The first three months of marriage were great—then jealousy reared its ugly green head. Shay Knight flung back the curtain and glared out the window scanning the busy street of Los Angeles for the forth time; hoping one of them would be her husband, Winston. She looked at her watch, 7pm. Her body nervously shook inside from anxiety; after noticing her hand slightly shaking she immediately stopped for fear of having a panic attack. Shay was operating not on reason but on her past failed relationships. The custom drapes made a swooshing sound as she closed them, feeling more insecure because her newlywed husband had not made it home from work yet and she felt he may have been out cheating on her. Where was her vivacious spunk and confidence that she carried with her into the courtroom defending her clients? When it came to her insecurities that spunk was retargeted somewhere else¾ on her husband.

“He should have been home forty-five minutes ago,” her lips thinned. Winston Knight was unaware that his new wife of six months had been checking the odometer when he left for work and returned home. The exact amount of miles to and from his office was embedded in her head¾ forty miles roundtrip. Shay walked back into the kitchen picking up the cordless black phone as her paranoia really set in. She dialed Winston’s cell phone and it immediately went to voicemail. “Ooh,” she cringed as anger penetrated her voice; she slammed down the phone. Within the past forty-five minutes she had called his cell phone consecutively fifteen times. “Where is he? Who is he with?” she asked herself. She walked over to the kitchen window staring out of it then focused on the phone again. “Let me try his work number again.” She grabbed the phone and started dialing hoping this time he would answer but yet again, it went unanswered. Her voice raised, “Damn,” then slammed down the phone with a greater force. With her fists balled and lips thinned, she started pacing the hardwood floor; the butterflies fluttered in her stomach from anxiety. Suddenly she sat on the barstool taking long breaths, in and out until her heart rate slowed.

After ten minutes, Shay picked up the phone again in hopes his mom would know her son’s whereabouts. In her mind, she practiced her tone of voice putting on a façade, she knew that his mother, Dr. April Knight didn’t care for her and she surely didn’t like his mother. If it wasn’t for the paranoia taking control his mother would never hear from Shay. The two were cordial to one another just because of Winston. If Shay had it her way, they would move from Los Angeles to a small city in the Midwest far away from her. She felt that his mother was a Ms-know-it-all because of her occupation. Shay dialed the number and after the second ring, Dr. Knight answered the phone, “Hello.”

“Hi Mom Knight,” Shay said in the most pleasant tone she could muster, hiding the anger and anxiety that lurked within.

  “Hi Shay, what do I owe the honor?” she asked, knowing Shay never picked up the phone to call her unless it benefited Shay, particularly Winston’s whereabouts. Dr. Knight had begged Winston not to marry Shay, not that she didn’t like her but because they had only known each other three months before they’d married. Dr. Knight’s specialty was marriage and family counseling and one thing she had a gift for was spotting trouble in paradise. Skeptical of their relationship after seeing paranoia and jealousy in Shay, Dr. Knight began to put the pieces together, innocently analyzing her. She never mentioned one word to Winston of her conclusion and waited on him to come to her; she was not one for prying into her son’s marriage.

Shay was a twenty-eight year old who had never wanted for anything growing up. Her father was a successful lawyer and her mother a well-known interior designer. She had lived in an upscale neighborhood in Bel-Air, California. Her old housekeeper used to clean the house including making Shay’s bed every morning. All Shay had to do was go to school and get an education. And she did, graduating at the top of her class, cum laude at the University of Southern California Law School. She landed herself a job working as a successful criminal lawyer in her dad’s family practice. Deep down inside, her heart was good as gold, she just couldn’t shake her paranoia.

     “Have you seen Winston?” she asked.

     “No, but I talked to him earlier today.” Dr. Knight thought, here comes another one of her suspicions.

     “What time was that?” she asked with urgency. “He should have been home an hour ago,” she said, forgetting that she was trying hard not to show her anger. Her uncontrollable thought that he was always cheating on her when he wasn’t around; made her feel uncomfortable¾ very tense inside.

