The Marriage Pass

by Briana Cole

  Officer Graham had, of course, apologized and assured him he would be at Dorian’s next game, which was that upcoming Saturday. He was killed Friday night. It wasn’t until years later, until he was much older, that Dorian was told the truth. His dad was a ladies’ man, and while he should have been getting prostitutes off the street, he was keeping them in business. But the tears had already been shed and it was in the past. That was the first time he had ever cried.

  The second time was now.

  Dorian held Rochelle as the choir launched into a soulful rendition of “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” It was enough to sting. She was sobbing and nearly crumpling to the floor. Knowing it was inevitable didn’t make the pain any less. Dorian, on the other hand, let silent tears trail down his cheeks. He wanted to be angry but didn’t know who to be angry with. God? For calling his angel home, as the reverend had already assured him? His mother? For not wanting to continue chemo and letting herself slowly deteriorate? Himself? For not listening, for not being there, for not being more persistent about her treatments?

  This was different than when his father passed. That was sudden, abrupt. Officer Graham had been literally snatched from this world, and it was completely unexpected. One could only wonder if he was doing right, would he have met the same fate.

  His mother had died that same day. It had just taken all these years for her mind to catch up to her heart. From the time she was diagnosed with cancer, he had time to prepare. And yet he never could have prepared for living without Teresa Graham.

  Rochelle was able to compose herself enough to give the eulogy. After all, she had been his mother’s aide and caregiver for over four years. He should have known she was going to take his mother’s death harder than most. But she gave them a few heartfelt words, even some humorous stories of his mother that had the audience chuckling. Teresa didn’t have many friends or family, but the ones who knew her certainly remembered her jokes and laughter.

  It was a small funeral, only about fifteen people. Mostly old coworkers, a few church members, and some retired officers from the force that came to show their respects because she was Officer Graham’s widow.

  Shantae sat beside Dorian on the hardened pew. She didn’t make a sound, nor did she cry, but she was gripping Dorian’s hand so tight her knuckles turned white. He didn’t expect her to have much emotion for his mother. The two had never gotten along. But she was supportive just the same, and for that he was genuinely appreciative.

  So when she pulled him to the side after the funeral to explain she needed to leave, he was surprised.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, babe. Work stuff,” she answered. “There is a lot of fraud stuff going on since our network was hacked.”

  Dorian glanced around as people waited idly before everyone convened over at the grave site. “This is my mother’s funeral, Shantae,” he said in shock. Was she really leaving for a work-related issue? “It can’t wait?”

  Shantae seemed equally surprised by his reaction. “I understand that, babe. I’ve been here for you the entire time. But this is my job. I could get fired.”

  Dorian shook his head, appalled. “Bet,” he said and left her there in the middle of the church.

  Even the forecast seemed appropriate for a funeral. The sky was overcast with the impending showers the meteorologist assured would come early afternoon. A low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

  As Dorian stepped out into the brisk air, a few people who he didn’t know approached him to pay their respects. “She was a lovely woman.” “She’s gone on to glory.” “Haven’t seen you since you were a kid.” He shook hands and nodded to be cordial, all the while finding it interesting that he had seen none of these faces since his mom had been diagnosed with lung cancer. Interesting how they were in attendance today, boo-hooing and hollering over her open casket like they had caught the Holy Spirit in Sunday service.

  A few people were already gathering in their cars to follow the hearse when Rochelle walked up, blotting her face with a tear-stained tissue.

  “Dorian,” she said, her hand gentle on his back. “I want you to know I’m here if you need anything, you hear? Your mom was like a sister to me.”

  He wrapped his arms around the woman’s limp shoulders, resting his head on top of her salt-and-pepper bun. “I know. We’re definitely going to miss her.”

  “I’ve taken care of a lot of folks, but it was something special about that Teresa Graham. This one . . . it just hurts.” Rochelle’s voice cracked under the gravity of her words.

