Chapter 21

Angel’s Story

Something strange was going on. What it was, she wasn’t quite sure. But her womanly instincts told her that her marriage was in even more trouble than she knew. Angel looked at the clock on the wall, staring at the second hand as it ticked its way from the six to the twelve. Those thirty seconds alone felt like a lifetime.

Eleven P.M.

What in the world is going on?

A part of her wished for a phone call from any one of the hospitals in metropolitan Atlanta. If a voice on the other end of the line told her that her husband had been in a horrible accident and was brought in with his life hanging in the balance, at least then she’d know that Colin didn’t have a choice in the matter. If he were in the ER, with tubes running down his throat and doctors pounding on his chest, at least then she’d know that the only reason he wasn’t at home was because he couldn’t be. Couldn’t . . . not wouldn’t. There was a difference.

But something inside of Angel told her that it wasn’t an accident that was keeping Colin away. It wasn’t even work.

There was something else. Someone else. Angel gasped at the sudden thought.

Colin had never been this late coming home. She had called the office twice and got no answer. Called his cell phone three or four times. More like five or six. She’d lost count. Each time, she got the same message: “I’m sorry you’ve missed me. Please leave a name, number, and brief message, and I promise to get back with you at my earliest convenience.”

Promises, promises. There was no way that Colin hadn’t had the opportunity to call her back. Not after all these hours. What could he be doing that a convenient time to return a call hadn’t yet presented itself? Angel’s heart thudded in her chest. She’d seen enough Oprah and listened to enough Michael Baisden to know that when men made sudden unexplained changes in their routines, something wasn’t right.

Usually she’d be in bed by now, but Colin’s absence had kept her wide awake. The house had never been so spotless. Since putting Austin to bed, Angel had washed the dishes, wiped down the stove, mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the carpet in the master bedroom, waxed the wood flooring in the living room, dusted the coffee and end tables, scrubbed their whirlpool bathtub, and sponged down their shower stall. Now she was separating loads of clothes in preparation of laundering them.

Each time that Angel had listened to Elaine moan about her marital grief, she thought to herself that nothing could be worse. What could be more demoralizing than having a husband who walked around the house, displaying the conduct of a celibate monk?

“This, that’s what,” Angel sputtered, throwing down the pants she’d worn during yesterday’s run, on a stack of dark-colored clothing. Venting about it made her feel better, even if there was no one around to listen. “Having a husband who’s never at home is far, far worse. At least Elaine knows where her husband is. He might not be giving her the kind of attention she wants, but at least she knows no other woman is getting his affections either. I’ll take her problem any day over this.” She flung one of Austin’s onesies onto the pile with the whites.

“Where are you, Colin?” Angel yelled into house. She immediately covered her mouth with a shirt she’d pulled from the hamper. Austin was asleep in his room down the hall. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him. She pulled the shirt away and looked at it. The smell that teased her nostrils was foreign. It was definitely a woman’s fragrance, but it wasn’t hers. Angel took another whiff.

“Whose is this and how did it get in his shirt?” she pondered. Her heartbeat quickened even more when her eyes found a second clue. A stain. A red stain.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Lipstick. And not the color of any that she wore. When it came to makeup, Angel stuck to neutral colors: bronzes, golds and browns. She never wore red makeup of any kind, but there was no mistaking that somebody with red lipstick had been with her husband. And whoever she was; she’d left her mark behind on his collar, where she’d apparently rested her painted lips against the left side of his neck.