A New Kind of Bliss

By Bettye Griffin

Griffin is a budding name in mainstream African American fiction. --Chicago magazine

After her father's death, Emily Yancy agrees to move back to her dead-end hometown. But she's dreading every minute she'll have to spend in her mother's tiny apartment. After all, she's a forty-three-year-old divorcée who's doing just fine on her own. There are some rewards for dutiful daughters though--like Aaron Merritt, a rich, single doctor with chocolate skin and bedroom eyes. . .

Aaron is soon taking Emily to fancy restaurants and inviting her to meet his family. But when the lights go out, something's missing. Enter Teddy Simms, Emily's eighth-grade crush. Teddy hasn't achieved what Aaron has--but he's picked up a few skills in other areas. Will Emily choose a relationship that doesn't satisfy her mind--or an easy compatibility that doesn't quite extend into the bedroom? Or is there some way she can find the best of both worlds?

"A compelling drama about three families striving for the American dream." --Booklist on If These Walls Could Talk

"Fear and joy practically leap off the pages. A well-written story you will hate to see end." --RT Book Reviews on Once Upon a Project

"Griffin expertly explores the universal search for love." --Booklist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9780758285881

Book preview

husband

Chapter 1

Maybe I just imagined the huge cloud of doom and gloom over New York City as the jet headed toward the runway at LaGuardia. It might have been one of those symbolic things, a metaphor, I think it’s called. But I was feeling pretty damn low, so it seemed appropriate.

Anything could have happened while I was in the air. I didn’t know if my father was still clinging on to life or if he would be dead by the time I got to the hospital. Even if he pulled through this respiratory failure, there would probably be another one waiting next week or next month. That’s how emphysema works. It doesn’t go away; it just keeps getting worse until it kills you.

Pop’s health was my first concern. My mother, Ruby Yancy, was my second. She was seventy-eight years old and had never lived alone in her life. She’d been a wife for most of her adult life, always seeing to it that the cupboards and refrigerator were stocked, serving a hot meal at six

P.M.

every night, keeping the apartment tidy, and notifying the building superintendent whenever repairs were needed. She could work within the confines of a budget, too, but she had never put gas in the car, never taken it in for maintenance or repairs, never even written a check to pay a bill. My dad, Earl Yancy Sr. has always been the real take-charge type who always insisted on handling all the household business. He continued to do so even after his breathing difficulties got worse.

The bottom line was that after the inevitable happened, Mom wouldn’t be able to live alone unless someone taught her how to balance a checkbook and check the oil. But neither I nor my siblings lived in our hometown of Euliss, a city along the Hudson River, just north of the New York City limits. I’d moved to Indianapolis after college, because that’s where Al Davis, my ex, whom I’d met at Cheyney University, lived. Two years later we got married, and I remained in the city after we got divorced six years after that. My sister, Priscilla—we call her Cissy—lived in Pittsburgh, and my brother, Earl Jr., lived upstate. The three of us had never sat down and discussed what was going to happen when Pop’s gone. We may be separated geographically, but we could have done it easily with that marvelous innovation known as three-way calling.

Still, I didn’t feel too guilty about not having initiated that conversation. I suspected that one of them would suggest that I be the one to spend three or four months in Euliss getting Mom settled. Let Emily take care of it, they would say. "She doesn’t have a husband. She doesn’t have kids."

Bullshit. Sonny—my brother’s nickname from childhood, which I thought was silly, considering he was now fifty-five years old and a grandfather—and Cissy were eleven and thirteen years my senior, respectively. They both had kids, most of whom were grown and out of the house. Sonny taught mathematics at SUNY New Paltz, but it was only early June and there wouldn’t be classes until the fall. Cissy was general manager of a big convention hotel in Pittsburgh, but it wasn’t like they couldn’t find someone to fill in for her, somebody like, if I had to guess off the top of my head, the assistant general manager. I saw no reason for me to be the one to have to make a major sacrifice. Being divorced meant the only household income was the one I brought home, and in my opinion that made me the least likely candidate—that is, unless Sonny and Cissy planned on paying my mortgage, car note, and other bills.

