"You're telling me. Lord, have mercy. Just like that, huh? Your life can be snatched away from you. In a split second."

"That's the whole truth."

"And how are you you holding up, Tarik?" holding up, Tarik?"

"I'm doing the best I can," he said. "Trying to be strong for my mom."

"You don't have to be strong when it comes to something like this. None of us do."

As it turned out, Robin had gone straight to the gym after work and forgotten her cell phone in her locker and she wouldn't hear about Marvin until she got home. It was after nine.

Savannah and Bernadine arrived minutes apart. They didn't ring the doorbell, just walked in. Tarik was sitting in a chair near the door. "Hey, Aunties," he said, standing up to give them both a much-needed hug.

Savannah had a balled-up tissue in her hand. When she opened her mouth, her voice cracked. "Where's Gloria?"

Tarik pointed to the family room. Gloria was sitting at the far end of the chocolate brown sofa as if it were full of people. She was in a white robe. Her elbow was on the arm and her face was held up by her palm. Her eyes were blank, even though it looked as if she were staring at something on the floor. Savannah eased next to her and put her arms around her. Bernadine knelt down on the floor and began to rub her bare feet. When Robin got there, the three of them helped Gloria get into bed. They took her robe off, only to discover she was fully clothed. One by one, they removed her socks, pants and T-shirt, and each of them wet washcloths and bathed her lying down. When they finished, Robin saw the crimson nightgown hanging on the closet door, but opened one drawer after another until she found a short, pink cotton gown, and the three of them propped Gloria up and pulled it over her head. They kissed her on her forehead, tucked her in and sat on the bed until she fell asleep.

They did not say a word.

The house filled up with people almost overnight.

Joseph closed Oasis for three days, and just about all of their clientele showed up for the memorial service, which was short because years ago Marvin had made Gloria promise him that if he checked out first, not to spend too much of her precious time grieving over him. "Don't stop living because I'm not around. And please don't have no sad funeral for me, Glo. I mean it! Make it a party and help me celebrate my life! I want you to chuck my ashes on one of these fine golf courses because I believe that's where my heaven is, somewhere close to the eighteenth hole!"

Gloria would follow his wishes to a T.

Tarik had done his best to comfort his mother but he had lost the only father he had ever really known, so he, too, needed to be comforted. Nickida did the best she could. Gloria didn't know how she would've been able to fill out all those damn death papers if it wasn't for her friends. The first few weeks, when Gloria could barely get out of bed, they cooked for her and massaged her hands. They helped her get up. They helped her lie down. They held her when she moaned and when she screamed. They cleaned the house. They took turns sitting with her, watching her do nothing and listening to her not say a word.

Gloria couldn't sleep. She just couldn't get warm. Marvin's side of the bed was empty and cold. She had never slept in this bed without her husband, except for the time he had to go to Oxford, Mississippi, when his brother called to tell Marvin a long-lost relative had left them some property. She missed him lying beside her, but she knew he was coming back. This was just a big mistake. Until then, she'd sleep in her grandkids' room, on the lower bunk bed. She took Marvin's pillow in there and hugged it until the feathers flattened.

It took a while before she was able to walk into Oasis, and even when she did, she couldn't bring herself to go through all her mail. Gloria didn't know what she'd do without Joseph. "Don't you worry about a thing, baby," he'd told her when she tried coming back a few days after it happened and she had to go back home.

Gloria wanted to return the boat, but of course she couldn't. The dealership couldn't care less that it was a gift for her husband and he had died. So Gloria gave it to Tarik, who gladly accepted it but on the condition that he take over the payments. With his new raise, and with Nickida's income, it wouldn't be a hardship.

It had been only a few weeks when Gloria got a certified letter from Marvin's insurance company with a check made out to her for $300,000. She was not moved. In fact, that check would stay in the envelope, in a slot on the kitchen island, for weeks.

She sleepwalked through the days down at Oasis. It was like being at one long wake.

"Girl, let me give you a hug."

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Can I give you a hug?"

"I lost my husband a few years ago, baby. Time is the only healer."

"He's in a better place."

"God doesn't give us more than we can handle."

"Can I give you a hug?"

Gloria was grateful for the ongoing show of sympathy but she was also glad she didn't do hair anymore. She couldn't concentrate or focus on too much of anything for more than a few minutes at a time. She avoided all paperwork. Couldn't fill out forms. Why were they so long anyway? She often forgot to order inventory. Her snail and even e-mail was often backed up for weeks. Robin's corny jokes didn't make her crack a smile.

Coming home from work was the hardest. She hated the silence when she walked in, which was why she left both TVs on: the one in the family room and the one in their bedroom. They kept her company. Sometimes when she pulled into the driveway, she hoped to smell a steak sizzling on the grill or some kind of fish searing in a hot skillet or bow-tie pasta or spinach noodles boiling in chicken broth and chopped garlic, since Marvin did most of the cooking on the days she worked.

