There wasn’t much time. At five-foot-eight and 135 pounds, she would show soon, and it was dangerous to confide in anyone at school about her pregnancy. Her mom was too preoccupied with Laila and her healing to take on any other stressors. Landon was the only option. They arranged a time to meet in the basement of St. Philip’s Church, where the acoustics were shabby and neither of their voices could travel. Ironically, her privacy was ruined almost immediately after Amara entered the church because she missed a step on the stairs, fell down the rest, and landed on her stomach. A searing pain rippled throughout her body, but it also occurred to her that an accident would do away with the problem. She groaned as she stood to her feet and patted her backside to feel any wetness there or between her thighs, but there was nothing. That was a hard fall, and the smack echoed from one wall to the other. Her legs and arms hurt. Her head definitely hurt. But in her abdomen she only felt a slight burn from the friction of the carpet at the bottom—not from the fall itself. Confounded, Amara stood up straight with her jaw hanging while Landon came running over to her.
“What happened?”
“I fell, but I’m okay. Really I am.”
“You sure? You got a knot forming on your forehead. Let me get you an ice pack.”
Amara leaned on Landon to walk to the kitchen in the basement and her protruding belly brushed against him. He halted, grabbed both of her arms, and scrutinized her. He placed a hand over her belly, and his eyes bulged.
“Don’t say it. Just don’t.”
“How far?”
“Four.”
“Four? We have to take you to a doctor.”
“No!” Amara lowered her voice. “No. No doctors. I can’t. Nobody can know.”
“Let me see your stomach.”
Amara lifted her shirt to reveal her round, brown belly. She’d fallen hard on her stomach, and there were no scars, no nicks, and not even a hint of redness. Throughout the course of their conversation, Landon looked at her belly, and the skin remained unscathed. The only bruises were on her forehead and elbows. The fact that she could stand to her feet without bleeding or cramping was an oddity alone.
“Go home and keep yourself covered with layers. I will call you within the next two days.”
“Are you going to help me?”
“Yes. This conversation never happened. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Later that night, Landon tucked his three children into bed and kissed his wife, Valerie, on the lips. She had known about his five-years-long affair with Josephine Melancon and regretted the day when her absence provided the opening for another woman to insert herself into his life. At the time, Landon was dissatisfied with his work as a trader on Wall Street. Since he’d survived the recession a few years before, he thought he might be up for a promotion and more perks. The Thomases weren’t hurting for cash. In fact, they intended on buying a nice home, and they had their eyes set on the Melancons’, even though it wasn’t for sale. He knew from his days down in the Financial District that anyone could be convinced for the right price. Valerie was on her way back from visiting her folks in New Haven, but there were massive delays on the Metro North and she told Landon to visit the home without her and they’d talk about what he thought later.
When he first laid eyes on Josephine, he forgot the goal of his visit or all the events of the day that preceded this meeting. Her beauty disrupted time, and her presence marked an instant epoch. There were only two periods: before and after Josephine, and he refused to think about a life beyond that moment that did not include her. She entertained him in the dining room, and when Maman joined them, she immediately saw the attraction that they harbored toward each other. She extracted whatever information she could about him: his family life, his profession, and his earnings. He left the Melancon brownstone with a rejection of his offer on the home, but he returned home with an even greater prize: the potential love of Josephine and a return offer to be a part of their caulbearing business as an intermediary (since he already had the connections via Wall Street and he wasn’t funny-acting around big money). They’d never employed a point person before, and his inclusion in the business would outsource the work of recruiting clients and help with their physical safety. So Landon decided to work for the Melancon women on the side while continuing his Wall Street career.
At first, Valerie hated the affair and how much light Landon carried in his eyes for another woman, but the money funneling through the Melancon enterprise to their joint bank accounts was of an abundance so sweet that silence was the best option. Besides, she had been a housewife for most of their marriage and she didn’t want to enter the workforce again. But she would not allow him to kiss her after he returned, out of basic respect. He would need to cleanse his body with scalding-hot water while reciting a medley of verses from Song of Songs and First Corinthians and spend the remainder of the night sleeping downstairs before the children woke up as a mutually agreed-upon purification process, a commitment to which he was always faithful.
The night following his and Amara’s meeting in the St. Philip’s basement, Landon was uncharacteristically jolly. Valerie watched him from her side of the bed, dressed in off-color flannel pants, with a copy of a
