Never Say Never (36 page)

“Well, it's not good right now,” Michellelee said. “He's not there with her.”

“Where is he?”

“Miriam, I'm not going to talk to you about this. Just like I told Emily, it's not my place. What's going on between the two of them needs to stay between the two of them.”

“Of course,” I said, though the wheels in my head were churning so fast it was hard for me to keep up with my own thoughts. “I was just asking.”

“Yeah, I know. But I really believe that with the right amount of time, the right amount of space, and lots of prayer, they can work this out.”

No, they can't!
I shouted in my mind. Michellelee knew that about Emily, too. How many conversations had we had where we all said we would never stay with a man who cheated?

Michellelee said, “She gave up a lot to be with him. She's not going to let this break them apart.”

If the circumstances were different, I would've asked Michellelee if she wanted to take a bet on that.

She continued, “And Jamal is not going to let her go.”

He wasn't going to have a choice, but of course I kept my mouth shut.

She kept on, “Like I said, Emily is really hurt, but her heart will soften. She'll open up to Jamal, and maybe even to you.”

Now, that was never going to happen. Even if Emily could stand seeing me, there was no way I could face her. I couldn't imagine the day when I'd be able to look into her eyes.

“Well, I don't know if she'll ever talk to me again, but I really hope that she and Jamal will get back together.”

There was a pause, and then Michellelee said, “Do you mean that?”

Oh, my God! Had Michellelee heard something in my voice?

“Yes, I mean it,” I said in a tone that let Michellelee know I was insulted by her question. “I don't want Emily hurt.” Now, that was the truth. “And I really feel bad for the part I had in all of this,” I added, meaning every word.

“Good, because like I said, this can be worked out, but the thing is, you and Jamal can never, and I mean never, make that mistake again.”

“I know.”

“I'm serious, Miriam.” Michellelee spoke to me as if I was a child. “Whatever chemistry the two of you had needs to burn out.”

“I know that. I get it. It's out!”

“Because—”

“You don't have to say it again! I feel bad enough.”

Michellelee said, “Okay, I know. I'm sorry. Just pray for them.”

“Okay, well, I know you have to get going.” I was so ready to hang up. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I'll check on you in a couple of days.”

I was pacing before I even clicked off the phone, already thinking about the next call. Michellelee had told me to pray, but as I stared at my cell, the only words I could gather were, “Please, God.”

Then I pressed the contact number for Jamal. It rang, and went to voice mail.

“Jamal, this is Miriam. Please call me.”

I hung up and pressed his number again. What I'd just learned had given me newfound courage. I knew Emily. This was the end of their relationship for her.

And her end could be my beginning. Was anything wrong with that?

So I called him again. And again. And I left him another message. And then another. I called him until I lost count. I called him until he finally answered.

“Miriam, is everything okay?”

The only other person who had given me this much joy just by the sound of his voice was Chauncey. I smiled for the first time in days.

“Yes, I'm calling because I'm concerned about you.”

He paused, and I wondered if he was sorry he'd answered. He said, “There's nothing to be concerned about.”

“I just found out that Emily knows.”

Another pause, then, “She was in the car with me when you called . . . the other day.”

So that's what happened! “Oh, God. I just wanted to warn you. I'm so sorry, Jamal.”

“I know. But like I said before, this isn't your fault.”

I took a breath and inhaled more audacity. “I understand that you're not home.”

He didn't respond.

“Well”—I took another deep breath—“you're more than welcome to stay here, with me. And the boys.”

There was nothing but silence on his end of the phone, and on mine, too. Except for the thundering beat of my heart.

Finally, he said, “No. I'm fine where I am.”

Where are you?
I wanted to ask, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that.

I said, “Just know that you can stay here.” I added, “You're welcome here.”

More silence.

“Thank you,” he said. “Look, Miriam, I've got to go.”

“Okay, but would you mind if I called you? Just to check on you.”

“There's no need for that.”

He was trying to shut me down, but it wasn't going to happen. “Yes, there is. Because you need someone now. Just like how you were there for me, I want to be here for you. Remember, a soft place to land. Remember?” I asked, hoping that he'd recall how he felt when he was with me.

“Yes.”

Was that a smile in his voice?

“Well, your soft place is here,” I told him.

“All right.”

I had the feeling he was agreeing so that he could hang up. But that didn't matter. He would think about my words, and he would come to me.

Jamal hung up first and I held on to the connection for a little
while longer. In my head, this was so, so, so wrong. But my heart was winning.

I crawled onto my bed and laid my head where Jamal had laid his not so long ago. I imagined the day when he would be back. Because now, I was absolutely sure that Jamal would be back.

All I had to do was see him again, and once we were together, that thing that always happened between us would happen again.

Tears came to my eyes, but I couldn't say it was only because I was sad. “I'm sorry.” I sent those words into the atmosphere. “I'm really sorry.”

But I had to do what I had to do.

37

Emily

T
hirty hours. All I'd heard for the last thirty hours was Michellelee's voice in my head.

It wasn't an ordinary affair.

I punched my pillow, then nudged my head into the crevice, but after just seconds, I turned over again.

It wasn't an ordinary affair.

What did that mean? Not that it made any difference, because an affair by any other name still made me walk out the door.

I rolled over, thinking that resting on my back would work. But after a few minutes, I flipped onto my stomach.

It wasn't an ordinary affair.

Pushing myself up, I leaned against the headboard. Going to bed early was supposed to help. I was exhausted since I hadn't slept at all last night. But tonight was just like last night. Another sleepless night that I couldn't afford.

It wasn't an ordinary affair.