Way back in '90, Marvin King-whom Gloria would learn was a recent widower and retiree-had moved into this ranch-style house, which was right across the street from where she and Tarik lived. Back then, Marvin had no idea there was any more love available to him. In fact, he thought he'd used up that card, and was ready to settle into his living room with the remote control. Before he could get acquainted with all the channels on his new satellite TV, Gloria Matthews-being neighborly and glad to see another black family finally moving into the neighborhood, and thinking he had a wife and family-had gone over to introduce herself and bring them her famous sweet potato pie.

Gloria's knees felt a little wobbly after Marvin told her he was a widower, mostly because he was handsome and she found his stark white teeth surrounded by that mixed-gray mustache and goatee dangerously sexy. Plus, Gloria hadn't wobbled in years. No one was more surprised than she was when she found herself adding a little rhythm to her stride as she headed back across the street, where on a platter she created mountains out of collard greens, candied yams, her famous honey cornbread, chilled potato salad and enough slices of ham to feed a family of four.

When she met Marvin, Gloria was fat. She hadn't thought or cared how she looked until she had to buy a bigger size. On the day she felt something churn inside her chest, she was up to an eighteen. Her blood pressure was off the chart, but Gloria never thought she would or could possibly have a heart attack. Until she had one. She was thirty-seven years old. Marvin was there. He helped her walk her way down to a healthy weight. Taught her how to eat, and how to cook to save her life.

Over the next six or seven months Gloria would discover how quickly time passes when you're happy and how slowly when you're sad. She found herself crying when she tried so hard not to. She lived in constant twilight, despite the comfort of her friends and the long hours she had started putting in at Oasis. She was the one who felt dead.

They would catch the boys responsible for Marvin's death; of course they would. The idea that the three young men would spend the rest of their young lives in prison was not at all gratifying to Gloria. It wouldn't bring her husband back. Their young lives were over, too, except they had to die every day while still breathing. These were boys who would probably never grow up to live as free men. She did not-could not-go to their trial. Her girlfriends would.

Gloria was sitting at her desk, watching Joline, Twyla and Joseph weaving, braiding and cutting hair, when Tarik walked in. She was surprised to see him here. He rarely came to the salon. She prayed nothing was wrong. He looked good. At peace. He was obviously on duty, because he was in his dark blue uniform, with a holster around his waist and a gun in it.

"Hey, Tarik," Joseph said. "How you doing, man?"

"Pretty good, all things considered. Hi, everybody," he said to the other stylists and the seven or eight customers who were under hair dryers, being shampooed or just waiting their turn. He waved to his mother as he walked back to her office, then stood at the open doorway and knocked. "May I come in?" he asked.

"Is something wrong, Tarik?"

"No, Ma, nothing's wrong." He gave her a kiss. "I just wanted you to know that me and Nicki canceled our trip."

"You did what?"

"We can go another time. You don't need to deal with the kids yet."

"That is not your decision to make, Tarik. Why didn't you talk to me first?"

"Because we just decided. Even though things have calmed down a little bit, it doesn't feel right, asking you to watch the kids. We also don't feel much like celebrating."

"Is it too late to reinstate it?"

"Ma-"

"I want you to go, Tarik. The one thing I've been looking forward to is spending time with my grandkids. Don't do this. And don't change your plans. Would you do that for me? Please?"

"Are you sure?"

"They brighten my day, and I was looking forward to them getting on my nerves."

"I'll see what we can do. Thanks, Ma."

"And next time, call first. You scared the daylights out of me."

When Gloria got home that evening, she walked into the living room, sat down on the sea foam sectional, leaned her elbow against one of the cushions and looked out into the backyard. She twirled her wedding ring around her finger. She was not about to take it off just because her husband was dead. As far as she was concerned, she was still married. Marvin's presence was everywhere. There were pictures of the two of them all over the house. They had been strategically placed on walls, tables and certain shelves, so they would always be able to wink at the other. There were some of him catching a fish or barbecuing or just being handsome. Thanks to Marvin, the water in the bean-shaped pool was lavender and in an hour would be periwinkle, but during the day it was always turquoise. Marvin was good with lights. Butter yellow strobes were aimed at the house. Soft blue beamed from the trunks of palms in blocked brick boxes. That white pergola was sheltered from the scorching sun by one of two shade trees Isaac had helped him plant when arthritis had moved into Marvin's hands. He had done an amazing job remodeling this house. What was the point of it now that he wasn't in it? Gloria felt like a visitor in here. She didn't feel like gardening all by herself. Or cooking for herself. In fact, the house seemed to be growing. It took longer to get from one side to the other, and this house was small. She wasn't sure if she could live here without Marvin. And as for work, who really cared if she had a spa or not? Right now, she certainly didn't.

Coming Clean

I had Isaac served at his mama's house a few days ago, since it was the only address I had for him. We haven't spoken since he came and picked up all of his stuff. Mostly clothes and some of his tools. His key didn't work anymore. It was horrible to have to let him in. He lived here for ten years and now he was a guest. It was heartbreaking. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, but we were both cordial. I was a nervous wreck and tried to act busy as he made one trip after another out to his truck. I put a few dishes into the dishwasher and turned it on. I dusted the artwork and the plants, which of course didn't need it. The housekeeper does a pretty good job. As usual, he seemed to be taking his sweet time, but I didn't want to rush him. We made small talk. Like people do who don't really have much to say to each other.

