Sugar dabbed a black handkerchief at the corner of her eye, catching a stinging tear that swelled there. She sniffled and swallowed back the cry fashioned into a hard lump in her throat as the family and friends of Norman Wallace stood around his casket hovering over the mouth of his open grave. After the presiding preacher concluded his sermon and solidarity flowers were delicately placed atop of the varnished lid, the gathering of mourners dispersed from underneath the shade of the green canopy and slipped into the dreary daylight.

Norman’s widow, Sheryl sat in a black folded chair in front of his casket and stared at it quietly in disbelief, their only son Lance ushered her to a stand and led her away. Sugar was rooted in her spot, a pain tightening in her chest as she saw the frail state of her ex-mother-in-law.

Sheryl looked over at her, a weak smile on her lips. “Oh, Shug.”

She broke free from Lance’s guidance and walked over to her, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Sugar said as she returned the hug, eyeing Lance over Sheryl’s shoulder.

Sheryl broke away, cupping Sugar’s cheek. “Norm adored you. He always thought you were the sweetest thing to happen to our son. He, also, thought Lance was a damn fool for letting you get away and for marrying that little girl.”

Lance frowned. “Mariah is my wife, Momma.”

Sheryl snorted, tossing a disgusted look over her shoulder. “And what wife wouldn’t be at her husband’s side for her father-in-law’s funeral?”

Briefly upon her arrival to the funeral service, she wondered where Lance’s trophy wife was, but chalked up the absence to Mariah most likely not wanting to get caught in the impending rain. She’d probably melt if she did.

“It doesn’t make it any sense that your ex-wife knows how to do right, but that immoral hussy can’t,” Sheryl said.  

Deciding which battles to pick nearby his father’s grave, Lance clenched jaw and encouraged calmly, “Come on, Momma. I need to get you back to the house. Everyone’s gonna be waiting for us.”

Sheryl’s eyes glistened at Sugar with a silent plea. “You joining us for the repast, sweetheart? The family’s always asking about you.” 

Sugar smiled sadly. “I wish I could, but I can’t, Sherry. I have to get back to work. My Dryver should be here soon.”

She had already committed conniving tactics to attend the funeral. Her executed plan was too flimsy to stretch it to the limits by going to the repast to see old faces.

Four days ago, a mourning Sheryl called her up to inform her that Norman passed away from lung disease and wished for her to come to the funeral. Sugar couldn’t say no to the widow. There was no reason to. She didn’t have any issue with her parent-in-laws. In fact, she adored them as much as her own parents. Norman and Sheryl welcomed her into the Wallace family with open arms and never once treated her with disrespect. Though with the divorce, communications were naturally severed, but Sugar didn’t blame them for that.

As a grown woman, it was entirely her choice to pay her respects to her ex-father-in-law, regardless of what everyone else had to say. But she would’ve been a fool to it wasn’t in her best interests for Miles Rene Thibodeau to never found out. So, she devised a plan. On the days she worked, Miles always drove his car by Sugar Mama on his way to work to make sure she was where she needed to be. As she carried precious cargo—his precious cargo—he’d come even more protective about her safety and more assertive about knowing her whereabouts.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gotten cursed out a long time. However, these weren’t normal circumstances. Sugar knew his reasons and quietly recognized his fears. He didn’t want to lose another family. She, also, knew her baby’s father wouldn’t be too pleased with her attending the funeral of her abusive ex-husband’s father.

To kill two birds with one stone, she left her car parked in its usual spot at Sugar Mama to give the illusion she was there, but scheduled a Drvyer to pick her up and take her to the cemetery. She only planned on attending the funeral and slinking back to the restaurant as its owner to resume her responsibilities as if she never left.

Sheryl nodded. “I understand, honey.”

Sugar reached into her purse and retrieved a black envelope. “Here’s a card to express my deepest sympathies. I also wrote my new address and number down in case you ever need anything. Don’t hesitant to call at all, Sherry.”

