“I need to go to the bathroom,” I whispered to Leon, then tiptoed past Nikki out of the pew and down the aisle. For some reason, I suddenly started to feel hot and decided that I needed to go and get some air. I hurried over to the other side of the church and went into the bathroom and splashed water onto my face and took several deep breaths. Goodness, what the hell was wrong with me? I was reaching for a paper towel when Nikki walked through the door.
“Netta, you okay?”
I blew out a long breath. “Girl, I had to get out of there. All that talk about fornication and sleeping with someone’s husband, I felt like the walls were closing in on me!”
Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “I wonder why?”
“It was just more than I could handle. That’s why I don’t like coming to church, because I always walk away feeling so guilty.”
Nikki moved in front of the mirror and gave a rude snort. “Then maybe that’s an indication that it’s time to change.”
Damn. She was as bad as Reverend Williams.
“I know I’m not living my life right and I need to get it together, but everybody does things on their own terms. But really I felt like the preacher was talking directly to me.” Goodness, I definitely needed a drink right about now. Too bad I couldn’t have one.
Nikki was primping in the mirror and laughing at the same time. “You reap what you sow,” she said between chuckles.
Oh, no she didn’t. “Uh-huh, and those without sin may cast the first stone.”
Her head whipped around so fast it was a wonder it didn’t snap from her neck.
“Don’t act like I’m the only one who’s committed adultery,” I hissed. I know I was being mean, but I hate when others try to judge me.
“Whatever,” Nikki mumbled under her breath, but I could see the fear in her eyes. She practically jumped six inches off the ground when the door swung in and Mama stepped into the bathroom.
“Nikki, honey, your husband is at the altar on his knees, turning his life over to God!”
Her eyes were wide and wild before she took several deep breaths and Mama’s words sunk in. “What? Praise the Lord!” She bolted out of the bathroom. I would have been right behind her if Mama wasn’t blocking the door.
“Netta, honey, what’s going on? Is something wrong with my grandbaby?”
I grinned down at Mama. She looked so pretty. Her face was fuller. Her natural hair was cut in a low fade. She was wearing a beautiful blue suit I had gotten her for Mother’s Day. Ever since the kidney transplant she had been living a healthy drug-free life, and I was proud of her.
“Mama, I’m fine. I was just feeling a little light-headed,” I lied and waved my hand like it was no big deal.
“Uh-huh. The minister was hitting home with his sermon this morning, wasn’t he?” She gave me that knowing look that only a mother had permission to give.
“Yeah, it was definitely deep.”
She stepped closer and gave me a suspicious look. “You’re not doing anything you’re not supposed to be doing, are you?”
I don’t know why everyone thinks they know me so well. “Of course not. What would make you think that?” I denied.
“Because you’re a Meyers, and I know how Meyers women think,” she replied, then walked over and turned the lock on the door. Immediately I knew it was going to be something I didn’t want to hear.
“When you were at my house this morning, I noticed the way you kept looking at your cell phone, texting and grinning. Now, Leon is a good man, Netta, and good men are difficult to find, and even harder to keep.” I started to turn away, but Mama grabbed my arm. “Listen to what I’m telling you, Netta . . . whatever or whomever it is, it ain’t good, so leave it alone,” she warned. I hated to see the worry I had caused on her face. Was I that obvious?
“If I haven’t been able to give you anything, please let me just give you that bit of advice. Like Reverend Williams said, you gotta pray about it.”
“I hear you, Mama.” I hugged her close. She was all up in my business, yet part of me was glad that I finally had her around to nag me the way Nikki’s mama had always done for her. I had every intention of finally getting my life right and being dedicated to one man. And I planned to do just that just as soon as this baby was born and Jrue left his wife.
I decided it was time to change the subject. “C’mon, Mama. Let’s get back inside. I want to personally witness Donovan’s day of resurrection.”
Who knows? Maybe today might be the start in the right direction for both of us. I hoped so. At least for Nikki’s sake.
13
Nikki
I was shelving books in the romance section when I noticed Rae walking into the bookstore. I couldn’t stand that chick. Her husband and Don were in the same unit, and both had been deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. Rae was the head of the FRG, Family Readiness Group, and took her responsibilities way too seriously. Somehow she was always in someone else’s business and knew who was sleeping with whom while her husband was deployed. I’m just glad she never found out about my brief affair while Don was in Iraq.
Usually I blew her ass off when she dropped into my store, because it was mostly to brag about something new her husband had bought. Today I was actually glad to see her.
She waved a hand merrily in the air. “Good afternoon, Nikki.” As she sauntered over to me, I took a moment to check her out. Rae was a full-figured sistah with the prettiest dark chocolate skin. She wore her natural hair in an Afro puff that actually made her look years younger. I used to think she was so pretty, that was, until she opened her loud mouth. She was wearing black slacks and tall pumps while her titties threatened to pop out of a tight purple blouse.
