Then the butt cheeks fall like a basketball as he buckles to his knees. I keep running towards him because it doesn’t register what’s happening. Kennard’s body falls forward like a felled sequoia tree. I skid to a stop as I watch him land face down on the ground. Now my gut screams ‘this isn’t right’.
“KENNARD!” I scream at him.
He doesn’t move. I drop my cast iron pan. Is he faking? I bend down and grab the pan before running towards him just in case this is some fucked up scheme to get away from me. Iscream his name again before I hear Rana yelling at me in the doorway. I don’t even know what she’s saying because all I can hear is the blood rushing past my ears.
And my own gasping for breath. I scream my husband’s name again, but he doesn’t move. I don’t think this is a scheme. He looks… still. Way too still. I glance at his chest and I’m shaking with the adrenaline rush, so it takes me a few extra seconds to be sure that he isn’t breathing.
“KENNARD!” I screech again, with an anguished distress that makes me feel like I’m a broken, fucked up woman. I was only faking that I had it together, wasn’t I? Because the situation I’m in right now…
“KENNARD WAKE UP. WE ARE GETTING A DIVORCE!” I scream at him. The urge to throw the cast iron pan at his head while he lies on the ground surges through me, but I know he’s dead. I know it, even if I don’t fully know it. So I throw the pan a few feet away from him and drop to my knees.
I reach for his arm and chills run up my hand as I touch him.
I’ve been with this man my entire life.
I don’t need to touch two fingers to his wrist to know… he’s dead.
Chapter Four
Peter
The woman looks at me and then tosses a head of curly hair over her shoulder. Damn, she looks good for a woman in her forties. But that’s expected. Black women age like a fine fucking wine. Her friend isn’t as good looking. No offense, but Indian women don’t really do anything for me. Or women from Afghanistan… I can’t really tell.
I look over at Flora, who gives me a knowing smirk.
“She’s cute. But she’s probably married.”
“Thanks, Flora.”
“I’ll go talk to her for you.”
“What? Like Cosima talked to Myra? You sit your ass at the bar and don’t move.”
“Or what?” Flora taunts me, clearly letting the alcohol get to her critical thinking. I glare at my sister, who makes it too easy for me to whip her back into shape.
“I’ll pay that fat fuck over there $10 to spank it.”
She bites her lip.
“Talk to her, or I’ll go over to her and tell her that you have a disgusting fetish for eating caca.”
“I swear, I’ll convince Michael to sell you off to an Arab billionaire.”
“Do you think he would pay for me to get new tits?”
“I’m going to talk to her,” I say to Flora. “But don’t you dare step out of my sight.”
“I’m not stupid,” Flora says. “I don’t want to end up in Pittsburgh forced to fuck my own cousin. I’ve told you that several times.”
“Good. I don’t want any trouble tonight.”
I walk across the bar to the woman dancing with her friend and wave to her once she turns her body to face me. Her eyes catch mine and she…ignores me.Her friend looks over at me and then taps the woman who caught my eye on the shoulder. The friend says something to her, but the music is too loud for me to hear what they’re saying.
Please don’t run.The closer I get to the chick I was looking at, the more I want to talk to her. She shakes her head and then her friend grabs her shoulders and turns her body around to face me.
It’s the best opening that I’ll get.
“Hey. You look beautiful. What’s your name, gorgeous?”
