Good to Me (26 page)

She turned her cheek when he tried to kiss her. Trying to play it off she said, “Nah ah ah, we need the ice.”

His frown turned into a smile. He walked backward out of the bathroom and turned into the bedroom like he knew exactly where
he was going.

Charity ran and locked the bedroom door behind him. She dialed 9-1-1 on the phone.

“Hello, I need the police to 1630 Symphony Woods Lane,” she whispered. The operator cut her off to ask her questions. “Yes,
ma’am. I live here. My name is Charity Phillips. I’m a therapist and one of my clients is an intruder in my home. Please send
the police.” She was growing impatient with the operator’s questions. “He used my key. Maybe when he…” She stopped talking
when she heard a noise. “Ma’am, I can answer all of these questions when the police arrive. Hurry.” She hung up and dialed
Iesha’s cell phone. Her voice mail picked up on the first ring. She hurriedly dialed Mama Lorraine’s cell phone number. There
was no answer. Then she heard a light knock on her bedroom door.

“Honey,” he called seductively. “I got the ice.”

“Just a minute. I’m almost ready.”

“Come on now, open the door.”

She heard the doorknob turn back and forth. “Why is the door locked?” He turned it again. “Open the door!” He started beating
wildly on the door. “My sister’s in there!” he yelled. “Stand back, Janice, I’mma get you out of there. Momma! The bathroom’s
on fire! Momma!”

Charity was too afraid to say anything, but she remembered her first session with him when he alluded to a family secret.
She assumed that this was it and he’d become delusional about one of his childhood incidents. She prayed for God to intervene.
“Come on, Lord.” There was silence, then there was a loud thud. He was trying to kick the door down.

“Get back, Janice!” he yelled.

“Jeffrey, stop!” Charity yelled. “It’s not a fire.”

“Just get back. I’mma get you out of there.”

The sound of the doorbell brought tears to her eyes. “Thank You, Lord, thank You,” she sobbed. “Jeffrey, go answer the door.”

“No, I don’t want you to get hurt again, Janice.” He kicked the door so hard this time, it came off the top hinge. He ran
to her and held her. “Thank goodness you’re safe.” He wiped her tears. “It’s all right, you’re not burned. It’s okay, now.”

Charity cried all the more because she felt sorry for him. The doorbell rang again and Charity freed herself from his embrace
and ran to open the door. She ran outside past the policeman and pointed toward the house. “He’s in there.”

Just then Mr. Wright appeared in the doorway. Another policeman walked from around the backyard and joined the first one.
“What’s the problem, ma’am?” he asked her.

Mr. Wright answered. “Sir, there’s been a mistake. I didn’t hit my wife. I know you’ve arrested me before on domestic dispute
charges. But—”

“Officer, this is not my husband. He is a client of mine and he is psychotic and delusional. He is schizophrenic and I don’t
know when he’s taken his medication last. He thinks I’m his wife. Just a minute ago, he thought I was his sister trapped
in a fire.”

The policemen looked at each other. “How did he get in your house?”

“I live here. I got in with my own key,” Mr. Wright answered, holding up his key chain.

Everyone turned around to see who was pulling in the driveway. Charity was glad to see Mama Lorraine and Iesha both pull up.

“Here’s my sister, she works with me in my practice and can attest to what I’m telling you. She wanted to surprise me by having
my car detailed. She hired Mr. Wright to do it. I believe he copied my key when she gave him my keys to clean the car.”

One officer scratched his head. “Would you like to press charges?”

“No, sir.” Her words surprised her. “I’d rather have him involuntarily committed to the hospital for treatment.”

Mr. Wright was cooperative as the policeman placed him in handcuffs. Charity could hear Mama Lorraine and Iesha asking questions
before they were even near. When Iesha saw Mr. Wright she burst into tears.

“Oh my God. Cherry I’m so sorry.”

Mama Lorraine looked confused. “Ya’ll gone arrest him? What he do? Break in? He didn’t mess with you did he, Cherry?”

Charity shook her head no.

