Should Have Known Better

by Grace Octavia

  3

  My husband, my college roommate, and I sat stone-faced in a row of white leather chairs along the side of Phil Landon’s sleek glass desk. As we’d been the entire way over to his central dealership in downtown Augusta, we were quiet and trying hard not to look at each other. And I didn’t care. I’d called in sick to come along for the ride that Reginald seemed confident would change his life, but I was in no mood to be a helping hand. I might’ve looked like a helping hand. I might’ve held a pad and pen and vowed to try to ask smart questions at smart times, but I couldn’t lie to myself. I knew Sasha had heard us arguing in the bedroom. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction (and didn’t know why I thought she’d be satisfied) of thinking I’d had an argument with my husband. She had no business being in my house and I needed to take control of the situation. Reginald could’ve spoken to Landon at any time, and on his own. His father had bought three Fords from him before he died. That had to be worth something. So, what was Sasha going to do? She had the big connections and beauty, but she wasn’t necessary. Reginald needed to see that. So, I wanted him to do well. But if he didn’t and it was Sasha’s fault . . . well, it would be her fault.

  “So, when does the car come to take you back to Atlanta?” I asked Sasha as pleasantly as I could. We were waiting for Landon to come into the office. His secretary was getting our coffee . . . and Sasha’s espresso.

  “Dawn, now’s not the time for that,” Reginald snapped.

  “No, it’s fine,” Sasha said. “I have a driver coming later tonight.”

  Reginald looked at me and grimaced.

  The secretary, a brunette with big green eyes and braces that revealed that she might have been twenty-two, came in juggling four coffee cups in her two hands.

  Landon walked in behind her with his hands in his pockets. He looked nervous. Maybe a little tired.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said and his voice boomed through the office in a way that articulated his confidence. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you, Ms. Bellamy.”

  “And still, you came,” Sasha said cheerfully, getting up to greet him. “Now, that’s love.”

  Reginald and I followed and stood up, too.

  The secretary slid the small cups onto a little table beside the desk and curtsied out the door.

  “These are my friends,” Sasha said, holding Landon’s elbow as she ushered him toward us. “Dawn and Reginald Johnson.”

  “Yes, yes!” Landon said, shaking our hands. His smile was crooked, almost tense. He was a middle-aged white man with hair that was so gray it looked like it had never been any other color. His eyes were blue and his belly was too big for his shirt.

  “Great to meet you,” Reginald and I said.

  Landon took a sip of his coffee, slid the cup back onto the saucer, and went to take a seat behind his desk. He had one of those Irish Claddagh wedding bands on his ring finger. Two teenage boys with blue eyes and hair just as gray as their father’s were posed in football uniforms in photos on his desk.

  “So, what exactly brings you here?” Landon asked Sasha, and I swear I couldn’t tell if his tone was friendly or just serviceable.

  “Your favorite color, of course.” Sasha crossed her legs slowly and kicked up her patent leather black stilettos for him to see.

  “Black?” Landon said.

  “Black coffee,” she nodded at the coffee. “Black shoes.” She nodded at her shoes. “And black pus—”

  “Horses!” Landon said quickly before Sasha could continue. He wiped some beads of sweat from his brow.

  “Yes, you love black horses, too.” Sasha grinned.

  I felt like I was listening to someone’s phone conversation and missing pieces.

  “But I don’t have any black horses,” Reginald said, confused.

  “You said on the phone that you had business,” Landon pointed out.

  “Well, Mr. Landon, I own a small lawn care company. Nothing big. Just me and some fellas I pick up now and again.” Reginald rambled and I could tell that he was nervous. “I been working on lawns my whole life and I was thinking maybe if you can find some work for me—”

  “What he’s saying is,” Sasha interrupted him, “he’s the best, so whomever you now have is fired. He has a five-man operation. Two trucks and the latest equipment. People will stop at Landon’s just to touch the green grass.”

  Landon nodded.

  “And buy a car,” Sasha added. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Hum . . .” Landon sat back. “Tell me, are you two from Atlanta? The South?”

