The Side Effects of You Page 10

  “It’s not a sin, Ann, but at the rate you’re going, it soon will be.”

  I laughed. I laughed loud and hard. I laughed so hard, he looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you, woman? What the hell are you laughing so hysterically about?” he asked. That was typical Pastor Young. He used a certain demeaning tone with me that I hated, just to make himself feel in charge, I figured.

  “You are, like, the biggest fraud that I’ve ever known. I mean, you’re standing here, scolding me and giving me a mini-sermon on drinking, when Christ himself drank wine. And according to the scriptures, sweetheart, he drank plenty of it. I’m not a fool. I have a sound mind, and even though you are the head honcho in this matrimony setup, you’re the one that God is looking at, not me. I’m not a sinner. I’m not a liar, adulterer, drunk, or fornicator. Although I should have been all of the above, since you and I haven’t behaved like a married couple in God only knows how long. You’re such a hypocrite.”

  “Woman, what is wrong with you? What’s gotten into you? Whatever Satan has slid in and done to you, you need to be anointed and prayed over right away.”

  He was nervous. I could see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “Me? Me? Me? I need to be anointed? The Word of God says that we shall live by every word of God, not pick and choose what makes us comfortable, Pastor Young. You’re trying to hit me with things that are not unrighteous, like drinking. There is no sin in drinking. But you! You stand here like a pillar of righteousness, when I know you’re a fraud and you are doing something that God says is an abomination against Him.”

  “Ann, I don’t know what you are doing or what you are talking about, but you are apparently out of your mind.”

  “Out of my mind?” I yelled. I went for my Bible that sat on the counter and handed it to him.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Read Leviticus 20:13,” I shouted.

  “I don’t need the Bible to read that. I know what it says.”

  “Do you, Pastor Young? Do you? I know you know what it says, but I want to hear that scripture from your mouth. Just like you have made me recite Proverbs to you, about a virtuous woman, I want you to recite that verse to me,” I demanded.

  Finally, he did. His demeanor changed to defensive.

  When he was done, I said. “Now turn to First Corinthians 6:9.”

  “Ann, what are you doing?”

  “Doing exactly what you have done to me. Showing you in the Word how you have failed in this marriage, failed as a pastor, failed as a so-called representative of God.”

  “I’m done with this,” he said and put the Bible down on the island.

  “Why? Huh? Is there something you want to confess to me, Pastor Young?” I knew he knew where I was going, but he’d never confess. I had other plans. This secret was going to be revealed today. Whether he liked it or not.

  “Is there something you want to confess to me?” he asked. “Are you sleeping with another man or, better yet, a woman? Did one of your clients turn you out?”

  How dare he asked me something so disgusting? First, I took a sip of my wine. I decided I had to confront him head-on right now. Then I decided to polish off my glass. What I had to say took balls, and since I had ovaries and there was no trace of a nut sack in my makeup, I needed the wine to give me valor.

  “I don’t have anything to confess to you, Jeremiah. I have been a faithful wife to you since the day we stood before God and exchanged vows. Even though I’ve been miserable for the past two-plus years, I’m here, making the best of this sad situation. But at the same time, I’ve prayed and asked God to help me, to give me a way out, if that was His will, or a reason to stay, if that was His will, and you know what, Pastor?”

  He looked at me strangely. “What, Ann? What? You’re acting like a lunatic.”

  “No, no, baby. I’m not crazy. I’m just finally free. God has answered my prayers.”

  “What? What are you talking about, Ann?”

  “I know your secret.”

  “What secret?” he said, in a panic. I could see him shaking. “What are you talking about? Has some member come to you with false accusations about me doing something inappropriate?”

  “Oh, so you mess with the female members too?”

  “What?” he yelled.

  It was time to get to it. I changed my tone and said softly, “How long have you been involved with him, Jeremiah?”

  “Him who? Ann, what are you babbling about?”

  “You and Franklin. And don’t you dare stand there and lie to my face.”

