My Sister's Ex (28 page)

I pick up my cell phone. Dial a number.

“I can’t believe you’re calling me. What’s the occasion?”

“Mama, how you been doing? You okay?”

“Marlene, you know me. I’ll always be all right.”

“How’s the job search coming along?”

“I’ve got a few interviews lined up. As a matter of fact, I have one this afternoon. I need to stop by the store and get some panty hose, though. All my other pairs are either dirty or ripped. But I know this job is mine.”

“What is it?”

“It’s another counseling position. Mentoring young women who have gotten themselves knocked up and feel like their life is over. I can tell them how I went on and got my education, made something of myself regardless of being a single parent.”

“Hmm, that sounds right up your alley.” I think for a second. “You know that’s what I like about you. You’re willing to share your troubles with other women and let them know there’s a way out of any challenging situation.”

“Got to stay positive, no matter what you’re up against.”

“Well, I need your help.” I explain to Loretta how I’m stuck in bed. I’m hungry. And being rubbed down with a washcloth, warm water, and soap would make my day. “And I would love to have something to read.
Us Weekly, People, National Enquirer.”

“Humph, I’m shocked you haven’t just whipped out your Bible. From what I understand, that’s the book that can always be found right next to your bedside. Is that still true?”

“No, ma’am,” I say in a quiet voice.

“Oh, so where is it then?”

“Under my bed.”

“Hmm, that can only mean one thing. Something else much more valuable to you has taken the place of your beloved Bible. Tell me the truth, Marlene. Is it a man? You’ve been having sex? And you’re too ashamed to sleep with some guy and have the Bible right next to you on your bedside, staring you in the face at the same—”

“Mama, please stop, please. Your mind is always running a hundred miles an hour when it needs to slow down like it’s in a school zone. Slow down, listen, learn. ’Cause you may be my parent, but you don’t know everything, you know.”

I hear her heartily laugh, like there’s hardly anything I say can say to truly move her.

“I know enough. Tell you what. I’m sorry for saying what I said. I want you to relax. No need to be stressing you out.”

“Yeah, well, I have noticed a couple gray hairs on my head. And it shocked me to death.”

“You’ve been dealing with some stuff, huh?”

“My ankle hurts so much it’s throbbing.”

“Where’s your man at? He sets his own hours, right? Don’t tell me he’s
that
busy.”

“No, I just saw him yesterday.”

“Oh, ya’ll had some wild sex and you injured yourself? I’ve heard of some freaky shit with the blindfolds and the chains and whips, but damn—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And apparently you know everything I don’t know. And I want to hear more. So stay put. Help is on the way.”

She abruptly hangs up on me. I roll my eyes and lie back on my pillows, thoughtfully gazing up at the ceiling.

Am I being punished? My behavior hasn’t been the most positive lately. Maybe I’m reaping what I’ve sown. Rachel would always say that to me. That she hoped I got what I deserve
. I bite my bottom lip and my throat thickens with soreness.
I just feel awful. And it’s no fun when you feel your worst, and no one is around to help you
.

And why would they?
I ask myself.
Who wants to be around a know-it-all, stubborn, conceited female who acts like she has a direct line to God, when in actuality I think God is
caller IDing me? When’s the last time he’s answered my prayers? I believe in God, and I know I’m his child, but it’s no secret I’m not his best child
.

I fall asleep with tears streaming down my cheeks, snot stuck in my nose, making it hard for me to breathe. Last thought I have is
If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll choke on my own spit … and die
.

When I wake up, the first face I see is Rachel’s. She’s silent. Staring down at me. Looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am.

“What are you doing here?” I mumble. “Why aren’t you at work?” It’s almost eleven, and I know she’s a stickler for trying to get to work a little bit early.

“Bastards. All of ’em. Fucking bastards. Can’t trust nobody. No one. Soon as you turn your back, somebody’s plunging a sharp knife in you and twisting it around so you can bleed some more. I can’t believe her. I can’t. Bitch.”

I wince and try my best to sit up, so I can have a clear view of my sister and make sure I can hear everything she’s saying.

