Chasing Sophea: A Novel Page 16

  There is a moment in every woman’s life when she knows the path she is on is no longer acceptable or the space that she occupies has become too small. Mercy was filled with the prospect of lateral movement, and change was beginning to feel less terrifying. She pulled her knees to her chest and glanced at her hus-band’s side of the bed. It was after midnight and he wasn’t there—not that she’d expected him to be. It was finally clear that Lucius would rather be anywhere else but with her. It had taken her exactly twenty-four years, four months, and six days to figure that out. And now that she had a sense of clarity about the direction of her life, there were things that needed to be said, and 1:53 a.m. was as good a time as any. She slipped into her robe, walked down the stairs, and was about to call out for Lucius when Dante spun her around from behind.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, “hoping that you could feel me nearby craving you. I almost came upstairs to your room, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  “Slow down,” she whispered. “He’s not there. I was just going to find him. Dante, we—”

  “Shhhh,” Dante interrupted. “Not now. Find him later.”

  Mercy could hear the music wafting through the house, and she knew wherever Lucius was, she wouldn’t be able to reach him. She had fooled herself into thinking that she could make a difference in his life but had only succeeded in corrupting her own. She hesitated, but only for a moment, and looked behind her for a husband who wasn’t there. When she turned to face Dante to tell him that they shouldn’t and that they had already gone too far, she became lost in his eyes. He needed her. She could feel it, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been needed.

  Caught up. Swept away. Lost inside a place that he didn’t recognize, Dante allowed his emotions to dictate his actions. Every sentiment within him threatened to explode and fill any available space with his myriad conflicting conclusions. What to believe, what to do, what to say, how to be floated in and out of his mind until he was nearly dizzy with indecision. All aspects of his life from the moment he read the letter spun out of control, and for once, he didn’t want to stop the roller coaster. He chose to ride it, afraid and excited simultaneously, with both hands in the air. The outcome didn’t deter him, and neither did the consequences. He ceased thinking about who he was and who he was becoming and concentrated on making sure that there was nothing else trapped inside him—nothing else that needed to escape. He pulled Mercy into a closet at the end of the hall, pressed her against the wall, and pretended for a moment that all was right with the world. “Take your robe off,” he whispered. “Let me feel you.”

  “Well? Are we going to sit here until I die of boredom?”

  “Just give me one moment, please. Do you mind if I record this session?”

  “I don’t give a damn what you do as long as you do it quickly.”

  Dr. Kelly adjusted his glasses and glanced from Phoebe to Aunt Baby. He wished the older woman could have been more helpful. It certainly would have made his job easier if she’d shared what she knew about his patient. No matter. He was determined to find out what had happened to Dahlia and, more specifically, what had created the dissociations she was presently experiencing. Ultimately he had to ensure that she came back to him for help. He didn’t believe that removing her from her home right now was the best course of action, but he wasn’t about to challenge that aunt of hers. He had to show her that he could be of service here. He had to make them both trust him. He addressed his client first. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Dr. Trevor Kelly.”

  “It appears you’ve misplaced some brain cells since the last time we spoke. You know who I am.”

  “Yes, but I’m a believer in fresh starts, so humor me. What’s your name?”

  “Phoebe.”

  “Do you have a last name, Phoebe?”

  “Graham. My last name is Graham, okay? Write it down.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Younger than your patient.”

  “Which patient are you referring to?”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. We’re going to be here the whole fucking day if you insist on asking such asinine questions.”

  “Phoebe, I need to make sure I have all the facts. I’m being thorough, that’s all.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I’m going on twenty-six. Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Dallas.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. What, you don’t hear my southern accent?” she responded with a twang.

  “Do you still have family in Texas?” Dr. Kelly pressed. He noticed that she rolled her eyes at Aunt Baby before she answered.

  “No, I don’t have any family there. My family is here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “My husband and my stepdaughter.”

  “The hell you say,” Aunt Baby interrupted.

  “I see. What about your parents?”

  “I don’t have parents. She had parents—inadequate, dysfunctional parents.”

  “What about them was inadequate and dysfunctional?”

  “Well, let’s see, the mother was a total whack job, and the father spent more time playing with dead people than he did with his own family.”

  “Right, then. How did that make you feel?”

  “Personally, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about those people, but she hated them.”

  “Who, Dahlia?”

  “No, Hillary Clinton. Of course Dahlia. That’s why we’re here, right, to talk about Dahlia?” Silence. “Ah, come on. What’s with this beating around the bush shit? Baby, do you hear this? The good doctor here wants to know about your Dahlia. Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?”

  “Looks to me like your mouth is working just fine,” Aunt Baby acknowledged.

  Dr. Kelly continued. “Phoebe, it sounds like you’re very angry. Are you angry?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Yes, but would you say it?”

  “I thought I just did.”

  “Why are you so angry? And are you angry at anyone in particular?” Dr. Kelly continued.

