More to Life

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “If only I could’ve been the woman you deserved,” I mumbled as I slid the ring off my finger and put it on Charles’s nightstand. One day, I hoped that he could forgive me. I would always be grateful for his love.

  That was my last thought as I closed our bedroom door—and the door to our marriage.

  Chapter 20

  “Aja!”

  I heard what sounded like screaming. I couldn’t tell from the blaring music but I turned around anyway and saw Roxie standing in her living room, staring at me like I was crazy.

  “Hey, Roxie,” I yelled over the music.

  She walked over, picked up my iPhone, tapped the screen, and the room went silent.

  “Barbra Streisand. Really?” she said.

  I laughed. “I happen to love this Barbra Streisand song.”

  “I see, and you love it at seventy-five decibels as well.” She glanced around her apartment at all my empty canvases and various containers of paint that were strewn about. I had been testing out some new color patterns and was just about to start a new painting.

  “So, three days ago when I left to catch my plane to Dallas, you were sad because you moved out for good,” she continued. “Now you are in here jamming Streisand and dancing around my living room, having your own private party. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I flashed a smile. “I’m painting.”

  “Yeah. I see that.” She looked around some more. Her apartment had probably never been this messy. I’d lost track of the time or I would’ve cleaned up before she returned.

  “Where’s the weed?” Roxie asked. “You know I don’t like drugs in my house.”

  “What?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was just wondering if you were in here getting high or something,” she said.

  I chuckled. “I’m high on life,” I told her.

  “Okay. No drugs.” She looked over at my wineglass sitting on the coffee table. “How many of those have you had?”

  “That’s my only one.”

  “Well, have you been drinking coffee? Are you pumped up on caffeine?” she asked.

  “I hadn’t had coffee since I left home,” I announced.

  “What?” She looked at me in disbelief. I was a coffee addict, so I knew that caught her by surprise.

  I shrugged and started picking up some of my mess. “I don’t know. I just went cold turkey, and it’s like I don’t need it.”

  She must have realized that she was still holding her designer duffel bag because she finally set it down and tossed her keys on the bar.

  “Wow, this is a real change from just a few days ago,” she said.

  I stopped cleaning and turned serious. “I’m not going to lie, I feel awful about what I did to Charles. I never want him to feel like I didn’t love him. I did and I do. But I’m loving myself more than I love anyone else right now, you know what I mean? I had a pity party for about twenty-four hours after you left, but then I decided to put on my big-girl panties and toss the guilt I was feeling. I mean, I hate everything going on in my personal life, but once I let go of the guilt, I have never felt such peace.”

  She stared at me for a moment and finally said, “Wow. And I have to admit that I’ve never seen you look more peaceful.”

  My hand went to my heart. Roxie had no idea how it felt to hear her say that. “I’m glad you get it.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t, but I do now. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  A huge smile spread across my face again. “I’ve never felt like this, Roxie. I can’t explain it. I know that I’m going to have to break it to Eric and Anika and I know that’s going to be difficult, but I’m prepared. And I know filing paperwork and all of that is going to be heartbreaking, but this is what I need.” I swung around à la Mary Poppins. “I feel free.”

  “Well, more good news,” she said. “I heard back from the owner of the quilting shop. Everything is a go, and if you’re okay, I’ll email you the papers tonight to sign and you can wire the deposit.

  “You know I’ve been thinking about this,” Roxie continued. “When Eric died, I worried so much about you. You poured yourself in him and you know I told you I don’t think you ever properly grieved, but I was thinking about this. Not only did you not grieve, you jumped from pouring into him to pouring into Charles.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Then it was the kids who got all of me. I just want to now finally pour into me.”

  She gave me a hug. “I’m sorry for trying to talk you out of this. I just want you to be happy.”

  I squeezed her and said, “And I am. This makes me happy. My gallery will be my happy place.”

  She shook her head. “I’m still not with this whole gallery idea, but you do you. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  “Thank you.”

  She picked up the bottle of wine off the bar.

  “Let me pour me a glass of wine so we can really get this party started.”

  Chapter 21

  My foot pressed down gently on the accelerator. I didn’t want to take the chance of going any faster than forty miles per hour or else I was sure that my head would throb even more. I didn’t feel all that well; I was nursing a wine hangover after Roxie and I polished off two bottles of Moscato last night. But while my head pulsed, my heart sang. It was because of our talk. Now that I’d had the chance to explain all of my plans to Roxie, it was great to have my best friend’s unwavering support, even though she didn’t agree with all of my decisions. She was down with me leaving Charles, but she wasn’t so sure about quitting my job.

  “I’m all for you pursuing this new life, but I’m telling you that direct deposit is the truth. You need to keep getting that paycheck while you work on your dream.”

  “But if I do that, I’ll be treating my painting like a hobby and it will stay that way. No,” I told her, “I’m either in or out. I’m going to do this or I’m not. I have money saved. I’ll be okay. I figured I can make it a year at least before the gallery turns a profit.”

