Chapter 3
August 2
“I’m not gonna make it tonight,” Jamaica said.
“What?” Vanna screeched, then caught herself and rubbed her free hand over her forehead. “What do you mean you can’t make it?” she asked. “It’s the first night of the first FFSF weekend.”
She stood then and walked around her desk so she could close the door to her office.
“I’m mad that you even gave it that silly-ass name,” Jamaica said with a chuckle. “You know you can just call it your birthday celebration, part one , or something like that.”
“I can also call it FFSF, because it’s my birthday celebration,” Vanna replied, and made her way back to her chair. “Just like when you planned your fortieth-birthday trip and called it Jamaica Turns Forty in Jamaica.”
“That’s because that was cute and you know it.” Jamaica laughed again. “And we had a ball!”
“Yes, we did,” Vanna said, releasing the deep breath she’d taken. She didn’t want to go off on Jamaica, especially while she was in the office. “And I didn’t say a word about what you named your celebration. I just went along with every single thing you had planned. Even that part where all of us had to buy the same purple bathing suit to wear on the yacht that we had to help you pay for.”
“Well, y’all were gonna be on there, drinking and eating too, so it made sense that everybody pitch in.”
Vanna propped her elbows on her desk and frowned. “Whatever, girl. That was last year. This is my fortieth celebration, and you know I’ve taken my time to plan out each weekend this month so we can get in the maximum amount of party time.”
“I still think one weeklong trip would’ve been a better idea,” Jamaica added.
“That’s because you work for the government and have a bunch of paid vacation time, plus sick time and all those other holidays y’all get.”
“Now, you know we don’t get holidays at the jail. We’re open seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. As a matter of fact, I’m supposed to be working right now, but I took a break to come outside and call you when I could’ve just sent a text.”
“You really would’ve sent a text to cancel on me tonight? Damn, J, that’s foul.” Vanna didn’t want to sound like she was whining, but like she’d just said—damn! This was the kickoff to the festivities. She, Jamaica, and Ronni were supposed to hit Glitz, an upscale nightclub, tonight. They were doing dinner, drinks, and dancing, just the three of them because Vanna wanted the kickoff to be with those she was closest to.
She was also hoping this would be the night she found a viable candidate to end the three-month-long sexual drought she’d been experiencing. Not by choice, but by lack of suitable contenders.
“Look, I’m off this weekend, and Davon has been complaining about us not spending time together. So I figured I’d hang with him tonight, then meet up with you tomorrow for ... What’s happening again tomorrow? I don’t have that long-ass schedule you emailed in front of me.”
Vanna rolled her eyes. “The schedule’s not that long,” Vanna said. “And you and Davon have been a couple for four years—plus, y’all live in the same house. How much more ‘spending time together’ can y’all do?”
“Don’t do that,” Jamaica replied. “When you were sittin’ in that house waiting for Caleb to decide when he would come home, you didn’t hear me complaining.”
“Um, yes, ma’am, you sure did complain. And called me all types of ridiculous for letting him walk all over me. So now I’m returning the favor—the only reason Davon is tossing out that ‘not spending enough time together’ nonsense is because you told him about FFSF, which I told you not to tell him about.”
“You can’t tell me to lie to my man, Vanna. You know that’s not right.”
Drumming her newly painted Pink-ing of You nails on the desk, Vanna replied, “I didn’t say ‘lie,’ I said don’t tell. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, you mean like how Caleb used to not tell you he was taking the mortgage money out of y’all’s account to go to Atlantic City for the weekend?”
Vanna sat back in her chair. “Wow. That was low, J. The man is dead.”
“That’s right. Okay, my bad. But you know what I’m trying to say.”
“I do,” Vanna said, then sighed. “Fine. But you better be at my house bright and early tomorrow for our spa day. I don’t want to miss a minute of my massage or that delicious mud bath because you’re running late. Spend the night with Davon and give him all the goodies you plan to give before ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Jamaica laughed. “Hush up, girl. I’ll be there.”
They talked another few minutes about some mess going on at Jamaica’s job—because there was always drama going on at the jail. Whether it was with inmates or the COs, that place was like a big ol’ soap opera.