Right before he was leaving he stopped and looked around. "It's amazing how little I actually have after all this time. All of this stuff is yours: the furniture and artwork. It was all here when I got here."

"Well, you left your mark outside, Isaac. You made the exterior beautiful."

"I wish that had been the case with us."

I sat down on a stool and laid the feather duster across my lap. "You know what? I think we did the best we could for a while."

"Look, Savannah. I know you hate my guts but can-"

"Wait a minute. I don't hate your guts, Isaac. I have no reason to hate you. You disappointed me and you've made me angry as hell, but hate? No."

"Well, I'm glad at least to hear you say it. Look, Savannah, can we not do this like everybody else?"

"You mean make it ugly?"

"Precisely."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, Isaac. I mean, this is hard enough as it is, and I've been praying that if we could just be civil it would make things so much easier on us both."

"Then let's," he said. "I can tell you this right now so we can be clear about it. We both know what you came into our marriage with, so I'm not going to try to take you to the cleaners by asking for anything I don't deserve."

"Well, I want to be fair, too."

"I mean, let's face it, Savannah, you far out-earn me even with my business and-"

"This is a community-property state, Isaac. You know that."

"Yeah, I do. But whatever the court decides I'm entitled to, I'll take it and be happy. Seriously."

"Like I said, I just want to be fair."

"Okay, then. I guess that's pretty much it."

"You want to know what I just found out?"

"What?" He was still standing in the open doorway. His jacket was missing a button and his T-shirt looked rough-dried. I used to fold and smooth them with my hands until they were flat. I wonder if he notices what I used to do for him. If he cares.

"We can be divorced sixty days after we file as long as we don't contest anything. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't. That soon, huh?"

"That soon."

He picked up a black contractor's trash bag and wrapped his arms around it as he headed down the sidewalk toward his truck. I couldn't believe he didn't live here anymore. I was wondering where he was going. If he missed me. If he wished we could turn back the clock.

It has taken me almost a month to file even though the form was simpler than filling out a job application. Easier than applying for a credit card. On the day I did, red hearts were everywhere. I had forgotten it was Valentine's Day until I handed it to the clerk, who actually looked up as if she knew I meant business.

We had both gotten attorneys but decided to use a mediator instead of going through the whole divorce court setting. This process is called "Divorce with Dignity." We liked the sound of it, plus it's a whole lot cheaper.

I forgot my cell phone at work yesterday and was surprised to see a message from Isaac. I had my coffee and bagel and for some reason was afraid to listen to it. I even read my snail mail. Including the junk. Cleaned off my desk. Looked over my notes for a possible story about domestic violence. Then another about how dysfunctional the foster care system is. Sometimes I get worn out looking at how much is wrong in the world, and I've been thinking maybe I might want to start shifting my focus to some of the good things people do. But it's hard to make news out of that, so they say. Nevertheless, I'm still grateful to have the kind of job that allows me to paint portraits of our lives, good or bad. We need to be able to see how we behave instead of ignoring it.

I finally decided to play it. "Hi, Savannah. I got the papers and of course it's all good. Would like to talk to you about something. Don't worry, I'm keeping my word, so it's not anything adversarial. I hope you're well. Call me as soon as you can. I might be moving to Vegas when this is all over."

"Moving to Vegas? Have you lost your mind, Isaac?"

"Who are you talking to, Savannah?" Sally, one of the other producers, asked while passing my office. She's six foot two and gorgeous. Her hair is black and her eyes are blue. Her husband is five ten. He's fine as hell, so maybe that makes him appear taller. Or maybe she doesn't care.

"I was talking to myself, like I always do."

"Well, tell yourself a good joke and laugh it off," she said. "You might want to take an early lunch because Thora's bringing in her two demon seeds in about an hour."

"No! I am not in the mood for them today." These would be the four-year-old twins that our boss, Thora, had at forty-six, after years and thousands of dollars of in-vitro attempts until finally two of those eggs stuck. They were the strangest-looking babies and they're still odd-looking. They have not been trained and behave like wild animals. They must weigh fifty pounds each and they still wear those pull-up diapers at night and suck on their pacifiers like cigars. Thora couldn't care less what anybody thinks about it either.

"Thanks for the heads-up." I was trying to figure out how to disappear very soon. I dialed Isaac, and as soon as he answered I just said, "What do you need to talk to me about?"

"Hello to you, too, Savannah."

"Hi, Isaac. Are you worried about something? Is that why you called?"

"Everything is fine on the divorce front. I saw the numbers and I'm fine with them. Just like I told you I would be. But I was wondering what you're doing for lunch?"

"Lunch? You want to take me out to lunch?"

"Sort of. I need to talk to you about something that's kind of important."

"You can't tell me over the phone?"

"It would be better in person. If you don't mind."