Final Appeal

“You? In my neighborhood? What’s up there?”

“Armen’s apartment.”

Her mouth forms a glossy chestnut-stained O. “Say what?”

I close the door behind me. “I thought I knew you, El, but it turns out I don’t.”

She eases down onto one of the boxes. “Now don’t say that.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“How’d you find out about the apartment?”

I hadn’t thought about that. “I came across some papers in here the other night. A lease.”

“I thought I packed all that stuff.”

“You didn’t tell me about Malcolm.”

“You expected me to?”

“Of course, we’re friends. I thought he was yours and your ex’s.”

She points an electric nail at me. “I never told you that. You assumed it.”

“You let me assume it.”

“You’d’ve blamed me.”

“Blamed you? It’s him I blame.”

She frowns. “Armen? Why?”

“Hitting on women who work for him. First you, then me.”

“Armen wasn’t like that.”

I look away at the bookshelves, empty and hollow. “Come on, El. I wasn’t born yesterday and neither were you. It’s the same old shit, just in a black robe.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t or isn’t?”

“Wasn’t,” she says firmly. “It’s ancient history.”

“Good. So he wasn’t cheating on me, just his wife.”

“We ended before he met Susan, Grace.”

It sets my teeth on edge. “Then why didn’t he marry you?”

“Because I said no.”

“What?” It’s a surprise.

“The bottom line is”—she pauses, then laughs and throws up her hands—“we fell in love, then we got pregnant. He wanted to make it legal, but I couldn’t see marryin’ him, takin’ him away from everybody he loved. His mother. His community.”

“What community?”

“The Armenians. The dinners, the church, the whole thing. It was the center of his life.” She looks down. “You think his mama liked it when she met me, my belly big as a watermelon? I’m half the reason she killed herself.”

“Is that true?”

“I don’t know. Armen always blamed himself. So when he asked, I said no.” She sighs. “Don’t think I haven’t regretted it, plenty of times. I even felt a little jealous of you.”

“Me?”

She waves it away. “Water under the bridge. It was the right thing. I didn’t fit in his life.”

“Did Susan?”

She wrinkles her stubby nose. “Not really, but he fit into hers. Now you were different, you woulda been the one. You fit into his life and he fit into yours.”

I feel a lump in my throat. I know that, inside.

“With him and me, we were betwixt and between, both of us. My family wasn’t in love with the situation either. It never would’ve worked.”

“So you took Malcolm yourself and raised him?”

“Not on my own. Armen was in on every decision, we talked about Mal all the time. He was a great father, Grace. The best.”

“How’d you swing it financially?”

“Armen paid Malcolm’s expenses. Now I don’t know what’ll happen.” She flicks some imaginary dirt out from under a nail. “It’s part of the reason I’m thinking about quitting school. To get another job at night.”

I think of the checkbook. “Did Armen leave a will or anything?”

She laughs. “For what? He had no extra money, it went to us. You saw the apartment, he bought that boy everything. I told you he saved. Well, it was Malcolm he was saving for, for his college.”

“How much had he saved?”

“About fifty–sixty grand, like I told you. Not bad, huh?” She smiles proudly, and the irony hits me full force. I can’t shake the image of the $650,000, socked away in a money fund. Did Armen hold out on her and Malcolm?

“Let’s say he did have money, Eletha. Do you think he had a will? Did Susan say anything?”

“Not that I heard.”

“Does she know about you and him?”

Eletha’s eyes widen comically. “You crazy, girl?”

I smile, feeling my hostility subsiding. Maybe I wouldn’t have told me either. “Why not?”

“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to tell her, and he promised me he wouldn’t. She has no idea.”

“But how did he get away every Sunday?”

“How do most men get away? Work. Clubs. It became his Sunday off. We were careful during the campaign, laid low, and she found plenty to do, believe me. She was into him early on, but when she caught Potomac fever she left him behind.”

“Is that when he asked for a divorce?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy again. “Armen? Never. He loved her in his bones. She’s the one who called it quits.”

I don’t understand. “Susan was the one who ended the marriage, not Armen? But he told me she’d asked him to stay with her.”

“Through the campaign, because she needed a hubby to smile pretty for the pictures. Otherwise, that woman didn’t need him at all.”

I sit down in one of the chairs at the conference table. “I don’t know what to think, El. I don’t understand Armen. I don’t understand anything.”

“You’re takin’ this bad, girlfriend,” Eletha says. “What don’t you understand, baby? Mommy make it better.”

“I don’t know if Armen was a bad guy or a good guy.”

“A good guy. Next question.”

“I don’t know who killed him.”

“He killed himself. Next.”

I look at her in bewilderment. “How can you say that? You had a son with him.”

“That’s right.”

“You said he was a good father.”

“He was. The best.”

“How could he be? What kind of father leaves his own child?” I think of my own father, though I hadn’t started out thinking about him. Suddenly I need to know the answer to the question, burning like hot lead at the core of my chest. “Tell me that, Eletha. How can a father turn his back on his own flesh and blood?”

“Because he has no choice. Maybe the pain is too great to stay.” She shakes her head. “Look, you left your husband, didn’t you? Why?”

“He cheated on me,” I say, the words dry as dust in my mouth. “It’s not the same.”

“Yes, it is. You loved him, didn’t you? But you left.”

“I had to.”

“Right. You had no choice. Just because you left doesn’t mean you didn’t love.”