The plane was really low now, and all I could see out of my window was water. I heard a loud clicking sound as the landing gear dropped into place. Just when I was certain we were headed for the bottom of Long Island Sound, the runway appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. I knew the pilot had been able to see it the whole time. Still, I held my breath until I felt us touch down with that familiar thump. Landings under ordinary circumstances weren’t as dangerous as takeoffs, but they make me uneasy just the same.

The engines roared now as the jet barreled down the runway, and I didn’t truly relax until it slowed to taxiing speed.

I sat out the mad rush to deplane, most of which was spent standing up, holding carry-on luggage in hand, and grumbling about what was taking so damn long. Some of the passengers held packages of cigarettes, and one especially impatient man already had an unlit Salem in his mouth. He’d probably make a mad dash for the exit so he could get in a few puffs before claiming his luggage. But I wasn’t about to let the people standing in the aisles behind me get off before I did. I put my foot in the aisle to block it as I got to my feet and retrieved my garment bag from the overhead bin.

Cissy stood waiting, an impatient scowl on her face, when I emerged at the baggage claim area downstairs. Instead of a standard greeting, the first words out of her mouth were, "Look at all the people already waiting at the belt for the bags to come out. Did you have to be the last one off the plane?"

Lighten up, Cissy; there’s a good forty people behind me. I was sitting in the back, I said calmly. But even if I was the last, we can’t leave until I get my bag, and nothing has come out yet, I pointed out as we stopped in front of the silent carousel. I grasped her forearm. What’s the latest on Pop?

He’s hanging in, but he could go any minute. He already went into respiratory arrest at four o’clock this morning, but they revived him. We’ve been at the hospital ever since.

Did anyone at the hospital talk to Mom about a DNR order, ‘do not resuscitate’?

Yes. We made him a full code for the time being, so you’d be able to see him. Now that you’re here, I guess we can reverse it, although it’s a hard topic to discuss. I’d be hesitant to bring up the subject to Mom. Cissy looked a little embarrassed. How’ve you been, Em?

I was wondering how long it would take my sister to get around to basic civilities. I’m fine. Then I asked about Cissy’s family. She and her husband, who was waiting in the cell phone lot, were staying with their daughter, son-in-law, and two-year-old grandson. Everyone was well, but anxious about Pop.

The crowd at the carousel was the same people who were practically knocking each other over to get off the plane. Now the gripe had changed from why isn’t this line moving to where’s my damn luggage. I got lucky. When the buzzer finally sounded and the belt started moving, my bag was the third one to come out. Cissy promptly called her husband, and five minutes later we were in the car and on our way to Euliss.

Traffic was light, which was a relief. But I winced when I saw the toll for the Triboro Bridge was up to five dollars. It made me feel old to remember those exact-change lanes that existed back when the toll was just seventy-five cents.

It was too hazy to see the Manhattan skyline from the bridge, and since there wasn’t anything else to look at but one of the most hideous parts of the Bronx, I stared straight ahead at the back of my brother-in-law’s head of straggly salt-and-pepper hair. Has Mom really been at the hospital since four this morning?

We all have, Cissy answered. They normally have just two visiting periods a day for intensive care, but since Pop’s situation is so grave, the staff usually lets us in any time we want. She paused, possibly to make her next words have more impact. He really could go at any time, Em.

That explained why her husband was driving like his foot was weighted with a cement block. David, a retired police lieutenant, zoomed past traffic like he was on a high-speed chase. I barely had time to get a whiff of the sweet smell of baking cakes and cookies from the Stella D’oro plant at 238th Street before we crossed into Westchester County.

The Euliss Medical Center, formerly Euliss General Hospital and usually still called that by locals, had been the recipient of a complete expansion and face-lift. Gone were all traces of the eighties—eighteen eighties, that is—haunted castle look I remembered in the main building, which had looked every bit of its hundred-plus years before the remodeling.

We had to drive a block past the main entrance to get a parking space. David dropped a few quarters into the meter and we rushed to the hospital entrance.