Then Mama Lorraine looked at Mr. Wright. “That’s what I thought. You don’t mess with a Brown. You look at these girls real
good. They’re mine. These the last ones you wanna mess with. You hear me? Or you’ll have to deal with me. And I’mma tell you
in front of the police, next time we have to call them on you, it won’t be to pick you up alive.”

“All right, ma’am,” the policeman said as he whisked Mr. Wright off. “Mrs. Phillips, you still have a right to press charges.
I’ll see to it that this gentleman is taken to Presbyterian Behavioral Health. Meanwhile, you need to change the locks on
your house and your vehicle. If you have any questions, you can call me at any of these numbers.” He handed her a business
card.

When they could no longer see the police cars, Mama Lorraine and Iesha turned to go into the house. Charity tried to follow
them but her feet would not cooperate with her mind. Mama Lorraine looked back and tried to encourage Charity to go toward
the house, but the magnitude of everything that happened that day fell on her like a ton of bricks. She collapsed and wailed
from the core of her hurt.
How could God allow so much to happen in just one day?
First Harmony, then Emmitt, then Present Day, then this. Charity finally decided that she had had enough of following Jesus.

TEARS WELLED UP IN HER EYES.
She’d tossed and turned all night, tormented by a bout of depression. She awakened Tuesday morning tired from the fight.
I thought joy was supposed to come in the morning
. Charity couldn’t believe she was here—again. She hadn’t felt this way in three years, since she was with Emmitt. Surely
she’d been delivered from this, especially since she gave her life to the Lord the last time it happened. But this time, the
voices seemed louder and stronger than ever before.

You might as well end it all,
a raspy sounding voice in her head suggested.
You know you’re tired of fighting. Tired of pretending. Tired of being on the brink of a breakthrough. Go ahead, Charity,
do it
.

“I ought to just kill myself,” Charity said out loud as if she thought of the idea herself. She flung back the warm bedsheets
and jumped out of bed as if it were on fire. Usually she couldn’t stand to touch the hardwood floors first thing in the morning.
But she was so intent on getting to the medicine cabinet in her bathroom that she didn’t feel the cold floor under her feet.
“I’m tired of fighting, tired of pretending, and I’m tired of being on the brink of a breakthrough. I’m tired of doing this
alone.” Charity licked the moisture that fell to her lip to see if she was really crying. She thought she had cried all of
her tears last night. She knew she needed to get her Bible, but she didn’t feel like making the effort it took to read and
meditate on Scriptures.

All she could meditate on was the fact that she had closed her 401(k) retirement fund to make a $10,000 investment in Horizons,
and it was now gone. Even if she wanted to start a new counseling practice, she didn’t have the start-up money to do it. She
had only about a month’s worth of living expenses in her checking and savings account combined. What would she and Xavier
do after that? “Protect my son, Lord. He doesn’t deserve any of this. He deserves to be happy. Emmitt was right, he’s been
the better parent all along. I won’t fight him anymore. He can do a better job with Xavier than I can.” Charity cried even
harder.

That’s right,
the voice validated
. People think you have it all together, but you don’t. They think you’re perfect at everything. But the truth is that you’re
a terrible mother, a poor excuse for a minister, a hateful ex-wife, and a trifling therapist. That’s why you’re going to lose
your son, your business, and everything you own.
Charity cried harder.
You’ve been living a lie. That walking by faith stuff doesn’t work for you. You’re not doing it right and God is not pleased.
Get out while you can, Charity. Do it now.

“Who am I trying to fool?” she asked herself. “I’ve been living a lie. I’ve been pleasing people and disappointing God. I’ve
been so careful to act according to how I thought I should and was supposed to, and this is where I end up. I’m so stupid.
I need to get out while I can. I’d rather die than lose my son.”

On her way to the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the tilted oak-framed cheval mirror that sat catercornered
in her room. Something about her image disturbed her. She stepped backward to the mirror. Nothing but an overwhelming urge
to look into her eyes.

She heard a soft, but firm voice from within her say,
Look into your eyes, Charity… Look into your eyes
.

She looked at the mirror and was distracted by smudges and fingerprints. “This mirror is dirty.”

The voice sounded more urgent.
Look into your eyes
.