  “I’m from Atlanta,” I said.

  “And I’m from Augusta,” Reginald said. “My father, Reginald Johnson Senior, bought three trucks from you. Everyone called him Reggie.”

  “Oh, man,” Landon said and suddenly his eyes met with Reginald’s. Some of the nervousness I’d sensed in him earlier seemed to dissipate. “Reggie . . . Reggie Johnson. I know who you’re talking about. He bought his first two pickups from my daddy when he still ran the place. Last one from me. He worked in construction. Right?”

  “Yeah, that’s my dad. Worked with his hands. Could make anything.”

  “Ain’t this something. Why didn’t you go into construction with him?”

  “I went to college . . . and that didn’t work out. Wasn’t for me, so I got a job in Atlanta. That’s where I met my wife here. Came home and started my business,” Reginald said. “When I got in, I started small. Kept it that way. I make enough to support my family.”

  “Got kids?” Landon asked.

  “Two.”

  “A son?”

  “Yeah,” Reginald said.

  “How old?”

  “Ten.”

  “Got a good arm on him yet? You know Georgia’s gonna need a little help when Richt goes out!”

  “If Richt goes!” Reginald said.

  The two men laughed heartily.

  “I hear ya, Captain. He got them to the grave. Go Dawgs!” Landon slapped the desk and got up to high-five Reginald.

  Sasha seemed annoyed by their quick friendship.

  “Look now, I think you’re good people. Good country people,” Landon said and I was so sure Reginald had reached his breaking point. While any other person who hadn’t been raised in the South would’ve seen Landon’s words as a straight compliment, calling another person “good country people” had become a way for white people in the rural South to passively identify other Christian or allegedly truthful white people and Christian and completely submissive black people. Reginald hated the saying and I knew he was about to find some way to spar with Landon.

  “Why, thank you,” Reginald said and I looked in his direction to see if he was actually his father’s ghost: his drawl had suddenly become that thick.

  “Now, I’ll tell you what. I got two dealerships sitting far west on 20—like thirty minutes out of Atlanta. Got a contractor on them now, but his contract is up at the end of the summer. You take on those dealerships, show me what you can do, and well—we’ll see about that fella’s other contracts when they come up.”

  “You serious?” Reginald asked.

  “Serious as them Dawgs beating on Tech last fall!”

  “Now, I have good references,” Reginald said, flustered. He snatched a folder I’d been holding on my lap and held it out to Landon over the desk.

  Landon held his hand up to stop him.

  “I’ll take Ms. Bellamy’s word,” he said.

  “Oh, you can always trust my word. If I say it, I mean it.” Sasha crossed her legs again and kicked her shiny shoe up higher.

  “Well, you’ve made that very clear,” Landon said and once again I felt I was eavesdropping halfway through a conversation. Landon was working hard not to look at Sasha’s leg.

  “I guess this meeting is adjourned,” Sasha said, getting up and grabbing me by the arm. “Until next time.”

  I felt so many things walking out of that office. I didn’t understand any of Landon’s action
s or reactions. There was this coded exchange going on between him and Sasha, who I wasn’t sure even needed to be in the meeting. Call me crazy, but all she did was flirt and show off her shoes. Really, she could’ve set Reginald up with Landon from Atlanta. And that got me to thinking about Sasha and the little game she played to get Reginald to go to the basketball game and then somehow finagle a way back to Augusta. The city was beautiful, but not that beautiful to return. The back and forth was outrageous. It was obvious that something was wrong. Walking beside her, I remembered all of the times she mentioned that she’d been on a two-week break. Maybe she didn’t want to be alone. Maybe, unlike what Reginald had assumed, she didn’t have any plans to go to Paris. She clearly didn’t have a man. She probably didn’t want to sit in her big old house alone all of those days. That made me feel really bad about snapping at her earlier. Maybe Reginald was right. Maybe I did feel like she was stealing my thunder and I was being sensitive about it.

