How to explain? Maybe I can plead temporary insanity. It wasn’t drink. Two sips of red wine is hardly drinking. Something misfired in my head and messed me up real good. Jesus, I hope nobody saw us. He wouldn’t tell anybody. Or maybe he will because men like to boast to one another. That is a sure way for things to come out. I could text later. Or call. What if the wife answers his phone? Best to wait till Monday. Maybe he’ll ring later. If he gets a chance. He didn’t say he would. I’m assuming any decent man would ring or text to make sure everything’s cool. Imagine if he rang and Solo picked up my phone? The child would get suspicious one time. And what if Mr. Chetan finds out? I would feel so shame. Oh shit.
My bedroom door creaked open a little, then a little more. Solo’s head poked through. When he saw me awake his face lit up and he dived into the bed.
—You don’t find you getting too big for this?
—Nope.
I squeezed him tight. His long body was warm. I planted a noisy kiss on the top of his head. Only when he’s half sleepy I can steal away a few kisses. Otherwise Mister Man feels he’s too big for love-up. The days of getting a goodbye kiss by the school gate gone long time.
—I remember one time we took you by a friend and they asked you how old you were and you said four and three quarter. And the person said well that means you’re still four and you said no. Four and three quarter. You had everybody laughing.
—And what else?
—I remember that your favorite toy was a mop. Always mopping. You even had your own small mop because you wanted one like mine. People used to say I was using you as child labor.
I squeezed my baby and kissed his forehead.
—Go back to sleep. It’s not even six o’clock yet.
—I prefer your bed.
—Sleep here then.
He pulled one of the two pillows my head was resting on.
—You didn’t come home till late late.
My stomach did a backflip.
—I told you I was going out with church people.
Technically that was in the vicinity of truth. Technically. I was trying to breathe normally, buying time to see where this talk was going. God is love. Solo snuggled down and fell back asleep. No more questions—at least not now. But what doesn’t come out in the wash will come out in the rinse. Hopefully this washing and rinsing won’t happen until we get we story straight. When will I see him again? How will I see him? He can’t come here. Obviously, his house is out of the question. I’m not sleeping in another woman’s bed. And I’m not holing up in no car again. We were an easy target. All it would have taken was one worthless bandit on the block. How exactly would I explain that? Worse yet, suppose one or both of us took a bullet and ended up dead. These days they don’t just rob you. No. After they take your money, and whatever jewelry they want, is a bullet in your brain.
And my son? Mr. Chetan would want Solo. I know that. Since he’s not blood I can’t ask him to stand in for me. My parents would take him in but I don’t trust them to bring up my boy properly. I know for a fact Sunil’s family don’t care. None of them does take up the phone and check to see if we’re alive or dead. His brother, Hari, was the only one who was halfway decent but he wouldn’t take Solo under his hand. When me and Sunil first started to talk and thing Hari was already married. But having a ring on his left hand didn’t stop him knocking about with all kind of other woman. To besides he gone New York and forget us. I don’t mind for me but Solo is his nephew. It would kill him to buy a birthday card or a Christmas card and put a stamp? Anyhow, nothing bad happened last night, for which I must give thanks, yes. Today could have been the start of a completely different story.
I eased out the bed quiet quiet even though I knew Solo was asleep. If I stayed he would pick up my anxious vibes. Once coffee begins trickling through my veins I’ll be fine. The neighbor opposite is an early riser too and we exchanged good mornings across the fence. She’s an artist plus she brings out a small carnival band every year. Old-fashioned mas with proper costumes. As an extra bonus, she’s also mad no ass. I like her. Sheets of plyboard were all over her driveway. I leaned over the porch banister and asked what she was making. The woman watch me with a straight face and said she was making her coffin because normal coffins are too boring. Her final resting place will be decorated with flowers, vines, and trees she plans to paint. I didn’t know what to say. She can’t be fifty yet and she don’t look sick. Maybe she was giving me a six for a nine but with her it could well be the truth. Madness. Making your own coffin? That’s a new one on me.
Kiskadee song is the main noise in this early morning half-light. Perhaps because they are here every morning I’d stopped hearing them. Today I heard them clearly. My whole world seems brighter, lighter, but this can’t happen again. I should be on my knees begging forgiveness. He is a next woman’s man. Mind you, he said they don’t have relations. Not like that. People living in one house but passing each other like two jumbie. She should know better. A nice, fit man like that. Well if she won’t look after her husband then she should expect somebody else will do the looking after for she. It was me this time. Next time it could be someone who takes him for good. And it’s not like I’m some young girl scoping for a sugar daddy. True he paid for the Chinese food. But. But. But. Betty Ramdin, every thought has a “but” in it. Watch how your life will turn inside out, upside down, if the man’s wife finds out. What if she reached by the school and started to make noise? Or she came by the house? Imagine the shame. Nah. That won’t happen. How she go know? Like I said, by rights if she didn’t want the man to stray, she should have taken care of business. It’s not like I’m whoring down the place. As God is my witness this is the first time I’ve been with a man since my husband and he passed long time.
Footsteps from inside told me Mr. Chetan was up. A few minutes later he drifted onto the porch.
—Morning. Coffee? I’m making.
—Thanks.
He returned with my coffee. I could bet house and land that it’s exactly the way I like it—strong, a tups of milk, and a few grains of sugar, hardly worth putting in but it makes all the difference to me. We sat in silence. It was killing me to say something, to make an excuse about last night. Of course, I don’t need to explain myself to a soul. I’m a hard back, forty-year-old woman, not a teenager who broke her curfew. It’s my business what I do.
—Last night Solo was trying his best to stay up for you. I told him to leave you in peace. I said it’s once in a blue moon she takes time for herself. Did he message you?
—If? I put the phone on silent because he was texting every five minutes. Checking up on me. My father and my husband both done dead, God rest their souls. I’m not letting no man rule me.