“Thank you, Sugar.” The widow held the envelope tenderly to her chest.

Thunder rumbled through the air, signaling a soft sprinkle of September rain.

Sugar bit back a curse.

Lance approached with a black umbrella, shielding the two women. “We need to get you out of the rain, Momma.”

“Lance is right, Sherry. We don’t need you catching a cold,” Sugar agreed—a rarity in itself.

“Your ride isn’t here yet,” Sheryl noted with a deep frown.

Sugar pulled out a compact umbrella and reassured, “You know I always come prepared. My Dryver should be here in a few minutes.”

Sheryl’s frown deepened. “I’m not leaving you at the cemetery in the rain. Lance, talk some sense into her.”

For once in his life, Lance hesitated—another rarity. “Cancel the Dryver, Shug. I’ll take you back to the restaurant after I drop Momma off at the house.”

Uncertainty prickled her insides. “If I say yes, Sherry, will you get in the car?”

“I’ll skip to the damn car,” Sherry assured.

Sugar smiled softly and nodded. “Alright.”

{}{}{}

Sugar squirmed in the front seat of Lance’s running car, glancing out the drenched window to avoid looking at him. It seemed like eternity since she was a front seat passenger and he was the driver. A memory of the dead ritual of being forced to sit in the backseat like a child when she was his wife stirred up old feelings of worthlessness. Being around Lance always opened up old wounds even when she was in a place in her life where she could confidently say she was nearly healed. But for as long as Sheryl was safe in her home surrounded by her loved ones during this difficult time, Sugar was willing to bite the bullet.

With the rain brought heavy traffic on all major roadways. Lance then decided to take the neighborhood streets to avoid the traffic jams.

A tensed quiet wafted through the car until he finally spoke, “I appreciate you coming. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

“I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I didn’t,” Sugar said. “He was my father-in-law for eighteen years, Lance. Just because things went sour for us doesn’t mean I’m bitter towards your parents. I’m not that petty.”

Lance smiled sadly, shaking his head. “I’m so used to pettiness now I’ve just expected it.”

Sugar arched a delicate eyebrow. “Marital troubles?”

“You could say that,” he chuckled, scratching his chin as he turned a corner. “The cost of having a wife from a younger generation, I suppose.”

Not all pretty things were meant to be taken home, Sugar thought.

“I’m sorry to hear,” she said, clearing her throat. “Is that why she didn’t come today?”

“She left yesterday for some big makeup launch party in LA. She said canceling her appearance last minute would be unprofessional to her business contacts and disappointing to her little fans,” Lance said, shaking his head.

Sugar winced, detecting the subtle notes of pain in her ex-husband’s voice. “Just because she’s young doesn’t give a pass for being insensitive and heartless, Lance. Your wife just skipped out on your father’s funeral to play around with makeup. That’s not right.”

“That’s not lost to me, Sugar,” he snapped, his voice raw with emotion. “Believe me!”

She flinched away from him, fear spiking in her pounding heart. He pulled his car up to a curb and shifted the gears in park before he sat back, smoothing his hand over his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Believe me, I know,” he said feebly, staring through the front windshield and the swooshing wiper blades. A tear rolled down his cheek then another and another.

“Lance,” she trailed off, watching her ex-husband crumble. She took out her handkerchief, succumbing to the old habit of taking care of him as she brushed away his tears.

“I know she’s nothing like you,” he stated, gazing at her with regret glimmering in his teary eyes. “Nothing like you.”

To defuse the intensity, Sugar wiped away more of his tears and teased gently, “Of course, she’s not. Isn’t that why you married her?”

“No, I married her because she made me feel good and I wanted to feel that way forever,” he said, “but little did I know she was making other fools feel good too.”

Sugar stopped her task and her heart stopped for a moment. “You knew she was cheating on you?”

