A Sad Soul Can Kill You Part 10

"I was calling you. Why are all the lights on downstairs and n.o.body's down there?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you do know?"

"They were on when I came home."

"Was your daddy here when you got home?"

"Yep," Serenity said as she put the earplugs back in her ears.

"Take those things out," Tia said. "I'm talking to you."

There was still a small amount of residual tension from the day before that loomed between them. Serenity removed the earplugs and turned down the volume on her purple iPod. She stared at the large h.e.l.lo Kitty poster nailed on the wall across from her bed.

"How was your day today?" Tia asked.

"It was all right."

"Anything interesting happen?"

"Nope."

Tia stood staring at her for a few seconds. "Okay," she said and turned to leave the bedroom.

"Oh, wait," Serenity said, jumping off her bed. She grabbed the fashion magazine from her nightstand, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process.

Tia looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Would Serenity ever stop being so clumsy?

"There's gonna be a fashion show at the Brookridge Mall, and they're holding auditions for models in March. Can I go?"

"To the show?"

"No. To the audition."

Tia stared at her in disbelief. "The audition?"

"Yeah," Serenity said defiantly.

Tia held out her hand. "Let me see that magazine."

"It's on page 32," Serenity said, handing the magazine to her mother.

Tia remained standing as she looked at the page Serenity had dog-eared. She flipped through several pages before and after the article. "You think you can really walk up and down that stage as . . ." Tia caught herself.

"I can do it," Serenity said quickly.

Tia handed the magazine back to her. "I don't know," she said. "After yesterday, I'm gonna have to think about it. You got any homework?"

"I'm getting ready to start it now. What's for dinner?"

Tia rubbed her right temple. Since your trifling daddy didn't cook nothing I guess I'll have to. "Chicken and rice," she said as she left the room and went downstairs to start dinner.

While Tia was pouring the rice into the pot of boiling water, her cell phone began ringing. She let it ring several times before finally deciding to answer it.

"h.e.l.lo, Scamp," she said quietly. The guilty pleasure she'd indulged in with him a few nights earlier had continued to eat away at her conscience. And she'd been rejecting his calls all day.

"h.e.l.lo," the deep voice said on the other end.

She moved the phone to her other ear. "How are you?"

"A better question," he said, "is how are you?" He clicked on a picture of a female on the dating Web site he was viewing.

"I could be better," she sighed.

He clicked on the many different poses the woman had posted online. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

"How about we meet somewhere?" he said as he viewed the online woman in a bikini. His voice was husky. "I'll give you another one of my ma.s.sages."

She didn't answer. His offer of intimacy at a time when all she needed was emotional support irritated her. She could see where this thing-whatever is was-was headed, and the same insignificance she'd felt with Lorenzo who cared nothing about her physical needs, she began to feel with Scamp who was not interested in her emotional state of mind.

"Still there?" Scamp asked.

The sound of his voice was no longer mesmerizing to her. In an instant, it had become an unpleasant reminder of the mistake she'd made getting involved with him. She'd convinced herself that she had every right to harbor feelings for another man because of her husband's neglect. She'd adopted the mantra-what one man won't do, another one will. But deep down inside, she knew that was only her flesh speaking. It was not the way of the Savior.

It had become clear that her lover did not care about her. He wasn't interested in why she wished she could be better. He was only interested in one thing from her, and it was the one thing she would have freely given only to her husband. But for almost two years he'd wanted nothing to do with her, and even on those rare occasions when they did engage in intimacies, it had been obvious to her still that he was not very interested.

Even so, she couldn't justify her act of adultery by blaming her husband's lack of interest in her, and the fact that she kept trying to was confirmation that it-she-was wrong.

It was just like her grandmother used to say, "If you got to keep convincing yourself that whatever you're doing is right, then you best believe it's wrong. Don't be blinded by your own sight, girl." And what had Shari said to her in the coffee shop? "Even the devil can masquerade as an angel of light . . ." Tia knew what she had to do, and she had to do it quickly.

"I have to go," she said. She didn't wait for him to say good-bye before she disconnected the call. She went through her phonebook until she found his number. She pressed the option b.u.t.ton, then the edit b.u.t.ton and typed "Do not answer" in the s.p.a.ce where his name would have gone.

She changed her mind and pulled up his number again, hesitating for only a second before deleting his number from her phone altogether.

Chapter Nineteen.

Homer clicked on the category of Females seeking Males, and began browsing through the ads, clicking only on the ones that included pictures. He let a few minutes pa.s.s before he called Tia again. He'd put her number on speed dial and continually hung up and pressed the same number pad each time her phone went directly to her voice mail.

The creaking of the hardwood floor startled Homer. He closed his laptop and turned to see his wife Sandra standing behind him.

"Who was that on the phone?" She stood rigidly with her arms hanging loosely by her side.

"No one," he snapped.

"Was that also no one's pictures you were looking at on the computer?"

He got up from his desk. "What do you want, Sandra?"

She stared at him for a long time before she spoke. "I want out, Homer."

"You want out?" He stood dumbfounded, waiting for her to answer.

"Yes," she said.

"What is it now?" he hollered. "You said I was unemotional so I tried to be more open. You said you didn't feel loved so I tried that!"

She held up her hand to stop him. "You tried that? What is that?"

"You know what I'm talking about," he glared at her. "All the things you keep telling me you need," he said mockingly.

She looked at him sadly. "You can't even say the word, can you?"

