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What's Done In the Dark(7)

By:ReShonda Tate Billingsley


“Me either,” Steven said softly. At that moment his hand brushed up against my thigh. His touch sent shivers up my spine, and I was shocked. I’ll admit, I was hurt when I’d learned Steven and Paula were dating, but I blamed myself, so that forced me to bury those feelings. But if they were buried, why in the world were they being resurrected now?

“Why did you fix me up with Paula?” he asked me.

I wanted to tell him that was my biggest regret in life. But Paula was my best friend. I would never utter those words. “I . . . I had met Greg and, I don’t know, I just thought you and Paula would get along. I mean, I didn’t know you’d fall in love and get married and I’d have to see you forever.” I managed a smile.

He didn’t return my smile. “You told me you saw me as more of a brother. That you didn’t want me.”

My mind raced back to that day, the day before he was supposed to marry Paula. He’d come to me because he “needed to be sure” that he was doing the right thing. This man was about to marry my best friend. I was one of her bridesmaids. What was I supposed to say? “I thought I didn’t want you. I convinced myself that I didn’t want you,” I said, my voice shaking.

“I knew you did.” His voice was husky as he leaned in closer. “I know you do.”

Now was the time for me to tell him that he was out of his mind. To reiterate that no matter what I used to feel, we’d chosen our paths in life. But my feelings swam around in my brain and no words would come out.

“Have you ever wanted something so bad, something that you’d denied yourself for years?” he stood over me and whispered in my ear. His hot breath tickled my neck.

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t say a word because all kinds of conflicting emotions were running through my body. We sat in silence for a few moments. Finally he said, “You shouldn’t drive tonight. Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“I’m not going home tonight,” I found myself saying.

He waited, then said, “Me either.”

I knew we were about to venture into dangerous territory, but I couldn’t help it as my hand covered his. His touch was electrifying, and I didn’t know whether to run or collapse into his arms.

He pulled himself away and motioned to the bartender. “Can I close out my tab?”

We didn’t say a word as the bartender rang him up. For a minute, I wondered if Steven was about to take off running as he nervously shifted from side to side.

After signing the credit card receipt and stuffing his copy in his wallet, Steven turned back to me.

“I’m going to get a room,” he finally said. “Wait right here.”

He didn’t wait for me to reply as he hurried off toward the front desk. Everything inside of me was saying get up and go. Right now. Go home before it was too late. But go home to what? A husband who no longer knew how to make me feel like a woman? A husband who hadn’t seen me in years. A husband who thought so little of our relationship that he would forget our wedding anniversary? No, I had nothing to go home to.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but Steven came back, leaned over me, and whispered, “Room 527. I’ll understand if you don’t show.” He eased a room key into my hand, and his touch sent more chills through my body. I took the key and didn’t turn to watch him as he walked away.





5


Paula


PEACE. THAT WAS A WELCOME sound in my home, so I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and relished the quiet.

The kids were finally in bed, and my mom was still out. A part of me wanted to be mad that Steven wasn’t home yet—it was after midnight—but our argument had been pretty ugly, and he probably was going to get drunk with Kevin and talk about what a horrible wife I was.

That actually made me sad because I really didn’t want to be a horrible wife to Steven. I just had so much bitterness and resentment, and I didn’t know how to work past it.

I took a long inhale on my cigarette and let the nicotine work its magic.

“Hey, what are you still doing up?” my mom asked, poking her head out on the deck.

I blew a puff of smoke. “Just enjoying the solitude.”

She eyed my cigarette disapprovingly, and like a child, I mashed it out. “How was bingo?”

She shrugged as she sat down next to me. “I didn’t win. Lost forty dollars. I don’t know why the Lord won’t answer my prayer to hit it big.”

I couldn’t help but laugh because she was dead serious. My mom had a warped view of religion. She was the only person I knew who would watch The Passion of the Christ on bootleg video while reading the Bible she took from a hotel.