     “My dear, he’s probably still at the gym—let me give you some motherly advice, baby.” She spoke in a soft, friendly tone of voice.

     Shay’s voice quivered as she spoke, “I don’t need any advice, especially coming from my mother-in-law, and this is our business.” 

“Baby, you called me, I didn’t call you. I just want to help.”

“You can help by…” Her conversation ended quickly when she heard the sound of the garage door open. She keenly listened as Winston’s car pulled into the garage. “He’s here now,” she said. “I got to go.” Then hung up without saying goodbye. Her eyes peered at the mahogany grandfather clock noting the time, then shifted towards the door.

Winston stepped through the connecting kitchen door with a smile and Shay immediately tore into him like a detective interrogating a crime suspect.

“You’re late! Where were you?” She jumped down from the barstool with her hand tightly clenched on her hip.

Not surprised by the anger of her voice, nor the frown on her face, but it still bothered him mentally. His smile dissipated. He look like a little boy scolded by his mother for wandering away from the front yard.  “Shay don’t start again,” he innocently replied. “We’ve only been married for six months and for the last three I’ve been dealing with your jealousy.”

She glared at him.

“There’s nothing that I can say or do that will build your trust. You have to work this out yourself.” He shut the door and walked up to her.

“You could have called,” she said angrily as the arteries pulsated in her neck. “Your dinner has been ready for the past thirty minutes.” She walked over to the kitchen table and slammed down her empty plate.

He stood with his arms folded wishing he could wring that jealousy out her, like wringing out a wet towel and hanging it up to dry. “I was at the gym,” he told her. “Shay how many times in the past couple of months have I called you and told you that I was going to be late?” She ignored him and he shook his head in disgust. “I don’t care how many times I call; you still wouldn’t believe that I was working at the gym, so why bother.” 

     Shay knew he was right she wouldn’t have believed him. The desire to trust him always diminished once she thought she was letting her guard down. The persecution continued, “I called you at work,” she said as she squinted her eyes, “And on your cell phone,” she said with emphasis. “And you didn’t answer.” She frowned, waiting on a prompt reply.

     “I didn’t hear the phone ring at work. You know I’m between my office and the gym, actually I was on the court and as far as my cell phone the battery is dead.” He threw the black, flip phone on the island, upset because he found himself repeatedly having to explain and justify his whereabouts just to please Shay. 

She stood staring at him, hoping he’d break down and say he had been with a woman, which would at least justify her suspicions.  The uncertainty led her to pick up his cell phone checking to see if the battery was actually dead. 

He shook his head again in disgust realizing that the conversation wasn’t going anywhere, he picked up his briefcase and headed up the spiral staircase to the bedroom. “I come home everyday. I don’t go to clubs, I don’t hang out with the guys, and she still doesn’t trust me,” he told himself. “What more can I do? These vigorous accusations are destroying our marriage.” He walked into the bedroom slamming the door behind him. Winston threw his briefcase in the antique chair and stretched his long body on their king size bed looking up at the ceiling, with his hands folded behind his head. “What have I gotten myself into,” he mumbled. “I’m getting out of this marriage; this is not how newlyweds are supposed to act.” He raised his brows. “And there’s nothing that I can do or say to reassure her of my fidelity.” 

      As Winston finished dressing upstairs, downstairs Shay jump to her evening routine. She dashed out the kitchen door to his car where she checked the odometer, he’s over twenty miles again. She briskly walked over to the passenger side doing something she had never done before, smell the shoulder strap of the seat belt for perfume¾ none was there. Then she lowered the sun visor of the black 300M Chrysler looking for makeup stains and checked the ashtray, but found nothing. Slowly shutting the door, she pushed her hip against it to shut it completely. She returned to the kitchen and began filling the plates with the food, never revealing her secrets for tracking him.

     Winston walked down the stairs of their 3500 square foot home, standing at the foot of the stairs watching Shay pout as she paraded through the kitchen. He wished there was a pill for her jealousy. Maybe then all their troubles would go away, and they would have some stability in their marriage—some consistencies. He walked up to her, leaning his long body over her and staring into her eyes, and gently whispered, “Shay, let us not quarrel tonight,” he tried to kiss her on the cheek. 

