Chapter Fourteen

 

 

 

It was noon. They’d both fallen asleep after making love and now, they were up making love again. The room was still somewhat dark. Still raining.

“Oh, Allie,” Eli said panting as he rolled over to his side of the bed. “I’ll never get tired of this.”

“Me either,” she said, then giggled.

“Think we need a bigger bed though. What is this? A full?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll need a king.”

“Yes,” she said, trying to catch her breath again. “A king for my king.”

He kissed her clammy cheek. “I’m going to go cook you some breakfast for lunch.”

“No, Eli. You have to work tonight. You should be sleeping right now.”

“I’ll sleep after lunch. I’ll be fine.” He got up, went to the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. He removed a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon. Then he took a frying pan from the drawer at the bottom of the stove.

While he cooked, he looked at the coffee pot. It was still full of the coffee Natalie had made this morning. He turned the pot on to re-warm the coffee. Then he picked up the little notebook next to it, the one were Natalie had been writing an article about trees. He wondered if she finished it.

He flipped it open, reread the page he’d read when they were at Wakin’ Bakin’ that morning. He turned the page, excited to see she’d written more. He began reading:

 

Trees don’t have hearts. They just grow and die. Grow. Die. Grow and die. So do we. When humans die, that’s it. Their dead. Their bodies decay and eventually returns to dirt. It’s amazing, really, because humans are greater than all living things on the earth. But humans have destroyed forests and harvested trees for furniture. The cabinetry in my kitchen is a dead tree. Probably a blend of several dead trees. Yet, I see my cabinets every day. I touch them, open them to get dishes out. I clean them when they’re dirty, polish them when they’re dull…but in essence it’s a dead tree.

This topic appeals to me because I recently lost someone very close to me. Only thing is, unlike my dead-tree cabinetry, I can’t see her anymore. And I can’t talk to her. Hug her. I’m only left with memories of her. Just memories. When someone close to you die, it’s only natural to feel grief...to think about your own existence and wonder when your time will come, and who’s going to be standing at your funeral giving a eulogy. You think about those poor souls you will leave heartbroken as they grieve your death – asking the universe why it happened and looking for some modern-day miracle that would bring you back to life.

But that doesn’t happen. So you turn to nature for solace and understanding…to reflect, and in nature, you see trees, lots of trees, and you wonder why they live so long. I have the answer. It’s because trees don’t have hearts. It’s what makes them better than us. They can’t feel pain or love. It’s also what makes us superior to them. Yes, we have pain in life, but we also have love. We need love. And life without love is simply not a life at all. It’s just living.

 

Eli smiled, then read: The Tragedy of Being a Tree. He wondered if that would be the title of this article.

He flipped the slices of bacon in the frying pan. Looking at the notebook again, he turned the page, wanting to see if she had written any more notes when he saw the list of grocery items they picked up:

-Jiffy cornbread

-pumpkin pie filling

-pie crust

-vegetable oil

-rice

 

He remembered her writing them down. He turned the page once more and saw another note she’d scribbled:

 

Call Cadi about Solomon’s tms.

 

He frowned. Her note was incomplete, and he wondered what ‘tms’ stood for. He closed the notebook and set it back next to the coffee maker where he’d found it. Why did Natalie have to call Cadence about Solomon?

“TMS…what could that stand for?” he asked himself quietly. Then he thought back to the missed call from Solomon he saw on Natalie’s cell the week before Mildred’s funeral. Was Natalie regularly communicating with Solomon? When he heard the shower come on, he figured now was a good opportunity to find out.

He took the bacon from the hot eye of the stove, then walked into the bedroom, taking Natalie’s phone from the nightstand. He glanced up at the door, then looked at her phone. There were no recent calls from Solomon. None.

So he checked the text messages, feeling intrusive, like he was policing his own wife, but something was going on and he had a right to know what it was.

He felt like he was hit in the chest with a ton of bricks when he saw text messages from Solomon from just two days ago. Now he knew what tms stood for: text messages.

He pulled up the exchange of messages and skimmed through them, feeling his heart race as he did so:

 

Solomon: …I’ll need to meet with you soon. One day next week. Not a word to Eli.

 

Why was Solomon requesting to meet with Natalie? It made Eli feel like he had been right all along. Solomon wanted Natalie for himself.

 

Natalie: Stop texting me, traitor. Some brother you are...

 

Eli’s frown deepened. Even though Natalie sounded like she had his back, he wondered if Solomon was blackmailing her somehow.

 

Solomon: Don’t let him brainwash you.

 

Brainwash? The more Eli thought about it, the more he wanted to drive over to Solomon’s condo for an early afternoon confrontation.

 

Natalie: He’s not brainwashing me…my husband would never do what you’re alleging…

 

Again, seemed Natalie had his back but still…

 

Solomon: I’ll text you the location to meet me, and remember, this stays between us.

Natalie: …stop texting me with your nonsense.

Solomon: I will, as soon as I get what I want.

 

What was it that Solomon wanted? Eli closed his eyes with all kinds of thoughts running through his head. Was Natalie somehow involved with Solomon? The thought of Solomon touching her had his blood on fire. But wait…this was Natalie. She wouldn’t do that to him? She wouldn’t cheat on him with his brother? She wouldn’t cheat on him with anyone. Then again, was any of this about cheating?

In one of her texts, Natalie said: my husband would never do what you’re alleging. What was Solomon alleging? And Natalie had also told Solomon to stop texting her.

Eli scrubbed his hands down his face. Why would Natalie keep these text messages a secret from him?

When he heard the shower go off, he placed her phone back and sat on the bed. She opened the door, came out wrapped in a towel.

“Jeez, you’re done cooking already?” she asked, walking up to him, placing her hands against the sides of his face and leaning forward to kiss his lips.

“I still need to cook the eggs.”

She smiled. “You tired.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. Let me cook. I can do it, Eli.”

“I’m not tired,” he told her.

She giggled. “Then why are you sitting on the bed. Huh? Waiting for me to get out of the shower?”

Eli forced a smile, stood up and walked over to his nightstand. He pulled the top drawer open, looking at the pair of handcuffs lying there. He wanted to slap them on her, or maybe put one cuff on her wrist, the other to the bed post and interrogate her until she explained those secret texts from Solomon. But then he pushed the drawer shut. He couldn’t do that to his wife.

He looked back at her. She’d since put on her undergarments.

“The eggs will be done in a matter of minutes,” he said. “When you’re finished getting dressed, come on to the kitchen.”

“Eli,” she said before he exited the room.

“Yes?” he asked, turning around.

“Everything okay?”

He sauntered towards her and left a small kiss at her temple. “Yes, baby. Everything’s fine,” he told her, even though he’d already thought of several ways to break his brother’s neck. But, keeping a cool head, he decided to let things play out, to see if he’d been right about Solomon all along. He warned Solomon, and now, he was close to catching him in the act of whatever it was he was planning behind his back. Solomon wanted to meet Natalie – fine, he’d meet her – but Eli would be there, too. He didn’t trust his brother. He trusted Natalie – trusted her with his life. But why was she hiding things from him?

 

 

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