeks. Right after we had that big ceremony. We were still opening wedding gifts when he tried to knock out all of my teeth.”

  Tasha stared at me and I stared at the five vases of flowers on my desk until she said, “You’ve helped me, so let me tell you this: You cannot fix an abuser, you cannot change an abuser, you cannot help an abuser, because what a therapist told me was their rage comes from a place you can’t touch. They need professional help.”

  I leaned back, filled with indignation. “My husband is not abusing me.”

  She stood and swiveled her hips, exaggerating her glance around the room. “He’s doing something, whether you admit it or not. I’m just saying he has to be the one to fix it, not you.”

  I hoped she didn’t hear the way my voice quivered when I said, “You’ve made a lot of assumptions about some flowers.”