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Authors: Bettye Griffin

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BOOK: If These Walls Could Talk
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Still, she felt they owed it to their new friends to invite them over for something nicer than potato chips and beer. She didn't want to get a reputation among their friends of always being a guest and never a host or, worse, being a crummy host. It shouldn't be expensive to provide dinner to four extra people. She just had to catch them on a weekend when they weren't having any visitors.
And with the revolving doors at both the Lee and the Curry homes, that might be more difficult than it sounded.
Chapter 21
The Lees
December 2002
V
eronica tooted the horn as she pulled in the driveway after work. She couldn't wait to share her good news with Norman.
“Guess what!” she exclaimed when she saw him in the house. “I was asked today if I'd consider working the night shift, 9:00 to 7:00, four days a week.”
His forehead wrinkled. “I don't get it. You don't want to work nights, do you?”
“I never really thought about it before, but there's a nice shift differential in it. Plus, I'd still get to be at home with the girls after school, so we won't have to pay for day care. I can sleep during their school hours, and take another nap to refresh after dinner.” His face remained impassive, and she tried again. “More money in our pockets is always a good thing, Norman. We can certainly use it. Doing the kitchen over is going to be expensive.”
Then she casually added what she'd been thinking about for weeks. “And we really need a second car.” She waved him off when he opened his mouth to protest. “I know we're getting by with one, but we want to do more than just get by, don't we? We don't live in Washington Heights anymore, where we can walk a few blocks and catch the subway at 158th or 155th. Public transportation out here is lousy. You know that.” When they first began working locally, Norman spent a miserable three weeks taking the bus to work until he began participating in ride share. With his usual selflessness, he insisted Veronica take the car. “Having one car while working third shift means I'd be stuck in the house all day while you're at work, when I could be going to the bank and Wal-Mart, taking advantage of those markdowns they make on meat that has to be sold soon. They do it in the mornings, and it's gone by afternoon. This way I can buy it and freeze it.” He didn't look swayed, she noticed, so she tried another tack. “Why do you think so many of the houses here have two-car garages? Certainly not for storage; that's why we have basements.”
“We have a one-car garage, Vee,” he said with a smile.
She laughed. “Only because our house was built in the sixties. All the newer houses have two-car garages. Some of the larger homes even have
three
-car garages.”
He good-naturedly held out a hand. “Will you stop already? None of that has anything to do with us. But I guess we'll need to get another car eventually. I just want you to know it can be very difficult to get used to working all night long. I know; I did it when I was in the service. Sometimes your body resists staying awake when it's accustomed to sleeping, and the older you get the harder it is.” At her crestfallen expression he added, “But if you want to give it a try I don't have a problem with it. Just don't feel badly if it doesn't work out and you want to go back to days. We'll still get the things we want. It just might take a little longer, that's all.”
She grinned. “I have a feeling that the money will be a nice incentive for me to get used to it in a hurry.” Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck. “Norman, you're my prince. You handled this whole house-buying thing so well, and I know you want me to have everything I want.”
“And don't you forget it,” he grumbled.
“I won't.” She removed her arms and grabbed his hand.
February 2003
Veronica cuddled up to Norman in bed. She could think of no better activity on a cold winter night than making love. “As James Brown would say, ‘I feel good.'”
Norman chuckled. “I'm going to sleep good tonight, that's for sure.”
“Well, before you go to sleep, let me run something past you. In honor of my working hard on the third shift for the past two months, and since Valentine's Day is coming up, do you think we might be able to get away for Valentine's Day weekend? I'm sure Camille or Dawn would keep the kids for us, provided they don't have plans themselves. Maybe we can go to one of those romantic inns in the Poconos with the round beds and a Jacuzzi big enough for two.”
“Uh, Vee, I meant to tell you. Eddie and Michelle asked if they could come out that weekend, and I told them they could.”
“You told them—but, Norman, they were just here for New Year's. Charles and Germaine, too. And they all stayed with us.”