  In the end, my passion trumped her good sense, and she came to believe that I would be able to make it work on my faith alone.

  As I exited the freeway, I smiled through the pain of my throbbing head. For the first time since this ordeal began, I was genuinely excited about what was to come—as uncertain as it seemed to be right now.

  First up—my job.

  That was my thought as I turned into the parking lot of my office complex.

  “Hello, Mrs. Clayton,” the security guard said as I slowed my car at the gate. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Hey, Darryl, I’ve been on leave,” I said, flashing a smile as he approached my car. I had to divert my eyes from his belly because his buttons on his two-sizes-too-small uniform were screaming for my help.

  “Everything okay?” He peered into my car, standard procedure now that the crazies had started coming up to our offices. “I heard about the SWAT standoff that you had to go through last month.”

  “Yes, that situation could’ve definitely ended badly for me. But by the grace of God, it didn’t.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded at my mention of the Lord. “God definitely protects his angels. Well, you have a nice day.” He waved me on through.

  I weaved up and down the aisles. With all the cars in the parking lot, anyone walking in here would have thought that we had more than enough caseworkers to handle our load. But we’d have to triple our workforce to ever meet the needs of all the foster and abused children in Houston.

  After finding a space, I sat in my car for an extra moment. What I was about to do was huge, and I was bursting with this news. But since I respected Karen so much, I hadn’t told anyone else outside of my girls. I didn’t want anyone in my workplace to know this news before I told my boss that my personal leave was about to turn into permanent leave.

  As I took the path from the parking lot to my building, then to my office, I tried to remember every step of this last m
ile. In the threshold of my office, I paused and took in the sight that had been my home for more than two decades. The first thing that everyone noticed were the photos. Just like at home, pictures of Eric and Anika at every stage of their lives adorned my desk and bookshelf. But after the photos and a few plants, this office was all about work. There were folders upon folders of family cases sitting on top of my desk and filling the file cabinets. Some of the folders had happy endings; most did not.

  Walking inside, I settled into my chair and swiveled around, taking in the 360-degree view. When I’d taken this job, my hope had been to save the world. I hadn’t done that, but I’d been able to save lots of children in Houston. The only challenge was that this place, like my marriage, had sucked the me out of me.

  “No more,” I mumbled as I took a deep breath, pushed myself up, then grabbed the envelope from my tote before I made the march down the hall to Karen’s office.

  Her door was open as she tapped on her computer. I rapped on her door twice, then said, “Hi, Karen.”

  She looked up and grinned. Her shoulders relaxed as if she were happy to see me. “Hey, Aja. Welcome back. Come on in.” She waved to me, then turned back to her keyboard. “Give me a minute. Just finishing this report.”

  I walked in and took a seat in front of her desk, which was just as cluttered with folders as mine.

  “Is this something quick?” She glanced at me but continued typing. “I don’t want to keep you sitting here. I know you’re ready to jump right into work. There’s a lot waiting for you.”

  It probably would have been better if I waited for Karen to finish, but then I asked myself why? I had come into the office so that I could get out. So after another breath, I said, “I’m sorry to do this to you since I know how short-staffed we already are, but . . .” I reached inside the manila envelope, pulled out a piece of paper, and slid it across her desk toward her. “I am regretfully submitting my resignation.”

  She stopped, her fingers frozen in midair. She swiveled her chair toward me slowly, giving me all of her attention now. “Your resignation?” she asked. The shock was in her voice as she picked up the paper.

  While her eyes scanned the document, I said, “I have been a social worker for twenty-two years, and it’s just time for me to try something new.”

  “But,” she shook her head, “you’re one of the best directors I have. I mean, you’re next in line for my job,” Karen exclaimed.

  If she thought that was a motivator, she just didn’t know. The thought of that alone made my stomach turn. Karen didn’t even want her own job. “I understand that,” I told her, rather than telling her “hell no.” “But this job is no longer what’s best for me. My heart is simply not in it anymore.”

  She sat for a moment, looking at me, then looking at the letter, then back at me, then back to the letter. It was like she was searching to understand. “Do you have a new job?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t,” I replied. “I mean, I don’t have a job working for another company. I plan to open my own business.” Then, with an extra bit of pride, I added, “An art gallery.”

  I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like a flash of envy crossed her face. “Wow.”

  “I know people really don’t buy art like that anymore,” I continued, “so I don’t want to solely do that. But I’ll showcase some of my work, others and various kinds of art.”

  Her eyes widened a bit and now, her blue eyes looked green for sure. “Wow. I thought that painting thing was just a hobby.”

  I nodded. “It’s never been a hobby for me. I just never had time for it.”

  She nodded. “Must be nice. You gotta have a rich husband for that.”

  There were lots of things I could have said, but I just smiled. Karen was a friend, but I wasn’t about to let her in on my business like that.

  “So I know I’m on personal leave for another week and I still have about a month of vacation and sick time that I’ve accrued, but if you need me . . .” I let my words trail off because I really didn’t want to come back for any reason. But I wanted her to think that I wouldn’t leave her out there like that.

