63
Loneliness was a bitter pill to swallow. Although the whole office had gone to Victor’s funeral, Sheila felt alone, felt as if she was being judged. She watched as different ones looked in her direction, whispered among themselves like she was the cause of Victor’s demise, or maybe it was her paranoia. Even Phyllis remained somewhat at a distance, not handing out the love and support she thought she deserved.
She didn’t have to tell Jamal about her disease. The News and Observer announced it to the world. Even the fact that she was exonerated in Victor’s death and in the shooting of Afrika Bailey, although the gun was definitely involved, the news was buried on page three of the local section of the paper. But oh her name, and that of several other mistresses of Mr. Victor Christianson, were on page one for all to see. But hers carried an extra caveat—who announced she was HIV positive and Victor Christianson was the carrier.
Sheila fingered the obituary. She opened it up half-expecting to see her name as one of his surviving family members. She chuckled at the thought, then threw the program down and got up to change her clothes. If nothing else, she looked good in her red Ralph Lauren suit, a last and final gift from the great Victor. Sheila chuckled again as she recalled how she looked down at him in disdain, laid out as if he really was somebody’s somebody. “Ho.”
Walking toward her bedroom, Sheila suddenly stopped and turned around. She crossed the length of her living room and stopped in front of the wall of shame. She ran her fingers over the holes that held the bullets that luckily didn’t claim Victor’s life. She remembered how he danced and dodged bullets, how he looked at her with that shocking expression on his face when she told him she was HIV positive, and the moment he cried because she had put a bullet hole in his jacket. Sheila laughed.
The doorbell rang. Sheila’s eyes were wide with wonder. Who could it be? She hadn’t even been invited to lunch with the others after Victor’s service.
The doorbell rang again. Slowly, she moved toward the door almost afraid to answer, afraid that there would be more bad news. She looked through the peephole and her eyes widened.
With some apprehension, she opened the door and there stood Jamal. He was dressed in a black and white tweed jacket, a white shirt, and black slacks. In his hand, he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers and wore a warm smile on his face.
“For the lady of the house,” Jamal said, handing the flowers to Sheila. “May I come in?”
“Sure. Yes, please come in.”
“How are you doing?” Jamal asked.
Nerves were getting the best of Sheila. Her hand began to shake and Jamal rescued the flowers before she dropped them. “Excuse me, Jamal. It hasn’t been a good day.”
“Look, get a vase to put these flowers in.”
Without a word, Sheila went into the kitchen and found a vase. Jamal followed her and once Sheila poured water into the vase, he set the flowers in it. He took Sheila’s face in his hands and turned her around to face him.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ll assume you found it hard to tell me you were HIV positive, but I knew before the papers published it.”
Sheila’s eyes grew large and tears began to fall.
“I waited for you to tell me, but when you didn’t, my subconscious tried to tell me you weren’t the woman for me. You are every woman, Sheila. You may have had your issues, but I found something in you that all the Victor Christianson’s in the world didn’t see. You have a heart and you do know how to love.
“When I found out you were in a relationship with this married man, I was ready to throw you to the wolves, but my heart wouldn’t let me.”
“When…when did you find out?” Sheila asked, her eyes searching his for a clue.
“I did a background check, and that’s all I’m going to say.”
“A background check? You didn’t trust me?”
“No need to get upset. It served its purpose. You see, I was in love once a long time ago, and if I had known what I knew on our wedding day, I wouldn’t have married her. I can’t say that I was happy with this report either, but I knew there was more to you than what was written in that investigative report. What I’d like to know is do you still love me?”
“Jamal, the question is do you love me…after all you’ve discovered…HIV and all?”
Jamal looked at Sheila as if he was searching her soul. “Most brothers would kick you to the curb in a heartbeat, but I’m not most brothers—I’m not even the average brother.” Sheila smiled. “I fell in love with you, and my love for you was real,” Jamal continued. “I found it hard to just walk away…at least without talking with you. You are love, Sheila, and I want to help you through your situation. So, I’ve come here today to ask you a very pointed question.”
Sheila was choked up and brushed tears from her eyes. “What is it?”
“Let’s fly to Vegas tonight and get married.” Jamal pulled back the lapel on his jacket and took an envelope out of his pocket. “See, I already have the plane tickets because I knew you were going to say yes.”
“Oh my God,” Sheila cried and she grabbed her face and then hugged Jamal. “Vegas? To be married? I’m going to be Mrs. Sheila Billops? Yes! Yes, Jamal, I still want to be your wife. Let me pack a bag.”
Jamal smiled, pulled Sheila to him, and kissed her greedily. Then he pulled away, holding her face in his hands. “No need to pack. I had a personal shopper pick up all of your favorite things and put them in a cute Louis Vuitton travel bag for you. It’s already in the car.”
Sheila gasped. “Are you for real? Jamal, I love you. I’ve waited for this day all my life.”
“It’s not going to always be peaches and cream, but I’ll always love you and will forever be by your side.”
“I can’t ask for anything better than that.”
“Well, let’s go, the future Mrs. Billops. And while you’re at it, you can throw that obituary in the trash.”
“It’s done.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Suzetta Perkins is the author of Behind the Veil; A Love So Deep; EX-Terminator: Life After Marriage; Déjà Vu, Nothing Stays the Same and a contributing author of My Soul to His Spirit. A native of Oakland, California, Suzetta resides in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Suzetta is the co-founder and president of the Sistahs Book Club and Secretary of the University at Fayetteville State University. She is a member of New Visions Writing Group in Raleigh, North Carolina, and a mentor for aspiring writers. Visit www.suzettaperkins.com, www.myspace.com/authorsue, www.facebook.com/suzetta.perkins, and email [email protected].