Chapter 11
Wade slowly backed his Laredo into the left side of the attached two-car garage of his and Liz's dark brick split level home. Marcus had slept; actually he'd snored during the ride to the Harrisons' home. Wade noticed that his wife's black Nissan Maxima was missing from the garage, and surmised that she had gone to the Caldwells' house. He turned off the engine and nudged Marcus.
Marcus opened his bleary eyes. He looked at Wade and said, “What?” He tried to sit erect, and his body toppled to his left. The scent of alcohol seemed to infuse the inside of the SUV.
Wade cracked open the window and waved his hand in the air. “We're at my house. I couldn't think of anyplace else to take you, considering what's happened to Monet,” he said in a hushed tone of voice.
When Wade said Monet, Marcus slumped back into the seat. “Oh, you know what happened? Liz must have told you.” He rubbed his eyes.
“No, I mean, isn't Monet . . . didn't she pass?” Wade looked at Marcus with a confused expression on his face.
“Pass for what?” Marcus said, holding his aching head in his hands. “I don't feel so good. My head is killing me. Can we have this discussion in the morning?”
“Marcus, where is Monet?” Wade raised his voice in exasperation.
“I don't know, I guess she's at home.” He scratched his head. Then his expression became frigid, and his tone of voice confrontational. “I don't want to talk about Monet.” He turned and looked out the window.
“Why aren't you home with her, instead of out at a bar brawling like you're a teenager again?”
“Wade, you're my best friend, and all I can say is I'm tired. I'm so tired . . . can I stay at your house tonight?” All the air seemed to deflate from Marcus's body.
“Look, man, I can take you home; that's no problem.” Wade was taken aback by the venomous expression that appeared on his friend's face.
“No, I don't want to go home. I don't have a home,” Marcus mumbled. He rubbed his head again. “Wade, I know you have questions, but my body aches, my knuckles are sore, and my jaw is swollen.” He cautiously stroked the side of his face. “Today has been the worst day of my life. I just want to go somewhere and sleep. If my life were a story that could be rewritten, then I'd wake up tomorrow and find out everything that has happened today was a dream.” He laughed harshly. “But I know it isn't a dream. Instead it's become a nightmare.”
“Okay, you're scaring me now.” Wade held up his hands worriedly. “Sure, you can stay the rest of the night or what's left of it. But you know at some point you're going to have to go home and face the music, or do what you can to undo the nightmare.” He unlocked the car doors and looked at Marcus. “I hope you can walk under your own steam because, buddy, I can't help you by myself.”
After five minutes, Marcus had managed to get his body out of the SUV. He walked a little unsteadily to the back door, but managed to get there without harming himself, and without Wade's assistance. When they walked in the house, Marcus scuttled as fast as he could to the bathroom. Wade went up the short flight of five stairs and took a set of towels out of the linen closet. He went back downstairs and put them on the floor outside the bathroom. “Marcus, I put some towels on the floor,” he said.
“Thanks,” he replied dolefully. His voice sounded strangled, like he was crying.
Wade shook his head at the idea.
My partner crying? No, I don't think so. I must have imagined that.
He went into the kitchen and put a filter into the coffeemaker. Then he saw Liz's note and read it. By the time the coffee had finished brewing, Marcus was walking into the kitchen.
Wade pointed to a chair and said, “Sit.” He removed a black ceramic mug with the word, DAD, in large red letters emblazed on it and poured coffee into it. Then he handed the cup to Marcus.
Marcus looked at the mug, and his first thought was to knock the cup out of Wade's hand. He shook his head and gestured with his hand that he didn't want the cup.
“I think you need to drink this and sober up,” Wade advised. He placed the mug on the table and sat in the seat across from Marcus. Wade shrugged his shoulders. “Are you ready to talk about what's going on with you and Monet? The owner of the bar told me you went off after some thugs made remarks about her. That's not like you, Marcus. I know something else had to be going on. Do you want to talk about it?”
Marcus rubbed his aching jaw and winced. “Not really. Not tonight anyway. I really just want some aspirin and to go to bed. I assume I can sleep on the sofa bed in the basement?” He tilted his head questioningly.
“I guess so. You're like a brother to me. Heck, you're closer to me than my own brother, and you know if you need someone to talk to, I'm your guy. We've been partners for a long time, and friends even longer. I won't judge you. But I do caution you to take your problems to the Lord.”
