A Sad Soul Can Kill You Part 3

"I'm sorry," her only child continued, "but there's just not enough room."

Franny closed her eyes as she felt the heaviness in her heart make its way up to her throat. She hung up the phone without saying good-bye. What else could she do? The heaviness in her heart would not allow her to speak, and now it was keeping her from moving her left arm.

Chapter Five.

Lorenzo turned the key in the lock and opened the front door. He reached into the pocket of his stench-filled jacket and took out the small plastic bag containing the last two pills. After he placed them on the living-room table, he took off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. Then he went into the living room, grabbed the blanket from the microfiber couch, and began folding it. After he was finished, he threw it on the back of the couch and the gust of air it created knocked the wedding picture of him and Tia off the end table.

Lorenzo picked up the courthouse photo and studied Tia's face framed by tiny locks of hair. They stood side by side, and he towered over her as she smiled into the camera. He remembered his parents attending the occasion, stoic witnesses, and then quickly leaving after the ceremony had ended.

It had been a dismal affair with everyone returning to whatever they had been doing afterward, treating the whole thing as something on their to-do list that could now be crossed off.

He gazed at his lean frame in the photograph, and then traveled up to the pathetic smile that was plastered on his face. That smile had made him look like a happy man, and he remembered praying to G.o.d that his union with Tia would somehow turn him into one.

He sat down on the couch and thought about when he'd first met Tia thirteen years ago at a War concert. He'd sworn it had been love at first sight. She had been so beautiful and pet.i.te, and he'd loved how his six-foot frame towered over hers at five-foot four.

They had maintained a long-distance relations.h.i.+p for a year, and then shortly after he had been introduced to Jesus, Tia had gotten pregnant. He could still recall her visiting him in Chicago, and how he had begun to share with her what he had learned about Jesus.

"See, we're all broken," he'd said. "And we all need fixing . . . and somebody to do the fixing." That much he remembered saying to her. The rest he knew-whether he'd said it to her or not-was that something was missing, especially inside of him.

"You just have to trust G.o.d," he'd said, and now she was going to church every Sunday without him.

When he'd told her they needed to do the right thing, he'd meant it. But needing to do the right thing and wanting to were two different things in Lorenzo's mind. Still, he'd asked her to marry him, and he remembered her saying, "If you want me here, then this is where I'll be."

He continued looking at the photograph he still held in his hand. Their first year of marriage had almost been their last. He'd been controlling and insensitive, and had actually put his hands on Tia once. To make matters worse, she had been eight months pregnant at the time. Lorenzo didn't know what had come over him. It was almost as if he had undergone a complete personality change once they'd gotten married.

He'd slapped her-he remembered that much. But he was unclear about the reason why. He rubbed his forehead. The pills he'd taken earlier were starting to do their job. His mind was getting foggy, and he didn't want to think about anything unpleasant. Still, he sat on the sofa, straining to remember what had happened.

Tia had brought something home from the grocery store. What had it been? He closed his eyes and thought harder. Caffeine. That's what it had been! She had bought a box of caffeinated tea bags-something he'd told her he didn't want her drinking while she was pregnant. He opened his eyes. Had that really been the reason for his inexcusable behavior or had he put his hands on her due to his own inner frustrations?

When he'd almost missed the birth of their daughter, that had been the last straw for Tia. "I can't stay with you the way things are," she'd said to him from her hospital bed.

She was going to leave him. One life had begun while his was ending. He could not be alone again. He remembered getting on his knees in the hospital room, crying as he'd asked Tia to forgive him before praying to G.o.d asking for that and much more.

Tia forgave him and stayed.

For a while, Lorenzo was all right. He kept his job as an electrical engineer and went to work every day. He couldn't say that he was happy, but he'd been renewed enough to feel contentment. But Lorenzo had failed to ask for what he really needed, which was healing and deliverance from the abuse he'd suffered as a young boy.

By the time their daughter, Serenity, was eleven years old, his recurring pain had intensified, and he could no longer deny that marrying Tia had done nothing to alleviate it. If anything, it seemed to have gotten worse. His weight had doubled since he'd gotten married, and he couldn't stand lying next to his own wife in bed night after night.

