Black Water Rising

Bernie is quiet a moment. “Twenty-five thousand dollars?” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “You weren’t gon’ tell me? About none of it, Jay?”

“I don’t want you in it.”

“I’m already in it, Jay. I heard her screaming too, remember? I heard gunshots too,” she says. “Evelyn liked to died when I told her the story. She said from the start we should have gone to the police.”

Evelyn. Shit.

Jay scrambles to his feet. He forgot that Bernie told her sister about the boat ride. He’s got to stop his sister-in-law before she tells anyone else, before the story gets out of his control. “Call her,” he says. He tries to help his wife off the couch, but she’s resistant, pulling her whole weight away from him, looking up at him like he’s plumb lost his mind. “Stop it, Jay.”

“You need to call your sister.”

“Why?”

“You need to call her and tell her to keep her mouth shut.”

“It’ll just make her worry more.”

“Then tell her I already talked to the cops,” he says, suddenly thinking of a way to keep this whole thing quiet. “Tell her I already told the police everything.”

He starts walking toward the kitchen phone, pleading.

“Call her.”

“I’m not going to lie. Not to my family. I won’t do it, Jay.”

“I just need to buy some time, B. Just ’til I figure out what to do.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with this, Jay. I don’t under­ stand why you can’t go to the police,” she says, shaking her head at him, the parts she still, after all these years, doesn’t under­ stand. “Just tell them the truth.”

“The man has my gun, B! I have a felony arrest record! What do you want me to say here! What the hell do you want me to do!”

His arms collapse at his sides. He is suddenly very, very tired.

Bernie lets out a soft, featherweight sigh.

It takes her longer to get off the couch than it does to get to the wall phone in the kitchen. Jay stumbles behind her, in a stu­ por of awe and gratitude for his wife’s graciousness, the depths to which she’s willing to forgive. She picks up the phone. He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s just a phone call, B.”

Bernie nods, dialing.

Jay walks her through the whole thing, whispering in her ear.

Tell her this is the first you heard of it or you would have said some­ thing earlier.

“You know how Jay gets, don’t want to worry nobody with nothing.”

Tell her I talked to a detective. I told you the man’s name, but you can’t remember it just now.

“It must have been a few days ago,” she says into the phone.

“Tell her you’re coming to stay with her,” Jay says, suddenly flipping the script. He knew the moment he walked in the door and found her unharmed that he would ask her to leave, demand it even. He saved it until now to avoid an argument about it. “Tell her we had a fight, and you’re coming to stay with her.”

Bernie shakes her head. She mouths the words, No, Jay.

“You can’t stay here, B. It’s not safe.”

“Ev, listen. I’ma be out to your place in about an hour. Is that all right?” Bernie says, looking at her husband. “Yeah, we had a little fight. You know how Jay is, caught up in his head some­ where, don’t want to let nobody inside.” Jay feels the weight of her stare. “Well, frankly,” she says, “I’m getting tired of it.”

He helps her pack. Toothbrush, change of clothes.

Enough for a couple of days.

They wait until after sundown, Jay checking the back alley

and the streets around his apartment complex for any signs of a black Ford. They drive to Evelyn’s place in silence. He won’t walk her to the door. They’ve got to keep up the appearance, at least, of marital discord.

Bernie waits a long time before she opens the car door. “You take care of this. Hear me, Jay? You take care of this so I can come home, so I can have my husband back, Jay. You make me that promise.”

He squeezes her hand, nodding his head, biting the corner of his lip.

“You got to get clear in your head about some things.” She speaks matter-of-factly, even as her eyes fill with tears. “ ’Cause I need you, Jay . . . we need you.”

He nods, chewing on his lip until he tastes blood.

He knows he’s got to let her go.

She twists the straps of her overnight bag. Finally, she opens the car door. Through the car window, Jay watches his wife ring the doorbell at Evelyn’s one-story tract home. He waits for the door to open, waits to see that she’s safely inside. He waves to Evelyn, in a cotton nightgown down to her ankles, but his sisterin-law slams the door without a nod or a hello.