I tossed back the duvet and scooted out of the bed. The T-shirt I was wearing would have to do; I only slipped on leggings so that my
legs wouldn't be bare. I grabbed my wallet, my cell, then my trench coat, and in less than five minutes, I was in my car.

Maybe if I had some answers, I could get some sleep.

I drove without thinking, turning the radio to KJLH, but when the Sunday-night guest pastor started talking about the rate of divorce among Christians, I pressed the power button, making the car silent.

I sped onto the 405 and in the light traffic, I exited in less than twenty minutes. Then, a turn onto Century and not a minute later, I hardly slowed down as I swung my car into the driveway of the Westin.

My car was still running when I marched past the valet.

“How long will you be?” the attendant asked.

“Not long. The keys are in the ignition,” I shouted over my shoulder, still moving.

Inside the lobby, I kept marching, knowing exactly where to go. After spending our honeymoon here, we came for weekend retreats. Even though it was just a few miles from home, this hotel was special to us . . . at least it had been special, until now.

An elevator was already open; thank God I didn't have to wait. Jamal was only on the third floor; thank Him again, the ride up wasn't long. And he was in Room 301; more praises, I didn't have to walk far.

Because at any of those points, I could've changed my mind.

I raised my hand and hesitated for only a moment before I banged on his door. I banged like I was the FBI. I banged like I wanted to kick the door in and then kick him.

“What the hell?”

I heard Jamal before I saw him, before he swung the door open and stared at me with wide eyes.

“Em . . .”

With just one long stride, I was in his room and in his face. And with both hands, I shoved him. He stumbled back.

“Emily!” He held his hands high as if he was surrendering, or maybe he didn't want to take the chance of shoving me back.

This hadn't been my plan. Actually, I didn't have one when I'd left home. I'd just wanted answers. But seeing him made my rage rise and I shoved him again.

“Emily!”

I shoved him again and again, until he hit the bed and fell back. I sprung on top of him, straddled him, and noticed for the first time that he wore only a T-shirt and gym shorts. I tore at his shorts, roughly yanking them from his body.

His eyes were wide and wild, probably just like mine.

I moved quickly, not giving him time to react. In not too many moments after, I was naked, too, at least the bottom half of me. I didn't know what happened to my clothes. All I knew was that I had to climb on top.

“Ahhhh,” he cried out the moment we connected.

I was silent.

I moved fast and I moved furiously, riding him like he was a prized possession. He tried to maneuver, tried to shift, but I wouldn't let him. He leaned up and tried to pull me down, as if he wanted to kiss me. But I stayed upright, keeping my lips a mile away from his.

Jamal could hardly keep up with me. My breathing became shallow; I couldn't get enough air. Sensations overwhelmed me like never before. The tingling began in my toes and spread through every inch of me. I felt like a hostage to the pleasure.

It didn't take long.

Probably sixty seconds for him, and Jamal's moans filled the room.

Probably sixty-one seconds for me, and I screamed from my soul.

We collapsed, but I rolled right off my husband. In the past, I
would have stayed in that moment, on top of him, still connected and enjoying the afterburn. But tonight, I'd just had some of the best sex of my life and I couldn't wait to get up and get out.

I made my way to the bathroom, slammed the door behind me, and leaned against the wall. I inhaled a couple of deep, deep breaths until I gathered myself, then grabbed a washcloth. I washed without looking in the mirror, as if I was ashamed of the way I'd just behaved. These weren't the actions of a proper Southern girl. This was more like the rage of a scorned wife.

The rage was still burning inside me when I came out of the bathroom. Jamal was sitting on the edge of the bed and my eyes bored through him as I stomped across the room. I snatched my leggings from the floor and slid into them.

“Emily!” He reached out and when I backed away, he frowned as if that was the last reaction he expected.

I stood, doing my best to press down my fury. Then I said, “I have two questions.”

He nodded. “Anything. Ask me anything, because I want to explain everything.”

I gave him a chance to stew a bit in the silence before I said, “Does any of this have to do with me being white?”

“What?” he asked, as if I'd spoken in another language.

I repeated my question.

“No,” he said, jumping up from the bed. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Because you had a problem when we first met.”

“That was years ago.”

“Or because Miriam had a problem and my parents had a problem and Nellie had a problem and black women we pass on the street have a problem, and white men who see us together have a problem—”

“Their problem, never ours. For all these years, I have loved you. Just you, because you're you.”

As if I didn't hear him, I added, “Or maybe because me being white is the only reason I could come up with for you breaking my heart.” I bit my bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “Because you were supposed to love me.”

At first, it looked like Jamal didn't have an answer. He took a step forward, I took a step back. He said, “I do, Emily. I really love you.”

I shook my head, not because I didn't believe him, but because I didn't want to.

“The second question.”

He swallowed, but nodded.

I asked, “How many times?”

“What?”

I didn't repeat my question, knowing he'd heard me. I hoped that my stare burned right through him, and after a second, he turned away. “Emily,” he whispered.

“That's not an answer.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because one time means one thing. And many times means many things.”

When he lowered his eyes again, he'd answered without speaking. Michellelee had been wrong. This
had
been an ordinary affair.

Jamal still hadn't said anything, but I wasn't going to let him get away with that. I wanted him to tell me, to say it out loud, and then watch the pain travel from my heart to the rest of me.

I waited. When he said nothing, I asked, “Did it start before Chauncey passed away?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “It was after his funeral. It was only a few times.”

I swallowed. “But . . . it was more than once.”

He nodded.

Why hadn't he told me it was just one time? He was a cheater, didn't that make him a liar, too? A lie might have saved us. That truth had truly just destroyed us.