On top of everything else, I would remember and be hurt by Odell’s last words for the rest of my life. If he hadn’t called me a beast and told me I’d bought him, it might have made all the difference in the world, and I’d have called for help. With the way he was bleeding, it probably wouldn’t have done any good. Knowing how he felt about me now, I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about not calling for help. Who would I have called anyway? The closest hospital that treated colored folks was thirty minutes away, and the ambulance service was for white folks only. Even if I had found somebody to drive him to the hospital, he wouldn’t have survived that long anyway. So, technically his death was not my fault. I took a long, deep breath and decided to take a hot bath and go to bed.

I went into the bathroom, removed my makeup, and coated my face with moisturizing face cream. While my bath water was running, I went through different scenarios in my head that I had considered before Odell came home. Instead of getting somebody to drive me or taking the bus back to Hartville when I cooled off, I had thought about waiting until he returned home on Sunday and confronting him then. I had also decided to have his clothes packed so he could move out right away. Then I’d suddenly made the decision that it would hurt him more if I burned up all of his fancy suits and other nice pieces. That was what I had planned to do Saturday morning. Now I wouldn’t have to do any of that.

I had been scared to death to let my parents know what Odell had done to me—and them. I wouldn’t have to tell them after all. Whoever had killed him had done me a favor, and I didn’t care if the law caught them or not. My parents had doted on Odell almost as much as I had, so they’d be devastated when they heard he’d been murdered. So would all the folks who’d looked up to him.