It was just after two, and Vanna was planning to leave at four instead of five like she normally did. She hadn’t taken a lunch today, so it wouldn’t throw off her time sheet. As she’d stated to Jamaica, she didn’t have a huge bank of PTO time to use however she pleased. HC Sr. and Jr. were firm on their policy of fourteen days per year, per employee, to be used for vacation, sick, mental health, or I’m-just-sick-of-this-place days. It was an awful policy, one that, unfortunately, Vanna knew a lot of small law firms employed. Sanni and Neshawn complained about it all the time, since they both had children and often had to use their PTO for their kids being sick or out of school as well. She could relate to their complaints—not the part about having children, but the fact that there were only fourteen days for every possible scenario someone might need to miss work was asinine. But her job as office manager was to enforce the policy. Which usually meant the three of them ended up taking a few unpaid days throughout the year—Sanni and Neshawn more than her, since children hadn’t been part of God’s plan for Vanna.
Caleb had been sterile, something she didn’t learn until after they were married. And now that she was turning forty in four weeks, having a baby was only one slot from the bottom on Vanna’s long bucket list.
Her cell rang before she could push it aside and get back to the invoices she was reviewing to be paid. For a second, she started not to answer it, but noticed the DC area code and wondered if it was something about Granny. Vanna was listed as Granny’s contact person on everything, and one of her greatest fears was that something would happen to her grandmother and she might miss the call about it.
So she answered. “Hello?”
“Savannah Carlson?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Maggie from the DC Medical Examiner’s office. I’m just calling to see if you’ve decided on a funeral home and when they’ll be coming to pick up your husband’s body.”
“What?” Frowning, she grabbed a pen and scribbled the woman’s name on her desk blotter. “I told you when I was there the other day that Gail Carlson-Ledwig was authorized to handle all those arrangements.”
“We haven’t heard from anyone by that name. And nobody has come by to pick up the body. The autopsy was completed yesterday. So we’ll only be able to hold the body for another seven days before it’ll be shipped off to a funeral home of our choice and either cremated or buried in an unmarked grave.”
“Wait. What? An autopsy? I thought he drowned.”
“The police ordered an autopsy,” Maggie replied.
“Oh.” That made sense. Or at least, she figured it did. Vanna didn’t know what to think. Between Jamaica’s cancellation and now this, a headache was creeping up.
“Well, I guess I’ll call his mother and remind her,” she said, thinking it was odd that Gail hadn’t taken care of this already. The way that woman doted on Caleb like he was her man instead of child, Vanna thought she would’ve gone down to the ME’s office the second she got herself together the other day.
Obviously not.
“Okay. I’ll have to call you back,” she said.
“That’s fine. Just keep in mind the time frame I just gave you.”
“I will,” Vanna said as she continued writing the information onto the blotter. Once she got this woman off the phone, she’d get her notepad and transfer the information there.
But before she could do that, and just as she disconnected the call and set the phone down on her desk, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened and Neshawn poked her head inside. “Hey, um, this woman is here to see you. She said it’s personal and that you will definitely want to see her.”
“What woman?”
Neshawn’s eyes widened, and then she stepped farther into the office to whisper, “She said she’s your mother-in law.”
Damn. This day just wasn’t getting any better.
Gail wore a floral-print wrap dress and nude-colored flat sandals. She walked slowly into Vanna’s office after Vanna had given Neshawn permission to let Gail in. As she came closer to the desk, Vanna could see that her eyes were puffy and red, her fingers gripping the edge of the clutch she carried.
“Have a seat,” Vanna said as she hurried to get up and walked over to the door to close it.
Once she returned to sit behind her desk, she asked, “How are you doing?”
It looked like the woman wasn’t doing well, and that was understandable. Her only son had died. If there was nothing else in this world that Vanna could say by way of compliment to this woman, the fact that she loved her son was obvious and genuine. Gail also had a daughter, Cher, who was older than Caleb by seven years, but Cher lived in Atlanta with her husband.
“I’m ... I’m ... trying to understand all of this,” Gail replied. “I’ve been walking around my house, hearing him call out to me. But then I go to his room and he’s not there. I fix dinner for him like I always did, but he doesn’t come home to eat it.”
