Excerpt:

“Oh, my God, let me die, please, dear God, let me die this minute. What have I done? Jesus, help me, what have I done?” Soft cries and silent screams took her to a realm of hell she’d never experienced and she rocked back and forth on the cold, bathroom floor between bouts of retching. Her shaking, worse instead of better, she wondered if anyone ever died from this type of shock. Could her heart simply stop beating?

            Her arm reached up to the sink and she pulled herself to a stand, grabbing a washcloth from the closet. The cold water ran for a minute, as she held the rag under it, watching it cascade over her hands, transporting her memory to the days her babies were baptized. Now, she knelt again in front of her own porcelain font, slight hints of a migraine beginning and she implored God to wash away her sin. The cloth on her face, she prayed for an end to this nightmare. 

            She realized no miracle could take away her horror, however and a wave of nausea swept over her so severely, she choked on her vomit and panicked. Hunched over the toilet, her neck and back muscles straining, her stomach a spasm of uncontrolled contractions, she fought for breath.

Finished, she wiped her mouth and blew her nose in a wad of toilet paper. How low have I sunk? Who the hell am I?  I should be downstairs making eggs for my family. That’s what I would normally be doing on a Saturday morning. How in the hell did this happen?—“Maggie”—she said aloud. “Dammit. It happened because of Maggie.”

            Managing to get herself into the shower, she spent twenty minutes trying to scrub away the sin of the previous night. Her endless scouring didn’t maker her feel any better and when done, she sat on the closed toilet, her head in her hands. Trish knocked on the door, calling her name incessantly.

            “Mommy, open up, it’s me,” she whined.

            “Mommy will be out in a minute, Trish, I don’t feel good, go watch some TV.” Tilley heard her footsteps retreat.

            So, Maggie called Zeke. How did she know I wasn’t coming home? Did I tell her to call Zeke? Concentrated and focused, lines of apprehension crossed over her face, as a whole new terror crept into her thought process.

Dear God, I could have AIDS!

It struck her with the force of a mallet and she hugged her chenille robe tightly around her body and sat stiffly on the closed toilet, the cold cloth on the back of her neck. Diseases she’d exposed herself to, coursed through her mind. Not only had she slept with him, but also with every person he’d ever slept with. All of her lectures to Mica floated to the surface. This isn’t happening to me.

For one brief moment the thought came to her to run to Zeke and tell him some man spiked her drink and raped her. Would he believe me? Of course, he would. Or, would he have his doubts?

Everyone, especially Michelle, witnessed what transpired between her and Steve on the dance floor. She knew that much. How could she possibly live with that lie? He’d call the police and have Steve arrested. No, she held some responsibility for her stupidity. However, Steve knew she was obviously drunk and he took advantage of the situation. If only she could remember.

His number was on the Lewis’s Rolodex. She’d call him Monday to inquire about his health. Never in this type of situation before, she made a mental note to buy a pregnancy test.

            The bathroom door swung open and steam from her hot shower escaped, setting off the fire alarm. She jumped and screamed, moving aside while Zeke ran by, grabbed a towel and waved it around to shut it off. 

            “I guess I overdid it with the hot water.” Not making eye contact, she walked to her bedroom, shut the door and lay down. Her dry, scratchy eyes closed, but sadly, the blessed hope and relief of sleep didn’t come easily. 

            Zeke’s cologne had smeared onto his pillow and the smell of it comforted her as she snuggled into it, praying to die. The phone next to her bed rang, the sound so harsh and shrill she instantly became angry with the person on the other end. No one answered downstairs, so she reached over and grabbed it. 

            “Hey, what happened last night?” Maggie asked excitedly.

            “You don’t want to know.” Tilley, her voice guttural and gruff, moved onto her side.

            “The hell I don’t,” she said. “Give me all the details, at least any details you remember.” She then laughed. Dear God, she laughed. Humor being the last thing on Tilley’s mind, it floored her?

            “Maggie, I slept with that man last night.” She whispered into the phone, horrified at the words.

            “No way, did you? Was he any good? My cow-poke turned out to be a real dud.”

            Tilley shook her head in disgust. “I don’t remember and it isn’t important to me if he was or wasn’t. I’ve never cheated on Zeke. I never, in a million years, thought I would ever cheat on him. I don’t even know that other guy. God, I feel so sick.”

            “Oh, quit being so damn hard on yourself, everyone cheats. It’s not unusual now a day. Step into the twenty-first century, Till. Try living in New York for a few years. I’ve gone to bed with more married men than single. What difference does it make? It’s all casual sex. No commitment. Did you use any protection?”

            “I didn’t use anything and neither did he, I think?” Rolled over onto her back, she put her hand on her forehead and tried in vain to remember anything from the night before. “I could have a million diseases. I feel like shit.” Discharge came out and she realized it came from him. A slimy, toxic waste leaking from her, it made her want to take another shower…in Clorox.

            “Well, next time use protection. You can never be too safe in this day and age.”

            Her indifferent replies upset Tilley and her response was pronounced.

            “You honestly don’t think I’m planning on ever doing anything like this again, do you! How could you think that? I love Zeke. I don’t ever want to hurt him. He and the girls are my life.”

            “Zeke and your girls are fine,” Maggie said. “Zeke is a great husband and your girls are little angels. Quit kicking yourself.”

            “Oh, yeah right, I don’t know, but I'm assuming Mrs. Mueller across the street didn’t sleep in some strange man’s bed last night. What kind of wife and mother does that?” 

            “You’re a great mom,” Maggie said. “What does what you did last night have to do with you being a mom?”

            “You don’t get it, do you Maggie?” A cough forced her to sit and she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. “It means everything to me. I’ve betrayed my husband, our vows. I’ve betrayed God. How am I ever going to look in the mirror again?” She lay her head down. 

            “Do you think Steve’s chastising himself this morning?” Maggie said indignantly. “Absolutely not! So why are you so hell bent on sewing a scarlet A on your damn chest? Let it go.” 

            Maggie’s tone took on a softer cadence, “If you say you’re never going to do it again, then don’t. I'm sure in hell not going to tell anyone.” 

            Tilley moaned. “Not only am I never going to cheat again, I’m never going to drink or do any illegal drug again. I’m finished. I’ve hit bottom. No more booze for me.”

            “Let’s not get carried away,” Maggie said laughing.

            “Go ahead and laugh. Maybe in a few hundred years I’ll be able to find joy again, but right now I need to get some sleep and think about what I’m going to tell Zeke.”

            “If you tell Zeke, you’re asking for trouble. Take my advice and leave it alone. Let it go. Go get yourself tested for all those diseases you think you got and then live your life. Keep in mind, God has a sense of humor regarding these things.”

            “Yeah, right,” Tilley said. “I guess that makes me His Gracie Allen.” She gave a defeated, half-hearted chuckle. “Bye Mags, I’ll consider what you said, but I have to sleep.”