His Last Wife

“If she’s so bad, why not leave? Just go home,” Val said.

“I am—I will. I’m working on it. Just want to take it slow for Tyrian. He was already forced to leave his home when I went to jail and for three months his grandmother’s house was all he knew. And she moved all of his things there, so it’s kind of like home for him. And he just stopped wetting the bed again. I want to give him some time to adjust to me being home and then we’ll go back,” Kerry explained. “And I’m not really excited about being in the house anyway.”

“Why?”

“Oh, well . . .” Kerry hesitated.

“What? What about your house?”

“Jamison—he was there before he died. He came over.” Kerry looked out of the window. This happened when Jamison was still married to Val. After his mother had died, he’d come to her house for consoling, a shoulder to cry on that would turn into him confessing his love for Kerry—his being in love with Kerry—a love that he’d said had never left him, not after their split, not even when he’d married Val.

“Oh,” Val half-verbalized. She could still hear the pretext in Kerry’s voice, her withholding or fear of letting something out. They drove a mile or so in silence as they remembered those days before and after Mother Taylor’s death. Though they were far apart, it was shared history. Soon Val spoke. “We haven’t talked about it—about Jamison, but I know. He loved you. And that’s fine. I know that. And I know you loved him too.”

Kerry couldn’t deny these charges.

“Of course, he went to you when his mother died,” Val went on. “He was tied to you in a way he was never tied to me. You two were friends. We never were.” Val stayed in the slow lane as she spoke; still, cars were moving from behind her car and passing in the next lane. “He trusted you. You know? Like there were times when things were going on with him in the mayor’s office—with that whole Ras thing, especially—I knew he needed someone to talk to.” Val glanced over at Kerry. “I always wondered if he was talking to you.”

Kerry remembered Jamison coming to her with the information about Ras when he was arrested. She’d been so coarse with him, so angry she could hardly look him in the eyes. She was still so angry with him.

“And if he wasn’t talking to you, I knew it was only a matter of time before he did,” Val said. “And then, only a matter of time before he—” Val looked over at Kerry suggestively.

“What? Sex? No—never.” Kerry sounded surprised by the suggestion. Like no ex-wife had ever slept with her ex-husband after he’d remarried. “Fooling around? When he was married to you? No.” She laughed. “Our connection was never really based in that. We . . . like—we had good sex, but not like—what I’m sure he and you—like you—” she stumbled.

“What? Sex with me?” Val didn’t look surprised. “Jamison was crazy in bed. Like a madman.”

“What? Really?” Kerry remembered Jamison lying on top of her—that was how they commonly had sex. He always kissed her neck softly. He’d whisper about his love in her ear. Then he’d have an orgasm. She did sometimes.

“Girl,” Val said, sounding really chatty, “that man would get some coke in him and turn into a porn star.” She laughed at a memory of Jamison tearing out every single hair extension glued to her scalp as he held her from behind in a parked car.

“Coke? Jamison used cocaine? Drugs?” Kerry asked.

“Yes,” Val confirmed. “But not like a drug addict. Just like once a week, maybe twice, so he could—you know.”

“No. I don’t,” Kerry said awkwardly. It was like she was hearing about someone she didn’t know.

“Coke is the original Viagra. Long and strong. Men like Jamison use it to keep it up. That and to forget who they are, their limitations. You want a happy man? Put a line of coke between your titties and let him snort it up. That’ll keep his ass at home.”

“Okay. Too much information,” Kerry said.

“I’m just sharing tips,” Val said, unashamed. “It’s not like he was your man then. He was single and for the taking. And I took.” Val paused to be sure she was getting out everything she wanted to in the needed exchange. “Something I never understood about you was how angry you were with me.”

“What do you mean, angry with you? I was never angry with you.”

Val scrunched up her face at Kerry. “Chile, please don’t lie. You can’t save the devil from the jury,” she said, repeating one of Mama Fee’s old sayings.

“What?” Kerry laughed. “I am not lying. I never hated you.”

Val rolled her eyes playfully to make it clear she wasn’t taking this exchange too seriously, but she had to let Kerry know how she’d felt. “You were acting like I was the woman who stole him from you. Like I was some kind of side piece. And I never was. I was a lot of things to Jamison. I wasn’t a lot of things to Jamison. But a side piece was never one of them. And I wasn’t his mistress.”

Kerry nodded along. “Good point.”

“So, why were you like that? Why did you act like that to me?”

Kerry thought for a minute. “I could say a lot of things. Maybe I didn’t like your long, fake nails—”

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“What? Wasn’t nothing wrong with my nails!” Val declared.