Lance snorted a laugh. “Was? She still is. The private investigator gave me enough photographs to make an erotica coffee table book. She’s got about four other guys. The ones with bigger wallets you warned me about. They’re just smart enough to not leave their wives for her and who knows one of them might my son’s biological father.”

Sugar’s brow scrunched, a gasp tumbling from her lips. “Khalil isn’t yours?”

“Come on, Shug. Khalil looks nothing like me,” he said. “He’s redbone with hazel eyes. How could a baby like that come from black-as-hell parents? I didn’t make him, but he’s my son. He calls me Daddy and looks at me like awe just like I looked up to mine.”

He scrunched his face, suffering through a sob. “I miss him, Sugar. I miss my dad damn much.”

He caught her off-guard as he leaned into her, burying his face into the crook of her neck as he cried. Hesitantly, she engulfed him in a hug before she settled into the role of his comforter, whispering words of encouragement. Once he was finished weeping, he lifted his head up from her shoulder, his face lingering close to hers.

Then he kissed her. Sugar widened her eyes in utter shock, frozen in place as her brain scrambled to process and comprehend what in the hell was happening. Her stilled reaction could have easily been mistaken for consent to which he thrust his tongue into her mouth, swiping it around wildly. Regaining her ability to move, she pushed at his shoulders roughly.

She barked, “Lance, what in the hell are you doing?”

Lance licked his lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what overcame me. I forg—“

Sugar stared at him in disbelief. “You forgot that you were married and I’m in a relationship with someone else? Give me a break. I know you’re emotional, Lance, but that doesn’t mean you get a pass for kissing me.”

“I miss you, Sugar,” he said. “Don’t you miss us?”

“I miss what we had in the beginning, but not what we had in the end, Lance,” she admitted before she could stop herself. It felt like a betrayal as it passed through her lips, but she frantically tried to reassure herself that it was alright to reminisce the past.

It didn’t make her a bad person.

“We’re over, Lance,” she told him sharply. “Now, take me back to my restaurant!”

He eyed her for a long moment before he obeyed her command. He returned the car back to the road and resumed their journey. The air was ultra-thick with the palpable gravity of Sugar’s rejection and Lance’s struggle to accept it.  

After what seemed like an eternity, Lance’s car turned into the Sugar Mama parking lot. Sugar slung open the front passenger door and scurried out the car, turning back to snatch up her purse, but her things tumbled onto the carpeted floor. She cursed under her breath as her fingers shoved the spilled contents into the purse’s belly.

As Lance watched, he asked, “This Chef guy has lit some fire into you, huh?”

“No, Lance. I always had fire in me. You just always made it an effort to snuff it out,” Sugar said before she straightened her back and shut the door, skittering through the rain and toward the safety of the restaurant.

She sighed in relief as she stepped into the lobby.

Darren, one of the receptionists, stared at her sympathetically upon her arrival.

She caught his gaze right away and frowned, asking, “Is something wrong?”

“Erm, Mr. Thibodeau came by,” he informed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she chanted inside the depths of her mind, but outward, she looked pleasantly surprised to the news. “Oh? Did you tell him that I was in the middle of an important meeting with Mallory and to come back later?”

“Well, I did until,” Darren trailed off, wincing, “Mallory showed up with a female friend of his and...blew that cover.”

She closed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Leave it to Mallory to screw everything up.

“How long has he been waiting?”

Darren glanced at his wristwatch. “Two hours and thirty-seven minutes?”

“Thank you, Darren,” she said, shooting her receptionist a quick smile before she sauntered towards her office, her heartbeat hiking in tempo with each step she took. Was could she do? Lie? Deny? Scurry away with a tail in between her legs?

She let out a deep breath as she stepped into her office. Miles sat in her office chair, a gruff scowl carved into his bearded face. His stormy gray eyes glared at her. He wore a black-and-red plaid shirt with pushed-up sleeves and jeans. Reflective state trooper shades were propped up on his head. He arched an eyebrow at her arrival, gesturing his tattooed arms wide.

