Page 12 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
“Look, I didn’t know he was in a relationship,” Vanna replied. “And yes, I did ask. So, my bad for believing the lie. But the rest of what you’re tryin’ to toss at me is unnecessary. Like I said, I’m leaving, and you can deal with your man however you see fit.”
“Vanna,” Tyson said, finally turning around and looking at her like he thought for one second she was the one he needed to be addressing right now.
“Uh-uhn,” she told him and pressed the button on the key fob she’d been holding. “Save the explanations for the woman I presume is carrying your child. You kept me company tonight, we danced and laughed, and now it’s time to say good night.” Even though not five minutes ago,she’d been ready to end it in a totally different—and hopefully more satisfying—fashion.
She had the door open and had climbed in before Tyson could say another word to her. That was probably also due to the fact that the woman had taken that opportunity to step to him and slap the next words straight out of his mouth.
That was definitely Vanna’s cue to leave, so she started the truck and peeled out of that parking lot as if the police were chasing her. A glance back in her rearview mirror showed Tyson grabbing the woman’s wrist before she could land another slap, and Vanna thought the police would probably really be coming along soon.
She was halfway home when the laughter started.It’s better than crying,she thought, and continued to chuckle until there were tears in her eyes. This hadn’t been how she pictured the night turning out. On her agenda, especially since she’d ventured out alone, was at the very least one good-ass orgasm. And she was okay with it simply being good—this time—just to take the edge off.
It hadn’t escaped her that this desire to be with a man had probably been amplified—like her entire mood—by the events of this week. That thought sobered her.
It had taken almost a year after separating from Caleb for her to get back into the dating scene. For all intents and purposes, she was still a married woman. But that really wasn’t as big of a deal as it seemed. Conversations with Granny and her friends during Sunday-afternoon card games at the senior building revealed they’d known more than a few couples who had gone their separate ways but never bothered with making the split legal. That had been for a variety of reasons—some financial, where the women wanted to remain wifey by law long enough to be eligible for half of his pension and/or social security benefits, some where he left and she was cool with it as long as he still paid all the bills in her house and took care of the kids. The reasons were always personal and often judged by others, but as Granny had frequently said, “Whatever floats your boat.”
A heavy sigh as she gripped the steering wheel had guilt stirring in the pit of Vanna’s stomach. If she had divorced Caleb, she wouldn’t have the responsibility of burying him on her shoulders right now. Or perhaps not. Gail wasn’t much smarter—or responsible, for that matter—than her son had been. So it was likely—if Vanna had still decided to keep that insurance policy—that this would’ve fallen in her lap anyway. Would she have said no then? She didn’t know, and it was futile to consider it now.
What she did let her thoughts roam to was the fact that she had terrible luck with men. That thought had her shaking her head and chuckling again at the scene that had played out in that parking lot. Wait until she told Ronni and Jamaica about this. A red light brought her to a stop, and she took that moment to turn on the radio. She was about to bypass the oldies R & B station to find the classic hip-hop one she had automatically programmed in her vehicle, but stopped when she heard a familiar song.
“Yaaasssss!” she shouted, then started bobbing her head to the beat. “I don’t want no scrub.” She sang that line and the rest of TLC’s hit tune “No Scrubs” like she was part of the phenomenal singing trio herself.
Chapter 5
August 8
Vanna slipped on her sunglasses as she stepped out of Ronni’s Atlas. They were at the cemetery; the hour-and-a-half-long funeral service had ended about twenty minutes ago.
Almost finished,she told herself as she tightened the belt to the navy-blue jumpsuit she wore. Since they would only be a short distance away from the car and she already had a glob of tissue in her hand, she slid her purse under the passenger seat and closed the door. After leaving the funeral home, Ronni had cut in front of the black town car carrying Gail, Cher, Cher’s husband, Ezekiel, and their twin daughters so that they were riding directly behind the hearse.
“How you gonna act like you’re VIP when you didn’t put up a dime to pay for this?” Ronni asked with a shrug when Vanna stared at her in disbelief.
She wasn’t lying, so Vanna stayed silent for the remainder of the ride.
Granny drove her own car, and so did Jamaica. They’d pulled up right behind Ronni and were now climbing out of their vehicles as well. It was the brightest and hottest day of the summer—or at least, that’s what it felt like—and Vanna couldn’t wait to get home, take a shower, and lie across her bed. Every second of every day since Monday had been a task, one that Vanna was beyond ready to be done with.
Gail had called her multiple times each day, with one insensitive remark or twenty ridiculous questions each time. At one point, Vanna seriously considered blocking her, but she knew that would only result in the pain-in-the-ass woman showing up on her doorstep, and that was the absolute last thing she wanted.
“Right this way, Mrs. Carlson,” Katherine Greenwood, the funeral director, said when she came to stand beside Vanna.
Behind Katherine was Minister Alita Stevenson, who led the women’s ministry at Vanna’s church and had agreed to officiate the services. Vanna stepped carefully over the grass, silently chastising herself for not changing out of the black pumps she’d worn. Ronni stood directly to her left, and Granny and Jamaica were behind her. She didn’t bother to look back to see who else had followed them from the funeral home, because she didn’t care.
Sitting in that room earlier, just a few feet away from the smoke-gray casket she’d selected for Caleb, had been the most unnerving thing she’d ever done in her life. Yesterday, she’d had to force herself to make the trip to the funeral home to view his body. Katherine had insisted it had to be done but had also asked if Vanna wanted Gail to do it. To that, Vanna had given an adamant no. If Gail hadn’t signed any checks, she had zero consent abilities. She’d told her former mother-in-law that more than a dozen times this week, and the woman continued to push the envelope.
So, Granny had come with her.
“He looks good,” Granny said as they’d stood beside the casket.
In all her life, with the numerous funerals she’d attended, Vanna had never heard anyone say the dead body didn’t look good. She supposed this was the standard comment. Still, she was frozen to that spot, her gaze locked on the man dressed in a black suit and bow tie in the ice-blue and slate-gray colors of his fraternity. She’d recalled the names of a few of his frat brothers and, with Jamaica’s help—because she kept in touch with everybody and their mother after college—had been able to get word to them about Caleb’s passing. Her heart thumped wildly,tears pooling into her eyes immediately, but she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t glance at him, give a nod of approval, and then run out of that place like she’d planned to do. No, she’d simply stood there, shaking all over.
She’d loved this man. Had kissed him, made love with him, planned her adult life with him, and now he was gone. And she shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t hurt. Yet she did.
“They did a good job with his face, considering how puffed up you said it was the first time you saw him,” Granny had said, interrupting Vanna’s sadness.
“I want a closed casket,” Vanna announced. “He wouldn’t want this to be the last memory of him people had.”
The mortician had done a good job on Caleb’s face, just as Granny said, and the clothes he wore were new. Caleb used any occasion to get a new outfit. His lineup was crisp, the low beard he’d been wearing cleaned up as well. But there was obviously swelling at his neck and around his ears. Katherine had called her on Monday about some mark on his neck that Vanna hadn’t recalled seeing at the ME’s office. She couldn’t see it now either, probably because the collar of his shirt was covering it. But this wasn’t the Caleb she’d known. Not the handsome man she’d married.
“He was a conceited little bastard,” Granny had quipped. “So I guess that makes sense.”