“But on Thanksgiving they didn't stay here; your parents did. My brothers stayed at the Holiday Inn.”
“Fine. Let them stay at the Holiday Inn for Valentine's Day.” She felt like her in-laws were taking advantage of them. It might have taken them a while to come out to visit, but now they never wanted to stay home whenever a holiday came around.
“Come on, Vee. You know how hotels raise their rates for Valentine's Day, just like they do on New Year's.”
She and Norman had given a New Year's party and invited some of the neighbors, as well as the Currys, the Youngs, and a few people from the hospital. Of course they'd invited Norman's siblings and their families and her sister. Lucy had plans in the city, and they offered the guest room to their friend Duane and his girlfriend—a different one from last fall. Valerie and the guy she was seeing took a room at the Hampton Inn, while Essence stayed at the house with Lorinda and Simone in their room. Veronica had presumed that her brothers-in-law and their wives would stay at a hotel, too, like they had over Thanksgiving. It came as a shock when they asked to stay at the house. When she mentioned it to Norman, he said the hotels probably raised their rates to something outrageous just because of the date. She told him they had no more beds, and he said they'd offered to buy air mattresses and sleep in the basement.
Veronica couldn't believe that the wives of her brothers-in-law would agree to such a thing. For one, the basement was all open, so they would have no privacy. And because heat rose it tended to be a little chilly down there. But no one wanted to miss the New Year's Eve party. In the end she'd gone along, trying to see it from Eddie and Charles's point of view. It cost so much to go out anywhere for New Year's, and it came just one week after all the expense of Christmas. And they were family, as much as her sister Valerie was. Valerie's boyfriend, without the expense of a family, could probably afford a couple of nights in a hotel, even with a surcharge. Eddie and Charles really couldn't. How could she say no? At least their children stayed with other family members who lived in the city.
Still, she sensed a potential problem on the horizon. “Norman, I know Eddie and Charles are your brothers, but do you see a pattern forming here? With the holidays?”
“If you mean am I worried about my brothers wanting to come out for Easter, no.”
But I'll bet they'll want to come out for Memorial Day, July 4th, and Labor Day,
she thought.
Norman turned on his side and stretched his hand out across her middle. She shrugged and closed her eyes.
If he wasn't worried about Eddie and Charles and their wives, then she wouldn't either.
Chapter 22
The Currys
April 2003
C
amille read over the letter she'd just composed. Positive that George—as she thought of him, even though she addressed him as “Mr. Stephens”—would like it, she inserted letterhead into her printer and sent a command to print. Before George got promoted she had to share a printer with three other secretaries, and somebody was always walking off with her stuff. Now she had her own.
She liked being on the thirty-sixth floor.
George kept her busy, too. Camille had always thought that many executive secretaries didn't do anything but make reservations for lunch or travel plans for their bosses, with plenty of time to file their nails or read the latest novels, but she had very little idle time. George clearly expected her to work for that 10 percent raise he'd gotten her. He used to write out his own correspondence and give it to her to type. Now he merely told her what to say and who to say it to. He hadn't liked her early efforts, but after a while she'd learned to do it the way he wanted.
No doubt about it, she had what it took to work on the thirty-sixth floor.
Reuben called as she walked out of George's empty office after laying the letter on his desk. “Hi!” she said happily. The sound of his voice always came as a welcome sound to her ears. “What's going on?”
“Is there any way you can get off a little early today? We have to talk about something serious, and I'd rather do it before we get on the bus with everybody.”
“Uh . . . I don't think it'll be a problem. But I'll have to clear it with George, just in case he has something he wants me to do before I leave. But what's going on, Reuben?”
“I'll tell you when I see you. Let's meet at that coffee shop across from Port Authority at 4:45.” He paused. “Trust me, it's best this way.”
Fortunately, George gave the green light for her to leave at 4:45. She spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what Reuben wanted to talk to her about.
