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couldn’t help but wish John Alpert had
donated his sperm in my cause.
    In that house, in front of the old man, I’d
felt numb. But now I was out of that oppressive atmosphere and my
anger bubbled over. He wanted me to watch out for Patty? What kind
of reality did he live in, anyway? For years he’d ignored
me. Years! And now he wanted me to be some kind of nursemaid
to the child he had cared for? The one who’d had a father
all that time.
    Not likely.

    I don’t even remember the drive home,
but eventually I found myself pulling into the driveway. A blue
Altima with Pennsylvania plates sat in my usual spot. Something
about that didn’t feel right.
    I headed straight for Richard’s house with an
unexpected sense of urgency. The side door was locked. I took out
my key and opened the door that led to the butler’s pantry.
    “Richard?” Brenda called anxiously.
    “No, it’s Jeff.”
    I came into the kitchen. A black man in a
bulky, dark sweater sat at the kitchen table. His bulging biceps
and thick neck reminded me of a weight lifter. Brenda’s delicate
china cup looked ridiculous in his beefy hand.
    “This is Willie Morgan. My ex-husband,”
Brenda said, her voice strained with tension. “Willie, this is my
brother-in-law, Jeffrey Resnick.”
    I stood there dumbly until Willie got up, and
offered me his hand. At six three or four, he towered over me. He
probably weighed sixty or eighty pounds more than me, too. I’d
heard how he’d beaten Brenda senseless countless times during their
brief marriage. His size alone was enough to intimidate me. I
didn’t want to touch him—didn’t want him to awaken my heightened
awareness. But courtesy demanded I shake his hand.
    Thank God I got nothing.
    “Nice to meet you,” he said politely. Knowing
their past history, I expected his voice to be lower, menacing. It
wasn’t.
    “Will you stay for coffee?” Brenda asked me
hopefully.
    “Sure.” I shrugged out of my jacket, hung it
over the chair and sat down at the round table.
    Willie took his seat again.
    “I noticed your license plates. What brings
you to Buffalo?” I asked.
    “I got a job with the Bisons.”
    “Coaching?”
    “No, marketing.”
    I’d had the impression he worked more
physical jobs. His imposing stature implied the same thing.
    “How long has it been since you two have seen
each other?” I tried again.
    “Twelve years,” Willie answered easily. “That
was when Brenda moved to California and divorced me.”
    Brenda’s mouth was tight; fear shadowed her
eyes. “My mother gave Willie my address. She thought he might want
to look me up.”
    Mrs. Stanley hadn’t approved of Brenda living
with Richard, a white man. When Brenda married him, her mother cut
all ties.
    Brenda set a cup of coffee and a plate of
chocolate chip cookies on the table before me, but she didn’t take
a seat, instead retreating to the counter.
    “Have you found a place to live yet?” I asked
Willie.
    “I’m staying at a residence motel. Most
places I’ve looked at won’t be available until the first of the
month. I hope to find something permanent by next week.”
    I nodded. Now what could we talk about?
    The silence lengthened. Finally Willie pushed
his half-empty cup away. “I guess I’d better be going.”
    Brenda forced a smile but said nothing.
    “Good luck in your new job,” I said.
    “I’ll see if I can get you guys some free
tickets for next season.”
    “Sure, thanks.”
    Willie got up, shrugged into his Bisons
jacket, and headed for the door. “Nice to meet you.” He looked past
me toward Brenda. “I’ll see you again sometime, Brenda.”
    Was that a promise or a threat?
    Brenda remained riveted to the counter,
radiating sheer terror. I followed and then closed the door on our
guest.
    I returned to the kitchen as Willie’s car
revved to life. Brenda stared at Willie’s now-empty chair for a
long moment.
    We watched as the car passed the kitchen
window as it backed out of the drive.
    The