  Dorian took the opportunity to reach into his pocket and pulled out a check, neatly folded in half. He pushed the paper into the palm of her hand, already prepared for her firm refusal even before she started shaking her head fiercely.

  “Rochelle, please,” he said. “I would not feel right if you didn’t take this.” It was a year’s salary for her, but she didn’t have to find that out until later when she looked at the zeros. “And I know she left you something in the will too, so you don’t have to worry, you hear me? You’re family.”

  Rochelle clutched her fist tight over the check, her eyes now watering in earnest gratitude. “Bless you,” she whispered and gave him one final hug before she started down the stairs to the chauffeur.

  Dorian felt Shantae touch the back of his neck, and he rested his hand on hers. “I’m glad you stayed,” he murmured, closing his eyes as she began kneading the tension. “I need you.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Dorian’s eyes snapped open and his head whipped around. Not Shantae but Reagan peering through a black birdcage veil affixed to a clip hidden in her curls. She smiled at his shock. “Don’t act so surprised.”

  Dorian’s hand was still on hers and he held it now, pulling it off him. He led her over to the side of the church steps, out of the way of oncoming traffic.

  “What are you doing here, Reagan?” he hissed.

  “I just wanted to see you.” She lifted her hand to stroke his face before he quickly snatched out of her touch.

  “Now is not the time.”

  “Why not? Shantae is gone.” Her smirk spread. “Want to take me in the bathroom really quick?”

  “Reagan—”

  “What? I can be quiet.” She lifted her arms this time and Dorian clutched her wrists, his grip almost desperate.

  “You need to go.”

  “But I want you.”

  “This is my mom’s funeral,” he snapped. “This shit has got to stop.”

  Now it was Reagan’s eyes that seemed to flare at his sharp tone. “You said you love me.”

  “I don’t. I love Shantae.”

  “Bullshit.” She lifted her voice an octave and immediately giggled when Dorian shushed her.

  “Now is not the time,” he repeated, his voice almost pleading. “Go home. We’ll talk about this later.”

  She seemed satisfied for now. “Promise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me a kiss, then.”

  Dorian opened his mouth to let loose a few choice words he probably shouldn’t have been saying at the house of the Lord. Since this bitch was putting on a show, he was going to set her straight. He stopped short when he saw Myles, Neil, Roman, and Bridget approach.

  Reagan heard them too and she grinned, tossing Dorian a wink and puckering her lips in a silent air-kiss. Then she turned and held out her hand to Myles.

  “Hey, baby,” she cooed as his arm wound around her waist.

  Myles gave her a quick peck on the cheek, completely oblivious to the events that had just taken place. “Hey, D, I’m sorry about your moms,” he said, his voice sincere.

  “Yeah, Ma Dukes was an angel, man,” Roman expressed, his eyes downcast. “Mean as hell. But an angel.”

  Bridget punched Roman’s arm, but the little remark had Dorian relaxing into a chuckle. “You right about that. But I appreciate it, y’all. For real.”

  “Where is Shantae?” Br
idget asked, glancing around.

  “My sister had to work,” Reagan spoke up. “Didn’t she, Dorian?”

  Dorian frowned, confused at the intrusive comment. “Yeah,” he said. “Emergency.”

  Bridget didn’t bother hiding her obvious disdain for Reagan as she rolled her eyes.

  Something strange was definitely going on with Reagan. But the shit was stressing him out more than necessary. And all of that extra, he really didn’t need. Not from Shantae and sure as hell not from her sister. Dorian massaged the beginnings of a headache throbbing at his temples. Right now, he was supposed to put his mama in the ground. He would have to sort through Reagan’s bullshit antics later when he had the time, energy, and patience to put this girl back in her place.

  The feel of death was so thick it nearly suffocated him. Dorian shuddered, struggling to warm his body at the eerie chill prickling goose bumps on his skin. Funny. As many times as he had gone into Teresa’s room, now all eight hundred square feet of the elaborate master suite felt like a casket.

