Some days it ain’t worth getting out of bed.

Vivienne Samuels-London’s life was falling apart like a house of cards left outside on a windy day, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Some days it ain’t worth getting out of bed. The circumstances may differ, but we’ve all experienced days like this, haven’t we? And yet, we continue to get up.

Storm clouds were building. Vivienne Samuels-London sat in her Mercedes in front of the big fancy house in Montclair that she and her husband Christopher had been so proud to own. She was loath to go in.

She swiped the tears that, try as she might, she couldn’t stop from falling. My mother is dying. There, I said it. I’ve put the dreaded words out in the universe. There is no snatching them back. My mother is dying. I feel like someone is carving a piece of my heart out with a dull-edged knife. And my marriage is just as dead as my mother will be.

Vivienne cut her St. Louis trip short to investigate her on-site pharmacist’s report of missing drugs and money at her Rite Aid Store in Newark. She was cross-checking receipts when a woman from Maryland called, claiming to be the mother of her husband's child. The woman also claimed he’d infected her with a venereal disease. Vivienne had just returned from her doctor’s office.

The doctor’s words were still resounding in her head. “Mrs. London, I have your test results. You have gonorrhea.” All Vivienne heard was that she had the green and yellow puss drip disease, the nasty race horse disease, the goddamned clap.

The white-haired doctor droned on about contacting her “partners” and some other such dribble which Vivienne immediately blocked out because his initial words kept playing in her mind over and over again, like a scratched record no one had the good sense to turn off.

My partners! The only partner I have is my husband, the same husband who was not only cheating on me but who fathered a child with another woman and has given both of us a nasty disease.

The pain was so fierce, so cruel she had to bite her bottom lip to not succumb to it. That was all she could do to keep from spiraling completely out of control—to keep from screaming like a wounded she-wolf right in front of the home they’d been so determined to purchase, despite opposition from their white neighbors.

Vivienne rested her forehead on the steering wheel, breathing deeply. Her hands gripped the wheel tight enough to cut off her circulation.

I’ve got to get a grip, she thought.

She’d always gone to her mother or her sisters with matters of the heart. She tried to get in touch with her sister, Joie, without success, and her eldest sister, Bea, was out of the country at some kind of convention.

Oh, and did I mention that my mother is dying?

She dragged herself out of the car to go inside. She was on her own for this one.

***

Vivienne went through Christopher's belongings with the precision of a seasoned FBI agent. She found a Father’s Day card from his illegitimate daughter and one from the girl’s mother. The card contained a picture of a woman who was naked from the waist down. She sat on a cheap leather couch with her legs splayed open and the pink insides of her hairy yoni exposed, presumably for Vivienne’s husband’s pleasure. Vivienne thought she was going to be sick.

She’d also found two empty Rite Aid prescription bottles for Dilaudid and Zydone and one half empty bottle of OxyContin. Each bottle bore the name of one of her customers.

The man she had entrusted her heart to was not only a liar and a cheat but apparently he was also a drug addict and a thief. If Christopher stole the drugs, Vivienne did not doubt he was responsible for the missing money as well.

The cards, photo, and prescriptions were an irrefutable indictment against Christopher. Sitting in the dark living room, she’d placed each item on the coffee table in front of her, waiting for Christopher to come home.

“How could you do this to me, Christopher?” Vivienne said in a low, monotonous voice as soon as her husband entered the house.

At first, Christopher stood still in the doorway, frozen in place. And then the light went out of his eyes and it seemed like he’d shrunk right in front of her. He moved to sit on the loveseat across from her like his feet could no longer bear the weight of his guilt. He looked quite sad, but not nearly as sad as Vivienne felt.

I feel like such a fool. All those extended periods of time when he’d supposedly been away doing stake-outs or undercover assignments had been a lie. He was doing undercover work alright—with his other family in Maryland and only God knows who else, because he apparently didn’t get the clap from his daughter’s mama.

Vivienne’s face burned with embarrassment and humiliation. The Black detectives on the Newark Police force were as thick as thieves. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of them knew about Christopher’s infidelity and if they were laughing at her behind her back for being so damned stupid. To make matters worse, Christopher worked directly under her father.

God, please don’t let Daddy find out!

She placed her hand over her mouth to muffle a cry of agonizing outrage when Christopher said, “I’m so sorry, baby. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you so much.” He moved to take her in his arms to console her.

That did it. Christopher’s words opened the floodgate of emotion Vivienne was intent on holding back—at least until she could flee to some place where she could be alone in her misery and lick her wounds.

“Don’t touch me,” Vivienne hissed, scoring Christopher’s right cheek with her long, sharp nails. She knew if she allowed him to touch her, she would fall apart and risk making a fool of herself, letting him make love to her one more time, lie to her one more time, or tell her some implausible, ridiculous story so that they could go back to a time and place where she didn’t know what she now knew.

“It’s over, Christopher,” Vivienne said with a resolve she really didn’t feel. “You need to get the fuck out of here right now.” When Christopher didn’t move, she said it again, hoping that she could somehow convince herself that she meant it. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Christopher. Just leave. Please,” she said in a softer tone.

Vivienne didn’t have to beg. She was a powerful witch. She could make her husband leave, and he knew if he forced her to resort to those measures, it would not be pleasant for either of them.

Christopher hung his head as he stood and walked toward the bedroom, dejection surrounding him like the clouds outside. A half hour later, he was standing before Vivienne with an overnight bag in his hand.

“Can I call you later?” he asked.

Vivienne couldn’t answer, nor could she hold back the tears when her handsome husband paused in front of the open doorway, his eyes pleading with her to stop him.

A loud clap of thunder pierced the silence seconds before the sky opened up with pounding sheets of rain. Christopher’s eyes were bright with tears as he closed the door behind him and walked out of her life. Vivienne sat on that couch in the dark for over two hours, too numb to move, while the storm raged outside.

The shrill sound of the ringing phone shattered her lethargy. She walked toward the phone like a zombie, determined to hang up if she heard Christopher’s voice.

“Hello.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. It was her father calling from the hospital to let her know that her mother had just died.

Some days it ain’t worth getting out of the bed.