SPECIAL PREVIEW

Chapter Three

March 2006
Olivia Neale was winded as she reached the wrought iron security fence at her apartment building. The oblong pond she jogged around was less than 500 feet from her door, but today, it seemed more like a mile away.  For the last three months, she faithfully jogged and walked around the pond with the man-made geyser. On most days, it took her forty-five minutes to stretch, make a lap around the pond, and get back to her front door. At 6:30 a.m., there were at least six others with the same routine, although Olivia was sure they did it faster.

At thirty-five, the plump, brown-skinned woman had finally come out of denial about her diabetes. She had known she had had the disease since her second pregnancy. Diabetes thrived in her family tree but no one seemed to complain or talk about having “sugar.” In the last two years, her body had started complaining. Unplanned cat naps at her desk and frequent trips to the restroom prompted an unscheduled medical visit. Her doctor reprimanded her for ignoring her diabetes.

“Olivia, if you don’t start controlling your diabetes, it will control you,” the gray haired gentleman scolded. “Have you had any unusual problems with your eyes, such as blurred vision or spots?”

Before she could answer, Dr. Crowell looked over his spectacles and asked, “Do you know diabetes can cause permanent blindness among a hundred other problems? You have to start taking care of yourself now, before the damage is irreparable.”

He concluded her visit by enrolling her in a diabetes management class, and writing three prescriptions. He insisted she start an exercise program. His life=or-death warning had hit home. Olivia promised herself and her doctor she would change her ways. She thought about that promise every time she swore she would never run around that damn pond again.

She quietly turned the key to open the front door, hoping not to awaken Sylvester. He had driven from Baltimore the night before, exhausted after working ten hours in the restaurant. She wished he was more supportive of her new regimen, but he seemed to be pulling away from her lately. She peeked into the bedroom to see if he was still sleeping. Sylvester had changed since he started the training program.

He either slept all day, had to go do something, or see someone. He used to have coffee brewing for her, and would sit with her when she came back from running. Now, he seldom said, ‘I love you.’ An insecure woman might think he was seeing someone.

Olivia took a long swallow from a room-temperature bottled water and plopped her size twenty frame at the kitchen table. Her glucose monitor sat waiting for its morning slurp of blood. Olivia pricked her left middle finger with a lancet, turned on the monitor, and squeezed out a globule of blood. She then touched the droplet to the test strip protruding from the monitor and watched it disappear. Ten seconds later, the machine beeped and displayed her glucose level. Her goal was 110—give or take ten points. When she went to the doctor four months ago, she had tested at 212. That’s why Dr. Crowell had hit the roof. Beep. 131.

“Damn,” Olivia mumbled to herself. “Th ere has got to be a better way to keep diabetes in check. Damn those Twinkies.”

Olivia and Sylvester had just moved to their second floor apartment in January. Their careers were taking new directions and they decided a home closer to the Waldorf area would be best. The four-bedroom house Olivia owned in Wicomico sold in record time—much less than the six month to a year indicator that the real estate agent had suggested. They agreed the Lake Village Apartment complex was the most secure and convenient apartment building in the area. With the help of family and friends, they were able to move during the holidays without having to miss out on any holiday feasts or unscheduled time from work.

Olivia felt tremendous pride working as a lead buyer for Best Home Supply for the last thirteen years. She supervised four other buyers in two states. They purchased inventory for six other branches in the region. 

Olivia was the only African American in the office and had been there longer than most of the other employees. In the male-dominated arena of construction, she had earned the respect of co-workers and customers. She had come a long way from receiving welfare and working part-time in the neighborhood sandwich shop.

Sylvester Mbwantuu had come to the United States sixteen years ago from Soweto, South Africa. His first job was as a dishwasher in a small chicken restaurant. Now he was in training to become a general manager of a major restaurant. The Texas Steak House restaurant was based in Houston Texas. They had decided to expand their eastern

market. With help from his good friend, Robert Henson, Sylvester was attending an extensive sixteen-week training program in Baltimore City. The company was providing a small two-bedroom apartment for the trainees, so commuting was not an issue and it kept the attendees focused.

Since Sylvester had started training, he seemed extremely preoccupied. Olivia supposed it was the unexpected pressure from his training. Restaurant work had always come easy to Sylvester. He had confided to Olivia that he had underestimated the difficulty of the program. Olivia knew this could be possible, however, she wished it wouldn’t take its toll on their relationship. She could feel things were gradually slipping out of control.

Sylvester lay awake in the king-size bed he shared with Olivia Neale. He had been awake since 6:00 a.m. when she got up to go jogging. When he heard the door close the first time, he knew Olivia had left to go running. He waited a few minutes and then went to the bathroom.

He then climbed back into bed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “How am I going to tell Olivia the truth?” he asked himself aloud as if someone else was going to answer him.