“What happened? Something happened at work? You got into it with your boss?” I know that once before, Rachel and her boss, Twila, got into a shouting match. Twila wrote up Rachel and docked her two days’ pay. Since then Rachel said she’s been on her best behavior, but maybe Twila’s getting on her last nerve again.

“Nothing happened at work.” She laughs, then quickly hushes. “I did call in, though. I can’t work under these conditions. No way.” Rachel is walking back and forth, raising her hands, laughing, then looking pissed, like her cheeks are about to burst.

“Don’t pay those people any mind. I hope the folks at my job aren’t talking about me behind my back for calling in sick, too.”

“Well, Marlene, I hadn’t planned on calling in. I was on my way to work, but I got a little phone call. Loretta told me to stop whatever I was doing and go straight home. I told her I wasn’t in the mood; it just wasn’t a good time for her foolishness, but she started crying.”

“My mama? Crying?”

“Girl, yes! It sounded … yuck, it was so awful, like a hound dog wailing in the wee hours of the morning. She sounded like I’ve never heard her sound before.”

“She sounded …”

“Human.”

I nod, halfway understanding. “Why’d she ask you to come home?”

“She said I need to step it up, come see about you. I told her, well shit, I need someone to come see about
me
. Why I always gotta be the hero? Or is it the shero?”

“Oh, really? You’re here … Rachel. Because my mama asked you to come … see about me?”

She nods emphatically like she’s is in a daze and can’t believe it herself.

“At first I said no. But a few minutes later I was like ‘Why the hell not?’ It’s probably all my fault that you’re in this mess, anyway. Let me try to undo what I’ve done. It’s all fucked … fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate …” Rachel’s eyes immediately well up. It almost looks like she’s wearing bifocals. Soon her tears spill over, and she quickly wipes them away. I don’t know what to say. I would hug her, but I’m stuck and can’t get up.

“Are you all right, Sis?”

“No. Yes. Look, I know you don’t understand. But I just gotta face some things, unbelievably tough things, then I’ll be all right.” Satisfied with her answer, I watch her leave the room and hear her clattering around the kitchen for several
minutes. When she returns, her cheeks appear rosier, eyes more alert and focused.

“Hey, Marlene. I-I warmed you up a pot of chicken noodle soup. Not that you’re sneezing and wheezing and blowing your nose … but chicken noodle soup … seemed like the right thing to do.”

I slowly nod at my sister, thoughtfully considering her gesture. In one way I wish she’d just leave my room. I will handle this on my own. But seeing her act vulnerable and confused is so rare; it’s like I can’t peel my eyes off her.

“I want you to eat some soup, but first … you need to know two things. I just don’t know which to tell you first.” Her loud laughter sounds choppy, ugly.

“Rachel, what on earth is going on?”

“Jeff is a cheater, a liar. He’s not a good man, Marlene.”

“What? I know he’s no Will Smith, no Denzel—”

“He’s more like a man you’ve known for years, but then he does something wrong and gets arrested. The incident is splashed across the TV, the papers. Other people who know him come out the woodwork and say things you’ve never heard before, describe him in such foreign terms that you’re convinced he can’t be the same person. That’s Jeff!”

She comes and sits next to me on the bed. “The man you think you love—”

“What? I
do
care for him.” I bite my bottom lip. “I love him, Sis.”

“No, you just think you do.”

“I
know
I do.”

She gives me a sad, sympathetic look. “Why?”

“I-I miss him when we’re not together.”

“Get a dog, then,” she sputters.

“He makes me laugh.”

“Go to the comedy club.”

“And”—I think twice before answering—“I like the orgasms he gives me.”

“Eww,” she says, standing up. “Get a fucking vibrator. You can always buy something that will lick your vagina real good if you’re not too ashamed to use it. You don’t need him to make you feel good.”

“I know, but I still want him.”

“Listen up. The guy who you miss, laugh at, and have sex with is doing the same shit with other women.”

“I don’t know why you’re saying that, Rachel. Jeez.”

“Jeez, nothing. Look, dummy, I’m trying to help you.”

I spring up out of the bed and hobble up to Rachel, standing right under her nose. I grab her by her shoulders and shake her so hard that her eyes enlarge as round as quarters.