  “I’m angry at her”—Phoebe pointed at Aunt Baby—“for not being able to mind her own damn business and for never being where she’s supposed to be. As a matter of fact, your whole family sucks, do you hear me? Not one of you is worth a damn dime. None of you did what you were supposed to do. None of you gave a damn about Dahlia! I am the one who protected her, and now you’re both trying to destroy me.”

  “That’s not true,” Dr. Kelly replied urgently.

  “No, it’s not,” Aunt Baby added.

  “You see, Phoebe, no one here wants to harm you in any way. We only want to understand you, understand how you arrived here at this moment.”

  “Please, do I have stupid written across my forehead? I’m not falling for any of this bullshit. You can both kiss the crack of my ass.”

  “Enough!” Aunt Baby interrupted, standing. “Just stop it right now.”

  “Or what? And since you’re up, you might as well take the floor. Why don’t you tell him about her family—your family, Aunt Baby? Tell him how fucked-up everyone is in that house. Why so quiet, old lady? You don’t have anything to say now?” Phoebe rose from her seat and began to walk toward Aunt Baby, her voice getting louder and louder.

  “Phoebe, please calm down,” Dr. Kelly pleaded.

  “Did you know, Dr. Kelly, that Dahlia’s father, Lucius, married a woman half his age after his crazy-assed wife, Reva, wigged out and went psycho on everybody? And that the new wife of his, Mercy, is a liar—a no-good, worthless, prevaricating, swayback slut? And, oh, by the way, Baby, did your son finally grow some balls and get a piece of that?”

  “What nonsense are you saying?” Aunt Baby asked calmly.

  “Ladies, please, everyone just calm down,” Dr. Kelly attempted to interject.

  “Dante has always wanted to screw her
brains out. Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t know that? I thought you knew everything, Baby. As a matter of fact, she’s probably on her back right now with her thighs high to the sky comparing him to his big brother.”

  Aunt Baby slapped her hard, but Phoebe kept erupting like the hit didn’t faze her at all. Dr. Kelly rose and stood between them.

  “I think we should all sit down right now and discuss what just happened here. Everyone please sit down.”

  “How is Percival anyway? Is the old freak still around after all these years digging graves before people actually die? And what about you, Baby? Still talking to your dead mother—and grinding up shit that doesn’t do a damn thing for anybody? Hmmm, and you people call me crazy. Crazy is where you come from, Baby. Crazy is in your blood.”

  His mama had named him Verdell, but folks at the joint called him Popeye and not because he had abnormally large calf muscles. He was aptly named because his eyes were so enormous that they looked like they were going to pop out of his head at any moment and cause a commotion. Leezel wouldn’t have cared what anyone called him; she longed simply to call him hers. He was unlike any Negro man she had ever seen—fair-skinned almost like foreigner skin and eyes so green that she felt weak in the knees whenever he glanced her way. His hair fell in soft curls around his face, and she thought he resembled some kind of mocha-colored movie star, if there were such a thing. His big ole eyes didn’t dissuade her from wanting him, and from what she could tell, they didn’t scare any other women away either. She noticed the way the black girls scrutinized her, and she was keenly aware of how they looked at him, but they didn’t love him like she did. They couldn’t give him what she could.

  All she needed was space and opportunity to ensure that Verdell understood just how far she was willing to go to get what she desired. She didn’t give a damn about the consequences, and she couldn’t care less about what she was supposed to do or whom she was scheduled to wed. She’d found the man of her dreams, and that was the only thing that mattered. Leezel took a deep breath and squeezed his hand on the way out of the club. She had nothing to lose and only pleasure to gain. She prayed that he would follow her, but he didn’t. He did, though, send a fellow after her with a few kind words and a phone number. She eagerly accepted both and headed home to dream about their life together. She had her proverbial foot in the door, and by next week, he’d be calling her name and eating her hot buttered rolls.

  Wilhelm was waiting for her with a pint of lager and a wide leather strap as she climbed through the window of her secondstory bedroom. He ordered her to tell him where she had been and whom she had been with, but she refused. He said that her brother Boris had followed her across town where those animals lived and saw her socializing with them like her blood wasn’t pure. He called her a whore and demanded once more that she confess whom she was going there to see. She declined, and he struck her again and again until she blacked out.

  The next day, she stood bruised and battered with her father and her brothers next to Otto Potoshnik and vowed before God and man to be his wife and bear him many healthy sons. She lasted all of six days before she used the phone number tucked securely in the lining of her brassiere.

  He had listened to ‘Trane, Miles, Bird, and even Ella to no avail. He could stall to every jazz genius in his expansive collection, but in the end, the music would cease and he’d still have to walk up the stairs and face his wife. Procrastinating any further would only make matters worse and prolong the inescapable. It was morning, and nothing had visibly changed. He was a mortician with a wife and a life he never should have had.

  He didn’t know why this exchange with Mercy felt distinctly different. They’d had arguments before and always managed to navigate their way back to the status quo, but he sensed that the status quo had changed. He felt the energy twirling around the house, reverberating off the walls, dancing to a rhythm he was loath to remember. He strode out of his office and took the stairs two at a time. There were things that needed to be said, and he’d promised the Almighty that he would stay in the present and bear witness to his life truthfully and without reservation. It was time he told her the truth. It was time he opened his heart and confronted one of his biggest mistakes.