“I’d love to know where you’ve been,” he said coolly, tilting a head.

“Oh, just out and about,” she said innocently as she shut the door behind her, shrugging off her trench coat and hanging it on a nearby coat rack.

His eyebrows hiked higher and he nodded. “On a rainy day without your car?”

“I didn’t want to drive around in this nasty weather,” she returned.

Miles rose, moving around the desk to get to her. “And why exactly did you ask your receptionist to lie to me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry about me,” Sugar answered, swallowing as she backed into her office door.

He approached her and took a gentle hold of her chin, swiping his tongue just underneath the bottom of her lip. “I ain’t just worried about you, but now I’m worried for you, darlin’. Your lipstick is smudged and you smell like another man’s cologne.”

Dammit, Lance, she growled mentally.

Miles lifted her chin higher, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “You care to explain that? Or you gonna give me another non-answer?”

“I went…to a funeral,” she admitted, clearing her throat. “My ex-father-in-law’s funeral.”

He chuckled. It was a cold and bitter sound that forewarned her that she had dug her own damn grave. “I suppose it makes sense you tried to sneak around ‘cause you damn well know I wouldn’t be happy if I found out.”

Sugar attempted to lighten the mood. “You’re taking it surprisingly well.”

“Trust me, honey, I ain’t,” he assured, his gray eyes cutting her down to size. “Still doesn’t explain why your lipstick got messed up and you reek of some bastard’s cologne.”

In that moment, Sugar envisioned a theatrical appearance of an angel and a devil materializing on her shoulder. The angel counseled her to tell the truth. The devil advised her to lie because if Miles ever found out that Lance kissed her without her consent—correction: kissed her at all—then her ex-husband would be a dead man and Miles would be arrested for murder.

“I went to the repast afterward. Lance has a lot of men in his family and we hadn’t seen each other in so long, so there was a lot of hugging to go around,” she lied to explain the cologne.

“And my lipstick got smudged because I was eating, Miles.”

He narrowed his eyes and dipped his head down. “Are those final answers you wanna roll with?”

She clenched her jaw, becoming irritated that he wasn’t believing her lie like she had hoped. “Yes, it is. Now, if you don’t like them then oh well because it’s the truth, Miles. Now, are you finished with interrogating me? I’ve got a business to run.”

“If you’re so worried about business, honey, you should be focused on the unfinished one between us that we’ll handle when you get home tonight,” he said as he kissed her cheek as a parting gesture before he whispered in her ear, “and I’m dyin’ to know why you were so willing to tell me boldfaced lie after boldfaced lie.”

She slipped away from in front of the door, hugging herself as she watched him leave.

She was a dead woman.

{}{}{}

Sugar drove home with a stomach twisted in knots. As she arrived at the ranch, she swallowed back her worry as she saw Miles’ vehicle parked in the driveway. Turning off the ignition, she marched the wet gravel and let herself into the ranch house. As she sealed herself into her house, she was greeted with the mouthwatering aroma of dinner cooking. Sugar timidly entered the kitchen, witnessing Miles in his natural element at the stove.

“Have a seat,” he ordered, not bothering to look over her shoulder.

She went over to the kitchen table and eased down into a seat.

“On your way home, did you think of any more fables to feed to me or are you ready to fess up?”

Sugar rolled her eyes, rising up from her spot. “You know what? I’m just going to retire early. It’s been a very long emotional day, Miles, and I’m not the mood for this. Good night.”

“You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach,” he said, turning halfway to shoot her a deep frown.

“Good thing, I ate plenty at the repast like I told you,” she reminded with a huff. In actuality, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and after their conversation in her office, she had lost her appetite completely for lunch. Hunger gripped her stomach, but she was willing to suffer through it to prove a point. She’d just eat dinner later on when he was asleep.

As she went to leave the kitchen, there were hard knocks at the front door.

