His Third Wife

“What?”

“About Jamison. You were about to tell me about Jamison.”

“He’s fine, Mama,” Kerry almost growled. She knew her mother really didn’t care about how Jamison was doing—unless he was doing poorly. It was no secret how Thirjane felt about Jamison and Mrs. Taylor. She’d held a dinner party the night Kerry’s divorce had been finalized.

“Fine, my ass,” Thirjane said. (She’d also sipped some of the rum—it was the only way she could make it through taco night too.)

“Mama, watch your mouth,” Kerry said, playing mother. “What if Tyrian hears you?”

“Listen, my mama, daddy, and husband are all dead; I speak as I please now,” Thirjane said. “Yes, Lord!”

“Fine, Mama.”

“So, how’s he doing?”

“I said he’s fine.”

“No, he isn’t. I saw him on the news.”

“Well, if you know he isn’t fine, then why did you ask?” Kerry looked at her mother.

“Lord, sometimes talking to you is like talking to an inmate,” Thirjane said. “You’re so defensive. Act like you’re still married to him.”

“I know I’m not married to him anymore. I’m the one who filed for the divorce. Remember?”

“Yeah, after he came back here with his tail between his legs after running off with that redhead gal to Los Angeles.” The rum made Thirjane shake her index finger in Kerry’s face. “I told you. I always told you. No class amounts to no class. Can’t change that. It’s just the way it is. Him and that mama of his. Lord Jesus, I saw that circus a mile away.”

“Well, thank you for all of your advice and support,” Kerry snapped, remembering how her mother had left her sitting in a jail cell after she’d been arrested for fighting with Jamison in front of police officers when she’d found his truck parked outside the redhead’s house. Kerry had been eight months pregnant.

“There you go again. What’s gotten into you? Why are you so touchy about this, dear?”

“I’m not touchy,” Kerry said. “It’s just that there’s a lot going on. And Jamison is Tyrian’s father, so . . .”

“So?”

“So, I care.” Kerry looked at her nude ring finger. For months after she’d removed her wedding band, she had been sure the sliver of blond skin would never darken, but soon it had. “It’s like everyone is trying to make it sound like he’s so horrible. Like he’s bad. All in the news. You know, a listener called into the radio today and said Jamison was a drug dealer? That he was leading a cartel?” Kerry laughed. “It’s like he’s down and everyone’s trying to kick.”

“So?” Thirjane flashed a sarcastic frown. This was reason to celebrate—not gain an attitude. While she was no Mrs. Taylor, her love for her daughter was as fierce as that of any mother who could produce a child imbued with such careful attention to others. And like any mother who’d seen her daughter through a painful divorce, she forever hated those she blamed for it all. So, if people were kicking Jamison while he was down, she’d volunteer to get right in line.

“So . . . it’s not right. He’s not a drug dealer. And he’s not a bad person. You know that, Mama,” Kerry said. “Come on, you may not like Jamison, but you know he’d never do anything to purposefully hurt anyone. His heart isn’t like that.”

“His heart? Kerry, that man broke your heart.”

“No, once upon a time, that man tried to mend my heart. You know what he did for me. What he did for us. For Daddy,” Kerry replied, bringing up the reason Thirjane couldn’t seem to get the decorations right in the fourth bedroom. After her husband had come home from the hospital after being in a coma for so many years, his ribs looking like they’d poke through his skin, Thirjane had moved him and his hospital bed into the room and painted it blue. The miracle of his recovery, which had given his wife two more years with him, was due to the stories Jamison whispered into his ear while he was still in his long sleep. While Thirjane and Kerry had long stopped going to visit their husband and father hooked up to machines and wasting away in a bed, Jamison had visited his father-in-law in secret.

“You feel sorry for him now?” Thirjane said as if that was ridiculous.

“I just want everyone to give him a chance to do what I know he can do. To stop this lying.”

“Nothing you can do about that now,” Thirjane said. “This is about old Atlanta. That old wall. I told you that when he was running for office. They may take him in, but he’s never going to be one of them. One of us.?

??

“That world is over, Mama,” Kerry defended, though she knew her mother wasn’t wrong.

“It’s never over. Can’t be. Not in a city like this. Been here all my life and one thing I know is that history moves Atlanta—from Peachtree down here, to Peachtree up there,” Thirjane said. “And class moves history. You add that up and you know what I’m saying is true. Jamison may have the money to play, but they’re only letting him play because they need him right now because of his position. Need him for contracts, signatures, deals. That’s it. Money. Then he’s out. Atlanta. I’ve seen it too many times.” Thirjane laughed. “I told you first.”

“I know. But there has to be something I can do.”