“The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts.” Marcus Aurelius
After satisfying Dee by giving her what she wanted, Khalil placed the stacks of hundred dollar bills into the laptop case he had in his car. Dee said it was thirty-five thousand dollars. It was more than enough for him to close the television deal. She also gave him back the MasterCard Gold card, the one he’d thrown back in her face when he discovered that she was nothing but a trick going behind his back and meeting with that pervert George and his father. Since she insisted on returning the card, who was he to say no. She assured him that she had paid it off and that he could start afresh.
Before he left her bed the other night, he convinced her to tell him the last time she’d seen his father. Detria at first lied and said she hadn’t talked to Hezekiah in ages, but knowing his father like he did, and knowing Detria, too, he knew that was a lie.
“If you want things to work out between us, you better start telling me the truth. No more lies.”
She confessed that Hezekiah demanded she go with him to visit George in prison. George told her she was expected to look out for his needs by doing whatever he told her to do. She told him, after some added persuasion of a sexual nature by Khalil, that Hezekiah had moved first to an assisted nursing facility where he remained for a few short months, but had no idea where he moved to.
Khalil left Detria’s bed in the wee hours of the morning. Now that he had what he wanted, he wouldn’t have to return for quite some time, and he could put all his efforts into getting Eliana into his bed—an easy feat.
“Isabella, I want you to go to court with me. My divorce hearing is coming up in less than a week.”
“But why?” she asked. She had no desire to be seen with him. She had to find a way of escape for her and her son, but she didn’t know how she would do it. Hezekiah and George were two men she knew better than to cross. George threatened on more than one occasion to do something terrible to her little boy if she ever tried to run away or do anything to ruin Hezekiah or him.
She was glad when she was told George would be in prison for two years, but George’s friend, Benny, could be just as bad, but Benny also kept her supplied with the drug of her choice. That was another reason she couldn’t pull away from Hezekiah, she was heavy into drugs. There was nothing she wouldn’t try. When she had her son, she prayed hard the kid wouldn’t be born addicted to drugs because she managed to stop using, most of the time, after she found out she was pregnant. George changed all of that by sticking a needle in her arm days after she gave birth. Her addiction was once again full blown. As long as Hezekiah kept her supplied, she was not going anywhere.
“I want you there. Don’t question me. Do you hear?” he yelled.
“Yea, I hear you,” Isabella answered.
“If anyone asks who you are, you’re my caregiver.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
“Darn right…whatever I say. And don’t you forget that.” He turned around in his wheelchair and retreated to his room. “Fix me something to eat,” he yelled.
Hezekiah retrieved his cell phone and made a call he hadn’t made in months. Her cell phone rang.
When she saw the call came from an unknown number she ignored it. It rang again. She didn’t answer—again. She didn’t answer. This time when it rang a local phone number appeared and she reluctantly answered, ready to blast one of those incessant telemarketers, and then again hoping that it was the guy from Brother Juniper’s. She hadn’t heard from him since their initial encounter. She scrolled through her phone where she’d saved his number under Contacts. Why she did that she didn’t know. If it was him his name would appear unless he was calling from a different number. She told herself that he wasn’t really interested in her in the first place. He was just being polite when he asked for her phone number. There were a few times she thought about calling him, but she still believed it was for the guy to call if he was interested.
“Hello.”
“Fancy.”
Fancy swallowed hard, flinching at the sound of his voice, and her face clouded with uneasiness. His pronunciation of her name was slurred but it was him.
“Fancy, how are you my…my luv?” He struggled to speak. Other than that, he sounded like himself.
She didn’t know what she expected. She tried to sound stern but her stomach clenched tight, and she heard herself reply in a small, frightened voice. “Yes. What do you want?”
“I…mish…you. You m…mish.. me?”
“I don’t have time for your games, Hezekiah. Do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve talked to you? Since I’ve seen you? Now you want to call days before the divorce hearing. For what?” She found herself regaining her emotional strength. He was sadly mistaken if he thought a phone call would send her riveting back to that place, that place where her heart belonged solely to him. She wouldn’t go there, would never go there again. Never would she allow him to walk over her and treat her like she was nothing.
“What do you want?” she seethed.
“Do…you…want a divorce?”
“This was your call but to answer your question, I think it’s the best thing for us. You’ve shown me your true colors. At first, I wanted to blame it on your stroke, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all. You’re a cheat. You didn’t give a darn about me or your sons. Yes. I want this divorce. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted before.” Her voice grew stronger as her thoughts raced dangerously. “Don’t call me again, Hezekiah. I never thought I would say this, but I’m better, so much better without you. Goodbye!” she said, throwing words at him like stones before she ended the call.
She inhaled and then slowly exhaled. The phone rang again. She pushed the button without looking. “I said do not call me again!” She heard her bitterness spill over into the phone but she didn’t care. “The nerve of that man,” she said out loud.
“Whoa, hold up. Is this Fancy? Fancy McCoy?” the voice on the other end said in a resigned tone.
Realizing it was not Hezekiah, Fancy exhaled and then changed her tone. “Yes, this is Fancy. Who is this? How may I help you?”
“It’s Winston. Winston Washington.”
A soft gasp escaped. “Winston. What a pleasant surprise.”