“Yvonne?”
I turn to see Taylor. “Hi, Taylor. How are you doing?”
“Well, aside from the fact that I can’t get any child support for a year . . . I’m fine.”
“Taylor, I forgot all about your check.”
She holds my hand and smiles. “It’s okay, Yvonne. That’s not your concern. Do you want to get some lunch?”
“Where? Here?”
“Why not? Something smells edible coming from the cafeteria.”
Everyone must go on lunch at the same time around here, because the cafeteria is like a zoo. Even if I wasn’t stressed-out, the noise level would be deafening. I should’ve suggested that we go out for lunch, but all of downtown Cleveland is probably just like this. Taylor doesn’t seem to mind.
I nab one of the few empty tables, and we sit down with our bland-looking food. I’ve never seen chicken à la king look more unappetizing, but I dig in anyway, because I need to release this nervous energy.
Taylor says, “Well, the worst part is over, right?”
“The worst part for us. For Luke, the worst is coming.”
“Yeah. I know. But the judge was fair.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
For some reason, I look up from my food, and there’s a slim, sophisticated young woman striding toward our table. I can’t say that I know her, but her face seems vaguely familiar. I’m trying desperately to place her before she gets to the table, because suddenly I feel apprehensive.
Taylor sees her too and smiles. The smile is not returned, and when the girl reaches our table, she directs her attentions at me.
“Are you Luke Hastings’ wife?”
Oh. I see. Just another one of Luke’s women.
“Yes, for now I am. And you are . . .?”
“Amanda. His daughter.”
I clear my throat. The Lord is giving me much to deal with today. “Please sit down.”
Amanda sits. “I saw my dad’s picture on the news a few months ago. I didn’t know what to think. I haven’t talked to him since my mother died three years ago.”
I try to find a polite way to continue the conversation, since it’s obvious she wants to talk. “Why did you all stop speaking?”
Amanda sighs. “All these years I’ve thought that he and my mother were married. I thought Dad was a traveling salesman. He would come and stay with us on the weekend and say he had to travel for two or three weeks straight. I never had a reason to believe otherwise. I thought he loved us.”
Taylor looks quite shocked. I’m talking jaw hanging open and everything. Don’t nothing about Luke shock
me
no more. I just brace myself for the next can of worms to open.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother. Was she sick?”
“She had breast cancer. She didn’t suffer long, though.”
“That’s fortunate.”
“She asked me, on her deathbed, to forgive her for deceiving me all these years. I guess I have forgiven her, but not him. Do I have any brothers or sisters?”
Taylor responds, “You have a little brother named Joshua. I’m his mother.”
Amanda looks confused for a moment and then just shakes her head. I’m sure it’s tough for a daughter to hear these crazy things about her father. Probably about as shocking as a wife hearing that her husband has carried on a twenty-plus-year affair.
Amanda takes two business cards out of her purse. She hands one to me and one to Taylor. I don’t know why she would want to keep in contact with me, although I understand her wanting to know Joshua.
I ask, “Were you in the courtroom?”
Amanda shakes her head. “No, I just couldn’t see my dad like this. He’s been like a superhero my whole life. At first I didn’t believe that he could or would hurt anyone. Then I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about the man that raised me.”
“Is there anything you’d like to know?” I offered.
“Yes. I want to know why he would lie to me for twenty-three years. I want to know if he really loves me or if that was a lie too.”
“Join the club, sweetheart. I have the same unanswered questions.”
The girl is openly sobbing now, and I don’t know how to comfort her. I want to hug her, but I don’t know how appropriate that would be. I pat her softly on the back and try to think of something encouraging to say.
I hear myself telling her to call me anytime. I even invite her to church. I must be some kind of strange woman.
Amanda seems as shocked as I am about my friendliness. It just occurred to me that some of those weekends that Luke disappeared, he was probably spending time with his daughter. I wonder if he is a good father.
Was he ever a good husband? I’ve never wanted for anything, but is that enough? I’m not sure about this either, but I’ve got time to figure it out. It is my time now . . . time to find out who “me” really is. I’ve defined myself for so long as a minister’s wife that I don’t even have a real identity. I’m so used to being Sister Hastings. I need to be known as Yvonne.