He put the photograph back on the end table. The past two years of his marriage had been blemished with too many resentments, and infrequent and dull episodes of intimacy between the two of them. Their marriage had become nothing more than a faade, and not a very good one at that. On top of all that, there had been issues with his attendance throughout the year and he'd been let go from his job. His only source of income was the weekly unemployment check he'd been receiving for the past six months.

He rubbed the creases in his forehead and turned on the DVD player. A sixteen-ounce bag of raisins drenched in a creamy blanket of milk chocolate lay on the coffee table next to an open bag of previously popped microwave popcorn. Lorenzo grabbed a handful of each and stuffed them all into his mouth as he began watching his favorite movie, Antwone Fisher.

Two hours later, the movie ended, and Lorenzo was catapulted back into reality. He stopped the DVD and switched back to the television. A well-endowed female with exaggerated cheekbones spoke loudly with an East Coast accent. Lorenzo tried to focus on what she was saying, but the dream he'd had the night before roared even louder in his memory.

It was always the same. In his dream there was a big open field behind a triangular building. Lorenzo always thought it was a mall. There was only one entrance, and that was through the front door. If anyone tried to enter from the back of the building they would end up in total darkness. Lorenzo would look up to see a big sign that read: WARNING. DO NOT ENTERTHROUGH THE REAR! Then the dream would end. It always ended there, and he would wake up feeling clammy and short of breath.

"Why are you always in such an irritated mood?" Tia would ask him.

"Irritated?" he'd shout. "That's an understatement! You," he'd point his finger in her face, "have no idea how I feel!"

"You're right," she'd say. "I don't know how you feel!" Then her voice would suddenly soften. "Tell me what it is. How can I help you if you won't tell me what's wrong?"

Lorenzo didn't know why, but he hated it when Tia softened her voice. It was as if she was trying to play psychiatrist with him or something. Well, he wasn't having it. Not at all. She was a nurse not a psychiatrist, and she needed to remember that!

"I'm not the enemy," she'd said. "I'm your wife."

She'd almost got him with that comment. He'd opened his mouth to speak. He was going to try to tell her his secret when the next thing she'd said messed it all up.

"A real man would know the difference."

A real man? So now she was implying that he was not a real man?

After she'd said that, Lorenzo knew he would not be able to tell her what was wrong. He cringed at the thought of how she might react if she knew he had been molested as a child by his uncle. Would she hold the same look in her eyes as his father had held in his? Would she blame him with unspoken words as his mother had done? Lorenzo had decided he couldn't take that risk. If Tia thought he wasn't a real man, she definitely wouldn't think so after he'd told her his secret.

So he left things the way they were-with his wife not knowing what he had been through or what he could not get past. He sighed heavily. He was so far from being irritated that to feel that way now would have been a blessing. No. Lorenzo was way past irritated. He was done. Defeated.

Game over.

Chapter Six.

Fifteen minutes later, Tia walked through the front door of her house. Her German shepherd, Catch, raced around the corner to greet her. He was as loyal as dogs came. He stood up on his hind legs, and the full force of his weight pushed her 115-pound frame backward until there was no s.p.a.ce left between her back and the mahogany door she'd just closed. He continued to lavish her with tongue licks and shoulder paws, and Tia thought about how some women often referred to men as dogs.

She looked over at Lorenzo slouched on the couch and-in his case-she wished he would act like a dog, their dog. She gave Catch a final hug and squeezed past his bulky frame.

"Hey," she said to Lorenzo. She tried to make her voice sound light and airy. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Lorenzo answered simultaneously tapping his fingers on the end table.

A stifling silence filled the air.

"Where's Serenity?" Tia asked.

"At the library, I think, or over at one of her girlfriends' house. I'm not sure."

"She's supposed to be home," Tia said hanging up her coat. "It's Wednesday night."

Lorenzo got up and walked past Tia into the kitchen, slightly kicking his jacket on the floor as he pa.s.sed.

The stench attached to the jacket was activated by the movement, and Tia's nostrils flared. "What's that smell?" she asked, frowning.

"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.