“Hey, Rae. It’s good seeing you.” I got up from my knees and dusted off my jeans. I didn’t miss the look of disapproval on her face. Ms. Prissy probably didn’t even wash dishes at home.
“I came in to find a cookbook with sinful desserts. Carl and I are having a get-together this weekend with a few friends and I want to impress them with my cooking. Not that that isn’t easy to do.” She smiled.
“Sure, let me show you where they’re at.” I signaled for her to follow me to the back far left of the store. Trust me. I hadn’t missed the way she had emphasized the word friends. I guess she was making it clear I wasn’t one of them. Not that I cared. The last place I wanted to be was at one of her stupid get-togethers. I’ve been down that boring road one too many times.
“How’s Carl doing?” I asked, making small talk.
Rae suddenly stopped, turned, and looked at me like I had a lot of nerve asking her about her man. “He’s fine, why?”
“Let me ask you something.” I paused and took a moment to collect my thoughts. “Since he’s been home, does he seem different to you at all?”
Her eyes drooped down to her hands before returning to me. “A little, but that’s expected, considering . . .”
I shook my head because I totally disagreed with her assessment. “Yes, I understand that, but something just seems a little off about my husband.” I was lying when I used the word little. Ever since Netta came down and visited last month, we’d been attending church regularly and Donovan was making more of an effort to go into work, but the mood swings were still there, and if I was even ten minutes late he’d start the bullshit about me messing around again.
“Something seems off?” Her head jerked back like I had just punched her. “I can’t believe you would even set your lips to say something like that.”
I shot her a sour look. “Why’d you say that?”
Rae shook her head, looking like she was disappointed at me. “Because we can’t begin to understand what those men went through over there. Their camp was the subject of a mortar attack. Lives were lost right before their eyes.”
“I know all that, but it’s been months since they came home and several of the other wives I have talked to seemed to be having similar problems.”
“What?” Her face crum
bled and she looked upset. “I’m the FRG leader. Why hasn’t anyone talked to me about this?”
“I’m talking to you now.” I couldn’t help the attitude, but like I said, I really can’t stand this chick. “I need you to talk to the unit about having a therapist come in next drill weekend. I’m serious. I think the unit should be doing something to help these soldiers adapt, because my husband isn’t.” I felt like I was pleading with her to understand.
Rae didn’t at all look moved by my request. “Well, that’s a shame, because Carl is doing just fine considering all that he’s gone through. I think what you need to be doing instead of talking about your husband behind his back is try showing him more support.”
No, she didn’t go there with me. “Hell, I have been supportive. For the last six months I have been more than patient, but I’m certain my husband is suffering from PTSD.”
That chick had the nerve to laugh at my comment. “There you go, self-diagnosing the man! Wasn’t he evaluated by his unit?”
I nodded.
“And what did they determine?” she asked, then crossed her arms and frowned.
“They said he was fit for duty, but—”
She rudely cut me off. “Then there you have it. Just give the man time to adjust. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong that a little time and TLC won’t cure.” She then patted me on the head like I was a damn puppy. “Now . . . where is that cookbook you wanted to show me?”
This is Nikki Truth and you’re listening to Truth Hurts on 97 WJPC. Tonight I’m going to read an e-mail that I received from a listener.
Dear Nikki,
My fiancé is in the military and after two deployments he just isn’t the same man I fell in love with. I know that I’ll never understand what he’s been through. I’ve tried to be supportive, but the nightmares, depression, and mood swings are getting to be more than I can handle. As we are getting closer to the date of our wedding, I’m not so sure if I can still go through with it. What should I do?
Signed,
Prisoner of War
“Well, Prisoner of War. That is a tough question. Being the wife of an army soldier as well, I honestly know what you’re going through, and it takes a strong woman to be a military wife. We have to be able to hold things together while our husbands are deployed and be able to pull things together when he returns. We are the backbone, and those men rely on our love and our strength to persevere. As my pastor said last Sunday, the Lord doesn’t give us any more than he knows we can handle. Well, listeners, there you have it. Our men and women are sacrificing their lives for this country and coming back traumatized.” I paused long enough to bring the microphone closer to my mouth. “From what I’ve read in the e-mail, I have a strong feeling her fiancé has PTSD, and the first thing she needs to do is try and get that man some help.” It felt good to finally say that. After months of denial and hoping that time would heal all wounds, I’d finally realized it was going to take much more than prayer to cure what ailed Donovan.
“For my listeners who are not familiar with the term, post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, is an emotional illness classified as an anxiety disorder and usually occurs as a result of a life-threatening experience such as the wars our American soldiers are fighting in. Once they’ve returned home, these men and women continue to re-experience the traumatic event in some way such as flashbacks and dreams. They’re drinking, can’t sleep, and are basically having a hard time adapting to life back at home.” Lord knows, I know. “I am a strong advocate that prayer helps, but this is one sickness that requires so much more. POW, get that man some help,” I emphasized, saying aloud something I had known all along. “But what about the rest of my listeners? How many others of you are going through the same things, and for those who are not, if it were you, would you stick by them or not, regardless of how bad things get? I’m going to open up the phone lines and see what my listeners have to say.”
