Page 17 of A Rose of Steel
“What?” The word came out hesitantly. I was so afraid of what he might say.
“I’m divorced.”
“You are?” I said. I shook my head. “I don’t understand. When did that happen? You didn’t even tell me.”
“That’s why I hadn’t been in touch as much. So much going on.” He took my hand in his. “I just couldn’t... didn’t get to you like I wanted to. But it can be different now.”
“Was it painful?” I asked. “Divorcing her?” My stomach was jelly and my lips dry, I didn’t really want to hear the answer, but I needed to know.
“No.” Then he seemed to realize what I was saying. “Baby, I told you a long time ago, it was a marriage of convenience. Not love. Getting that divorce was hard, but not for the reasons you think.”
“We’ll soon find out whatyouthink,” Auntie walked into the room, interrupting our conversation, steam from the cup trailing behind her. “About everything.”
Chapter Nine
Auntie and I went over to pay our respects to the Hackett family. I had the pan of baked spaghetti I’d cooked before getting dressed for my date with Alex, and we’d picked up a package of toilet paper and paper plates from the supermarket.
“People always bring food to the home of the bereaved,” Auntie Zanne had said as she directed me into the grocery store parking lot, “because people come and stay all day. They have to eat, but no one thinks or prepares for the consequences.”
Hence the other items.
Auntie handed me the car keys as we left the house, although I didn’t feel like driving. I was still nervous about Alex—his health, his news, and what it all meant for me.
Whatever Auntie had given him, I noticed had made his eyes glaze over and his head seemed too heavy for him to hold up. I didn’t know what I had been thinking—that he’d drink her tea and suddenly start talking, telling me every little thing my heart desired. I’d never believed in her potions, but this one time, way deep down in my soul, I’d wanted so badly for it to work. For it to help me look into my future and know what was waiting for me with this man.
Instead we put Alex in one of the back rooms off the kitchen hallway, the same room the bride and her attendants had used, before we left. He was lucid enough, but groggy and walked on his own accord to the room, my arm looped through his guiding the way. He didn’t give Auntie one ounce of discussion about her request that he stay. She had an almost charmed way with people when she was working in her side “business.” It was like a hypnotic suggestion from her, which he couldn’t rebuff and seemingly gladly went along with. She had him lay on the bed, we covered him up and left. Auntie assuring me he’d be fine until we got back.
But on the entire drive over the Hackett’s house, I thought maybe I should have stayed in case he had more to say. In case there was something he wanted to tell me.
Or had Auntie given him something that would stop him from telling me what I wanted to know...
Then I felt bad. It seemed I cared more about what he had to offer me than I did what was wrong with him... Geesh. I was definitely confused.
The Hackett house was small and worn, but neat. The grass mowed short. The bushes shorn evenly. No stray stones from their gravel driveway. The green Saturn wasn’t anywhere in sight, but there was an amber glow coming through the drapes in the large picture window and silhouettes easily visible inside. Someone was home.
We walked up the wooden steps and Auntie Zanne knocked on the oak colored door. There was rumbling inside and I thought I noticed someone pull the curtain back and peak through the window.
“Hi.” A young woman pulled the door open.
“Hello,” Auntie Zanne said. “We’ve come to see about Delores.”
“Oh. Okay. Come on in,” the girl said pulling the door wider.
We stepped inside. “I’m Babet Derbinay,” Auntie said, a solemn look on her face. “This is my niece Dr. Romaine Wilder.” She pointed to me.
“I’m Gaylon. Delores is my aunt,” the young woman said. “She’s in the dining room.” She reached out and took the covered dish from Auntie. “I can put this in the kitchen for you.”
As we were passing through the living room, we saw the two groomsmen who had been dressed in tuxedos at the wedding sitting on the couch and Auntie stopped.
“Hi, Mrs. Derbinay,” Mr. Dreadlocked Groomsman said. He was now dressed in a football jersey and a pair of jeans. He held onto a football that he tossed around in hands.
“Hello, LaJay,” Auntie said. “Boone.” Auntie nodded at the other one.
“Hey, Mrs. Derbinay,” Boone said, his words dry.
“Y’all taking care of Mrs. Hackett?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Boone said. “We’re sticking close.” He hung his head. “But it’s hard on both of us, too.”
