Everyone else said Amen and opened their eyes, chatting as they took their seat, but Jamison and I kept our eyes on one another.
“You okay?” he mouthed. I didn’t respond. I just took my seat and nodded my head to Aunt Luchie when she told me that Tyrian was upstairs in his crib.
“So, as I was saying in the kitchen,” Aunt Luchie went on, raising her voice so the rest of the people at the table could hear her, “we really need to support the city’s efforts to keep Grady Hospital open. If it closes, where will all of those poor people go when they need good medical care? And where will our black doctors go to do their residencies?”
“Oh, please, Luchie,” my mother said. “The problem is that the doctors from Morehouse Medical School have more choices of where they can do their residencies now. It’s not like it was when we were coming up and they had limited options. Not every black person has to go through the old hospital.”
“Well, I’m a Grady baby,” Jamison’s cousin said. “And I think it’s important we keep the place open. We can’t let it be shut down like the rest of everything that’s black in the city. It seems like it’s a part of that whole gentrification thing, if you ask me. They want the old, poor blacks out of the city, so they can bring some of the white money in.”
“Exactly,” Aunt Luchie said.
“Stop it. I get so tired of people always associating everything that’s broken down and poor with black people. That’s not a black hospital,” my mother said. “It’s an old, broken down building that was poorly managed and that’s why it’s being shut down, just like every other poorly run business in the ghetto.”
“Oh, no,” Aunt Luchie said.
“I mean that, Luchie. Black people need to stop making all these excuses and realize that if they don’t run their businesses correctly, others will come in and get that money. That’s the bottom line.”
“Here we go,” Dottie said. “Got to start putting down black people, like you’re not black too.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ladies,” Jamison said, looking at me like I was supposed to stop the war that was brewing. I just looked straight at him as if I was deaf. If I even opened my mouth only one thing would come out. “Come on, we haven’t even gotten through the first meal. Let’s settle down. And we don’t need to talk about black businesses failing because we have one that’s doing very well right here in this house.”
“That’s right, baby,” Dottie said, patting him on the back as she always did. “And that successful black business done bought this house and supports this family. And it’s in no danger of breaking up. Right, baby?”
“Right, mama!”
She kissed him on the cheek.
“And it’ll make sure it keeps my grandbaby good and healthy and only getting the best, so he can be the first doctor in the family,” she said.
“Now that’s a fine idea,” Aunt Luchie said.
“No, we’re not choosing his career for him,” Jamison said. “We want him to be able to make that decision for himself. Right, Kerry?” He looked at me for a response. Everyone did.
“Um . . . hum . . .” I managed.
“Oh, he’ll be a doctor. It’s in his blood,” Jamison’s mother said. “Well from my side, anyway . . .”
“Excuse me?” my mother said.
“Well, Jamison is the only person ’round here bringing any money in,” his mother went on, sipping the mimosa in front of her.
“Only person?” my mother said. “First, that business wouldn’t be much of anything if it wasn’t for my contacts and my daughter’s work.”
“Ladies,” Jamison tried with his smug smile again, but it was too late.
“And if he’s not a doctor, you can blame it on that silly name your son gave him. Tyrian? What kind of name is that. No one has ever had a doctor named Tyrian.”
“No, you didn’t!” Jamison’s mother dropped her fork on the table.
“Yes, I did,” my mother said. I couldn’t believe her. She’d told me to keep my cool and she was clearly off her rocker. “If it wasn’t for my daughter in this house, that boy would come just about as close to being a doctor as your son did.”
“Well, he only stopped because your daughter didn’t have the grades to do it. He was trying to protect her from you.”
“Mama,” Jamison said.
“You told her that?” I asked.
“No, Jamison,” she started. “I’m tired of these people—”
“These people?” Aunt Luchie cut in.
“Coming in your house acting like they’re doing you a favor by being here,” his mother went on. “Like we ain’t good enough.”
“Oh, come on, let’s stop it,” Aunt Luchie said. “We have to get along for these two. We’re family.”
“Well, Lord help us if we’re your family,” his mother said. “I seen how you treat family.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” my mother asked, getting up from her seat.
“Dropping your sick husband off in some home like you white or something. Whoever heard of black people just dropping people off to die with some folks they don’t know? And it’s only a walk and a stone’s throw away from here. And you people only go see him once a year and spend the rest pretending he’s dead.”
“You take that back!” my mother cried.
“Mama,” Jamison called to Dottie.
“No, I’m tired of keeping up this charade. That old man is sick and the only face he ever sees is one he don’t even know.”
“What’s she talking about?” I asked, looking at Jamison.
“I—” Jamison tried, but she stepped in front of him at the head of the table.
“He been going to visit your father in the hospital every month. Taking him pictures of your selfish ass, but he can’t even tell you because you’re crazy.”
“You what?” I asked. I got up. “You did what?” I stepped back from the table, feeling my knees turning to sand. “How? I never told you to . . .”
“Kerry, I just didn’t know how to tell you,” Jamison said, walking to me.
“Stay away from me,” I said, stepping back farther.
“Kerry,” Aunt Luchie called, but I turned and kept walking toward Tyrian’s bedroom.