Reuben wasted no time. The moment he approached the coffee shop where they agreed to meet he took both her hands in his. “I've got bad news, Camille.”
She tensed. “What is it?”
“My store is closing.”
She drew in her breath. “The whole chain?”
“No, just my store. In three months.”
She stared at him blankly. “But . . . You've worked for them a long time. Surely they have a job for you.”
My God, without Reuben's income we'll sink faster than the Titanic.
“They did offer me something, but it's out on Long Island. I had to turn it down, Camille. It'll take forever to get out there, and I'm already spending five hours a day going back and forth to work. Plus, it'll cost more if I have to get a pass for the LIRR in addition to the bus from Tobyhanna, and I wouldn't be making any more money than I am now.” He ushered her inside, where they sat at a booth in the back with Cokes he ordered.
She sighed. He was right—Long Island wasn't feasible for daily travel. Of course, if they still lived in the Bronx . . .
But they didn't, and she tried, unsuccessfully, not to let the panic she felt show. “So what are we going to do? You know that even with my promotion I don't make enough to pay the mortgage and the rest of the bills.”
“I'll see what I can find. But I might not be able to get work as a manager. I might have to stock shelves or something, at least at first.”
“Yes, for minimum wage,” she said bitterly. Thank God she'd been able to get off early. By the time she had to board the bus she wanted to be calm, not have her appearance give away the fact that her world had just collapsed. She could pretend to be asleep if she felt like she couldn't bear to listen to Dawn Young and the others, with all their talk about their vacation plans and their home improvements. She'd simply have to be strong enough not to burst into tears at the mere thought of what the future might hold for
her
family.
“Listen, at least we know we've got ninety days. And they're going to give me a severance package that will last at least another two months. They'll give that to me even if I leave sooner because I've found another job. At least that will get us through the summer. We can take a little vacation, like we planned. It'll be the end of October before we really have to worry.”
Camille thought about last year's heating bills. They'd been high, but the heat never seemed to completely warm the house. Everyone had worn bulky sweaters all season long, and even with that they usually curled up with throws when using the computer or watching TV. The constant chill had affected the kids in particular. Shayla had a runny nose from January all the way through March, and Mitchell's cough got so bad that Camille had to take him to the doctor.
She desperately wanted to work closer to home like Veronica did, but in a year no local jobs had materialized, at least nothing that paid worth a damn. She couldn't simply give up her current salary, especially after her promotion last fall, to work locally for ridiculously low wages like four hundred dollars a week. It wouldn't be worth it, even if it did eliminate the cost of commuting, especially now that Reuben's employment days were numbered. Her one solace came from knowing Reuben wouldn't be out of work tomorrow. A lot could change in five months.
But she couldn't stop worrying about how they'd manage after October.
Then she thought of something else. “It won't make sense for you to spend all that money to travel to New York to work, Reuben, if you're just stocking shelves for six or seven dollars an hour.”
“Oh, I wouldn't look in New York. I'd look near home, like in Stroudsburg. We can probably arrange for you to ride to the station with Bob or Jeff.”
Camille's jaw went taut. The thought of him getting to sleep past daylight and driving a mere half hour to work, while she continued to rise at 4:30 in the morning to get to the bus station before 5:45 made her want to weep. She'd thought
she
would be the one who'd work locally. It made much more sense for her, the woman of the house, to be the one with the short commute.
She
was the one who prepared dinner.
She
was the one who washed and ironed the clothes, did the grocery shopping, picked up around the house, and ran the carpet cleaner every two weeks on that high-maintenance white carpet she now regretted having chosen. Reuben would probably still expect her to make dinner the night before so they could eat as soon as they arrived home.
Camille knew she was being unreasonable—Reuben always sought to work with her as a team—but she couldn't help it. The way she saw it she hadn't been hit with one bombshell, but two.
BOOK: If These Walls Could Talk
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