His Third Wife

When he got to the top of the steps and saw both his mother’s open bedroom door and his closed bedroom door, he considered getting down on all fours to lighten the impact his body

made against the wood as he passed his mother’s room to get to his. It seemed foolish, but it would be more foolish to get caught up in a verbal siege with his mother. Kerry had already texted him to say they needed to talk about his mother. He decided to try to make it to his bedroom on his tiptoes. But a few tips in, her television, which had been blasting so loud he was sure the neighbors could hear it, went to mute. He stopped in his tracks, frozen in fear like one of those fainting billy goats. He listened for her. She listened for him. Seconds passed. She gave up. Turned the television sound back up sure Jamison hadn’t come home yet.

“I want your mother out of this house!”

Jamison cursed himself once he’d made it to the bedroom and heard this. Escape one bullet to catch another.

“She is driving me crazy. She is just . . . you know what she is!”

Val was shouting these accusations from the bathroom just loud enough so Mrs. Taylor could hear her down the hall.

Jamison started on a softer note, “She’s in her room.”

Val came barreling out of the bathroom ready for a fight. “Yeah, right now.”

“And you’re in your room.”

“Right now!”

“You only have to deal with her a little while longer. I’m getting a nurse and—”

“That’s not enough,” Val charged. “She’ll still be here. And if she’s here, I can’t be.”

Jamison sat down on his bed and remembered how many times he’d had this same conversation with Kerry.

“She’s my mother.”

“You keep saying that. But I’m your wife,” Val said before pointing to her stomach. “And this is your child. I thought you said you wanted to work on things. For it to get better.”

“I did,” Jamison agreed.

“Well, this ain’t better. Not for me. Maybe for you, because you’re never here anymore.”

“Oh, don’t start with that, Val,” Jamison ordered.

“It’s the truth. You’re not here. And I have to deal with her constantly threatening me all the time.”

“Threatening? Really?” Jamison grinned.

“Yes. Really. Everything she says to me has some kind of threat in it. And there’s only so much of that shit I’m going to take.” This last line had a little back-street Memphis in it.

“Please stop.” Jamison got up and walked toward the television to get the remote control.

“You need to deal with her before I do.”

Val kept talking, but it was only a soft echo of syllables in Jamison’s ear. He’d turned on the news and was watching to see if the clip Dax took of him at the prison was airing. Dax wasn’t live in the parking lot at the jail, so his story would likely run on the evening news—if Emmit’s guy didn’t get to him in time.

Val was still talking while walking around the bed where Jamison was sitting, watching each story like he expected to see his face pop up.

Val exhausted all of her claims and subclaims and threats and promises and sequestered herself in the bathroom again by slamming the door.

Jamison didn’t budge. He was a man involved in a fight with a monster who was bigger than two women fighting over his affections. He wasn’t sure who that monster was, but every day he was seeing its big footprints spread out more clearly over his. It was trying to crush him. It was everywhere in his life. But invisible in his world. As he watched, waiting to see his face, he thought, what if what Ras had said was true? All of it. That meant the monster was close. Right up on him. Breathing in his face.

As Val came out of the bathroom to add a few more charges to her list of demands, Jamison’s phone started ringing again. He held up his hand to stop her from talking.

“Get down here. We’re at the Rainforest. Come alone,” a nondescript voice ordered before clicking off.

Jamison felt a hit in his gut that would later haunt him as he tried to recall why he’d gone to the Rainforest that night. A second-guessing he’d only felt three other times in his entire life.