Caleb had missed plenty of dinners when he’d been living with Vanna, but she didn’t mention that. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” she said instead. And she was. Just as she’d told Granny, she’d never wished death on Caleb, and she certainly didn’t wish this type of hurt on Gail. She could not like either of them very much but still not want any harm to come their way. If nothing else, and even for people who didn’t deserve it, Vanna had compassion.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without him,” Gail said, then released a heavy sigh.
“Have you called Cher? Is she coming up here to help you with the arrangements?” Considering the phone call she’d just received, Vanna wasn’t going to let this meeting end without discussing it.
Gail’s eyes widened a bit; then she pressed her thin lips together. Her shoulders rose and settled with the next deep breath she took, and Vanna waited for her to respond.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call and let me know when we needed to go to the funeral home to make the arrangements,” Gail replied.
That wasn’t the answer Vanna was hoping for.
“Why are you waiting for me? I told you the other day that you could go down to the ME’s office and tell them what you wanted to be done with him. I have nothing to do with it,” she said. Even though she had planned to attend the funeral. Had already told Jamaica and Ronni she would need them to go with her. If Granny didn’t mention it—which she hadn’t so far—she wouldn’t ask her to attend because she wasn’t certain her grandmother wouldn’t tip the coffin over and fall out laughing when Caleb’s body rolled across the floor.
“What do you mean you have nothing to do with it? You’re still his wife,” Gail said. “You two never divorced, so you’re still his wife. It’s your responsibility to bury him.”
Vanna blinked and took a moment to figure out how best to say Are you out of your ever-loving mind? Honestly, that didn’t sound too bad, and it’s really what she wanted to ask—but what she actually said was, “You’re right, we weren’t legally divorced. But you know that we haven’t been together in five years.” She let her hands fall to her lap as she sat back in her chair. “As his mother, I think you’re the best person to make his final arrangements. Don’t you?”
Gail flattened the purse on her lap. She folded her hands over it. Then she cleared her throat. “You’re right. I’m his mother. I should do it.”
One of the many things about Gail that had added to Vanna’s annoyance for the woman was her ability to go from deceptively nice to outright-bitch mode in the blink of an eye.
“Okay,” Vanna said, relieved. “Well, Maggie from the ME’s office just called me. She said you have seven days to let them know what funeral home will come and pick him up.”
“Merck Greenwood,” Gail said. “You know our family always uses the Greenwoods.”
“Right. Well, just call them and get the ball rolling,” she said. Then all this could get off her plate.
“I’ll need the policies before I go down to the funeral home,” Gail said.
Now Vanna frowned. “Excuse me?”
Gail tilted her head, her face morphing from heartbroken to confused. “The life insurance policies, Vanna. You have to have policies to show the undertaker you’ve got money to bury him.” She grabbed her purse again and sat forward in the chair. “When Caleb came back home to live with me and told me you’d tossed him out into the streets, I asked him if he’d looked out for himself when he was with you.”
Here she was—this was the Gail Vanna knew best. The smart-mouthed, vindictive woman who’d chased away two husbands, her oldest child, and the used-car salesman who’d given her a car to show his affection a few years ago.
“I wanted to make sure he had his own bank accounts, insurance protection—you know, all of that,” Gail continued. “And he told me the two of you had separated all your money and the accounts and that he’d gotten his own auto and life insurance policies. Had a deal with one of those companies, I think.”
“Well, there you go,” Vanna said. “He had his own policy. You should find that and take it to the funeral home with you.”
Gail shook her head. “That policy lapsed a few months back. I saw the notice when it came to the house and said something to him about it. But he told me not to worry because you kept one of the life insurance policies you had on him when you were actually trying to act like his wife.”
Vanna was certain what the woman meant to say was when Vanna had been taking care of her grown child instead of his mother continuing to do it. That headache she’d felt coming on a few minutes ago was now an insistent throbbing at her temples. She reached up, pressed two fingers to the spot, and rubbed. “I’m not gonna argue with you, Gail. It never did me any good anyway.”
“And it’s the respectful thing to do,” Gail said. “I would think you’d been taught that, but then again, your mother was always more worried about finding her next drink than teaching her daughter manners.”
