Inside Lance and Nola Thompson's modest home, an all-day argument continued. Lance swore that Nola was screwing around on him but that he wasn't nobody's fool. Especially not hers.
Although she told only the truth, Nola held back a few details that if Lance knew, he would kill her. She hadn't gone to bed with another man. Not yet.
At the carpet factory, Jason Singleton's eyes telegraphed torrid intentions that made her tremble with a dark need she hadn't known she possessed. Her marriage three years ago had been a wishful solution to a lifelong problem rather than due to any all-consuming fire for Lance. Her father beat his wife and whipped his daughter whenever he was in the mood. And he'd been in the mood often.
Nola didn't hesitate when handsome Lance Thompson proposed. As a final result of her desperate act, she'd traded an alcoholic father for an alcoholic husband.
When she looked toward the curtainless window, Nola saw it was dark outside. Bitterly she realized they'd wasted another day on worthless bickering. Lance had gone further than ever before, his outrageous accusations piling up like storm clouds. Childhood experience told her that something awful happened on Lance's job last night. As a security guard, he usually worked alone on graveyards. Nola suspected Lance drank heavily there, also. She was always at the factory before he returned home.
Had he been fired?
She looked over at Lance's closed eyes, drooping head. It had taken most of a case of beer, but he was out.
Nola felt nauseous. On top of their heated quarreling, thoughts of Jason now only made her feel grimy. Lance rarely put her in the mood, but he was her husband. She decided to let Jason know, in no uncertain terms, what her position had to be.
As she walked from the living room into the hallway, Nola shucked her dress. She reached back to unclasp her bra then clicked on the bathroom light before closing the door. She leaned over, twisted the faucet. Water struck the bottom of the tub, splashing up into her face. When steam rose, she added cold water. The rusty knob complained.
Nola straightened then shook her head at her reflection in the cracked glass, another victim of Lance's frequent temper tantrums. She and Jason were impossible. Nowhere would be far enough from her husband. He'd hunt them down and then she'd pay.
Besides, if she left Lance she had no place to go. Not back home. Since her mother's death, Sam Brickman lived alone. Nola would assume Nora Brickman's role in his heavyhanded attentions. Her shoulders sagged. She was stuck.
Nola pushed down her panties. Frowning, she kicked them atop the heap of dirty clothes in the corner. Soon after their marriage, Lance had patted her head. My Little Neat Freak, he laughed. Everything started to slide not long after. Not only the house. She stared into the mirror, examining her lined face and tangled hair She was too tired to do things right. With a spark of insight, Nola realized that she'd come down to his level.
She stepped into the tub, closed the plastic curtain, flipped the lever. When she dipped her head, waterfalls issued from strands of hair. She began to relax.
Nola felt the change in air pressure rather than heard the bathroom door open. She stiffened then identified the splash as her husband relieved himself The steady flow went on for an impossibly long time, gradually lessened, then ended. She waited for the toilet flush, wanting to be alone again. A minute passed.
"Lance?"
The light went out.