  In spite of all of that, the feeling of seeing my husband get something he really wanted or really needed was so fulfilling that I was willing to let it all go. I always knew he had potential and if he’d just step up and claim it, he could do anything.

  He had a big grin as we walked through the parking lot. Before we got in the car, he hugged Sasha and said thank you.

  Yes, I hugged her, too.

  Seeing Reginald so happy erased most of the discomfort I’d been harboring about Sasha and her extended visit. The new contract was a big deal for Reginald. For us. For my family. Maybe we’d be able to afford private school after all. I had my old friend to thank for that.

  I felt silly about feeling pushed aside by my family because Sasha was there. I knew my faults and now I could see clearly that I’d overreacted. Sasha was very different, but she was being good to me. Good to my family. I had to support that.

  “Damn it! I chipped my nail,” Sasha groaned, pulling her hands out of a sink full of murky dishwater.

  “Oh, no,” I said, rushing over from the stove where I was closing the lids on a few containers of leftovers from dinner. The kids were in the back getting ready for bed and Reginald was still on the phone calling everyone he knew to tell them about the Landon contract. “I told you that you didn’t have to do the dishes,” I added. “I can get them.”

  “No, I said I’d help you out around here,” Sasha said. “I just wish we could put all of these dirty dishes into the dishwasher and call it done.”

  “Who are you telling? That would make things much easier, but R. J.’s allergies are no joke, and unfortunately, one of them includes whatever they put in the dishwashing detergent to stop it from bubbling over. I tried it once and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much vomit.”

  “That’s so sad. Poor thing. And to think you’ve dealt with it all of these years.”

  “ ‘Dealt with it’ isn’t at all how I see it. I’m just a mother and that’s what I do.”

  Reginald walked into the kitchen and slid an empty glass into the dishwater.

  “Shutting the troops down!” he exclaimed proudly.

  “Oh, I’ll come get R. J. settled in,” I said, putting the leftovers into the refrigerator.

  “No, I’ve got it,” Reginald insisted. “You, my darling”—he kissed me on the cheek—“spend time with your big-city friend before she sets out.” He’d been sweet to me since we left the dealership. It seemed like nothing could really bother him now that he had that contract. He was even talking about getting a new car.

  “Big-city friend?” Sasha laughed and rolled her eyes at Reginald. She stuck out her tongue to his back as he walked out of the kitchen.

  “He’s so silly,” Sasha said.

  “Yeah, he’s quite the jokester today,” I agreed. “I only wish you all had gotten to know him, you know, in undergrad.”

  “Well, times were different then. We were all different then. And the idea of one of the sorors dating the lawn-mower man was a bit much.”

  “He was more than a lawn-mower man.” I laughed.

  “I know; I’m just saying how it was talked about back then. You know? The gossip.”

  “People thought I was settling,” I said. “But I was in love.”

  “We know that now, but back then, we were young and thought we had something to prove to the world.”

  “True, very true indeed,” I said, turning to Sasha as she let the water out of the sink. “Hey, I want to thank you again—”

  “You already thanked me.”

  “No, again. I want to thank you for coming here and helping me out. I know I haven’t been the easiest host, but I appreciate it, and I hope it won’t be your last visit.”

  “Wow,” Sasha said and in her voice there was so much surprise. “You know what, I couldn’t have spent my vacation in a better place! Now, I just have to find out what I’m doing with the rest of it!”

  “Rest of it?”

  “I’m off for the rest of the week.”

  “Well, you could stay here,” I suggested, noticing that once again she was mentioning her vacation time. She clearly didn’t want to go home for some reason. And I felt like she was just waiting for me to ask her to stay. I needed my rest, but I couldn’t just throw her out—not when I knew something was wrong and she’d done so much for my family.

  “In Augusta?” she said. “Nah. I already called my car. He’ll be here in an hour.”

  “Call him back. Look, I can take off tomorrow, too,” I insisted, “since I’m on a roll. And we can spend one more day together.” I reached out and lifted her hand with the chipped nail. “Get our nails done. It’s my treat. It’s the least I can do.”

  “You think so?”

