I hadn’t written more than a sentence in the obituary when my doorbell rang. I don’t even know who let her in, but I looked up to see Felise standing awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen. At the sight of my best friend, I jumped from my seat and raced over to her. I couldn’t help but fall into her arms.
“Shhh, come on, sweetie. It’s going to be okay,” she said, stroking my hair.
“It’s never going to be okay again,” I cried, clutching her tightly. She let me cry for a few moments, until finally I pulled back and said, “How am I going to make it without him? I haven’t worked in years. Shoot, I don’t even know how much money we have in the bank!”
“I’m sure Steven had insurance money. You guys will be taken care of,” Felise said soothingly.
For the first time, I realized I didn’t care about the money. I just wanted my husband.
“I know.” I sniffed. I sat back down at the table and pointed to the mostly blank piece of paper in my hand. “Trying to do this obituary is killing me. I just can’t believe he’s gone. And the way he died, it’s just not adding up.”
She blinked, like she was spooked. “What are they saying?”
“They still think it was his heart. They’re doing an autopsy now.” The police officer handling Steven’s case was getting tired of me. I called that man four to five times a day. And every time I got the same answer: nothing.
“There was no investigation because police said, as of now, it appears to be natural causes,” I added.
My mom shook her head as she walked over. I didn’t fail to notice that she didn’t bother speaking to Felise.
“Ain’t nothing natural about a man dying so young.” She squeezed my hand. “But you be strong. I know you may not believe me, but you will make it through this.”
I heard what she was saying. I just couldn’t, for the life of me, see how I’d ever be able to do it.
19
Felise
I GROANED AT THE SIGHT of my sister, Mavis.
“What? Don’t give me that look,” she said, pushing past me and into Fran’s living room. I knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep her nose out of my business. After all, Mavis made her living minding other people’s business.
“Have you come to your senses and confessed yet?” She glared at me through judgmental eyes as she plopped down in the recliner.
Fran took my arm and pulled me inside since I was still standing there with the door wide open.
“Mavis, don’t come over here starting nothing,” she said. “If I had known you were going to be doing all of this, I wouldn’t have even invited you.”
I glared at Fran. “Why did you invite her?”
“Because Mama’s gone and I have to be the voice of reason,” Mavis said, cutting her eyes at Fran. “Because obviously your little sister is not.”
“Whatever. Don’t try to make me feel guilty.”
“You are guilty,” Mavis said. “And you are going to end up in the pen right along with Felise.”
“I’m too cute for the pen,” Fran said, striking a pose. “The guards and the prisoners would be fighting over me—men and women. Unh-unh, I can’t be doing all that. Shoot, I can’t even visit the pen, which is why we need to make sure Miss Guilty Conscience sticks to the plan.”
Mavis crossed her legs like she was getting comfortable, which wasn’t a good sign. I’d come over here to get my head together. If Mavis was here, that meant I was in for a long lecture.
“So for real, Felise. What are you going to do?” she asked.
“She’s going to do exactly what she’s been doing,” Fran said, snuggling back into her seat on the sofa. “Play it cool.”
“How can you live with yourself?” Mavis asked. “I know the guilt has to be eating you alive. I mean for God’s sake, you’re the godmother of her child.”
“Thanks for reminding me, Mavis,” I mumbled. “I can always count on you to make me feel better.”
“You know how I do,” Mavis replied. “I am going to make you feel better. But I’m going to make you feel worse first. Maybe that will keep you from making this mistake again.”
That elicited a painful laugh. “Trust me, I won’t be sneaking up to my best friend’s husband’s hotel room ever again. I won’t be sneaking to any man’s room, not after last time,” I said.
Fran frowned and pointed a narrow finger at Mavis. “Don’t start beating her up! She beats herself up enough. Now, here you come. That’s why don’t nobody like having your judgmental self around! Every time you open your mouth, you always want to talk about somebody else.”