Marcus's expression changed from boredom to chagrin. He was upset with Wade's clumsy attempt to counsel him, and Wade didn't miss the look on his partner's face.
“Wade,” Marcus said through clenched teeth and curled fists, “I said that I don't want to talk about it now. I know you have my best interest at heart, but now isn't the time. I have some things I need to sort out for myself. If you want to play junior minister, that's fine, but I don't want to listen to you wax philosophical regarding issues you know nothing about. If you don't want me here, I can call a cab and stay in a hotel.”
Wade put his hands in the air. “Whoa, buddy, you don't have to get defensive with me. I was only trying to help you.” He stood up. “Do what you have to do, but remember you may think that you're in control, but God is.”
Marcus stood up abruptly and walked to the basement door outside the kitchen. “I'll talk to you in the morning.” He opened and closed the door.
Wade could hear Marcus's heavy footsteps trampling down the stairs. He sat at the table, his mind going a mile a minute, genuinely worried about the state of Marcus's mind. He knew something was eating at the heart of his friend. And the fact that he didn't go home to Monet spoke volumes about the issue. He sipped the rest of his coffee.
When he finished, he put the cup in the sink and went to his and Liz's bedroom. He took off his clothes, put on his pajamas and sat on the side of the bed, bowed his head, and prayed.
“Lord, I don't know what's happening with Marcus and Monet tonight. You know Liz and I affectionately call them M&M. I know whatever is eating at my buddy has to be serious, Lord, or he wouldn't be at my house tonight. Father, I pray that you bring comfort to them and give them strength. Keep your arms around them, Father, and don't let go. I know that Marcus will talk to me tomorrow, and I ask, Lord, that you help me to say the right words to ease my friend's burden. Lord, thank you for putting it on Lee Otis's heart to call me tonight. There is no doubt in my mind that you were at work, taking care of your child. Help Monet and Marcus in their time of trouble. Amen.”
He lay in bed for a time, hoping Liz was having more luck with Monet than he'd had with Marcus.
Chapter 12
Liz tiptoed into the Caldwells' darkened house. She could hear the stereo playing in Monet's office, though the volume was low. A medley of gospel songs was playing. She recognized the CD because she had given it to Monet as a gift a few months ago. A dim light that Monet had left on for Marcus shined in the living room.
Liz turned on the light in the foyer and softly called out Monet's name. When she didn't get an answer, she walked into the kitchen, and then into Monet's office. She found Monet stretched out on the sofa with a blanket covering her body and Mitzi nestled by her side.
The dog barked and jumped off the sofa and ran up to Liz. Monet turned over and saw Liz. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, sat up, and tried to smile, but instead a grimace converged on her face.
“Oh, Liz,” she wailed, “Marcus is gone. He's left me. I've been calling him and he won't answer his cell phone.”
Liz stood frozen to the spot as waves of shock ran through her body. She never expected to hear those dire words pass from either Marcus or Monet's lips. She walked rapidly to the sofa and sat down beside her friend. “Oh no,” she said as her face crumpled into tears. She took Monet in her arms and they wept together.
When the crying frenzy had passed, Liz reached for a tissue in the box that sat on the bottom of the cocktail table and wiped her eyes. She handed one to Monet. “Can I make you a cup of coffee or tea?” she asked.
Monet answered despondently. “Tea will be fine.”
Liz stood up, took off her coat, and laid it on the back of the computer chair. She walked into the kitchen, turned on the light, and reached in the cabinet for the teakettle. She put water in the teakettle, set it on the stove, and turned on a burner.
Monet had gone to the bathroom to wash her face. She was startled when she saw her face in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen and her lips chapped. She knew that she looked like death warmed over. Her eyes strayed down to her belly and back up to her face.
After she hung the towel on the rack, she went into the kitchen where Liz stood by the stove waiting on the water to finish heating. She had taken two cups from the cabinet and sat them on the table, along with two teabags.
“Do you want to sit in here or back in the office?” she asked Monet
Monet looked at her friend listlessly. “The office will be fine.”
“I'll bring the tea in there when it's ready,” Liz murmured.
Monet walked back to the office and sat hunched over on the sofa, wringing her hands together helplessly until Liz returned. Finally, Liz came back to the den carrying a tray with two cups on it. She set the tray on the table, gave Monet a cup, then sat on the sofa and took a cup for herself. The women sat in silence. The only sound in the room was the slurping of tea as they drank.
When Monet put her cup back on the tray, Liz said, “What's going on, Nay-Nay?”