      Winston raised his fist and hit the door as hard as he could and Shay jumped. “Where do you think I’ve been? To the motel.” He stood with his arms out as if he was being search by the police. “Here, come smell me for perfume, or do you want to check my underwear?” he asked angrily.

Shay felt that wasn’t a bad idea, but ignored his invitation.

“You hid all this jealousy and insecurities from me, now I’m slapped in the face with your problem.”

She snapped back one shoulder and stood silently, lost for words knowing she did have a problem and didn’t know how to control it.

He walked to the counter, picked up his keys and cell phone from the island, grabbed his battery charger, and walked toward the door to his car. “I don’t have to put up with this shit, being questioned like a convict. You have to learn how to trust.” He slammed the door and got into his car and sped out the driveway. What is causing her to flip out like this? He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and connected it to the charger, plugging it into the cigarette lighter. He dialed a number, the phone rang twice and a lady with a soft voice answered.

“Winston, my dear, how are you?”

                                                                                                             Chapter 2                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Reggie Mack stumbled through the door, in good spirits, with a Budweiser beer in his hand. Since losing his job almost a year ago he drank everyday. If it wasn’t rum and coke, then it was a beer. He smelled Maya’s perfume before he actually saw her, “Maya where are you?” he shouted toward the bedroom. But she didn’t answer.

She had retired her nurses’ uniform and slipped into a sleek summer dress, then returned to the living, ignoring his presence.

“What time did you get home from work today?” he hurriedly asked when she sat on the sofa worried that she may have been out messing around in that pretty dress.

“Reggie if you were so worried about me being home, how come you weren’t here to find out?” She frowned thinking it’s already evening and he’s intoxicated.

Everyday Reggie questioned her.

“Boy something has really affected your ability to trust. You need to get some professional help,” she told him.

He angled his head toward her, “I told you don’t mention a counselor or therapist, whatever they’re called, in this house. That’s out of the question.” He walked over and gave her a sloppy kiss her on the lips then sat next to her as she looked at him in disgust. The stench of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke floated up her nostrils she took the back of her hand to wipe away his saliva.

“What time did you get home woman?” he repeated stretching his legs, getting comfortable on the sofa.

“Four o’clock Reggie,” she said, but not in her normal cheerful voice.

He was relieved that she had come right home after work.

“I take it—you didn’t go job hunting today,” she asked with a smirk on her face noticing his attire; he wore jeans and Nike tennis shoes. His long wavy black hair was combed back into a ponytail showing off his medium size diamond studs blinging in each ear.

     “Baby, I didn’t go job hunting today,” he answered. “Mike and I stopped by the bar and had a couple of drinks,” he said with disregard. 

“A couple of drinks,” she raised forward, “more like a couple of fifths. For once, Reggie can I see you sober?” Maya looked at him with narrowed eyes, “And Mike,” she cringed repeating his name. “All Mike wants to do is party, drink, and mess around on his girlfriend. Lately, you’ve been going out every night of the week with Mike. What’s up with that?”

“We just went out and had some fun. That’s all baby, ain’t nobody messing around.” He took her hand and she jerked it back.

     “Have you forgotten the first of the month is around the corner, and rent is due?” 

His checking account totaled fifteen dollars, and the rent was eleven-hundred dollars for a one bedroom where the living room connected to the dining room and the dining room connected to the kitchen or rather the dining room was the kitchen. The tiny, cozy apartment discretely resided above a furniture store on a corner of Central Los Angeles. The small building included three other apartments that faced the beautiful mountains.

     Maya sighed out of frustration, closed the romance novel she had been reading by Frances Ray, got up and walked into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner. The bulk of the bills had been Maya’s responsibility, rent, utilities, cell phones, and the car payment. The money Reggie did contribute didn’t cover the water bill. He worked as a handy man performing odd jobs when called, but nothing consistent. 

