Royce and I have learned to control our arguments, especially after Nathan was born and we realized, for better or worse, we were in it for the long haul. We’d talked about splitting up before, once after each girl was born, but it stopped after Nathan. I guess there’s something about having a boy. We seldom argue, but when we do, I usually have the last word, whether it makes sense or not, but when I tell him about my conference with Miss Lewis, I can tell I’m going to lose. I straighten my spine. 

            After supper, he shoves three DVD’s into Jenna’s hands, warns both girls not to aggravate Nathan, and tells them to turn the volume up loud. Then, he motions for me to follow him into our bedroom and slams the door.

            He’s red and shaking. I’ve never seen him this mad.

            “I can’t believe my son, my only son—”

            “Royce, keep your voice down.”

            “I will not. My boy is failing kindergarten because he’s afraid of school buses! Look I’m no shrink. God knows I know I’m only a dry wall man, but this is one damn stupid fear. And you,” he shouts louder, pointing his finger, “you’ve put this into him. All this lands at your door.”

            “I was only trying to—”

            “Shut up. You’ve carried this too far. Your mother is gone, probably dead, but every day I live with a woman I’ve never met. I’m tired of it.”

            “Do you want a divorce?”

            “No, I want to move. There’s a house for sale at Love the Maples, one Cliff Berry built for himself, and he’s dropped the price so low, it’s a steal. We can afford it without touching your money.”

            “I’ve never thought you wanted my money.”

            He stops, but only for a heartbeat. “I don’t know how you think and right now I don’t care. If you think money was the reason I married you, I’ve proved otherwise over the years. But you keep wanting more proof: proof that you’re not like your mother, proof that you’re tough enough to take on anyone in town, proof that—God Almighty, Lorraine, nearly all those people who talked about your mother are dead. You’re not news, except for the messes you create for yourself.”  He takes a deep breath. “NO ONE CARES!”

            Outside the door, I hear a wail.

            “If we buy at Love the Maples, Nathan will have to ride a school bus,” I tell him.

            “It will be good for him.”

I went back to Glorious Life Pentecostal once as an adult, and that was when I married Royce. Not to prove that I was getting legally married, but to prove to myself that I could stare all those people down. That I could walk in and out of those double doors, whose closing had ended my childhood. I was welcomed like a lost lamb, though they’d snubbed me for years at school, after school, and when I saw them on the street. I played along, but standing on the church steps after the ceremony, I didn’t throw my bouquet to the crowd of gigglers. I aimed it like a missile and hit the side of Lena Ellis’s head. Lena hadn’t even been in the group. No one in their right mind was going to marry her and she knew it, so she’d kept herself apart. I hit her so hard it knocked her hat off and made everyone gasp. I laughed out loud.

            But Nathan’s not getting any better, my middle daughter walks around as though searching for breadcrumbs, and my oldest is involved in things I don’t understand. As for Royce, he said he’d let me make up my mind about moving, but my answer had better be yes.