“What are you singing?” Charisma asks as she walks into the closet where I’m changing clothes.
“Huh?”
“I just heard you singing. Were you singing that old gospel song?”
I try to play it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do. You were just singing that song. Soon and very soon, we are going to see the king. Hallelujah, hallelujah, we’re going to see the king,” she sings. “Your grandmother used to sing that song all the time.’
“Oh, yeah.”
“Why were you singing that?”
“Just thinking about her,” I lie.
“Oh.”
She walks out of the closet and turns back briefly. “Chaos?”
“Yeah?”
“The lyrics are ‘we’re going to see the king,’ not ‘you’re going to see the king.’”
I smirk as she walks out of the closet. The way that I was singing it, I was very clear and correct about my interpretation of my grandma’s old song. It won’t be me going to see Him but the senator’s ass. Hell, I don’t think either of us wants to see Jesus any time soon.
I had done a whole lotta fucking up that I wasn’t ready to answer for. Can He forgive assassins, especially if they hold no remorse in their hearts? I wonder.
Ever since last night, she has been more relaxed than I’ve seen her in some time. I want to keep her that way. Charisma deserves to be happy with all that she’s sacrificed for our son, taking care of him alone while I was away because I was too damn prideful and stubborn to speak up that night.
I spend several minutes thinking about what she likes. We both used to love hiking, although her li’l ass had no idea that those hiking trips were my way of scouting the best locations to annihilate my targets from. There’s no way that I’m about to risk taking her ass out in public to hike right now. We must be careful about our movements.
She also used to love doing pottery, and that’s out. I think a little harder, and I recall how much we used to love cooking together. An idea forms in my mind, and I jog down the steps and catch up with her in the living room.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“I was thinking about cooking these steaks. I took them out this morning, and they’re thawed now.”
I move around the kitchen, grabbing a large basket from underneath the sink, and place the steaks, two corn cobs, two large baking potatoes, seasonings, and several other ingredients inside of the basket.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Come on.”
She jogs behind me to the door that I have kept locked since she’s been here.
“Why did I think that was a utility closet all this time?” she asks as we reach the top of the stairs.
“Because that’s what was convenient for me to allow you to believe.”
When I push the door open, I hear the little intake of breath she takes. “Wow. This is beautiful, Chaos.”
“It’ s my little haven away from the world. It’s where I come to chill.”
“You’ve not been up here since I’ve been here.”