  When he arrived, she was waiting for him, fully clothed and strangely calm. He’d expected her to yell until her throat closed and demand as always what she knew he was incapable of giving her. He’d anticipated a scene and had prepared for the worst but found that he had to adjust to a new reality, a different Mercy, a Mercy whom he did not know. He tensed. He didn’t like surprises ever. They caught you off guard and left you questioning your own truth. It was best to know what was coming around the corner. He would have had a chance that way—to survive, to be a better man—if he had known what to expect. Lucius had recently surmised that there had to be more to life than merely surviving the unwanted surprises that caught him off guard and enduring the bombshells that he should have seen coming a mile away. The space between them was heavy—laden with a lifetime of unfulfilled needs and countless disappointments. He fought back tears and acknowledged his failings.

  “I never loved you,” he whispered.

  “I know,” she said. “I know.”

  They met often, and always at his small house in South Dallas. They figured no one would ever find her there in the colored section of town, sprawled across his bed. Her father didn’t speak to her much anymore except to make some snide remarks about her penchant for dark meat. Leaving was easy: her husband, Otto, was clueless to her clandestine wanderings. He didn’t know anything about her and didn’t care, either. He only concerned himself with their newly gifted shares in her family’s business, impressing her father, and of course sauerkraut. They had been married for four months and still had not consummated their ramshackle union. Otto asked her out of habit to oblige him every few days or so, and she always politely declined, preferring to knead dough or wash the walls instead.

  Meanwhile, she and Verdell made love every chance an opportunity presented itself. She didn’t believe in wasting precious time, and neither did he. She baked him various German delights, and he introduced her to delicious pleasures like collard greens and hot-water cornbread, red velvet cake, and buttermilk biscuits. She ate heartily, loved intensely, and promised him the world. He pleased her and pledged never to let her go. She thought she had her life all figured out. The pregnancy changed everything.

  Unlike some women who step out on their spouses and become pregnant, Leezel Diezman knew without a doubt that the baby inside her belonged to her lover. As she had never had intercourse with her own husband, passing the child off as his was out of the question. She confided in Verdell that she was in the family way, and like a gentleman, he offered to marry her right and proper. In another lifetime, that solution would have worked if she weren’t a white girl in Texas and already married. She found herself in quite a conundrum. Her options were limited, and time was not going to accommodate her needs.

  As much as the thought revolted her, Leezel decided to return Otto’s unwanted advances, convince him that he had the world’s most powerful sperm, and pray that the baby resembled her and only her. It was possible. She was pale even for a white girl, and Verdell was so fair. She formulated a plan and immediately felt better about her chances for success. When the time came and she had saved enough money to open her own bakery, she and the baby would leave Otto, and no one would be the wiser. She’d start her own business and run her own life in her way on her terms. So on Monday nights between eight fifteen and eight twenty-two, she opened her legs and gritted her teeth. Selfworth clashed with pride, and pride evaporated with logic. A lie was born, and God help her, wrapping her mind around it was easier than she’d anticipated. By the end of Leezel Diezman’s first trimester, she’d convinced her oddly shaped husband that he didn’t repulse her at all, and Otto, in turn, told a surprised Wilhelm Diezman that he was going to be a grandfather.

  Percival noticed that the white girl did
n’t frequent the Balamikki as much as she used to, and neither did the redbone. Something was amiss with those two, and he’d already sensed the outcome, smelled it like rain. The gal Leezel was a different kind of woman, and Verdell would be lucky if he didn’t get shot messing around with them immigrant white folk. He’d heard that the gal’s daddy was a mean ole son of a bitch, and that husband of hers was as dumb as a bucket of rocks. Hell, a man had to be an idiot not to know his wife was slipping and sliding through town with another fella grinning all the damn time. He sipped his rum and coke and listened to an animated Thelonious Monk grunt and groan through a lively tune called “Straight, No Chaser.” He tapped his foot to the rhythm and thought of Baby Marseli, what he’d heard and what he’d seen earlier that day. He’d been standing outside the kitchen sneaking purple tulips onto the back porch for Baby when he overheard her speaking to her mother, Oceola Moon. Now he knew along with everyone else in the house that she conversed with her dead mama from time to time, but it was the first time he’d witnessed the onesided dialogue with his own eyes.

  “Mama, I had that dream again last night, the one where I was reaching for that child. Um-hmmm. I know it was only a dream, but it was so real. I woke up again wanting, wishing for something I know I’m not supposed to have. Yes, I accept who I am and what I was meant for in this lifetime, but that doesn’t mean I don’t ever think about what could have been, wonder what it would be like to have a child of my own. My time’s passing, I know that. But don’t worry about me. I’ll do what I always do, say my prayers and be thankful. I am grateful, mama. I’m grateful for everything you ever taught me.”