Pam
S
o I finished my book, y’all.”
Squeals of delight come from Taylor and Yvonne. I knew they would be excited, and that’s exactly why they are the first people I’ve told. I haven’t even mentioned my milestone to Troy. Aside from the fact that he’s preoccupied with his music, he also feels the need to critique everything. When I get ready to have my book critiqued, I’ll find an editor or a book doctor or someone actually familiar with the profession. Since Troy’s extent of publishing knowledge comes from reading Cliffs Notes in college, I hardly think he’s up for the task.
“When do we get to read it?” Taylor asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve still got some tweaking to do before it’s ready for all that.”
“Well, congratulations. That is an accomplishment.” This is from Yvonne.
“Thank you. It feels funny knowing that I’m done with it. It’s like finishing a marathon and then not having anything left to train for.”
Taylor laughs and points at my growing belly. “You’ve got plenty left to train for. You got another project on its way!”
“That’s the truth. I can’t believe this little boy is going to be born soon. It went by so quickly. I’m not ready.”
“Of course, you’re ready,” Pam says. “You’ve done this before, right?”
Oh, I’ve done it before all right, and it was terrifying. But I wasn’t alone. I had my husband by my side in the delivery room. He held my hand for all eighteen hours that I labored with Cicely, and he rushed me to the hospital in the nick of time for Gretchen’s birth. I can’t imagine doing this without Troy.
As if reading my thoughts, Taylor says, “We’ll be there with you, Pam. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
I appreciate their concern, and I wish to God that it was enough. But two girlfriends, sisters, don’t equal the loving concern of my man. The more I think about giving birth without Troy, the more I dread the whole thing.
I haven’t bothered or even nagged Troy with my apprehension, because he’s still healing from his accident. Being well enough to go on this tour next month is his driving force, and I can’t remember when I’ve ever seen him this determined. Troy’s physical therapist says that his progress is phenomenal and that he’ll be walking with only a cane in a few weeks. He’s been spending hours in the studio, pushing his acts to perform to perfection.
He seems almost oblivious to this pregnancy and the impending birth of his first son. He seemed only a little excited when I told him that the baby is a boy. Every now and then I catch him looking at my belly, though, and I overheard him telling one of his friends that he has a junior on the way.
Yvonne asks, “Are you going to try and get your book published? Am I going to see you on Oprah’s book list soon?”
“Published? Well, maybe. I have a contact or two. I think I’m so exhausted from actually writing the thing that I don’t have any energy left to get it published. That’s a shame, ain’t it?”
“Why don’t you self-publish? You’ve got more than enough money.”
I don’t know how to explain to Yvonne why I haven’t even considered self-publication. I don’t think that she or Taylor would understand. It’s an achievement to write the book, no doubt, but to have someone tell you that your writing is exceptional is a rush. To have someone give me money for something that emerged from my imagination would be incomparable. Well, maybe Troy would understand. I think he feels something similar when the record executives are really feeling his music.
“I suppose if no one else wants to publish my book, then I might think of self-publishing, but that’s a ways off. I’m going to go the traditional route first.”
Yvonne replies, “Well, you can do whatever you want. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t get your book out to the masses. You can do all things through Christ.”
I can’t help but crack a smile. Yvonne has been quite the inspirational speaker since she’s gone through this ordeal with Luke. She’s like everyone’s personal cheerleader.
“Thank you for the encouragement, Yvonne. I need it, believe me.”
I grab the sides of my stomach and wince in pain. Troy Jr. must be tiring of his tight confines, because he takes every opportunity to stretch all his limbs simultaneously. I try to massage him into a comfortable position for me, but he’s not cooperating at all. It doesn’t matter how I shift in my chair, I’m still uncomfortable. Ahhh . . . the joys of pregnancy.
“Are you all right, Pam?” asks Taylor.
“No, but I will be as soon as this child exits the premises. I guess I’m tired of being pregnant.”
Taylor laughs. “Better you than me!”
“It better not be you,” quips Yvonne.
Taylor responds, “It won’t be me. Not a chance. Not until I’ve got a ring on this here finger.” She wiggles her left hand.
