An American Marriage(64)

“It took me a year to learn how to sleep without Olive, if you call what I do at night sleeping.”

I nodded again and drank. Photos of Roy at various ages watched me from the dark-paneled walls. “How is he?” I asked. “How is Roy making out?”

Big Roy shrugged. “As good as you could expect having spent five years locked away for something he didn’t do. He lost so much, and not only Olive. Before this, Roy was on the track, you know. He did everything he was supposed to do, got way farther than me. And then . . .”

I flopped back in the seat. “Roy knew I was coming. Why did he take off on his own?”

Big Roy took a judicious sip and bent his expression into something similar to a smile but not quite. “Let me start by saying that I appreciate you playing a role in my wife’s home-going. When you grabbed that other shovel, I know you were sincere. I appreciate you for that, too. I am honest right now in thanking you.”

“You don’t have to say thank you,” I said. “I was just—”

But then he cut me off. “But, son, I know what you’re doing. I know what you came to tell Little Roy. You got a thing going on with Celestial.”

“Sir, I—”

“Don’t try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it. I was going to say that I didn’t want to discuss it with you. It’s between me and Roy.”

“It’s between her and Roy. They are the ones married.”

“He has been gone five years,” I said. “And we thought he had about seven more to go.”

“But he’s out now,” Big Roy said. “Those two are legally married. Young people don’t respect the institution. But I’ll tell you, back when I married Olive, marriage was so sacred that everyone aimed for a wife that was fresh, just out of her father’s house. They tried to warn me away from her because she had a child, but I didn’t listen to nothing but my heart.”

“Sir,” I said. “I can’t say what I think about the institution in general, but I know where things stand with me and Celestial.”

“But you don’t know where things stand with Roy and her. That’s the only thing I care about. I don’t give a damn about you and your feelings. Only thing that matters to me is my boy.” Big Roy shifted forward; I thought he was going to hit me, but he reached for the remote and activated the television. On the screen, a chef was demonstrating some kind of miracle blender.

I didn’t say anything for maybe a minute until the phone rang, long and loud like a fire alarm.

“I thought you said it was disconnected.”

“I lied,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t have figured you for this,” I said, betrayed. I was tired of being subjected to the whims of fathers—Roy’s, Celestial’s, and my own. “I thought you were about honor. Your word is your bond, all of that.”

“You know”—this time he was smiling—“I felt bad about telling you that lie, until you believed it.” Now the smile bent into a smirk. “Tell me, do I look like someone who can’t pay my bills?”

He chuckled, low and slow, but built up momentum with every breath. I swiveled my head, looking around for hidden cameras. This day was unspooling like a romantic comedy, one in which I don’t get the girl.

“Come on,” Big Roy said. “Sometimes all you can do is laugh.” And I did. At first, I was driven by an urge to be polite, to humor an old man, but something in my chest lubricated and I cackled like a crazy person, the way you let loose when you suspect that God isn’t laughing with you but laughing at you.

“But let me tell you one thing more,” he said, cutting off his chuckle like water at a tap. “I’m happy to let you stay the night, but I’m asking you not to use my phone. You have been alone with Celestial for what, five years? You had all that time to make a case for yourself. Give Roy this one night. I see that you feel the need to fight for her, but let it be a fair fight.”

“I want to check and make sure she’s all right.”

“She’s all right. You know Roy Junior isn’t going to harm her. Besides, she knows the number. If she had something to say, she would have called you.”

“But that could have been her calling a little while ago.”

The elder Roy picked up the remote again like a gavel. When he shut off the television, the room was so quiet that I could hear the crickets outside. “Listen, I’m doing for Roy what your own father would do for you.”





Celestial


I used to see him sometimes, so I had become accustomed to the stuttered breath, the dancing hairs on my suddenly cold arms and neck. You can live with ghosts. Gloria says that her mother returned to her every Sunday morning for over a year. Gloria would be looking in the mirror rouging her lips, and over her left shoulder was her mother, freshly buried, but alive again in the glass. Sometimes she hoisted me on her hip. “Do you see your nana?” All I could see was my own reflection, ribboned and ready for Sunday school. “It’s okay,” Gloria said. “She can see you.” My father thinks this is ridiculous. His denomination, he says, is Empiricism. If you can’t count it, measure it, or gauge it with science, it didn’t happen. Gloria didn’t mind that he didn’t believe her because she enjoyed having her mirror mother all to herself.