CHRISTMASEVE.
Kalaya and I listened to sappy, incredibly depressing Christmas music while we decorated the tree Jazz had brought me. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” played mournfully on the radio.
All I wanted for Christmas was my husband and his Ricky Ricardo imitation.
The lights twinkled all around the living room. We’d decorated Amos’s cage with a sprig of mistletoe, though Kalaya wouldn’t kiss him to save her life. I did, thanking Jesus that I was alive. “Kalaya, would you read Matthew 2:10?”
“Yeah, girl,” she said. She plopped down on the couch and grabbed my Bible, her long braids swinging across her shoulders.
Kalaya had redone my hair, this time in loose, crinkly “zillions” braids, though my head was still sore. I even got a dye job and sported the same honey-blond mane as Mom Addie’s. I looked just as fierce, except for the brace around my neck.
Kal began to read: “‘When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh.’”
When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.
“Thanks, Kal,” I said. We sat quietly for a few minutes, and I thought about the star that I had asked for, coming as a sliver of my mother-in-law’s Starry Night mug. I wondered about the irony of that. What I loved had revealed the truth and ultimately saved me. I wished it were that simple for everyone I loved. Then I felt sad. I didn’t love nearly as much as I should. The meager love I doled out wouldn’t save anyone, least of all me. I silently promised God that I would change. I’d find my husband and get my friend Rocky back. I’d love in a whole new way. Starting now. “Kalaya?”
It must have been something in my voice. She looked serious. “What’s up, girl?”
“Thanks for writing ‘In Love and Trouble.’”
She’d named the article aptly, giving a nod to Alice Walker’s book of stories of black women by the same title. “In Love and Trouble” had created the biggest buzz in the city, especially since Archie Dandridge was arrested the same day for the murders of Kate Townsend and Christine Webber and for assault on the object of Lieutenant Jazz Brown’s “love jones.” The story had even gotten mentioned on broadcast news. We watched the anchorwoman gaze starry-eyed at Jazz, who’d said, “My wife makes every moment we have together unforgettable.” I couldn’t decide if he meant that as a good or bad thing.
North Stars really do lead people to freedom. And love is that North Star.
“I love you, Kalaya,” I said.
“I love you, too,” she said, her eyes misting. “Thanks for spending Christmas Eve with me.”
“You’re my friend.”
“You’re just saying that because I made you famous.”
“Hey, go ahead and open your present.”
She went over to the tree and unwrapped my elaborately wrapped present. “What?” she exclaimed. “You got me a box of Jack Chick tracts!”
I laughed.
“You big kook.” She cracked up.
“That’s for putting all my business in the streets. I got you several copies ofThis Was Your Life! ——in case you want to share the love.”
We both laughed.
I heard a knock, not a pounding, at my door. “Who could that be?”
“Maybe Santa Claus came to town,” Kalaya joked. “Or maybe somebody will be home for Christmas.”
“Cut it out,” I said. “It’s probably carolers.”
But I never got carolers.
I unlocked all three locks and swung open the door. My husband stood there, scowling at me. He didn’t give me a chance to be happy to see him. “How many times do I have to tell you to ask who it is before you open the door?”
“Hello, Jazz.”
“You didn’t have the chain on, either.”
Kalaya disappeared into my bedroom.
“Come on in, Jazz.” I moved aside for him to enter. “Can I take your coat?”
“I won’t be staying,” he said, but he unbuttoned the black cashmere coat, revealing suit pants, as usual, and a white button-down shirt.
I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it. It was so good to see him. “So, what brings you——”
He exploded. “You’re hurt. Badly.”
“I noticed, but——”
“You could have beenkilled. ”
“I know.”
“Do you understand the concept of ‘dead’? That means you aren’t breathing, your vital organs aren’t working, your spirit has gone to God, and you decompose with that awful smell.”
“I understand dead, Jazz.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to sleuth?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Say this with me: ‘Columbo is a television character.’”
We said in unison, “Columbo is a television character.”
“Archie Dandridge cannot strangle Columbo to death, Bell.”
He’d called me Bell.
“I know.”
“I mean it, woman. If you get yourself killed, I’m gonnakill you.”
“That’s a bit redundant.”
“You are going to give me a stroke. My blood pressure goes up every time I think about you. You’re trying to kill me. I don’t know if it was God who sent you to me, or the other guy.”
“I think it’s hopeful that you’re still engaging the question.”
He looked at me. “You just have to win the argument, don’t you?”
“We weren’t arguing. You were just raging.”
We stood staring at each other until he looked away. He spoke first, still looking toward the wall. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
He looked back, taking me in. “I like your hair. You make a very sexy blonde.”
“My mother said I look like Casper the Friendly Ghost.”
“My mother would like it.”
“I know.”
I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, to tell him I loved him, and to tell him everything Mason and I had talked about, but my heart pounded, and I felt afraid and kept it all inside.
“Merry Christmas, Jazz.”
“Merry Christmas, Bell.”
“Take care of yourself.”
His gaze swept my body. “He’d better take care of you.”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Rocky.
“There’s no he and I.”
“There will be.”
“No, there won’t.”
“I thought maybe that was true until Friday.”
The hurt in his eyes was too raw and real for me to minimize. I let him hold on to his grief, as I would hold on to mine. I put the matter ofus in God’s hands as we stood facing off once again.
He looked like he was debating with himself, but he finally spoke. “I didn’t marry you to keep you from testifying.”
“I didn’t really think you did.”
“I did it for love. I didn’t even do it for the baby.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m so mad at you.”
“I know you are, Jazzy.”
He turned to walk out the door again, not bothering to say good-bye. I didn’t say it, either. I couldn’t.
I locked the door behind him, then rested my back against the door. “God, that was hard.” I closed my eyes. “Please bring him back to me.” I took a deep breath.
Maybe God would. Maybe not.
I should have asked for ten million dollars and a Rolls-Royce. Someone knocked at my door. I unlocked all three locks and opened it again.
Jazz said, “You didn’t ask who it was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to drive me crazy.”
“It would seem so.”
He sighed. He looked like a sad little boy. “I need to ask you and Rocky to forgive me.”
“For what?”
“For this.”
That man scooped me into his arms and kissed me to the moon! We nearly singed the carpet. He released me. “Good-bye, Bell.” He turned to walk out again.
“Wait!”
He turned back to me.
I had told God I’d do a little better about love. I grabbed that man and put a kiss on him that he’d tell his great-grandchildren about. No love and trouble in that kiss. It was all love, baby. When I let him go, he panted. He shook his head, surprised, but I wasn’t through. I snatched the collar of his shirt and ripped it open from neck to navel. Buttons flew like bullets in the air.
“Giiiirl!” he said. “What did you just do?”
“I ripped your bodice.”
His mouth dropped, and he laughed like a loon, gathering the fabric together with his fist. He walked out the door, still laughing and shaking his head.
“I’ll see you later, baby,” I called behind him.
And I would. I’d make sure of that.