His Third Wife

“It’s not. It’s just a polite gesture. Besides, if I was trying to hide something, trust me, you’d never know that I’d had any contact with her at all.” Peter pulled his T-shirt over his broad chest and taut waist. “But listen, my ex—whom I have absolutely no interest in—isn’t the issue. Let’s talk about our relationship.”

“What I’m going through right now has nothing to do with our relationship. Like I told you, it’s about me.”

“Cut the shit, Alexandria.” Peter smirked. “Call me ‘crazy,’ but I thought that when you’re in a relationship with someone, everything that involves you involves the other person, too.”

Although she knew Peter’s comment was absolutely right, she didn’t like the sarcasm or nasty tone that was planted behind it. Deep down, she knew that he only half-meant what he’d just said. She’d slowly come to realize that he was a bit selfish, hence his “Where does this leave me?” remark. So she knew what he was saying now was clearly meant to draw out a reasonable explanation that would put his mind at ease about the possibility of her cheating on him.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Alexandria responded, slipping on her turquoise-colored thong-toed sandals, “but this really is about me, and only me.”

“Okay, then what’s bothering you?”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “This is the first time you’ve asked me about me.”

“No, it’s not, but I won’t waste time arguing that point right now. Tell me what’s going on with you?”

She wanted so bad to call him on his lie, but she knew it would be a fruitless cause. “For one, I’m not happy with my career. I feel like I’m settling.” This part was true, and she didn’t hesitate sharing it.

“You graduated in the top of your law school class and now you’re a fast-rising associate at one of the most powerful lobbying firms in the city. You work closely with one of the senior partners, and they even handpicked you to present and testify before Congress last year, which got you that major raise you’re enjoying now.”

“You act like you’re giving me information that I don’t already know.”

“Okay, since you already know that, you also know how many people would kill—and I mean that literally—to stand in your shoes.”

Alexandria looked down at her neatly polished toenails, then up at Peter. “I’m not concerned about other people. I’m talking about me, and what I really want. Being a performing artist is my calling. I’ve always known that, and now, every day, I feel it more than ever.”

“Why did you work so hard in law school if this wasn’t what you wanted?”

“That’s just it. I didn’t work hard in law school at all. It came easy for me, just like high school and undergrad. I went through the motions and I did what I was expected to do. But now, I’m ready to pursue my passion like my mom did.”

Peter looked up at the ceiling. “Here we go with that again.”

“I’m one of the best spoken-word artists in the city—hell, in this region. Whenever I perform at the Lazy Day, people pack the house to hear me.”

“You know that’s not a sustainable profession, don’t you? What do you make doing that? Fifty dollars a night?”

“You know what . . .” Alexandria drew in a deep breath. “Never mind, I’m leaving.”

Feeling tired and frustrated, Alexandria didn’t say another word. She gathered her handbag, picked up her leather overnight duffel, and walked toward the door.

“Hold on,” Peter said, gently clasping his hand around Alexandria’s slender wrist. “I don’t want you to leave like this . . . upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you. Like I said, I need to be alone right now so I can clear my head.” She leaned into him, planted a small kiss on his right cheek, and told him she’d come by the next day.

Twenty minutes later, Alexandria found herself sitting alone on her couch in her small one-bedroom apartment, devouring a small bowl of Ben & Jerry’s chocolate ice cream and three dark chocolate truffles from her Godiva box. Whenever she felt down and out, ice cream and chocolates always seemed to lift her spirits. The cold, chocolaty sweet taste tickled her tongue and almost made her forget about the voice that kept repeating the same words inside her head: “I’m ready for the fight.” The words were fragmented bits and pieces of a longer sentence that Alexandria couldn’t fully understand.

“Stop it!” She hissed into the stillness surrounding her. “I don’t care about your fight. All I want is peace and quiet. Leave me alone.”

She rose from her couch and went into her bathroom. “This has got to stop,” she said as she pulled her long hair back into a ponytail and reached for her facial cleanser. “I can’t take this any longer. Why can’t I block out this voice, like I can the others?”

After washing and exfoliating her skin, Alexandria looked into the mirror and studied the nude face that stared back at her. She hadn’t inherited her mother’s chocolate hue, but her light caramel-colored skin—compliments of her white father—was smooth and so even that she looked as though she were wearing foundation. She appraised her sultry brown eyes, perfectly arched brows, and full, bow-shaped lips. She was thankful that despite her stress, she still looked good.

“This is taking a toll,” she said, crawling under her soft, cool bedsheets. She prayed for a restful night’s sleep, but she could already tell that wasn’t going to happen because of the buzzing that just returned to her ear. Hearing voices and seeing visions—which no one else could—was nothing new for Alexandria.

She’d experienced her first encounter when she was just a toddler, playfully talking with the spirits of children from bygone years. Her imaginary friends were as real as the ones she played with at school. As she grew older, she developed the ability of premonition. When she was five years old, she predicted her father’s heart attack before it happened. A few months later, she drew a picture of her younger brother, Christian, before he was conceived. It had startled her teacher so much that she’d called Alexandria’s parents. From that point on, she stopped drawing the things she saw happening in her mind.

Growing up the child of a black mother and a white father, Alexandria was taught by her parents that she came from extraordinary people on both sides of her family. But there was another dimension of who she was that she knew her parents would never be able to understand—let alone teach her about—so she made up her mind early on to bury the mysterious haunting that often gripped her in her sleep.

Over the years, she’d developed the ability to tune out voices when they tried to roar inside her mind. For some reason, though, she couldn’t do it with the woman who was now drumming words into her ear. When she’d started hearing whispers a few weeks ago, she immediately knew there was something different about this new voice that was contacting her, and the spirit of the person to whom it belonged.