Reginald hadn’t canceled a job since his mother’s funeral.
I tried to tie my robe with shaking hands and tears coming from my eyes, but I couldn’t. I felt in me that something was wrong. And I couldn’t say it. Because then I didn’t know what it was. But I felt it. Something was wrong. Really wrong.
“I have to go, too,” I cried.
Reginald grabbed my arms with both hands.
“How can you go with us with the kids here?” he asked slowly. “Look, Dawn, you need some rest. I didn’t want to say anything, but you’re drinking too much.”
“I’m fine. Did she tell you to say this?” I asked. “She’s the one with the—”
“She didn’t tell me anything,” he stopped me. “I know. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You haven’t been right in days. And I don’t even think your mind is clear right now. Look at you.”
He turned me to the mirror where my robe was wide open and I was still naked. My eyes were swollen. My hair was everywhere.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered as tears began to roll at the image. “Please don’t leave me.”
He raked my hair down with his fingers and tucked it behind my ears.
“I’ll be back,” he said. “I’ll be back before dinner.”
5
Dinner got cold. Dinner was thrown away. Cheyenne had an attitude. R. J. wouldn’t be settled down. I went to bed alone. And it was a sobering and restless night. Not a wink of sleep to be had.
I texted Reginald a few times. Called a few more times than that. There was nothing. I thought to call a friend or a relative to ask if anyone had seen or heard from him. But then I realized we had no friends. We kept in touch with no relatives. I thought to call the police or a hospital and report my husband missing. But I knew he wasn’t missing. And that would be a lie. I knew where he was, but this silent and burning thing in my stomach wouldn’t let me say it aloud. Instead, I was busy reviewing things in my mind. Do you know how that is? When you can’t admit something to yourself, but you keep going over the facts anyway? You add it all up like a cashier at a register:
Sasha shows up.
My husband leaves.
I’m alone.
And there it is. In writing in your mind. You can’t dispute it. But then, you tell yourself that you’re crazy. That can’t be true. He’s just taking a long time. He’s mad at me. Maybe I did kick her on purpose. How can I make this better?
I told myself I needed to relax.
And I might have. But I c
ouldn’t stop hearing myself begging Reginald not to leave me. And thinking of how crazy that was. I begged my husband not to walk out of the door with a woman who was supposed to be my friend. My last friend.
At four in the morning, my cell phone rattled the entire bedroom awake. I wasn’t asleep, just lying in silence, and when I turned over after hearing the vibrating, I saw the light from the phone shining bright and blue, reflecting neon colors on the ceiling above the nightstand. I reached for it like it was water in a desert.
It was Reginald:
Got ur texts. Need time. Call u soon.
(That casual use of “u” would bother me for years.)
The light over the help desk at the library was out. One long, fluorescent lightbulb blew out and we were in near darkness all day.
“Light goes out downtown, the custodian in the building fixes it,” Sharika said, using her computer screen as a lamp to see the bar code on one of the books on her cart. “Light goes out in the ’hood, we have to wait five days until someone will come fix it. Ain’t that some racist shit?”
“I guess so,” I said flatly, not caring to stop her cursing. “It’s how things are here. How they’ve always been.”
“Well, they need to decide what they’re going to do. Either put the money into these libraries or shut them down. Poor people need books, but who wants to come to some beat-down, shabby library when you know they have better ones in the white folks’ neighborhoods?”
“They have better everything in their neighborhoods. That’s just how it is.”