He slowly stood trying to balance his body like a ballerina on a balance beam, then followed Maya into the kitchen. Their marriage was keeping him lazy, like a pampered puppy. He wasn’t worried about the bills; he knew they’d get paid.  

     Pissed she said, “Reggie how could you go drinking? You know the bills are due. I can’t pay these bills alone on my salary and you know out here it takes two paychecks—really three. I can’t carry both of us.” She was getting tired of having to work two jobs while he sat around and ran the streets.

     “Aw baby, we’re going to make it,” he said as he walked over to her and tried to hug her, but she pulled away.

“Get away from me Reggie. You’re the first to say we’re going to make it but the last to put money in the pot towards it.”

When he did have money, very little went towards the bills—his funds always went towards drinking and partying. Maya couldn’t believe how irresponsible Reggie had become, not concerned whether the bills got paid or rather didn’t show an interest.

“Aw now,” he said knowing Maya would pay them some kind of way. She didn’t mind him drinking sociably, he just didn’t know when to stop. Then he would lose focus of the real situation and end up drunk.

    “How do you think we’re going to make it?” she asked in a raised irritated voice. “On your good looks.” Reggie was fine. He had the looks that would turn women’s heads everywhere he went. He looked like a younger Billy Dee. With small trimmed sideburns, cocoa bean complexion, muscular and 6’3. He looked as though he was a body builder. But, Reggie had never picked up a barbell at least not for exercising. To look at Reggie no one would ever imagine he abused women, but Maya, his wife of two years begged to differ. Normally, Maya was quiet. She didn’t talk much; she just sat around and read or listened to gospel or jazz but the frustration of having to carry the household responsibility herself made her confront him more. She preferred Reggie not be home if he had been drinking, at least then she would have a peaceful evening but often when Reggie was there, it made her want to retreat back to Atlanta. His unpredictable mood swings were frequent, his ‘I am God’ attitude was unbearable, and the physical and verbal abuse was intolerable. She knew stress was part of his acting out, since his layoff from the same hospital where she is employed¾ Good Samaritan Hospital.

“Don’t get so bent out of shape,” he yelled perturb that she was annoyed with him.

“But your unemployment ran out ten months ago and we’re going to get kicked out of our apartment if the rent isn’t paid.” She tried to make him see reality.

     “Oh, come on, don’t worry about that right now,” he tried to kiss her again but Maya walked over to the refrigerator leaving him standing there. He followed her and grabbed her by the arm, his fingers deep in her skin, and swung her around, “If you ignore me one more time woman, you’re going to regret it.” Reggie’s defiant stare worried Maya, the look in his eyes, as well as the discomfort in her arm, told her he would hurt her.

     Maya flinched, “Let my arm go Reggie.” She jerked her arm away. At thirty, a man had never laid a hand on Maya until she married Reggie. She had seen many abused women come into the emergency room, where she worked as a nurse. She came from a family with roots on the south side of Atlanta and with three older brothers to protect her, she was never afraid.  Now she was nineteen-hundred miles away with no one to protect her and Reggie’s outbursts were becoming unbearable, and she didn’t want to end up like the abused women she tended in the emergency room.

“So, what are you doing? Kissing the doctors or the orderlies now? How come you don’t want to kiss me?” The seriousness showed on his face.

His accusations were out of control and hurtful. Fed up with his behavior she had packed her clothes to leave several times before but Reggie always begged and promised that he would do better. But, his intimidation tactics over the months didn’t stop and continued to hurt. She’d tried to communicate with him letting him know his behavior was unacceptable but it always escalated to a verbal fight.

She could feel his temper now escalating, “Reggie please, just go,” she said out of frustration.

Reggie saw the fear in her eyes and enjoyed it. It made him feel like a man—superior.  He stood leaning his body against the sink with his feet and arms crossed as if he was waiting on her to say something smart again so he could strike back—like lightning.

     “Please God not tonight, I’m not for his ranting and raving,” she whispered to herself.