“Kerry, don’t do this,” Jamison said, following me up the steps. I could still hear the arguing going on in the kitchen.
“Don’t say a thing to me, you jerk.” I turned on the light in Tyrian’s room and pulled his diaper bag from the door.
“I just wanted to keep him company. I was going to tell you.”
“I’m leaving,” I said. I wasn’t even crying. I didn’t know where I was going, but I was leaving and taking my child with me.
“Leaving? Because of this?”
“Yes.” I picked up Tyrian’s snowsuit and went to the crib.
“Kerry, you can’t take him out. It’s too cold.” Jamison tried to get between me and the crib, but I pushed him out of the way and went and lifted Tyrian up to put the snowsuit on him.
“I can’t let you,” Jamison said.
“You touch me or my child, and one of us is going to the hospital and the other one is going to jail,” I said sternly. I slid Tyrian into the snowsuit and picked him up.
“You’re not in your right mind,” he said.
I turned to the door and Aunt Luchie was standing in the doorway.
“Kerry, don’t do this,” she said, putting her hands out to take the baby.
“You don’t know what’s going on here.” I started crying. Tyrian opened his eyes and looked up at me.
“He didn’t mean to keep it from you; hear him out.”
“Kerry, I—” Jamison touched my arm.
“Don’t touch me!” I screamed. “Aunt Luchie, I’m asking you to move out of my way. I have to leave here now.”
“Kerry,” she tried again.
“I need to get out of here,” I said furiously.
After she moved, I made my way down the stairs and fo
und that most everyone, except for my mother and Jamison’s mother, had left. And they were still arguing. I walked into the kitchen with everyone trailing behind me and picked up my car keys.
“Where’s she going?” Jamison’s mother asked. “It’s too cold to take that baby out.”
“Maybe we’re going to Coreen’s house,” I said. And if words could cause a heart attack, I’d swear she was on her way to cardiac arrest. She didn’t even respond. She just stood there with her mouth open, and her hand over her heart. “That’s right,” I added. “I know about her and what you tried to do, you old cow.”
“What?” my mother said.
“What are you talking about?” Jamison asked.
“Oh, now you don’t know? Your mother was the one who tried to hook you up with Coreen.”
“Ridiculous,” Jamison said. “She doesn’t even know her.”
I opened the kitchen door to head out to the car.
“She doesn’t know about Coreen,” Jamison said.
“I saw her.” I slid Tyrian into his seat and closed the car door.
“Saw who?”
“Coreen. I saw her at the church today. And she told me everything, Jamison. About your fucking e-mails.”
“It’s over between us. I told you that.”
“Really? Well, then why did you e-mail her yesterday?”
“Because she’s sick. She really needs help.”
“No, Jamison, I need your help. Your family needs your help.” I climbed into the driver’s seat. “And you weren’t there for us. And then you go and see my father behind my back!”
“I was trying to protect you,” he said.
“See, that’s the thing you can’t get, Jamison. I’m a grown woman. I don’t need your protection anymore. I’m your wife. I’m your wife! How could you share all these things with your mother and not with me? Go behind my back for all these years? That’s crazy. You’re supposed to love me.” I cried.
“That’s what I’ve been doing all of these years, loving you.”
“If you loved me you wouldn’t have lied to me. I feel like a damn fool for trusting you and then going back to you only to have you do the same thing again. I feel so humiliated. I really resent you right now.”
“You don’t understand what’s happening, Kerry,” he said, holding on to the door.
“No, I don’t care what’s happening,” I said. “The only thing I care about is my baby and my life, and that’s it from now on.”
“Jamison, I’m so sorry,” his mother said, rushing up behind him. “I didn’t know she was pregnant then. I thought I was doing what was best for us.”
“Us, Mama?” Jamison said, turning away from me. “How could you even think of such a thing?”
“I’m sorry,” she cried.
Jamison exhaled deeply and turned back to me.
“That’s all you’re going to do?” I asked. “She tried to ruin our marriage and all you can do is take a deep breath? God, Jamison, grow up.”
I turned the ignition.
“Where are you going?” my mother said, running out of the house. Tyrian started crying in the backseat.
“Mother, stay out of it,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” Jamison’s mother said.
“Mama, just go in the house,” Jamison said firmly. “I’ll deal with you later.”
She backed off, clearly surprised at Jamison’s anger.
“I’m sorry, Kerry,” Jamison said to me.
“I know you are. But it’s not good enough anymore.”
The Affair
When I was about seven, I remember my pastor saying in church one Sunday that the devil won’t ever look like the devil when he comes into your life. And this was the perfect time to hear such a statement—at that time I’d heard my mother talk about the devil so many times as some evil, dark, floating man, that in my head he looked like a werewolf or something out of a horror flick. The devil had horns on his head, thick red skin, a tail, and razor sharp teeth that he’d use to cut into my stomach. But when pastor said that the devil had no one image, and that when he came it would likely be an attractive or familiar face, I went out looking for the devil in everything. Was my teacher a devil when she gave me a B? Was my mother a devil when she made me carry food stamps to the store?
