Page 4 of Happy Is On Hiatus
Sharae nodded. “I know.”
Jemel frowned. She was six inches shorter than Sharae’s five feet seven, but wore heels all the time to hide that fact. Today her heels were in the form of a pair of pink-and-white platform Converses. “Did she set the fire?” Jemel asked in a hushed tone. Rita liked to say hermotherhood status gave her the power to hear through walls. If Sharae and Jemel hadn’t seen it actually happen, they might not have taken it so literally.
“Yup,” Sharae replied.
They were both still standing in the foyer staring after Rita, who’d already disappeared into the kitchen.
“Why?” Jemel asked.
“Don’t know.”
“You gonna ask her?”
Sharae looked over to Jemel. “We’regonna ask her.”
Jemel huffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
They walked into the kitchen together, but Sharae continued until she was standing close to Rita.
“Why don’t you sit down, honey. I can make the coffee,” she said to Rita, who’d just taken the bag of the Dunkin’ harvest-roast coffee she loved out of the cabinet.
“I want to be able to drink the coffee,” Rita replied and moved around Sharae to get closer to the coffee maker on the counter.
Jemel snickered, and Sharae looked back to see she’d stopped at the end of the gray-and-white quartz-top island. Keeping a protective distance, no doubt. That probably wasn’t necessary since Rita never lost it. While on the other hand, Jemel was the queen of drama, and at the ripe old age of thirty-six could still throw a tantrum that would put a three-year-old to shame.
“Okay, I don’t claim to be a coffee maker. That wasn’t my calling.” Neither was being a therapist, but somebody had to maneuver around this land mine that was her normally levelheaded cousin. Sharae cleared her throat. “You wanna tell us what happened this morning?”
There’d never been a time that the three of them didn’t share every detail of their lives—not ever—so the question wasn’t out of line.
Rita scooped coffee into the liner and closed the lid on top of the coffee maker with a loud clap. “I was taking out the trash.”
“We normally don’t burn our garbage around here,” Jemel added.
That remark earned her a cool glare from Rita, who seconds later pressed the “Start” button on the machine and rolled the top of the coffee bag down so tightly that Sharae expected the ground beans to burst through the seams at any moment.
“I can get the mugs,” Sharae said. “That doesn’t take any skill.” But stopping violence did, and while Rita wasn’t a criminal, Sharae knew the signs of a violent act about to be committed.
She eased the bag out of Rita’s hands and put it back in the cabinet. “You have a seat.”
The corners of Rita’s mouth lifted, her eyes narrowing as she reluctantly stepped back to allow Sharae space to get in and out of the cabinets. Rita’s big kitchen was light and airy, from the crisp white cabinets that reached to the ceiling to the gray tiled floor and all the coordinating appliances and decorations in between. There was more than enough room between the island and the cabinets, but this was Rita’s domain, and she didn’t allow anyone in here to assume otherwise.
On a huff, Rita took a step back, pulled one of the metal-backed stools out from the island, and eased onto it. Releasing a slow breath, Sharae grabbed three mugs, spoons, and the canister of sugar before moving to the island. With a look, she signaled for Jemel to get the creamer out of the Sub-Zero refrigerator. When they were all seated at the island, Sharae cleared her throat.
“What happened this morning, Rita?” Sharae stared into her cousin’s eyes when she asked the question—not that there was anything about this woman that she didn’t already know, but she would’ve liked to know just how bad this situation was. Because before this day was over, she would have to write an official report of this incident and explain to her superiors why she left a crime scene with a suspect who was also her cousin.
Rita rested her arms on the top of the island’s smooth surface. Last night her sandy-brown hair had fallen in perfect waves to hershoulders. Dressed in designer jean capri pants and a lavender T-shirt, Rita had managed to look casual and chic, just like always. After all the guests had left, Rita would’ve no doubt gone upstairs and brushed her hair, wrapping it and covering her head with the bonnet. She would’ve washed the light layer of makeup she’d worn for the cookout from her honey-complected face, undressed, and climbed into bed. Unbothered by the fact that her husband was out of town. Again.
Sharae watched as Rita clasped her long piano-playing fingers together and stared down at them. With a tilt of her head, she eased her fingers apart, flattening her left hand on the counter to stare down at it. For extended moments the only sounds in the kitchen were the percolating coffee and Jemel’s huffs every few seconds—patience wasn’t her thing at all.
“Nate’s having an affair,” Rita said solemnly.
Jemel sucked her teeth, and Sharae barely resisted the urge to say, “So what’s new?” Instead, they both waited for Rita to continue.
“I did everything I was supposed to do. I didn’t sit with my legs open in church. I was respectful to my elders.” Rita used her fingers to tick things off one by one. “Stayed a virgin until I was married. Cooked, cleaned.” She sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly.
“The girl called me to announce that she’s pregnant.” Rita eased the four-carat princess-cut engagement ring surrounded by two white-gold bands of layered diamonds from her finger.
She never took those rings off, not even when she was cooking, which always sparked a robust conversation between the Aunts. Rita set the three rings on the counter and then pulled her hands back as if the rings were a poisonous snake about to attack. That set was a twentieth wedding-anniversary present. Rita always said Nate bought the best gifts. Sharae noted that he had to buy the best gifts so often because he was a lying, cheating bastard using his money and good looks to manipulate every woman stupid enough to fall for his bullshit.