Mom and Sonny were waiting in the lobby, and they greeted me with strong, tight hugs. Mom looked older and smaller than she had the last time I’d seen her during the holidays, just six months before. The illness of her life’s partner of more than a half century had been taxing for her. I felt a twinge of guilt that quickly grew to encompass my whole being. As the youngest of the three, with a considerable age gap between me and my older siblings, I had enjoyed having our parents all to myself during my adolescence and teenage years and had lived a semi-pampered existence, at least as much as a lower-middle class kid could. I knew they hoped I would return to Euliss after my divorce, but the truth was I liked Indianapolis. I usually got back home about twice a year for quick visits. Because of that I had missed much of Pop’s decline. Sonny and Cissy got to town more frequently, especially Sonny, since New Paltz was only a few hours’ drive away. He’d driven down fairly often in recent months after receiving hysterical telephone calls from Mom, usually telling Cissy and me that Pop had improved and there was no reason for us to travel to Euliss.

Until now.

David took a seat in the waiting room outside the ICU, while the rest of us walked to the desk. I eyed the sign that stated each patient was restricted to two visitors. Will they really let all four of us in to see him? I whispered to Sonny.

We’re here to see Earl Yancy, he said to the nurse as he gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. There are four of us.

The woman didn’t blink. Yes, of course. Go right in.

Pop’s eyes were closed. He had tubes going down his throat. He had never been a large man, but his outline under the sheet looked thin and wasted.

Mom leaned over the bed’s guardrails, talking to him and becoming visibly upset when he didn’t respond. I pulled her to me and hugged her tightly. Take a break, Mom, I whispered; something about all that machinery alternately clicking and flashing his vital signs in the background made hushed tones appropriate. Let me try.

Again he was unresponsive. I couldn’t even get him to squeeze my hand. I work as a physician assistant, and my trained eyes automatically went to his vital signs on the monitor. His pulse was steady, his blood pressure was normal, and so were his oxygen levels, but the latter was only because of those four liters of O2 he was receiving every minute.

Pop, Cissy whispered near his ear after fifteen minutes, visiting time is over. We have to leave, but we’ll be back at three o’clock.

He suddenly opened both eyes. Earl! Mom squealed, rushing to his bedside from where she stood between Sonny and me.

We all moved in closer. Pop’s gaze shifted to all four of us, and I thought I saw him smile. Then his eyes closed in a slow fade very different from the haste in which he had opened them. We all kissed him good-bye, even Sonny.

I rode to my parents’ apartment with Mom and Sonny, while an exhausted Cissy returned with David to the apartment of their daughter and son-in-law.

There’s some tuna fish for you in the fridge, Mom said to me when we arrived. I’m going to lie down for a bit.

Okay, Mom. I sighed as she disappeared down the hall. This is tough on her, I said to Sonny. It’s not going to get any easier. It doesn’t look good.

No, it doesn’t.

Do you know if she’s prepared? I mean, does she know where the will is? The life insurance policy? Have she and Pop discussed what kind of funeral he wants?

All that’s been addressed. The problem is what’s going to happen to Mom.

My shoulders automatically tensed as I waited to hear what he would say next. When he remained silent I prompted him. You have any ideas?

Well, I know she wants to stay here in Euliss. All her friends are here, and the church is here. Of course, Nelly and I would love to have her come live with us, but Mom won’t consider it. I don’t think a college town is the right setting for her anyway.

I noticed that he didn’t say that he’d actually invited her to live with them, only that she wouldn’t consider it. I don’t know if she has a choice, I said. With a sigh, I added, I wish she’d listened to me when I tried to get her to take a more active role in running the household. If she had, she wouldn’t be facing such a hard time in the first place. It’ll be hard enough for her to lose Pop. But considering that all three of us live out of town and she wants to stay in Euliss, her only other option is to live alone.

He shook his head. I don’t think she can.

Of course she can, Sonny. You do what you have to. We all do, no matter how old we are.

She’ll have a terrible time of it. Do you really want to put her through that, Emily?

I don’t see any way out, unless you’re planning on coming down here to teach.

"Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t possibly do that. But Cissy and I figured you could come back."

I raised an eyebrow. They sure didn’t waste any time. How long had I been in town, forty-five minutes?