  Dorian emptied the drawers, placing silk blouses and cashmere sweaters in neat stacks on the bed. He didn’t know what to do with all of his mother’s things, but he figured packing the house was the least he could do.

  Afterward, he roamed around, taking in the home he had grown up in. It didn’t feel the same. His footsteps seemed to echo even louder in the large house. He shut his eyes and took a breath to calm himself. It felt like just yesterday they were moving in, both on the heels of grief but wanting to build toward their future, just the two of them. Dorian remembered he didn’t care for the house too much. It was too big, too lavish, too much of everything he wasn’t. His mom had always wanted a big, fancy house but could never afford one. Not until Cop passed, of course. Dorian didn’t think the house ever really became a home. Even now, it felt like more of a tomb.

  Needing to talk to someone, he pulled out his phone and punched in Shantae’s number. It went straight to voice mail. Damn, he knew he shouldn’t bother her. Not when she had made it clear she was busy. He flipped open his messages and quickly sent her an I LOVE YOU as a makeshift apology for how he reacted at the funeral. He knew his emotions had been raw. She had been there for him. She had always been there for him. He was wrong to make her feel otherwise.

  Dorian debated if he should text Reagan. He had even typed out CAN YOU CALL ME and his finger was hovering over the Send button. It was tough, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. So he quickly put his phone away.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Dorian struggled to swallow his disappointment as he shifted the phone to his other ear. “You sure you can’t get off a little earlier, babe?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” Shantae apologized once more. “I am really swamped at work, and there is no way I can leave now. I promise I got you tomorrow.”

  Dorian plopped on the sofa, eyeing the clock, which read 6:23 p.m. He had been really looking forward to their date night. After their talk a few weeks ago, he had been putting all his energy into making his marriage work, starting with their weekly date night tradition. He had wanted to surprise her this time with reservations to Sip-N-Paint since she had been hinting about wanting to do it. But he understood it was a busy time of year for her at the bank, especially with the recent hacking that they were finally able to get under control.

  “What time do you think you will be home?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie,” Shantae said. “Late. You don’t have to wait up. I’ll try and finish up as quickly as I can.”

  “Okay. Love you. If I fall asleep, wake me when you get home so daddy can take care of you.”

  Shantae giggled. “Oh, well then, you know I will wake you up. Love you too, babe. We got us?”

  “We got us, boo,” Dorian said, before disconnecting the call. He relaxed in the cushions. Might as well make himself a sandwich or something. Maybe find something to watch on HBO. Since he had been spending as much time as possible with Shantae, it felt weird actually being by himself. Funny how much he was missing his wife at the moment. He couldn’t wait for her to get home so he could climb up between her legs.

  Over the past few weeks, Dorian had become more and more excited about the prospect of a baby with his wife. He didn’t even realize he had a desire to have kids, especially after Reagan got pregnant. But he felt it and he was sure Shantae had felt it too. That talk was just the fuel to reignite their fire. They had been all over each other ever since, and Dorian couldn’t be happier, or more in love. Plus, he knew without a shadow of a doubt they weren’t doing that hall pass anymore. The shit was enjoyable but destructive.

  The doorbell startled him awake. Dorian sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t even realize he had dozed off until his eye caught the clock again, squinting to see it read 9:17. Rising from the sofa and stretching his bunched muscles, Dorian made his way across the living room to the door.

  “Damn,” he whispered, after peering through the peephole. He hadn’t seen Reagan since his mother’s funeral. She had moved out the day of the abortion. He had been surprised she had actually listened without putting up a fight, but sure enough, he and Shantae had come home from the spa to find her loading a rental with her things. Shantae had begged for answers while Dorian had just looked on in silence. Reagan hadn’t said anything to either one of them, just crying and packing her trunk. When she was done, she had peeled out of the driveway so fast, it was a wonder she didn’t turn the little Ford Focus on its side.