As I grew, I realized that was an unlikely way of detecting and outing the devil. In fact, I realized that I seldom knew when I’d had a “close encounter” until the devil’s deed had already been done. Now, I don’t mean this to say that Coreen was or is the devil. The situation was quite the contrary. She was a beautiful woman who had little connection to the devil other than her human frailties, which I share. What I mean to bring up here instead is those situations, those evil situations that seem wholly innocent as they are beginning or progressing, but when you come out on the other end, you’re left saying, “That wasn’t nothing but the devil.” Now whether you or the devil is the person involved in the situation is entirely up for question. Either way, something evil transpired.
When I got the e-mail, that first e-mail from Coreen, it was just weeks after the Black Enterprise story ran in the magazine. I was feeling pretty good about my business and excited by all of the accolades I was receiving from random people in the street. I’d be out at lunch and someone would walk up to me and say they’d seen me somewhere before and some people would ask for my business card. I was sailing on top of the world and wanted never to come down. When I did come down, though, was when I’d get home. The first time Kerry saw the article, she complained about the baby grand and how she’d felt Marial dismissed her and pointed out that she didn’t include any of her quotes. She never once said how great it was that I was in the magazine nor offered to have it framed, as I thought she would. Instead, she complained and the only positive thing I heard from her was that my tie looked nice.
This, I tried to take without a bruised ego. I knew that Kerry was having a hard time. She’d started putting on weight and I was beginning to suspect that she was tired of simply sitting at home all day, waiting for me to come home. She seemed unfulfilled and unhappy, but I honestly didn’t know how to handle her in that way. I didn’t want to make her angry by suggesting that she go back to school, and I didn’t want to make her sad by pointing out all of the great things that were happening to me. Instead, I chose to be silent to protect two things: the quiet I enjoyed by not fighting with my wife, and the sex I’d get by keeping the peace.
I thought this was fine. Not okay, but fine. We’d had rough spots in the ten-plus years we’d been together and sometimes, fine was all I’d get. Fine led to okay and then okay led to good. But I never wanted to just be bad, and I was afraid that pointing out her flaws and my achievements would make things bad on her part and the result—a bunch of arguments and no sex—would be bad on my part. These two bads only led to one place with my other friends—divorce court. And I never wanted to be there. I wasn’t in marital bliss, but I loved Kerry with every piece of my being and I never wanted to change our relationship.
Then I got Coreen’s e-mail. And the e-mail, which was so innocent, turned to us linking up. Now, I’d been around attractive women before, but Coreen just had something about her—the way she looked at me, the way she seemed to pay special attention to herself when I was coming around. At first, I thought I’d get over these things, and this was long before anything really happened between us, but then the way she spoke to me, always saying nice things and asking me for advice—hell, in my mind, that moved her from being cute to being gorgeous, amazing, and in the face of Kerry’s lack of reaction to me, everything I’d ever want in life. See, Coreen never seemed to want much, and the little I gave her, she went on and on about how great it was. If I found an hour in the day to spend with her, she’d make me a meal and bring it out to wherever I was. Then when she’d get there, she’d say how she felt so special to be eating with me and was happy that I had any time to spend with her. I hadn’t had praise like th
is from Kerry in years. Our Mexican fiestas had long turned into her being afraid to stain the antique sofa she’d ordered from Paris. And while she often came to eat lunch with me, she’d request lunch at a fine restaurant or country club where we’d either work to get connections or discuss the ones we had. Compared to that, Coreen was a breath of fresh air.
I’m not stupid enough to believe that this made her a better mate for me than my wife. Or that I had a better relationship with her than I had with Kerry. I know that my main attraction to Coreen—other than that she was fine as hell—was that she was new. See, Kerry had been there for me from the time when I wore sneakers from Payless and ate Hamburger Helper every night for dinner. While both she and I enjoyed talking about those days and I loved her for sticking by my side, at times that seemed to get in the way of her being able to see the new me. She knew I had faults. She knew I worried about my company and sometimes didn’t sleep at night. She’d been in my mother’s house and had seen me cry more than ten times about how poor I’d grown up. Sometimes I felt that to Kerry I was a man, her man, but still a man with flaws and cracks. Coreen couldn’t see any cracks. If I didn’t know something, she’d laugh it off and bring up something else. And if I didn’t want to talk about the next topic, she’d bring up something else or just sit there quiet until I started speaking. She depended completely on me. Now this wasn’t exactly the kind of woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, but damn, it felt good to have her around after a hard day. Someone not connected. Not judgmental. Not wanting or expecting anything but me. It felt good.
“Nah, dog, don’t do it,” Damien said when I told him about Coreen over a beer. Damien had been involved with so many women since he’d married Marcy that we’d stopped memorizing their names—they’d have nicknames that described them: “Thick Ass,” “Baby Mama,” “Big Titties”—so I was very surprised at his reaction. I didn’t even tell him about Coreen at first, but after we had sex, I felt really bad and thought that talking about it with the fellas would make me feel better. After ten years, I was finally in their club—married and dating. I wasn’t ready for Damien to tell me to back down. I felt bad enough.
His First Wife Page 20