Monet's face flashed happiness, then became clouded. “Remember how we used to listen to Frankie Beverly and Maze?” Liz nodded tentatively, not sure where the conversation was headed. Monet sighed audibly. “My favorite song by them was “Joy and Pain.” And right now I can relate to that song more than you could ever imagine.” She took a deep breath and dropped her eyes to the floor. “My greatest wish in the world has come true, but it has also caused a serious rift in my marriage.”
Since Liz had a degree in psychology, she knew exactly what Monet was telling her in a round about way. She stared at Monet for a second, then smiled at her sister/friend and said, “Congratulations, Nay-Nay.” Her mind processed her earlier conversation with Wade, and the mystery was solved as to why Marcus had been out drinking.
Monet looked up, surprised to hear the word
congratulations
from Liz's lips. “You're the second person to tell me congratulations today and meant it,” she said.
“I take it Marcus wasn't pleased by the news,” Liz said, venturing a guess.
“Humph, that's an understatement.” Monet shrugged her shoulders and wiped at her dampening eyes.
“He doesn't think the baby is his, right?” Liz prodded her friend as gently as she could, while shifting her body on the sofa.
“Yes, you hit it on the head.” Monet sighed. “He doesn't think the baby is his, and wants me to have an abortion. When I disagreed with him and told him abortion wasn't an option, he stormed out of here like a hive of bees was on his tail. I haven't seen him since.”
Liz debated whether she should tell Monet what Marcus had been up to, and debated with herself if she should hold her peace or speak now. She put her arm around Monet's shoulder. “What if the baby isn't Marcus's?”
Monet's eyes grew wide as an old vinyl record, and she put her hand on her abdomen. “I know the baby is Marcus's. The paternity of our child is the least of my worries.” She furrowed her brow, as if in deep thought.
“If that's what you say and believe, then I believe you.” Liz nodded, wishing that she could say more to comfort her friend. She knew Monet's life with Marcus during her pregnancy wasn't going to be easy.
Monet moaned. “Dr. Washington's reaction was the same as Marcus's. Neither one of them believes the baby could be Marcus's because of the rape.” She looked away from Liz, feeling edgy.
“I can see Marcus's point, and unfortunately his is a normal reaction, especially under the circumstances. The ordeal was very difficult for him and you,” Liz said, moistening her lips as she took Monet's hand in her own.
“I know how what happened to me really threw him for a loop, Liz. But I can't abort our child, and Marcus was wrong to ask me to do so,” Monet cried almost hysterically.
“Maybe he just needs some time to adjust to the idea,” Liz suggested supportively.
“I know, and I'm going to give him all the time he needs.” Monet nodded her head. “But he walked out on me, Liz,” she sobbed. “Even after I told him that God had told me I was going to have a daughter.”
Liz nodded sensitively. She wasn't surprised to hear that proclamation. “You know I told you years ago that you should have told Marcus about God talking to you, along with your gifts of clairvoyance and healing. If he knew of your gift to predestine, perhaps he wouldn't be reacting so badly about the news.” When Monet had initially revealed the scope of her gift to her, Liz was skeptical. But as more time went by, and Monet had confided in her about some events that had come to pass, Liz realized she was telling the truth.
Monet answered, “I tried to tell him so many times over the years, but he wouldn't hear of it. He said that he equates that stuff with hocus pocus, and asked me if my parents came from Louisiana or someplace like that. You and Reverend Wilcox are the only people, other than my mother, who I have discussed my talks with God to. And as you know, my mother had the same gift. God, I wish she were here with me right now.” She picked up a sodden tissue off the table and dabbed at her eyes.
“Monet, I'll be here for you as much as I can. And with Marcus, you'll just have to give him time to adjust to the idea.”
“What if he leaves me for good?” Monet swallowed hard. “He's acting like he wants me to choose between him and our child.”
“You've just got to hold on to your faith as tight as you can.” Liz made a fist. “And know that God will see you through this.” She rubbed Monet's arm.
“I know what you're saying is true. But not being with Marcus is like not having an arm or leg. I don't know that I can get through this pregnancy without him.” Monet's body slumped while her face drooped.
“You may have to do it solo, and you can. And Nay-Nay, you know why you can get through this?” Liz reminded her friend encouragingly.
“Yes,” Monet nodded her head. “Because I'm a child of God,” she said, with Liz saying it with her. Liz clasped Monet's hands tightly in her own.
