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And Krista knew herself. She knew she’d never be able to trust Kendall. She’d always be watching, searching, waiting to catch him.
And that hurt her most. Knowing this.
How had she missed it—the signs?
That he—
Krista croaked out a sob as she packed her suitcase, haphazardly tossing her belongings inside.
Her husband was gay or bi—or whatever.
Over the noisy, raw sobs that racked her body, Krista clutched her chest. It hurt just thinking about it, trying to make sense out of it. She’d finally been able to call her sister, Latrice, late last night and she’d confided in her all that she’d experienced while here on the island, including what she’d witnessed the morning she walked in on Kendall.
“And then . . . and t-t-then he d-d-didn’t even have the decency to try to beg for my forgiveness. All he said was, ‘I’m sorry you had to walk in on that.’ What the hell, Latrice?”
“Aww, sweetie. I’m so sorry you had to walk in on that.” Latrice sighed. “You know how much I love Kendall,” she had said. “But that man is gay, hon, and now you know. Now you can go on with your life, girl. At least you didn’t have to catch him in some dirty motel room fucking some bitch with a dick, like I’d caught Herbie. I think I would have rather caught him with a finger in his ass than that shit . . .”
Krista had cried, hard, not wanting to hear anything more about Herbie and his propensity for transsexuals. It wasn’t natural.
And neither was a man stroking his prostate—code for fucking himself!
Her strong king, her lover, her black man . . . a, a, a . . . homosexual. Okay, okay—maybe he wasn’t a homosexual. But he was suspect. And the possibility of him engaging in something more than fingering himself was real for Krista—at least in her own mind.
Like Herbie, Kendall didn’t look like he was—gay. He didn’t act it. Not that that meant anything. But the possibility would linger in the forefront of her mind, at first. Then it would somehow (through prayer—lots and lots of prayer) find its way to the back corners of her mind, perhaps. Prayerfully.
But she’d still be suspicious. Cautious. And distrusting.
More tears slid down Krista’s face. She felt deceived.
“Maybe he’s down low,” Latrice had offered over Krista’s wailing. “Maybe he goes both ways.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore. This whole situation is a mess.”
“Men like that are just confused, Krista.” Latrice had tsked. “Makes no damn sense. But if you love him enough to—”
“Love him enough to what, stay?”
“Well, yes.”
Unless he gave his life over to Christ and repented, unless he allowed Reverend Lynch to help him overcome his deviant behavior, she’d always be looking at him sideways, wondering what man—or woman—he was out there letting screw him in the ass.
Krista sniffled. “I can’t—I won’t—live like that. Ever.”
Latrice grunted. “Good for you. He and Herbie can sword fight while I help you pack your shit when you get back to the States,” was the last thing she’d heard, before falling to her knees and crying her eyes out.
When Krista had finally managed to pull herself together, she’d prayed most of the night, asking her Lord for strength, and then she prayed for Kendall, asking her Father to rid him of his filthy sins.
Afterward, she’d read the Bible—and yet, even in scripture, she’d found no solace. Krista knew her God was a forgiving one. Shit. Someone needed to be.
Because she wasn’t, and she doubted she ever would be. She’d have to pray extra hard on that.
“Fuck you, Kendall!” she yelled again, slamming her last suitcase shut, then slinging it off the bed. Krista looked up at the ceiling. “Why God? Have I not been a faithful, devoted saint to Your word?”
Her vision blurred by anger and tears. She was relieved to be leaving all this wickedness behind. The remaining couples still had a few more days left on the island, but somehow the rule of not leaving the island without one’s spouse had been lifted. Seemed like Dr. Dangerfield and that bitch Nairobia were all too eager to get rid of her. Of course, she wouldn’t return to the States on the private aircraft. No. Arrangements had finally been made this morning for her to be ferried over to Tahiti, then catch a commercial flight on Air Tahiti to Los Angeles, and then a connecting flight back to New Jersey.
The extensive layovers, although they felt spiteful, were fine with her. Krista knew she wouldn’t have had the stomach to be on the same flight back home with Kendall, knowing their life together was over, especially knowing that LaQuandra and Brenda had heard her tirade.
Krista sighed. And then she swallowed, hard, as she admitted inwardly that she would have rather not known that her husband was a goddamn queer.