“I’ll get it,” she assured.

“No, you stay here and I’ll get it,” he ordered as he stepped away from the stove.

“Yeah, how about no.” Sugar narrowed her eyes and stormed to the front door, peered through the peephole to see who it was. Her soul nearly left her body as she saw Lance on the other side.

She swirled on her heels and pressed her back against the door as Miles neared. “I’ve got this. You finish dinner.”

“Open the door, Sugar,” he ordered. “Now.”

There was no room for discussion and she didn’t have the strength to argue, so she unlocked the door and cracked it open halfway. However, as if sensing what she was trying to do Miles carefully pried the door open further. Sugar walked outside, but wedged herself against the door, an attempt to be a buffer between the two men.

“What are you doing here, Lance? How did you get this address?”

“Obviously, he came here because he wants to die,” Miles replied coldly.

“I got your address you wrote in that card,” Lance answered, his eyes focused solely on Sugar thereby pretending Miles didn’t exist. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a familiar item.

“And you left this in my car,” he continued, plucking her wallet from his pants’ pocket and offering it to her.

She took it, remembering how her purse spilled out in his car. “Thank you, Lance.”

“Such a gentleman,” Miles quipped.

“It was good to have you at the funeral. Everyone was disappointed you weren’t able to come to the repast,” Lance replied. Sugar didn’t need to peek over her shoulder to know that Miles was no doubt staring at her with one of those looks that could kill.

“And I’m sorry about what happened,” he continued boldly.

Miles questioned through grit teeth. “What happened exactly?”

Lance tilted his chin high, slipping his hands into his pockets. “We’re having a private conversation, Chef.”

“And you’re on my private property and the law says I can shoot you where you stand if you don’t get off it,” Miles reminded. "So let's not get cocky."

“Is that right? So, you like shooting unarmed black men, huh? I had a feeling you were a bit racist, but I didn’t think you were a full-blown racist,” Lance accused.

Sugar gasped, “Lance!”

“I’m about to do your momma a favor by saving her some money. Your daddy’s grave still fresh, so there’s time to put your ass in there too!” Miles widened the front door to confront Lance, but Sugar planted her hands in the doorframe to block him.

She widened her eyes. “Miles!”

“You motherfucker,” Lance growled. “Say that to my fucking face!”

“Believe me, I’m tryin’, but she’s keepin’ me from gettin’ to you. Count your blessings.”

“Sugar, you can't seriously think this man is a catch? I can see why you told me today that you missed what we had, Sugar,” Lance replied, omitting the most important parts.

Sugar left Miles’ body stiffen at that revelation.

“Why you let me kiss you, for Christ’s sake.”

Miles drawled menacing, “I beg your pardon?”

Lance boasted, “That’s right, Chef. I kissed your Sugar.”

Sugar slapped her ex-husband across the face. “You forced that kiss on me, Lance!”

With a mean roar, Miles brushed aside her arm and bulldozed past Sugar, ramming straight into Lance. Their bodies to the ground as it rained. Miles reigned over Lance as his fist pummeled her ex-husband’s face with no mercy. Lance yelped out with each strong blow. Sugar raced toward them, grabbing Miles’ punishing arm drawn back for another swift punch.

“Miles, stop it! Please, stop it!”

Rain drenched the scene of violence.

“Get the fuck off my property,” he snapped viciously as he rose to his feet and grabbed Sugar’s hand, charging into their house and slamming the door shut.

Her tears blended well with the streams of water her face. He let go of her hand, pacing and huffing like a worked-up bull ready for a fight. Then he stalked down the hallway towards their bedroom.

“Mil—“

Miles warned, “Don’t even, Sugar Magnolia Wallace.”

She followed after him, watching as he yanked a bulky suitcase from their closet and tossed it onto the bed and opened it. He then began to pack.

Sugar choked a sob. “Are you leaving me, Miles?”

“No, we’re leaving together.”