“I don’t—”
“I call Stacy, beg her to take Mighty somewhere after hockey so he don’t see his mother like this. I don’t want him to hear Cindy crying in the bathroom because you do something to her.”
“Please don’t make it as if it’s my fault, okay?”
“Oh, so it’s not your fault?”
“It’s not anyone’s fault!”
“You know she got problems,” Anna said, each word coming out angrier than the preceding one. “You know how many problems she got—”
“Wait, you think I don’t have problems, too? Do you know how many problems I have?”
“So you come yesterday for Cindy to solve your problems? That why I see you smile as you leave? Because you make the woman cry after she solve—”
“I did not come for anyone to solve my problems! If I have things that I’m not happy with, I find a way to make them better. I solve my own problems!”
“You think because—”
“I don’t think anything!” Neni said. “If Mrs. Edwards is not happy with her life, let her solve her own problems. I am tired of people wanting me to care about them more than I care about myself and my family.”
“Nobody asks you to not care for yourself!”
“Yes, you and Mrs. Edwards do. That is what you called me this morning to say. To make me feel bad because Mrs. Edwards has big problems and I should worry about her.”
“I only want to know—”
“I’m sorry, Anna, but if Mrs. Edwards wants to change her life then let her go find a way to be happy. And I hope she finds a way to be happy very soon, because I feel really sorry for her.”
Forty-four
AT THE CENTER OF THE PLATFORM, BETWEEN TWO FULL BENCHES, A MAN in a wheelchair was singing for dollars and cents. The answer, oh babe, he sang in a raspy voice, is gonna be blowin’ in the wind, the answer be blowin’ in the wind, oh yeah, eh eh eh, the answer, sweet babe, it’s gonna be blowin’ in the wind … No one appeared to be listening or watching as he moved his harmonica to his mouth and blew into it with his eyes closed, nodding to the splendor of his own music. At least two people were looking up the tracks, murmuring to themselves, one asking when the damn train was ever going to arrive. Amen, ma brother, someone said when the song ended. A to the men indeed, another voice added, making it clear that more than one person had been listening. Many on Neni’s side of the platform nodded; some applauded. Neni applauded, too, and put fifty cents in the man’s cup, in appreciation of his ability to compose such a beautiful original song.
When she arrived at the church office, the assistant pastor ushered her into a conference room where a box of letters and envelopes was sitting on the table.
“I can’t thank you enough for stopping by,” he said as he showed her how to fold the fundraising letters and stuff them into the envelopes. “We’re badly in need of volunteers.”
“I am glad I can help,” Neni said. “I did not know if you needed any help when I called this morning.”
“No, it’s perfect timing. Where’s the baby?”
“I left her at home with my friend. I just wanted to go out alone for a little bit.”
“Understandable. I’m not sure I can handle the monotony of being home with a baby every day.”
“Is Natasha in today?”
“She’s at an interfaith conference, but she should be back in about an hour. I’ll let her know you’re in here when she comes back.”
Forty-five minutes later, Natasha peeked in from the hallway. “Neni, how sweet of you to come out to help!” she said.
“Hi, Natasha.”
“I need to get some work done right now but drop by before you leave, let’s catch up, okay?”
Alone in the conference room, Neni folded the letters twice and slid them into the yellow preaddressed envelopes, trying not to think about her conversation with Anna the previous morning. The woman had upset her so much she was still fuming a day later.
“What have you been up to?” Natasha asked, motioning to a chair at her desk when Neni entered her office to say goodbye.
“Everything is good,” Neni said.
“Kids are good? Your husband?”
Neni nodded.
“You’re enjoying the new year so far?”
“I’m okay.”
Natasha looked at her dubiously, stood up and closed the door. “How are you, really?” she asked. “What’s the situation with your husband’s papers?”
“I’m trying not to worry about it, but it’s not easy.”
“Any new developments?”
“We are still just waiting and hoping … But one of my friends, she told me about a solution that can help us.”
“That’s wonderful. What’s the solution?”
“I don’t know if you will like it.”
“It’s not for me to like, Neni,” Natasha said with a smile. “It’s for me to listen to you and help you listen to your heart.”
“I haven’t even told my husband …”
“I understand. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable.”
Neni looked at Natasha’s reassuring smile and decided she might as well. “My friend,” she said quietly, “she has a cousin.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I can marry him.”
“Marry him?”
Neni nodded. “I can get a green card through him if I marry him.”
“Hmm, I see.”
“I just … I have to divorce my husband for a few years. Then I can marry my friend’s cousin and he will file papers for me.”
Natasha nodded, pulling a scrunchy from her wrist to put her hair in a ponytail. She stood up and walked to a water cooler by the door. “You want a cup of water?” she asked Neni. Neni shook her head and watched as Natasha filled a disposable cup and downed the water in one gulp. “Refreshing,” the pastor said with a broad smile as she tossed the cup into a garbage can and retook her seat.
Neni waited, the beating of her heart suddenly noticeable to her.
“You’re thinking of marrying another man for a few years,” Natasha said.
“It’s my friend’s idea. Only, I don’t know if it is right or wrong.”
“Oh, I think we’re way past the point of right and wrong,” Natasha said, chuckling.
“Someone I know used to say that to me a lot.”
“Rumi.”
“Who?”
“Jalaluddin Rumi, the Sufi mystic. He’s the one who said, ‘Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.’ Which was his own way of saying, ‘Let’s not dwell too much on labeling things as right or wrong.’”
“But everything in life is either right or wrong.”
“Is it?”
“It’s not?”
“Why would you want to divorce your husband and risk your marriage for papers, Neni? Why? Is America that important to you? Is it more important to you than your family?”
Neni lowered her eyes and stared at the floor. She could hear pedestrians on Thompson Street, chatting as they walked past Natasha’s office window.
“So much could go wrong with this plan,” Natasha said.
“That’s what I told my friend when she suggested it to me. Because I have another friend from work, and her sister did the same thing. She left her husband and children back in their country and came to America and married a Jamaican man for papers so she could bring her husband and children here. But when everything was finished, the Jamaican man refused to give her divorce unless she gave him more money. He wants fifty thousand dollars.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yes, because now she cannot go back to her country and marry her husband back and bring her family here. She’s over here and they are still over there and the woman is just praying that the Jamaican man will stop being so greedy because she really wants to be with her husband and children.”
“And knowing a story like this, you’re still willing to take the risk?”
“My friend’s cousin is a nice man.”
“Oh, I bet! And the Jamaican man is in all likelihood a wonderful man.”
“I just don’t know what to do,” Neni said.