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The question of whether to call Darlene for some answers had been going through Frank’s head ever since Henry brought him home. Maybe it was only an irrational decision, asking for the divorce, brought on by her injury and having to leave home. If he talked to her, she might come to her senses—but did he really want her to? Then there was this—he had heard talk among his fellow workers that once into a divorce, it was best to let the lawyers do the talking. He didn’t have a lawyer yet, though, and that was another decision which needed to be made. It might be best to simply pick one out of the phone book.
Henry came over later and brought a pot of steaming beef stew and a tin of biscuits. The scent of the beef and vegetables permeated the house, and Frank asked Henry to come into the kitchen where they could talk while Frank ate at the card table he borrowed from Henry and Ruby. “Do you suppose I ought to call Darlene?”
“I don’t know.” Henry shook his head. “Would you like her to come back and forget the divorce?”
“Of course.” He thought about it a moment. “I guess so.”
“Then call her. Maybe it’s not too late.”
Frank dialed Trudy’s number as soon as Henry left. She answered after three rings. “Thanks for calling back, Frank.”
“I’m not actually calling back. I just got home from the hospital today. I forgot to check my answering machine. You called?”
“Twice. Why were you in the hospital?”
“An electrical shock. One of the hazards of being an electrician. It knocked me for a loop, but fortunately my neighbor was here and revived me.”
“I’m sorry. Were you burned?”
“My legs, where I was touching the ladder. They’re healing fast. Is Darlene there?”
There was a moment’s silence. “No, and that’s why I called you earlier. I thought you ought to know. Darlene moved out. She’s staying at Jason’s place.”
“The reverend? Darlene’s with him?” He felt as if an elephant sat on his chest.
“Yes. He has an apartment now. A one-bedroom apartment.”
“You knew she filed for divorce?”
“No! She didn’t tell me. That’s lousy, Frank.”
“I got the papers while I was in the hospital. Then she came and cleaned out the house.”
“That’s even lousier. What a crumb my sister is.”
“Why would she go with Abingdon? I don’t understand.” His voice echoed in the silent house while he waited for an answer.
“To be honest with you, Frank, I think it has to do with money. You know how there’s never been enough for Darlene. She hinted a couple of times that Jason has the potential to make a lot with his ministry. I thought possibly she was trying to get me interested in him. And now this.”
“I don’t know what else to say right now, Trudy. Let me know how you’re doing. Good luck with your job hunting.”
“Good luck to you, too. Get yourself a good lawyer.”
He limped back to his study to check the answering machine. The message window showed six calls. Lupe Villarreal reminded him of the Saturday meeting. Trudy was next, asking him to call. The next two messages were reminders of upcoming committee meetings he should attend. The fifth, a chilling whisper, sent a wave of nausea over him. “You were lucky, Mr. Novak, very lucky. Next time you won’t be so lucky.” He stood at his desk, the one piece of furniture remaining in the house because it was built in, and hardly heard Trudy’s second message imploring him to call her.
#
Frank opened his eyes and saw sunshine on the bedroom curtains. He got up and drew them back; the flood of light and warmth which came pouring into the room brought a lump to his throat. “Get a grip, man,” he whispered. A little sunshine and he was falling apart.
He went through every room on the second floor, opening drapes and letting the light in. The gray of November had lasted too long. Now, on December third, the dismal stretch had ended. He dressed, went downstairs, and opened up there, thinking that maybe the conference would end early enough, and it would be warm enough, that he could open the windows and let some fresh air in.
Henry would be honking for him in a few minutes. He ate cereal in a bowl borrowed from Henry and Ruby and took his multi-vitamin and mineral capsule with orange juice. He wondered if Darlene was getting her vitamins these days. They were his idea, always. She took them because he insisted.
He wouldn’t bother with coffee. There would be plenty at the conference, all day long. He put the bowl and juice glass in the dishwasher. Probably need to turn it on tonight. He wouldn’t want things to get moldy in there.
Henry knocked on the door instead of honking. “You ready?”
“I’m ready. It’s a bit early, but we can have a cup of coffee and get the best seats.”
Henry stopped at the end of the driveway and checked for cars, and then backed onto Cedar Street. “Did you have any luck with Darlene last night?”
“None at all. She’s moved in with Jason Abingdon, according to Trudy.”
“That skinny, red-headed preacher? Darlene? I don’t believe it.”
“I’m afraid it’s true.” Frank shifted his legs to relieve the pressure of his pants on his bandages.
“I think it’s time you found yourself another woman, friend. When you get through this divorce, of course. I’ve never been a believer in getting involved until the divorce is final.”
“Give me a break! What would I want with another woman?”
“There’s a young lady who’s very much attracted to you. I don’t know if you noticed, but Miss Monica . . . what’s her name?”