I raised my chin defiantly. Well, that’s interesting, considering I live farther away than either one of you. How did you come to the conclusion that my relocating would be easier than it would be for either of you?

He shrugged. Well, you’re not married. . . .

There it went. Which is precisely why I have to work to support myself, I snapped. It’s June, Sonny. College is out of session for the summer. Are you saying you can’t spend the summer here with Mom? It shouldn’t be necessary to pull up stakes and move back permanently; she only needs time to get used to the idea of being alone.

And then just abandon her?

His righteous indignation was starting to get on my nerves. You’re here all the time anyway, Sonny; New Paltz isn’t that far away. She’s not being abandoned. Most of her friends are widows; they all manage.

They all have kids living here. Mom has no family except us.

She has grown grandchildren living right here in Euliss. That’s the kind of place Euliss was; if you didn’t leave by the time you were thirty or so you would probably spend your entire life within the boundaries of a single zip code.

That’s not the same as children, Sonny insisted.

I’m not moving back here, Sonny, not even temporarily, so forget it. I held his gaze for emphasis until he looked away. I was still glaring at him when the phone rang. Hello? I listened to the caller, a female, identify herself as a representative of the hospital, and I in turn identified myself as the daughter of Earl Yancy. I’m terribly sorry, the woman said. We did everything we could. We were unable to revive him.

Chapter 2

People started arriving at the stroke of seven. In a way I was glad; it gave me something to concentrate on other than the casket, just a few feet away. I had looked at Pop when I first arrived at the church. Some people truly do look as if they are merely sleeping when they are laid out. Others look like there isn’t an ounce of life left in them, like they’ve been stuffed by a taxidermist like a moose. I’m sorry to say that my daddy fell in the latter group, which I found depressing. I reminded myself of how at the hospital he had opened his eyes and smiled at all of us, the family he loved so much. In my heart I felt that he’d known all of us were there and that he only had another half hour or so of life left. It was like he was trying to tell us that it was all right, that he was ready to go and we shouldn’t be sad . . . words he could not audibly express because of the tube in his throat. Thank God I’d gotten into town when I did and was there to see the face I knew so well that one last time. But I’d give anything if I could have heard his voice as well.

Emmylou, he used to call me. His mother’s name had been Louise, and he made that my middle name, in honor of her. She’d died when he was a boy, and now he was with her after a separation of nearly seventy years. Could that have been why he died with a smile on his face? Big drops of tears spilled from my eyelids. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

The wake and funeral were being held at the A.M.E. church our family had attended for as long as I could remember. We opted for only one wake; more than that would be too much of an emotional burden. Telephone calls had been made to close family friends, and the obituary had run in the Euliss Daily Dispatch.

I recalled the countless times I had opened letters from Mom and a folded piece of newsprint paper had fallen out, making me ponder, Who died now? always holding my breath a little as I unfolded it, knowing I would see a familiar name. Even miles from home the Dispatch was still part of my life. I’d be forty-three in a few months, and many of my friends had lost one or even both parents by this point in their lives. Now it was my turn.

It soon became apparent that we were going to have what is generally referred to as a good turnout. For some reason folks in Euliss like to brag about how many people show up at wakes and funerals, the same as they do about how late people stay when they give a party. Does it really make a difference how popular a person is when they’re dead?

The first arrivals were relatives, longtime friends, neighbors, and people from church, folks my parents’ age whom I’d known all my life. I hadn’t seen many of them in years, and they all looked a little smaller, a little grayer, and moved a lot slower.

The younger set showed up a little later. Even my brother’s and sister’s friends had that definite over-fifty look. I saw a lot of matronly looking women, and men with bulging bellies, raggedy gray hair a lá Fred Sanford, or shaved heads, which I suspected was their way of coping with receding hairlines. Where had the time gone? Even my nieces and nephews were adults now. Cissy’s daughter, my parents’ oldest grandchild, was thirty-one, a mere dozen years my junior. Sonny’s two boys and Cissy’s son were all in their mid- to late twenties. Only Sonny’s seventeen-year-old daughter still seemed young enough to feel like a niece.

