Part Three: Good Night
The ride home was quiet.
The kind of quiet where everybody in the car knows exactly what’s going on and nobody’s ready to let it out yet.
Tyson drove. Tracy watched the city pass through her window.
No music. No stopping for food — and they both knew they hadn’t eaten a real meal all day. No “you hungry?” No nothing.
They pulled up to drop Marcus off first. He dapped Tyson up through the window, gave Tracy a look she didn’t looked back, and he walked up the steps and went inside.
Then Danielle. She squeezed Tracy’s hand before she got out — just for a second and then she walked inside her house.
Now it was just them.
A few blocks from the house, Tyson had something to say.
He didn’t look at her keeping his eyes on the road when he said:
Tyson: “You stupid if you think I’m about to have your ass out here embarrassing me in public.”
Tracy didn’t say a word.
She turned and looked at the side of his face — the man she had married twelve hours ago.
She turned back to her window.
They pulled into the driveway. Went inside.
Moved through the house like two roommates.
Tyson took the hall bathroom. Tracy used the bedroom bathroom.
She stood under the hot water for a long time. Letting it run. Letting the day — all of it, the good and the bad and the confusing at the club wash down the drain.
The surprise on those faces when they walked into Club Webb. The music. That moment before the moment things went left.
She turned the water off.
Dried off slowly. Pulled out her pajamas the long sleeve top, the full length pants, the kind of pajamas you wear when your snowed in.
When she came out, Tyson was already in bed. Lying on top of the covers. Naked one arm behind his head, looking like a man who was ready and full of energy like nothing happened.
The look on his face when he saw her walk through that door was freaking priceless.
She didn’t acknowledge it. Just pulled back her side of the covers and climbed in.
He sat up slightly.
Tyson: “The hell is that you got on. You can go on ahead and take all that off.”
Tracy reached over grab her charger and set her phone on the nightstand. Screen down.
Tracy: “You think you’re going to talk to me like that, I don’t think so.”
He turned toward her.
Tyson: “No wedding night love?”
She pulled the covers up to her shoulder and closed her eyes.
Tracy: “Your hand can get the job done.” “Good night.”
Silence.
She could feel him looking at her.
After a while, she heard him ease back against his pillow.
She didn’t look. But she knew.
He was lying there staring at the ceiling — this man who had driven home without stopping to feed his wife, who had spoken to her sideways in front of people who loved them, who had winked at somebody in the corner of a club on the night they got married.
Staring at the ceiling.
In their bed.
On their wedding night.
The house wasn’t all that quiet. The kids were at Ms. Coffman’s. And Tyson Webb was lying next to his wife making all kinds of noise while she was sound asleep — or doing a very good job at faking it — in full winter pajamas.
He made that bed.
To be continued…