Hot Flash by Carrie H. Johnson Page A

near you,” he said and punched Laughton in the shoulder. Laughton followed Travis and Kenyetta to the basement stairs and closed the door after them.
    â€œMuriel,” Laughton said, returning to the living room.
    Muriel. Laughton hadn’t called me Muriel since the day we met. M and M; M; Partner; Knuckles (don’t ask) . . . but never Muriel. I tensed and started to get up from the couch. Laughton blocked my effort. He stood over me, arms crossed. I settled back down.
    â€œAs long as we’ve been partners, we’ve shared everything, or so I thought,” he said.
    I felt like he was my husband about to leave me for someone or something else.
    â€œBut, Muriel, I need to work this out and I need to do it alone.”
    â€œI can’t make you tell me what’s going on. I can’t make you let me help. What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?”
    He uncrossed his arms and stretched them out toward me in a helpless gesture. “Stay home. Take some time off,” Laughton pleaded, still standing over me. He switched to a hard tone. “The captain gave you clearance for a few weeks of sick time. Take it,” he said, then he stormed to the door and out of the house.
    Like I said before, I have never been married, never even been in a more serious relationship than with Laughton and now three months into things with Calvin, so I wasn’t real clear about how a breakup could crush you. I imagine Laughton’s leaving was as close as I wanted to get. I suppose Laughton was my husband in every way except sexually. That connection had ended almost from the sweet beginning.
    I would have left the force to be with Laughton. But he said he didn’t want the backlash of being blamed if I ever regretted leaving the force or if our passions ever cooled.
    Now my body burned and sweat poured from every pore.

    The house was quiet and dark when the phone woke me. I searched for it with one arm, not wanting to move from my position of facedown on the couch. The ringing stopped before I found the phone between the cushions of the couch. I checked the caller ID. The number was unfamiliar. It rang again. The same number showed.
    â€œMuriel Mabley.”
    No answer.
    â€œHello, who’s calling, please?”
    No answer.
    I could hear rustling on the other end, like cellophane being crinkled. I sat up at attention.
    â€œNareece?”
    The rustling noise gave way to soft, steady breathing.
    â€œNareece, if this is you, please answer me.”
    Silence.
    â€œTell me you’re all right. Think about the girls, and John.”
    More rustling.
    â€œPlease, Reece. Talk to me.” The line disconnected. A few minutes later, the phone rang again.
    â€œEnough of this. Reece, answer me.”
    â€œReece called? Is she okay?” Dulcey screeched through the phone.
    I sank back down into the couch. “I was about to go through the phone. There would have been no way, no how, no place for that girl to escape my reach.” I told Dulcey about the phone call and Laughton’s visit. “Dulcey, I need to go to Boston. I’m losing my ever-lovin’ mind between Nareece and Laughton and Calvin. . . and these damn hot flashes.” I jumped up and pulled off my robe, as sweat dripped from the tip of my nose. I paced the length of the living room, struggling against losing control and wanting to hit something or someone.
    Dulcey jabbered away, “Breathe, girl, deep breaths. Go with the flow, M. Take deep breaths.”
    I threw the phone. It hit the wall and landed on the couch in several pieces—the phone, battery, and battery cover. Just as quick as my body had fired up, the cool registered and a chill caught me. I put my robe back on, retrieved the phone, put the pieces back together, then called Dulcey back.
    â€œAre you there?” I said when the ringing stopped but there was no “hello.”
    â€œAnd you’ve only just begun, girl.