“And when might that be?” I know I’m being nosy, but so what?
“I haven’t the foggiest idea. When the Lord sends my husband, I suppose.”
“I heard that,” says Yvonne.
Taylor continues, “Anyway! Enough about me. It seems that me and Yvonne have a baby shower to plan.”
“Oh no! I don’t want a baby shower.”
Taylor laughs. “I don’t recall asking you if you wanted a baby shower. You will come and you will enjoy yourself. Understood?”
Well, at least someone is excited about all this baby talk. Maybe Taylor’s enthusiasm is just what I need. Lord knows that I’m sick and tired of being knocked up, sick and tired of my semi-invalid husband and sick and tired of being, well . . . sick and tired. It’s cliché I know, but probably the best description of how I feel right now.
I thought that finishing my book would give me satisfaction, but I don’t feel anywhere close to being fulfilled or satisfied. I’m sure that part of it has to do with Troy’s lifestyle. I don’t see any change in his party mentality, except that he has given up his drunken binges. Lord, I know that through You all things are possible . . . so just when am I going to get my husband back?
Yvonne
I
enrolled at the community college today. I admit that I was overwhelmed when they gave me these assessment tests that expected me to recall math skills that I didn’t even have when I was in high school. I did fine on the English placement test, but it looks like I’ll be doing a few math refreshers. That’s okay, though. I haven’t been a student in over twenty years, so I’m surprised I still know how to add two and two.
With Luke locked up for a while I feel a surprising sense of freedom that I wouldn’t trade for anything. I don’t know exactly what to do with it. I’d like to say that I have a plan, but right now I’m playing it by ear.
As for a career, I still haven’t chosen anything concrete. I started off thinking about maybe early child development, but now I’m leaning toward being a social worker. Whatever I do, I know it has to be something where I’m helping people. I’ve got plenty of time, though, so I’m not rushing my decision.
I moved everything out of the house that Luke and I shared for twenty years into a new condominium that I bought. I told Luke that I was selling the house because I couldn’t afford it on my own. He asked me to give some of the money to Taylor to help with Joshua and to set up a college fund for him. I am thrilled that he’s finally thinking of the boy as his son, but not quite as thrilled as Taylor when I handed her that check.
I decorated my new condo with light, soft pastel colors. I put sheer silk curtains up to the windows so that I have sun shining through my home all day. It’s a huge contrast to my former home with its dark hunter greens, burgundies and wood grains. My condo looks like a woman’s home, and it is. Mine.
It feels funny at first, because I’ve never lived on my own. I went from my mama’s house to Luke’s. From one set of rules to another. I almost don’t know what to do first, yell out loud at the top of my lungs or leave dishes in the sink. With no one to criticize or rebuke me, I know if I decide to be quiet or keep my kitchen clean, it’s because I want to do so. It’s a crying shame that I’m pushing forty years old and just now making my declaration of independence. Better late than never, huh?
I’ve decided to restart the Sister to Sister group. It kind of fell apart when I was going through my crisis, and no one else wanted to pick up where I left off. I have a lot to owe to that group. If it wasn’t for me preoccupying myself with other folk’s problems, I probably would have lost my mind years ago. Helping other sisters was the perfect diversion I needed for my imperfect home, because no matter how I try to kid myself, Luke’s cheating was more than obvious. I just chose not to see it.
Pam
I
t’s Sunday morning. I should be waking up with a praise in my mouth, right? Well, when I open my lips, nothing is coming out today. I know I should give Him the glory for waking me up, for keeping me through the night and for keeping my family. I should have a thousand testimonies as soon as I rise from my bed. I should, but I don’t.
I been praying and praying for the Lord to show Troy that he shouldn’t be going on this tour, but neither of them is cooperating. Troy’s over there now, packing three suitcases full of his hip-hop clothes and humming to himself. The tune sounds familiar, so I don’t think it’s a Troy original. He’s got a fresh haircut and is dressed in a four-button single-breasted suit. I don’t know what he’s getting so dressed up for. It isn’t like they have a limo. They are going straight to a raggedy tour bus that will barely carry them to their destination.