I sat in the first pew with my arm draped around Mom’s shoulders, periodically asking, You all right? and looking at the nearly two dozen floral designs, including the ones purchased by Mom, Sonny, Cissy, and myself, and the grandchildren. Only two were blanketed, but despite having cheerful colors, they practically screamed out, Funeral! The others were in wicker baskets or plastic containers and came in different colors, shapes, and sizes.

Mom was handling her stress and grief just fine, and I was proud of her. My own marriage had become a statistic after six years, and I couldn’t imagine being married to someone for five-and-a-half decades. You’ve got to feel like you’ve lost a part of yourself.

Mom eventually went off to huddle with her closest friends, the group from her twice monthly bid whist game. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but I could just imagine the inane remarks being made. I was surprised that older folks, who surely had been touched more by death than the young, didn’t seem to have anything better to say than how good the deceased looked. Oh, Ruby, Earl looked beautiful. Ruby, he looks just wonderful. He looks like he’s going to sit up and talk. He’s dead, I wanted to shout. Don’t you get it? He’s through with talking!

I’d lived in Euliss for the first eighteen years of my life and had known many people, most of whom I’d eventually lost touch with after I moved to the Midwest, if not before. Because so many years had gone by, I wasn’t expecting to see any faces from the past, and it came as a pleasant surprise when I recognized old friends who came to pay their respects. Some of them I hadn’t seen in ten or fifteen years.

I’d kept in touch with Rosalind Hunter, and even though I didn’t have time to inform her or anyone else, I wasn’t surprised to see her approaching. I’d know her anywhere. Even as a teenager, Rosalind had always stood out in a crowd. She was striking, tall and slim with wide-set eyes and long black hair, only now that hair was short and auburn.

I love your haircut! I exclaimed as we embraced. And the color, too. If I didn’t know better I’d swear it was natural.

Thanks. It took John a while to get used to it, but now he likes it. She squeezed my shoulder in concern. How are you, dear?

Oh, I’m doing all right. Let’s move down here so we can sit and talk. Mom, Cissy, and Sonny were all involved in conversations of their own, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t do the same. The wake had turned into a social event of sorts, a cocktail party without the cocktails. But I’d rather chew the fat than sit and sob for two hours, and I knew Pop would prefer it that way as well.

I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you, Rosalind, I said after we were seated. How did you hear?

The notorious Euliss grapevine. Valerie Woods called me. Rosalind scanned the room. I see a lot of people came out to pay respects.

Yes. I haven’t seen Valerie, though.

She said she plans to stop by tomorrow morning, before the service. She’s got . . . she’s awfully busy at home.

I wondered what Rosalind meant—Valerie was single with three children, but the oldest was about sixteen, certainly old enough to give her mom a hand—but before I had a chance to ask, a male voice greeted, Hello, Emily.

I stared at the man with the close-cropped sandy brown hair, long nose, and close-set eyes, who was clearly enjoying my confusion. I watched as he and Rosalind exchanged amused glances.

My mouth dropped open in a lightbulb expression when I finally realized who he was. We all thought Wayne Pittman was incredibly handsome in junior high, as we did with every guy who was light skinned and had a big ’fro. His being a football player by the time we got to high school didn’t hurt, either. I ran into him and his wife—not a Euliss girl—at the annual Thanksgiving morning football game about ten years after graduation, long after Afros went out of fashion, and then it struck me that he was about as good-looking as Godzilla. But Wayne had always been a nice guy, easily able to straddle the line between being friendly and a come-on. To this day, he was the closest I’d ever come to having a male friend, except for my ex-husband before our marriage went the way of the rotary dial.

I stood to hug him. My arm muscles were sure getting a hell of a workout tonight, and so were my cheekbones. Wayne, it’s good to see you. Thank you for coming.

I’m sorry about your father, Emily.

I know. Sit down with us. I haven’t seen you in how long, fifteen years?

That’s about it. At the Euliss–Horace Mann Thanksgiving game, wasn’t it? You and your husband. His eyes darted about, like he was looking for said spouse.