  A look of fear, shock, and surprise crossed his face. “Where did you get something so insane from? He is my chief of staff, Ann. What would make you come up with something so insane? You know that is an abomination against our God.”

  “Our God, Jeremiah? The God I serve hates sinners like you. You have the nerve to call yourself a man of God? Hell is going to devour your soul if you keep this up. You are in a sexual relationship with him, Jeremiah, and I know it, so don’t deny it, please. It makes it worse when you stand here and lie to my face.” My eyes welled up. “All this time, I have been so hard on myself, thinking that it was me and that our failed marriage was my fault. But that wasn’t it at all. You stopped touching me and stopped loving me because you are interested in another man. How does that fit into your title? You were supposed to be a man of God.”

  He cleared his throat and took a couple of steps in my direction. His eyes turned cold, and his jaw clenched. There were no more traces of fear or nervousness. He reached for my neck. At first, it was a light hold, but then his grasp became firmer.

  Between tight teeth, he said, “You have no idea what you are talking about, and this will be the last conversation we have in this house about me carrying on an affair with Franklin. I don’t know who put this crazy idea in your head, woman, but you tell them to back the hell off. I’m warning you, Ann. This is the last time we will have this conversation.

  “Now I’m going to go shower, because I have a meeting at two. I suggest you go and pray about what you have just accused your husband of. If you need more wine to assist in your reassessment, pour another glass or two, but don’t you ever let words of me and Franklin being more than church family and associates come out of your mouth again.”

  He gave me a shove when he released me. I fell into the pantry door, coughing, trying to catch my breath, frightened by his tone and demeanor. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I kept telling myself that that didn’t just happen to me. He had transformed into Satan himself, and for the first time, I was afraid of him.

  Once I stopped coughing uncontrollably, he moved in my direction again. I jumped, but he kissed my forehead.

  “I love you,” he said gently, transforming into another person, not the demon he’d been a few seconds ago, when he cut off my air supply. “And I’ll be home for dinner on time. I’m in the mood for fish. How does that sound?”

  Terrified, I could speak barely above a whisper. “Fish sounds great.”

  “Great,” he said and went toward his bedroom.

  I went for the wine, and as soon as Jeremiah left the house, I called Quentin. I didn’t know who else to call. I started sobbing into the phone as soon as he answered and I couldn’t stop.

  “Calm down, Drea. Calm down, baby, and tell me what happened. Did he hit you?” Quentin asked.

  I was sobbing so hard, I knew he couldn’t understand a word I said, so I took a few deep, cleansing breaths and then started over. “No, he didn’t hit me, but he tried to choke me to death. I’ve never seen him like this, Quentin, and he is so angry, because he knows that I know the truth. I’m terrified.”

  “Pack a bag and come to my place.”

  “Quentin, I have kids. I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can, baby. Bring your kids. I have five bedrooms. I don’t feel comfortable with you staying there.”

  “He was just angry, Q. He reac
ted irrationally. He wouldn’t hurt me. He just reacted because I confronted him. Jeremiah has never done anything like that before. He’s not going to do anything, Quentin. He is a pastor. I’m sure he doesn’t want to have this bad publicity.”

  “Drea, people are crazy, and no one can be trusted. People kill their spouses every day, and I want you safe. You have to move out at least. You and the kids. I mean, I know your dad still owns rentals. You have a place to go, Andrea.”

  I began to cry again. I couldn’t believe the scene in the kitchen, and I was now terrified of my husband. “I know, Quentin, but for now, I have to stay here to feel him out, you know. If I leave abruptly with the kids, I know that is only going to make matters worse. I’ve never seen him like that before. I mean, it’s like he was another person.”

  “All the more reason for you to pack a bag and get yourself and your kids out of there.”

  “I can’t, Quentin. I will call you later, okay?”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “Okay, and if you need me, call me. If he puts his hands on you again, Andrea, you dial the police right away. Don’t try to fight him, baby. If something were to happen to you, I’d go insane.”

