Excerpts
Chapter 1
“I don't want a divorce.” Mrs. Williams didn't flinch, not so much as a whimper. If the thought of divorce was offensive, she didn't let on. “I didn't get married to end up divorced. I don't want to be one of those women who ends up alone and I definitely don't want my kids to be without a father.”
“… but I'm tired,” she said. “I'm just tired of trying to make him happy. If he would just act right, everything would be fine,” she said as three of her boys came running up the aisle. “Junior, wait in the lobby for me and watch Baby Rick. I'll be right out,” she said telling her sons and then turning back to the church mother. “That two year-old can be a handful at times.”
“I know six kids and a husband keeps you busy. I don't know how you found so much time to spend here at church with a husband at home.”
“To be honest, I used to love working here at the church. It was my only time away from the house, the kids and Greg, especially him when he gets into one of his moods like he's in right now. That's why I'm in no rush to get home today.”
“Men need their space, that's all.”
“Space? I'm the one who needs space. Don't get me wrong, I love my children but six is a lot. I couldn't handle another one.”
Baby Rick came charging in with Junior in pursuit.
“That's okay, I got him,” Laurie said corralling Baby Rick as he tried to breeze by. “Take your brothers and go to the car,” she told Junior. “I'll be right out.”
Mrs. Williams laughed openly. “You're still young Laurie. How are you going to stop another child from entering this world if that's the plan God has for you?”
She'd stayed in the marriage believing it would settle down and get back to the way it used to be, back to when they were happy. If they had a chance, Greg had to get his anger under control. The more explosive he became, the more difficult and the less interested she was in concealing it from outsiders. In the meantime, she couldn't allow another child to sneak into the household, not through her womb. She had a plan, keep avoiding Greg's intimate advances until her body said the coast was clear. Menopause was far off but avoidance was the best she could do for now although it was a good chance that Greg's frustration wouldn't hold out that long with no backup plan in sight, fear whisked in.
“Got to take the good with the bad honey. Marriage isn't easy but stick it out and let God get the glory. Easy to say for a deacon's wife married forty-five years. Mrs. Williams wasn't married to Greg Wright, a man whose moods riveted like a roller coaster – fast, slow, up, down, winding, scary, and at other times sprinkled with sheer exhilaration. Those were the times she wanted to stay, like when she first met him. Back then they couldn't stand being apart for more than a day. Now it was hard being around him for more than an hour. Something had to change. She knew it and hopefully God did too.
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Chapter 2
At least Sunday only came once a week. A reasonable person could endure three hours of just about anything, barring concentration camp torture, which is the closest analogy he could render for the weekly pilgrimage to his parents, the almighty Mr. and Mrs. Wright. Greg sat at the table nestled between two booster seats. His troubles swirled around, unbridled. Cheek resting on his tightly clasped fist, he plopped the pay stub and a few bills on top of the chipped veneer tabletop. Jolted back into reality, his body stiffened for a fleeting moment when the garage door opened. Greg knew he'd have to work hard in order to stay calm.
A millisecond was the only separation between keys jiggling in the back door and a stream of kids filing through the laundry room with enough noise to put the Atlanta Falcons stadium of fans to shame. Greg eased to his feet but was overcome with a flood of Sunday school drawings thrust into his face.
“Daddy, see what I made?” six year-old Keith said, pushing the paper into his father's view.
“Mine is better than yours,” followed his seven year-old brother.
“I got one too,” said the four year-old.
Mitchell bypassed the bombardment of his father and went straight to the refrigerator. He was tall for a nine year-old, particularly with a short mother and a father of average height. But tipping the scale at a hundred and seventy-five pounds nullified any statuesque presence Mitchell might have commanded.
Junior stood at a distance.
“Boy, get out of that refrigerator. Get upstairs and get your clothes changed,” Laurie yelled lugging her purse, book bag, and the toddler.
“Okay boys, I'll look at everybody's painting one at a time,” Greg said sorting through the papers trying to put them in some type of coherent order. “I can see that you've all done a really good job,” he said to his pack of budding artists, sealing the accolades with a group hug, tight, not wanting to let go. This was his paradise, the family he'd created. They were the morphine that kept him going. “I'm proud of you.”
“Are you going to take mine to your work again?” one of his younger son's asked.
“He's not taking yours.” Mitchell said gulping down a kiddy container of juice. “If he takes anybody's, it will be a real picture that I made. Not some little finger paint thing you made at church.”
“Mitchell, I said get upstairs,” Laurie shouted. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into more trouble than you can handle.”
“Stop yelling at the boy all the time. He didn't mean anything by it,” Greg roared.
Silence rolled into the eat-in-kitchen like a Caribbean summer shower – brief, noticeable, and just enough drizzle to put a harmless damper on the festivities. Laurie bent over to set the baby down. Her eyes screamed back at her husband as their gazes met before she stomped out of the room.
Anger swelled in Junior. He caught up to his brother on the stairs, bumping him hard. “You're always starting stuff.” He bumped him again. “I'm sick of you. Why don't you just leave?”
“You talking to me Junior?” Mitchell said with voice cracking.
“Who else you think I'm talking to? You don't see anybody else on the stairs do you?”