“It's been a long day. Why don't we go upstairs and get ready for bed? I need to call Wade and tell him I'm going to spend the night here. I'll call work tomorrow to take the day off and spend it with you,” Liz said.
“Okay.” Monet stood up and reached over to pick up the tray from off the table.
“No, I'll get that.” Liz stood and scooped up the tray and cups. “Let's turn in, I'm beat. I'll fix breakfast for you in the morning, and we'll talk some more.”
Monet turned to Liz and hugged her. “Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you. Follow me to the guest bedroom where you and Wade usually sleep when you stay over. I think you two still have some nightclothes on the shelf in the closet.”
“Okay,” Liz replied. “And I think you're right. I remember leaving a set of pajamas here for us. It's not like I can fit into your clothes as tiny as you are. But we'll see what your weight is in about eight months.”
Monet turned off the light in her office while Liz took the tray into the kitchen, put the cups in the sink, and rinsed them. She turned off the light and joined Monet in the hallway.
With her head turned to the side, Mitzi looked at her mistress and wagged her tail hopefully, as if asking Monet if she could sleep upstairs in the master bedroom with her.
Monet snapped her fingers and said, “In there, Mitzi.” She pointed toward the kitchen.
The dog stood up promptly and tried to follow Monet upstairs. Liz laughed and walked over to the dog, scooped her up, and walked toward the kitchen. Liz turned on the light, put the dog in her doggie bed, and then turned off the light.
The women walked up the stairs together. Monet went toward the master bedroom, while Liz went to the guest bedroom across the hall. They said goodnight. Monet changed into a nightgown and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Liz sat on the side of the pine antique bed complemented by a matching dresser and tall chest of drawers. A television stood on the middle shelf of a pine entertainment center. A full length mirror stood in one corner of the room. The room was painted in earth tones, green and a cinnamon brown, which added a nice touch to the dark furniture. The bedroom set had belonged to Monet's mother, and had been shipped to Chicago after Gayvelle's affairs were settled.
Liz hated to lie on the lacy, ecru colored comforter. She felt like it was too delicate to use for sleeping and that it was more like window dressing. She walked across the room to the closet and removed a brown cotton comforter. Then she removed the lacy bedspread from the bed, and replaced it with the comforter. When she was done with that, she nodded with satisfaction, sat on the edge of the bed, and removed her shoes and socks. She padded over to the closet, removed her gown, then quickly stripped off her clothes and donned the gown.
Liz had laid her cell phone on the nightstand next to the bed, and it suddenly vibrated, startling her. She looked at caller ID and saw her home number.
“Hi, hon,” she answered.
“Lizzie, why didn't you call me back?” Wade sounded aggravated. “I was starting to worry about you.” He was lying on his back, wearing red and white striped pajamas, and his feet were crossed at the ankles.
“This is the first opportunity I've had to call you since I got here. Monet and I have been talking, and we just turned in,” Liz whispered, as she stretched her body on the bed.
“I guess we were wrong, huh?” Wade said. “Monet is obviously all right, or we wouldn't be having this conversation.”
“Yes, we were way off the mark. Where's Marcus?” Liz asked.
“He's in the basement asleep on the sofa bed. I went downstairs and checked on him before I called it a night. He's knocked out.”
“I'm getting ready to crawl into the bed.” Liz covered her mouth as she yawned and ran her hand over her head.
“Do you want to tell me what sent my buddy over the edge and then some?” Wade asked.
“It's too long of a story to get into tonight. I'm hoping Marcus will talk to you himself, and maybe you can try to talk some sense into him,” Liz replied as she snuggled deep down in the bed.
“He definitely wasn't in a talking mood tonight.” Wade gave his wife a recap of what had happened tonight.
“That's a shame,” Liz said when he finished speaking. “Look, I'm tired, we're both emotionally drained. I'm going to take a vacation day tomorrow and spend the day with Monet. Maybe you should see if you can get the day off too. I know with the help of the Lord, maybe we can get our friends back on track.”
“Humph, don't count on it,” Wade snorted. “Marcus has really flipped the script. Are you sure you don't want to tell me what happened? I hate to be in suspense until tomorrow. Plus, if I knew what I was up against, then I'd know how to approach Marcus.”
“No, hon, it would take too long. What helps is that you're a good listener, so I know you'll be fine.”
“Man, a brother can't get anything out of you,” Wade said to his wife grumpily. “I guess I'll have to talk to Marcus in the morning and go at it cold turkey.”