I looked up and caught Tristan giving me a suspicious look. I guess he knew I was lying. I shook my head. Now was not the time to be judging me. The only prisoner of war was me, but I had to know if I was the only one out there who was dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder. After Rae had left the store, I called the unit and left a message with Donovan’s first sergeant to call me back. I still had yet to hear from him. I don’t care what anybody says, six months home is long enough. My husband was definitely suffering from PTSD, and he needed help.
Tristan held up two fingers and I glanced down at the phone lines and pressed the flashing button.
“Caller, you’re on the air.”
“Hi, Ms. Nikki. This is Danny.”
“Good evening, Danny.”
“I just had to call in. That woman should be ashamed calling herself a POW, because she doesn’t know the first thing about what her man has gone through. People around them being killed and hurt. Hell, that’s enough to make any of us go insane.”
“You’re right.” Especially about going insane. “Thanks for calling. Caller, you’re on the air.”
“Ms. Nikki, she needs to run while she can! I was married to one of those psychos. He came home and I woke up to a gun pointed at my head. I refused to play Russian roulette with my life, so I left that crazy mothafucka.”
Tristan was going to have to do a lot of bleeping tonight. “I know that’s right,” I said and gave a soft chuckle, trying to bring the mood down a notch. “Hopefully he got better over time?” I asked more for myself.
“Last I heard he was locked up at some mental hospital being tube-fed.”
I groaned inward. “Wow! Thanks for calling.” I pressed the next flashing button.
“Good evening, Ms. Nikki. This is Carlita.”
“Whassup, Carlita, girl!” I shouted. She was one of my regular listeners. “What’s your take on tonight’s topic?”
“POW needs to walk away, because if she’s already doubting her commitment to that man, then that tells me she isn’t ready.”
“Okay now.”
“When a woman pledges through sickness and health, they have to be ready to take those vows seriously. It’s been tough. My husband’s been home from Iraq almost a year, but yet it’s like I’m living with a stranger.”
I know that feeling.
“But we’ve been going to church and I’ve been praying and I know God is going to take care of him.”
The more calls that came in, the guiltier I felt for wishing I could be anywhere but with Donovan. I had touched on a controversial issue that had callers debating back and forth. Normally I got a kick out of the antics, but not tonight. The mood was way too serious because what was happening in my home and in other houses around the country was no laughing matter. By the time the show was over, I was calling the house. It had gotten to the point I liked to be prepared for which Donovan was at home waiting for me.
“Hey, baby.” Donovan answered after the first ring in a voice that was way too cheerful that I immediately assumed he must have been drunk. “How was the show tonight?”
“It was good.” And for once I was glad he rarely listened to the radio. “Aiden sleep?”
“Yep, me and my man sat on the couch, ate popcorn, and watched Madagascar until he passed out. Have to admit that cartoon was kinda cute.” He laughed and I felt myself starting to relax. “Now I’m waiting for my big baby to come home so I can show her how much I missed her.”
“I can’t wait to get home. I want to show you just what I plan to do to you.” Those rare moments when he was in the right state of mind, sex was good. And tonight I needed him to put out the fire he had started between my thighs.
“I’ll see you in a few. Hey . . . I love you.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. “I love you too.” I blew a few kisses and was hanging up the phone when Tristan came swiveling in.
“Hey, girlfriend . . . do you need to talk?” He pulled a chair up beside me. His concern was so genuine.
I shook my head. “No, I’m okay.”
He turned to me and commented casually, “Doesn’t sound like you are.” Tristan was so damn observant. But I guess real friends are.
“I’m trying to hold it together, at least for Aiden’s sake.” As I spoke, I felt my bottom lip quiver.
“Donovan’s a good man and he’s lucky to have a woman like you. I wasn’t going to say anything . . . but even when I picked you up that day we went shopping . . . I could tell that something was off about him.”
“It is.” I paused and blew out a long breath just to keep myself from crying. The second Tristan had pulled into the driveway, Donovan went flying out of the house and peered all in his car to make sure I didn’t have some man scrunched down low in the back seat. “Tristan, I feel like I’m walking around in a revolving door. I just don’t know what to do anymore. One day my husband is acting like a crazy alcoholic, the next day he’s sweet as apple pie, then he’s a space cadet or the paranoid jealous husband.”
Tristan’s hand flew over his mouth in shock. “Nikki, girlfriend, I had no idea things were that bad!”
I shrugged my shoulder, struggling to keep from crying. I’d been doing a lot of that lately. “It’s worse, but he’s my husband and I love him. Last week I got him to agree to see the minister for marriage counseling. He seems willing to make things work, yet he refuses to admit that anything is really wrong with him. Tristan, I feel like I am losing my mind.”
Consequences Page 9
