Encino-M.J

Comings And Goings

The striking cords of Francis Lai's Theme From Love Story roused Michael from his deep sleep. Blinking the rheum from his eyes, he groggily rolled over to confirm what he already knew. Althea's side of the bed lay cold and empty.

It was a new habit of hers since Opal's death. They'd go to bed only for her to wake at some odd hour of the night and head downstairs to find something to busy herself. Sometimes she'd load the dishwasher with clean dishes, organize the bins in the pantry or bang away at the piano. Other times she'd just go out by the pool staring deep into the chlorine until she nodded back off to sleep.

The burning rage she'd initially felt had simmered to a low boil and now Althea had graduated to the guilt stage. The more the reality of Opal's death sunk in, the more she blamed herself.

She was just as guilty of murdering the maid as Jermaine and the person who carried out the act.

The last moment she'd seen Opal played in Althea's mind over and over like a broken record. She'd had a nagging, gut feeling that something awful would happen if she left the maid at the home unsupervised, and instead of going with it, Althea allowed herself to be talked down. If only she'd stood strong in her suspicions, Opal would still be here.

Michael let out another deep sigh and swung his feet out of bed before grabbing his robe. The sound of the piano grew louder as he neared the staircase and he glanced down at his wife from the banister with a deep sadness. Moonlight beamed down from the skylights casting violet shadows on her beautiful golden brown skin, highlighting the exquisite sculpt of her face.

Michael had never seen Althea so despondent and he wasn't sure how to reach her. She'd been through so much in such a short time he feared that Opal's passing would finally be the thing that broke her- the final straw to make her leave him or do something far more detrimental.

"Thea," he called softly as he neared the piano.

She couldn't hear him over the haunting melody as she passionately pounded at the keys, her eyes closed tightly as she drowned in the music. If Dorothy Carrington could see her now she'd scold her- concert pianists didn't play with their eyes closed but they also didn't look at the keys. Althea didn't care. Everything she'd been taught seemed useless these days.

There wasn't enough advice fit for surving the awful world she lived in.

"Thea,"

The feeling of her husband's large hands gently settling on her sent her pearlescent manicured fingers crashing against the keys. Her eyes snapped open and she sighed a sigh of relief at the sight of Michael standing over her.

"Michael, I'm sorry," she sighed, pulling up the fallen strap of her satin gown. "I'm so rude, I shouldn't have woken you up,"

Michael smiled down at his wife, noticing the weariness in her beautiful brown eyes as he gently massaged her shoulders.

"No baby, it's okay," he replied before settling next to her on the bench. "I like listening to you play,"

A hint of a grin tugged at her lips.

"It's one of the first full songs I learned to play. Right after 'Chopsticks',"

They sat in silence, staring at each other in the dark, their minds miles apart. Michael reached out and cupped his wife's chin in his hand and stared into her eyes hoping to get a glimpse of the woman he loved and not the melancholy stranger that had been moping around for the past few days.

"I'm worried about you, Thea. I know you loved Opal but-but you're taking this too hard. You don't sleep through the night- I hardly see you eat. Baby, you've got to get a little control,"