He kissed her cheek and then tried to fit his lips to hers, but she moved her head. She didn’t feel like it tonight. Maybe her period was coming on. Dante didn’t care what time of the month it was. They could put down some towels, but she rolled over, turning her back to him.
In the morning, though, she rose early and went to the kitchen. By the time he had finished showering, there were pancakes and sausage waiting for him on the table. And Lydia was dressed for church.
*
There were days of Lydia trying not to worry, of her reading pages in her textbooks, only to read them again. Concentration eluded her, and in her classes, she doodled in her notebook, her knee jiggling. She thought of Dante. Maybe he was being arrested as she sat here, listening to her professor lecture about statistics. She should be home with him. She should get a part-time job. She should do something so her husband wouldn’t have to commit a crime to support them. She couldn’t even share her worry with anyone. No one knew she was married. She hadn’t told her family or her roommate, and they would turn against her if she told them, not only did she have a husband, but he sold crack. And Lydia couldn’t share her worry, either, when she realized she’d skipped three of her birth control pills. That she was anxious that she might be pregnant, because she didn’t use condoms with her drug-dealing husband.
In the middle of the week, she drove to Atlanta. When she let herself in the apartment, there was a new picture on the wall: a huge velvet portrait of Jesus. She snapped at Dante for the rest of the evening, when he returned from work. He touched her, and she shrugged him off, saying she didn’t feel like it. And when he inquired about dinner, she told him he was making enough money to feed himself. He could pick up a chicken box around the corner.
“Lydia, why you acting so hateful? What I do to you?” His forehead was wrinkled: as easygoing as he was, she’d hurt his feelings.
The next morning, she felt guilty. She cooked him a big breakfast, but he was gruff. She put her hand on his, and he put his fork down.
“I know I was real mean yesterday,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Instantly, he forgave her: his smile was wide. “That’s all right, baby. Everybody got they days.”
She squeezed his hand, then put another sausage on his plate.
“Dante, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Okay, but let’s do that tonight.”
“I thought you didn’t work today.”
“Not at the store. But I got that . . . other thing.”
“You told me that was just on the weekends.”
Dante leaned in and kissed her forehead, then wiped off sausage grease. “If you need me, just page me.”
“You got a pager now?”
He went to the coffee table, where her notebook lay. He ripped out a piece of paper and wrote down his number, along with instructions. Page him anytime, he told her. Even every hour. He always wanted to talk to his wife, and here was Tim’s pager number, too, just in case.
Another kiss on her forehead, and Dante was gone. She busied herself cleaning. Washing the breakfast dishes and mopping the kitchen floor. She used the new vacuum that Dante had bought, running it over the carpet. She even cleaned the bathroom, something she hated, but she noticed that Dante had been slacking on that job. So she got down on her hands and knees and used an old toothbrush on the linoleum. Then it was time for public television, but Mr. Rogers didn’t make her feel the same.
That evening, she let Dante eat in peace. She didn’t want to upset the man in the middle of his meal. She waited until he sat back, toothpick in his mouth, before telling him she had slipped up. She’d forgotten to take her pills for a few days, and she was scared she might be pregnant. She didn’t yet know. Her period was due early next week, so it was wait and see.
“I’m sorry, Dante. I didn’t do this on purpose. I hope you believe me.”
“What you sorry for, woman? It take two to make a baby. And we already married, so it ain’t nothing to be ashamed about. It’ll be tight for a while, but I’ll be in mechanic’s school by next year, so—
“Dante, I love you for being so honorable, but I don’t want a baby. I’m still in college—”
“But it don’t matter what neither of us want now, Lydia. If you pregnant, that’s the blessing God gave us. And we got to deal with that—”
“Are you serious—”
“Hell yeah! Ain’t gone be no abortions ’round here! The Bible say, thou shalt not kill—”