Part 3 (2/2)

”What smell?”

”Like something rotten,” she said with a scowl. ”You don't smell that?”

”Nope.”

She followed him into the kitchen. ”Lorenzo, we need to talk.”

He didn't respond as he turned on the oven, and then took a slab of beef ribs out of the refrigerator.

”Look, Lorenzo,” she said, ”something needs to change. I need to be touched, and hugged, and made love to. By you,” she added. ”My husband.”

Lorenzo carefully began removing the plastic wrapping from the meat.

Tia sighed. ”What's the problem, Lorenzo?”

”I don't have a problem,” he said, half-swirling his neck so that he could look at her briefly. ”But if you think I do,” he turned away and began cutting through a boney section of the meat, ”why don't you just leave?”

”Really?” Tia's eyebrows arched as she stood staring at his broad back. ”Is that the only solution you can come up with? That I should leave?”

He continued separating the ribs into smaller sections, throwing each one into a pan as he severed the tendons and flesh that held them all together. ”Well, you're the one complaining,” he said, s.h.i.+fting his weight to one leg.

”Right.” Tia placed her hands on her hips. ”And why do you think that is?” She waited for him to respond as he put the last rib in the pan, and then began to season them.

”Are you going to answer me, Lorenzo?” She could feel her heartbeat increasing. ”I'm trying to talk to you.”

He gave the ribs a gentle rub, and she felt a pang of jealousy. So this is what it had come to?-She was competing with a slab of ribs for his attention. ”You see that?” She was near hysterics as she pointed to the ribs. ”When's the last time you rubbed me like that?” Her eyes were bulging. ”When's the last time you touched me-period?”

He opened the door to the preheated oven and slid the pan onto the top shelf. ”I really don't have anything to say,” he said as he closed the oven door.

Tia raised her arms in the air. ”Then what am I supposed to do, Lorenzo? I'm still young. I didn't get married to become abstinent!”

He washed his hands, and then turned to face her. His glare pierced her like a frozen dagger. ”I already told you,” he said, the callousness of his voice adding to the chill already forming within her, ”why don't you just leave?”

Tia held her breath. She would not let him see her cry again.

He walked back into the living room and sat down in front of the television set.

She stormed out of the kitchen after him. ”Is that what you really want, Lorenzo?”

He was surfing the channels with the remote control, finally stopping to watch the last few minutes of a game show hosted by a popular comedian. ”Can we talk about this later?” He waved her away as he chuckled at something the television host said. ”Or better yet,” he said without removing his eyes from the television, ”can we not talk about this at all?”

”I don't understand you,” Tia said despising the shrill sound of her voice. ”Why are you so irritated?”

He inhaled deeply. ”I told you my back has been hurting me, okay?” he lied.

”And what about the other times?”

He turned to face her. ”What did I tell you?” he said sternly.

Tia didn't answer. Lorenzo's attempt to make love to her earlier that morning had once again been unsuccessful. Through the years his weight had doubled, and she was willing to take that into consideration for the failed attempt, but there were ways to get around that. And she hadn't believed him when he'd said his back was hurting any more than she'd believed him when he'd said they were soul mates. Yeah, right, she'd thought. Soul mates who aren't mating.

Lorenzo's complaint of back pain had not begun until after he'd been fired from his job as an electrical engineer for a large retail chain. Around the same time, he had started making visits to a doctor who began prescribing multiple medications for him: one to relieve pain, one to relax his muscles, and another to help him sleep.

His steadily declining mood had not gone unnoticed by Tia, and she had pointed out to Lorenzo that he was being prescribed too many different medications, and that all of them caused drowsiness. ”I am a nurse, you know,” she'd said. But her comments had elicited no response from him.

She stood staring at his empty eyes-another change in him-that had become cold and uncaring. ”Can't you show me some kind of affection?” she asked. ”I mean, I cook for you. I clean and wash for you. I'm here . . . ,” she spread open the palms of her hands, ”. . . for you. Can't you show me something, Lorenzo?”

”I don't need a wife to cook and clean for me,” he said in the same detached way he'd begun using whenever he spoke to her. ”As you can see,” he pointed to the kitchen, ”I know how to cook. And I certainly know how to clean.”

She frowned. ”Then what do you need a wife for?”

”I don't need a wife for anything,” he said, swirling his neck again. ”Let's get that straight first.”

They glared at each other for a few seconds before Tia spoke. ”Then why did you marry me, Lorenzo?”

Even though she felt defeated, she was hoping he would say because he loved her, needed her, and honestly couldn't live without her. Instead, he answered her by turning his attention back to the television set as the theme song from the weekly series, Jeopardy, began playing.

”You know what?” she said sarcastically. ”What one man won't do, another one will. You better remember that.”

”Do whatever you have to do,” he said quietly, and then turned up the volume on the television set.

”I will,” she said as she stormed up the stairs and entered what used to be the bedroom they shared.

She changed out of her nursing uniform into a pair of jeans and a plain white cotton tee s.h.i.+rt and quickly went back downstairs. She clutched her Bible and stopped at the entrance to the living room. ”Can you at least come to the evening service with me tonight?”

”No, thank you,” Lorenzo answered without diverting his attention from the television set. ”I'm good.”

”No, you're not good,” she said as she stomped back up the stairs to her room. She opened her journal and flipped to the page with the calendar printed on it. She placed an ”X” on the eighth day of February, and then she placed the leather-bound book on top of her partially packed suitcase in the closet.

You're a long way from good, she thought as she returned downstairs and slammed the front door behind her.

Chapter Seven.

Homer tried to maintain his composure as he stood at his window watching Tia slam the front door of her house and storm down the walkway to her SUV. He watched his neighbor speed out of the cul-de-sac and make a left turn without slowing down or signaling.

It wasn't the phone call he'd received earlier from his mother that had upset him. It was the fact that she actually thought he would pick her up from the hospital, and allow her to live in his home. That's what had him bothered. He tapped his fingers across the windowpane.

His mother had willingly relinquished her rights the day she left him with her mother, his grandmother, and then made it legal when he was eight years old. He was certainly not going to come to her rescue now when she had never been there for him. Let her stay in the hospital or somewhere else, but it would not be with him. That was not going to happen.

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