  “I’ll be okay. I’ll call you later.” I hung up and headed to the grocery store for fish. I had to play nice, because Jeremiah had me on edge. During the episode in the kitchen, it was like I was standing before a stranger. I didn’t know what else he was capable of.

  Hell, he was having an affair with another man for sure and, judging by his comment, maybe with female members of the church too. All I knew was I didn’t want to rock the boat until I was sure what was really going on in my house. I had to relax and play it by ear. One thing I did know was that Jeremiah was definitely not the man he pretended to be.

  I had to get away from him and soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Samantha

  I sat in my office in a daze. I had avoided Ethan for the past couple of days, and I knew that wouldn’t last much longer. He was begging me to spend time with him. I had to tell him. I just didn’t know the words to say.

  “Lord, why me?” I asked again. And again, I heard nothing. Just as I stood to go back on the floor to work, one of my employees, Amy, tapped on my open door.

  “Yes, darling?” I said.

  “There is a man out here who wants to see you,” Amy replied.

  I was sure it was Ethan. I knew he’d show up sooner or later. We had talked, but I was hiding behind work.

  “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.” I went over to the mirror. I was looking sexy, even though I had on a Sammie’s polo and khakis. I headed out of my office, but when I looked around the restaurant, I didn’t see him. That was strange.

  I approached Amy, who was at the front of the restaurant. “Amy, didn’t you say someone was here for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. At table nineteen.” She pointed.

  I looked over at that section. “Oh, my Lord,” I said out loud when I saw him. It was Charles, my ex, the last person I wanted to see. “Thanks,” I whispered as I walked off. I headed in Charles’s direction, wondering why he thought it was okay to show up at my damn restaurant.

  “Sam.” He smiled as I approached.

  “Charles, why on earth are you here? I told you never to come here.”

  “Well, it’s been a long time, and I miss your cooking. I was hoping I could get you to make me some of that stuffed chicken that I love, and please, please add mushrooms. You know I love it with mushrooms.”

  “Why are you really here?”

  “For your stuffed chicken. Come on, Sam, I’m not trying to make waves, okay? I miss your cooking, babe, and this is the only way I can enjoy what I’ve been missing.”

  Last I’d heard, he’d married a woman half his age. “Where is Shana?” I asked.

  “Well, let’s just say that didn’t work out.”

  “Go figure.” I rolled my eyes.

  He grabbed my hand, and I tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t let me. “Listen, Sam, I don’t have an agenda or anything up my sleeve, okay? I just came to eat, and if you’d join me, we can catch up.”

  “I don’t need to catch up with you,” I said. I snatched my hand away. “You are the last person I want to break bread with.”

  “Because you still think I gave you—”

  I cut him off. “Don’t you dare say it! And yes, you know you did.” I looked around. No one was in earshot, but I didn’t want him to announce my business.

  “I didn’t do it, Sam, and still, to this day, I don’t have it.”

  I looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, and I told you a thousand times during our marriage and after our marriage, it wasn’t me. When you told me, I went to see my doctor, and he said I was clean. Why you don’t or wouldn’t believe me, I can’t understand.”

  “Because I was clean until you.”

  “Maybe you weren’t.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve done a little research on it, Sam, and that can lie dormant in your system for years. It wasn’t me,” he said.

  I just stood there staring.

  He went on. “I’d take another test and another test and another to prove to you I wasn’t messing around on you.”

  “Man, please.” I tried to walk away, but he got up and grabbed me.

  “Sam, I loved you. I would have stayed with you after you were diagnosed, because in all that time, you never gave it to me. You are the one that’s convinced it was me. I was tested four more times after we divorced, and still, I don’t have it.” He looked sincere. He sounded sincere, but it was impossible.

  This wasn’t the time or the place for such a discussion, and I hated that I thought he was telling the truth. I snatched my arm away from his grasp and changed the subject. “Do you want rice or potatoes with your chicken?”