“You can go now,” Vanna said, and dropped her hand back to her lap. “If you don’t have any insurance to cover the funeral expenses, I’ll take care of it. Alone. I’ll send you the information, and you can share it with your family.”
Gail’s eyes narrowed. “I want to be there to give my opinion on what’s planned.”
“Then you should’ve paid the premiums on his insurance policy,” Vanna shot back. “But since you didn’t, and it seems that this responsibility falls in my lap just like every other thing concerning your son has for the past twenty years, I’ll handle it by myself. Now, you can leave. I’ll call you when the arrangements are made.”
Why couldn’t this have fallen on someone else’s shoulders? Why was it, and every damn thing else, Vanna’s job to handle? A better question, one that she’d paid $175—or actually, a thirty-five-dollar co-pay—to the therapist she’d seen for two years prior to her thirtieth birthday, was, Why did she feel compelled to do all the things? To take care of all the issues? To make it—whatever it was in any given scenario—all better?
The resoundingly clear answer to that final question had been because she’d always wanted someone to do that for her. And yes, Granny had stepped in where her mother had slacked off. She’d taken care of Vanna and given her everything she possibly could to make her life appear as normal as possible, but there would always be the one thing that wasn’t normal. The one thing that Vanna had been unable to—despite all the therapy and advice on how to do it—reconcile with. Disappointment. Disillusionment. Rejection.
Okay, that was three things, but they were all valid bullet points beneath the topic of emotional validation she’d seen her therapist scribble on a notepad long ago. The three things she felt most when she thought about her mother.
Diane, the alcoholic who’d had a baby by a man she’d met in a grocery store. A man who’d emphatically told her he would not claim or take care of any child she gave birth to and proceeded to threaten her life if she ever told his wife or anyone else about what they’d done together. She’d never been cut out to be a mother. Not when her one and only priority was getting as drunk as she possibly could, on as many days of the year as she could manage without being incarcerated or dropping dead. She’d never cared about or for Vanna and had no problem admitting that. So why did Vanna, after all these years, still crave her love?
Vanna was smart enough to know that it was a sentiment she would never receive from Diane, and surprisingly, she didn’t hate her mother for that fact. Diane was who she was. Still, there was no ignoring the part of her that felt robbed every single day because of it. The part that always wanted to prove she could be there for others. That she was capable of loving and supporting the people in her life who expected and needed those things from her.
Like Caleb.
The first day she’d met him, she’d known she would give him her heart. He was so attractive, dressed in black jeans and a hoodie, black Tims, and that gold-and-white bandanna tied around his head. She’d met him at a step show that was held on campus. For two hours she’d watched six fraternities present their best step teams, and she’d been enamored. There was something about these intelligent Black men who not only looked good but were also getting their education and leading the way in several community-based programs. They were all enigmatic and driven, and she’d itched to learn more about them and what they did. Her roommate at the time had pledged to be in a sorority, but Vanna had dismissed the conversation wherein she was asked to do the same. Groups weren’t her thing—too many people, too many opinions, too many judgments over who she was and what she’d come from. Still, that night, she’d felt a connection. Later, when the winners were crowned—Caleb’s squad, of course—she realized that what, or rather who, she’d been so drawn to was him.
“Come sit over here and keep me company.”
That’s what he’d said to her, and she’d felt like her insides had immediately turned to slush. He had a great voice—not too deep, but just smooth enough, like LL Cool J in that I Need Love video. She’d had no choice but to fall, especially when Caleb’s pursuit of her was nothing less than a man on a mission. A week after meeting, they were inseparable. Whenever they weren’t in class, she wasn’t working her part-time job at the bookstore, and he wasn’t doing whatever frat stuff he needed to do, they were together. She spent more time in his room at the frat house than she did her own dorm. He wasn’t her first boyfriend, or sex partner, but he was her first love. Her only love for so long that she didn’t know how or if she’d ever have those feelings again.
And he’d broken her heart.
For the second time in her life, the person she’d needed to love and pour into her the most, hadn’t. And that reality almost crushed her.