She looked into the mirror and searched her face. It was easier to focus on her premenstrual pimples, chapped lips, and unarched
eyebrows than it was for her to hold her own gaze. She wished she could see the things for which people complimented her.
She often heard about how beautiful she was, how smooth and even her dark complexion was. A saleswoman at a makeup counter
once told her that her skin was the perfect canvas for her large, expressive eyes. Charity figured the woman was just trying
to make a sale. She’d been teased so much as a child about having “popeyes” and “platypus” lips that she despised the facial
features people complimented most. Her fine shoulder-length tresses were unkempt most mornings but could easily be swept up
into a style with her fingertips.

Into your eyes, connect with your spirit.

“Okay, okay.” She stepped up and peered into the mirror, fixing her eyes on to themselves.

Greater is He who is within you than he who is of the world… In all these things, you are more than a conqueror.

As the voice continued, it began sounding like it was coming from within her.
I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me. The Lord is my light and my—

The raspy voice broke in,
But to live is Christ and to die is gain… To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. Quit thinking about
it and do it.

“Shut up!” she shouted as she dropped her gaze. “I can’t take this anymore. God, I’m so sick of this. I can’t do this anymore.
It’s too much. My life is a shambles, where are You?”

She hurriedly walked into the bathroom and opened the oak medicine cabinet that was concealed behind a mirror. She snatched
every medication from its place. A half bottle of ibuprofen, a pack of twelve over-the-counter sleeping pills, a bottle of
cough syrup, and a pain medication prescribed for occasional migraines. She filled a paper cup with water to drink and went
back to her bedroom.

“I’m not taking all of these,” she said, dumping the contents on her bed. She put the cup of water on the nightstand and retrieved
the phone book from underneath it. “I need to know which one will work.”

She found two numbers she thought would be helpful. She hurriedly dialed the first one.

“Poison Control Center, this is Sterling. How may I help you?” the voice answered pleasantly.

“Yes, Sterling,” she said matter-of-factly and sat down on the bed. She counted the medication as she laid it out. “I need
your help. I have a bottle of prescription pain medications here and I need to know if I have enough to kill myself. I don’t
want to take these pills and wake up tomorrow. I need this to work. Can you help me?”

“Ma’am, I can hear how frustrated and overwhelmed you are. Please promise me that you won’t hurt yourself without first talking
about what can be done to help you. Will you do that?”

“Sterling, listen to me. I didn’t call you to answer your questions. I called to get you to answer mine. Will you do that?”
she mocked. “Because if not—”

“You said you needed my help, right?”

“Yes—”

“Well, the only way I can help you is if you allow me to. Your calling me first was a very positive move. Will you let me
help you?”

“The only help I need—”

“Will you let me help you?” he asked, more sternly than the first time.

Hang up on him… You don’t need him. You have enough pills to do it.

“Ma’am are you there?”

“I really don’t need you, I can just start taking what I have now—”

“Ma’am, is anyone there with you?”

“Is thirty-two pills enough, Sterling?”

“I would like to send you some help. What is your address?’

Hang up, Charity. He is trying to trip you up.

“I know what you are trying to do and it is not going to work.” She slammed the phone down and turned to the second number
in the phone book. She dialed it.

“Suicide Hotline,” a female answered. Charity almost hung up, thinking that the voice sounded familiar but she rationalized
that she had heard so many voices this morning that they were all beginning to sound alike.

“Look, I have thirty-two prescription pain pills here. I just need to know if I have enough to take to kill myself. Can you—”

“Charity?” the voice asked uncertainly.

Hang up, stupid. You’re so heavenly bound, you’re no earthly good. You can’t even kill yourself right.

She slammed the phone down again. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she panicked. “Where do I know that voice from? That could be anybody—a
church member, a client, a friend. Who? Oh my God. I’ve messed up now. Someone knows.” She scooped up the pills in her hand
and swallowed as many as she could as fast as she could.

MORE, MORE, MORE! You’re doing it, Charity. Finally standing up for yourself. Don’t stop now, take the sleeping pills too.

Disappointed that she did not yet feel anything, she resolved to take the sleeping pills. She pushed the blue gel capsules
through their foil packaging and swallowed them. She felt the urge to vomit.