“I am not dumb, not stupid, none of that, do you hear me? You have no reason to call me that. Wait, yes, you do. You’re the ultimate hater.”

“Let go of me,” she screams. She balls up some paper that’s been in her hands and runs out of the room. I hear the front door slam. But I can tell she hasn’t locked it.

Wow, she must really be pissed. Too bad. So am I
. I manage to walk over to the front door and secure the lock. Smoke rises from the big pot of soup that boils on the stove top. Feeling guilty, I go and turn off the burner.

I’ve gotta change into a different shirt, at the least, I think to myself and hobble across the living room, aiming for the closet. But when I’m halfway to my room, my uninjured foot kicks a crumpled-up piece of paper.

This is what Rachel had in her hand all that time she was in here
. I lean over and pick up the balled-up paper, then stand to read it.

Brooke. I can tell her writing anywhere. Plus, poor thing, she never was the best speller. But it’s not the misspelled
words; it’s the words she’s saying that make me slowly lower myself to my bed in a sitting position.

“Oh, no,” I say to myself.

“Rachel!” I scream, even though I know she can’t hear me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in my car speeding down Highway 6. I speed dial Rachel ten times before she answers.

“What?”

“Sis, I’m so sorry. I am so upset; I don’t know what to think.”

“Oh, you’ve finally accepted how du—”

“Hear me out. Please. I read … Brooke’s letter. And I’m scared.”

“Nothing to be scared of,” Rachel murmurs.

“Brooke is something else.”

“Both of them are something else. They were both wrong: he for doing what he did, and she for allowing him to kiss her, and for not immediately telling me. I’m so angry with them, I don’t know what to do.”

“I know you’re mad. I am, too. I’m more shocked than anything. But it’s not all about you. This is about us, Sis. We’re in this together.”

“Damn, Marlene. Can you believe this?” I hear her sob.

“Hey, where are you?”

“Alita’s. Big Hen is taking a vacation day. Golfing. I called Alita and she told me it was okay to come by her job and get the town house key. So I’ll be chilling over here.”

“That’s good. But what about Jeff? Are you going to talk to him about what happened with him and Brooke? Because if you don’t, I will—”

“No, Marlene. Don’t say anything to him. You need to stop being concerned about what he’s done in the past, and think more about what he’s doing now.”

“You’re scaring me. What’s he doing?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that he’s a cheater, girl. He dates other women, Marlene.”

“No.” I don’t want to hear it. It hurts to listen. “Are you positive?”

“Look, remember last night? You and Jeff were in the bed having a good ole time? Well, he had just texted this girl telling her about himself and trying to hook up.”

“How do you know all this?”

She explains about the dating site. That Jeff has a profile and secretly dates other women.

“Oh, no. I just can’t believe it.”

“Believe it.”

Even if a woman has a gut feeling about her man and the things he may be doing behind her back, she always hopes for the best, that she’s imagining things and that he really can be trusted.

“Marlene, I’ve set up a fake date with Jeff. He’s taken the bait and has agreed to meet London at a restaurant. I think you should go there, too.”

“Catch him in the act?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, you don’t know how bad I want to call this man. If it’s all true, he owes me some answers.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. You may want answers, but I doubt you’ll get them. This type of guy feels entitled. He wants to have his cake—”

“His icing, his candles, and the presents that come with the damn cake.”

“There ya go, Marlene. You’re finally getting it.”

“Truth be told, I’m devastated. Rachel, I truly fell in love with Jeff.”

“Well, I did, too, Marlene.”

I feel foolish. I can feel my cheeks and whole face burning and growing warmer with shame. I want to shake this bad feeling. Do something to counter how I feel.

“We’re going to pay this bastard back, too. The hell with forgiveness, giving him another chance,” Rachel says. “No, no,
hell
no. I don’t ever want him to do another woman like he’s done me.”

“Like he’s done
me.”

“Stop repeating what I say, Marlene.”

“Under the circumstances, I can’t help it, Rachel.”

“Shame, shame, shame.”

Rachel starts humming this familiar-sounding melody. I can tell she’s coming out of her anger. From anger to strength. “Hey, Marlene, remember that old-school song that Blinky likes to play all the time?”

“You mean besides James Brown?”