Not that anyone on the outside looking in would’ve noticed. No, Vanna was a pro at dressing and playing the part. So, while her closest friends knew that putting Caleb out had been a hard-fought decision and that he’d hurt her, they’d never had to come to her house to pick her up from a pity party. She didn’t do those, nor did she look back once she walked away—not publicly, anyway.
“I don’t want to lose you, Van,” he’d said the Saturday morning she’d sat at their kitchen table and told him he had to go.
“You’ve already lost me, Caleb.” She kept her hands around the mug still full of the heavily creamed and sugared coffee she preferred. “Truth be told, I’ve had one foot out of the door of this marriage for the last six years, since you spent a week in Vegas partying and gambling with Steve for his bachelor party.”
“That’s my boy, Van. And he was getting married; what was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to stay home with your wife, who’d just had emergency gall bladder surgery,” she replied. “You were supposed to use your paycheck to pay your car payment and our car insurance. You were supposed to be a husband, not one of Steve’s boys.”
“That’s not fair,” he countered. “You had Granny, and your girls were here. You act like I left you alone.”
“No,” she told him, and looked up from her mug. “I’m acting like you left me, which you did. And now, after even more years of stunts like that, of your disregard and disrespect of me and this marriage, I’m finally saying I’ve had enough.”
He pushed back from the table and stood. “So you’re the only one who gets a say in this? I don’t have any thoughts or opinions to put on the table? How is that right?”
“How was any of this ever right?” she asked. “How has the way you’ve treated me and our marriage for all these years ever been right?”
“Don’t act like I’ve never made you happy. Don’t sit there and play the victim, ’cause we both know you love doing that. Or the martyr—yeah, that’s the one.” Now he scowled. “Poor Vanna, she’s gotta be the smart one and the responsible one because her mother was a drunk. Let’s give Vanna all her flowers because she didn’t fall apart just because she was abandoned and abused. All praise to Vanna for keeping a good credit score, for buying a house before she was thirty years old, for getting a promotion at work, for just breathing. Damn, Vanna! How you gon’ just bail on us like this?”
He ranted for forty-five minutes after that, but Vanna had tuned him out after the remark about her drunk mother. He was trash. He was wrapped in a well-dressed, well-groomed, and fine-as-hell package—one she’d mostly paid for—but she was ready to throw that package away. To get on with her life without the heartache lying in bed beside her every night.
He broke parts of her she’d never revealed to anyone else, and now she had to be the one to make sure he had a respectable homegoing service, when what she really should’ve coordinated was the pine box he would be put in and tossed into an unmarked grave.
“We have Thursday morning available,” the woman on the other end of the phone—Ramona—said.
Vanna had lost track of how long she’d been on hold with the funeral home trying to take care of what she could over the phone. “To pick him up?” she asked. “Is that as soon as you can get him?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Carlson, I mean for the funeral,” Ramona said. “I apologize, I should’ve started at the beginning. So we can pick Mr. Carlson up tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll call the ME’s office as soon as I hang up with you. Then, because you mentioned you wanted to take care of everything here, I went ahead and searched for our next available time, and it’s Thursday morning at ten. If you’d like to do a viewing—”
“No,” Vanna replied. “No viewing. We’ll just do the funeral and burial.”
“That’s fine. You can come in on Wednesday afternoon and give your approval of him before the service. But first, we’ll need you to come in tomorrow or Monday morning so we can handle all the paperwork.”
“Monday,” she said. Tomorrow was her spa day, and she wasn’t going to miss her pampering to go and pick out a casket for Caleb.
When the dates and times were confirmed and she’d put them in the calendar on her phone, Vanna disconnected the call and yanked open the side-bottom drawer of her desk. She pulled her purse out and decided that 3:47 p.m. was going to be her check-out time today. Since she’d been on her desk phone for the call to the funeral home, she took her cell off the charger she kept at her desk and was about to put it in her purse when she saw that she had a text. It must’ve come through while she was talking all things cremation and burial options with Ramona.
Ronni: Can’t make it tonight. Jonah’s got diarrhea.
Great. That was just great. Not that three-year-old Jonah, with his adorably chubby cheeks, being sick was a good thing.
No, it was just great that now she would be hittin’ the club by herself tonight because she needed this night out, this release, as desperately as she needed her next breath.