  “Rice and broccoli,” he said.

  I headed to the kitchen. There I snatched an apron from a hook, put on a hairnet, and prepared his dish myself. When I finished, I picked up his plate, walked over to his table to serve him, and stood there until he took his first bite.

  He chewed like there was a party going on in his mouth. “Still as delicious as the last time I had it,” he finally said and smiled. I was tempted to sit and ask him more about this herpes-free thing, but I decided to move around the restaurant.

  “Enjoy,” I said and walked away.

  I got back to work and tried to keep my eyes away from his direction, but it wasn’t happening. Charles was Idris Elba fine, with swagger. He was not really tall, under six feet, but his body was nice and tight. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest hung a shirt like none other, and his stomach was a tongue’s playground. He had chocolate skin and low-cut salt-and-pepper hair, and his beard and mustache framed his masculine face to perfection.

  He was a successful mortgage broker, and when we were together, he had done everything in his power to make me smile. Yes, he had worked late a lot of evenings, and I had had doubts that he was faithful, but I had never had any proof, until that first outbreak.

  I woke up feeling a little funny down there, and later, it was itchy as hell. Convinced it was a yeast infection coming on, I hit Walgreens for some Monistat. On day four things went from bad to worse, and when I touched my area, I felt little bumps. Not sure what was going on, I called my doctor and made an appointment. By the time I got to the doctor’s office, I was burning severely.

  As soon as my doctor took a look, she uttered that evil word but said she still had to do a test. Four days later, I got the confirmation call, and when I confronted Charles, he played crazy.

  “You have what?” he said.

  “Herpes, damn it! How could you do this!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  “Do what? I don’t have herpes, Sam, and you need to get a second opinion. I’m fine.”

  “Let me see your dick,” I ordered.

&
nbsp; “What? You’re not serious?”

  “I am.”

  He undid his pants and dropped his undergarments. I didn’t see a bump or a blister.

  “Are you happy now?” he muttered.

  “Well, you must have it, Charles. I didn’t just get it out of the air.”

  “No, you didn’t. Where did you get it?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I snarled.

  “No. I’m not cheating on you, Sam, nor have I ever cheated. You have herpes, and I know damn well I didn’t give it to you.”

  “Impossible, Charles. We’ve been married six years, and we were together for two before that. I’ve never stepped out on you.”

  “And I’ve never stepped out on you,” he insisted.

  “Well, you have to get tested.”

  “I will.”

  The next day he called his doctor and arranged to have the test, and a week later he told me that the test results came back clear. I didn’t believe him.

  “I need to see the results,” I told him.

  “I don’t have them, Sam. They called me.”

  “Who did you pay to lie?”

  “What? Are you serious? That’s absurd, Sam. Are you kidding me?”

  “I’ve never cheated on you!” I cried.

  “And I’ve never cheated on you!” he retorted. I didn’t believe him.

  “You must have done something, Charles. I want you to leave.”

  “No, I’m not leaving. You are the one with herpes, Sam, so you leave,” he countered. “You said you’ve never stepped out, but I’m clear, and that means you did something you are not telling me.”

  “That’s bullshit, Charles. You charmed some nurse or paid someone off to say you’re clean.”

  “Samantha, you are crazy, and if anyone is leaving, it’s you, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Fine.” I stormed out of the room, ran upstairs, grabbed a suitcase, and began to pack. He was a liar. And I knew he was the only one who could have given me this awful virus. I left that day and ignored his attempts to talk to me.

  He did try to reconcile with me, but I didn’t trust him. I didn’t believe that he was clean, for one, and I definitely didn’t believe that I had got herpes out of midair. After six months of arguing and pointing a finger of blame, I filed for divorce. In court, my husband at the time asked the judge not to grant our divorce and asked me to come home. I thought about the last painful breakout I had had and told my lawyer to tell him, “Hell, no.”