Yes. We got divorced a couple of years after that.

Oh. Me, too. Wayne leaned forward so he could see Rosalind. What’s up, Slim?

Not a thing. How’re your boys?

Everybody’s well. My youngest son is in middle school already.

They grow so fast, Rosalind remarked wistfully.

Tell me about it, I added. Of course, I had no firsthand knowledge of raising children. After a miscarriage I had difficulty conceiving again. In hindsight it had been a hidden blessing, especially after I learned that Al Davis, my dearly beloved husband, was cheating on me. I left him shortly after. At this point in my life, less than ten years away from hot flashes, I felt it was safe to say I wouldn’t be having any children, but my friends’ words reflected my earlier sentiments about my nieces and nephews.

So Wayne was divorced, too. Knowing that he hadn’t lived that storybook existence like Rosalind comforted me in an odd way. I guess nobody wants to be the only di-vorc ée in the bunch.

When Rosalind got married people predicted it wouldn’t last as long as, well, pick any short-lived celebrity marriage. She and John Hunter had been the talk of Euliss High School twenty-five years ago because John was white. People in Euliss, both black and white, tend to view interracial dating like smoking on the street—it just wasn’t done, at least not by anyone who had any class. At least that’s how it used to be back in the day, but knowing Euliss, I doubt much has changed.

Rosalind glanced at her watch. I see it’s almost eight. I promised my oldest that I’d look at his math homework when I get home. She turned to me. Emily, how long will you be in town?

Until Sunday. I hope we can get together before then.

She brightened like someone had turned on the lights inside her head. Why don’t both of you come over for dinner Friday? I’ll put together a small dinner party. Maybe I can introduce you both to some nice people.

Wayne chuckled. No, thanks, at least to being set up. I’m still convinced that the last so-called woman you matched me with at one of your parties either was a transvestite or had a sex change.

Rosalind made a face. We’ve already been over that, Wayne. I thought she’d be good for you. You’ve always gone for tall women. How was I supposed to know? She seemed like a nice girl . . . who just had really big feet.

So which one was it, Wayne? I asked. Transvestite or surgically altered? I playfully wiggled my eyebrows up and down.

I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. The size of those hands and feet were a real turnoff. At the end of the evening I shook her hand and ran for my life. Her grip was stronger than mine. He laughed.

Oh, all right. I’ll give you a simply platonic dinner partner, Wayne. Tanis Montgomery doesn’t live far from me, and I think her husband is out of town.

As I thought of Tanis, who’d gone through school with us, it was now my turn to want to make a face. Our mothers were good friends, and there’d always been a competition of sorts between both Tanis and I and our mothers, who were eager to brag about our accomplishments. I’m sorry to say that I was behind in the race.

But I’ve got just the man for you, Em, Rosalind continued. Aaron Merritt. He’s the most eligible over-forty-five-year-old bachelor in Westchester County.

What’s wrong with him? I promptly asked, and I wasn’t joking. I figured if he had credentials like that, it had to be because nobody wanted his ass.

Well, let’s see. He’s about six one with a nice build, sexy eyes, he’s a doctor, a few years older than us . . . , Rosalind began.

"Back up. He’s a what?"

A doctor. He specializes in oncology at John’s hospital. Anyone who heard Rosalind refer to John’s hospital and didn’t know better would think John’s last name was Hopkins, but John was actually an administrator at the Columbia University complex in upper Manhattan.

My heart began thumping in excitement, in spite of my efforts to stay calm. But I’d never been one of those people who saw the glass of milk as half full. Instead, I told myself that this milk had to have a sour taste to it. And how is it that no one has snapped him up?

Somebody did. He met his wife when they were in college. But she died the beginning of last year, Rosalind replied.

Has he dated anyone else since? The idea of breaking in a widower made me a bit uneasy. I pictured some faceless man telling me all about his late wife, then breaking down while I tried to comfort him. Not exactly my idea of a roaring good time.

"Not that I know of. I do know that a lot of women have been inviting him to their dinner parties as the ‘extra man,’ and that he’s been turning them down. So I’ll downplay the part about wanting to introduce him to my girlfriend and