  Dorian had checked his blocked calls and messages, but she hadn’t so much as bothered him with a text, even after the little stunt she pulled at his mom’s funeral. Maybe it was an asshole move, but Dorian had actually been satisfied how the whole situation had resolved between them. He knew it was ultimately for the better. But now here she stood on his front porch, the angle from the peephole providing an up close and personal view of her distraught face.

  “I know you’re in there, Dorian,” Reagan said, folding her arms across her chest. “I called my sister and she said I could come by and get some more things because you were home.”

  Dorian hesitated for a few moments longer before he flipped the locks and pulled the door open.

  She looked like crystal. He was surprised at his own description, but it seemed fitting, both in fragility and in pallor. She also looked thinner than he remembered, and she wore exhaustion hard as shown by the bags under her eyes and deep-set stress lines creasing her forehead. She hadn’t bothered with makeup or, hell, even a comb to her hair, by the looks of the raggedy ponytail. The baggy gray sweat suit she wore looked foreign on her, given her usual revealing attire.

  Dorian leaned against the doorjamb, at a loss for words. At first, he didn’t want to see her again. But now, after seeing the physical proof of the emotional pain he had caused her, he wanted to just comfort her. But tell her what? It was going to be all right? It wasn’t. That they could go back to their little affair? They couldn’t. So confusion had him frozen in place.

  “You can let me in, you know,” Reagan said, when he hovered in the doorway. “It’s cold out here.” The wind whipped coils of her hair around her face as she waited patiently for him to move.

  He did and Reagan stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind her.

  “I just need to get a few things I left,” she announced. She started to walk past, and Dorian put his hand on her stomach to stop her. Remembering the pregnancy and abortion, that was when the regret swallowed him and he had to take a steadying breath.

  “Reagan, I’m sorry.” His voice was a whisper. “I never meant to hurt you. I promise I didn’t.”

  “D.” The simple syllable spoke volumes. She let it hang between them like a thick cologne, welcoming the comfort. He took a step toward her. She shuddered with the weight of his presence, though he didn’t touch her. Reagan stepped away, putting an arm’s distance between them. She sniffed, blinking back tears of her own. “How could you do that to me, Dorian
? One minute we had a good thing going and the next, you just throw me away like some bitch in the street. Like what we shared ain’t mean shit to you.”

  Dorian nodded. It was true. He felt like shit because every word was true. “I should have handled it better,” he agreed with a nod. “I was a jerk to you, and you didn’t deserve that.” Reagan didn’t say anything, just looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, and Dorian opened his arms. At the end of the day, she was still his sister-in-law. He had seen this girl grow up right before his eyes, and playing with her heart was selfish. He had been riding high on avoidance the past few weeks, not seeing Reagan, not communicating with her. But now all of the memories and emotions came rushing back to wring him out until he felt like a shell of a man.

  Reagan stepped into his arms for the hug and for a brief moment, they held the embrace. Completely non-sexual. Nothing more than a tender exchange of reconciliation. But then, Reagan sighed, and her body shuddered under his and Dorian felt that familiar shift. However miniscule, it was enough to have his body rising to life, and he stepped back.

  “Don’t be mad,” Reagan murmured, brushing a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

  “Mad? At what?”

  Reagan didn’t say anything, just pulled the right sleeve of her sweatshirt to her elbow to reveal the fresh razor cuts to the inside of her arm. Pieces of the slits were still bleeding, so he knew she must have done this recently. But even more than that, it was the number of them zigzagging down her forearm. There must have been forty or fifty cuts in various stages of healing. A big difference from the six or seven when he had first discovered she was a cutter.

  Dorian snatched his eyes away from the image, his heart breaking even more. He might as well have taken the razor to her arm himself. “I’m not mad,” he said, choking on the words. “I’m just so damn sorry. For hurting you. For making you do this. It’s all my fault.”

  He felt Reagan’s arms circle his waist and she laid her cheek on his back. “I still love you, Dorian,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his T-shirt. “That’s why I haven’t bothered you. I just want you to be happy. If it’s with my sister, I want that for you.”