"And you really thought that by touching my daughter and forcing her to do things to you, that that would make her like you more? Am I getting this right, George?"

"Somewhat."

"Did you ever think about how she might feel because of what you were doing to her?"

"I thought she liked it."

I reach for the bouquet to throw at him, but decide it's not worth it. I grit my teeth and ball up my fist and back away from him. "You didn't say what I thought you just said. Did you?" "She could've stopped me." "How?"

"She could've said no."

"You expect me to stand here and believe that she didn't?" "Look, Janelle. I don't want to argue about this. What I did was despicable and I want to get help. I don't like the side of me that did this." I fold my arms, wishing they were bats. "What if they can't help you?" "It doesn't matter. I know the magnitude of what I've done. It was wrong, and I can promise you that it will never happen again." "And you expect me to believe you, just like that?" "Yes."

"Let me ask you something, George. Did you do this to your own daughters, too?"

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, so my daughter was the prize, huh?" "No, Janelle."

"How about any other little girls?"

"No. Look, I'm just as shocked by my behavior as you are." "Really," I say. I'm not sure if I believe him or not. Thieves have usually been stealing a long time before they ever get caught. I will certainly find out.

"Janelle," he sighs, "do you really think I did this deliberately to hurt Shanice?"

"This isn't just about Shanice, George." "Well, either of you?" "You hurt us, all right. Big-time." "But I didn't mean to. I swear it."

There is a long silence. I'm sick of talking to him. Sick of listening. He's not sorry. He's worried. More worried about what might happen to him than he is about what's going to happen to me and my daughter because of what he's done. He has changed our lives forever. No matter how much I wish it weren't true.

_.

"And what about our promise to each other?" he's saying, as I move toward the stairwell for no reason other than to get away from him.

"What promise?"

"To get through the bad times together."

"This doesn't exacdy fall under the 'bad-times' category, George."

"Then what about forgiveness?"

"Yes. Some things shouldn't be forgiven."

"Is that what you really believe, Janelle?"

"Some things are unforgivable."

"So-you mean all the Sundays in church when Reverend Mitch.e.l.l preached about forgiving the intolerable, all that meant nothing to you?"

"Yes, it did mean something." I stop on the tenth or eleventh step and turn to look down at him.

"Then wouldn't you say this qualifies as some sort of test?"

"A test given by whom?"

"I don't want to say it, but I'll say it: G.o.d."

I was about to turn to keep walking until I heard the word "G.o.d." I don't play when it conies to Him. And as much as I hate to admit it, what George has said is true. Reverend Mitch.e.l.l has given us so many examples of things people have done that hurt others so deeply, but he says that G.o.d gave us the capacity to forgive. Wants us to forgive. But I don't know how right now. I don't feel like forgiving him. I don't think forgiving him will make me feel any better. And what about Shanice? Is she supposed to forgive him, too?

"What about our baby?" he says.

I sit down on a step. The baby. There's a baby growing inside me. What in the world am I going to do with a baby? His baby? How will I feel having a constant reminder of him in my life? I couldn't take that out on an innocent child, could I? But what about protecting it? I haven't done such a good job with my daughter; how can I expect to keep this one from harm? And how would Shanice treat him, or her?

"Look, Janelle, I'm ashamed of myself for what I've done, but I'm glad you found out, because now an end can be put to it. It stops. I stop. And hopefully we can get on with our lives. I want our baby to be raised in this house, with both of his or her parents under one roof, under which there i s a new sense of trust and love. h.e.l.l, we can get a bigger house. Fill it with even more love and trust than we ever imagined. I know its something I'm going to have to earn again, but, baby, I'll work overtime to get it back. I promise you. I'm sorry. So very sorry. Can't we try to put this behind us, and think about our future?"

I try to stop the tears but I can't control them. I wish this was all just a bad dream, and when somebody snaps their fingers or turns the light on, it'll be over. That my daughter will be upstairs in her bedroom reading Goose- b.u.mps and I'll be reading a Janet Dailey novel and George will be rubbing his foot up and down my leg until he falls asleep. I have loved him hard, but right now I don't love any part of him. Can't. He used to make me feel protected and safe. How in the world can you ever get that back once you lose it?

George is crying, too. We both cry until I know for sure that our pain isn't the same. Coming from two very different places. I suppose he is sorry, but most criminals are after they get caught. I'm sorry for him. Sorry for Shanice. Sorry for me. But I'm not going to be a fool. Not take any more chances with my daughter's life. I look down at him and I simply say, "I want you out of here before this day is over. If you refuse, I'll call a few of your buddies in blue and you can explain it to them."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't know, George. But I hear they're looking for your kind in h.e.l.l." I stand up and walk back down the stairs like I'm in a hurry. I b.u.mp into him to the point where he loses his balance. He does what he can to get his equilibrium back. But I ignore him, and head for the kitchen to straighten up, because he and everybody else knows that I like my house clean.

Chapter 16.

Hand After Hand "You ready to call it a night, man?" Howie asks.

We been at the tables since I got off work. "What time is it?"

"Late. And I'm hungry. We ain't ate nothing in going on five hours. I need to eat something before I go home. Come on, Cecil. Let's cash in."

I look down at my chips. h.e.l.l, what's to cash? Chump change. I ain't got but two or three hundred. Howie in better shape than me, but some nights is like this. We pick up our chips and take 'em over to the change booth, where one of my least favorite clerks is working: Betty Sue, a redneck from Reno who shoulda stayed there. She got a high-and-mighty att.i.tude to go with that thin brown hair that look like a rat's nest on top of her head. She act like it's downright painful when a black man cash in, and right now I'm a lit tl e p.i.s.sed 'cause I ain't handling more than I am.