“Cruz.”
Henry shifted into fourth. “Monica Cruz looks at you like you’re the only man on earth. You know I don’t approve of mixing ethnic groups, generally, but sometimes there are special cases—like when people have the same interests.”
“I’m old enough to be her father. It wouldn’t work.”
“Don’t be so hasty to make a judgment. Notice the way she looks at you today.”
“Not that I want to change the subject, but I had a strange message on the answering machine when I got home. The caller was whispering. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. They said I had been lucky this time, but next time I wouldn’t be so lucky.”
A sick look came over Henry’s face. “I wish I’d never gotten you involved with Hugh Andrews and his bunch. Anything happens to you, it’s my fault.”
“We don’t even know it’s them. They haven’t contacted you again about the dozing. It could be the drug scum, or possibly someone else I’ve offended with my work on the various committees I serve on.”
“If it’s the drug scum, why aren’t they after me too?”
“I’m the one who planned the demonstrations with Monica. And the fact that you’re black—maybe they’d rather pick on a white man.”
“You should call the police and have them come and listen. Maybe they’ll believe the electrical thing was attempted murder if they hear that.”
Frank nodded. “Fortunately, I still have an old-fashioned answering machine that records on a tape. I made a copy, and I’ll take it to police headquarters tomorrow. I put the original in my wall safe. I want to check the garage tomorrow for any evidence of mice or squirrels, and I want to find out how someone got in there, too. Then maybe I’ll have more to discuss with the police when I take the tape.”
Henry parked behind the Carver Conference Center. “Let’s get that coffee. And let’s try to think positive thoughts.”
They walked into the conference room and found that several long tables were set up end to end down the middle of the room with name tags in front of each seat. Frank and Henry got coffee and found their places. Frank glanced at the tag beside him and saw it was Monica Cruz who would sit there. He held the tag up in front of Henry. “How do you suppose this happened?”
“It’s fate, I tell you, man. Don’t fight it.”
“I don’t believe in fate. Everything is random chaos.”
He wondered whether he should tell Monica about the divorce. It probably would be better to hold off. Play it by ear; see how things went during the day. He could make a decision later.
Monica came in minutes before the conference started. She went to the coffee pot and then began looking for her place. She sat down by Frank just as things were getting underway. “Good morning,” she whispered.
“Good morning.”
“I heard about your accident. Are you doing better now?”
“Almost as good as new. How did you hear about it?”
“Andrea Bowers was on your street, talking with people about our next protest. I think it was Mrs. Henthorne who told her about it.”
The first speaker was introduced, and Frank didn’t have a chance to ask what else Mrs. Henthorne had revealed. The conference dragged on, with old solutions being rehashed or given new slants. Nobody ever came up with anything new for dealing with drug problems, and maybe there was nothing new—except possibly for Henry’s solution of burning the bastards out. Frank took occasional notes, toyed with his pen, and took more notes, wishing for the lunch break.
When it finally came, everyone drove off for barbecue at Big Bob’s Smokehouse. Big Bob was a black man who welcomed visitors with a grin and platters of standard Texas fare—barbecue, potato salad, pinto beans, pickle, onion, and white bread. Monica sat beside him after they picked up plates of food and brought them to one of the picnic tables beside a window.
“I heard about your divorce, too, Frank,” she whispered as the chatter of their companions swirled around them.
“Mrs. Henthorne again, I suppose.”
“Yes. She was very sympathetic and took your side. I’m sorry you’re having problems, but I can’t honestly say I’m sorry you’re getting a divorce. If you really are, that is.” She turned to look at him squarely.
“It looks as if there’s no turning back now.” Should he be flattered by the fact that Monica wasn’t sorry? He was tempted to allow himself this luxury. “Do you know of a good lawyer?”
“I’ll check at work next week to see if anyone can recommend someone. In the meanwhile, how about coming home with me for dinner tonight? I have some carne guisada stewing in the slow cooker.”
“Let me think about it.” We’re getting into dangerous territory, he thought. There’s the difference in our ages and in our backgrounds . . . then there’s the church, and I’ll be divorced. But then he was getting way ahead of himself—it was only a dinner invitation.
Monica’s direct manner precluded flirting. She gave him a sidelong smile, the closest she would come to coyness. “If you’re going to be a free man, I know what I want.”
“And what is that?”
“You.”
Frank felt a trickle of sweat start down his back. Before, he had compared Darlene to Monica; now he couldn’t help comparing Monica to Darlene. He wasn’t accustomed to a woman being so forward. Darlene had always been much more subtle about things. They had been married for more than thirty years, and there had been no other women in his life. He could stand up to drug dealers and polluters, but Monica was scaring him to death.