"I don't have to!" he yelled. "I go to work. I pay the bills. You don't have to do nothing but sit on your-"

"That's not enough," she yelled. "Don't you get it? It's not just about you working and paying the bills, Homer!"

"It's never enough!" he said breathing rapidly. "You said I need to lighten up. Okay. I tried that." But he was lying. How could he tell her that he did not know how to lighten up? How could he tell her that when he tried to laugh freely like other people did, it only made him feel awkward and out of place?

"When?" she asked. "When in the two years of our marriage have you ever tried to lighten up?"

"It doesn't matter," he said wiping away the buildup of saliva that had begun to form in the corners of his mouth. "It's never enough for you, and I'm not going to stand here and try to defend myself."

"Of course, it doesn't matter," she said. "And that's part of the problem," she pointed to his laptop, "along with that."

"You know what?" Homer said, his excitement escalating. "I can't keep up with all your requests!" He waved his arms in the air. "There's too many of them. And if you want to know the truth about it, I'm getting pretty tired of trying to!" He swallowed hard. "You're just like my mother!" he screamed. "And I couldn't please her either!"

"What are you talking about?" She frowned. She knew Homer had been raised by his grandmother, but how did that make her just like his mother?

She was exhausted. "I'm out of here," she finally said.

"Yes," he agreed, "you are."

He followed her to the front hallway where two suitcases sat already packed. He searched her eyes for the finality of her words. She looked back at him with eyes that were cold and empty.

"I'll be back for the rest of my things," she said, and then she opened the door and walked out.

Homer grit his teeth as he felt the pain rising from the pit of his stomach. He pushed and shoved until he had forced it back into its internal hiding place, a burial ground for his other emotional pains that he'd never found a cure for.

He leaned against the door. He didn't know what Sandra was talking about. So what if he wasn't able to tell her that he loved her. And never mind if he wasn't as emotional as she wanted him to be. None of that was going to pay the mortgage on their ranch-style home. It wouldn't put food on the table or clothes on their backs. He'd paid all the bills, and she had not had to work in the two years that they'd been married. Hadn't that been enough?

To Homer, love was overrated. The only exception he made was for his grandmother who had loved him unconditionally. Even during his high school and college years, there had been no love relationships for Homer. There had been the useless visits from his mother when he'd been younger, and she'd always ended them by saying she loved him. But he'd never felt or seen her love. She'd never demonstrated it.

It had only been after his grandmother had died that Homer had met Sandra. She had been fifteen years younger than he was, and had been one of the very few women at his job that he'd found himself attracted to. She'd been working as a cashier in the employee cafeteria, and after his grandmother's death, Homer had begun to frequent the cafeteria more often just to see her. It had been her youthfulness that had allowed him to initiate a friendship with her that, after three years, led to marriage.

After they were married, he insisted she stop working, telling her his income was enough for both of them. At first, Sandra seemed quite complacent, but as time went on, he noticed that even she, who had claimed to love him, had begun to want or need something from him that he couldn't give.

She was just like his mother in the sense that he had never been able to please her either. Not since the day he was born. Homer had always felt that his mother had left him because of his foot. Why else would she have abandoned him? And now his wife had left him too. The reasons Sandra had given him for leaving had nothing to do with his foot, and she'd never made an issue of it throughout their marriage . . . still, Homer wondered. A sharp spasm of pain rippled across his stomach as he decided in his heart this would be his first-and last-marriage. He bent over and waited for the pain to pa.s.s.

The cold air lingered in the hallway. But there was a greater chill growing inside of Homer as he added his wife to the long list of women who had never loved him. His sad affirmation only made him feel colder. And the spasm of pain spread across his stomach again.

Chapter Twenty.

It was a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and Lorenzo was still sprawled out on the couch when Tia and Serenity returned from the grocery store. He raised his head from the armrest when he heard the front door open.

Serenity stopped to give the dog a quick rub on the back, and then headed to the kitchen to make a sandwich.

"Hurry up," Tia said to Serenity. The two of them were going to visit Tia's mother, Ida, and her grandmother, Mavis. "It's already after one o'clock, and I'll be ready after I change my clothes."

"Hey," Lorenzo said. "Y'all can't speak?"

"Hi," Serenity said as she continued to the kitchen.

"Hey," Tia said dryly.

Tia went upstairs and exchanged the sweatpants and tee shirt she had on for a pair of bootleg jeans and a cowl-neck cable sweater. She came back downstairs and looked in the kitchen. Serenity was sitting at the round gla.s.s table eating the last half of a sandwich. "You ready?" Tia asked.

"Yep," Serenity said. She picked up her gla.s.s still partially filled with milk and her empty plate. She put the plate in the sink and poured the half gla.s.s of milk down the drain.

"Serenity!" Tia yelled. "Why did you waste all that milk?"

Serenity looked at her mother with a blank expression on her face. "I didn't want it."

"Well then, you shouldn't have poured it. We don't have food to waste like that."

Lorenzo came shuffling into the kitchen. "No sense crying over spilled milk," he said sarcastically.

"That's not funny," Tia said.

"I didn't mean for it to be," he said as he brushed past her arm.

"You know what?" Tia stared at his back for a few seconds before she continued. "It'd be nice if you came with me and Serenity to visit my family for a change."

"Oh no," he waved his hand in the air as he stood in front of the open refrigerator door. "I'll pa.s.s on that."