I don't say a word. Just watch her fingers flip through them bills like feathers. Howie get his take and we head on over to the restaurant. It ain't crowded, not this time of night. It's a Monday. No big conventions in town this week. Thank the Lord. Which mean maybe we stand a chance on making a few dollars around here tomorrow.

We sit in a booth, where we can still see the casino and folks walking back and forth picking which slot machine looks lucky, which dealer looks like he'll give you that winning hand after hand after hand. I would love to tell these knuckleheads that ain't no lucky machines or no such thang as a good dealer. The odds is stacked against the gambler. Casinos is in the business o f m aking money. So-some days they let you win. But most days you lose. Its simple arithmetic. It shouldn't take all day to figure out which of them days you on. But, h.e.l.l, I thought everybody knew that.

A redheaded waitress comes over to take our order: she's new.

"We'll both have the well-done steak and eggs with hash browns and white toast," Howie says.

She looks at me and I give her a look that says, "He said 'we,' didn't he?" She turns and walks away. Her orange uniform don't look so hot with her hair that color and her skin being so pale. I wouldn'ta took this job if I was her. There's hundreds of places just like this one in this town that got uniforms that would go a whole lot better with that copper-penny color. But I'm just a man, so what do I know?

"So how was it seeing your kids, Cecil?"

I take a sip of my water. "It's hard to say, Howie."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I thank they mad at me."

"For not being over there with Viola?"

"That, and for being with somebody else."

"They just have to get used to it, then, don't they?"

"I guess."

Howie lights a cigarette and blows the smoke away from me. He know I'm allergic to it, but I'm so used to it now I don't know if it even bother me no more. He ain't got no wife or no steady woman in his life-just visitors, as he call 'em-and n.o.body but me for a friend. But he got a dog: a German shepherd he call La.s.sie, which I told him when he got him was a stupid name for the dog-considering-but Howie said he always loved that TV show and how much that dog could do, and he was naming his La.s.sie, he didn't care what I said. This La.s.sie's a mean son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h, too. The last thang he would even thank about doing is giving you his paw. This dog ain't never in a good mood, but I thank G.o.d he like me. Howie musta told him I'm his best friend.

"Did you tell 'em about Brenda?" he asks.

"I told my youngest, Janelle, but I betcha Viola had already heard something and probably told Paris and Lewis." "You ain't committed no crime, Cecil."

"I know that, Howie."

"So what's the problem?" he asks, scratching the top of his bald head, which is so shiny it look like a varnished hardwood floor. Howie's eyes is the same color as his head: light brown, and his skin, which always smell like stale tobacco, probably used to be a golden color, but now he done gotten older and ain't kept hisself up like he shoulda and so his face and hands-in all fairness-ain't but two or three shades above me, and everybody know I'm darker than burnt fried chicken. Me and Howie done spent so much time outside in this hot desert sun we done both changed colors, although I can't see how I can get no darker.

"You just don't want your kids mad with you," I say.

"Mine been mad with me for a long time," he says, putting his cigarette out and motioning for the waitress. I know he wants a drink. He usually do it the other way around, but it's 'cause we on empty, he don't wanna be stupid. Howie got a weak stomach. We learned that years ago.

"That's different," I say.

"Mad is mad," Howie says.

"But it feel more like they don't like me, not that they just mad. I thank this got more to do with losing respect. At least that's what it sounded like I was hearing when we was talking on the phone. It don't feel good, Howie."

"Well, what you gon' do, run back home to Viola to please your kids?"

"Naw, can't do that."

"Well?"

The waitress brings our food, which look the sizzling-same as always, and Howie says, "Can I get a double Dewar's on ice, please? And a ginger ale for my friend here."

She smiles and winks and says she'll be right back. She remind me of that girl on Gilligan's Island. "You ever feel like sometimes thangs is happening so fast, and even though you the one doing it, you don't know how it happened?"

"Come again, Cecil?"

The waitress sets our drinks on the table. Howie takes a deep sip. "I guess what I'm trying to say here is, you know how sometimes, if you blink, a whole week can pa.s.s?"

"Sorta."

"Well, I been married to Viola for thirty-eight years, and now I'm with Brenda, and we fixing to have a baby."

"I been thinking about this baby business ever since you told me about it."

"Wait, let me finish my train of thought, would you, Howie?"

"All right, all right. I'm listening."

"Anyway, it seem like I just blinked and my whole life done changed right before my very eyes, except I feel more like a witness to it than the person 'in it.' Do that make sense?"

"h.e.l.l, yeah, it make a whole lotta sense. You done jumped into some new s.h.i.t so fast you don't know how you got in it or how you gon' get out of it. Is that about right?"

"Sort of. But don't get me wrong. I like Brenda. A whole lot. I might even love her. It's just that I can't believe I ain't really with Viola no more."

"It ain't too late," he says.

"Sometimes it is too late."

"How you supposed to know that?" he asks.

"I don't know for certain. But I guess when it feel like you do on your last day at work before you go on vacation, only you wish you could stay on vacation."

"Well, can I ask you something, Cecil, and don't go getting all personally upset about it?"

"Okay."

"You sure that baby yours?"

"Well, yeah. I thank. I don't see why not. It should be. Why you ask me that?"

"She got pregnant awfully quick, don't you think?"

"She young. It happen fast when they young, Howie."

"Yeah, but be for real with me for a minute, now, Cecil. We done talked about this before, and you and me both know you been having trouble in that area for some time, and I just wanna know how you able to make a baby when you ain't been with the girl but a hot minute?"

"Its possible. But what you really getting at, Howie?"

"She had to been with different mens before you came on the scene, don't you think?"

"Of course. She attractive."

"That's a matter of opinion, Cecil. But you hear where I'm coming from?"

"Naw, I don't."