Along with the thrill of fear he felt the rustlings of his old attraction to her. He welcomed the return of feeling the way a man would when feeling returned to his foot after it had gone to sleep. But he had doubts still. “I rode with Henry today. I’m not able to drive yet till the doctor releases me on Monday.”
“You’ll come with me. I’ll drive you home later.”
“You’re very persuasive. I’d be a fool to turn down an invitation from a woman as attractive as you.”
“You’re saying yes, then?”
“Yes.”
The close of the conference rushed at him now. He had only known of Darlene’s intentions for three days, and here he was, already getting involved with another woman. He must be crazy to go off on a tangent like this, agreeing to go with her. On the other hand, Darlene had undoubtedly gotten involved with Abingdon even before she started divorce proceedings. But then she had always been less cautious than he was.
“I’m going with Monica after the conference,” he said to Henry during a break.
Henry raised his eyebrows. A hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You sure you’re not rushing things, brother?”
“Probably, but it can’t hurt to go home with her for supper—a one-time thing, surely.”
Henry nodded soberly. “Maybe it’s best you find some companionship. You’ve been through a lot lately. Who am I to say you’re wrong?”
“Let’s not take this too seriously. I’m just going home with a friend for dinner, that’s all. I’m sure the companionship will be good for me.” He would think of it that way—going to eat with a friend. He would feel a little less anxious if he could keep the right perspective on the situation.
It was almost six when they left the conference room. When Monica opened the door to her apartment, the fragrance of the cooking beef and herbs aroused Frank’s hunger again. He had lost weight in the hospital and had been hungry ever since his discharge.
“What kind of music do you like?” Monica asked.
“Something soft and old-fashioned.”
“How about Linda Ronstadt singing the old standards?”
“That would be great. I have that collection, too . . . or rather I should say I had it.”
“Darlene took everything, didn’t she?”
He laughed. “Mrs. Henthorne again. She took everything but the appliances. I guess those were going to be time-consuming to remove, and she was in a rush to get out of there before the neighbors realized what was happening.”
“If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Henthorne, I wouldn’t have known about the divorce and you wouldn’t be here with me.” She walked over and kissed him on the mouth. “I felt very protective of you when I heard she had taken everything out of the house. After you’ve worked so hard all these years.”
He went to the door of the small alcove of a kitchen. “What can I do to help?” he asked, expecting to be told to sit down and relax.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you? I’ll get out the veggies and you can make a salad while I fix the rice. We’ll warm the tortillas in the microwave and we’ll be ready.”
It was strange, working in the kitchen alongside Monica. He worked at chopping up the vegetables, hoping she’d think he knew what he was doing. This was a new experience for him. When Darlene was home, the meal always had been ready when suppertime came. That much he could say for her—she had never worked outside the home, but she had kept the house and prepared the meals. It would be interesting, getting used to a working woman. But then what was he thinking—wasn’t this supposed to be a one-time thing?
“Would you like some wine, or a beer?”
“I’d love a beer.”
“I have some Corona in the fridge. I’ll have one, too. Mugs are in the freezer, if you don’t mind pouring.”
The food was excellent, and not too spicy. Had she planned to ask him over since she heard of the divorce, and prepared the meal with a gringo’s sensitive palate in mind? He looked up from his plate. “You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks. I enjoy it when I have time.”
They sat on the couch in her tiny living room later and listened to the second disc of the album. Monica reached for his hand and brought it to her lips. “I want you, Frank” She came closer and laid her hand against his chest. “I’ll be careful with your injuries. I’ll be very gentle.”
Her face was turned up to his, and he knew she expected his kiss. The same thrill of anxiety he felt earlier was running over him, combined this time with a yearning to explore the slender figure next to him. He pushed away his reservations about involving himself with her and wondered what sort of kiss she expected. Would she be satisfied with the same kisses he had given Darlene? Something told him she wanted more.
He leaned down and she came to meet him, her mouth urgently wanting everything he had to give her. “Come to bed,” she whispered, and she led him into the next room.
She undid his buttons, kissing him at the same time, and he fumbled with her fastenings until she moved his hands and loosed them herself. They lay together with nothing between them, and he felt a return of the anxiety he felt earlier in the day. His desire wilted like a tender young shoot in the relentless August sun. He tried to concentrate on her wonderful hands and her soft and inviting brown body. It wasn’t working.
“Monica—I’m sorry.”
She turned on her back and shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, too.”
He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was hurt and frustrated. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s wrong. The burns, maybe, and the stress of just finding out about the divorce. It isn’t you. You’re beautiful and desirable.”
“Please don’t worry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have rushed things. It’s just that I’ve been waiting so long now, wanting you.”
He nodded grimly and pulled the sheet over him. He wondered just how much longer she would have to wait. He wondered if she would ever want him again.