  “I insist! We have to. Lord knows how long it’s been since I’ve gotten a manicure and I’m sure my coworker can handle the lazy Tuesday crowd without me.”

  “But it won’t be too much?”

  I grabbed her cell phone off of the counter.

  “Call the driver. No pickup tonight. We’ll let him know when you’re ready to go home.”

  Sasha’s driver wasn’t too happy about her canceling the call. He was already halfway to Augusta and cursed her out in Spanish . . . and French . . . and a few other words we decided were Italian as we reenacted the phone call a dozen times on the twins’ old swing set in the backyard.

  “I’ll have you fired!” I said, impersonating the dramatic, hard-nosed tone Sasha used on the phone.

  “I didn’t say it like that?” Sasha hollered like we were on a school yard. She took a sip of her wine and stood up in front of her swing as if she was on a stage. “I said,” she started, “You, sir, are fired!”

  I almost spit out my wine.

  “You didn’t say it like that,” I said. “You can’t fire him and I know you didn’t call him sir!” I laughed and I felt that laugh just shake through my body. My eyes were heavy, but the night was so bright around me. Even in the dark, the grass was this emerald green. The sky, oh, the sky looked like the ocean with diamonds floating all around in it. And it wasn’t until I heard Sasha laughing at me that I realized that I’d said all of this aloud.

  “Girl, I think you need more wine,” she said, getting the bottle from a little basket we brought outside.

  “I don’t know,” I said, feeling my body sway with the breeze . . . or the swing. “I don’t want to get too drunk! The mister won’t like it.”

  “He doesn’t like it when you drink?”

  “No . . .” I took a swig of the wine she’d just poured into my glass. “He doesn’t like me!”

  “Shhh,” Sasha whispered.

  As I drank, I felt two little pebbles grinding in my teeth and spit them out. I figured dirt had somehow snuck into the glass. I took another sip of the red wine and again it was a little grainy.

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t like you?” Sasha asked.

  “We don’t have sex anymore,” I blurted out. “No sex. No dice. He doesn’t like me. That simple!” I looked down at the glass.
“Is it just me or does this wine have rocks in it?”

  “It’s red wine, silly,” Sasha said. “That’s just sediment from when they made it. It happens with expensive bottles.”

  “Oh,” I held up the glass and saw little pieces of white flecks floating in the bottom. “Sediment!” I exclaimed and took another sip.

  “Why do you think he doesn’t touch you?” Sasha said, coming over and standing by my swing.

  “I told you,” I rattled. “Borrriinnng. I’m boring. That’s it. He doesn’t even look at me anymore. Not how he looks at you.”

  “What?” Sasha chortled a bit. “And how is that?”

  “Come on; you know you’re beautiful. Your eyes. Your hair. The way you hold your breasts out.” I sat up in the swing and poked my breasts out, but then I had to wrap my free arm around the chain to stop from falling. “You’re smart and funny. Men just love you.”

  I nearly dropped my glass, but Sasha steadied it in my hand.

  “Ever think of spicing it up?”

  “What? Like you said before? Having a threesome or something? I told you he doesn’t like that kind of stuff.”

  “He might.” Sasha put her glass down and looked up at my ocean sky smiling.

  “What?” I scowled at her. “What are you saying? You really think I should do that? Like have some other woman in my bed . . . with my husband?”

  “Not just some other woman. Someone you trust. Someone you . . .”

  “You mean you?”

  Sasha gazed at me.

  “I’d do it,” she said, like I’d just asked her.

  “What?” My head tipped forward on that word. “I can’t do that. With you?” I giggled, but Sasha was quiet.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked.

  “Nothing . . . I just . . . A threesome? With you?” I looked at the house, at my dark bedroom window. “You think he’d like that? No. I couldn’t do that.” I sat up in the swing again in an attempt to shake off the alcohol and any prospects of anything in the conversation. “I couldn’t . . . my father was a preacher . . . my . . . I’m not into women. That’s crazy.” I got up from the swing. “Let’s go inside.”