Mitchell shrugged his shoulders and kept quiet.
“Maybe I hate somebody else around here too, maybe I don't.”
“You hate me Junior?” Mitchell whispered with tears forming.
“Nah, now get out of my way and leave me alone. Just stop starting stuff then I won't have to hate you and I won't have to hurt you either.” Mitchell ran to his room.
The fight on the stairs didn't stop the laughing and kiddy talk going on in the kitchen until Daddy made everybody go upstairs to their bedrooms. Daddy carried Baby Rick. When they got to the top of the stairs he handed him over and said, “Take off Rick's suit and put that outfit on your mother laid out for him this morning.”
“What outfit?” Junior asked, mad inside that he got asked instead of somebody else.
“Boy, what's wrong with you? You saw that outfit laying on his dresser this morning.”
Junior swallowed hard and sighed loud enough to feel retaliation but low enough not to let his father hear. “Come on Rick. Let me help you get your clothes changed.” You're the only one that doesn't get on my nerves around here, he reminded himself.
Before Greg walked away from Junior and Baby Rick, he added, “And get that room cleaned when we get back from your grandparents. That's too much mess for a two year-old and a twelve year-old to be making.”
Two brothers per room swallowed the twenty two hundred square foot house, which was a nice size eight years ago for the young family, before the boys started coming and wouldn't stop. But there was always room for one more. The boys wouldn't agree, especially Junior. Being the oldest, he had his own room before Rick was born. Against his will, last year Junior was forced to share his bedroom with his baby brother. The age difference was a consideration at first, but it didn't make sense to switch the other four boys around since they were already adjusted. Could be worse. He felt pleased that at least every one of his sons had their own bed. Not bad for six boys.
Greg opened the door to the master bedroom and found Laurie undressing. His eyes danced around her as he pushed the door shut, tight.
Laurie kept silent.
“What do you think about another child, a girl this time?” Greg caressed her bare shoulders. Preempting his hands from clawing at her any further, she jumped up.
“We need to get over to your parents. You know how mad they get when we're late.”
“Forget my parents,” he said flicking his hand in the air, then breaking its force and letting it fall like a feather onto her shoulder, which was still in arm's reach. She dipped her shoulder and let his hand fall off. Crisscrossing her arms she covered herself hoping that would be enough to get him moving along another line of thinking. “Please let me get dressed so that I can help the kids get ready.”
Towering over her at five ten , his body easily nudged her until she fell back onto the bed. His slim physique with no hint of muscles sprouting from any region followed suit, completely covering her size eighteen body, compliments of her back-to-back pregnancies. “You never spend any quality time with me anymore,” he said stretching her hands out above her head and kissing her neck. “What happened to us? We used to be all over each other when we first got married. Now I can barely touch you without you pulling away.”
Look around here, she wanted to tell him. “Greg, we're not twenty years-old anymore. I have more to worry about, like the boys and taking care of the house. By the time I finish with my list of stuff to do everyday, I'm tired.”
“It's always the kids, the house, your church, your family, or something.”
“Don't blame the church. You complained so much about me being involved over there that I stopped pretty much everything except Sunday service. So you can't blame God. I don't spend as much time with Him anymore, thanks to you.”
“Okay, so you eased up on church, but you're always busy with the kids. You don't have any time left for me and I'm your husband. I should come before the kids.”
The kids, she thought, I didn't make them by myself, but wouldn't dare broach that subject.
He continued lining the ridge of her body with tiny smooches, despite her frigid response.
“Greg, please, let's go. I really don't want to be late.”
“Shoot, come on Laurie, what's the problem now?” He snapped to his feet. She watched the blood vessels in his temples swell like a cresting river and then recess. “What's wrong with you? You act like you don't want to touch me half the time. News flash woman, you're my wife. That means I'm committed to you and you're committed to me. That includes everything,” he preached. “What do I have to do to get some affection from my wife?” he howled with temples pounding.
Laurie eased off the bed careful to stay out of arm's reach of the brooding storm. Speaking up was good but at what price? Fumbling to get her clothes on, she said, “Greg, why do we have to go through this. I'm not saying I don't want to be with you like that.”
“Like what Laurie? Like a husband and wife should be, as one, connected? You act like it's a bad thing,” he screamed at her and took a step towards her.
She compensated by taking a step back and rushed to pull the shirt over her head, leaving her view impaired for only a brief moment. “Greg the kids can hear you.”
“So what, those are my kids. They know mommy and daddy have disagreements. Don't worry about them, this is about you and me.”
She knew he was approaching the red zone. The place on the thermometer where overheating was inevitable; the spot where the hose bursts sending molten liquid spurting everywhere and painfully burning all in its path. “Greg, look,” she said slapping her hands against her thighs, “can we go to your parents and then when we get home tonight, I'll do whatever it is you want me to do? Is that okay?”
He scratched his head with eyelids closed. “My goodness, you make it sound like I'm some kind of an animal. I'm not trying to force you to do anything. This has to be something you want too. Don't do me any favors,” he said slamming the door on his way out.
Laurie breathed a dose of relief. It hadn't been pretty, but the little thunderstorm had blown in and out without any major damage, preserving enough energy to handle the upcoming phase two – dinner at the Wright's.