  She leaned back in her chair and waved her hand. “Girl, I wouldn’t do that to you. This workload,” she gestured to the files on her desk, “isn’t going anywhere.”

  I breathed with relief.

  Then she added, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I imagine that it was hard for you to even consider coming back after that SWAT standoff.”

  “I’m okay. But you’re right. That day was definitely kind of the final straw for me.”

  “Well, I understand.” She slid my letter back into the envelope and placed it in a bin on her desk. She sighed. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  When she smiled, we stood and hugged. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Here’s to the next chapter of your life.”

  I gave her another quick hug. She just had no idea.

  I was on Cloud Ten because Nine just wouldn’t do. Turning in my resignation had been like the final chain that I needed to break free. And for the first time in years, I felt so happy that I almost skipped back to my office.

  Right when I was packing up my office, the owner of the quilting shop called me back and said my leasing application had been approved and she really wanted to meet me. I felt like the universe was aligning all the stars. Now I knew what Jewel was talking about, because as I walked through the building with the owner, I finally felt like I had a purpose—for me.

  “So, isn’t this property great?” she asked.

  “It’s perfect,” I said to the petite white-haired woman who was showing what I hoped would soon be my happy place.

  “I’m retiring and moving across country to be near my grandchildren, so I’m excited about closing this deal.”

  “I remember passing this place two years ago and thinking it was in a perfect location,” I told her, though I left out how I had quickly nixed that dream then because I was a social worker who had let her dreams die.

  “I know you’re going to be very happy leasing this building,” she continued, then her eyes glanced down to my wedding ring. “Do you need to schedule a time to bring your husband back?”

  That thought gave me pause. For twenty years, I’d discussed everything with Charles. I didn’t make a decision without Charles’s input. But this was all on me.

  “No, I talked with my real estate agent who told me it was a great property and an awesome deal, hence the reason we quickly put the application in.”

  “That it is,” she said with a smile. “I stand by that.”

  I returned her smile. “So then, how can I let it go?”

  She studied me for a minute, then said, “You can always find the level of someone’s joy by looking in their eyes. Your eyes sing with joy. I’m hoping when I get down with my grandkids, I’ll have that.”

  My smile faded just a bit. “I’m still working on it.”

  “Well, I wish you all the best.” She handed me some papers. “I’m old-fashioned. I know this stuff is all digital now, but I’m not up with the times, so take these and have your Realtor look over them. And if everything is in order, you can wire the deposit to my accountant because I don’t fool with that stuff. And then you can pick up the keys next week.”

  I held the paperwork close to my heart. “This is a dream come true.”

  “You’ll have to send me pictures of the place when you’re up and running. I’ll be in Florida enjoying my grandkids.”

  We shook hands and I had to struggle to contain my excitement as I floated on air back to my car. Inside, I shouted, then revved up the engine. Before I backed out, I cued up Lil Duval’s “Living My Best Life,” set it on repeat, then blasted the song through the speakers. Satisfied, I pulled out of the parking lot, my mind filled with all the things I would do with the studio.

  As I pulled onto 610, I was filled with such excitement, I just couldn’t wait to share this news. I was really
doing it, this was happening. And I couldn’t wait to tell . . . Roxie! She would want to know I had paperwork in hand.

  Gripping the wheel, I bobbed my head and sang, “Living my best life . . .”

  I grinned as I began my text: I did it! Then, I looked up. All safe. The next part: The gallery . . . I glanced up again. The midday traffic was light, so I finished my text: is coming. Glancing up again, I was about to toss my phone back onto the passenger seat, but then, I looked down and added three exclamation points.

  That made me laugh out loud as I tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat.

  Then . . . I looked up.

  And a black SUV was in my lane, at least half of it was, right in front of me, cutting me off.

  “Ah!” I screamed as I gripped the wheel and swerved to avoid the collision.

  The SUV clipped the front of my car, sending me spinning, spinning, then crashing into the guardrail.

  “Oh, God,” I screamed as the car took flight and time . . . slowed . . . down. I floated, or maybe the better word was glided in the air, though it was amazing that I was having all of these thoughts. In this split second of time, in the air, I opened my mouth to scream, but tears filled my throat.

  Then . . . my car bounced.

  And flipped and flipped, then spun and spun until finally . . . it came to a stop.

  I was dizzy in the quiet, felt delirious in the stillness. I blinked and tried to lift my head to see where I was.

  And that was when I saw it . . . a royal blue Mustang speeding toward me. It slammed into me—sent me spinning again, and I felt myself careening off the embankment and onto the feeder road. It was too late to scream, too late to cry, it was even too late to have any real fear. I only had time to close my eyes and pray that when I opened them again, I’d see the face of God.

  Chapter 22

  Would God be calling me sweetheart?

  “Hello. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

  That’s strange. I always imagined God’s voice to be deeper.

  “Sweetie, please wake up.”

  That wasn’t God. That was . . . Charles. I battled to blink, struggled to move. Everything on my body ached.